Carroll, Laurie - War Of Hearts.txt

by War Of Hearts. txt (lit)

  stem the cry that built in her lungs and could not be

  contained. It burst forth, a wail of mortal anguish. The

  tears began then, seeming to flow from deep inside her,

  from the very well of life that sustained her. All the horror

  and anger and futility of the last three years surfaced in

  a surge of raw emotion.

  Unaware that Jeremy had gathered her close, sitting

  up to better hold her, she buried her head against his

  wide chest and sobbed. He murmured soothingly and

  rocked her like a child, caressing her back in an effort to

  comfort her tattered soul.

  Several long, agonized moments passed before

  Alicen’s wrenching sobs began to subside. When they had

  quieted to intermittent hiccups, Jeremy gently pulled the

  hair back from her face and stroked her cheek.

  “Why?”

  Her one-word question pierced his heart. Bile choked

  him as he contemplated an answer.

  “Soldiers,” he said, bitterness tingeing his voice, “are

  expendable.”

  “He murdered them!”

  “Because of me.”

  Raising her head from his chest, she stared in silent

  question.

  “Kenrick knows I’ll hunt him to the ends of the world,”

  he said, resigned. “He’d not have confessed about Estelle

  had he thought I’d live. Our escape sealed the wounded

  men’s fate because transporting the injured takes time.

  He killed them rather than risk my catching up to him.”

  Shocked horror registered on Alicen’s face, but her

  tone held no accusation as she stated, “You knew it would

  happen.”

  “I surmised as much.” His jaw tensed. “This adds to

  my need to run that whoreson to ground. He’ll pay for

  his crimes.”

  “For your wife and all the rest.” Her voice caught.

  “Those men were killed, not in battle, but as they lay

  helpless. By comrades in arms. Do soldiers expect to die

  thus?”

  No answer existed for that. Jeremy felt the burden of

  his military service pressing upon him. How many men

  had died at his hand? In the name of what great cause?

  Despair threatened to crush him. He’d returned

  disillusioned from France, determined to put up his sword

  forever. But Harold’s coup had forced him to keep fighting,

  to keep inflicting death and destruction upon his foes.

  When would it end?

  “I’m sorry, lass,” he whispered, voice choked. “Sorry

  we barbarians exist. We kill, rape, plunder—in the name

  of glory and honor. Yet neither will be found in our

  endeavors. Forgive me.” He looked away. When he’d

  secured his lands, he’d honor his vow to never war again.

  “’Tis folly,” Alicen said quietly after a long pause. “You

  are injured, yet I add to that pain, then seek comfort

  from you.”

  “You once told me the spirit oft requires the same

  care as does the body,” was his subdued reply.

  She lifted her head and looked into his night-veiled

  eyes, then raised her hand to a jaw roughened by three

  days’ growth of beard. At her touch, Jeremy turned his

  face and placed a tender kiss on her palm.

  With a sigh, she slipped her arms around his lean

  waist and once again lowered her cheek to his chest.

  Knowing he shared her pain eased her aching soul, but

  still she needed comfort. The steady heartbeat beneath

  her ear assured that, despite the valley of death they’d

  come through, life continued. Such assurance was the

  most she could hope for just then.

  “We must move on,” he said after several minutes.

  “Come.”

  She rose with his help, then slid her arm gingerly

  around his waist. He didn’t hesitate to drape his arm

  over her shoulder and draw her close to his side.

  “Ride with me, lass, and I’ll be able to warm you,” he

  said when they reached the horses.

  She didn’t immediately comment, had, in fact, barely

  been aware that he’d spoken. “What?”

  He leaned down to speak into her ear. “Do you wish

  to ride with me?”

  At this, her head came up. “I...Nay.”

  “You’re trembling from cold,” he pointed out. “’Twould

  be wise to share our warmth.”

  She paused a moment, then nodded. “’Tis a cold

  night.”

  He mounted Charon and reached down to lift Alicen

  onto his lap. Gritting his teeth against the pain in his

  ribs, he positioned her in front of him on the saddle, then

  drew his dirty, travel-worn cloak around her and tucked

  it beneath her leg. His arms tightened, pulling her close.

  “Better?”

  Silent, she nodded against his doublet.

  “Try to rest, lass.” He gave her waist a gentle squeeze

  before securing Hercules’ reins to Charon’s saddle. “You’re

  safe now.”

  Not from my memories, Captain. I’ll never again be

  safe from those.

  ***

  Jeremy could feel Alicen’s tension and knew she didn’t

  sleep. Her muscles remained taut, as though she expected

  at any moment to have to fight for her life. Her head rested

  against his shoulder, her arms firmly clasped his waist.

  He had to admit her hold comforted him, though. His

  arms and heart had been empty for five lonely years. Now

  both were filled with a woman who didn’t want a soldier.

