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Serine cast a sharp glance at her. Old Ethyl’s association with the Celts would explain many of the woman’s idiosyncrasies, but before Serine could question her they were interrupted by the clanking of weapons, clumsily carried, as the women came again to the hall, dragging their ordnance behind them.
“Take nothing that you cannot lift or use,” Old Ethyl told them. “You must be able to carry your own weapon and move rapidly and silently at the same time.”
The women nodded and placed much of their assorted equipment on the ground as they made ready to leave.
* * *
The women crept through the darkness and came to rest on a rocky cliff. Below them a row of small boats sat waiting at the edge of the sea. Some little distance away the children huddled together, guarded by the fierce men.
“There they are.” Ursa pointed. “Thank the Lord they haven’t yet gone.” She pressed her hands to her heart. “There is my little Dickon.” She turned with a suddenness that made Serine fall back. “What is the plan?”
“The what?” Serine strained her eyes as she searched the pensive little faces for that of her own Hendrick and paid no mind to Ursa’s words. Surely if Dickon was there, Hendrick must be close by.
“The plan! The plan to save the children! You promised we would save the children. You must have a plan.” There was an edge of panic in Ursa’s voice, for the Celts were more numerous than the fingers on both hands and they were but a few desperate women.
Serine swallowed hard. “Of course,” she managed to say. “The plan.” She glanced around and was heartened by Old Ethyl’s steady gaze. “Old Ethyl, will you walk with me? The rest of you stay here.”
“If there is any danger I’ll whistle like a bird,” one of the young women volunteered.
“If there is any danger, I’ll shoot him with my arrow,” Old Ethyl said in a flat tone that defied dispute. “What do you propose?” she asked Serine as soon as they were out of earshot.
“I have no plan,” Serine confessed. “But I knew the women would refuse to come with me if I told them I had no idea what I would do, and I cannot save the children alone.”
“I thought as much,” Ethyl said without reproach. “Perhaps inspiration will come when we get nearer.”
They watched as the guards milled around. The good English ale and the food they had stolen made them negligent as the small boats moved slowly, carrying provisions across the water toward the ship moored farther out.
“They came by water,” Old Ethyl observed. “Worse luck! If they leave our shores we’re like to never see them again.”
Serine clutched the older woman’s wrist.
“If there was a fire on the ship they would rush to put it out and we would be able to steal back our children,” she whispered.
“Alas,” Old Ethyl commiserated, “the ship floats on deep water.” She narrowed her eye, carefully gauging the distance. “Perhaps I could get close enough to send a fire arrow to pierce the side.”
“To hit the ship you would need to stand on the shore. It would mean your life if you were caught,” Serine reminded her. Then, without giving the other woman time to reply, she continued. “Watch how often the little boats run back and forth. If I were to take one of them it is unlikely anyone would notice. I could secure the small boat to the ship and set them both on fire. Once they begin to burn, you and the women can loose your fire arrows, each from a different place so the Celts will think we are many. In the confusion take the children and escape.”
“But how will you get back to shore if you burn your boat?” Old Ethyl’s eyes shone with admiration mingled with concern for the determined young woman she had learned to admire.
“I can swim...some,” Serine told her. “It does not look so far.” She was not a strong swimmer, having done little more than paddle around a lake near her childhood home. “I can think of no other way.”
Old Ethyl hitched up her skirt and shifted the bow on her shoulders. Her eye narrowed as she evaluated the situation. “Have you flint and steel in your bag?” She pointed to the bag Serine carried looped over her shoulder.
“Aye,” Serine assured her. “And rags soaked in fat I thought to use in case we needed to light a fire to warm the children after we stole them back.”
“Good,” Old Ethyl observed. “The other women can launch the arrows. I’ll go with you. I can swim well. Between us the deed shall be done.”
Serine gave Old Ethyl a little hug. Tears filled her eyes as she realized how inadequate their weapons were against the might of the Celts. “Should I not return I charge you and Dame Margot with the care of my son.”
“You have my word,” Old Ethyl promised, knowing that it was possible neither of them would live to see another dawn.
Serine went back and conveyed the plan to the other women. Ursa and several of the youngest, swiftest women took their places behind the rocks above the camp, as Serine and Old Ethyl then made their way to the water’s edge.
