The Valiant Heart (Kathleen Kirkwood HEART series)

by Kathleen Kirkwood

  After what seemed an eternity, she rose unsteadily, her legs threatening to cramp. She left Aleth spooning broth into the man and instructed the woman at length in the proper ministration of the wound. With careful attendance and the grace of time, the leg would be whole again.

  “But . . . my daughter — “ the woman pleaded as Brienne turned to gather up her medicants. The girl’s sorrowful plight was retold and a name placed to her abductor. “May the pox take him!” the woman spat.

  Exhaustion swept over Brienne, but she drew herself up. “I will do what I can.”

  Stepping to the doorway, she beckoned Brother Bernard inside the dwelling.

  “The Northman Thord Thorolfsson has carried off this couple’s only daughter. Her father sought to save her but . . .” She gestured to the man on the pallet. “Tell Rurik that if our people are to meld, justice must begin here, today. Tell him, nay, ask him,” she sighed heavily, “to set this affair aright.”

  The monk consulted with him briefly, then gave Brienne a half smile.

  “Rurik would know if you intend to mend all the ills of Normandy.”

  She lifted her chin and met Rurik’s assessing gaze. “Where I can.”

  His features softened then, and to her amazement he slipped off one of the precious silver arm rings and presented it to the woman. The words that followed were firm and filled with authority. She looked to Brother Bernard for their meaning.

  “Rurik vows that the man Thord will be found and compelled to either marry the girl or return her to her family. He offers the ring as a bride-price should the two wed, and a wergild should they not, to compensate for the girl’s lost virginity.”

  The woman found the judgment more than fair, and having never possessed such wealth at any one time, she deemed the armlet a rich restitution indeed. She thanked Rurik and Brienne profusely for their many kindnesses.

  Finding the heat of the room unbearable, Brienne left Aleth and Ketil to gather up the unused medicants and her discarded clothing. As she passed through the door, she caught up a clean linen and began wiping away the fine film of moisture that covered her face.

  Rurik joined Brienne as she stepped into the fresh air and sunlight. She was well pleased with his sense of justice and turned to him, intending to bestow a most dazzling smile. But as she looked up, withdrawing the cloth from her face, his features went rigid.

  Her heart leaped wildly. What had she done? How had she displeased him? His gaze dropped to the cloth, and their eyes locked over the flesh-colored stain.

  Her hand flew to her face but Rurik was upon her, intent on examining the bruise spread across her jaw. He grasped her by the arms, but she cried out in pain and sought to wrench away. A muscle flexed in his jaw as he rapidly debated her ailment. His knife appeared in his hands, and in the next instant he slit her sleeve wide from wrist to shoulder.

  Anger flashed across his features as the fabric fell away and he spied the multiple bruises marring her skin. He swung her round, set on baring her other arm.

  “Nay!” Brienne struggled against his hold. “Would you shred all my garments to satisfy yourself? It matters not. ‘Tis done.”

  Rurik stared at the discolorations, striving to recall the monk’s ramblings of the night past. Soberly, he lifted his gaze and sought the offender.

  Esternay, standing at a short distance, straightened his stance and shifted his hand to his sword hilt. The unspoken gesture gave testimony to the deed.

  Rurik’s voice boomed loudly for all to hear, and Brienne did not miss the harshness of his clipped words. When Brother Bernard conveyed the message, the monk seemed more than a little pleased, echoing each word as it was given as though he delivered his own personal admonishment.

  “There are those who ill use their positions and abuse their duties of wardship. I am not so careless. Any among you who would bring harm to Valsemé’s lady will know a Norseman’s justice.”

  With that, Rurik drew Brienne along with him. He saw to it that one of the village matrons put needle to thread and mended Brienne’s sleeve. The task complete, he called for their mounts and lifted her onto Candra’s back.

  Rurik paused for a moment, his hands lingering at her waist. For the first time in many years, Brienne felt completely safe.

