He had untied her belt and was easing her tunic over her head. “Brita’s army fought Brocain’s once and Brita won,” Jura said, but her mind wasn’t on her words. “Do not do this to me,” she whispered.
“Jura,” he whispered, “don’t you realize that I love you?”
“Love?” she asked, startled. “If this pain is love, give me hate.”
Rowan pulled her tunic over her head and began to kiss her breasts. He knew he could be missed at any moment, that Brita might wake and see that the cot she had had placed near hers in the tent was empty, and she would send her guard searching for him. But right now his need to give to Jura overcame his fear.
Jura cried out in pain as he first entered her. She was a virgin and tight with anger, as well as being hindered by her trousers pinning her legs together. She pushed at him but he seemed oblivious to her pain.
There were tears in her eyes when he collapsed on her body.
“Get off of me,” she said, shoving at his shoulders.
He drew back, rolling off of her as he adjusted his clothes and Jura angrily pulled hers on.
“Jura,” he said, “it will be better.”
“It could not be worse,” she snapped, her voice strained. The lower half of her body ached with pain. “Had I known what this was like, I would have given you to Brita at sword point.”
“Damn you!” he said fiercely as he stood. “I have risked both our lives by coming to you tonight and now you are no longer a maiden. I will not marry Brita.” He bent and grabbed her chin in his hand. “I swear that I will make you love me, Jura. If I have to chain you to me, you will love me and you will enjoy what we did tonight.”
“Never,” she said, looking up at him with fury in her eyes.
They didn’t speak as Jura adjusted her clothes and went back to the camp, Rowan not far behind her. She didn’t sleep much that night, and the next morning she was so sore, it hurt to sit her horse. She watched Rowan with Brita with much less concern than she had the day before.
It was late in the day when they reached the river that was the border to the Irial land. Jura waited, surrounded by Vatells, while Rowan came toward her.
“We will cross the river alone while the Vatells wait here,” he said without softness.
Jura answered him in kind with a cool nod and urged her horse ahead to follow him. They rode alone together without speaking as they forded the river. Just on the south side, they were met by a group of angry Irials who surrounded these trespassers wearing the Vatell clothes. But as soon as they saw Rowan’s golden hair, they lifted their swords in salute and rode with them toward the Irial village.
It was night when they reached the village and, tiredly, Jura slipped from the saddle.
“Come with me,” Rowan said, grabbing her arm.
“I am hungry and—”
“You can eat later, now I must meet with my men.”
“Your Englishmen are probably sleeping by now.”
“My Lanconian men,” Rowan emphasized, pulling her with him.
Daire was just coming out of a stone house, his broad, muscular chest bare, and Jura would have run to him if Rowan hadn’t kept such a fierce grip on her arm.
“Follow me,” Rowan commanded Daire, and then kept walking as if he expected to be obeyed. When he saw Cilean, he ordered her to follow him also. He led the three of them into Jura’s aunt’s house.
By now the village was beginning to waken but Rowan told Jura’s family to go back to their beds. He lit a candle in the farthest room of the stone house and turned to Jura, Cilean, and Daire, who were seated.
“I have Brita and a hundred and fifty Vatells waiting for me across the river,” Rowan said. “I have brought them here to marry with the Irials. Brita agrees to marry her tribe to the Irials but only on the condition that she marry the king.”
Cilean’s eyes opened wide as she looked at Jura, who was studying her hands in her lap.
Daire was on his feet instantly. “I will take Jura. I will rule the Vatells and she will be my queen.”
Jura smiled at him gratefully.
Rowan put himself between the two of them and looked Daire in the eyes. “I will not marry Brita. I will not set aside Jura.” His brows drew together. “Jura is no longer a maiden and I will not discard her.”
Daire sat down on a stool near Cilean and he looked despondent.
Rowan walked away. “I think I can put Brita off until some of the marriages take place, then I will take her to Brocain and he can marry her.”
“You want to marry my mother to that brutal, scarred old man?” Daire shot at Rowan.
