Lady Of The Lake. Elizabeth Mayne

appeared to be their next order of business. Edon had offered to delay their journey to Warwick to accommodate the laboring woman, but Rebecca had decried that suggestion, too. She wanted no part of sitting idle on the open road and insisted the gentle movement of the chaise would soothe both her and the babe. Still, Edon ordered Lady Eloya’s husband, Rashid, to remain close in case his vast skills became necessary.

      Edon nodded to the bearers, who immediately lifted the chaise again, then began their steady, measured walk behind the hundred horses of Edon’s entourage.

      More slaves pulled the sleds carrying Edon’s menagerie to Warwick. Horses and oxen could not be coaxed into the harnesses dragging the cages bearing Edon’s lion, crocodile and wolfhound. So men did what domesticated animals would not.

      The wolfhound’s soulful eyes were as deeply intense and beautiful as Lady Eloya’s—if not more so to Edon. The black that outlined Sarina’s eyes was natural. She gave a mournful howl, unhappy in her whelping cage, crying out to Edon astride his horse. He monitored the sled’s slow progress down the dusty slope.

      Caging the wolfhound was necessary. Without it, Sarina would surely have run off into the woods and reverted to the wild. Edon treasured the dog too much to risk losing her.

      “Be patient, my lovely,” Edon crooned to the wolfhound, as much in love with her as he was with this land he had dreamed of returning to for so many years. “We are almost home, I promise you.”

      Finally Edon watched his guards and the drovers pass beneath the ample shade of the great oak. He let the dust raised by a herd of woolly sheep and nimble goats settle before taking up his wineskin and removing the stopper.

      Edon lifted his head and tilted the wineskin to his mouth. It was then his eyes located the spies in the oak’s leafy canopy. Both the boy and the girl held themselves as still as the dying Gaul’s statue on the colonnade in Rome. Leaves fluttered about them, stirred by a hot breeze fueled by the parched land.

      When Edon had quenched his thirst, he lowered the wineskin and plugged it. He did not lower his eyes.

      “So! You dare to spy on me, do you?” It had been a good dozen years since he’d spoken the odd language of the Britons, but Edon was certain he was understood, for the boy reacted by reaching for the knife at his belt.

      “Don’t even think to try something so foolish, boy,” Edon cautioned. “I will have skinned you from ear to ear before you could strike one single blow.”

      Venn stilled his hand, convinced the stranger’s words were truth. A more menacing soul Venn had never laid eyes upon. Tala’s quick gasp assured him his sister felt the same tremor of fearful respect.

      “I do not take kindly to spies and sneaks. You have until sunset to present yourselves to me at Warwick, state your names and tell me who your thane and your father is.”

      Edon gathered the reins in his left hand, preparing to follow his large train of people, baggage and animals to their new home at Warwick.

      “Do not make me come looking for either of you. I never forget a face or forgive a slight.” He made his voice soft and low when he spoke again for the spies’ ears alone. “One word of advice to the both of you. Bathe before you present yourselves at my court. I can smell you from twenty feet away. Don’t risk insulting me again.”

      He put his heels to Titan’s sides and galloped out from under the oak without looking back.

      Venn dropped out of the tree and stood on Fosse Way, shaking his raised fist at the rider’s back as he rode away. “Come back, you dirty Viking, and I’ll show you who stinks!”

      Tala joined him and grabbed Venn’s fist, yanking him behind the wide trunk of the oak, out of sight from those who traveled the road.

      “Be quiet!” she commanded. “Don’t you ever do anything like that again, brother! If he did come back, he would cut you into pieces!” Though her voice was soft, she was obviously furious at Venn’s foolhardy words. To taunt a Viking jarl couldn’t be borne. Tala would not tolerate such an act of stupidity again.

      Venn reached for his bow. “I’ll show him!”

      “You’ll do nothing!” She cuffed his ears stoutly, then pushed him roughly back to the beech-tree bridge. Venn resisted the thrust of her hand as she herded him back to safety.

      Tala proved how deeply upset the stranger’s discovery and words had made her when she prepared to beat any hint of rebellion out of her younger brother. “Don’t try me, Venn ap Griffin. Defy me and I’ll take a strap to your hide and wear you out!”

      She gripped his narrow shoulders and shook him hard, then yanked him to her breasts, as if her arms smothering him could protect him from all danger. Her fingers spread into his dark hair and she whispered, “Never do that again! Never risk your life to provoke a jarl. Do you hear me? Have you forgotten our father and all of our kinsmen who had died at the end of Viking swords?”

      “No!” Venn’s voice came to her muffled by the press of her breasts against his face. He was only a boy. Boys who taunted Vikings were not likely to live to become men. That fear justified Tala’s anger, and Venn well knew it.

      Pushing him to arms length, Tala stared into his clear blue eyes. “Venn, I promise you, someday you will take your rightful place as a prince in this world,” she said earnestly. “The Vikings will fear and respect you. But today, brother, you are a boy and vulnerable. Time and King Alfred are on our side.”

      “King Alfred does nothing for us, Tala. Every day more Vikings sail their long ships to our shores. Alfred does nothing to send them away. No, even when they land their ships in Wessex he merely shows them Watling Street and invites them to go and find the Danelaw. But they come here to Leam to set up their farms. They don’t go to Anglia or York—”

      “I am aware of that.” Tala cut off his protests. “But Alfred can’t strike the Vikings down just because you don’t like it when their ships land on Britain’s shores. The kings have both signed a peace treaty. We must rely on their law to protect us. King Alfred promises me so.”

      Venn shook his head. “What good are words on parchment? Or treaties with out enemies? A king must act.”

      “Nay, we must give Alfred’s law a chance to work. Do as I say—return to the lake and your lessons with Selwyn. See that the girls have done their chores. I will be there anon.”

      “Where do you go?” Venn demanded.

      Tala shook her loosened braid back onto her shoulders. “Why, to Warwick…to present myself to the new jarl as he commanded. But you will not come, and do not think to disobey my command.” Tala delivered orders easily. At twenty she wielded complete authority over her siblings and their retainers.

      Venn knew better than to question her, but he itched to strike out at the arrogant Viking who had taunted them in their own language. Venn would never admit it to his sister, but he was fascinated by the wondrous equipage in the new lord’s entourage and his cages of strange and curious animals.

      Too smart to argue, he cast a disdainful glance at her. The two simple clothes that covered Tala’s torso were belted at her waist by a leather girdle. Embla Silver Throat would mock Tala if she went to Warwick thus attired. “You are not dressed to go to court,” he reminded her.

      That remark reminded Tala of the stranger’s challenge about bathing. The jarl’s insult had stung her to the core of her femininity. She knew herself to be beautiful, an unattainable woman desired by men of two kings’ courts. Telling color swept into her cheeks.

      “See, that is what I mean, little Venn. A grown man is skilled in the art of verbal baiting. He could not tell we were in the trees by our scent,” she said purposefully. “Not unless he has the nose of a wolf.”

      “Fear not, I will go to Warwick via the village at Wootten and bathe at Mother Wren’s before I change into robe and crown. All will be well.”

      

      Jarl