The Wolf's Captive Ch. 04

"Will you not come to the forest? They are mourning. They need you - their lord's guidance..."

Cedric peered across the moonlit solar, annoyed. He had left the hall in an urgent bid to find peace but still they plagued him.

"Leave me be."

But his taciturn tone, rather than deter the unwelcome guest like it would most, brought her forward until she stood before him, looking down at his slumped form in the handsomely carved chair.

"You needed time and space on our journey back to Haverton after -- after what happened. But I cannot hold my tongue any longer -- if I am to become your baroness-"

Cedric rose abruptly, looking down at the fair-haired woman with mild disgust. "Yes, if. But I have not the stomach to talk of your ambitions tonight, lady, so I suggest you remove yourself from my presence. I'll not ask again."

"It's that girl, isn't it? That murderer's slut of a sister - what sway has she over you!? For I do not for a moment believe the mutterings that arose during our journey here of her being your mate, my lord! Not for a moment. She is a human, she is weak - a nothing-"

"Then why do you question it? You are hysterical, Mariah. It doesn't suit you."

At his cold indifference to the subject, the woman calmed slightly. She watched him silently for a moment, watched as her lord walked towards the arrow slit in the wall and peered out into the dark night, having already dismissed her from thought.

While he had never given a firm answer, it had been decided in their infancy that they would wed for it was highly unlikely the two of them would ever find their mates -- such a thing being rare for their kind. Mariah was no fool with illusions that he loved or had ever loved her. She had shared his bed but so had many others. But she knew he had desired her and that lately, he had started to consider the fact of heirs and the prudency of marrying to set an example for his people.

But there was still that nagging thought that prevented her from giving into good sense and leaving him be as he had curtly ordered, especially considering the strong smell of ale on his breath which in itself was forbidding for he was not one to stupidly imbibe like most, a lesson he had learned not to follow from his late father.

"Why were we there, in Marston?"

"You know the way of roams, Mariah," Cedric's tone was suddenly weary.

Yes, she knew that they led to a random, often fruitless, path. There had been nothing in those parts but the baron's neglected keep. Still, were it not for Marston, Blaine would be alive. And that must cut at Cedric sorely for he was nothing like his cruel, unfeeling father in that he would not simply move on from the tragedy that had befallen them. He would blame himself, torture himself...indeed, it looked like he had already started.

And the girl had started to loose favour with him if his treatment of her over the past few days was anything to go by. Perhaps he would start to blame her, too. Certainly, if Mariah had anything to do with it. Which she would.

And with those bolstering thoughts in mind, she left him drowning in his misery.

*

The courtyard was empty, surprising Rowena, who had expected to find both the people who had been so abruptly dismissed from the hall and the beasts of Cedric's kind, her imagination conjuring up a wild and violent scene. Perhaps it had been the excitement and rush of the moment but it had seemed as though there had been hordes of people before vying for Edwin's blood. But the courtyard was still and quiet.

The sound of approaching feet brought her back to herself but she didn't turn and face her companion. Instead, she took off determinedly once more, striding through the moonlit courtyard.

"Rowena, wait -- please! You will not find him alone-"

"I do not require your concern -- my lady," Rowena threw over her shoulder, for she had known, somehow, that she would follow.

"You should not have left without the baron's approval," came the quiet reproof.

"If-" Cedric. She had almost said Cedric. But the woman before her watched her expectantly still, her almost-slip going unnoticed. "If the baron wished for me to stay he would surely have stopped me."

"Yes, perhaps..." but Lady Margaret looked uncertain still, troubled. "We must talk, Rowena. Please...there is so much I would say to you. Never-" she paused as Rowena finally turned, "Never had I dreamed to see you again."

"You seem one inclined to high drama, madam, for I have resided all my life in the same place you left me, less than two sennights ride from here," Rowena replied bitterly, "It would not have been such a trying task to reacquaint yourself with the child you abandoned to the father who loathes her very existence."

