Hearts Aflame

by Johanna Lindsey

  Yet this young man was King. She did not really need Eda to confirm it. There was that certain quality about him the others lacked. It was what she had seen in Royce that first day she met him, when his bearing, not his dress, had told who he was. This was a man used to command. The others, all lords and used to command themselves, deferred to him. Except for his youth and the power that being gave him, at first glance, Alfred of Wessex was not a remarkable man to speak of. He was tall for a Saxon, fair in coloring, with blue eyes that were alert, taking in all about him without appearing to. He had not the look of a warrior, and Kristen was to learn later that he was in fact a scholar with gentle qualities.

  She was also to find that though he might not be remarkable in appearance, he was remarkable in his drive and energy, and his single-minded determination to keep his kingdom under Saxon rule.

  At the moment he seemed like any other man, a little tired from his travels, appreciative of the chalice of wine Lady Darrelle brought to him, and attentive of the introductions as Royce reacquainted him with several of his men before they moved to the tables that were already set up for the feast. Kristen felt a measure of pride watching Royce, pride she had no business feeling, for she had no claim on him, but she felt it just the same.

  She could see that Eda had been right again: Royce was favored by his King. There was no formality between them. They spoke to each other as friends would, on an equal level. She even saw other men look askance when Alfred would laugh at something Royce said, and wondered if Royce knew he was envied by these other lords.

  For the most part, the nobles that made up Alfred's entourage were men of an age with him, younger sons who followed the court in hope of currying favor. There were half a dozen ladies, too, wives and daughters accompanying their lords, though the Queen was not among men.

  Only one of these women aroused Kristen's curiosity, a very pretty lady with flaxen hair bound up under a net of pearls. She was young, with buxom figure encased in a lovely fur-trimmed gown that Kristen might have envied, except she thought her own green velvet was much nicer. But then, she wasn't wearing her green velvet, and she wasn't noticed, and the flaxen-haired lady could not seem to take her eyes from the King and Royce, dividing her attention equally between them.

  Kristen looked away from the nobles, experiencing jealousy for the first time in her life. But since she had never known jealousy before, she didn't realize that was what she was feeling. She only knew it disturbed her to watch that lady, so lovely in all her finery, trying to gain Royce's attention. Kristen's only consolation was that he was so occupied with his King he had not noticed.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  The feast continued throughout the afternoon and on into the evening. Cooking fires had been set up in the yard behind the hall to roast the larger animals, no less than three to offer a variety: the deer the hunters had brought in that morning, a sheep, and a tender young calf. Smaller game was prepared inside over the hearth, as well as fresh vegetables from the manor gardens. Rounds of cheese were brought up from the cellar, along with fruits recently gathered. Tarts were made from these, and sweet pies and sauces.

  Kristen ate as she could, whenever she found a few seconds to spare. Feasts like this one were not new to her. She had even helped prepare the food for them before, for in the dead of winter at home it was not unusual for one or more of the servants to be sick and extra help needed for cooking. But there was a major difference: She had never helped with a feast in the summer months at home.

  In winter when the closed-off cooking area became too warm, the back door could be opened to let in a cold breath of relief. Here, even with the open window near the hearth, Kristen felt as if she herself were in the oven along with the many loaves of honey bread. The heat seemed worse than any day previous. It was the overcrowding in the hall, and the fact that it had been overcrowded the whole day. It was also the long sleeves on her new chainse, which were chafing at her arms. Both chainse and gown were plastered to her back and sides. The hair that had worked loose from her braid hung in wet strings about her face. As strong and healthy as she was, Kristen was drawing on her last reserves today. The other women took every chance they got to rush outside for a respite. She could not. She might not be chained any longer, but she was watched—by Eda, by the other women, and by several of Royce's men—constantly. Gradually she came to realize that the men, even though they sat at their leisure, had been ordered to keep watch on her. So much for Royce's completely trusting her!