  Perhaps God punished him for his sins, for doubting his

  own wife’s loyalty and condemning all females for her

  perceived betrayal. He prayed to Sebastian, patron saint

  of warriors, that this was not so. Soldiering had always

  meant physical suffering. Spiritual suffering he could

  scarcely bear any longer.

  They rode thus for nearly half a league before Alicen

  succumbed to exhaustion. Her grip relaxed, and she

  snuggled close in Jeremy’s embrace and slept.

  He tightened his hold, securing her against him. A

  rush of tenderness assailed his heart, and he gently kissed

  the top of her head before tucking it beneath his chin. He

  couldn’t hold back a long, melancholy sigh.

  Why has she complicated my life so? he asked himself

  as he rode through the night, cradling his oft-time

  nemesis. Life had been far simpler with their feelings

  clear—he disliking her and she him. Now, he worried over

  her, concerned where he had no reason or right to be.

  Pure foolishness! He could offer her naught at present.

  And if his cause was lost, he could offer her even less.

  These thoughts startled him. There could be no more

  between them than what they had—a union born of

  necessity and dissolved the moment necessity ended. In

  a fortnight he’d return to Tynan to plan the assault on

  Harold, while William sought a proper husband for Alicen,

  and she remained at Landeyda tending her people. That

  was as it should be. As it must be.

  Jeremy scowled in a fierce effort to banish such

  musings and contemplate what had to be done. They had

  to fin
d help quickly, enlist the aid of the closest lord, and

  run Kenrick to ground. Then, Jeremy knew, he would

  have to kill the mercenary.

  He dreaded the deed.

  ***

  Kirkoswald Castle rose from the early morning mist

  like a giant’s crown, and hope rose at sight of the huge

  edifice. Jeremy kicked Charon into a canter. At the

  increased pace, Alicen started from her sleep. Crying out,

  thrashing furiously, she nearly unhorsed them both. Only

  Jeremy’s riding skill kept them mounted. He cursed

  roundly as he reined his destrier to a prancing halt.

  Hearing the epithet, Alicen leaned back away from

  him to observe his stormy features.

  “What possessed you to do such a foolish thing,

  woman?” he demanded, not hiding his annoyance. “Had

  we fallen, we’d have both been injured, mayhap killed.”

  She bridled at his hostility. “Charon’s pace startled

  me from sleep. I did not mean to unnerve you.”

  He snorted in disgust. “Unnerve me! You practically

  leaped from my saddle. If I hadn’t—”

  “Enough, Captain.” Glaring, Alicen leaned as far away

  from Jeremy as she could. “My deed was unintended,

  and naught came of it. Therefore, spare me your venom.”

  Noting his anger had cooled to a stubborn set in his jaw,

  she thought fleetingly they were not in danger, or they’d

  not be sitting there arguing. “Do you tell me why your

  abrupt haste?”

  “Look over your shoulder.”

  Alicen did so, gasped, then swung her gaze back

  around to ask, “What keep is that?”

  “Kirkoswald, I trust.” His exasperation faded, and he

  smiled. “The lord is Edward, Earl of Cumbria. He fought

  with William and your father at Agincourt.”

  Without a word, Alicen slid from Charon’s saddle,

  untied Hercules’ reins, and mounted the gelding. Jeremy

  watched as she brushed tangled chestnut tresses back

  from her face. Catching his look, she frowned.

  “Is aught amiss?”

  “Nay,” he responded, then grinned. “You’ve no need

  of vanity. The earl will welcome us despite our careworn

  look.”

  Alicen felt herself blush but managed a half smile. “I

  must appear wretched,” she muttered, then sighed. There

  was naught she could do for it. “Let’s to the castle.”

  Jeremy urged Charon into a canter, and Alicen

  followed with Hercules. Their pace carried them quickly

  to the outer wall via a long causeway. Positioned in the

  middle of the river, Kirkoswald posed a difficult target to

  attack. Its massive outer wall was penetrated by a single

  gate. Although the drawbridge was down, the heavy iron

  portcullis prevented unwanted entry.

  Jeremy hailed the guards on the battlement, identified

  himself and his companion, and requested entry. They

  waited only a few moments before the portcullis was raised

  and they were escorted into the bailey.

  At the steps of the keep they dismounted, their horses

  led away to the stable. A squat, balding man dressed in

  Cumbria’s livery came to usher them into a corridor to

  the great hall.

  “I am John Waite, Steward of Kirkoswald,” he stated

  in a voice that put Alicen in mind of a gristmill grinding

  flour. “My lady Rebecca will attend you anon. While you

  await her pleasure, will you take refreshment?”

  “Most gratefully,” Jeremy replied. “We’ve not eaten

  since yestereve.” He tucked Alicen’s arm into the crook

  of his elbow and escorted her inside.

