The Captive Heart (Kathleen Kirkwood HEART Series)

by Kathleen Kirkwood

  As though Cynric read his mind, he slipped a parchment roll from his tunic and extended it to Garreth.

  “The king moves rapidly against the Scots, and our couriers are ever challenged to follow his movements. You need not put yourself to that test. Athelstan has left this charge for you to expedite.”

  Garreth took the parchment and broke its wax seal that he recognized as the king’s. Unscrolling the piece, he scanned its message. His brows drew together.

  A corner of Cynric’s mouth curled. “His Majesty wishes you to fetch his stepmother, the dowager queen, Eadgiva, from Grately.”

  Garreth shot a look at Cynric, wondering if this was yet another trap. “Others of rank can escort Eadgiva to Winchester. Why send an officer of the Hird?”

  “Eadgiva herself insisted it be you who fetched her. She repairs to Winchester for your ceremonials, after all, to see you elevated to ealdorman of Hamtunscir and make your announcement of a bride.” When Garreth continued to glower at him, Cynric gave a light shrug. “‘Tis the will of the king.”

  Garreth fingered the parchment, deeming it far more important to ride after the king than after the dowager, be it the king’s will or not. He looked to the atheling, Edred.

  “Might I ask where you stand in the matter concerning Lady Ailénor, Your Highness?”

  Edred came forward several steps. Dropping his gaze to his toes, he contemplated them a moment before lifting his pale eyes to Garreth.

  “I understand your position and argument, Garreth, as I do those put forth by Cynric, Alain, and Eadgifu. As I wish to do no wrong by my brother, however, I believe caution to be the better course and prefer to wait for Athelstan’s response to arrive. I’d not risk depriving him of a piece of good fortune, if this be that.”

  Garreth found his hands neatly tied. Cynric brought the royal siblings from King’s Worthy to outmaneuver him, knowing he would oppose his and Barbetorte’s schemes. Garreth posed the greatest threat to their plans, for he himself wielded considerable power and possessed substantial influence with the king.

  Though Garreth might challenge Cynric’s authority and circumvent him and Barbetorte, he could not override the will of the royal brood particularly not of this young prince of the blood, a cautious soul, who, in the absence of the king and his older brother Edmund, was the highest ranking royal present.

  “Time cannot wait, Your Highness,” Garreth directed his appeal to the prince. “At least, not for the Baronne de Héricourt, Ailénor’s mother. We need to advise her of what befell her daughter.”

  “That matter must be handled with the utmost care and diplomacy,” Cynric interjected. “The initial letter to Normandy must be carefully crafted, for everything else to follow will stand on that. I concur with Prince Edred. We need to wait for Athelstan’s directives.”

  A muscle worked in Garreth’s jaw. “And when it arrives, will you abide by the letter of the king’s decree? On your honor?”

  “I shall. Will you?”

  “Have I ever not?” Garreth tucked the rolled parchment in his belt.

  “Then you will be away to Grately?”

  “Have I a choice?”

  “‘Tis the king’s will.” Cynric gave a satisfied smile. “But in your absence, do not think to issue additional missives. Your efforts shall be wasted, I assure you.”

  “You mean I shall be watched? Did you handpick the retinue that will accompany me to Grately? Or are your spies already in place there?”

  Cynric did not respond, and Garreth could not read his cold eyes.

  “Ailénor best be here when I return,” he warned. Turning to Edred, he calmed his voice. “Your Highness, ‘twould be an act of honor and courtesy to safeguard Lady Ailénor from any further wrongdoing. I will count on your gallantry.”

  Sketching a bow, Garreth withdrew. As he heeled back along the corridor, a disturbing thought rose to mind. If the Saxon court held Ailénor hostage, her parents and the duke would never allow him to marry her.

  Things were becoming stickier by the minute. Garreth held fast to his faith in Athelstan and in His Majesty’s unerring sense of justice.

  »«

  Supremely frustrated, Garreth made his way to Ailénor’s chamber and rapped firmly on the door. He leveled a glance to the end of the passageway and noted a guard posted there.

  “Cynric,” Garreth growled beneath his breath, then knocked on the door again. Moments later it opened a crack and Aldith’s face appeared.