  »«

  With the day half spent, the escort pressed on as long as they dared, for it promised to be a moonless night. As the sun began its descent, camp was pitched near a favorable river that bent wide and deep around a wooded finger of land. Rurik anticipated refreshing himself in the cool, inviting waters and was well pleased with the site. Brother Bernard, however, argued against the location, warning that Frank and Norman had clashed here in living memory. He feared it to be an ill portent indeed.

  A pace of time later, Brienne and Aleth settled beneath a leafy elm, each with a small piece of handwork. Rurik sat nearby, propped against an outcropping of rock, and carved a block of wood.

  Patch reveled in his freedom, romping to and fro between the women and the man. Spying bright threads spread on the ground by Aleth, he snatched at the skeins and dragged them into a tangle before she could retrieve them. Aleth scolded him roundly, and he scurried away to nuzzle Rurik. The Norman chuckled at the pup’s antics and engaged him in a game of fetch.

  Brienne was struck with wonder. Since departing the village, Rurik had never left her unattended. Either he or Ketil remained ever present. A small smile curved her lips, and Brienne warmed herself in the knowledge that somehow she pleased him.

  Patch scampered off after the scent of something that, no doubt, would prove larger than himself. Brienne watched as Rurik took up his carving again and began shaping the wood with his knife, the same knife he had put to her sleeve earlier.

  She took several tiny stitches in the kerchief she worked, and attempted to follow Aleth’s small talk, but her attention strayed repeatedly to Rurik. All at once, she stabbed her forefinger with the sharp needle. Muttering, she dropped her threads and fabric and thrust the injured member into her mouth.

  “He is a fine stallion of a man, is he not?” Aleth grinned.

  Brienne blinked at such boldness from her friend.

  “Why, you cannot keep your eyes from him!” Aleth laughed gaily, then leaned forward. “Does he fill your dreams as oft as he fills your waking thoughts?” she teased mercilessly.

  “Aleth, hush! He will hear.”

  She gave a light shrug. “He does not understand our tongue, lest you make it so plainly obvious by your concern. Now, confess. Is not the man most wondrously made?”

  “Oui, oui,” Brenne conceded. “He is most attractive.”

  “Attractive?”

  “Very well, magnificent. If I tell you true, will you cease this badgering?”

  Aleth nodded expectantly and wiggled closer.

  Brienne thought to tease Aleth in kind, but when she glimpsed Rurik’s marvelous profile and bright mane, her heart swelled.

  “He is the most glorious specimen of manhood I have ere laid eyes upon,” she avowed, “even in my dreams. There, are you satisfied?”

  But Aleth did not hear, her attention being engaged elsewhere. “Would it be so wrong to love a Northman?” she wondered aloud.

  “What an incredible question. Long have I thought you overstayed your time in your solar. Now I am certain of it.”

  “‘Tis true.” Aleth gave a small shrug but did not look away from what intrigued her so. “Before coming to Levroux I knew nothing of the world save my tower room.”

  “Aleth, what are you saying?”

  “My father could not abide the sight of me. ‘Twas more than my twisted leg. My birthing took my sweet mother’s life, and that he could not forgive. He set me away from him.”

  “Dear Aleth.” Brienne grasped her hand. “How cruel.”

  Her tears spent long ago, Aleth smiled dry-eyed. “But I was allowed companions, and one cousin, Blanche, came often. She was of a similar age and cheery disposition. As we grew older, she fell in l
ove,” Aleth recalled wistfully. “And when she spoke of him, her face glowed and she would smile to her very soul. He was born to a station beneath her, but she did not seem to count it. One evening she visited with me quite late. Never had I seen her more radiant. The next morning, Blanche was not to be found, for she had flown with her lover.”

  Aleth’s smile widened. “My father thought I aided her escape, and in his anger he removed me to the abbey. He did not know what a great kindness he dealt me. Ah, but can you imagine such a love” — she sighed and clasped her arms about her — “to cross all boundaries and mount all obstacles to gain one’s heart’s desire?”

  Brienne nodded silently, remembering her own dreams, long exiled.

