Chapter 9

Summer, A.D.884

Approaching Wessex

“We near the coast!” Bryan called to his brother.

Conar, who had been facing the wind that had sped their journey eastward, turned at Bryan’s words, smiled at his dark, green-eyed brother, and saw the land before them.

English soil, land held by Alfred of Wessex, the now legendary king of England. It was also land that belonged to his brother Eric, won by casting his hand to the aid of the English king against the Danish he and his Norwegian and Irish family had battled so well.

Watching the shore, he felt the rise of his temper once again. After all these years she could still draw his wrath like no one he knew.

Conar had definitely meant to part ways with his young wife that morning at the fortress, but he had never imagined that following that morning, Melisande would manage to part ways with him quite so frequently.

Nor had he begun to imagine that she would manage to twist his own family so totally to her will!

He had returned to Eire soon after he had sent her there, fully expecting to find she had been an absolute terror, but that Bede, resolute, with her deep beliefs and tremendous energy, had found a way to deal with the girl.

But when he reached Dubhlain, he discovered that Melisande had taken a deep about-turn, charming everyone in the household, and so impressing Bede with the hunger in her young mind that Bede had taken her on a pilgrimage through the countryside, ably protected, he had been assured, by his brother and sister-in-law Conan and Marina, and a select guard of their best men. There was nothing to fear. Bede was delighted with the girl, Conar’s mother assured him. “She’s such an incredible mind!” Erin said.

Incredibly devious mind, Conar thought. But he kept his silence, his mother seemed so pleased. He sat at their elegant table in the warm great hall of Dubhlain, and Erin slipped her arms around his neck. “I’m so delighted, and so saddened, too, of course. Tell me of these lands you’ve acquired. She misses home so! It must be a wonderful place.”

Perhaps he should be relieved Melisande was in good hands—and not in his own. Although his family had heard everything that had happened on the coast, he had sat with his father through the night describing the place, the battle he had fought there, and the aftermath.

“I saw to the strengthening and repair of the tower and the walls, added the strength of my men to an able force there. It is a commendable fortress, Father. Manon knew how to build, how to borrow from history. He learned a great deal from the Roman ruins near him, and used it wisely.”

“And fell only to treachery,” Olaf mused, filling his son’s chalice with some of the rich wine he had brought back.

“The man who betrayed him is dead.”

“So I understand. But the man you slew had a son. You’ll have to take care in the future. You’ve made an enemy you’ll keep a long, long time.”

“Perhaps.” He paused. “That’s why I sent the girl here. Since I had never planned to stay and had sworn to aid Niall in his efforts to hold Eire together, I dared not leave her behind.”

His father leaned forward. “Don’t ever leave her behind,” he warned.

“She’s given you that great an amount of trouble?”

“Trouble?” His father sat back, smiling. “She has been the very example of an angel.”

“Melisande?”

“She’s won hearts all around her.”

“Father, lest she win your heart too completely, I should warn you that she despises Vikings of any make or breed, and it matters not in the least to her that I am only half Viking!”

A small smile tugged at Olaf’s lips. “Conar, your mother despises Vikings, yet we’ve been together these very many years and the ships that sail from our ports—with her full knowledge and blessing—are ships with the design of my country.” Olaf was silent a moment, then continued, “You were wise to send her here, for she is indeed a great prize. Though it is my understanding that this man Gerald was distant kin of your wife’s, and I imagine the laws of consanguinity should prevent a legal Christian marriage between Melisande and any of his heirs, it is true in this world that holding is the greater part of having. So if you would protect her and your new inheritance, you would be wise to have her with you at all times.”

“Or in safe keeping.”

“Aye, or in safe keeping.” Again Olaf was silent for a moment. “I’m not sure you are aware of all that you have acquired.”

“I am aware,” Conar said, “that she is an extremely clever creature, Father. She has certainly managed well enough here.”