A pleading hand settled on her shoulder, but Rowena jerked away, closing off her heart. She had considered the woman dead. Of course, the talk at the keep had been that her father had sent her away during Rowena's youth after tiring of her but it had been idle gossip, nothing more. But she couldn't deny the strange path that had led to this reunion with her mother, the sheer impossibility of it and what it meant -- her mother, as Cedric's aunt, would surely be the same -- half woman, half wolf. She could not yet accept the woman before her. It was still too fresh. She would dwell on it later when there wasn't so much to fret over.

"I had my reasons, Rowena -- reasons that I hope that you will allow me to explain: even my own family have been in ignorance of your existence and yes, there will be explaining to be done on that end too. But it can wait. When your father exiled me, I had no one to turn to -- I could not return with you here because the old baron was cruel and he would not have tolerated a half-bred child-" she paused abruptly, seemingly aghast at her own words but she ploughed on. "We -we would have perished alone, you and I. As much as I wanted you, I couldn't be so selfish. I left you at Marston because there was no other option to ensure your safety and, believe it or not, your father was not always the unfeeling-"

"Indeed, madam, I cannot believe. I cannot conceive of how you could become whore to such a foul man!"

Rowena, sensing but uncaring she'd gone too far, would have welcomed the pain of a stinging slap.

But the older woman was better at steeling her emotions, for she continued,

"Yes -- he was married, though his wife had since fled to a convent -- and there was many a strumpet before me -- and during -- warming his bed. So, yes, I did play the whore! And despite everything, I cannot regret that for I would not have had you! Oh, I was proud and reckless, that is why I did it! Your father caught sight of me at some tourney and begged the baron -- my sister's husband -- for my hand for my parent's perished long ago and it was to him the decision fell. Of course the baron denied him. Insulted him, even, for he loathed his kind. The baron later betrothed me to a man, one of our kind of course -- a Norseman. He was old, cripplingly so, and I was foolish with ideals of romantic love and excitement and did not wish to be parted from my sister by such a great distance. Your father married, his wife bore him Edwin, and on the day I was to start my journey abroad, I ran away to the only person I knew outside of Haverton, for we women were not often allowed to mingle with those not of our kind. I went to Marston, to your father...I didn't love him. I merely loved the idea of him. And he soon changed from the gallant man I recalled..."

"What of when the baron died? Could you not have come for me then?" Rowena lifted tearful eyes to her, shamed at her weakness.

"I tried," Lady Margaret said with quiet fierceness, her own eyes appearing glazed in the moonlight. "But he guarded you meanly. I feared to anger him and kept well away -- in truth, I did not realise until it was too late quite how sorely he had treated you. Although the new baron is a fair man, the people here have old ideals over unions between your father's kind and my own."

Rowena turned away, feeling sick, her gut clenching at the memory of Cedric's raw surprise at her maternity, as the implications of what had been revealed finally began to settle now that she had a moment to think clearly - for if the woman before her was her mother and Cedric her nephew it would be a sin against God and the laws of the kingdom for there to be any relation between the two of them, their relationship falling with the last degree of the four consanguinities: first cousins. But they had already sinned. From the moment he had first laid desirous eyes on her and she had returned his lust, they had sinned.

Quickly, Rowena searched the older woman's face, desperate that she should not discover the extent of their relations. She felt unclean, ashamed. From what Lady Margaret -- for she refused to think of her as mother -- had seen so far, Cedric has treated her cruelly and with not a hint of his former attention when he had been intent on pursuing her.

But as it became evident that the older woman would not take no for an answer, Rowena wearily:

"Take me to my brother then if you insist on it," and in silence the two circled the keep until they finally came upon the gardens set at the back of the stone façade. There, Lady Margaret led the way, stopping before an archway housing a staircase leading downwards into the earth.

A guard stood stationed at the bottom, posted outside a small, low wooden door, the same man who had been tasked with dealing with Edwin in the hall. His expression was hard but he bowed before Lady Margaret respectfully.

He shook his head, denying their entry. "I am sorry, my lady-"

"Move aside at once, Thomas. Move aside now I say," Rowena's mother demanded her voice steely.

"I cannot-"

"Unless you intend to restrain me, I suggest you inform your lord of my presence here, for I am going in. I do not expect you to keep my presence here a secret. Go. Tell the baron if it will stave your conscience."

