Chapter Nine
Dressed in full battle armor, and with hesitant steps, Ariel walked toward the lone figure in the middle of the practice field. The chain mail hung heavily across her shoulders and her sword was at her side. She wore her helmet and carried her shield on her left arm. She was ready for her first lesson.
The dawn air swirled cool and crisp around her. The nip of cold told of winter soon to come. Sunlight reflected off the frost that coated the grass. Ariel stopped a few feet from Broc. Slight currents of tension drifted between them from what had taken place in his chamber the other night. After their conversation the morning before, she had not spoken to him. She had stayed with her father and Colwyn well into the night. It had been late and no one had been about, including Broc, when she had returned. Something she had counted on.
Facing him again, all that had gone on that night came rushing back. Her father had guessed right. She still carried feelings for Broc, and he had hurt her—badly. Enough that she would never willingly reveal her true self to him, no matter what occurred.
Broc made a small movement as he shifted his weight. The sound of a sword being drawn from its scabbard drew Ariel’s attention. She looked from the sword to his face. He already wore his helmet. His gold eyes stared at her intently as a small smile played across his lips.
“I can tell by the look on your face you still feel some anger toward me for the other night. Well, here is your chance, Wulf. Try to give me the thrashing you think I deserve.”
From his cocksureness, Ariel assumed Broc thought she would not be able to best him. He was going to be in for a surprise.
As Ariel’s first blow landed, Broc’s expression turned to one of surprise just as she had predicted. She proceeded to show him how he had sorely underestimated his opponent. With glee, she pushed him across the field with each of her hits. She might look quite small for a man, but for a woman, she was strong. Her slim body was deceiving, which had been his first mistake. He thought he could overpower her just by his sheer size, but she was more agile and did not completely rely on brute strength to best her opponent.
Ariel had to admit she played with Broc, a sort of retribution for the other night, but he did deserve what he got. The look of shock that had flitted across his features at her first hit was well worth it.
When an opportunity came to end their match, Ariel took it. She had gotten what she had wanted from him. With a lunge and a quick twist of her wrist, she sent Broc’s sword skidding across the field.
Her shout of victory echoed around the open space. Ariel removed her helmet and then wiped the sweat from her brow. Broc was a good swordsman, but she was better. She wondered how he would feel if he knew he had just been bested by a woman.
After retrieving his sword, Broc came to stand before Ariel. “How…how did you do that?”
Ariel could not take the smile off her face. “I do not really know. I just find myself able to do it.”
“Why did you not tell me before you are a natural?”
“Well, I did tell you I learned quickly.”
Broc shook his head. “If this demonstration is any indication, you will be more than ready by Christ mass to be knighted.”
Thrilled, Ariel felt like jumping up and down, but she managed to keep her emotions under control. “Good. Then let us continue.”
Broc held up his hand. “Wait one moment. How is your shoulder? Are you in pain?”
“I am fine.” To prove it, Ariel lifted her left arm and gave it a little shake.
Broc laughed. “All right, have it your way, but if I see you favoring that side at any time, I will call the lesson to a halt.”
“Agreed. It will not be necessary, though.”
Not saying another word, Broc stalked across the field. He headed toward the stables. She sheathed her sword and then ran to catch up with him.
* * * *
Late that afternoon, Broc finally called the lesson to a halt. Even though Wulf would not admit it, he was in some pain. The boy had not shown any outward sign of the strain it must had taken to hold his shield for so long, but Broc had noticed the flinches he gave near the end. He had to give Wulf credit, he tried his hardest to hide what he felt.
Through most of the lesson, Broc had a hard time not showing his emotions. The boy was unbelievable. What should have taken months to teach another man, Wulf picked up in a matter of hours. The boy might not have the bulk behind his sword arm, but he was able to out maneuver any man Broc’s size, which gave Wulf a distinct advantage.
The boy had already gone to the main hall to change. Broc slowly followed. The evening meal would be ready in a short while. After his exertions on the field, he needed to have a big meal. They had only stopped briefly once to quickly eat some bread and cheese.