Cilean put her hand on Daire’s arm. “Brocain has a wife. She was twelve last year. He won’t give up his child for a woman of Brita’s years.” She thought for a moment. “But Yaine has no wife,” she said, referring to the leader of the Fearens.
“He must be lusty and very healthy to satisfy that woman,” Rowan said.
“My mother is a queen,” Daire said. “You cannot order her to marry one of those Fearen runts.”
“Your mother ordered Jura’s death,” Rowan said, then his jaw tightened as he saw the fury in Daire’s face. He turned away. “I am taking Brita to this Fearen leader and I need help.”
Jura looked up at this. Was this the same man who rode into Vatell country alone?
“I am going to have to take her by force, but I must make it look as if she is willing to go. I cannot start a war because of this woman. She has strength and that strength must be diluted.”
“She might unite with Yaine against the Irials,” Cilean said.
“But I hope to have the Irials and Vatells mixed at that point,” Rowan said tiredly. “She may well have a much smaller army to lead by then. She has come with her guard, and I hope some of the Irial trainee guardswomen will marry them. A man will think twice before angering his wife—as I well know.” He rubbed his hands over his eyes. “Daire, I want you and Cilean to go with Jura and me as I take Brita into Fearen land.”
Cilean looked at Jura. “You want two women with you?” Cilean asked.
“Daire and I need our backs protected,” he snapped, then his head came up.
Cilean smiled at him. “Yes, I understand. I will go with you, but will Yaine accept us? Or do we wear disguises?”
“I plan to send a messenger, a Poilen or Ulten. I will tell Yaine that I bring him a royal bride.”
Before anyone could speak, the door burst open and in ran Lora, looking beautiful in a robe of deep garnet-red velvet, her fair hair hanging down her back. “Rowan,” she cried, and ran to him to put her arms about his neck. “I was so worried about you. Montgomery said you had gone for a love tryst but I knew that wasn’t so. What have you done? Are you hurt?”
Rowan was smiling tenderly at her as he smoothed her hair back and kissed her cheek. “I went into Vatell territory and I have brought back Brita and her people to marry the Irials. You shouldn’t have worried so.”
“But I did. You had to do something like that alone with no one to help you and you had the added burden of a woman to protect.”
Jura came out of her seat at that, but Rowan spoke first.
“Jura was no hindrance,” he said, and hugged Lora to him as he looked over her shoulder at Jura. “She even helped me at times.”
“Uncle Rowan?”
Everyone in the room turned to look at a sleepy Phillip, dressed in his long white gown and nightcap, standing in the doorway and rubbing his eyes. “You are home,” the boy said.
Rowan released his sister and knelt to open his arms to his nephew.
Phillip started toward his uncle, but when he saw Jura sitting to one side, he smiled and went to her. She picked up the boy and cradled him in her arms. He smiled and fell asleep.
“Of all the—” Lora began, but Rowan stopped her.
“Let him be,” Rowan said. “I for one would like to go to bed. We shall make plans in the morning.” He started to take his nephew from Jura but she held the
boy fast.
“He will stay with me tonight,” Jura said as if daring Rowan to contradict her.
Anger showed in his eyes because he knew Jura did not want to spend the night in his bed. He straightened and left the room, pulling Lora with him.
Cilean went to Jura. “I see that things have not changed with you two. I had hoped…”
“There is no use to hope. He is English and he will never learn our ways.”
“Hmmm,” Cilean said. “Before he left he wanted no woman with him, but now he wants two women to guard the backs of the men. It seems that he is learning some of our ways.”
Jura stood, carefully holding Phillip so as not to wake him. “Do you have a place the child and I can sleep? Tomorrow the Irials will meet Brita and everyone will need strength for that.”
Cilean nodded and led her friend to another house where a bed awaited her.
Jura woke in the morning to Rowan roughly shaking her. “I am leaving now to get Brita and the Vatells. As my wife you must be there to see them marry.”
