Jilliand Read online

  Jilliand had been taken to a cell in the dungeon, a place she had only been to once. It was cold, damp, and dark. Now she could only pray Nate would get through. She began to pace.

  CHAPTER 29

  A DARK SHAPE CLUNG TO a horse in full gallop that was racing toward King Aethewulf’s royal residence. The horse pushed against winds that plowed into beast and rider. When he was at least half a day’s ride from his destination, it began to snow hard. Barely able to see the road ahead, the rider was forced to slow the horse. The snow thickened. Still the rider pushed onward. The horse struggled forward at times barely moving. The wind howled. When it seemed all might be lost, the light from the king’s burg shone forth. Sensing an end to the run, both horse and rider found reserve strength. The powerful animal took his rider home.

  Alexander was just leaving the stables for the king’s hall, when Nate flew through the gates.

  “Sir Alexander, they are taken!” Nate called out. “I fear for Lady Jilliand’s life! She would not leave and stayed to fight with us!” The young man jumped from his horse as he shouted over the roar of the storm, calling for a fresh mount. “You must come quickly. They cannot fall! I ride with you, sir.”

  Alexander grasped Nate to slow him down. “Stop, boy.” Alexander looked around for his second; Riley was a well-seasoned soldier who had been with Sir Alexander many years. “What do you see for this storm, Riley? How much worse?”

  Riley had been watching the skies all afternoon. He had never been wrong when it came to his weather predictions. “It will get much worse, sir. Would not do to leave tonight. Just who has attacked Lady Jilliand?”

  “I am about to find out. Gather men. Make plans to leave at first light. It is dark already and will only get darker.” He left Riley. Turning his attention to Nate, he pressed him. “Who attacked Jilliand’s castle? Who, lad?”

  “I do not know, but I think he is a king …”

  “Go on,” Alexander ordered.

  “The man attended Lady Jilliand’s court one night ago. She sent Josh to get help from King Aethewulf that night. Then she and the few soldiers still in her service made ready to defend the castle as well as they could. Lady Jilliand has already stopped two or three advances. We should go quickly, or she may not survive. The invaders have surely gained entrance by now!” He was clearly afraid for his mistress. “She killed the first man. She put an arrow through his throat. I fear the invader will not deal well with her. You must help her, sir,” Nate finished, anxiety filling his eyes.

  “Believe me, that I will. As soon as I can get to her,” Alexander responded grimly. “Who does the Lady Jilliand have with her?”

  “She has a few soldiers, her usual ladies, and four pages. All the farmers came to fight, and she fought too.” Nate was clearly exhausted, but Alexander knew he would have to see Aethewulf. He pulled Nate along with him as they ran for the king’s chambers.

  “Does she not have the captain and his men?” Jilliand is too independent. This escapade could cost dearly. Alexander shook his head. He was angry—at the storm and the lack of protection for Jilliand—but more at her carelessness. Yet, he knew she would not change. Her thoughts were not like any other woman he knew. She never worries about the things that could happen … He realized that Nate was now talking about the captain.

  The lad had stopped mid-sentence, looking squarely at Alexander. Alexander was stunned at what he heard. “No, sir. He felt being the captain of Lady Jilliand’s guard was beneath him. He left long ago. Only a few soldiers remain. We all fought.” It took a moment for Alexander to digest what he heard. He cringed at what this information meant for Jilliand.

  After hearing Nate’s story, Aethewulf snarled, “It takes more than a crown to make a king, boy. Tell me how many men he has and are they well armed?”

  “He has less than when he started, Your Majesty.” Nate told both men about Jilliand’s battle tactics. Aethewulf’s thoughts formed quickly. He knew Jilliand would fight, but based on Nate’s information, that fight would be useless. She could be killed. His heart sank at the thought. More likely, she would be taken captive. Though if she is taken, what might it take to free her? Even as he asked, Aethewulf knew he would not give up his throne—not even for his sister.