The hall was deserted, except for the serfs who had the task of preparing the meal. Wulf appeared to still be in his chamber. Broc entered his and then shucked off his chain mail. It soon became apparent that the wall separating the two chambers was not very thick. The sounds of Wulf moving around on the other side could mutely be heard. For some unknown reason, leaned against the wall, listening. The noise coming from the other chamber comforted him.
The unnatural urges Broc had for Wulf still seemed to be with him. Even after that debacle of the night with the two women. Why would it not go away? It bothered him more than he would like to admit.
The sound of a chamber door being slammed shut brought Broc out of his musing. Quickly finishing, he went into the hall. He could not see Wulf anywhere. Broc was a little disappointed. He had thought the boy would stay and share the evening meal with him, but apparently Wulf had made other plans for the evening.
On impulse, Broc retrieved his cloak from his chamber and then headed to the smaller hall. He caught sight of Wulf slowly walking through the village. The villagers shouted a greeting as the boy went by.
As predicted, Wulf went to the other hall. The girl named Lily stood outside at the front of the building. She held her child in her arms. Broc slowed his pace and stopped several yards away, watching. Wulf rushed to the girl and took the child from her. Laughing, the boy held the baby up and spun around. The child’s shouts of glee drifted to where he stood. Fascinated, he found himself unable to look away.
Something akin to loneliness washed over Broc as Wulf cuddled the baby close for a kiss. He felt left out. Almost as if he belonged up there with them, not standing by himself. The child had to be the boy’s. No other explanation would account for Wulf’s behavior. Something about the scene bothered Broc, though. Wulf showered the baby with attention, but none of it he directed toward the girl, the baby’s mother.
That led Broc to think Lily had lied to him at their first meeting. She had said the infant’s father was not around. She had to have some reason for withholding the truth. Wulf had to be doing the same. Why? Now that he thought about it, every time he had seen the child the baby’s face had been hidden. He did not even know the sex of the child. Something was just not right. He had a feeling if he saw the baby’s face, it would all be explained.
Broc felt as if he was being watched and realized he had been spotted. Wulf came stomping toward him. The girl and baby could no longer be seen. From the look on the boy’s face, Broc could tell he had upset Wulf with his presence.
“What are you doing here, my lord?” Wulf asked in barely contained irritation.
“I just wondered where you had gone. The evening meal is not too far off.”
“I plan to eat with my father. That is if you have no objections.”
“None I can think of. I noticed Lily is at the hall. Has your father taken her and her child in?”
“Aye, not that it is any of your concern. If you will excuse me, I would like to go to my father. I will return later this evening.”
Without so much as a backward glance, Wulf spun on his heel and headed inside the hall. Something definitely had to be going on. Something Wulf did not want him to find out about.
* * * *
The lessons continued, and the tension slowly disappeared. Ariel had to admit she could have caused most of it. As much as she wanted to, she could not forget that night. Every time she looked Broc in the face, she remembered images that would be better off forgotten.
Other factors also brought about the strain. The more time Ariel spent with Broc, the more she found herself liking him, and any romantic feelings she carried for him, deepened. To counteract the emotions he invoked, she immersed herself in what he had taught her.
Each night she went to bed exhausted and woke up with every muscle in her body screaming. After a week, the pain eventually went away. Even her shoulder gave her no troubles. Ariel noticed changes in her body as well. Her shoulders had broadened, and her arms and legs were padded with more muscle. She would never be as large as a man, but now she looked more the part.
At the end of November, Ariel felt she had learned all Broc had to teach, but the lessons still continued. They had become a common ground they tread. In some ways, she would miss the time she spent with him, but all that would end once he knighted her.
Her days had now become routine. She awoke, broke her fast, and donned her armor. Her equipment had changed. In the last month, Broc had the blacksmith make her a Norman helmet and a new shield. Instead of the round Saxon variety, Ariel now carried the large triangular-shaped shield of a Norman. It carried no emblem or color. The blank white shield would be changed after she became a knight. She already had decided what her emblem would be.
