Carroll, Laurie - War Of Hearts.txt

by War Of Hearts. txt (lit)

whispered. Unable to move or even speak again, she gaped

  at him astride Charon. He looked thinner, more chiseled

  than when she’d seen him last. Wild hair tumbled in his

  eyes, and she saw evidence of several days’ growth of

  beard. His tunic and doublet were dusty, as was his mail.

  No one had ever looked so wonderful to her.

  Observing the flash of fear in Alicen’s eyes the moment

  she turned, Jeremy instantly regretted stealing up on

  her. Although the fear died when recognition dawned, it

  boded ill that their meeting should begin on such unstable

  ground. And by a gravesite at that. A breeze abruptly

  whirled around him, and cold spread through him. Again,

  he heard a lilting Irish brogue in his mind.

  Have you the courage, Captain?

  He nervously cleared his throat.

  “Ned told me you’d be here,” he stated a bit roughly.

  “We must needs talk.”

  Alicen looked wan to him, and more slender. His gaze

  moved to her belly. Could his babe be growing there?

  He’d little recollection of when a woman began to show

  pregnancy, and equally little idea of how to broach the

  subject. His felt himself flush at the thought—he’d always

  held it the woman’s duty to tell the man if she was

  enceinte.

  “Will you return to the cottage with me?” he asked,

  baffled at the formality of his tone but helpless to correct

  it.

  When she nodded, his breathing resumed. He

  dismounted at her approach and stood holding Charon’s

  reins in shaking hands until she stopped beside him.

  Lavender scent immediately filled his nostrils, and his

  heart melted. All those lonely nights without her mocked

  him. Would he live the rest of his life with such desperate

  loneliness?

  “What brings you here, Captain Blaine,” she queried

  with startling coolness. “I’ve heard tell of no battles

  nearby.”

  Her bitterness told the price of his leaving. He looked

  away, muttering, “We meet York’s army at Durham in

  two days.”

  “Saint Clement’s Day,” Alicen responded flatly. “A

  holiday before the killing begins?”

  “William bade me fetch you. We’ll need good healers

  in the days ahead, and he wishes for you to join us.”

  Bristling, she faced him squarely. “I’ll not attend an

  army in the field! There’s too much senseless slaughter.”

  “You’ll treat casualties at Durham Castle,” he ground

  out, reminding himself that her anger was justified. After

  all, he’d said he loved her yet had left her and returned to

  Tynan. He resisted the burning urge to crush her to him

  and kiss her senseless. Instead, he said tightly, “Rhea

  and Liza have agreed to go. They’ll arrive at Landeyda

  presently.”

  At these words, Alicen’s face paled then flushed with

  anger. “Why, you foot licking knave!” She gathered up

  her skirt and started for home at a run.

  “Alicen, wait!” Jeremy yanked Charon’s reins to pull

  the horse around as he set off after his quarry. His mount

  resisted, so he abandoned it and broke into a dead run.

  Catching Alicen at the woods’ edge, he seized her arm

  and pulled her to a halt. “Listen to me!”

  She wrenched from his grasp, then aimed a slap at

  his face. He managed to stop the blow and hold onto her

  wrist as she stood glaring at him. “Son of a misbegotten

  swine! You dare use my friends against me?”

  Guilt made him lower his head. “How else could I

  approach you, knowing I’d hurt and abandoned you?”

  She went completely still, and he cursed himself for

  hurting her more. He released her, but had to use his

  vaunted self-discipline to not cradle her face in his palms.

  “Alicen, William has need of you. He’s agreed to let you

  treat any prisoners we may take.”

  Losing his battle to keep from touching her, Jeremy

  cupped her chin in his hand and tilted her head up. Green

  eyes filled with pain met his look. His fingers lingered a

  moment on her cheek before he dropped his hand to his

  side.

  “Please come, lass. You’ll be safe at Durham. I know

  you wish to go where you’re most needed. Good physicians

  are always in demand.” He swallowed nervously and

  found his fists clenched. “And consider this. Sherford may

  not be spared from the fighting. If you cannot accept my

  love, at least accept my protection.”

  “Speak not of love ‘til you can speak of trust, Jeremy,”

  Alicen stated, voice husky with tears. She turned her

  back.

  Not about to allow her withdrawal, he gently seized

  her shoulders, then turned her back toward him. With

  one strong finger, he brushed away the glistening drops

  wetting her cheeks. “Good men will die without you,” he

  said, voice nearly a whisper.

  Her look was grim. “Good men will die in spite of me.”

  Gathering her into his arms, he held her so tightly he

  knew she could barely breathe. She belonged with him—

  his mate, his heart. Her warmth penetrated even his mail,

  a warmth he’d not felt since their last embrace. He lowered

  his head to her hair and breathed deeply. She did not

  resist, which heartened him.

  “Come with us, lass,” he murmured, relaxing his hold

  on her. “You’ve no idea how badly you’re needed.”

  Jeremy’s soft plea crushed Alicen’s defenses. She’d

  longed for his return, and now the strong arms encircling

  her made her forget all her objections and hurt.