  “Lady Ailénor is abed.”

  ‘Tis pressing I speak with her, Aldith.”

  “Sir, the girl is utterly exhausted and has just fallen asleep.”

  Garreth stared blankly at the maid. Was he now to be barred from seeing Ailénor?

  “Then I assume she found no rest last night?” His tone contested Aldith’s words.

  The maid faltered. “Lady Ailénor tossed the hours on end, till the guard came for her just before dawn. She will take ill if she does not gain some sound and proper rest. She asked specifically that none disturb her.”

  “Including myself?”

  “Aye, s-sir.” She stumbled over the words, looking greatly discomfited.

  Garreth ground his back teeth. He suspected Ailénor to be abed, but very much awake. What falsehoods had Cynric told her? Had she not a crumb of trust in him? He vented a long breath. He could not fight them all and was at the end of his patience.

  “Very well.” He arrowed a glance through the crack of the door, over Aldith’s head, and into the chamber. “When Lady Ailénor rises, inform her I have departed Winchester on orders of the king.” He spoke loud enough for Ailénor to hear. “I shall be gone several days, possibly a week. Assure her I continue to do all within my power to aright matters concerning her circumstance and ask her patience and a modicum of faith.”

  With that, Garreth turned on his heel and left.

  Aldith eased the heavy door closed and looked toward the bed. There Ailénor sat upright in the center of its mattress, her gaze lingering upon the door.

  “Milady, I can go after him. Milady? Did you hear? He leaves Winchester, milady.”

  “Oui, Aldith. At the bidding of his king.”

  “Should I go after him, milady?” Aldith fretted.

  “Non. Whatever His Majesty decrees, Garreth will comply,” she parroted Cynric’s words.

  Questioning what to believe, Ailénor stretched out on the bed and hugged her pillow, curling into a ball, her stomach knotted in pain.

  Chapter 8

  Ailénor glanced up from her needlework to the sundial fixed in the garden wall.

  Noting the markings, she dropped her gaze back to her hands lest she draw Eadgifu’s notice. Working a flower on the silk, she estimated the hour — no minor task, for, unlike Norman dials that divided the day into twenty-four hours, Saxon dials were divided into eight “tides” and these into three hours apiece. By her reckoning, counting from dawn, it had been eight days and eleven hours since Garreth’s departure.

  Still no word came from him.

  Ailénor continued to sit in companionable silence with Eadgifu, embellishing one of Her Grace’s silk tunics and updating it to a more current look. But as Ailénor plied her needle, her thoughts strayed far from the palace garden.

  She regretted not having seen Garreth off. At the time she had been overwhelmed and confused. The days since allowed her to compose herself and reflect over all that had passed since first they met in the ducal orchard of Rouen. Her confidence renewed, she now longed for his return.

  It preyed upon her mind that there had been no word or sign these last days of Rhiannon’s hirelings. Had they realized their error and returned to Francia? Garreth could not return soon enough. She trusted he would set all matters aright, as he promised to do. But when would he come? And would it be in time for her mother’s sake?

  ‘Twas her understanding Garreth had traveled to one of the royal residences to collect England’s dowager queen, Eadgiva, the third and last of King Edward�
��s wives, and to escort her back to Winchester. Athelstan, Eadgifu, and Edred — King Edward’s children — were all half siblings. The late king had sired other children as well, mostly daughters, though there were two living princes of the blood — Edmund, who presently rode with Athelstan, and Edred. Both were sons of Eadgiva.

  Edred proved to be the young man who had lingered in the chamber the morn she had been brought before Eadgifu and Louis. She had seen him since, mostly from a distance at morning mass that they attended in New Minster and once, closer up, when the family gathered before the tombs of King Alfred and King Edward. Whenever their gazes met, Ailénor thought to behold in Edred’s eyes sympathy tinged with a measure of guilt.

  Ailénor directed her thoughts back to her stitches. Eadgifu had been well pleased with her skills and set her to refurbishing an older vermilion gown of which she was very fond. Ailénor found, as she became more acquainted with Eadgifu, that she was neither malevolent nor ill-intended. Rather, she was strong-willed, a tigress looking after her cub and all she deemed rightfully his. What struck Ailénor most, however, was Eadgifu’s unwavering belief that Louis’s preemption of the Frankish throne was imminent. To Eadgifu’s mind, Ailénor imagined, detaining herself would be a minor sacrifice to ask of a subject.