“However she may exasperate you at the moment, Conar, she is a stunning young woman. A greater prize than any plot of earth.” Olaf rose suddenly, situating cups and bowls of fruits to create a map. “Your land, Eire, Alfred’s Wessex. And here, Ghent, Bruge, the Danish bases. Now look to the past and the lawlessness that has taken a firm foothold on the coast. Keep an eye upon history, Conar. Not since Charlemagne has there been a leader to give real strength to your Frankish kingdoms. When Louis the Pious died and all the land was divided between his sons, the way was let open for the Danes. For it must be said, I admit, of Vikings, son, that most are mercenaries and will fight for any army that will pay. Oft enough men of all nationalities hire the very invaders who plague them at other times to battle their own people when there is war within the realm. Now, with Alfred having stemmed the tide in England, great armies of invaders are left with nothing but conquest on their minds. That will leave us all looking to our defenses in the years to come. And you, Conar, will definitely need to see to it that your wife is kept from the hands of those who might too easily see her marriage annulled and find a way to force another upon the church. I warn you, with or without such fine property—and hers is extensive, offering a fine, deep harbor!—your young wife is a prize for others to covet. Look to her well-being.”

“Well, I would do so now, Father, but she has managed to receive your permission to travel about the countryside.”

“I had not imagined that you would object.”

He lifted a hand. “I don’t object.” He didn’t, of course. He had wanted her out of his hands.

Yet he was somehow disturbed. He didn’t want to be bothered by her, but still…

His father didn’t need to give him warnings about her. He wanted her beneath his own watchful eyes, though he thought that she had to be quite safe with Bede.

It was good to be home, yet it made him nervous to know that she traveled away from him, even in his brother’s custody, for peace had been tenuous here since his grandfather’s death. Indeed, he had not been home a fortnight before they were called north to help his Uncle Niall repel invaders who had come to stay in Ulster.

The invaders fell before the show of force sent from all the Irish kings. The campaign seemed a long one, but the losses were not heavy—they were learning how to fight their enemies, and many of the Irish who had once been his father’s enemies were now his strongest supporters, fully aware that Olaf the White knew how to plan strategy against their mutual enemies, the Danes. Olaf stood with his brother-in-law, Niall of Ulster, acknowledged as the Ard-Ri since Erin’s father’s death, and their loyalty to one another helped hold the ties created among the Irish. It was a good campaign, a successful one, but it seemed to stretch forever, and though his father had returned home at intervals, Conar had felt compelled to stay with Niall until the bitter end. The time he had spent on the Frankish coast seemed to have slipped away from him. He was deeply possessive of his property, but his actual holding of it was going to have to wait. It was all right, he was certain. Messages came from Swen to Dubhlain, and from Dubhlain to Conar in the north. He had nothing to worry about. The fortress on the coast of France was in good hands.

So was Melisande.

He gave her little thought.

By the time he returned to Dubhlain it had been a good two years since he had seen his bride. To say the least, he’d been quite startled by her. She’d been with his mother in the great hall when he’d returned, so quiet and dignified that he hadn’t even seen her at first. But when his eyes fell upon her, he wondered that he could have missed her.

She had changed greatly within the time that had passed. Her slenderness had taken on stunning new twists and turns, her eyes seemed to have deepened in color. Knots seemed to twist in him at the sight of her. She might still be young, but she had taken on the form of a vixen. Everything that he had been told was so true. She was incredibly beautiful. Her coloring was so startling, her bone structure perfect.

And her eyes, of course, were a tempest, no matter how silently she stood, staring at him. She hadn’t forgiven him, not a whit.

He was somewhat amused by her calm and easy demeanor when they met. She accepted his kiss of greeting on each of her cheeks and asked politely after his welfare. Still, it seemed, she escaped his presence as quickly as she might. He was surprised, therefore, when he ordered a bath, to find her entering his chamber, keeping her distance, but managing to make her demands.

“I have been here over two years,” she told him.

Weary, he wondered why she was plaguing him at such a time. He set his linen bath cloth over his eyes and leaned back against the rim of the wooden tub he’d had brought to his own room in his father’s manor. “Indeed,” he murmured.

“I came here as you commanded—”

“You came here because you had no choice.”

“But I have been an excellent student and a very good guest, as you’ll discover if you ask your mother or father.”

“My father the Viking?” he mocked.

He heard her coming closer to the tub and was somewhat surprised. She didn’t make him feel terribly secure, and he pulled the cloth from his eyes, watching her carefully.

“Just what is it that you want?”

“I want to go home.”