  Alicen unconsciously moved closer to him, somewhat

  unnerved by the immensity of the castle. It had been ten

  years since she’d seen such an edifice. With her father

  serving King Hal, she had lived in London and oft attended

  ceremonies at the Tower or the various palaces to which

  the King retreated. The pomp of such occasions never

  pleased her, nor had she liked the implacable buildings

  in which the celebrations were held. A child’s misgivings

  of dark corners, mysterious corridors and hidden crannies

  came back with a shiver.

  When her grip on Jeremy’s arm tightened, he leaned

  down to her. “Are you ill, Mistress?” he whispered.

  She shook her head without reply, concentrating

  instead on suppressing her apprehension. As they passed

  Oriental tapestries hung from the walls flanked by coats

  of arms and ancient battle weapons, she studied the

  sumptuous patterns closely and tried to lose her

  trepidation through appreciation of their workmanship.

  The ploy worked until they arrived at the hall.

  Once there, her tension eased even more. Gay banners

  of crimson and yellow, the livery of the Earl of Cumbria,

  decorated the walls. Rushes covered stone flooring, and

  Alicen detected the smell of lavender and violets spread

  among them to freshen the air. Torches, burning in wall

  sconces set every ten feet, chased away the gloom. Yet

  the hall was not oppressively smoke-filled. Just beneath

  the high ceiling were vent holes the size of battle shields,

  six to each wall, to provide air flow and allow smoke to

  escape.

  “Come this way,” John instructed.

  He led them to a cozy chamber off the great hall. Far

  more intimate and comfortable than the larger room, it

  was obviously meant for family meals and private

  audiences. Four high-backed leather chairs were drawn

  in a semicircle in front of a hearth. Huge Persian tapestries

  softened the cold flagstone walls, while tallow candles

  burned in tall candelabrum, softly illuminating the

  chamber. A long trestle table dominated its center. Two

  high-backed chairs sat at either end, and benches on

  each side completed the dining accommodations.

  The steward motioned them toward the table just as

  the door opened and a pair of scullions entered, the first

  bearing two ewers of water and the second carrying two

  basins and several towels. These they placed on either

  side of the table.

  “I thought perhaps you’d wish to freshen up before

  breaking your fast,” John remarked.

  Alicen blushed. “That’s very kind of you, Master Waite.

  I fear we’re the worse for wear.”

  Jeremy added his agreement, then put the towel and

  water to good use. He’d have preferred stripping to the

  waist and washing away the grime of several days in soiled

  clothes, but decided such actions would be unseemly.

  He did manage to clean his face, neck, and as much of

  his chest as he could reach with dignity. Drying his hands,

  he placed the towel by the basin and sat down on the

  bench opposite Alicen.

  He noticed that, having regained some of her

  accustomed cleanliness, she looked far more confident

  than upon arrival at Kirkoswald. She sat down just as

  more servants entered, this time bearing food-laden trays.

  Placing these on the table between the guests, they left

  to fetch flagons of b
randywine.

  The steward produced platters, knives and forks from

  the cupboard opposite the hearth. Setting these in place,

  he added bronze goblets which he promptly filled with

  wine. Then he heaped their platters high with venison; a

  dish containing peas, onions and beans; and fresh-baked

  bread. He smiled at their rather dazed expressions.

  “Should you require aught else, I’ll be in the hall.”

  With that, he bowed and left them to their repast.

  Looking somewhat askance, Alicen stared at the food

  a long moment, wondering if she could eat everything

  the steward had set before her. Jeremy obviously had no

  such doubts of doing justice to the cook’s efforts, as he

  straightaway set about proving such. Seeing him savoring

  every bite of food, Alicen shook off her bemusement and

  tried a succulent piece of venison.

  Both were engaged in consuming their share of the

  repast when the chamber door opened once again. A

  portly woman of average height entered practically

  unnoticed by her two famished guests. A smile touched

  her weathered face.

  “John has surpassed his usual fine board, I see,” she

  said in a high, tinkling voice as she approached the table.

  “I am Lady Rebecca, wife to the Earl of Cumbria.”

  Just then noting that this person was in no way a

  servant, Alicen gasped. Jeremy, flushing hotly, shot to

  his feet.

  “Forgive our rudeness, my lady,” he stammered as

  he hastily moved to draw back the chair at the table’s

  head. “We were not expecting you as yet. Your steward

  told us—”

  Lady Rebecca waved him to silence and allowed him

  to seat her. “No need for contrition, Sir Jeremy. ’Tis

  apparent you needed good viands. Don’t interrupt your

  meal on my behalf.”

  “May I pour you some wine, my lady?” he asked, still

  standing beside her chair.

  Rebecca’s smile broadened. Nodding, she turned her

  pale blue eyes toward her other guest. “You are Alicen?”

  At Alicen’s nod, Rebecca added, “John tells me you come

  from Sherford. ’Tis leagues away! What brings you so far

  west?”

  “’Twas not by choice, my lady,” Alicen replied quietly.

  She recounted their recent ordeal, omitting only the

  slaughter. Just the thought of that barbarity made words

  lodge in her throat and tears threaten.