As he had every morning, Broc waited for her at the practice field, but something was different about him today. He had an air of impatience about him. Once Ariel stood in front of him, she noticed he wore no armor.
“No lesson today?”
Broc shook his head. “Nay, something important has come up. The lessons are over.”
Her heart sank. Broc could not be serious. The lessons had to continue. To stop now would be unthinkable. Not when she was so close to realizing her goal. “They cannot. You promised to knight me.”
Broc smiled. “Aye, I did. I do not break promises I make. Tonight, in fact, you will become a knight.”
Flustered, Ariel tried to grasp what he had said. “I thought I had to wait until closer to Christ mass.”
“There has been a change of plans. While you were at your father’s hall a messenger came from William’s court. He has requested I come to London earlier than I had previously thought. For some unknown reason, he has ordered I bring you with me.”
Ariel did not know if she was happy about that or not “What if I refuse to go?”
“You have no choice in the matter. I was ordered to bring you. If you have forgotten, I will remind you. I am your overlord. You must do what I say. Be thankful I will knight you before we leave. That way you will have some status at court.” Broc started to walk away, then stopped. “I suggest you get some rest. For after tonight, you will no longer be considered a boy but a man. It is something to celebrate. It will be a long night, I assure you.” He left Ariel in the field.
* * * *
Just to spite Broc, Ariel did not rest. If tonight was going to be the night all her dreams were to be fulfilled, then she wanted to look her best. Which meant she would need a bath.
Before going to her father’s hall, Ariel went to see the blacksmith. He would be the one to paint her emblem on her shield. She had already given him her chosen design so all he had to do was the hard copy.
The smith, Alfward, was a large man with arms and chest heavily muscled from the number of years he spent working the forge. He was Swein’s age with hair and beard grizzled with gray. This morning Ariel found Alfward working the bellows, making the forge’s fires come to life. At the doorway, she cleared her throat to get the smith’s attention.
“How are you this morn, Alfward?”
With a smile, the smith looked up and answered her query. “Just fine, lass. Come in, and do not look at me like that. The Norman is not around. I have known you since you were in swaddling bands. You will always be a lass to me, no matter what you pretend to be.”
Ariel laughed. “I am sure you know the reason for my ruse. Nothing remains a secret in the village for long.”
“Aye. Your boy is the Norman’s get. Not hard to figure that out when the boy wears his heritage on his face.” After releasing the bellows, Alfward went to Ariel. “What is it you need?”
“How do you know I need something?”
“Everybody needs something. Come now, what is it to be?”
Ariel placed her shield onto the smith’s work table. “Will you be able to put my emblem on this before this evening?”
Alfward wrapped his arms around her waist and swung her around. Ariel could not help but laugh with him. The smith put her onto her feet and gave her a slap on the back, hard enough to almost knock her over.
“So he is really going to knight you. I will be buggered. Have no fear, I will have it finished. It will be the first piece I work on today.”
“Thank you, Alfward. Bring it to the main hall when you are finished.” On impulse, Ariel went on tiptoes and placed a kiss on the smith’s grizzled cheek. She had the rare opportunity to see Alfward blush. “If you have nothing else to do, I would like you to come to the festivities. You have always believed in me.”
“I would not miss it for anything, lass. You do us all proud.” Much to Ariel’s surprise, the smith bellowed with laughter. “I would like to see that Norman’s face when he finds out he knighted a woman.”
“If I have any say in the matter, that day will never come.”
* * * *
Ariel thought the day would never end. After her bath, she spent some time with Colwyn. With each passing hour, her nerves got the better of her. It became so bad that once he had gone down for a nap, her father demanded she find something to occupy her.
Knowing she would not be able to do anything that would require her full attention, Ariel decided to go for a ride. It seemed to help a bit. The cool, fresh air was invigorating, and cleared her mind of worrying thoughts. She could almost smell snow. Galloping her horse through the frozen meadow was a thrill she thoroughly enjoyed.