  He was sworn to fight, as were all Duke William’s

  men. As a sworn healer, her loyalty lay with those who

  needed her skills the most. Unfortunately, she knew the

  victims of battle —soldier and civilian alike—would

  require her talents in the coming days.

  She drew a shaky breath, then raised her head to

  look into her knight’s anxious eyes. Seeing his love, her

  tone grew strong. “I’ll go. Duty must be served. Yours

  and mine.”

  Twenty-one

  “Alicen!” Ned hurried toward her as she walked

  Durham Castle’s bailey with Rhea and Liza. “The armies

  take the field on the morrow.”

  Alicen exchanged a look with Rhea.

  “We’ve only been here two days,” Liza exclaimed.

  War makes its own time, Alicen thought morosely.

  Scanning the inner bailey, she saw Jeremy, Jason

  Warrick, and William’s other captains leaving the keep.

  As she watched them move toward her, tumult from the

  portcullis drew everyone’s attention.

  “’Tis the eve of war, and battle lust begins, I see.”

  Indicating the portcullis, Jason turned to Jeremy with a

  grin. “Shall we look to the cause of this disturbance?”

  Jeremy shrugged, indifferent. “If you desire to do

  such.”

  “Methinks a different kind of lust assails you, man.”

  Jeremy’s gaze had been on Alicen, and he realized

  Jason knew it. “Your tongue will dig y
our grave, Warrick,

  do you not mind it,” he snapped.

  Before Jason could reply, Jeremy strode toward the

  main gate and the source of the tumult.

  A crowd had gathered at the drawbridge to witness a

  heated exchange between two archers, both claiming they

  could leap the span between the gatehouse and the

  barbican at the outermost gate. Twenty-five feet across

  the moat.

  Jeremy knew there would be trouble when he looked

  at Jason’s glittering eyes. His friend was going to start

  some mischief.

  Jason’s next words confirmed Jeremy’s thought.

  “Would you care to wager, friends?” Warrick asked

  the bowmen. “I’ve ten florins that says I can make the

  leap.”

  “I am for you,” the larger of the two men said.

  Jason and the large archer drew straws. Jason drew

  the long straw and thus would jump second. He ordered

  that a bed of straw cover the top of the barbican, some

  twenty feet below the gatehouse. The bowman climbed

  to the parapet and stepped onto the crenel, steadying

  himself with a hand on each of the waist-high merlons.

  From the ground forty feet below, he looked like a piece

  of gristle caught in a giant’s squared-off teeth. With a

  piercing battle cry, he leaped into space. Instead of landing

  atop the barbicon, he fell short, caught the edge of a crenel

  with both hands and hung there a moment before falling

  into the moat.

  His opponent had not even managed to extricate

  himself from the brackish water before Jason had stripped

  off sword belt, doublet and tunic, shoved them into

  Jeremy’s arms, and climbed to the parapet. With a

  bloodcurdling war cry, he launched himself at the target.

  Jeremy assumed Jason was aiming for the lowest

  crenel atop the barbican. He hit the merlon beside it

  instead and fell flat on his back in the mud that edged

  the moat. Jeremy winced at the sight of his friend hitting

  inflexible stone, but Jason was not down long.

  Muddied, his nose bleeding, Jason scrambled onto

  solid ground, where he for a time stood doubled over,

  gasping for breath while good-natured taunts filled the

  air.

  “I almost reached it,” he groused when Jeremy

  approached. “A hand span left.” He eyed the guardhouse

  roof as the second bowman prepared to make his leap.

  Jeremy shook his head. “I’ll pay you twenty florin not

  to attempt that again.”

  Grimacing, Jason wiped blood from his nose with the

  back of his dirty hand. “Mayhap you’re right. Let the

  bastard Harold’s men attempt to kill me. I’ll not do it for

  them.”

  Jeremy started to clap Warrick on the shoulder then

  thought better of it. “You look fit for the sty.” His nose

  crinkled. “You smell fit for it, too.”

  Warrick scraped a handful of mud from his chest and

  raised it in his fist. “Not another word, friend, or I’ll—”

  Again the crowd roared. Soon, Jeremy had watched

  a dozen men fail the leap. One broke an arm, another a

  leg, all bruised themselves. None came closer to success

  than Jason and the large archer.

  Each successive attempt was cheered louder than the

  previous ones, and Jeremy knew not a noble, retainer or

  servant within Durham Castle was unaware of what

  transpired.

  “Come, Captain Blaine,” Jason said, nudging Jeremy

  with his elbow. “’Tis certain you could hit the mark.”

  “No.” Just then Jeremy caught sight of Alicen,

  approaching with Ned, Rhea, Liza and Michael. He froze,

  unable to calm his racing heart. Ease the ache in his

  chest. Her gaze met his, and she smiled slightly, weaving

  her way through the assembled throng to gain his side.

  “Good day ladies, Ned, Michael,” he greeted the group,

  never looking away from Alicen. “Have you come to see

  grown men make fools of themselves?”

