Alysa was planning to wear leather knee boots, a chainse—a white undertunic of fine linen with long sleeves which was visible at the wrists and hem below the royal-blue bliaud she had selected—and the sword which Piaras had made for her. The weapon was of lighter weight than most swords and could be wielded easily.
When Gavin finished his tasks, he removed his garments and joined her. He had doused the candles; the room was almost black. Lying upon his back without their bodies touching, he leashed his warring emotions. They were to leave at dawn and would have little or no privacy on the trail. One or both might not return from this journey. At least she had agreed not to place herself in peril unless necessary. And she was right about the people being glad she would be present. To see that Alysa was unafraid of these fierce Vikings had inspired more courage and confidence in her subjects.
“Alysa, I do not want you to ride with us tomorrow. If I could halt you in any way, I would do so. Since I cannot, I must yield to your rash decision. I pray it will not be your last one. Or that it will cost me my concentration in battle.”
Before she spoke a chill passed over her body and she was tempted to change her mind. “When we leave this castle, you must forget I exist until we return. Think only of defending your life and those of our people. As with any battle, you must clear your head of all things except survival and victory. I will be safe with Weylin; I promise you.”
“Will Weylin be safe with you, my Viking queen?”
His meaning was clear to her, clear and painful. “If I am their target, Gavin, I would be no safer here than close to you. Do not pile guilt upon my head; I do not deserve it, nor your biting words. I do not wish to try to snatch any glory or authority from you. I only do what I feel I must.”
“I care not for who leads our warriors or which of us seizes the victory. I care only for you and our people. Let neither come to harm.”
Alysa rolled to her side and put her arms around her husband’s neck. “I love you with all my heart, Gavin Cris-dean,” she murmured hoarsely. “I will not endanger myself or the others. You must trust me.” Her lips sought his and she kissed him hungrily before he could reply.
Gavin’s arms seized her and held her tightly against his taut frame. His mouth feverishly and urgently responded to hers. He could not bear to lose this woman or to see her harmed. He would give his life to defend hers. He wanted her to be safe and happy, to be his forever. His fingers wandered into her thick hair and pressed her mouth more snugly to his. Gavin’s smoldering passions burst into fiery flames and he eagerly relented to them. His hands caressed her silky flesh and he was lost in the wonder of her bewitching presence.
Suddenly, tonight was their only reality, this moment, these urgent desires. Between kisses and caresses, clothes were discarded and pleasures were gathered with raw intensity. There were insatiable hungers to be fed, dreams to be made real, a bond to be reforged.
Quivering limbs were entwined, hands put to enticing labors. Lips were sent on tantalizing quests, desires increased. Pleasures were savored as exquisite delight filled them.
Alysa felt a new kind of tension assail her husband’s body and her heart leapt with joy. She felt him surrendering to her. She understood his cravings and she fulfilled them. She teased her fingers over his pleading body and caused him to moan uncontrollably. She enticed him without inhibition, and intoxicated him more thoroughly than any strong liquid could have. She made him writhe with bittersweet yearning. She claimed him with skill and ecstasy.
Gavin’s mind whirled madly. His large hands covered her breasts and gently kneaded them. His fingers captured the protruding buds and caressed their hardness. His lips worked lovingly at her ears and down her throat, to join his hands in provoking her to higher need. Soon, his lips and hands were traveling her entire body, savoring stops here and there to drive her wild with mounting desire. Caught up in the sensuous moment, she thrashed upon the bed, but halted none of his stimulating actions. Never was she more in his power than when he made love to her; made love as if all of their energy and emotions had to be spent in one night.
Gavin guided her atop him and slipped within her womanhood. By love enchanted, she rode him wildly and freely. Each time she bent forward to kiss him, her long hair sensuously tickled his unmarred face and tattooed chest. When her release came, she arched her back and let him thrust swiftly to carry her to the end of her blissful journey. His climactic victory was simultaneously obtained, and locked together, they rocked to and fro until they were exhausted and their bodies were slick with perspiration.