Without really thinking of where she went, Ariel slowed her mount once she reached the forest and then entered the woods. Not until she saw the frozen surface of the pond did she realize where she had come to be. It was a little ironic that she would go to this place where her life had first changed, where she had lost her innocence. After tonight, her life would change again.
She had not come to the pond before now. She had been tempted to go a few days after Broc’s leaving, but once she realized she carried his child, she had not been able to come near it. Even now, after all the time that had passed, the memories of their one time together came rushing back. Ariel could almost feel as if it were just yesterday he had made love to her.
She had no idea how long she sat there, looking at the pond, lost in her thoughts. A feeling of being cold broke the trance-like state that had come over her. Much to her surprise, tears streamed down her face. Roughly, she wiped the wetness away with her sleeve. Ariel turned her horse away from the water’s edge. There was no point mourning something that could never be.
After returning to the main hall, Ariel went directly to her chamber. She changed into the tunic and trews her father had given her especially for this occasion and then sat on her bed to wait. An hour later, someone knocked on her door. She stood and bid them enter.
Her father stepped in and then closed the door behind him. “I was told to fetch you. The meal is almost ready, and the Norman wants to knight you before it is served.”
Taking a deep breath, Ariel nodded. “I am ready.”
Swein hesitated for a moment. “You do not have to go through with this, you know.”
“Aye, I do. I know what I am giving up. I have a son. I do not need to marry.”
“It is your decision.” Swein pulled Ariel into his arms and hugged her. “I want you to know I am proud of you. I only wish your mother could be here. She always believed a woman could do anything a man could. You are proving her theory correct.” Swein released her, stepped back, and reached for the door handle. “Well, Daughter, are you ready to make history?”
Ariel swallowed back tears and nodded. She pulled herself together, stepped through the door, and into the hall.
What she noticed first were all the people. The hall was filled to capacity. It seemed every person in the village had come to witness the ceremony. The next was Broc, who waited for her in the middle of the room.
Silence fell as Ariel left her father’s side and slowly walked to Broc. Once she came to stand before him, he motioned for her to kneel. After she had complied, he pulled his sword out of its sheath.
“You come before me as a boy, but no longer. From this point on, you will be considered a man.” Broc placed the tip of his sword on each of Ariel’s shoulders. “You may rise.”
Ariel stood as Broc sheathed his sword and then motioned to her father. Swein came to them with her armor and arms. Taking each item, Broc dressed her in chain mail, helmet, sword, and shield. The look he gave the latter said he had not seen it before now. He paused to closely study it.
Broc slid the shield onto Ariel’s left arm before he stepped back. “From this day forward, you will be known as Sir Wulf of Elmstead.”
A cheer rose at his words. As if on cue, the serfs brought platters of food into the hall.
With the ceremony over, Ariel relaxed. At the smell of food, her stomach rumbled. The sound reminded her that she had not been able to eat all day.
Since the celebration was for her, Broc had her sit in the thane’s chair at the head table. It was on a dais, so it permitted her a good view of the revealers below. It seemed he had held nothing back for the festivities. The villagers were being served the same food that had been placed at the head table. Mead and ale flowed freely. Ariel picked up the goblet of mead that sat in front of her and took a big gulp. It probably was unwise to drink it on an empty stomach, but she needed it.
Having Broc seated next to her, his scent wafted over her. It had been a mistake to go to the pond. The visit had brought up memories and emotions that had been better left forgotten. With him so near, Ariel felt them more intensely.
A trencher filled with food that had been placed before her gave Ariel something to center her attention on. It helped some, but the mead helped more. As the meal progressed, more mead than food passed her lips. By the time the feast drew to a close, everything seemed a bit fuzzy, and she felt great.
* * * *
The serfs cleared the tables at Broc’s signal. He looked at Wulf. They had not spoken during the meal, but Broc had seen him quaffing down the mead like water. Swein had said nothing to his son about the amount he drank, so Broc figured it was not his place to reprimand Wulf. He had no right to criticize. He was only slightly better off.