He closed his eyes, leaning back again. So that was it. He heard the whisper of motion as she came closer. He was startled when he felt her hands upon his back, fingers curled around the bath cloth and soap, and working a surprising magic upon the tenseness in his shoulders. “I’m aware, of course, that you may have loyalties that bind you here, but I think it necessary that I return home soon.”

“My neck,” he said.

“What?”

“Go a little higher. Rub here.”

He felt her fingers move surely against his neck. Knots seemed to ease out of it. She was very good. He imagined she must have rubbed her father’s shoulders often enough, and since she had loved him so dearly, she had learned to give comfort.

No matter where she had learned it, it was quite a touch!

He was suddenly very aware of the changes that had already taken place in her. Her scent was sweet.

Her touch was damned sensual.

He grit his teeth, staring down at the water, aware that all the tension she had eased had crept back into him. Lots of it. New tension. One particular tension that seemed to be standing near painful alert at this moment.

He almost groaned aloud, yet remained in disbelief. It seemed to pound into his head that many men would think her well over the age to be a true wife.

Not yet, not yet! As long as he did not make the marriage real, he need change nothing in his own life. And not far from his father’s house, just outside the walls of Dubhlain, was a small farmhouse, and within it, a slim golden blond widow named Bridget who had offered him comfort often enough. She demanded nothing of him. He wasn’t ready to change things.

But those delicate fingers working against his flesh still made him feel the birth of fire. And a new thought, one he had not imagined coming so quickly.

Soon…

He could take her now, he’d have every right. She had certainly grown to an impressive level of maturity.

“So?”

“So?”

“May I go home? I’m sure that someone within your father’s household would be willing—”

“No,” he said flatly. He’d just realized what a tempting and tender morsel she might be. The last thing he intended was to send her home without him.

“What?” Her fingers stopped moving. She came around the side of the tub, violet eyes brilliant in her fury.

“I said no, Melisande.”

“But I have stayed here quite obediently. I—”

“You’ve not stayed here, you were gone when I first arrived. And if you’ve been at all obedient, it’s because my Viking father does have a stern eye, you’ve surely realized that.”

Her lashes flickered, her eyes narrowing upon him.

“I need to go home!”

“No.”

“You don’t seem to understand, you stupid Viking! I have done everything, I have learned your history, I have—”

“No! And if you’re not going to rub my shoulders anymore, you might want to get out of here.”

She remained there, staring at him furiously.

He arched a brow. “Unless you wish to join me in here? I have actually done my very best to practice restraint—against your sweet innocence, of course. But if you feel so determined to linger, I might begin to believe that you are anxious to begin marital duties in full.”

Color rushed to her face, washed over it like a tide. For a moment he was certain she had controlled her temper. She turned away from him. There was a kettle of hot water heating over the fire, ready to be added to his bath.

“Ah, marital duties!” she whispered. “Do, please, let me see to your bath!”

Too late he realized her intention. She had the kettle up, and the scalding water cascading in upon him.

He let out a cry of rage, leaping up and out of the bath just in time to avoid any real injury.

She stared at him, all of him, her eyes widening in a sudden panic. The kettle clattered to the floor. She turned to run, but his fingers wound into her hair, and she flew back into his arms. Perhaps it was a revelation to them both. He had never imagined the way her breasts would feel, pressed through the linen fabric of her gown against his naked chest.

And he was quite certain that she hadn’t been prepared at all for the raw and aroused feel of his full body flush against her own. He heard her gasp, felt the wild pounding of her heart. Indeed, she was equally aware of him!

“You are no longer newly orphaned!” he warned her tensely. “You know that I will not hesitate to deal with you. But it has been some time since I have seen you, so I will offer you this warning—don’t ever seek vengeance against me! I will tend to you, my love, in turn. I assure you!”

“Please!” she gasped, violet eyes wide, ebony hair curling around them both. “Let me go.”

He did. Then he cursed in fury because she managed to kick him in the shin before departing. He counted to ten, and then a hundred, to control his temper. He managed to do so, and let her go.

That had been the first of it.

In the weeks that followed, Melisande kept her distance from him. It was not so difficult, for his mother had given Melisande rooms above the floor of his own chamber, assuming Melisande would find the view of the river close to that which she would have had from her own chambers across the sea.