  As if he read the king’s mind, Alexander stated, “We’ll take her back and hang this would-be king.” Aethewulf didn’t respond.

  By dawn the next morning, Aethewulf and Alexander were riding with three hundred men and Nate. They rode four abreast. Travel was slow but steady. Alexander had ridden through every kind of storm, but he hated snowstorms the most. As the snow deepened, the horses were hard pressed to keep moving. The winds blew the snow into great drifts. The company of men rode all day and into the night struggling forward against the bitter cold.

  It took little time for Prince Philippe and his men to secure Jilliand’s burg. The people within the walls were ordered to clean up the courtyard and take care of his men. When all the wounded were cared for, and Philippe’s men were fed, Jilliand’s people were allowed to return to their homes. Philippe’s men were sitting in groups talking and eyeing the young women nearby. They had been given strict orders to leave the married women alone. That order mattered little to them as there were plenty of single women as well. For his part, the prince intended to visit the prisoner being held in the dungeon.

  At the sound of keys rattling at the door, Jilliand looked up from where she sat on the floor. The door opened, allowing the light from a flaming torch to flood the cell. Jilliand closed her eyes for a moment against the light. Prince Philippe stepped past the guard and stood just inside the door. When she opened her eyes again, she sat motionless, waiting. “Do you not stand before your king?” His voice was even, calm.

  “Who are you?” Jilliand asked, hoping to discover if he represented France or was doing all this on his own. If he did indeed ride for France, there surely would be more French soldiers coming. If he rode for himself, at least Aethewulf stood a better chance. She remained sitting. The man walked to her, extending his hand. Jilliand took his hand and allowed him to pull her up. He led her from the cell.

  “I, Lady, am the man who holds you and all your lands. Your people are well and unharmed.” He stopped speaking as they passed the guard.

  “Thank you,” Jilliand hesitated, “Your Highness.” She moved up the steps. Since he gave no indication where he intended to go, she led him to her study. He followed, willing to see where she would take him. Inside the room, she looked around.

  “Do you think something might be missing, Lady?” he asked sarcastically.

  “I am not certain when I might see this room again,” Jilliand responded quietly. She turned and faced him. He watched her look him over. His eyes were a green-blue, his hair dark brown. He stood over six feet tall and was broad shouldered and muscular. His expression showed he was pleased with himself.

  He sat down and leaned back in a chair, watching Jilliand. “Your room is comfortable?”

  “You are being sarcastic again, Your Majesty.” Jilliand was suddenly very tired. She longed to sleep and then awaken to a normal world again.

  “Explain how you know to use a weapon so well,” he ordered. Waving his hand, he indicated she was to sit. Jilliand sat down, grateful for the soft cushions.

  “My mother married a man who wanted a son. I was well educated, trained to use a sword and bow, and know something of fighting.” Her voice was strained as she thought of how much she did not know about fighting.

  “I should have you put to death.” Even as he said the words, he knew he would not. She was bloody and dirty, but still a beauty. Her spirit had been visible from his first meeting with her. She would live. A crown might not come to him through this prisoner, but money surely would.

  “For defending my people?” Jilliand could see he was unsure of himself. She realized if Nate or Josh had gotten through, she would become a pawn in this game of kings.

  “You personally killed at least one o
f my men,” he noted, watching her eyes. Her eyes were striking, filled with every thought in her head.

  Jilliand laughed dryly. “I killed several of your men. I think we are even in that regard. The men you killed were but farmers, stable hands, and other groundskeeper. The men I killed were trained soldiers. It would seem you bear the greater burden.”

  His brows shot up, and he laughed aloud. Her audacity was unexpected. She intrigued him more with each word she spoke. “I agree. I think I will leave this place to your king, who is, I believe, your brother. Instead, I will take you.”

  Jilliand’s heart lurched. She had no desire to leave this place, nor to be this man’s toy. How would Rurik ever find her? Would he even look? “I would be a burden. I am certain you must be accustomed to scouting a place out, moving in, taking what you want, and then quickly leaving. What on earth would you do with me?”