* * *
Rory moved among the children, offering dried meat and fire bread as well as drink. “This will soon be over,” he told them in a soothing voice. “You will come to a land that is rich in beauty. You will learn skills denied you here. You will be loved and cherished. You will grow to be free men.”
“You lie, Celt,” a boy’s voice cried out. “We will be your slaves.”
“I do not lie, I assure you,” the man said. He offered the boy a drinking horn filled with water, but the lad batted it away. Rory recognized him as the boy who had fought with such great spirit when taken.
“All Celts are stupid, lying dogs.” The boy spat out the words. “I am already free and you will pay for what you have done.”
“Do not judge us by what you have heard of the past.” The man picked up the drinking horn and motioned to a nearby mercenary. “This one must be taken aboard soon lest he inspires the others to rebellion.” And with that, Rory left the children and joined his brother.
“There were no men in the villages we raided,” Rory observed. “And I have learned from some of the more cooperative children that their fathers have gone on crusade with their king.”
“As we suspected,” Guthrie said. “No Celt would leave his family to fend for itself while he traipsed off after a cause that the gods themselves do not understand. A man belongs with his wife and offspring, not following the banners to a desert land where he is abhorred.”
Rory agreed. “I doubt not that if left to his own devices the boy who spoke out so bravely would grow to be like his sire, leaving his family while he fights for glory, knowing nothing but the rudiments of war.”
“Poor sad, ignorant people,” Guthrie said self-righteously. “It is well that we have decided to take those young ones to a better life.”
“Take special note of the lad who spoke to me.” Rory motioned toward the child. “The boy has courage. I want him. He will be my son.”
Guthrie put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “It shall be as you wish. In all the years since the plague struck down your wife and babe I have hoped you would find someone or something to care for. Perhaps our search for children will prove to be a blessing rather than a curse.”
* * *
Serine crouched behind a thick bush and swore under her breath. It was her son this enemy wanted for his own. It was her husband that he scorned and her home at which he scoffed. How she would love to see him burn right along with his ship. She’d show him whose way of life was inferior.
As the men walked away Old Ethyl joined her. Seeing that Old Ethyl had stripped down to her small clothes, Serine took off her dress and stuffed it beneath the bush.
“Wait!” Old Ethyl whispered as Serine started toward one of the little boats. The older woman darted forward, snatched up a horned helmet that had been left near the water’s edge and jammed it onto Serine’s head before they eased one of the small boats into the lapping water.
The helmet wobbled precariously as Serine huddled into a cloak she found on the bottom of the boat. Bolstered by Old Ethyl’s whispered soliloquy—a mixture of prayer and encouragement—Serine adjusted her borrowed helmet and began rowing.
With undaunted determination she maneuvered the boat to the rear of the ship, careful to keep well away from the path of the dragon that graced the front of the craft. Although she was a Christian, and a devout one, a part of her still feared the dragons of the sea and the men who sent them thundering through the waves. Old Ethyl made no bones about the depth of her superstition, and as the woman’s fears became more obvious Serine gave heartfelt thanks for her support.
Only when the tiny craft huddled beneath the hull of the larger one did Old Ethyl rise from her hiding place. Working together they managed to secure a water-soaked leather thong around the rudder and quickly smeared fat onto the side of the ship.
There was a flash of light in the rocks above the cove, quickly extinguished, but enough to let Serine know the women were ready to launch their fire arrows.
“It is time.” Serine swallowed the words, fear boiling up from the depths of her soul.
Sensing her fear, Old Ethyl grasped Serine’s arm. “I will be beside you,” she said. She felt some of the tension ease in Serine’s muscles. “Just as you will be beside me.” And with that last reminder Old Ethyl let go her hold, but the bond between them had been sealed. Succeed or fail, they would do so together.
Sending up a prayer, Serine struck flint to steel and caught the spark on an oil-soaked wick. When the little flame flared, she put it to the fat and watched it catch and burn.
Silently they slipped into the water and moved as quickly as possible to be well away when the bag, the cloak and the boat burst into flames that licked greedily at the larger vessel.