She appeared dutifully at mealtimes and sat quite politely at the table, even responding to him when she was spoken to. That, of course, might be a part of her great performance for his family, because she continued to seem nothing less than perfection when she was with them. No matter what his anger with her then, he found himself watching her, and once again, granting her a grudging admiration. She did have an incredible mind, and she learned with astonishing speed. She’d had some smattering of the Irish language when he’d sent her here, he’d known that, for she’d used it upon occasion with him, though she had more frequently slipped into the Norse words she had apparently known very well when she was angry with him, which was often.

He and his brothers—and his sisters, for that matter-had always been taught the languages of their neighbors across the seas, since his father had known that with a brood his size, many would leave home and have to make their way upon distant shores. In the same way, he was certain, Melisande had learned the Norse language—in self-defense, perhaps. The more astute households with power were often careful to speak the language of the sea invaders themselves—making it easier to negotiate whenever possible. Besides which, many of the Norse who had already sailed had acquired new homelands, like his father, and now traded liberally throughout many ports.

But in this household Melisande had quickly learned to speak with the others as if she were a native. Upon occasion he even saw her smile, but that was not so strange, for his father’s was a lively household. Leith, Elizabeth, Conan, and Megan had married, and were sometimes in the king’s residence with a supply of toddling babes to keep them all careful of their movements. Eric was most often across the sea on Alfred’s coast, and their youngest sister, Daria, most often remained there. Bryan and Bryce were two and four years, respectively, behind Conar, and usually kept up a lively discourse through any meal when they were home. All of them donned battle gear and fought when they were called to service by their uncle. It was the way of things. It still made his mother grow pale after all these years, but she had watched her brothers fight for peace, and now she had to watch her sons do so, too.

Bede still dined with them sometimes, though she seemed to think she had carried out whatever Conar had wished of her when he had sent Melisande. Perhaps she had done so, for Melisande gave all appearances of being perfect. She spoke beautifully, and he was certain, had gained an honest affection for his mother and perhaps even his father.

She had also formed easy enough friendships with Bryce and Bryan. Conar noticed that upon occasion she even laughed with the two, and then her eyes would light up. Once he watched her and then found his father’s gaze upon him, and he was forced to admit that there was a magic about her, that she definitely had his brothers entwined within her web of charm, and that she was, quite simply, every bit as beautiful as he had been warned.

A prize.

Yet he had not been back so very long when one of the ships that now moved constantly between his home in Dubhlain and his new acquisition across the channel brought a message from Swen urging him to return immediately. They had been watching Conar’s neighbors, and there had been a great deal of activity on the ridge to the west.

Gerald’s son was growing bolder, watching them constantly.

Conar had thought it best not to tell Melisande, but he hadn’t realized that she received constantly long letters from Ragwald and that she returned them, keeping her people well abreast of all that happened within Dubhlain. She was determined that she was coming with him, and he was equally determined that she was not.

She ceased to argue, and he realized that he was in all the greater trouble. If it hadn’t been for Bridget, he might well have been tricked by her once again, for on the night before he was due to leave, he visited his mistress and stayed with her very late. It was easy enough to move about in Dubhlain, for though there were nominal guards around the house itself, Dubhlain was a fortified city. He slipped into his father’s house very silently, determined that he would not disturb anyone sleeping within.

And that was when he saw her.

She was moving down the stairway with an equally careful and silent tread, a great hooded cloak over her shoulders, a leather satchel in her hands. He stared at her, frowning for a moment, then realized that she meant to reach his ships and hide away within one.

He allowed her to come down to the great hall. He watched her in the firelight and felt his temper rise, and still he found himself staring at her. The beauty and perfection of her features caught him, the wild violet of her eyes seemed to steal upon the senses.

And yet with all the facilities of her able mind, she could not seem to grasp the danger to herself—or the fact that he did not intend to lose anything that he had taken as his own. Had Swen not warned him of danger, he might well have brought her. He had tried to tell her that, but she had refused to listen.

She had pretended to accept his bidding.

He watched her spin around, the cloak billowing out around her in a shimmering beauty. She saw no one, for he was in the shadows against the door. She walked toward it, reached for it, and came in contact with his chest. A gasp left her lips, nearly a scream. He clasped his hand around her mouth, determined to silence her tonight in his own way.

“Where do you think you’re going, Countess?” he asked softly, his whisper against her fragrant hair, her body caught tight to his. He eased his hand from her mouth.