  He looked at her, surprised she could not think of all he could do with her. Then, he smiled, slowly, with satisfaction. He would take her with him. Now. Tonight. Suddenly, he stood up. “I know you are tired. I also know you can ride. While I do not like to cause you undo discomfort, Lady, we will leave tonight. If you would like to take anything special with you, anything you can carry on horseback, please get it now.” He stood and waited.

  Now Jilliand was stunned. She couldn’t believe what was happening. Just by looking at him, she could see he would not be patient. Glancing around her study, she moved into her sleeping quarters. He followed her. She took the heaviest cloak, the combs Rurik had given her, and the silken bag from her mother. She still wore the rings from her mother and Rurik. She slipped the locket over her head and put the earrings on. Looking around the room once more, she added another cloak, and then walked away.

  “Do you have a favorite steed, Lady?” he asked, as he walked with her to the stables. His men were gathering their things together. Having spent several months with this man, they were no stranger to quick departures.

  Jilliand thought of the horse she had sent Josh away on. “I did. My horse Lancer, but he is not here any longer.” By this time, they were near the stables. When she stepped into the barn, she froze. It was Lancer. “How did he get here?” Jilliand looked around, expecting to see Josh.

  “The horse came back on his own—riderless,” the prince noted casually. Jilliand’s heart ached at the news. Philippe continued walking along the stalls. He ordered Lancer saddled and chose another horse for himself. His men had already taken their horses outside and were ready to ride. Jilliand moved away from Philippe whenever he walked near her. If he noticed, he did not react. Before anyone could assist her, Jilliand was on Lancer.

  They rode all night. The snow had stopped falling, and the sky was clear. Stars filled the abyss above them, and the moon was full, reflecting off the snow giving light, as if God Himself wished to help them escape. Lacking a blanket of clouds to hold the cold at bay, the air bit into both horses and riders. Thankful for the warmth of her cloaks, Jilliand rode on, her mind on Josh, who certainly had been killed while trying to bring help. Nate’s horse is not back. Perhaps he made it. In one fateful evening, her life had turned again.

  As daylight broke, Jilliand began to ride more slowly until she was behind several of the men in the party. Moving to the outside edge of the group, she suddenly urged Lancer forward. Responsive to every move and touch of his mistress, Lancer shot out. The unanticipated run caused a moment of confusion. “Get her!” She heard Philippe’s voice break through the clamor of men and horses. Lancer easily stayed ahead of the pursuers. As he pulled farther ahead, Jilliand heard the same voice yelling, “If you do not stop, the horse dies.” Immediately, Jilliand pulled up on the reins, slowing Lancer. At the same time, she threw her arm up. Turning the horse around, she quickly slid off and stood aside, waiting.

  With his face dark with anger and his voice cold, Philippe rode up, nearly atop Jilliand. She stood firm. In a clear, scornful voice, he observed, “You care more for the life of your horse than your own?”

  “He has no choice in what I ask of him.”

  “You play a dangerous game, Lady.” He looked at the small woman standing before him, unafraid, defiant.

  “Let me go. I am of no use to you. My father is dead. I have not seen my husband in years, and my brother has no desire to barter his kingdom for a sister he barely knows. We—you and I—lost good men for nothing.”

  He looked at her, deliberating. “I think to keep you,” he decided aloud. “I believe I shall see you are well kept, in a cell, for the rest of your life,” he finished coldly.

  If his intention was to frighten Jilliand, he failed. “I will not do that,” she announced flatly. “I have years of experience with being kept in a cell by one who did not love me. I will not do that again.”

  Philippe got off his horse and, with purpose, walked the few steps to Jilliand. Towering over her, he softly informed her, “If you try to leave again, I will kill the horse.” He then turned her around and lifted her onto Lancer. His men were grouped together, watching the exchange between their leader and the one who played havoc with all in her path. Their admiration for Jilliand was growing.