Alysa collapsed upon Gavin’s body, but her lips continued to mesh with his. Remaining within her, he rolled her over with him and buried his moist face in her tangled locks. His rapid breathing filled her ears, as hers did his. Their hearts pounded, and their spirits glowed. When their bodies stilled, Gavin cradled her in his embrace and held her possessively. This was not the time to speak of anything; it was a time to be gently engulfed by the warmth of love and contentment. They were sated for a time, and drowsy.
Gavin pressed tender kisses upon her forehead and damp hair. His fingers lightly teased up and down her spine. He enjoyed this peaceful aftermath when their bodies were still in contact, when their moods were mellow, when their hearts beat as one. ’
Alysa felt the same way. She closed her eyes and nestled closer to her love. As if one person, both fell asleep within moments.
Alysa, Gavin, and their large band of Damnonians traveled steadily the next day, halting when necessary to rest themselves and their horses. Scouts rode at a distance on all sides of them to prevent them from being taken by surprise. Most of the way to their camp for the night at Trill’s Glen, Alysa rode between Gavin and Weylin.
She could read the tension in her husband’s body and expression, and she wished he would stop worrying so deeply about her. He needed his full attention on the impending battle. Because of their pace, little talk was possible. She noticed how each person was silently preparing himself for the life-and-death struggle before them. She prayed—prayed for their victory and survival, and prayed Trosdan was not mistaken.
When they camped, it was dusk. As a precaution, fires were not lit. Food which had been previously prepared was consumed quietly. Horses were tended. Guards were posted. The group spread out makeshift pallets for the night, but all found sleep difficult.
At dawn on the momentous day, the group arose early and readied themselves. They traveled to within a few miles of the enemy camp, and waited while scouts sneaked forward, observed the camp, then returned to report their findings. As planned, they divided into two groups and headed for their assigned positions.
On a treed hill, Alysa and her band were concealed from view as they watched the others carefully and quietly approach the Viking camp. She saw their enemies lazing around many fires, their weapons always nearby. The Norsemen were clad in garments of leather and fur, and their large sizes amazed her. Yet she had practiced enough with hefty knights to know body size did not necessarily mean defeat of a smaller person. Sometimes such a large warrior was stronger but slower.
Alysa realized her heart was pounding with anticipation. She stared at the camp as if mesmerized by it. She rubbed her dry eyes and inhaled deeply several times to slow her rapid breathing and to ease her anxiety. She had not expected such a large number of Vikings to be present or to be so heavily armed. She saw many drinking from wine skins, and she hoped it would dull their wits and slow their movements. Others were playing games with sticks and stones on the ground. From their expressions, all seemed totally relaxed. The princess continuously shifted her gaze from the lazy camp to the stealthy Damnonians who were sneaking toward it. If only her husband and his band could reach the camp before an alarm was sounded…
Alysa tensely observed as Gavin directed his men to encircle the camp. Undoubtedly the site had been selected for its favorable defense advantage. When the charge order was given, she lifted herself in her saddle and strained to watch the
lethal action. Taken by surprise, her love and her loyal subjects claimed the lead in the fierce conflict.
Soon her eyes grew tired of frantically darting about to follow her husband as he fought for victory. Her heart lurched in pain as Bevan was slain. Instantly, Gavin ran his sword through the killer’s body and twisted it with vengeful anguish. He checked to see if Bevan was dead, then bellowed in rage loud enough to be heard on the hill. Men fell on both sides and the vicious combat continued. Alysa wished all of Gavin’s friends, valiant knights and powerful warriors, were at his side. But Weylin was guarding her, and Dal and Keegan were miles away. She watched Tragan and Lann fight and knew Gavin’s men were more highly skilled and experienced in warfare than her knights and soldiers. She scolded herself for wishing they had returned to Cumbria and for resenting their powerful ranks in her land. These men were risking their lives and deserved their positions.
