The Viking's Heart

by Jacqueline Navin

  In her chamber, she quickly tumbled up the furs as if she had slept in them. She had no desire to go back to bed; she was too euphoric. When Hilde came in an hour later, she was already washed and dressed and impatiently tapping her foot on the rushes.

  “My, what has you roused so early?” Hilde asked.

  “I could not sleep.”

  The servant stopped. “Nightmares?”

  Rosamund remembered she was supposedly to have just returned from a harrowing abduction. “Just much to think about.”

  “I should say so,” Hilde huffed. “We have to prepare for Berendsfore. With him as your lord and such a place to reside, and as the mistress, no less! La! So much to think about. I am surprised you are not floating about.”

  Rosamund suppressed a groan. “I am going to the solar until ’tis time to break the fast.” She fled the room, and the woman’s disturbing words.

  Lady Veronica was alone in the large chamber, seated by the window embrasure. She looked up as Rosamund entered. “Good morn. You are roused early.”

  Rosamund merely shrugged. “Is Alayna not awake yet?”

  “She is with the children.”

  “Ah.” Rosamund sat and began to pick at a card of wool.

  “Rosamund…” Veronica drew in a deep breath and let it out. “I have been meaning to speak to you—”

  The door opened and Alayna came in with Leanna in her arms. “Good morn,” she beamed cheerily. “You two have rivaled the cock’s crow this day!”

  Rosamund raised her eyes to meet Veronica’s. The older woman seemed to hesitate, then turned away. “Excuse me. I have something else I must see to.”

  Later that day Rosamund was pulled into an alcove, a huge hand over her mouth to keep her from screaming.

  “If you stay quiet, I promise I will kiss you,” a masculine voice said into her ear. The hand dropped away.

  She whirled. “Agravar! What are you doing?”

  “I needed you near me.”

  He stopped her retort with a long kiss.

  Pulling away, he asked, “Have you spoken yet to Robert?”

  “I have not seen him. Do you know where he is?”

  “Nay, but I’ve been busy with Lucien all morn. The squires who have trained here are getting ready to receive their spurs and be knighted.” His hands slid up and down her back. His look told her he wanted to do more. “Do it soon.”

  “I shall do it first chance, I promise.” She twined her arms about his neck. “Stop pestering me.”

  “Only if you will do the same.”

  “I have done nothing to plague you!”

  “Aye, woman, you do. With every breath, I am besieged with wanting you. ’Tis pitiful, what you’ve reduced me to.”

  “’Tis your own fault, none of mine.”

  “Aye, ’tis. You are the one with the laughing eyes and this soft hair, and…” His hand slid down to her waist, spreading out so that his first two fingertips touched the underside of her breast.

  Laughing, she pulled away. “Sir, you are debauched!”

  “Hmm,” he replied, coming after her. The sound of someone approaching stopped him.

  He straightened. “I believe you should speak to Lady Alayna,” he said loudly as a servant passed. “She would know what you should do.”

  When the servant was gone, Agravar lunged, but Rosamund skittered out of his grasp. “You may not! What if we are seen?”

  “Tell Robert and it will not matter.”

  “I will speak to him, but you must give me time. I shall do it when I feel ’tis the right time.”

  He stopped his teasing and sighed. “I know ’tis wrong to rush you.”

  “You are sweet to rush me,” she corrected. “I like knowing you are so impatient.”

  “I endeavor to please,” he said mockingly, and offered a courtly bow.

  “You look ridiculous. You are much too big for such groveling. Now off with you.”

  He grinned at her. “You really have changed.”

  “Do you disapprove?”

  His gaze swept up from her toes to level off at her eyes. “I assure you, my lady, I heartily approve.”

  “Someone else is coming. I will speak to you soon.”

  “Come to my chamber tonight,” he whispered, grabbing her close for a quick kiss.

  “I shall not. Let me go. Someone is coming.”

  “Promise.”

  “Agravar!”

  “Promise.”

  “Aye. I shall come.”