  This might not have pricked her ire if it were not for the heat. But because of it, Kristen was feeling just as snappish as the other women. Sharp reprimands and slaps were quick to fall, given by the older women to those younger. Even Eda boxed the ears of one girl simply for standing idle for a few moments to fan herself.

  Tempers were running high among all the harried servants. At the tables, spirits ran high, for the guests were enjoying themselves. There had been dancing for a while in the center of the room between the tables, and Kristen had looked on wistfully, noting that the Saxon dances were not so different from her own. Bards had told stories of dragons and witches, of giants and elves. A harp-playing minstrel sang of heroes of an older land, but mostly of King Egbert, Alfred's grandfather, who had changed the history of his kingdom from acknowledgment of the supremacy of Mercia as overlord of Wessex, to then twice defeating Mercia and eventually delivering his kingdom from Mercian control.

  How much of these tales are true? Kirsten wondered, but she heard as well how this grandfather of Alfred's also defeated the Welsh, the men north of the Humber, and the giant Celts of Cornwall, who had steadily resisted his rule. All delighted in the tales and the minstrel was urged to sing more and more.

  So the day progressed, with the nobles being entertained and lavished with good food and drink, while the servants toiled to provide it. At one point Kristen was summoned by two lords who wanted her in particular to serve them. Eda had already told her she was not to serve, even though she had the freedom of movement now. It was just as well. Preparing food in the obscurity of the cooking area was one thing. Actually serving lords and ladies she considered to be no better than herself was quite another. Those two lords she simply ignored until they gave up and called another wench to their needs.

  She was not noticed other than that. Or so she thought. She would have felt a degree of embarrassment to know she had in fact engaged the curiosity of everyone there, including the King. Among the nobles, she was pointed out to a neighbor, speculated about, but no one condescended to actually inquire about a slave, as she was assumed to be on the basis of her dress and labors. It was only Alfred who felt no qualms about asking Royce to appease his curiosity.

  Kristen would have bristled if she could have heard that conversation. As it was, she bristled at how often she heard the captured Vikings being discussed. Royce was lauded for the feat, and commended for having put the "savages" to work for his defense. Those savages were kept to their windowless quarters today because the whole manor was feasting. Those savages were her friends and neighbors!

  If she was not irritable enough because of the heat, she had heard one too many derogatory remarks about her friends, enough to put her very near an explosive level, whereby the slightest wrong look or word might be her undoing. That wrong look came from Royce himself. At a lull in activity during the minstrel's song, Kristen deliberately moved to sit on the window ledge and fan herself with both hands. Her guards could not see her there, since the other women around the table blocked her from their line of vision, and that suited her surly mood. But Royce could see her clearly, and she caught his stern look, correctly interpreting it for what it was: a warning to stay away from the window. Did he think she would escape through it? Of course he did. She was to be denied even that little bit of respite from the heat.

  It was too much. She stood up. Furiously, slowly, with her eyes never leaving his, she ripped off the long sleeves of her chainse just as she had done once before, and
tossed them out the window. She felt the cooling difference immediately. She also heard Royce give a hearty shout of laughter at what she had done.

  It was the laughter that saved her from doing anything more extreme, for it enabled her to step outside her discomfort and see the humor of her pique. The irritation she had felt all day drained away. She even grinned as Eda began to scold her and pulled her back to the table.

  That had happened less than an hour ago. The hall was quieting down now. Food was being removed from the tables. Preparations were already under way for the morning meal.

  Kristen imagined it would be many hours yet before she could find her bed. She was wrong. Royce rose and came to her. Without a word, he took her hand firmly in his and began to lead her to the stairs.

  If she were not so exhausted, she might have protested his indelicacy, for she knew exactly what he was doing. He had said that by his actions he would make known to Alfred's nobles that she had his protection. How better to do that than by proclaiming her his bed-mate? No one watching could mistake his intention. He even hesitated at the foot of the stairs to briefly kiss her.

