The Viking's Heart

by Jacqueline Navin

  “The barber and the midwife have both pronounced her well, you told me so yourself.”

  “’Tis not right. I feel it.”

  “You are sounding like a mystic, Lucien. Next I will see you burning tallow and transmuting into ecstasy.”

  “You may yet, old friend. If I thought it would save her, I would paint myself red and dance naked upon the drawbridge.”

  “No need for that yet, I trust. The harvest is nigh, and with your villeins made ill after such a visual treat as that, the food will spoil in the fields.”

  It was a weak effort, but it got a ghost of a smile, anyway. “So I have an excuse for my wretched state. What of you? Have there been breaches over the curtain wall by Vandals that I am not aware of?”

  “No Vandals.” Agravar paused. But breaches had been made.

  “How is that little ninny, my wife’s cousin? Lord, the chit wears on my nerves. She is always looking at me as if I am a wolf about to devour her.” He held up a staying hand. “And none of your comments about my looks—I have taken a care to be very kind to her.” Glowering into his cup, he added, “I fear she is simple. And I am beginning to think it runs in the family.”

  “Alayna’s maladies shall pass when the babe is safely birthed.”

  “Agravar, the first time someone tried to slay me, I was sixteen years old. They have been trying ever since—men twice my size and expertly skilled in battle. And still I sit here today. However, I do not know that I will survive this.” He gave his friend a baleful glance. “Be grateful you have no woman to twist you up in knots, my friend. Aye, you are wise. Away with your conscience—tumble the three wenches who pant after you and be done with them. Then drink with your comrades at arms and be glad you own your own heart. ’Tis safest, I think, than to live in this wretched fear.”

  Agravar said nothing. He had lived a lifetime of brutal neglect and abuse, yet never had he heard words more cruel. Rising, he left Lucien to his drink and his self-pity and went to fetch himself a serving of the former to wash away the sour taste of the latter.

  Chapter Nine

  The man in the dung-brown monk’s robes said, “My lady, the longer we delay, the worse are our chances of success.”

  “I disagree, Davey,” Rosamund replied, pacing a tight path before him. “The longer I can pretend all is well, the less on guard they will be.”

  “But who can suspect you? There was no reason to doubt you were being abducted.”

  “All the more reason for us to take care. We have the element of secrecy with us. Thus, you are never to risk this foolishness again. Do not come to me unless I summon you. Many of Lord Lucien’s soldiers saw you when you were captured, you know.”

  “They do not expect me to be sitting beside them in the hall.” He smirked, waving his hand at his tonsure. “And I have sacrificed my locks to appear the harmless friar.”

  Rosamund shook her head. “That Viking will know. He sees everything, and he has the instincts of a cat.”

  Davey’s eyes sharpened. “Has he been troubling you?”

  “He watches me.” A shiver rippled through her, an exquisite blend of heat and cold. “I try to avoid him as best I can, but he dogs my steps and asks far too many questions.”

  “You do not have to suffer him, he is not lord here. Simply command him to leave you alone. He is merely the captain. You must not allow him to bully you, my lady. You are a noble. He is not.”

  She gave a little laugh at his simplistic opinion. “Agravar the Viking is not so easily dismissed.”

  “You are too soft. ’Twas always your weakness.”

  “Please, let us not quarrel.”

  “Then please listen to me, my lady. We must get you away soon. There is a new moon a few days hence. The night will be black, giving us excellent cover. We can slip away to the river. I can have made arrangements for a boat—”

  “Nay. No boat, no escaping in the night. Don’t you see, Davey, they will have us back by supper the next day. My cousin’s husband is legend. With that Viking with him, they are near invincible.” She placed a hand on his arm to calm him. “We must not act rashly. We must be clever.”

  His look was fierce. “Then be clever, my lady. Find some way. What do you think Lord Cyrus will do when he finds there has been a delay in the marriage he so covets?”

  That knocked the breath out of her. “I hadn’t thought of that. What do you think he would do?”

  “Lord Cyrus is not predictable, I am sorry to say. More the reason for us to make haste to see you away from his reach.”