  He released her just in time. Another servant came into the hallway. Upon seeing them, he stopped. “Captain, I was looking for you. My lord and lady seek you.”

  Agravar frowned. “Thank you.”

  “In the master’s solar,” the man said. His eyes flickered to Rosamund. He nodded an acknowledgment, his face full of speculation.

  “Thank you, Captain,” Rosamund said with formality. “I shall take your advice under consideration. Good day.”

  When Agravar went to the master’s solar, he found only Alayna there.

  “Is Lucien about?” he asked as he entered.

  Alayna looked a bit distressed. “Nay. I have asked Lucien to allow me to speak to you alone. Agravar, we have had some news that may be rather difficult for you. You may wish to brace yourself.”

  Agravar clenched his jaw. Was this something to do with Rosamund? “I assure you, Alayna, I am braced.”

  She held out a small scroll. “This arrived just now. This morning. There…is news. From Tannyhill Manor. Agravar…I know this is very complicated.” She sighed. “Your mother is dead.”

  Of all the possible disasters that flew through his thoughts in the last moments, this was nothing he had imagined. The death of his mother—a woman with who he had never exchanged the smallest pleasantry, who had never held him in the slightest affection—this should not be shattering news.

  And yet he felt something brittle inside him start to crumble. He looked about him. “I think I should like to sit down.”

  Alayna laid her hand on his arm and led him to a stool. “I am so sorry, Agravar. There was no easy way to tell you.”

  “Thank you, but there is no need to feel badly. ’Tis not the same as the deep devotion you share with your mother.” And yet there was this searing sensation inside him, as if a fire scorched his innards.

  Her soft hand remained on his shoulder. “I understand a little. Lucien never told me exactly, but a mention here and there and, well, I surmised that she had a difficult time accepting you.”

  Nodding, he rose and walked a few steps to stare out the window, not really seeing anything but the parade of images from his past. “She really meant nothing to me.”

  “Agravar, sometimes the things we feel do not make sense. Your mother was still the woman who gave you life and for all of her failings, she did mean something to you.”

  “How strange.” His voice held a hint of astonishment. “You are correct, of course. I had never realized it before.”

  “’Tis right you should mourn her.”

  He turned to her and took her hands in his. “Thank you for your gentleness, Alayna.”

  Her eyes grew moist. “Surely you must know how much you are loved. By so many.”

  Swallowing hard, he answered, “Aye. I feel very lucky to have all of you.” It was true. But he was also thinking of Rosamund.

  With his mother dead, it was like a sign. The past was gone. And he now possessed what he had always desired. For the first time, he felt abundance had come to him.

  Rosamund may have always dreamed of freedom, but he…he had craved love. And now he had it all around him. Still, the sadness did not abate. But he could accept it.

  “I will tell Lucien he can come in, now.” Alayna shook her head and laughed. “’Twas not exactly truth when I said I asked him if I could be the one to impart the news. I ordered the clod-headed brute out. I can only imagine the delicacy he would have lent to the subject.”

  Agravar didn’t tell
her that her husband was surprisingly astute in some matters and had, on past occasions, displayed a sensitivity that had been uncanny. He only smiled and squeezed her hand.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Rosamund came to him that night. He took her into his arms and loved her with slow, teasing caresses. It wasn’t until after they lay quietly in each other’s arms that he told her of his mother. He was surprised he had so many words. Struggling to purge all the confused emotions that crowded in his heart, he found his voice, and discovered the way to open his soul and share it with the only other person on earth with whom he could.

  “When she walked by me, she always was so pale. She looked like a ghost, I used to think. It frightened me when I was a boy, but as I grew, I used to watch her. I suppose she fascinated me. I always wanted her to notice me. Just to look at me.”

  “How wretched,” Rosamund said, and her arms tightened protectively around him.

  He gave a harsh laugh and stared up at the ceiling. “She gave me nothing but my life, but I did love her. And I was sorry she despised me.”

  “Not you.” Her slim hand rested on the defined musculature over his breast. “In your heart, you are the most loving of men. She never knew you, never knew the goodness inside you.”