  Strangely, Kristen was not in the least chagrined by what he was doing. Were she his wife, they would retire of an evening in just such a way. But what really held her silent and acquiescent was that Royce was leaving his King and all his guests to his cousin Alden's care, so that he could retire with her. Her protection meant that much to him. " 'Tis well you did not right me, Kristen." He said this as soon as he had closed the door to his chamber and released her hand. By his tone, she knew he was thanking her for allowing his little charade to play. She moved toward the bed, saying nothing until she had sat down to relieve her weariness. "I would not fight you in front of others, milord." He came to stand in front of her, a slight frown creasing his brow. "Mayhap you are not aware of what—" She cut him short with a soft laugh. "Your method was rather crude, but I did not mistake the gesture— nor, I think, did your guests. You have labeled me as you intended." "And you do not mind?" "I must not, or I would be angry. Or mayhap I am just too tired to be angry. I do not know. But why are you disturbed? Would it have suited your purpose better to have carried me up here kicking and screaming?" "'Twas anticipated," he grunted. She smiled at him, shaking her head. "As I said, I would not fight you in front of others." "And why is that?" he wanted to know. "You do not hesitate otherwise." "I have been surrounded by men all my life and know their prideful ways. You would never forgive me were I to best you in front of someone. But here, alone, it would not matter." He laughed at that. "I think that applies to you as well, vixen."

  She shrugged before lying back on the bed to stare up at him with half-closed eyes. Royce sucked in his breath. Her invitation was clear in the way she lay before him, relaxed, waiting. Heat shot through his vitals, yet he did not move, afraid that if he did she would bolt. This was just too much of an about-face after last eve's stormy encounter. His hesitation brought a laugh from her, a deep, throaty sound. "I understand, milord." He felt irritation rise and mix with his desire. Dealing with Kristen was a constant drain on his wits. She never once did what was normal or expected. "What do you understand?" His voice sounded harsh even to his ears. She leaned up on her elbows. Another woman would have cringed from his tone. Kristen smiled at him. "I am soaked in my own sweat. Tis no wonder you do not find me appealing." Air caught in his lungs again. "Not appealing?" he fairly shouted. She still ignored his agitation. "Aye. I would ask to bathe, except I would have to go down to the hall to do it, and 'twould be too obvious to your guests. They would think 'twas your order, that you would not have me as I am. I do have some pride." He stared at her in amazement for a second's breath, then placed a knee on the bed to bend over her. "Woman—" he began. She planted her hands in the middle of his chest to stop him. "Nay, I must stink as well. How can you?" He was chuckling now. "I can, with pleasure. But if 'tis a bath you really want, there is a small lake near here." Her eyes lit up. "You would take me there?" "Aye." He leaned into the pressure of her hands to snatch a kiss from her, feeling a strange delight in the pleasure of her expression. So he was once again caught by surprise when she groaned. "Oh, unfair! To tempt me with a swim in cool waters, when I am so tired I can barely lift my hand from this bed!" "God's mercy!" he growled, leaning back from her. "You will drive me mad, wench!" "Why?" He looked at her through narrowed eyes. Then it struck him that she was not teasing him. She was serious. He saw all of her actions since she had come into the room in a different light now. It was true disappointment that made her cry out in dismay. "Are you really so tired?" She smiled faintly. "I fear the heat of your hall has drained my strength away. The work I can do, but 'twas so crowded ..." She fell back on the bed again with a sigh. "Tis well you do not want me now. I do not think we would either of us enjoy the sport." He started to say, "Speak for yourself," but did not. Weeks ago such a brazen statement from her would have shocked him. Perhaps he was getting used to the way she spoke her mind, if not to her inconsistencies. "Do you still want that bath?" She closed her eyes, though her lips still smiled. "Twould be nice, but I still will not go below. I hope you will not make me stir myself to argue about it." An annoyed sound came from his throat. She would stir herself to argue, but not to make love. And he did still want her, regardless of her exhaustion and condition. But he had to concede that she was undoubtedly right. He would feel cheated if her response to him was sluggish, when her fiery passion was what he enjoyed most. Kristen had opened her eyes at the sound he made, enough to look at him beneath her lashes. Her mind must be as weary as her body. She had made an assumption based on what she was feeling. It was not what he was feeling, as she could see by the way he was looking down at her with an almost pained expression. He did in fact want her now. That knowledge did not fire her blood. She doubted anything could at the moment. But it did make her feel unaccountably good inside. "If it pleases you, milord." She saw him tense at her offer, but then he relaxed, his features softening too. "Aye, it pleases me, wench> but I will do what pleases you instead. Come, you will have your bath." She groaned as he caught her hand to pull her up. "Royce, nay. 'Twould please me more to sleep." She was tired indeed to let his name slip out, when only Saxon or a derogatory milord had passed her lips before. He was amused. He had never thought to see her quite this way. Exhaustion had felled her guard completely. "You need only stand for a few minutes," he told her with a grin. "I will do the rest." "Stand?" "Aye, here." He brought her over to the container of water that had been set on his table. There was a folded cloth there, too, a sponge, and a sliver of soap. "This is not normal," she said with a frown. "You always wash downstairs." "The bathing room will be used by my guests. When we have guests, water is always brought here for me. You are not the only one affected by the heat in a crowded hall, though I imagine 'twas worse for you." "You can imagine," she said. "But the reality is even worse than that." "Is our clime really so hard on you, vixen?" he asked as he began to undress her. "It has not dampened your spirit until now." He regretted teasing her as soon as he said it, aware that her pride might reassert itself and she would be chagrined, thinking he made light of her suffering. She surprised him by giggling instead. "You know, if you had not laughed at me when I tore off my sleeves, I think I would have done something foolish, the heat had me in such ill humor. Why did you find the gesture so amusing?" He would not answer, and she grinned. "Did I remind you of a sulky child? 'Tis how I saw myself after I heard you laugh." He grunted, for she was too perceptive by far. But he certainly didn't see her as a sulky child now. No child this, and he had made a grave mistake in thinking to wash her himself. The moment she was completely uncovered he knew it. But she would not do it. Her eyes were closed now. She was done with talking. She was practically asleep on her feet. He hesitated too long, looking at her. "You do not have to do this, milord." Her eyes were still closed.