  “Should birthright and position matter so very much,” Aleth argued, “or age, or bearing, or from what land one springs? Does not love transcend all?” She turned to Brienne, her expression intense. “If you could have your heart’s desire, what manner of man would gain your devotion?”

  Brienne pondered the question, her gaze alighting upon the golden man. “If his heart be true . . . if he be honest, loyal, and caring . . . then I would grant that man more love than he could possibly conceive.” Rurik raised blue eyes to hers. “And I would love that man until the end of time.”

  Brienne and Rurik held each other’s gaze until at length, Brienne shook herself from her reverie and dropped her lashes. “But my dreams are ashes upon the hearth. My fate is sealed. I cannot allow such passions to tempt me from my purpose, for above all else, there is duty.”

  She caught her lower lip between her teeth, discovering moments later that Rurik had moved off.

  »«

  The fading light glinted off the water as it rippled and ruffled and coursed merrily on its way. Rurik skittered a pebble across the flowing current and watched it disappear beneath the surface.

  Brienne’s nearness disarmed him, and he feared there would come a time when he could no longer hold rein on himself. For if truth be known, he burned for her. Somberly, he acknowledged that once his father and Brienne were joined in wedlock, he must remove himself from Valsemé.

  He bent to loose his boot, and forced his thoughts to center on the soft rushing tones of the river, playing against the night.

  »«

  “Come, Aleth. Let us refresh ourselves.” Brienne gathered her sewing and rose. “I am told that we are free to use the left bend of the river. The Normans confine themselves to the right, beyond the peninsula, and it is all well wooded.” She stretched lightly. “The day has left me sorely in need of pampering.” She smiled and helped Aleth to her feet.

  Brienne was not surprised that Ketil followed, or that they found several of Lord Robert’s men already posted along the “Frankish” side of the river. She and Aleth pushed through the concealing brush that lined the shore, leaving the men eyeing each other warily.

  Brienne set aside her tunic and loosened her hair. She grimaced at the sight of her soiled chemise. Debating how best to deal with the stains, she simply stepped into the water, gown and all.

  ‘Tis easier this way, methinks,” she called with a laugh before Aleth could reprimand her.

  She scrubbed the hem against itself and, pleased with the results, stepped deeper into the river and began working at the side of the gown. Suddenly she lost her footing, falling with a splash upon her backside.

  Thoroughly soaked, she struggled to stand but found the garment impossibly heavy and encumbering. She worked at the lacings and at last freed herself from its imprisoning folds, stripping herself bare to the skin. She heaved the sopping mess at the shore and then sank back into the river.

  The water was deliciously brisk and invigorating. She swam out a small distance, delighting in her newfound freedom. It had been ages since she had frolicked with such abandon. At Valsemé there was a small hidden lake where she, Lisette, and Thomas would steal away for countless hours of untold joy. Her brother taught her how to keep herself afloat and stroke the water. ‘Twas a shame that the sport was so ill favored. Most considered it unhealthful. Nonetheless, she would not be dissuaded. She relished the pastime too greatly to deny herself the pleasure.

  Brienne flipped over, allowing the water to buoy her up. The light had grown quite dim now, and she did not fear any would see. She rested, floating peacefully, her long hair spreading out and swirling about her.

  “Brienne, not too far!” Aleth called out.

  “Aleth, you worry like an old woman!” she tossed back. “We are heavily guarded.” She kicked away, still floating on her back, and moved steadily toward the projection of land. “I have a mind to look for roots and herbs.”

  “Brienne!” Aleth called again. “Have a care!”

  Brienne smiled at Aleth’s concern, hoping she would not fret herself overmuch on her account. As Brienne neared the finger of land, she closed her eyes and drifted contentedly. Indeed, she thought, this was a little corner of heaven.

  »«

  Brienne floated languidly, listening to the sounds of the river. Suddenly, she collided with something solid and was swept beneath the water, at once becoming entangled with she knew not what. She pushed against the mass. Alarmingly, it moved and slid around her hips. Her blood ran cold, for she had been warned of river serpents but always dismissed the possibility of their existence.