  “You only say that because you love me.”

  “I do love you, but I am no liar,” she said with a jaunty jerk of her eyebrows. “Who else but a man such as you could rescue me three times. Four, if you count how you’ve saved me from my fears.”

  He smiled. The pain in him still throbbed, but softer now, easier. With Rosamund, everything was easier.

  Rosamund was well aware that she had promised Agravar she would speak to Robert at the first opportunity, but the man was never about. In a stroke of acute irony, he left orders for Agravar—as that one had proved so capable in keeping Rosamund from danger in the past—to watch over his betrothed in his absence.

  It was simple, therefore, with this tacit permission, to forget the unpleasant task and push it indefinitely into the future. Rosamund’s natural interest in the healing arts gave them the perfect excuse to wander off into the woods—ostensibly to gather herbs—and afforded them uninterrupted hours away from any observing eyes.

  Invariably, they would talk and dawdle, dream and make love, then hurriedly fill Rosamund’s basket with whatever they could find so that when they returned at dusk, they had a boon of bedraggled weeds, crushed wildflowers and wild herbs. Anyone who might have noticed the questionable collection would have thought Rosamund’s talents in the healing arts quite wanting.

  It happened one such evening, as they passed through the barbican, one of Agravar’s men called him over. Rosamund continued on, smiling dreamily at the sultry pleasure of the day that still clung to her. Glancing down at her basket, she laughed. They had been very naughty today, and the haphazard assortment of flora they had quickly gathered, including Agravar’s inexpert contributions, looked particularly incriminating.

  “Rosamund! Rosamund!” Aric called to her as he ran to her. “Where is Agravar? My father wants him!”

  “He stopped at the guardhouse,” she said, tousling the boy’s dark curls.

  The boy fell into step beside her. “Guess what? Luke smiled today. It was disgusting. Wet and drooly, but Mother said he was adorable.”

  “Your tiny brother is adorable.”

  “Father did not see it. If he did, he would agree with me, I know. And he’s always grabbing my hair in his fists and yanking hard.”

  “Your father?” she teased as she idly picked through the herbs, tossing aside the most obvious mistakes. They entered the upper bailey.

  “Nay! Luke!”

  Behind her, someone called a warning. She stepped to the side, bringing Aric with her. A troop of soldiers passed them.

  “Strange,” she mused. “’Tis awfully late for visitors to be arriving.”

  “The lookouts spotted them from across the southern meadow. Father was looking for Agravar to tell him.”

  “That must be why Agravar was detained at the gate. They would have come in just behind us.”

  It was then she noticed their colors. Green, purple and gold. She stopped dead in her tracks.

  Her eyes flew over the faces of the men. Then she saw him, riding toward the rear on his splendid charger, dressed in finery that would have looked absurd on any other man. Cyrus of Hallscroft had come to Gastonbury.

  Aric exclaimed in alarm when she crumpled onto the hard earth.

  When she opened her eyes, she was in her own bed. She blinked, coming into awareness of the fact she was not under the covers and still dressed in her dusty gown.

  The rustle of someone moving beside her brought no alarm. She assumed it would be Alayna or Veronica. When she turned her head, however, her heart froze.

  Cyrus leaned forward. “Aye, you impudent little snake, I am here. And we are alone. I sent the others away.”

  Scrambling up, she swung her legs down. She was stopped by his barked command. “Stay exactly where you are.”

  “Go away. I will scream.”

  “Then I will say you were hysterical and I had to slap some sense into you. If that does not work, I will close my fist and try it that way.” He said this dispassionately, as if describing nothing more consequential than the arrangement of furniture.

  “They will not believe you. They will—”

  “You think you have won yourself champions here, do you? Oh, aye, Davey told me all about it.” His nostrils flared and his lips curled back, baring his teeth. He was not an ugly man, but to her, every feature brought on a deep flush of revulsion.