“For a walk in the moonlight!” she returned. “If you’ll just let me go—”

She started to scream again as he swept her up. His hand locked determinedly over her mouth, and no matter how she struggled, he managed to carry her up the stairs. He brought her not to her chamber but to his own, throwing her down upon the bed then quietly closing the door and sliding the bolt. By the time he turned around, she was up, staring at him. But her defiance seemed tempered by fear, and she was watching him very carefully.

He leaned against the door, arms crossed over his chest. “I repeat, where were you going?”

“For a walk,” she said stubbornly.

“To the ships perhaps?”

Her eyes narrowed hard upon him. “Perhaps I missed you, milord, and was anxious to see if you had returned from your visit with your whore!”

He arched a brow. Silence fell. She stepped back, as if horrified herself by the words she had spoken.

Conar walked into the room, angry, intrigued. “I rather doubt that,” he said softly, and stood across the bed from her. “But then, of course, I hadn’t realized that you were quite so concerned with my movements. Indeed, it seems to me that you are always happiest when I am absent.”

Her gaze lowered, the richness of her lashes sweeping over her downcast eyes.

“I am!” she whispered.

“Yet you are suddenly so anxious for my presence that you are willing to stow away on one of my ships. And I hadn’t the least idea that my activities distressed you. If I’d realized just how much you longed for me yourself, I’d have taken great care not to sleep elsewhere.”

“You may sleep with the whole of your father’s flocks of sheep for all I care!” she hissed back. Once again she seemed to become aware that though his tone was light, he was both weary and angry. She took another step away from him. “Truly, I just want to go home!”

Tension gripped him, he sighed, stripped off his mantle, and threw it across the trunk at the foot of his bed. She jumped a mile high. “You cannot come now, Melisande, and that is that.”

“We shall see.”

She started to stride by him. He caught her arm and flung her back. She landed upon the side of his bed.

“We won’t see, Melisande. You cannot come now.”

She stared up at him, her jaw locked. Her gaze lowered itself again, and she was silent. He realized that she would leave him and run to the ships just as she had intended—once she had pretended to return to her own chamber, of course.

He knelt beside her, reaching for the brooch that clasped her mantle about her shoulders. Her eyes fell upon his, wide and brilliant—and, he realized, alarmed. A smile curved his lips. She managed to cause him enough sleepless nights.

Her long, delicate fingers fell upon his frantically, but he had the mantle and cast it away. “What are you doing?” she demanded breathlessly.

He rose, ignoring her startled cry as he picked her up and cast her farther upon the bed, straddling her. “I just hadn’t realized until tonight that you were so concerned with my nocturnal activities. Perhaps I have been sorely remiss. Perhaps the time has come…”

“No!” she gasped. There was a tremor to her voice, and he was certain that it was no act for anyone’s sake now. “I won’t go,” she whispered. “I’ll stay here—”

“Indeed, you will.” He fell from her, lying by her side. He laced an arm around her slim waist, pulling her tightly against him. “I have told you that you will.” He whispered.

For eons, it seemed, she was silent, afraid to move. Then he felt her breath expel. “If you’ll just let me return to my own quarters…”

“I think you’ll sleep here, Melisande. And I think that you will do so without further words or movements, lest I realize that you are old enough now to perform all the sweet duties of a wife!”

For once she was entirely obedient.

He didn’t think that she moved a muscle for the rest of the night.

Oddly enough he did not sleep himself. All through the hours of darkness the scent of her hair teased him. Beneath her clothing he could feel her still. Slim, warm, vibrant.

And, he realized, when she turned in her sleep, a woman now indeed. The pressure of her breasts against his back was a cruel taunt. He bit into his lip, amazed at the desire that suddenly ripped through him.

She probably prayed for his death daily, he reminded himself. She loathed him, fought him. He would not desire her in his life, he would keep her tamed within it! He tried to remember his hours with Bridget, but somehow they suddenly seemed to pale.

He didn’t wait for the dawn, but was ready to sail by darkness, his only relief the sure knowledge that he had left her safely in his room, his brother Bryce there to guard against her determination to follow. His father, too, knew the extent of danger in having Melisande with him. He would never allow her to leave the house.