  “Aye.” The press of panic was like a weight against her chest.

  “Lady Rosamund, I am yours to command. You need only tell me what I must do.”

  “Alas, I have no plan.” She paused, swallowing hard against the knot in her throat. “I should be the craftiest of creatures. I spent years watching Cyrus. Surely observing the most vile being in all of Christendom should stand me in good stead. I shall put my mind to deception and give you an answer before too long.” She locked her eyes with his and spoke with force. “I will not be married. And I will not go to Berendsfore, Davey.”

  Davey watched her, silent. When he spoke, his voice was edged with excitement. “I shall try as well to think of something. We must away as soon as possible.”

  “Aye.” She looked about her, nervous. “We dare much.”

  “I shall leave you. Soon, my lady. I promise you. Soon.”

  He left the grove. She lingered a moment longer, recalling another night when a different man had tarried with her here.

  Nay, she chided, forbidding herself such indulgences. She must leave Gastonbury, and all she had come to love. Alayna and her children, the Lady Veronica, who had seemed to instinctively sense Rosamund’s need for a confidant.

  And she would leave the Viking who had shown her, in their few brief encounters, that she might be different than what she was. That she might want something she had never thought to want.

  Forever would she wonder if she could have, indeed, found a different self from the shy, cringing girl she had always been. Now, it seemed, she would never know.

  Rosamund came to supper dressed in a dark gold surcoat over a cream kirtle sewn with bronze-colored thread. She looked breathtaking, Agravar thought, watching her every movement as she crossed the hall and came to the dais. She moved to the left to sit with the women, next to Veronica as she always did. But there was the glance, just a brief check in his direction before her gaze skittered away.

  He made her nervous. This he understood, although it did not please him. He made many people nervous. It was his size, and his coloring that branded him Norse. He was used to this sort of reaction. At least, he told himself he was. Reason dictated he should be by now. Since childhood it had been so. It was not pleasant, but ’twas better than abhorrence, which he had seen in the eyes of a lady before, a particular lady whose affection he had craved above all others.

  Mere aversion he could tolerate. He told himself this, but it didn’t ease his tension.

  “Agravar,” Lucien called. He stood with another man whose skullcap and clerical cape showed him to be a priest. Agravar did not recognize him as one of the friars who made regular visits from the nearby abbey. This man’s pinched features and small, close-set eyes glittered with cunning as Agravar approached. Huge front teeth protruded as he smiled. At least Agravar assumed it was a smile. It could just as easily been an expression of pain.

  Lucien said, “This is Father Leon, from Hallscroft. His lord is Cyrus, Rosamund’s stepfather. He has been sent to see about the delay in Rosamund’s marriage.”

  Father Leon bowed. “Aye, you see, when my Lord Cyrus—a good man, a pious man, a most excellent and conscientious guardian of the fair Lady Rosamund—well, when he heard of her unfortunate mishap, you see, he was beside himself, simply beside himself and he has therefore sent me to address the matter with you and acquaint myself, as it were, with the situation and advise him in all due haste—for he is mos
t anxious, most anxious indeed—on the arrangements to deliver the lady to her betrothed and seal the marriage bargain posthaste, that is, without delay—”

  Lucien cut him off. “Agravar has had the honor of rescuing the chit…ah, the lady and so he is the one you should speak to on the matter. For myself, I have notified your lord and Lord Robert of Berendsfore, and he has replied that she is to await him to fetch her here. Therefore, I have turned myself to other matters. If you will excuse me.” He all but fled.

  “Quite right,” Father Leon said, smiling after him, his unbelievably huge teeth bared unselfconsciously. “Excellent man, wonderful reputation. Just, wise. A goodly man, indeed.”

  Agravar frowned. “You are from Rosamund’s home?”

  “Ah, aye, I am. A priest for her father, or stepfather as you would have it.”

  “How long have you known her?”