  It moved again, and she thrashed wildly to free herself of the creature. Abruptly, it fell away. She fought to regain the surface, but the thing set upon her once more. She kicked out, desperate, but it ensnared her leg. Panic shot through her as something clamped firmly about each arm and dragged her upward.

  Water sluiced off her body as she broke through the surface. A figure loomed above her, silhouetted against the faint light. She attempted to scream but managed only a croak before a hand descended over her mouth, then, shockingly, her soft naked form molded against hardened muscle.

  “Shhh. Do not be afraid. I will not harm you,” the rich voice warned with the barest hint of an accent.

  Liquid fire raced through Brienne as she recognized her captor. Rurik.

  He scanned the shore, then drew her along with him to where the land was swallowed by shadows. Brienne offered no resistance, so stunned was she to hear him speak her Frankish tongue.

  “‘Twould be dangerous to be found together like this, ástin mín. Did no one warn you that my men are bathing in this part of the, river?”

  With a start, Brienne realized how far off course she had drifted, and that the Normans were much closer than she’d imagined.

  “I would not have blood shed for this mistake,” Rurik continued, “but I fear if we are found like this, your men would surely defend your honor, and mine would protect me, and — “ He smiled wryly. “I doubt my father would ever understand.”

  Brienne glanced downward to where her breasts pressed against his chest. Shockingly, she discovered his bare hip beneath her hand, and her leg entwined with his. She squirmed against him, then gasped as she inadvertently brushed his manhood. He chuckled and released her.

  Brienne sank into the river, her cheeks burning, and drew her long hair protectively about her.

  “You speak our language,” she accused. “Why did you deceive us?”

  ‘Twas not my intent to mislead you. Most of my men do not speak your tongue, and I prefer they know all that passes. I use only Norse in their presence, though I know many tongues.”

  Rurik reached out and gently traced the lines of her face. “Did you mean what you said?”

  Brienne stiffened, realizing for the first time that Rurik had understood every word of her conversation with Aleth. They had behaved outrageously, admiring him so blatantly. She scoured her mind, seeking her precise words.

  “Earlier, at the village, you said our people must meld,” Rurik reminded her.

  “Oh, oui.” She near sighed in relief. “Brother Bernard has much to say on it.”

  He seemed to consider this carefully.

  “And the rest? Did you mean th
e rest of what you said?”

  “I scarcely recall what I — “ She prayed that he understood little of what he’d overheard.

  “That if a man’s heart be true, if he be honest . . .”

  Warmth flushed through her. “That was a private conversation.”

  “Did you mean it?”

  He drew her gently against him, and as flesh met flesh, she lost the thread of her thoughts.

  “Could you grant such a love, Brienne, whoever be the man?”

  She nodded breathlessly, thrilling to his touch and the sound of her name on his lips.

  “Until the end of time?”

  “Until the end of time,” she repeated in a whisper, heart pounding.

  Her gaze slipped to his lips. She thought he would kiss her then, but his fingers tightened and something flickered across his eyes. He released a sharp breath at some unknown frustration and, with a look of regret, set her apart.

  “I wish you well with my father,” he said determinedly, then turned and began to move away.

  Brienne ached with the emptiness she suddenly felt and, shamelessly, could not bear to have him leave.

  “If he be anything like the son, I shall be well pleased.”

  Rurik stilled at her words, and it seemed that he strained at some great thing, his muscles taut. He lifted his face heavenward and clenched his hands.

  Filial honor warred with fierce primitive desire. He willed himself to leave her, but his traitorous body turned back, demanding one last glance to fill his dreams.

  The last glimmer of the day’s light fell across the beauteous maid. She had risen partially from the water, her wet tangle of ebony hair not concealing her as wholly as she believed. One breast eluded the mass of hair completely, while a silken hip curved seductively from the small waist and disappeared beneath the dark waters. The sight of her was his undoing.

  Brienne’s heart turned over as Rurik’s hungering passion burst through the thick walls of restraint. He swept her into his arms, his mouth descending upon hers. He was like a man starved and she the feast.