Alysa glanced at Weylin, whose expression revealed his hunger to be in the midst of the mêlée. She wanted to order him to join the others below, but knew he would not desert her side and his duty. She was tempted to order her band into the camp, but did not want to make Gavin and his band feel or appear incompetent. Until the prearranged signal for help was given, she had to remain where she was. But would Gavin do so and endanger her?
Having overrun the camp before the Norsemen were alerted and armed, the odds were fairly even at this point. Yet so many of her friends and subjects were being slain. If she broke her promise and joined them, could she prevent more and unnecessary bloodshed?
Her heart seemed to jump into her throat and cut off her breathing when Gavin’s sword was knocked from his grasp and he engaged in hand-to-hand combat with an enormous foe. She watched her love and his opponent circle each other, slashing out with knives and blows. The two men grappled for the upper hand. She winced in fear and chewed nervously on her lower lip. At any moment her love could be dead.
Another Norseman raced toward the two fighters, lifting a battle-ax in his hand. Alysa suppressed a scream of terror. She felt Weylin seize her hand and squeeze it encouragingly. Trosdan’s words flashed through her mind as swiftly as lightning: “The Hawk of Cumbria will not fly with you on this fated journey. It is a path you must travel alone.” Had Trosdan avoided her because he had foreseen…
Suddenly Gavin grabbed his foe and swung him around just as the second Norseman forcefully brought down his ax, burying the sharp weapon in his friend’s back. Rapidly, Gavin recovered his fallen sword and pierced his foe’s heart. The man sank to his knees and Gavin yanked the crimsonstained blade from the dying man’s chest.
“Look there, Your Highness!” the man beside Alysa shouted.
She followed the point of his finger toward the coast and trembled. A red-and-white striped sail flapped in the breeze. A towering dragonhead prow made its way toward shore, looking as if it could gobble up ground and man. She estimated the number of men inside the ship. She gauged the distance between the ship and land, the rocky beach and the enemy camp, Viking reinforcements and…
Alysa’s gaze frantically returned to the battle in the camp. Her side was winning, but the men had to be exhausted. Surely they could not defeat a fresh force. Her keen mind raced with ideas as she hastily studied the landscape between the coast and the camp. “We must attack!” she proclaimed.
Weylin started to protest, but was silenced by the ruler. “Hold your tongue, Lord Weylin, until I finish. See there…” She motioned to the rocky boulders and trees to the right of the span between the two raiding parties. “If we hurry, we can conceal our force and ambush them. Before they land, we can be in place. As they pass, I will seize their attention and lead them into your trap. They will pursue me into the rocks where you and the others can pick them off safely from behind. If you work silently and skillfully, we can slay them one by one before they realize what is taking place.”
“Why would they follow a lone woman? All of them,” one of her soldiers inquired. He eyed her and licked his lips nervously.
Alysa removed her crown from her saddle pouch and placed it on her head. “They will pursue the Damnonia ruler without thought or delay,” she responded confidently. She dared not tell the men around her that she had seen this moment in a dream the other night, as they might think her foolish or mad.
She met Weylin’s worried gaze. “It will work.”
Weylin understood her unspoken meaning and knew she was right, and very clever. The Cumbrian knight nodded and concurred, inspiring the others to do so.
Hurriedly, their cunning strategy was planned and they left to carry it out without the first group’s notice. The Damnonians concealed themselves amongst the rocks and trees while Alysa waited at the yawning mouth of the narrow pathway between them. She made sure her sword and dagger were ready to seize. She patted Calliope’s neck and talked to the grayish-brown beast who loved and obeyed her.
Alysa calculated the amount of time it would require the Norsemen to unload their ship and to head inland to their camp, which was almost two miles from shore. When she heard their noisy approach, she prepared herself to follow the warnings in her dream.