  “Oh, quite a while, you see, quite a while indeed. I knew her mother, aye, I did. Beautiful lady, lovely lady. Quiet, chaste, an example to the less holy matrons who do not know their place. Lord Cyrus doted on her, aye, he did indeed, quite so, and so it was that her passing was ever so tragic, you see, and never spoken about since, not even her name, and Rosamund—such a meek child, quite an example of virtue, I daresay—kept on by the good graces of my lord, who saw fit to continue to provide for her, although she was a mere woman and no relation to him—”

  “Come,” Agravar said, indicating the dais. He would repay Lucien for this. “I shall let you see the lady for yourself to assure yourself she is well.”

  “That would be quite lovely, you see, for I am sent to remind her of her duty, as it were, for Lord Cyrus is quite set for this marriage. Important family, you see, and much at stake and the girl was not completely willing at first—ah, there she is. Greetings, Lady Rosamund, I am sent by your honorable stepfather to convey his wishes for you to return to the objective of your journey as soon as possible. Now, I am to understand that your intended is traveling to Gastonbury so that the nuptials can take place as planned, which is an excellent plan, it really is, and so…Goodness! Where is she going?”

  Agravar had observed her every reaction. From the moment Rosamund spotted the priest, a parade of shock, fear, revulsion, anger and determination flew across her features. The garrulous man had prattled through it all, oblivious to her florid reaction to his presence. When she finally acted, it was to leap to her feet and run away from the cleric, out of the hall and up the great stairs to her chamber.

  Father Leon stared after her. “Oh, dear.”

  Agravar bit the insides of his cheeks. “She seems rather distressed today.”

  Father Leon wagged his head sagely. “’Tis the curse of the inconstant female, I fear. Be ever wary, my son, for she is wicked and embodies all of the temptation that would take men from their simple tasks that serve our Lord and enslave him to her minions. Oh, the poor witless creatures are sly in their pretenses, warping the sensibilities of good men, stout and strong-hearted men—”

  “Did you just say ‘witless’ and ‘sly’ to describe women, father? I fail to see how a creature can be both.”

  “’Tis the paradox of the feminine mystery, you see, which is encrypted in the Holy Scriptures in the judicious warnings for men of God to fear and mistrust their life mates, lest they be judged unworthy to follow the paths for God.”

  Agravar resisted the urge to throttle the fool. But more, he was overcome by a dawning sense of horror that this idiot had had his clutches on Rosamund, if his claim of having been her instructor was true.

  “I am interested to hear more. Come and refresh yourself and sit. There. Barnard! Wine here. Take your ease, Father, and tell me about Lady Rosamund’s home. Is Lord Cyrus of the same mind as you?”

  “Oh, aye, most assuredly so. That poor man was bedeviled most gravely by the enchantress he had married. Of course, I may not speak outside of the sanctity of confession.”

  “Naturally, but one would assume your wisdom on these matters comes from many sources.”

  “True enough, good sir, indeed it does and in that event, I have observed in general that many a man must labor under the yoke of…of…” Father Leon glanced surreptitiously about. “Of carnal desire! It can enslave a man, even in the bonds of marriage, for God does not excuse our duty to him, you see, because of matrimonial vows and so procreation is the goal for all devout men and…well, the other thing can enslave a man and rob him of his pious goals. Such is the lure of women, and their evil must be contained. Low voices, heads bowed and such, these are the marks of a goodly wife and daughter, as Lord Cyrus has been conscientious to show his stepdaughter, you see—”

  “You say Lady Rosamund was…er, successfully taught these attributes by her stepfather.”

  Father Leon sighed. “Indeed, I see you are doubtful after that willful display we saw just now—quite so, understandable I do say—but I beg you not to worry, young man, she will pay for her sin in her own conscience, for her training has been sound. Aye, her rebellion is to be anticipated, for it was precisely the fear of this very eventuality that Lord Cyrus sent me here, because he knows well that the female soul is wayward and a constant vigil must be kept to insure it will not revert back to its inherent wickedness.”

  Agravar was beginning to feel slightly ill. He said unenthusiastically, “Ah. Of course.”

