The Silken Cord by Leigh Bale Page A

Gaston.
    “Yes, soon now,” Raulf agreed.
    The Welshmen were silent, their mouths
pursed tight, their faces grim. Ariana just hoped they could work
together to take Cynan without fighting amongst themselves.
     

Chapter Seven

    Ariana couldn’t suppress a smile of relief
as they sailed from the Irish Sea into Cardigan Bay. The sun rose
high and beat down upon them, warm enough that she shed her cloak
and rolled up the ragged sleeves of her dress. They had eaten and
she placed the remnants of dried meat and bread into leather
packs.
    Home!
    A feeling of joy swept her as she caught the
familiar scent of land. She could hardly wait to tell Aunt Frida
all that had happened. Perhaps there had been news of Dafydd. She
prayed Edwin of Carlinham waited for the ransom. He could always
change his mind and kill her brother.
    Dread lodged in her heart, but she couldn’t
think about that now.
    Looking up, she found Wulfgar watching her
intently, his brows quirked in a puzzled frown. He nodded once and
looked back out to sea.
    He must be worried. If her men were
successful in helping take Cynan, he would then need to prove his
innocence to his king.
    She admitted only to herself that she didn’t
want him to stay in England. She thought about inviting him to live
with her people in Wales, but doubted he’d give up his plans for
revenge.
    Warmth filled her, a softening of her heart
that brought her near tears. In the short time she had known him,
he had changed her somehow. Against her desire not to, she cared
about him and wished she could help him. He would never agree to
stay in Wales. Not without proving his innocence first. A man such
as Wulfgar would never be able to live with dishonor. Yet, if he
continued with his plan, he would most likely be killed. For that
reason alone, he had won her respect.
    Lifting her head, she allowed the breeze to
cool her heated cheeks. The men had given up some of their own
clothing for Wulfgar, a coarse woolen tunic, braies, and leather
shoes. Arnulf offered him a lethal knife, much to the argument of
Ifor and Cwrig.
    “A slave must not have weapons,” Ifor had
said.
    As if Wulfgar needed any. From what Ariana
had observed, he was skilled and resourceful enough that he seemed
to do well even without a sword.
    “Where we go, there is danger,” the Norman
Cedric exclaimed. “He must be able to defend himself and fight for
our cause. We’ll need every able man to fight.”
    “Your cause? You’re nothing but outlaws.
Prince Dafydd’s life is in danger and we must save him. That is our
only cause.”
    The men’s jaws locked, their eyes spitting
fire. Ariana sighed, wishing they could get along for even one day.
She prayed she wouldn’t have to thrust herself between them to stop
another fight.
    Jenkin shrugged as he directed the tiller of
Wulfgar’s ship. “Let him keep the knife. He may need it before we
finish our journey. He’ll fare better with us than his own people.
Though he’s a slave, he may live with us. If he returns to England,
he’ll be put to death. He knows this very well.”
    It was a good point. If only Wulfgar would
heed Jenkin’s wisdom. Ariana took a step forward to ask Wulfgar to
stay in Wales, but didn’t get the chance.
    “I would face any danger to regain my honor.
My place is at Cynan, and I’ll regain my holdings.” Wulfgar’s
stormy glare centered on Jenkin, as if he dared the Welshman to
challenge him.
    “These bloody Normans will slit our throats
yet,” Cwrig grumbled as he stowed away his oar.
    A hot gush of disappointment rose in
Ariana’s heart. Wulfgar wanted only his lands and titles, nothing
more. Certainly not a bedraggled princess of Wales.
    They beached their ship in Aberystwyth
harbor. Jenkin jumped over the side into the slapping water.
Turning, he reached up for Ariana. She had no chance to respond
before Wulfgar swept her into his arms. Fearing she might fall into
the sea, she wrapped her arms about his neck as he stepped over the
side.