The Wolf King Read Free Page B

horror in the woman’s eyes. She was wearing a dalmatic of green silk brocade trimmed with sable over a divided riding skirt of soft suede leather embroidered with gold. Her mantle was white brocade, heavy material lined with ermine. She reached up to her throat. Sully was right. Jewels, at least a half-dozen necklaces; her hair was done up in a snood of soft metal chains; and if the necklaces and snood were a match for the rings on her fingers, the count was seven. They were all made of silver or gold and embellished with precious stones.
    “That’s a lot of jewels,” Sully said. “You think he will give me some?”
    “No,” Lavinia snapped. “What are you, half-witted like her?” She pointed to Morgana. “You could well be looking at all of our deaths. Do you think women dressed as she is wander about the mountains at night, free for the taking? No, her family will be looking for her and they won’t stop until they find her.
    “Girl, are you fool enough to let yourself be carried off by some pretty-faced scoundrel like the slave dragged off to the chapel?”
    “No, I wouldn’t run off with anyone.”
    “Husband. Husband indeed. That slave is no one’s husband. No, you belong to some great lord, husband or father, and he will be wild until he finds you. And when he catches up with you, he will probably kill every single one of us.” She slapped her forehead. “What to do? What to do? What is your name?”
    “Regeane.” The word passed lips that seemed to belong to someone else. “Regeane,” she repeated hesitantly. “Regeane is my name.”
    ----
II
    When Maeniel returned to his stronghold, a few of his people greeted him. Gordo, a huge, bearded man, gave him the news.
    “What do you mean, she left? Two days ago? Did no one accompany her? What are you thinking? What were you thinking?” he almost screamed.
    Gordo managed to look pained and taken aback at the same time; it was rare for his leader to show strong emotion about anything. Maeniel’s present conduct amounted almost to hysteria. Disapproval crept into Gordo’s expression of concern. This simply was not done. “You forget the dignity of your position,” he admonished his lord.
    Maeniel ran his fingers through his hair. He raised one hand, then let it fall to his side. “Where is my wife?”
    He sounded dangerous. Gordo was unperturbed. “I’m trying to tell you. Please listen.”
    Maeniel took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
    “She worried about the weather,” Gordo continued. “She worried about you. She was afraid you might not return in time to join the king. She worried about the great Charles’s army, saying that one good blizzard could wipe out the Frankish warriors. We told her we thought that no great loss, these kingly quarrels being nothing but a nuisance to humbler folk. If they all died, so much the better for us, Matrona said—that, I didn’t.”
    Maeniel nodded. “I’m familiar with Matrona’s sentiments. Continue.”
    “The weather grew worse. We could all feel the storm but Matrona said they would beat it to the foot of the pass if they hurried. So she went.”
    “Not alone!”
    “No, not alone,” Gordo explained patiently. “She took Matrona. Gavin whined and moaned a lot about it being cold, but he, Antonius, and several others went with them. The storm came that night, and it’s been blowing ever since. With Matrona not here, there is no one to cook.” Gordo sounded disconsolate. “With your permission, I’m going hunting,” he said as he ambled phlegmatically out of the room.
    Maeniel hurried to his bedchamber. His wife could write. Possibly, just possibly, she’d left a note for him.
    His room was empty but not cold. The fireplace, a shallow opening in the wall, was overhung by a huge marble hood. Even in the coldest weather, the stone—once warmed— trapped enough heat to keep it comfortable. Assuming, that is, someone kept the fire burning. Someone had.
    The Romans who built the fortress