  He said, “Davey told me everything. How you loved Gastonbury and how you changed. And about the Viking. Aye, you little whore, he told me all about the Viking and your sinful ways.”

  Rosamund felt as if she were choking. “I cannot believe Davey betrayed me.”

  “He was but a weak-minded man made senseless by the wiles of the female serpent.”

  “Why would he turn on me?”

  Cyrus pressed his face closer. Rosamund was finding it difficult to breathe. “I asked myself the same question, Rosamund. When he tried to insist on secrecy, his almost desperate need not to have anyone know he had come to me with his little problem, I knew. Aye, and you do, too. It was how you ensnared him in the first place.”

  “I never did anything but offer friendship.”

  “Liar. He fancied himself in love with you. Do not act as if you did not know it. A woman is aware when her powers are at work.”

  “Davey was but a boy whose loyalty to my brother—”

  “His loyalty, need I remind you, should have rested with me! Instead, the idiot helped you escape. Then, he thought to use me. Ah, what a fatal mistake. He knew I would come to Gastonbury and bring you under heel. Hoping I would take the Viking out of the situation, it would leave you defenseless once again—ripe for him to return to your side. A neat plan. I actually admired it. Of course, on a lesser man than myself, it might have worked.”

  Rosamund spoke slowly. “What did you mean— ‘fatal mistake’?”

  “He is dead, you twit. Why do you ask these questions when you know the answers? As if I would let him live after all he had done.”

  “You killed him…nay! I…” She pressed her hand over her eyes.

  “And ’tis all your fault. Your whoring ways brought about the boy’s death.”

  Her head shot up. “You killed him. You are the one who is evil. You killed my mother.”

  He seemed genuinely surprised. “Nay, I did not. What lies have you spread about me?”

  “I need not lie when the truth serves me well enough.”

  “You grew impudent while you were away. Leon had told me this. Leon told me much, but Davey told me more. Did you really think I would allow you to marry a Viking bastard with no family or money? What advantage does that bring me? Now you have ruined yourself! I swear to you—you will be punished. And I have the perfect means to d
o it.”

  She made to leap to her feet, but when he lifted his hand to her, she stopped in midmotion. Fear trickled into her muscles, driving away her impulse to flee.

  “Sit down, Jezebel, and listen to your master. ’Tis still I who has that duty, until Robert takes you to wife.” His fingers closed painfully over her upper arm. “And he will take you to wife. I have already spoken to him. You have been very clever. I believe he was wavering. I had to put much pressure on him to agree.”

  “He t-told me he would honor the betrothal.”

  “Aye. But he is reluctant.”

  Rosamund closed her eyes at the missed opportunity. If her courage had been stronger, she might have settled the matter with Robert before Cyrus arrived.

  “I reminded him,” Cyrus continued, “that any breach of our contract would be viewed as an act of grave insult. Robert places much importance on such matters, as you know. The man’s overdeveloped sense of honor is useful to my purpose.”

  “You are vile.”

  His hand shot out and her cheek exploded with pain. “I taught you better, little whore. Just because you have a man plowing between your legs does not give you the right to speak to me in such a manner. You can forget your Viking. He will not help you.”

  Her jaw ached. She worked it tentatively to test the damage.

  His eyes narrowed. “Robert has agreed to marry you, but only if you are willing. He claimed you have seemed less than enthusiastic at the prospect of the union, although what the devil that matters I cannot fathom. Thus, he will keep to our bargain if you show yourself to be more amenable to him.”

  “Why must I marry Robert? What is it to you?”

  “Your marriage will bring me power. Did you not learn your lessons from the priest? You have only one purpose, and that is to further my interests. Then you belong to Robert, and will be of whatever use he deems. Some men are foolish, indulgent. He seems to be one of these. It vexes me, your luck in this matter.”

  Her chin came up. Where the courage came from to defy him, she didn’t know. “You cannot force me. I am no longer the girl I was. I refuse to take Robert. I shall tell him so.”

  He smiled slowly, as if he had been waiting for this. “If you disobey me, Rosamund, then I shall kill him.”