During the weeks it had taken to complete Wulf’s training, Broc had become attached to him, and it scared the hell out of him. For the feelings he had for Wulf could not be considered normal, by any means, especially for him. Whenever Wulf had mastered a stroke or disarmed him, Broc had wanted to pull the boy into his arms. The urge to act had become almost too strong to resist at times.
Finding Wulf sitting on his horse, just staring at the pond, had almost been his undoing. Each time he went to the pond Broc felt the loss of the girl. It did not help that Wulf looked so much like her. That had to be the reason for the strange attraction. It had to be.
Then there was Wulf’s emblem. When he had reached for the boy’s shield, Broc had been a little shocked to see what had been painted on its surface. It was white with a red cross separating the surface into four squares. In the top left hand square was his emblem, the gold unicorn, and an exact match. In the bottom right hand square was a red heart with a gold sword pierced through it. The emblem did not make any sense to him. Why would Wulf have my emblem on his shield? What did the heart symbolize? He had a feeling Wulf would not tell him, even if he asked.
* * * *
As the evening wore on, Swein could not help but see that Ariel and the Norman were getting a little worse for wear from drinking mead, but he said nothing to either of them. It was not hard to guess that they were fighting the same battle—their feelings for each other. The lessons had revealed much.
It had become quite clear to Swein that the Norman was attracted to Ariel. The look in his eyes told all, but those same eyes appeared to be blind when it came to her. The fool only saw a young boy. She might have adapted to wearing the clothes of a man, but her body had not. She bound her chest to make it appear flat, but the rest she could not hide. Her bottom was too rounded for a man’s, and her waist too small. The Norman, of course, saw none of those things. He thought he had feelings for another male. In a small way, Swein felt sorry for him.
Once it grew late and the villagers slowly made their farewells, Broc and Ariel were well into their cups. The pair of them had not spoken to each other all night. They would talk to others, but did their hardest not to notice each other’s conversations.
As the last guest went out the hall door, Swein stood and turned to his daughter. “I guess I will call it a night.”
“Are you sure, Father?” Ariel’s speech came out slower than usual and somewhat slurred.
“Aye, it grows late. I think you should do the same.”
“Once I finish my drink.” Ariel waved her goblet, which caused mead to slosh over the edge.
Swein shook his head. Ariel was no longer a child. It was not his place to tell her what to do. Knowing she would eventually find her way to bed on her own, he left her at the table beside Broc.
* * * *
He sensed it immediately when they had been left alone in the hall. Broc became more aware of Wulf’s presence next to him more than any time during the evening. Instead of dulling his reaction to him, the drink seemed to have heightened them. He took a deep breath, turned his head, and looked at Wulf. What he saw made his breath catch.
Wulf was asleep. His head was on the table, his arms folded under it, forming a makeshift pillow. His face affected Broc the most. In sleep, all signs of the stress of daily living were gone. The fan of his lashes lay against his cheeks. Broc had never seen a man with ones that long before. They were almost too long to be on a man’s face. In sleep, the boy looked beautiful.
Broc stretched his hand out and gently placed it on Wulf’s head before he realized what he did. His hair felt like silk. He splayed his fingers and ran them through the strands. The boy did not awaken. Broc should stop. With the amount of mead he had consumed, he could easily lose control, but the urge could not be ignored.
He slipped off his chair so he kneeled beside Wulf. The motion caused his hand to rest on the boy’s back. His fingers seemed to have a mind of their own. For they moved down Wulf’s arm, then up. Once they reached Wulf’s shoulder, he brushed his knuckles across the soft skin of Wulf’s cheek. He felt no roughness that one usually felt when touching a man’s face. It almost seemed as if Wulf was not capable of growing a beard. Something was not right there, but the drink had fuddled his mind, not allowing him to grasp what it was.
A new sensation washed over him. Broc looked at Wulf’s eyes and found them open and watching. No fear or disgust lurked in them. If anything, they told him his touch was more than welcome.