When he reached the coast of France and what he recognized as his own fortress, he was greeted soundly by Swen, Brenna, Philippe, Gaston, and Ragwald. The old man was glum and quiet, but seemed to respect and understand his determination not to bring Melisande home as yet. As they sat in the great hall, Swen told him of a count, Odo, who was quickly becoming a power in the region and who had recently visited the fortress. “We had him stay, of course, and entertained him richly in your name. What frightened me is that he is seeking peace and wants a treaty signed between you and young Geoffrey, heir to Gerald. I explained that it would be difficult to come to any peace with the man since his father had slain Count Manon. But Odo is anxious to see you, and a man keenly aware of the threat of the Danes facing us.”

“Well, we must send a message to him, then, that I am in residence here.”

“I have taken the liberty of doing so, having estimated that you would arrive this week.”

He nodded, then told them that he was weary from the journey and would see them in the morning. He was glad to see how smoothly all was moving within the fortress. The trade between the two places had stood them well. Ships sailed from here with rich wines, salt, and finished clothing from the looms. They returned with metal workings, the finest weapons fashioned in his father’s works, with raw wool, with the beautiful, delicate jewelry the Irish had become known for.

He discovered that Manon’s chambers had been changed. The lord’s things had been packed away. His own filled the trunks, his turtleshell comb sat upon the washstand. Someone, it seemed, assumed that he and his wife no longer kept separate quarters, for he discovered that Melisande’s things were also there—a beautiful brush, her coat of mail, carefully laid away.

He lay awake again that night, wondering why. He seemed to ache from head to toe and constantly tossed and turned. He had to get her out of his mind because there was so much business at hand. But thoughts of Odo and Geoffrey seemed to haunt him through the night. He clenched and unclenched his fists, rolled to and fro. When he awoke, exhausted, he realized that he had never felt as possessive about anything in his life as he felt about this fortress.

Or Melisande.

He was not sure which was more important to him.

In the days that passed, his mind eased somewhat. He had dearly missed Brenna and Swen and was glad to discover that both Philippe and Gaston now gave him a fierce loyalty.

Gaston and Ragwald were his messengers during the months in which he exchanged communications with Count Odo. When they at last agreed to meet, Conar realized that he had actually formed unity within his own house—these men might have come from different places with varied backgrounds, but they had all decided that this was their home. They would work well together.

When Odo arrived to visit with him, the two Franks rode immediately behind him, showing their staunch support for the man who had wed Manon’s heiress.

Conar discovered quickly that he admired Odo. The man was a decade his senior, far more action than words, and a wise, far-seeing warrior. He was not as tall as Conar, but Conar had gained his height from his father’s people, and few men were so tall. Odo was broad-shouldered, husky, a well-trained man, dark-haired, hazel-eyed, impressive.

They spoke of the fact that Alfred had so successfully held his piece of England that the Danes were turning elsewhere. Then Odo broached the subject of peace within their own realms, and Conar answered him as honestly as he could.

“At this time there is no peace I am willing to sign with Geoffrey. Perhaps he is innocent and eager to sue for peace. But trust must be earned anew, Count Odo. His father tricked and slew my wife’s father. Perhaps in time…”

Odo nodded, then leaned forward in the great hall of the fortress. “Perhaps some arrangements could be made to make you feel more at ease with Geoffrey being so near a neighbor.”

Conar arched a brow, willing to listen.

“Perhaps you and Melisande might renew your vows before a bishop in Rouen, and you would receive greater recognition from the Pope and the people.”

“Perhaps such a thing can be arranged,” he had agreed. “I will pursue it, as you suggest.”

“You and Melisande must be my guests. We will not let this matter go too long.”

Conar agreed. When Odo had left, Conar discovered that his household had been at the various doors, listening. He quickly found himself joined at his table by Brenna, Philippe, Swen, Gaston, and Ragwald.

“You are the Frankish astrologer,” he told Ragwald. “What is your opinion of this man?”

Ragwald looked at Brenna. It seemed that the two of them had come to some deep understanding and could speak through their eyes and mind. But Ragwald quickly turned to Conar, ready to answer what he had been asked. “It is my belief that Odo will prove to be the most powerful of all Frankish barons.”

Conar looked to Brenna. “There is no treachery in the man?”

She shook her head slowly. “No, not within the man himself. He—” She paused, seeming troubled.

“He what?” Conar demanded.