  A movement caught the corner of Ailénor’s eye, and when she looked up, she saw a servant hastening into the garden enclosure and dropping into a curtsy before Eadgifu. Ailénor was thankful her grasp of Saxon had steadily improved over the week. Now, as she listened, her heart leapt as she heard the words for which she waited. The baggage wain had arrived from Grately. Garreth had returned.

  Eadgifu and Ailénor abandoned their sewing and proceeded directly to the courtyard to greet the dowager and Garreth.

  Ailénor’s heart skipped with anticipation, her emotions bobbing on a sea of happiness as she emerged from the garden. The courtyard lay in sight. Her eyes lodged immediately on Garreth’s tall frame. There before the gharette, he aided an older woman, presumably the dowager, to the ground.

  Unnoticing of Ailénor, Garreth turned back to the conveyance, and Ailénor saw now that it contained two more women. Ailénor looked on as he lifted down one, then the other, not missing how the last woman swayed into Garreth as he set her to the ground so that their bodies brushed, or how the other pressed in and slipped her arm through his.

  Ailénor slowed her pace, then stayed her step altogether, feeling suddenly awkward and out of place. She watched from a distance as Eadgifu continued on and joined the others. At her approach, the dowager queen Eadgiva turned and greeted her stepdaughter.

  Ailénor noted that the two dowagers — Edward’s widow, Eadgiva, and Charles the Simple’s widow, Eadgifu — were neither one very old and mayhap only ten years apart in age. Their exchange appeared formal and without great warmth, though to Ailénor’ s mind, Eadgifu seemed the colder figure, her back stiff, her gestures superficial, spiritless. As Eadgifu concluded the welcoming ritual, she turned and greeted the other women, this time showing surprise and delight at their presence.

  As Ailénor glanced away from the scene, her eyes met those of Garreth. A slow smile spread across his face, setting her heart to racing. He withdrew from the others and strode directly toward her. As he did, Ailénor observed the younger women’s heads swiveling to follow his movements. The dowager Eadgiva watched also, her brows rising with interest.

  “My eyes are sore glad to see you.” Garreth caught up Ailénor’s fingers and gave a slight bow, brushing his lips over them. He straightened, blocking the line of vision between herself and the other women — a conscious thing, she realized. “We need to talk, my heart. Later. Come, you must meet Eadgiva and the king’s kinswomen, Mora and Rosalynd.”

  Ailénor’s heart continued to skip as Garreth conducted her across the small expanse. She smiled up at him, supremely happy to be at his side. As her eyes drew to the others, the expressions of the two younger women visibly tightened. If Garreth noticed, he did not reveal it but directed her before the dowager queen.

  “Your Grace, I have told you of Lady Ailénor. She is cousin to Duke William of Normandy, and daughter of the Baron de Héricourt.”

  “Lady Ailénor is visiting us for a time, Eadgifu added quickly, before Garreth could say more. “We are greatly pleased to have her. She has endured a most harrowing experience. Fortunate for us all, Garreth saved Lady Ailénor and wisely brought her to Winchester. You must hear the account of their story over dinner.”

  “Their story?” Ailénor heard one of the younger women murmur to the other. They eyed her with cool detachment, giving Ailénor the distinct impression they had just unsheathed their claws.

  Ailénor returned her attention to Eadgiva and dipped into a curtsy. She could not read the dowager’s expression as she studied her. A moment later Eadgiva smiled — a deliberative smile — and offered her a ringed hand to kiss.

  Garreth next presented Ailénor to Mora and Rosalynd, cousins of Athelstan and Eadgifu through their father.

  Sisters, Mora and Rosalynd favored one another in looks though not in height. Mora, the shorter of the two, possessed hair the color of darkened honey and clear green eyes flecked with gold. Her face was squarish with a blunt nose, her shoulders broad, and her neck wide.

  Rosalynd’s increased height made her appear less heavy-boned and stocky than Mora. Her hair was lighter, more tawny, while her eyes, though green, were flecked with brown. The pointedness of her chin softened her squarish features.