The stocky man stared at the two females uncertainly but at last he moved aside, bowing down to higher command.

*

Edwin groaned as his arms were tugged and he was hoisted upwards, but it was quite useless for his legs protested, weak from days of disuse, and he felt himself slipping into a boneless pile once more. As his cheek meet with the cold dirt floor, the impact revived him a little. Eyelids too heavy to lift, a plea for his misery to be ended trembled on his lips before dying.

Nay - he would not give in just yet. There was still that spark of hope and defiance within that spurred him on. And with that small ounce of reserve, he managed to open one eye and meet his assailants.

He looked into the darkness of the damp smelling underground pit, struggling to focus, and as a voice called his name as if from a great distance, his chest constricted.

"Rowena?" he murmured through raw, split lips.

"Get the torch - outside the doorway," a new voice commanded - knowledgeable, capable.

Cool hands found his aching face, soothing in their gentleness, but when Edwin sought their source, he did not find the concerned face of his little sister: instead, there bent a solemn faced woman over his sprawled form, the glare of approaching torchlight slowly illuminating her face.

Beauty as he had never before seen looked upon him and a defeated voice in his mind whispered that his end was near and here was the angel come to claim him, his misery finally eased by a final moment of loveliness. But he was a murderer, was he not? He had slain the beast that contained the body of a flesh and blood man; surely he was not destined for heaven?

"Dear boy, dear Edwin," the beautiful woman sighed unhappily, smoothing his hair from his brow, her gesture motherly.

"Let me," a voice declared with a hint of hostility, and then the beautiful woman was moving away, much to Edwin's distress, who held out a weak hand in supplication, pleading for her to stay, eager to feel the comforting touch once more.

"Rowena," he croaked again as his sister's face loomed above.

She cradled his head in her lap, her brow knitting in anxiety as she looked upon his wounds but it was not the same. His dazed mind yearned for the apparition -- the woman -- to return, whether she be the death angel on a quest to take him from this world or not.

"Look what they've done to you. But we must have hope - there is to be a trial, Edwin..."

If a knife-like pain would not slice through his side, he would laugh at the ridiculousness of her continued faith.

But an urgent thought occurred to him at Rowena's surprising presence by his side.

"Have you been imprisoned with me?" he asked worriedly, feeling wretched for the cruel words he had heaped upon his sister these past days. The baron. Curse the man -- or whatever he was, Edwin thought on a sneer of hatred. He had turned sister and brother against one another, had taken Rowena away from him. He had no doubt polluted her mind. If he had used his sister...but the thought went unfinished, for there was nothing he could do to avenge her honour as was his duty, not imprisoned and defenceless as he was. The defeat he felt in that moment was crippling.

"No - but I shall stay here just the same. I have no place here other than by your side."

Struggling up with Rowena's aid, Edwin braced his back against the cold stone wall, stretching his throbbing legs before him, wincing at the pain it cost him.

He shook his head irritably at his defiant sibling. "Whilst I appreciate your attempts at martyrdom," he said through a scratchy, raw throat, "I do not require it. If the baron is yet inclined towards you, I would have you safe and away from here. Leave this place if you can manage-" he abruptly ceased at the sound of approaching feet.

"It is fine," Rowena said in quiet reassurance. "She will help us."

Edwin stared at the woman who knelt before him, a cup in one hand, a pot of something in the other.

"So you have roused," she said, shooting him a mild smile, relieved. "Help him out of his shirt. I will check for breaks and cream his cuts."

"Who are you?" he said hoarsely, grabbing at her wrist when she would not reply once Rowena had removed his soiled top.

"She will help us," Rowena repeated before turning to the woman and adding flippantly, "but perhaps I speak precipitately."

"Of course not," came the flustered reply tinged with hurt, Edwin thought.

He belatedly realised he held the woman's wrist still and released her abruptly.

"I have asked for a maid to bring food and my medicine tray but she will no doubt be too afeared to venture down here -- check the archway to see if she has left it outside."

When his sister looked as though ready to argue, the woman continued briskly, "I am versed in the art of healing -- I will tend him well," and on a reluctant nod, Rowena hurried to do her bidding.

