The Captive Heart (Kathleen Kirkwood HEART Series)

by Kathleen Kirkwood

  Since returning to Normandy, Ailénor had kept to herself for the most part, finding it difficult to face the ceaseless questions and attention of others. Only her mother, Uncle Rurik, and Aunt Brienne knew of her embarrassment — that she had lain with Garreth and what had happened betwixt him and her father in Ireland.

  Ailénor lifted the cup of perry to her lips just as a knock sounded at the door and her Uncle Rurik stepped inside the chamber.

  “There is word,” he said, his tone sober.

  Ailinn clasped her daughter’s hand in her own while Brienne quickly rose and went to Rurik. His eyes brushed hers, then he cast his glance toward Ailinn.

  “Lyting requires Ailénor to be dressed and ready to face him by evenfall. He will make known his decision concerning Garreth then.”

  Brienne laid a hand to Rurik’s arm as he started to leave. “Is that all?”

  “For now,” he returned, covering her hand with his and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I have already ordered bathwater heated for Ailénor. It might be wise to search her coffers for something suitable for her to wear. I shall return when ‘tis time.”

  With that Rurik dropped a swift kiss on Brienne’s forehead and departed.

  “Time for what?” Brienne called after him, mystified, then turned, her gaze seeking the others. “And suitable for what?”

  Ailénor shifted her glance from her mother to her aunt as dread perched in her soul.

  Ailinn rose, drawing up Ailénor and patting her on the hand. “I have no idea to what he refers. But I think in the face of the unknown, the best advice for a lady is to meet it looking her best!”

  Brienne flashed a smile. “I brought both of Ailénor’s coffers from Rouen. Surely we will find something ‘suitable’ in them.”

  “Given Lyting’s temper when last I saw him, I think we need do far better than ‘suitable.’“ Ailinn joined Brienne at the door. “‘Fabulous’ would be more helpful.”

  “Certes. Fabuleuse,” Brienne agreed. “The gold gown is beautiful on Ailénor, do you not think? Of course, emerald-green would be striking.”

  “Or blue, the color of sapphires,” Ailinn submitted, caught up in the moment. She stopped, suddenly realizing Ailénor had yet to join them. “Are you coming, darling? We really cannot begin without you.” She gave a small, bright laugh, her first in weeks.

  As Ailénor started to join her mother and aunt, Gisele leaned toward Marielle.

  “Father said Uncle Lyting made a decision concerning Garreth. Whatever did he do?”

  Ailénor felt the heat rise from her toes to her cheeks. Without looking back, she hurried from the room.

  »«

  Shades of lavender and orange streaked the evening skies as Lord Lyting’s ship closed upon its destination.

  Garreth looked to the stalwart tower looming in the near distance above an imposing fortress wall. As the ship put into shore, he could only wonder if he would next be immured in this bastion. Certainly this was the place Lord Lyting intended to mete out his judgment.

  The baron’s dozen retainers aboard ship disembarked, joining a complement of Norman soldiers who waited fully armed upon the dock. At Lord Lyting’s charge, Garreth rose and preceded him. The moment he stepped onto land, the soldiers surrounded him.

  Lord Lyting shouted out an order, then side by side with Garreth accompanied him in the direction of the keep. For the moment the brooding tower was the only thing Garreth could see past the soldiers’ helmeted heads and bristling spears.

  As they continued, a buzz of voices swelled beyond the ranks. Garreth glimpsed a crowd collected there, straining to catch sight of him. His stomach rolled over. Obviously some spectacle was about to take place, and judging by their expressions, they did not intend to miss a second of it.

  Garreth steeled himself. He knew little about Norman justice or what punishment might be demanded of a man who had ravished a nobleman’s daughter. Might he face a simple flogging? Or something more untidy and permanent, like being put to the sword or even beheaded? He recoiled at the thought. Surely the Normans adhered to the more civilized system of wergilds, fines, for misdeeds. Did they not?