  Mora and Rosalynd uttered the common courtesies, their eyes raking over Ailénor, needle-sharp, and marking her unusual height with unconcealed disapproval. They appeared to view her as a fly that had just landed in their dish. The two turned in unison to Eadgifu, mentally dismissing Ailénor, and asked of their accommodations.

  Ailénor winced as she heard Eadgifu announce they would share her chamber, for she herself had been transferred to Eadgifu’s room a few days past to begin her duties as a lady-in-waiting. Ailénor did not look forward to sharing the chamber with these women.

  As the group made their way toward the palace, Garreth assisted the dowager queen who moved slowly with the aid of an ivory walking stick.

  “We still need to have our talk,” Ailénor overheard the dowager tell Garreth.

  Ailénor wished to linger and speak to Garreth herself, but Eadgifu bid her to accompany Mora and Rosalynd to the upper chamber and help them settle in before dinner.

  Glancing back at Garreth, she sent him a regretful smile and followed Eadgifu and her cousins.

  »«

  An hour later the horn sounded announcing dinner in the Great Hall.

  Garreth looked forward to seeing Ailénor but inwardly blenched at the thought of spending more time with Mora and Rosalynd who relentlessly vied for his attention. Then, too, he chafed at having to constrain his feelings for Ailénor, but he could not risk disclosing their intimate relationship with Cynric and the king’s kinswomen watching.

  While he did not intend to mislead Mora and Rosalynd, he held no wish to affront them outright. Both were well aware King Athelstan had directed his attention to them as possible brides, and that he had promised to betroth himself upon his return from Francia.

  As expected, on entering the Great Hall, Garreth found Mora and Rosalynd lying in wait. Eadgifu stood near the dais with Barbetorte and Cynric. Edred and Louis were also present having arrived from King’s Worthy.

  Garreth’s gaze fell on Ailénor across the room. The sight of her filled his heart with joy. Before he could move three paces, the horn sounded for all to take their places at table. Mora and Rosalynd fluttered instantly to his side, each claiming him to share their trencher.

  “Garreth will share a trencher with me tonight,” the dowager queen’s voice came tartly from behind.

  Not to be challenged, she came forward, thumping her ivory stick into the rushes and sending Mora and Rosalynd scuttling away.

  “You are on your own tomorrow.” She slid a
glance to Garreth with a suspiciously wicked smile and took his arm. I still wish to speak with you, but without those two peahens pecking about!”

  “I am at your command, Your Grace.” Garreth chuckled.

  “Who sent those two flocking to my door at Grately? I wonder.” She continued, not waiting for an answer, “The strain of the trip with them was enough to upset my humors for months to come.”

  Garreth grinned, handing the dowager up onto the dais and pulling out her chair. As to who might have notified Mora and Rosalynd of his visit to Grately, Garreth could think of only one name. Cynric. ‘Twas another attempt to control the course of events and constrict his movements.

  As the dowager settled herself into her chair, she inspected the placement of the table wares — the goblets, spoons, and bowls — and rearranged them to her satisfaction. “You know, Garreth, ‘twas I who requested you to fetch me from Grately.”

  “So I was informed, Your Grace. I have been sleepless ever since, wondering of your reasons.

  Eadgiva darted him a look at the jest. Meeting with his wide, teasing smile, her lips twitched with humor.

  While a servant filled their goblets with spiced wine, Garreth stole a glance along the table. To the dowager’s right Eadgifu sat with Barbetorte. Mora took up a place to the Breton’s other side, paired with Louis who appeared less than happy with the arrangement. To Garreth’s left, Rosalynd laughed overloud as she settled beside him to share a trencher with Edred. Farther down, Cynric aided Ailénor to a chair.

  Garreth simmered at the sight.

  The dowager plucked at his sleeve, regaining his attention, and bid him lean closer so others might not overhear.

  “I asked that you come for me at Grately because I wished to offer you my advisements before your ceremonials and your announcement of a bride. And you know how I like to give advice!” she added with some levity, unaware of his inner turmoil. “I am fond of you, Garreth, and I have no wish to see you form a disastrous liaison by espousing yourself to the wrong woman.”