“I believe that in his quest for a united front, he may upon occasion put his faith in those who are not deserving of it. But I agree with Ragwald. Perhaps the fate of the people will rest in his strength. He is a good ally.”

“I believe, then, that I will send for Melisande as he has suggested.” He winced inwardly. He had finally ceased to think of her and had gone about the business of living here and strengthening his hold upon the land. He had discovered the fascinating widow of a Flemish baron residing in the town just west of the fortress, and though he had been dismayed to discover himself wondering about his wife upon occasion while he visited his mistress, he had begun to sleep again. He did not want his life haunted again by his wayward young wife.

But it was necessary that she come here. He intended to write to his father’s house, asking that she be sent, but he decided that he did not want her sailing without him. He would go for her himself. He did, however, send her the message that he was coming. He did not tell her that he would be bringing her home, only that he was coming for her.

Let her stew with worry a little while. He was quite certain that though she managed to learn a great deal in his absence, humility and obedience would not be among the virtues she might have acquired. Melisande was ever proud, and far too independent.

But when he arrived at his father’s house, he discovered to his great fury that his omission of where he was taking her had apparently not set well with her.

His father was not there to greet him when he arrived, and that in itself was curious. Nothing was prepared, and Erin was the greatest believer in the importance of Irish hospitality. A stranger was offered the finest display, therefore a returning son was offered all but the moon itself.

Distressed, Erin sat in the great hall, ordering a meal, and looking at him with her emerald eyes in a tempest. “We’d no idea you were coming!” she said.

“I very specifically told Melisande when I would arrive.”

Erin frowned. “There must be some mistake. Melisande sailed with Daria and Bryce for Wessex just a week ago. Conar, your message must not have reached her.”

Conar stood, feeling as if Jupiter himself were casting lightning bolts against his temple.

“No, Mother,” he managed to say evenly. “I’m quite certain that Melisande received my message.”

“Conar, I allowed her permission to sail, your father and I, for that matter. She was with your sister Daria and Bryce, and well under Eric’s roof. They would go nowhere near the coast of France—”

“It’s all right, Mother. She will be entirely safe under Eric’s roof, I agree.”

“I’m sorry, Conar! It’s just that I have had her for so long that she is nearly a daughter. When she begged us to see Alfred’s England, we saw no harm in it.”

“There is surely no harm in her seeing Alfred’s England, especially since my brother will guard my interests well,” Conar assured her. He managed a smile.

“We shall send a message to Eric and have him return her immediately.”

Conar shook his head. “Never mind. I will go for the girl myself. Perhaps Bryan will want to sail with me since it seems things are well in hand here for the moment. I will sail again in the morning.”

“We can easily have her returned—”

“I think it important that I go for the girl myself,” Conar said softly. He kissed his mother’s forehead and started to leave her. Erin called him back softly.

“Conar!”

He turned to her. “Perhaps you deceive yourself, my son, to refer to Melisande as a girl. She’s a woman now, and you must bear that in mind.”

Conar nodded. “Aye,” he agreed. “Aye, mother.”

And so, years after he had been so determined to send her away, he was coming for her. Now she was gone when he was ready to retrieve her.

Girl… woman, his mother had said.

He did not think that things between them had changed so very much.

A shudder suddenly rippled through him.

Perhaps, he thought, now they would.

The coast of Wessex lay before him, Alfred’s land, his brother’s land.

His hands were suddenly itching. He simply couldn’t wait to set them upon her.

So she hadn’t received his message, eh…

Oh, she had received it. And returned it in her very special fashion…

“Lower the sails!” he cried to his men. He could hear the ripple as his command was obeyed. From where he stood he could see his brother’s fortress, even closer to the sea than his own.

Eric had come down to greet him. He saw his golden-haired brother, towering over Rhiannon, his wife, his hands lightly upon her shoulders. Bryce was there, too, waving an enthusiastic greeting. Even Daria had come to welcome them to shore. They were all there, the children, as well, his brother’s young son at his knees, his infant daughter in his wife’s arms.

Others were about. His brother’s men, old friends. In fact, there was a goodly crowd awaiting them.

The only one missing was Melisande.

Deep within him he felt his blood begin to burn. Where, in the name of all the gods, was his wretched little minx?

He would find her. By God, he would find her!

And when he did, she would greet him.