Alysa prodded Calliope into a position to capture the Viking’s attention. When she was sighted, she feigned surprise and fear and hesitation. She saw their eagle eyes fly to her crown, then back to her panicked expression. She pulled on Calliope’s reins to make the horse trample the ground and prance nervously before rearing and pawing the air. Although an expert horsewoman, she pretended to have little or no control over the frightened beast. As if terrified, she nudged the animal to turn and head toward the rocky path.
“The queen! We must get her!” a Viking shouted eagerly.
Another yelled, “On horseback? We cannot catch her!”
“On this terrain.she cannot ride swiftly. Rolf wants her.”
Possessions were discarded and the chase was on. Alysa leisurely guided her dun along the treacherous path to whet the Vikings’ appetite by catching another glimpse of her vulnerability. She heard them running and shouting behind her. She kneeded Calliope into a faster walk to keep just ahead of them. She prayed the stragglers were being picked off without notice and delay because the path was a dead end.
Four
Alysa hurried through the section of the area where the path widened and was filled with trees and bushes. She did not want the Vikings to have time to sight her band or for more than a few to move slowly through that guarded spot. She hoped her men were carrying out their assignments of gradually lessening the odds against them.
She glanced over her shoulder and saw several Norsemen scrambling over rocks to cut her off around the next bend. She smiled as she saw one disappear, then another, and knew why. She silently praised her brave men and her cunning plan. Still, there were at least fifteen men eagerly pursuing her. Alysa continued her desperate journey, allowing Calliope to carefully pick the safest path for them.
Within minutes, she sighted the end of the trail. A landslide had blocked the way long ago. She hurried toward a sheltered area and dismounted, knowing she could fight better afoot. She drew her sword and waited for the first man to come into view.
She heard loud shouting and knew Weylin had given the signal for their band to attack in force. Yet two Vikings rounded the last bend and came toward her, their thoughts so intent on capturing her that they ignored or failed to realize their peril. Alysa presented her back to them, concealing her weapon in the folds of her garment. She gripped the hilt securely and called her ears to full alert. She did not have to ask herself if she could slay a foe; she knew what was at stake today. She summoned all her wits, courage, and skills.
The first foe reached her and made a grab for her shoulder. Alysa whirled and sent her blade into his burly body. The man staggered backward, dislodging it himself with his movement. His large hands covered the wound and he watched the blood gush between his fingers. He looked at the beautiful young woman in astonishment, then eyed the stained weapon in her tight g
rasp. He wavered on his feet before dropping to his knees, still gaping at her in disbelief. As he fell forward, Alysa dodged his body. He weakly made a grab for her ankle, but she snatched it out of his bloody reach. He groaned as he tried to crawl toward her as if he still believed he could capture her. She backed against the rocks and lifted her sword in warning. Her foe’s bearded face collapsed to the ground, and she knew he was dead.
The second man attacked, cautiously. A cold sneer claimed his mouth and he locked his watchful eyes on her. She noticed how he seemed to observe her from head to foot without shifting his gaze, the sign of an expert warrior, a dangerous one. Having witnessed her skills, he made no sudden or rash moves. Nor did Alysa. She kept her expression calm and confident and she allowed nothing, not even a quick glance to see if help was approaching, to distract her from the foe and their impending struggle.
Although there was a noisy clash of steel and bodies nearby, it was as if they were alone in the clearing. The Viking drew his sword, a large one. To intimidate her, he waved it playfully before her line of vision, and grinned devilishly as he did so. She read arrogance and cockiness in his gaze, things which always caused fatal mistakes in judgment.
To unnerve the man, Alysa haughtily revealed, “I am Alysa Malvern, daughter of Catriona, daughter of Rurik and Giselde, child of Astrid and Connal. If you dare attack me, Odin will punish you with death and dishonor. I am your queen. I carry the last royal Viking blood, and you dare not spill it. Drop your sword and kneel before me. If you do so, I will spare your life.”
The Last Viking Queen Page 5