  Royce felt challenged now. "I know." He reached for the soap, glad that she did not see the way his hands shook. He tried to mak
e quick work of lathering her, and tried to keep his eyes averted from where his hands moved. It was not easy. Nor did it make any difference. What he could not see, he was feeling.

  He was mad to put himself through this, when he had no intention of bedding her afterward. And he still would not bed her. The very fact that she would stand there and let him wash her confirmed her exhaustion. And it was his own fault. He had not thought how the extra load today would wear her down. His servants were used to these infrequent burdens. But they were also used to Wessex summers. Kristen was used to neither. He used the sponge to rinse her, letting the water soak into the discarded clothes at her feet. There was such a look of pleasure on her face as the cool water trickled down her body, that Royce decided his own torment was worth it. He even slowed the rinsing to extend her pleasure. At last he dried her with the cloth—which, for his own sake, he wrapped around her before leading her back to the bed. He would have carried her there, but that would have been his undoing. As it was, her murmur of contentment as she stretched out on the bed made him groan. His voice was unintentionally sharp as he threw the thin sheet over her, leaving the cover at the foot of the bed. "You may sleep as long as you want in the morn." "You pamper me, milord." "Nay, I am simply selfish." Her eyes opened partially. "What has that to do with—" "Go to sleep, wench!" "You do not come to bed yourself?" Royce swore violently and turned away from her. He swiped up her clothes from the floor as he left. He would give them to Eda to wash, then he would go to the lake for a cold dunking by himself. But he doubted he would be able to sleep in his own bed tonight at all. Chapter Twenty-seven