  The land rose beneath his feet as the armed escort moved steadily in the direction of the bailey and keep. For a crowd who came to witness a public discipline, possibly torture or even death, Garreth thought them subdued — excited to be sure, but not unruly, as one might expect. When they arrived at what seemed to be an open area, a courtyard of some kind, the soldiers came to a halt, and the crowd fell silent. ‘Twas that silence that sent an icy chill skidding along his spine. Garreth prepared himself for the worst.

  Lord Lyting stood solemn beside him, gazing straight ahead as the soldiers parted their ranks and formed two straight lines, creating a passage with only one possible exit. Garreth glanced right and left at the expectant faces, then, drawing a breath, cast his glance to the very end of the line, expecting to find a flogging pole or some imaginative device for torture.

  Garreth’s heart catapulted against his ribs as his eyes fell upon the fate that awaited him — Ailénor, a vision in sapphire and gold, standing upon the steps of a stone church. She looked every bit as shocked as he.

  Beside her stood an aged churchman gripping his mass book in shaky hands, and to either side of the steps, Lady Ailinn, Lord Rurik, Lady Brienne, and an assortment of Ailénor’s siblings and cousins, even the maid Felise.

  He returned his gaze to Ailénor, melding his with hers. He thought her as entrancing as the day he first set eyes on her, if not more. Dear God, how he loved her.

  Garreth remained rooted in place until Lord Lyting spoke beside him.

  “You are not going to balk now, are you?”

  “Balk?”

  “You said you would accept full responsibility, no matter the cost. I expect you to marry my daughter.”

  Garreth struggled to find his tongue, incredulous at his great fortune. “And that I shall, sir. Upon my vow, I most definitely shall.”

  Garreth could no longer suppress his smile as he started forward, his pace quickening as he closed on the steps and leapt up them to join Ailénor. Before he could move to her side, the churchman positioned himself between them and cleared his throat noisily.

  Ailénor’s heart beat so fast she thought it might leap from her breast. Tears stung the back of her eyes, so happy, so relieved was she.

  Beside her, Brother Bernard cleared his voice once more, raised his missal, then paused a moment and cut his eyes over the display of weapons with sharp disapproval. He started to object, she thought, but reconsidered when his gaze fell on her father who stood rigid and unyielding in his stance.

  “Arms at a wedding,” Brother Bernard muttered, then began the rites in his deep, gravelly voice.

  Ailénor’s eyes misted as she listened to the words of the ceremony and saw that Garreth’s eyes shone as well as they pronounced their vows, their happiness overflowing.

  “And now the ring,” Brother Bernard opened his hand to Garreth.

  Garreth faltered and glanced to Lord Lyting whose stern look changed to one of surprise, then chagrin as he realized he had forgotten this important detail. The wedding halted as those gathered sought a solution, looking to their hands for rings they might remove and lend the bride. Their own wedding bands, of course, would not suffice. Lord Rurik offered to return to the keep in search of one, but Ailénor stayed him.

  “Wait, I have a ring. The perfect ring.” She held forth her hand displaying the pearl and amethyst ring Garreth had presented her in Lundenburh the day they were to part — the symbol of their unremitting love and fidelity.

  Slipping the ring from her finger, she gave it over to Brother Bernard. He, in turn, blessed the ring and passed it to Garreth.

  Garreth’s smile expanded as wide as his heart as he captured his bride’s outstretched hand and slid the ring onto her fourth finger. He then closed his hand around hers, having no intention of releasing her.

  Brother Bernard,
noting his resolve, quickly pronounced them husband and wife.

  As the words sank into Garreth’s brain, he realized he was not without authority. Ailénor was his wife now and he her guardian. None could gainsay him in matters concerning her. Taking full advantage of his new status, Garreth pulled her toward him, causing Brother Bernard to take a pace back, and drew Ailénor into his arms. Covering her mouth with his, he claimed her in a deep and intentionally bone-melting kiss.

  Garreth continued the kiss, aware of the murmurings and shiftings of those gathered about them. Ailénor dissolved against him, her arms sliding upward, circling his neck. ‘Twas the churchman’s forced coughing that prompted Garreth to finally end the kiss. When he released her, he had to support her by the waist to keep her upright. Looking up, he found the soldiery grinning wide, not to mention Lord Lyting and Lord Rurik.