“And see the beginning of their misery,” Jura mumbled, holding on to Phillip as the boy began to wake.
Rowan left her alone while she dressed. Lora came to get Phillip and did not speak to Jura.
As soon as Jura left the stone house, she felt the tension in the air. There was no one in sight and the village had a strange deserted air about it, as if God had decided to take all the people away with Him to heaven. Jura took a piece of bread from a table and ate it as she walked toward the river.
What she saw was an eerie sight. All the Irials, freshly washed and in clean clothes, were lined up along the riverbank. No one was speaking, not even a child was crying or a dog barking as they watched the arrival of the Vatell men and women.
The Vatells rode horseback, sometimes double, or came in wagons or little carts. Jura had seen them crying for nearly a week at the hideous prospect of having to marry the Irials, but there were no tearstained faces now. The Vatells were also washed, their clothes still damp from cleaning, their hair slicked back from early-morning bathing. They sat erect on their horses or wagons and they were looking intently at the people standing across the river.
Jura moved forward to stand just at the back of the Irials.
“See the one in the third wagon,” a woman near Jura whispered. “If I were choosing, I would choose him.”
“No,” a younger woman whispered, “the one I want is there on that black horse. See his calves? There is strength in that body.”
Smiling, Jura began to walk along the back of the long row of people. The people were beginning to talk and all the talk was of bedding.
Jura thought the day seemed to be growing warmer than usual. In fact, little beads of sweat were beginning to form on the back of her neck and on her upper lip. For some reason, she began to remember vividly that day she had first met Rowan, that day when she had been wearing only her tunic and he had worn only a loincloth. She had sat on his chest and his hands had traveled up her legs, up toward her breasts. And his mouth had—
“Jura!”
She came out of her daze to turn and look at Cilean. “You are far away,” Cilean said softly. “And who would you choose?”
Jura looked at the people now fording the river. Rowan rode beside Brita. A few weeks ago she had hated his blond hair and white skin but now he stood out like a single star in a black sky. He not only had different coloring but he was broader and thicker than the Lanconians. Once she had thought him fat and ungraceful, but she knew his body to be the product of years of muscle-building exercise and that there was no fat on him. She also knew how his skin felt under her fingertips.
Cilean’s laugh made Jura blink.
“He may displease you elsewhere but he does not displease you in bed,” Cilean said knowingly.
Jura turned away. “He is a clumsy oaf,” she said, but she felt damp with perspiration. “Has food been prepared for these people? We have had a long march and they are hungry and tired.”
“Yes,” Cilean said, laughing. “They look as hungry as our people. Rowan says the tribes are to spend the day together and near sundown we will choose mates.”
“We?” Jura asked. “You plan to marry tonight too?”
“If I see someone I like. There are a few guardsmen who look interesting, but I want to go with Rowan to Yaine and I do not relish leaving a new husband behind. Come, let’s get these people to work. The morning fires haven’t been lit.”
Jura was glad for the distraction. She did not want Rowan to see her watching him, and when he rode past she was ushering people away from the river and toward the houses.
It was a strange day. Never before had Vatells and Irials spent time together in peace. There had been conferences between leaders, even, once, it was told, generations ago, the Vatells, the Irials, and the Fearens had united to fight the Huns. But at the end of the battle the Fearen king’s son had killed the Vatell king’s brother and their victory had turned into a bloody battle among themselves, with the tribes of Lanconia hating one another with renewed rage.
Now there were both tribes together in the Irial village. It was awkward at first, with the Vatells standing in a clump together, watching, a little afraid, not knowing what to do. The Irial women were beginning to cook while the men stood guard behind them protectively.
“This has to stop,” Jura heard Lora say. She was not far away, near Rowan, as always. “Rowan, you must translate for me, my Lanconian isn’t good enough yet. We must get these people together.”
Rowan looked up and met Jura’s eyes. His blue eyes were dark, the lids heavy looking, and Jura could feel her body once again growing warmer.