"Who are you?" Edwin persisted, his fingers clumsy as the woman handed him a cup and bade him to drink, the cold liquid a delight to his sore throat.

His physician positioned his body so that the torch placed in a sconce above his cell immersed his torso in much needed light.

Running her hands lightly over his chest and ribs, she ignored him.

"Be you the baroness?"

"I am his aunt," she said at length.

Edwin's scowl deepened in frustrated bewilderment. "Then why do you help us? For what reason-" he stopped, gritting his teeth as she touched a particularly tender area.

"Is it just bruised," she reassured.

"Why-"

"So many questions," the woman sighed as he started up again.

She worked in silence then after Edwin's persistent questions fell on deaf ears. Edwin stared at the moss covered ceiling, mindful not to cry out like a child and shame himself at the pain from her ministrations. But when he could no longer bear the silence, he reached for her hand again, demanding her attention.

She gave him a long, patient look before he let go, embarrassed.

"You do not look like your father."

He stared at her, bemused. "You know my father?"

"Knew him...you were just a boy then -- I believe you had been newly appreciated as baron Newbury's squire."

Edwin frowned, sure that he could not have forgotten such a face no matter how long ago it had been or how young he had been.

She gave him a steady look. "As I said, you were practically a babe."

He resented her words. "Well, madam, I am no longer a babe, as you can see."

Startled eyes looked up to meet his stare at his belligerent tone before looking away once more, the elegant hands suddenly clumsy as they tended him.

"And I would know why it is you are helping me. Especially after knowing that it was I who killed your nephew."

She stiffened at his blunt words but when she spoke, her voice was still soft-toned and calm. "But not with intent, knowing what he was. You know about my kind by now, I am sure. But before?"

"Of course not! God's bones, in my wildest dreams-"

She nodded. "We have kept ourselves hidden as we must. There is no possible way you should have known of our existence. But I'm afraid your ignorance changes little."

She smoothed the greasy ointment to the last of his visible bruises.

"You do not have the same mind-set as your people -- for you would not be helping me, otherwise. I believe he means to kill me pending this trial. Do I truly have any hope of walking away? They all want my blood."

The woman appeared to hesitate once she had fully tended him, lingering when he could sense her restlessness to depart.

"You talk of my people, and I think you must, by now, have a brief knowledge of who and what we are. But you must understand the events you have put in motion. Blaine...he was loved. Much loved. But you see, he was simple and vague, childlike, you could say. And that has cut us all deeply, the fact that such a sweet and vulnerable..." she shook her head, mastering the emotion in her voice, and for perhaps the first time, Edwin started to see the wolf he had killed on the hunt not just as a beast or an insignificant animal, but as a man. His chest constricted in shame and fear at the harrowing acceptance of what he had done in taking another's life: a grave sin.

But his beautiful physician continued, and he focused with difficulty on her words,

"He was also the brother-"

"Of the baron, yes, I understand," Edwin bit out.

"No. That's just it. I don't believe you do."

And her voice, her eyes - the fear in them - chilled him where nothing that had happened so far, disturbing as the past few days had been, had quite managed to.

"My people hail from an ancient race. We have our own code of honour, our own rules, different from the rules that govern King Edward's kingdom. We have our own, as you would understand it, royalty. You did not just kill the baron's brother. You killed a prince."

"The baron is of King Edward's blood?"

"The baron is our King. He is the King of our people here in England, and there are many of us settled all over. So many that it would turn your head to learn of our community, no doubt. You have been to court?"

Bemused at her change of topic, dazed at this new and horrifying knowledge she had given him, Edwin nodded vaguely, his head throbbing. "When I was younger..."

"And you had heard of Haverton. Of my nephew, before-"

"I doubt there is a man who has not - his success on the tourney circuit is legend, his place by the king's side in the Crusades before he was crowned well documented. I admit that I was even jealous of the mysterious baron of Haverton in my youth."

"It is true. He has the king's ear. As did his father before him and his before him. My family have fought beside each king for we honour the blood king of this kingdom. Just as the blood king honours us."