Serine swam as quickly as she could, but it was not fast enough. Time and again Old Ethyl outpaced her and was forced to return to the younger woman’s side. The flaming boat cast a glow over the water. It would be only a matter of time before she was seen and captured.
“It is your clothing that holds you back,” Ethyl said. “Remove it, or we are lost.”
It was an order, not a request. Seeing the wisdom of Ethyl’s words, Serine held her breath, dived beneath the water and shed the remainder of her clothing. Freed from the binding restriction, she surfaced at Ethyl’s side and they continued toward the shore.
Shouts of anger from the ship told them that their plan had succeeded. The men on the shore jumped into the little boats and sent them catapulting across the water, leaving the children virtually unguarded. Confusion resounded from shore to ship, and Serine managed to lift her head from the water long enough to see an empty space where the children had been held.
As the guards called for help from their comrades the women shot their fire arrows from the cliffs.
A short distance from shore Old Ethyl drew Serine to a halt. “Here I leave you and go to join the others,” she said. Then, unable to hold back her emotion, she continued. “You are a fine, brave woman.”
“As are you,” Serine replied breathlessly as the women went their separate ways.
Serine smiled despite her exhaustion as she pulled herself toward the bush where she had left her gown.
She found her legs unable to hold her weight, and crawled from the water. Her hand groped beneath the bush as she felt blindly for her clothing. It was impossible to see, and she almost cried out when, rather than the rough material of her gown, her hand fell on the sinewy warmth of human flesh.
A hand clutched her arm and drew her from her hiding place. She found herself face-to-face with a man. In the shadowy light she could make out the bearded face and the strong, virile body.
Was he truly a man, or had one of the Celt gods come to earth to mock her success in burning the ship and freeing the children? For truly he looked like a wild heathen god as he glared down at her, vengeance written in each line of his countenance. And her heart beat madly as her cheeks flamed in anger and embarrassment, for the expression in this man-god’s face was clear. And, heaven forgive her, for the briefest moment she wondered what it would be like to be loved by a pagan deity.
In the shadowy light Rory could see the naked body of a woman—slim and sleek, with thrusting breasts, a flat belly and long, shapely legs. Was this the Freya, of whom the wise man Drojan often spoke? A goddess come from the sea to taunt him for his failure to safeguard the children they had taken? Did she come to rebuke him for failing in his pledge that this would be a bloodless raid?
No, this woman was flesh and blood, with defiant eyes and a determined set to her chin. Yet the supple body formed to his so sweetly he could not help but wonder if her lips would do the same.
In truth, there was nothing to lose. His raid had failed and many of the children had escaped. The ship was crippled, and his men would be forced upon the mercy of the sea with only the dubious protection of the little boats.
What matter if he tasted the lips of this water nymph? Who was she to argue if he took the pleasures that her body so graciously offered?
It was possible that she had been a part of the plot that had so successfully sent his comrades into confusion. For that alone she deserved a Celt’s wrath and a Celt’s revenge.
Would those firmly set lips beg for mercy? Or would they part to welcome his kiss? What sort of woman would place her life at risk against not only the Celts but the gods of water and fire? There was but one answer...a woman with the soul of a Celt, and it was such a woman he held in his arms.
He gripped her tightly and pressed her sleek, firm body against his. Perhaps, should she please him, he would take her back with him to warm his bed. And warm it she would. If not with her love, then with her hatred. With such a woman, either emotion would prove entertaining during the long winter nights.
He bent toward her. She did not flinch or beg, and once more he felt grudging admiration. As their lips touched, sparks shot before his eyes and exploded into nothingness. Rory pitched forward, Old Ethyl’s arrow buried deep in his back.
Chapter Two
“Serine! Are you hurt?” Margot asked as she rushed to Serine’s side.
“Only frightened,” Serine admitted, struggling to roll the Celt off her body.
Serine scrambled to her feet and looked down at the man. Blood trickled from his mouth and disappeared into his beard.
“My arrow is stuck in his lungs,” Old Ethyl cackled as she hurried over to survey her handiwork. “A death blow, I vow! No need to worry about that one again.”
“The children?” Serine asked, trying to forget the heat that had raced through her body as the man held her in his arms.