  She shook her head. “Truth be told, we’d heard there

  were injuries and thought mayhap we could help.”

  They were in time to see the latest contestant’s foot

  slip just as he began his leap. He fell headfirst into the

  moat.

  “Dickie can’t swim,” one man cried when the soldier

  remained submerged.

  Three men immediately leaped into the murky water.

  After frantic searching, they surfaced, two dragging the

  unconscious victim to solid ground. One thumped his

  back several times, and with a sputtering heave of his

  chest, Dickie again began breathing.

  Alicen turned shocked eyes to Jeremy. “They do thus

  for sport?”

  “They merely ease their worry before battle.” He

  shrugged. “’Tis more agreeable than pillage or ravishment,

  don’t you allow?” When Alicen blushed, he couldn’t help

  grinning.

  “He who succeeds at the leap will earn vast wealth,”

  Jason interjected. “A prize of one hundred florins.”

  Ned gasped. “That’s two hundred shillings!”

  “Aye, lad. A man could well enjoy himself with such a

  purse.” Jason cocked his thumb at Jeremy. “I strive to

  coax Captain Blaine to try his hand.”

  Jeremy waved Jason off. “Leave be, Warrick. I’ve no

  need of the winnings. Nor do I wish to soil my clothing.”

  He turned to the others. “Jason still chafes because he

  failed first.”

  Warrick’s ears reddened. “You’ll let Duke William’s

  honor be besmirched to spare your clothes, Jeremy? Or

  lack you stomach for this?”

  Alicen shot Warrick a look of disgust, then clasped

  Jeremy’s arm, pleading quietly, “Don’t let him taunt you

  into this. ’Tis foolish, and you know how happily he makes

  mischief for his own entertainment.”

  Sensation radiated through Jeremy at her touch.

  Suddenly, only the two of them existed. Everyone else

  faded away as he stared at her, seeing her fear. He knew

  then the depth of her caring, despite her reluctance to

  admit such. Cupping her chin in his hand, he smiled

  and leaned toward her, then realizing they could be

  overheard, looked up at their assembled companions.

  “Pardon us.” He clamped her hand in the crook of his

  elbow and moved a few paces off from the throng.

  His tone matched her earlier one when he replied,

  “He’s correct, you know. I cannot abandon my duke’s

  honor.”

  She scowled. “He seeks to goad you into needless

  peril.”

  “Do you care so much for my safety?” Her answer

  meant the world, and he fixed her with an intense gaze.

  She looked away first. “What manner of question is

  that? You know I cannot abide seeing men hurt.”

  Her actions gave him his answer. Joy sang in him,

  and he was overwhelmed with need. “A wager, Mistress

  Kent?” He crooked a brow. “Since I mean to attempt what

  all others have failed, why not give me a sweeter prize to

  win?”

  She eyed him warily. “I hav
e little coin. And I’ll not

  risk a farthing on such a foolish enterprise.”

  Bending his head closer, he whispered, “Then venture

  the one commodity I’ve longed for, lo, these many weeks.”

  At her dubious look, he stated honestly, “Your pleasurable

  company in my bed this night would be a prize worth

  dying for.”

  Gasping, Alicen pressed her fingers to his lips. “Speak

  not so lightly of death. ’Tis ill fortune.”

  He kissed her hand, then ran his fingers up her arm.

  “Will you wager? We both know well the delight that will

  be ours should I succeed.”

  She trembled at his touch. “Jeremy, don’t risk

  injury—”

  “In the morn we ride into battle. ‘Eat, drink and be

  merry, for tomorrow we—’”

  “Cease this!” Alicen tried to pull away, but he

  tightened his fingers into a gentle shackle, effectively

  preventing escape.

  “I want you, Alicen,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’ve felt

  thus for so long, I cannot remember ever not wanting

  you.”

  Her mouth opened and closed twice before she

  managed to say, “Must you take this foolish dare?”

  He grinned, leaning closer. “Danger makes life rich.”

  “Reasoned with a soldier’s logic.” With a sigh, she

  briefly dropped her forehead to his shoulder. “I’ll take

  your wager. But I’ll not bind your head when you crack it

  for pride.”

  Jeremy laughed, quickly kissed her mouth, then

  dashed back to the others. He handed his sword to

  Warrick, spurned removing his tunic, and strode to the

  watchtower.

  Knees wobbling, Alicen stood where he’d left her. An

  inner chill swept her as she watched him poised atop the

  merlon. The chill turned to ice in her veins when he

  emitted a fierce battle cry and launched himself off the

  parapet.

  She closed her eyes for a tense moment, heard a

  deafening roar, and looked to see him standing squarely

  in the middle of the barbican, a smile threatening to split

  his face in twain. Unaware of doing so, she ran toward

  his perch.

  Jeremy descended, fighting through the crush of giddy

  spectators to find his friends. Noting Alicen’s expression

  contained equal dismay and relief, he paused. He’d forced

  her into a decision she perhaps regretted. What would

  happen next?

  Jason’s grin was as broad as his congratulatory