“Jura will translate for you,” Rowan said.
Lora grimaced. “Perhaps Xante will—”
“Jura will translate for you,” Rowan emphasized.
Jura didn’t like being forced to do her sister-in-law’s bidding, but she knew Lora was right, that something had to be done. She doubted that a useless, soft thing like Lora could help the situation but perhaps she herself could think of something.
An hour later, Jura revised her opinion of Lora. Lora began organizing and ordering people about with the authority of the toughest captain of the guard. She sent Vatell women to help the Irial women cook. She sent Vatell men and Irial men out to get firewood. And when she saw a handsome young male Vatell and a pretty young female Irial staring at one another, she sent them fishing—without poles or hooks.
“But how will they catch fish?” Jura asked.
Lora looked at her sister-in-law, her eyes twinkling.
Jura began to laugh then leaned toward Lora and said conspiratorially, “That trainee, the one with the red border on her tunic, the one who fought so hard for Rowan, might like that Vatell guard, the one there near Brita.”
“Oh,” Lora said, “the one with the broad shoulders and those legs?”
“I’ve seen better,” Jura replied. “About a three-hour walk up that mountain are some very sweet berries. I think they need collecting.”
Jura smiled happily when she saw the little cat of a trainee go off with the handsome Vatell guard.
After that, Lora and Jura began to relax together. Jura’s life had been so different from Lora’s. Jura had spent her time with men, doing men’s things. She knew how to sharpen a lance blade to a razor-sharp edge but she knew nothing of cooking and running a household. Whereas Lora had known only the gentler aspects of life, and when her cousins terrorized her, she went to Rowan. Jura would have removed the skin of any man who tortured her.
Lora was frightened by Jura’s lack of womanly skills and Jura was contemptuous of Lora’s uselessness. But what they began to see that day was how each woman had her own skills. And they were drawn together by the common bond of women everywhere: the need to talk to each other.
As the two worked together, Jura began to enjoy herself. Old Thal would have sneered with contempt if Jura had even mentioned romance, but Lora seemed to
glow in the romance of their matchmaking.
“Look at those two,” Lora said. “Perfect together, aren’t they?”
“She is a weaver,” Jura said. “Perhaps we can send them to look at her loom.”
“Oh, yes,” Lora answered. “You are very good at this, Jura. I would never have imagined you to be a matchmaker. Tonight there will be a clear sky and a big moon and all those newly married couples. They will hold hands and walk along the river. It reminds me of my own marriage.”
Jura was staring vacantly into space and thinking that it might be nice to be courted by a man. Daire had given her twenty new arrows when he had asked her to marry him. At this moment she thought she would rather have flowers.
“We’ll have Rowan play his lute and sing tonight,” Lora said. “He knows some beautiful songs.”
“Play? Sing?” Jura said. “Oh, yes, he played for Brita.”
Lora gave her sister-in-law a sharp look. “He has not played his lute for you? He has not sung you love songs in the moonlight?”
“He said once I was prettier than a maid we had seen.”
Lora was quiet for some time as she studied Jura. “Perhaps I have misjudged you. Why did you not want to marry my brother?”
“Cilean was meant to be queen. She will make a better queen than I ever will.”
Lora put her hand on Jura’s arm. “I’m not so sure of that.”
They did not hear the approach of Rowan. “You girls look as if you are enjoying yourselves,” Rowan said in that special, superior way that men have when they are amusing themselves at a woman’s expense.
Lora whirled to face him. “Your wife risked her life to win you and you have not so much as played your lute for her,” she spat at her brother. “Yet you played it for that Brita. Look at that harlot! She sits there surrounded by the most handsome men and you court her as if you planned to marry her. You should beg Jura’s forgiveness. Come, Jura, we have work to do.”
Jura allowed herself to be pulled away by Lora and she felt good, oh, very, very good. This Lora carried weapons on her belt too. It was just that the Englishwoman’s weapons weren’t made of steel. Jura looked at Lora with new respect.