  Brother Bernard led the couple and the barons’ families and friends into the church to complete the service with the Mass. Sometime later Garreth and Ailénor emerged to the jubilant ringing of Valsemé’s bell and, amidst much gaiety and jollity, headed toward the keep.

  As Rurik and Brienne issued from the church, they paused outside the doors. Brienne looked up at her golden lord. “It seems impossible, but twenty-one years past we exchanged our vows on this very step, my dearest.”

  Rurik caught up her hand to his lips. “And my love shines as bright for you this day.”

  Lyting and Ailinn materialized from the church just then, along with Lia and her family.

  “Ho, broðir,” Lyting called, full of cheer. “Was it not at Ketil’s wedding that I could barely pass around the two of you embracing on the steps? Need I remind you yet again there is serious feasting to which we must attend?”

  Brienne looked up and scanned the church’s facade with a happy sigh. “There have been so many occasions of joy in this church over the years — weddings, baptisms . . .”

  And I am certain we shall see many more.” Rurik smiled, then looked to his brother. “What happened at Héricourt? I expected you far sooner and was beginning to think you had truly done something dire to the Saxon.”

  Lyting’s lips curved in a pensive smile as their small group left the church. “‘Tis sore difficult to get some men to admit they love a woman. I satisfied myself Garreth was worthy of Ailénor in other ways, but I was not about to condemn her to a life of misery if he had simply taken advantage of her with no true care for her.”

  “I take it he passed your trials?” Rurik smiled once again.

  “Passionately, when he finally admitted it. He was too busy defending her honor at first.” Lyting tossed a glance to Rurik, humor stealing into his eyes. “But now that Garreth is a member of our family, I can tell you one thing. We need work on his skills at shah.”

  “Oh, Lyting.” Ailinn laughed, slipping her arm in his. “You didn’t draw and quarter him with questions over that game, did you? ‘Twould drive a sane person mad!”

  Laughter rippled through the group as they followed the procession toward the keep.

  Garreth and Ailénor assumed the place of honor at the high table on the dais and presided over their hastily prepared wedding banquet. Many questions still remained unresolved for Garreth as to what might await him in England, or whether his new Norman in-laws intended to detain him further in Normandy.

  He set the matter firmly aside. This night, of all nights, he would allow nothing to occupy his mind save his enchanting bride and the promise of the hours that lay ahead. He leaned toward her and dropped a kiss behind her ear.

  Ailénor tingled to her toes at the warmth of Garreth’s lips. ‘Twas impossible to concentrate on the minstrel’s song. Impossible to concentrate on anything save Garreth. Glancing up at him, she met his adoring eyes. Ailénor thought her heart would burst with happiness.

  The feasting continued well into the night with everyone relaxed and in good cheer. Ailénor was glad to share her happiness with her family and those she had long known at Valsemé. Surprisingly, when the time for the bedding ceremony arrived, an unexpected shyness stole over her. She blushed profusely to everyone’s delight as the ladies in the hall led her away.

  Lord Lyting attended to Garreth, seeing that he was plied liberally with beer. Rurik, meanwhile, brought out a special flask of a crystal drink from the East and insisted all should partake of a round.

  “Careful, Garreth, ‘tis potent stuff,” Lyting warned, then took a bracing swallow. He rolled an eye to Rurik. “Did we not indulge in a like drink on your wedding night, brother? Look to where it led — a hall filled with children.”

  “You should talk! What staggers the mind, though, is trying to imagine you as a grand-pere.” Rurik grinned in high spirits and topped off Garreth’s cup. “Garreth, here, looks man enough for the task. I wouldn’t be surprised if you gain your grandfatherly status in the coming year.”

  Garreth took a swallow of the liquor, then held his breath as it blazed fire to his stomach and set his veins aflame. “In truth,” he choked, “I suspect you two are trying to disable me. Is a man really supposed to be able to function after drinking this?”

  “He’s right.” Rurik clapped his cup down on the table. “We must deliver him while he is still conscious.”

  Lyting relieved Garreth of his cup. “Indeed, and from the looks of him, we better see to it quickly.”