  Without speaking, Philippe moved them out. When Jilliand did not immediately move up near him, he glanced back, caught her eye, and pointed to the ground next to him before facing forward. Jilliand brought Lancer up next to him. She rode silently, without looking at the man who now seemed destined to claim her.

  As the horses battled with the snow, Jilliand struggled to remain awake and in the saddle. Two nights without sleep began to take their toll. Philippe watched the lady riding as far from him as she was allowed. Several times he thought she would certainly fall off the horse. “Lady Jilliand!” he sharply called. Jilliand was startled, alert, looking around. “Come closer,” he commanded. Hesitating a moment, she urged her horse closer to him. “Closer,” he ordered.

  “Am I to run you over?” Jilliand asked sweetly.

  A wry smile broke out upon his face. “Now you are mocking me. I want your horse against mine.” When Jilliand had maneuvered her horse as close as she could, he quickly reached over and pulled her onto his horse in front of him. Jilliand stiffened, trying desperately to push back, but the bulk of her cloaks hindered her movement. With a shooting pain in her heart, Jilliand remembered when Rurik had held her the same way. “Stay still, Lady. If I allow you to continue, you will soon be lying in the snow. While that might cool your temperament, it will also slow us down. Just lean back. Sleep.” There was little Jilliand could do; exhaustion quickly took control. She slept.

  She awoke when Philippe gently shook her. The sun was already well on its journey to midday. “We are stopping so the horses can rest. You will feel better if you walk around. There will be something to eat shortly.” As he spoke, he slid her down off his horse. Jilliand stumbled a few steps before she regained her footing. Her body felt stiff, and the nap had only served to heighten the weariness dragging her down. She walked among the men now busy setting up camp. A second fire was soon blazing. Jilliand walked toward the farther fire, trying to stay away from Philippe. Watching the men, she noticed one young soldier visibly shivering. Jilliand stepped over to him and slipped her outer cloak around his thin shoulders.

  “No, m’lady. I cannot,” he said, quickly rejecting the offering. Jilliand removed the smaller cloak she had worn beneath the outer cloak and exchanged it with him. “No, I cannot take this.” He tried to hand it back.

  “Take it. I have little need for two and will probably have no need for the one I keep. You are freezing, lad.” She placed it around him. This time he kept it. Gratefully, he nodded to her, thanking her under his breath in Norse.

  Without thinking, Jilliand answered him in his native tongue. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she knew she had made a terrible mistake. She and the lad stood looking at one another. She felt the silence grow heavy around her. Nodding slightly, she walked away, her heart in her throat.

  C
HAPTER 30

  MANY THOUGHTS WERE RUNNING THROUGH Alexander’s head during the long trek to Jilliand’s burg. Taking her back to the king’s court was not one of them. The king had a new wife and was already expecting their second child. The new queen was very proud of her position with the king and made certain every man, woman, and child in the court knew it. No, Jilliand wouldn’t go back with the king. However, it was possible Alexander would stay with Jilliand. Does she still love the Viking? That is the question. Moreover, does it matter? His mind roamed over familiar ground.

  Aethewulf, too, rode in silence. If Jilliand and her guard were not able to hold, he would be faced with the prospect of refusing to pay ransom for her. He loved his sister, but he would not jeopardize his kingdom for her—or any woman for that matter. He glanced at Alexander. His friend was staring ahead, thinking, no doubt, of the woman they rode to save.

  What manner of man wants a woman just to use? Perhaps most, but not any man I respect. Alexander remembered his last conversation with Jilliand. When her great emerald eyes had looked at him that night, he knew she was sad—and still in love with the Viking. Under his breath, he cursed. Aethewulf would not barter for Jilliand. Alexander understood that about his king and friend. When the invaders discovered she was worthless, they would probably kill her. He knew in his heart such would be her fate. Worse, he was certain she would not die quickly. He could hardly think on it. Somehow, he would kill Jilliand himself and save her from what seemed inevitable.