  Father Leon took it as encouragement, and expounded further on his opinions of the fairer sex. Agravar’s thoughts drifted under the drone of the idiot’s speech. Since the priest seemed to need no responses to encourage him to elaborate, Agravar was saved having to listen.

  So this was how she was raised. Shy, fearful—skittish he had called her. Ah, but Lord Cyrus and this ignoramus were right in one thing. She had begun to blossom away from the oppressive dictates of their women-hating theology.

  “It really is crucial that women mind their station,” Father Leon was saying. He had apparently paused long enough to take a sip of the wine the servant had brought him, and his bottom lip glistened with bloodred droplets. Agravar passed him a linen napkin. Leon took it, thanked him absently and set it unused on the table as he continued.

  “What are women for but to bring honor and wealth to their lords and masters? Women are essential in the political aspirations of their betters, but they are filled with silly notions—courtly love and other devilish ideas—which in turn are their weapons—”

  Agravar raised his hand and called down to the other end of the table. “Lady Veronica!”

  “Huh?” the priest muttered, snapping out of his diatribe.

  Veronica rose and came in response to the summons. Agravar grinned slyly. “Father Leon, this is Lord Lucien’s mother-in-law. I believe she will be…interested to be acquainted with your philosophies. If you will excuse me.”

  He rose, and as he passed the rather puzzled lady, he bent quickly and murmured in her ear, “Resist murdering him, my lady, for we may have need of him in the future. Otherwise, feel free to exercise no restraint short of that one thing.”

  He did feel a bit guilty for leaving her with Father Leon, but the first shriek of indignation that reached his ears was just too satisfying. Aye, he had chosen wisely. If anyone could give Father Leon what he deserved, it was Lady Veronica.

  Leon was about to receive a dazzling instruction on the female character.

  Chapter Ten

  Rosamund almost jumped to the ceiling when the rap sounded at her door.

  Her heart beat so hard, she thought it would tear out of her chest. He was here—that vile beast who posed as a man of God. Her stepfather’s puppet, filled with the same sick poison as Cyrus. And now he was going to take her back with him!

  Circling the room, she tried desperately to clear her mind of the cloying panic. Why hadn’t she flown when she had the chance? Davey might have gotten her away if he managed to procure a boat, or a diversion could have been—

  The knock came again, this time frightening a small squeak out of her. She sl
apped her hands over her mouth and eyed the window—which hovered over the packed earth three stories below—with consideration.

  “Rosamund, ’tis Agravar. I must speak with you. Open the door.”

  She did not think at all, merely acted. Racing to the portal, she threw back the bolt and swung the door wide. He stepped inside, shutting the door behind him and placing a finger to his lips.

  “Where is the priest?” she demanded.

  Agravar grinned. “I let loose Lady Veronica on him. It should keep him busy for a while.”

  “Then he is still here?”

  “Be calm, my lady. I have come to assure you that you are safe.”

  “He is talking to Veronica?” Shaking her head in disgust, she whirled and paced to the window. “How could you expose her to him? She doesn’t deserve to hear those horrible things.”

  “Neither did you.”

  She sucked in a breath, as if he had hit her in the stomach. After a short silence, she said, “What do you know of it?”

  “Nothing, Rosamund. But I can imagine. I can imagine it was most…unpleasant for you.”

  She stepped quickly to put more distance between them, seeking the farthest corner of the room. “Please, do not try to understand me.”

  He spread his hands out helplessly. “I fear I am ever destined to fail in that.”

  “Shall I hear you lament the inherent wickedness of women, too? Is your opinion the same as that…that…man?”

  “The only mystery I seek to solve is why you resist me when I offer you aid.” He started coming for her. She backed away, stopping when her heel hit the wall behind her. He said, “Rosamund, if I had known of this, I would have helped you.”

  “Helped me?” She was incredulous. She slid along the wall, inching away from his advance. “And how would you have done that, Viking? Smote Cyrus with your sword? Or perhaps it is Lord Robert you shall challenge?”

  “Lord Robert is a good and just man from all reports.”

  “He is a man!” she flung.