  Lyting signaled to the men gathered about. Garreth next found himself seized off his feet, hoisted in the air, and delivered to the bridal chamber amidst happy, raucous song. By the time they arrived he was stripped to his braies. Unceremoniously his companions divested him of the rest and deposited him in bed with Ailénor to the gasps of the ladies.

  After more good-humored teasing, they withdrew from the chamber, leaving Garreth and Ailénor alone at last. In unison, the couple breathed a sigh of relief, then sat in silence.

  Garreth looked to where their toes nearly met the end of the bed. A grin stole over his features. “I’d say we fill the bed rather well, my heart.”

  Ailénor followed his gaze, then her lashes fluttered downward. “I am overtall for a woman,” she tossed lightly.

  Garreth caught the thread of embarrassment beneath her teasing tone. “And I’d have you no other way.” He turned to his side and reached to pick up a tendril of dark red hair that lay on her shoulder. “I knew from the first we were meant for each other.” He kissed the end of her hair, then her silken shoulder.

  “And how is that, love?” Ailénor murmured as his lips moved along the curve of her neck, causing her pulse to leap and her thoughts to disassemble.

  “Because when we rolled down the orchard hill together and came to a stop just so . . .” He rolled her onto her back and moved atop of her, simulating the incident. “I knew our parts would fit perfectly together.”

  “Garreth!” Ailénor’s eyes flew wide as he moved to fill her.

  “And I was right.” He grinned wickedly, then kissed her lips, her throat, then her breasts as he dragged the sheet away. “Whatever has gone before, sweet Ailénor, you are my captive, now and forevermore.”

  “Garreth,” she purred as he covered her nipple with his mouth and lavished it with an exquisite kiss.

  Drawing up one of her long legs, she wrapped it high over his buttocks and legs, forcing him tight against her, so that his manhood pressed deep within her and he growled with delight.

  She caught his earlobe playfully with her teeth and nipped it gently. “Who is whose captive now?”

  Epilogue

  “Cricket’s going to fall,” Michan fretted, squinching his eyes against the bright sky as he stared into the upper branches of the aged apple tree.

  Ailénor tipped back her head and spied the white ball of fur perched there, its round, golden eyes pleading. The fur-puff gave a doleful “mew.”

  Ailénor knotted her hands at her side. “Now, Michan, we both know Cricket can manage quite well. She will climb down by herself when she wishes to.”

  “You wouldn�
��t want Cricket to fall and go splat like an overripe plum, would you?” the boy persisted, nettled at her unwillingness to fetch the kitten down.

  Ailénor gave her brother a patient eye that he promptly met with a pout.

  “If Richard and Kylan were here, they’d — ”

  “They’d say your sister is right,” a masculine voice sounded from behind. “Cricket can back herself down.”

  Ailénor and Michan turned to find Kylan, his mouth spread with a grin as he came to stand beside them. He gave Ailénor a sparkling wink and glanced at young Michan.

  “Your sister has had enough excitement of late, wouldn’t you agree? Besides, now that she is married, she mustn’t do anything so unbefitting her new station as climbing trees.”

  Ailénor sent Kylan a smile of thanks. He glanced to the kitten, then back again to her.

  “I’ll remain here and oversee Cricket’s deliverance. But you, my lady, are requested to come to the hall forthwith.” She gave him a quizzing look. “A courier has just now arrived.”

  “From the duke?” Ailénor thought this odd for Duke William had already dispatched a message congratulating Garreth and herself on their marriage and inviting them to Rouen. She suspected her father and uncle had something to do with winning his approval.

  “Non. The courier arrives from England. He bears a missive from King Athelstan.”

  Ailénor swallowed. “Alors. I knew this moment must come. His Majesty has learned what Garreth has done.” She snatched a quick glance of her cousin. “Garreth aided my escape to Lundenburh when the king instructed I be held at Andover. I fear what his judgment will be on Garreth. Surely ‘tis what the missive contains.”

  The side of Kylan’s mouth slanted upward into a curious smile. “Actually, the missive is for your father. The messenger sought him first at Héricourt, then, on discovering he had departed for Valsemé, followed him here. They are speaking now.”