The Maiden And The Warrior. Jacqueline Navin

hold of his sword lying across the table. He had it unsheathed and at the ready before the intruder crossed the threshold.

      It was Glenna. “I thought you might need some assistance this morn,” she purred, not at all daunted by the gleaming steel he held. “Would you like some food sent up? Or perhaps some help in dressing?”

      Lucien put down his blade. “Whatever I want, I will see that it is done myself. Go to the kitchens and ask if they can make use of you there.”

      Glenna smiled, ignoring his order. “Do you not have use for me here?” Her hand came up to lightly touch his chest.

      He grabbed her hand and pushed it away. “Do not let me see you in my chamber again.”

      She paused, as if considering whether to obey. His anger rose, blinding him for a moment. Alayna had challenged him, but with her he had understood it. She had fought him as one who is backed into a corner. This servant’s defiance caused his temper to flare almost out of control.

      If she had not had the presence of mind to leave him, he might have done something rash. He had never lifted a hand to a woman, no matter what his opinion of that sex, and it would do his purposes no good if he began his reign here by beating one of the servants.

      Lucien laid his weapons out neatly on the table, ready to be cleaned, and finished dressing. A footfall behind him alerted him to a new presence. He lifted his head to see Agravar standing just inside the doorway.

      “So you decided to quit your lazing about and rise at long last,” Agravar said with a smirk. “Your late morning has nothing to do with that pretty piece I just saw leaving here, I trust.”

      “’Tis just sunrise now,” Lucien grumbled, “and nay, that inane servant did not stay with me last night. You know me better.”

      “I thought I did,” the Viking answered mysteriously. He looked about the room, appreciatively eyeing the ornate furnishings and elegant appointments. “I see you have wasted no time in doffing the crude ways of the soldier in favor of this lordly elegance.”

      Lucien followed his gaze. The furnishings were numerous, large and thickly carved, hardly suited to his Spartan tastes. A thought crossed his mind as he considered the room. Something was different. Now that he saw it again in the light, as he had the first time yestermorn, it seemed somehow changed. As if something were missing. With a shrug, he abandoned the thought. He turned to Agravar, giving him a grim look.

      “It will need to be stripped of these odious reminders,” he stated, indicating the incompatible finery.

      Agravar grew serious. “I hope it did not disturb your sleep to be in this place. I know well how those memories torment you. I thought perhaps you would wait before taking on this particular one.”

      Lucien shrugged. “It was not difficult, actually.”

      Agravar chuckled. “There is nothing like the diversion of a woman to ease a troubled night. A willing maid can make all the difference when a man has a restlessness in him.”

      Lucien shook his head at his friend. “I did not have the damnable girl!”

      Agravar laughed. “I believe you. I know your habits. I would think that another would be more to your taste.” He crossed to the window, easing open the shutter to peer into the courtyard below. The castle was already bustling with activity as the serfs hurried to complete their morning chores. “One cannot help but wonder how the widow has fared this night.”

      “More likely she laments the loss of the riches Edgar brought her.” Lucien shot him a scowl. “Do you bring news?”

      “Aye. I have dispatched the scouts to the areas you assigned. The landholders return to their fiefs soon.”

      “Did you instruct the seneschal to prepare the written accounts of the household?”

      Agravar nodded.

      “Good. I want the entire contents of the castle inventoried, and the village, as well. Also, set up a forum where disputes can be brought before me. I want to establish justice quickly so that none can take advantage of the confusion to better his own lot.”

      “You cannot prevent that,” Agravar said abstractly. Lucien was aware the Norseman was observing him.

      “What is it?” Lucien snapped.

      “What?”

      “There is something troubling you. Out with it. There have never been any secrets between us.”

      Agravar paused, shrugged, then settled into one of the hearth chairs. His hand played with the hilt of a knife on the table. Lucien saw it was the dirk he had used to slit his hand yesterday.

      “You seem no different, Lucien. There is no less bitterness in you this day than all of the others since I have known you.”

      Lucien’s head shot up as he leveled a wary glare at Agravar. His companion continued unperturbed. “It went as you planned. Our army met with little resistance and you yourself dispatched Edgar. You acted with honor and have won all you sought. Yet I cannot help but wonder if it is all truly settled.”

      Lucien sat on a footstool by the raised stone of the fireplace, taking up his sharpening stone and one of the weapons. He drew the steel across the stone, making a cold, ringing sound. It was an activity familiar and calming.

      Agravar said, “Nay, I see that it has done little to quell the demons that plague you. Nor mine, old friend.”

      Lucien shrugged, a casual gesture belied by the tension in his voice. “There is still much to be done. This is not over. My dame remains untroubled, safe in her convent. Is that not the greatest jest, Agravar—my mother has made her home these last eleven years with a gaggle of nuns?” His expression looked grim, not in the least amused. “I must reckon with that woman when the time is right. Perhaps therein lies my peace.”

      “Peace,” Agravar mused. “Is such a thing possible for us? Or are we too used to the killing to rest now that all we have sought is within our grasp at last? Why do we not take it, then, and be satisfied?”

      Lucien shook his head in honest bewilderment. “Domesticity, Agravar. Perhaps it does not suit us. What a stagnant prospect—to be a country baron without battle to stir my blood.” Nodding, Lucien’s confidence in this explanation grew. “Aye, that is it. I fear this soft life I have won for myself. This is what ails me.”

      “I have been thinking,” Agravar said. “Perhaps the time for hate is over.”

      “The time for hate is over,” Lucien repeated in a soft, almost wistful voice. He eyed the blade he had sharpened, savoring the clean lines and purity of form in the simple weapon. The incongruity of honing the razor-sharp steel while having this conversation struck him, and he smiled to himself. He sheathed the dagger and took up another. “How does one learn to live without the very sustenance of survival?”

      Agravar paused. “Perhaps we cannot. But I tire of the constant battle. It would suit me, I think, to put aside the ways of war and settle into a moderate life. To mount these broadswords upon the wall and look on them as ornaments, telling the tales of the battles we had once waged to our children, and their children after that.”

      Lucien grimaced at the picture, then eyed the array of weapons that awaited his attention. No ornaments, these, they were the tools of his trade, the only life he knew.

      Agravar spoke again. “I am the bastard son of a Viking raider, a symbol of my noble mother’s disgrace, despised before I was even born.” There was no emotion in his voice, it was a tale he had talked of often to his friend. “When I traveled to my father’s lands to meet my sire, I thought that finding him would bring me peace. You know as well as I how that turned out. Hendron was nothing but a vicious warmonger, no father for a son to admire. I found instead a brother, for we share the common bond, you and I. I, like you, used rage to fashion myself a warrior. I never thought of a life other than war. But my bitterness has run out. I am tired of this cursed life as an outcast. I weary of the fight.”