“The children are safe,” Margot assured her. “I saw them reach the hills and came back to find you.” She looked at the younger woman’s state of undress and added, “And well I did.”
Old Ethyl regarded Dame Margot with disdain. “We had everything under control,” she said bluntly.
Serine grabbed her woolen dress from beneath the bush and threw it over her body, ignoring the scratch of the coarse material against her skin. The rough woolen garment did nothing to warm her. Her whole being felt as cold as death. As cold as the man lying at the water’s edge.
“Come now, we must go,” Margot urged.
“But what of...him?” Serine motioned toward the inert body.
“Leave him,” Old Ethyl said, pulling her away. “Perhaps the Celts will return for him. I might stay and see if I could skewer a few more.”
“There’s no reason for you to put yourself in more danger,” Serine assured the woman. “‘Tis best we leave.” She willed herself not to look back.
“It was a good job we did of making them think they’d been attacked. Look there!” she cackled as the Celts struggled to set the sails on the little boats. “The whole lot of them on the run. They must make it back to their godforsaken land as best they can in their little skiffs while their ship sinks. And good riddance!” Old Ethyl added as the women made their way through the deserted camp and hurried after the children.
Only when they reached the rocks that would block the sea from view did Serine pause. Cursing herself for her weakness, she allowed herself one last look at the man, lying like a pagan god in the moonlight. It would not have surprised her to see the figure of a Valkyrie come to take him to Valhalla, or heaven, or perhaps hell. It occurred to her that it was the Viking warriors who were said to be taken to Valhalla when they were struck down in battle. God only knew where Celts went after death. Regardless of his beliefs, or lack of them, this man had held no weapon, and Serine could not help but wonder about the fate that awaited a warrior shot in the back while he dallied with a woman.
Not that she cared! Not that she cared in any way! Only, it was too bad the Celt would not receive his just reward.
But then, perhaps he already had.
* * *
Day was breaking when Serine reached the place where the children had been hidden. The sun crested the horizon and the women called out their welcome, hailing Serine and her companions as heroes.
Exhausted from the rigors of their escape and the trauma of abduction, the children slept in the hall of an ancient monastery hidden deep in the forest.
“And there’s no question in my mind,” the alewife boasted, “the men could have done no more, nor done it better.” She beamed at her lady and cast a loving glance at her sleeping son.
Serine studied each little face as she made her way through the area while Old Ethyl accepted the accolades of the village women.
“I vow I’d never seen anything like the way the Celts took to the water when they realized their precious ship was in danger,” one of the women observed. “Forgot all about the childer, they did. It was almost too easy to steal them back, so smug were those Celts. Never thought for a minute that the smoke was anything more than night fog until it was too late.”
“Only one Celt sensed they’d been tricked,” Hildegard chimed in. “And he started rowing toward land as though pursued by demons, but by the time he reached the shore we were well away.” She paused and glanced over her shoulder. “Think you the Celts will follow?”
“The Celts are well gone,” Old Ethyl volunteered with finality. “They’ll not return to our shores after the drubbing we gave them.”
The women laughed and crowed in euphoric relief, rightfully proud of a job well done. After the initial burst of enthusiasm they became silent. Even the women around Margot began whispering.
As well they should, Serine told herself. After all, there was no reason to wake the youngsters, who had already gone through so much. She nodded in satisfaction as she saw two of Ursa’s little girls curled up together. But her eyes were never still as she continued to search for the features of her own Hendrick.
Hendrick, the beloved child of a loveless, politically inspired marriage. Some sixteen years Serine’s senior, her husband, Elreath, had no living children when he was offered Serine, as well as her family estate of Sheffield, as a boon from the king in appreciation for the old knight’s faithful support in the Crusades.
Visualizing himself as the inveterate soldier, Elreath expressed his appreciation to his liege, married Serine and performed his conjugal duty with the same enthusiasm he would have shown if forced to curry his horse. He made no bones about the fact that he was beyond an age where he felt a young wife was anything other than a burden, but he was gratified by her appreciation of the treasures he had brought back with him from the Crusades, and pleased beyond measure when Serine told him she was with child.
Elreath had been on his way to the Holy Land when Hendrick was born, and did not see the child until some three years later when he returned.
