Wild Is My Love

by Janelle Taylor

  “But I must be careful,” Gavin added. “Only six men ride with me, though they are strong and full of valor and would follow me to the death. We will join a band of raiders and convince them there is no money or glory to be found in our old way of living, that we have joined them because we are weary of being poor and unknown. They will never suspect that we are not from Strathclyde, as we will claim. My men will call me Gavin Hawk, as I will call them by their first names. This way we will not expose ourselves with name slips. Thus will we gain the raiders’ trust, learn who has hired them and their real purpose. Whether it be plundering or treachery, we will defeat them.”

  Laughter spilled from Giselde’s lips. “Yea, it is a clever plan. It will close their eyes to your mission. There is no surer way to unmask them but to join them.”

  Giselde was pleased with Gavin’s cunning. If he succeeded, his deed would become legend. Exhilaration flooded her body at the thought of being part of victorious history. Not since leaving Albany years ago had the flames of warriors’ fires burned so fiercely within her, or caused her heart to ache with longing for the old days and lost loves. Her Celtic father Connal and her Viking husband Rurik had taught her much about fighting strategy, knowledge she had tried to teach Alysa over the years, cleverly under the guise of games, as dear Piaras had done at the castle until Isobail halted him.

  “Walk slowly and carefully, Gavin,” Giselde warned, “or our enemies will guess your plans. Remember that Trahern—the Sheriff of Damnonia—is fiercely loyal to Isobail, and only Sir Piaras and Sir Beag can be trusted at Malvern Castle. Soon we will see where the lords stand. But Alric is little more than a vanishing mist. He cannot hurt you or help you. Never trust him, Gavin.”

  “What of Alysa, your granddaughter?”

  “If you can, stay clear of her. Alysa must not be endangered by our plans. To draw her into them would provoke Isobail’s fury against her.”

  “That is wise, Giselde. Since we cannot allow her to aid us, she would not understand our actions. If possible, I will make certain our paths do not cross.” Gavin arose and stretched his tired body. “I must return to my camp and speak with my men. I will come to you every six days, unless I ride far away to carry out our plan. If I do so, I will try to get word to you before I leave. When I find the safest place to camp, I will return and tell you its location. But we must be careful when we meet, or we will expose our alliance.” Gavin moved toward the door.

  “Wait,” Giselde called after him. She went to her work area and withdrew a small stone that had been polished and attached to a leather thong. Handing it to Gavin, she cautioned, “Wear this at all times. Never remove it, even to bathe. If you lose it or it is torn from your neck during a fight, as swiftly as you can, return to me to obtain another one.”

  Gavin stared at the necklace in his hand and asked, “What is it?”

  Giselde’s gnarled fingers reverently reached out to stroke the talisman which had come from a crushed Druid Stone, a megalith sarsen used by Celtic Druids during sacrosanct rituals. She explained, “It is a sacred amulet which will guard you. Long ago it was blessed by Good forces. It cannot protect you from injury or death, but it will keep your head clear of spells.”

  Gavin smiled indulgently.

  “I beg you to wear it always,” the old woman urged. “Even though you do not believe in the Old Ways, do this for me.”

  Gavin saw how distressed the woman was, and deciding it could do no harm to appease her, slipped it over his head and rested it against the leather shield that covered a symbol of death: a royal tattoo in blue. Royal and military tattooing was a custom started in his lands by the Romans, its dye coming from the woad of wild cabbage. When he was fighting or far from his homeland, he always wore garments over his heart so it could not be seen, unless he wished it so.

  Giselde smiled happily when the young prince complied, then bid him farewell and good luck. As with Alysa, she watched his departure until the green forest swallowed him. Then the old woman went to her work bench and began mixing potions to enchant Gavin. During Alysa’s visit earlier that morning, Giselde had sneaked strands of brown hair from Alysa’s clothing which she had used for her granddaughter’s spell, a binding spell to become effective the first time Alysa slept after it was cast. During Gavin’s visit, Giselde had furtively taken honey-colored hairs from his head for the same purpose.

  As she labored skillfully with the intricate arts of enchantment, she murmured, “When next you sleep, Prince Gavin of Cumbria, you will seek your heart’s desire and she will come to you with the face and form of Alysa Malvern. Until you meet, Alysa will fill your dreams each night and your heart each day. Once you have gazed upon her, you will be captivated by her. When next you sleep, you will be ensnared by love and desire for only her.”

  Giselde dropped three rose petals into the liquid heating in her cruse. When delicate smoke began to rise, she added the tawny strands of Gavin’s hair. She closed her eyes and murmured, “By all of the powers within and without me, I command you to bind Gavin Crisdean’s heart and life with Alysa Malvern’s.” She mixed this potion with the one from Alysa’s and stirred them together gently. “Let no woman claim Gavin’s heart and eye save Princess Alysa Malvern. Let no man claim Alysa’s heart and eye save the Hawk of Cumbria.”

  “It is dangerous to intervene in the fates of others, Giselde. She will be unable to resist this man to whom you have bound her heart and soul. I did not reveal my secrets to you so you could play games with others’ lives.”

  Giselde turned on her stool as a tall, bearded man lowered the tapestry that concealed the hidden back door. She gazed at Trosdan, who had been her teacher long ago, and her teacher here in Damnonia since she had summoned him from Albany two years ago. At sixty-nine, Trosdan’s hair was a blend of black and gray, yet his full beard was snowy white. His tall slim body possessed an air of dignity and grace, and Giselde could feel the power that flowed from him. His sky-blue eyes seemed to pierce flesh and bone, as if they could see into a person’s mind and heart, or into one’s very soul. Few men knew the secrets that Trosdan had mastered, yet he used them wisely and sparingly, for he recognized their hidden dangers. Trosdan was one of a dying breed of mystical and magical Druids, who had been outlawed by the Romans long ago but still practiced their beliefs secretly.

  “You heard all?” she asked.

  He nodded as he took a seat at the table. The Druid master pulled a cloth bag from his long tunic and shook it gently before spilling small, square rocks upon her table, runes from the same sandstone as Gavin’s amulet. “Did you selfishly bind Alysa’s heart to the Hawk of Cumbria and his to hers to save her from Moran until your victory?” Trosdan asked softly.

  Giselde nodded and explained, “With Prince Gavin’s protection added to yours, Alysa will be safe from all harm.”

  Trosdan warned, “Be wary of revenge, Giselde, it is a dangerous weapon. Once the forces of your magic begin to fill the air, Earnon will sense them and seek to stop you. He is totally loyal to Isobail. She will order your death and Alysa’s torment, and her followers will seek to obey her.”

  Giselde argued, “Long ago many deadly secrets invaded our lives, Trosdan, but now I have you to help me. Until victory is won, your fith-fath spell will protect Alysa from all harm, for your powers are great and no Evil can pierce a fith-fath cloak. You taught me that a powerful spell can be used only once, so I know the peril I face.’ I know you cannot cast a protective aura around both of us, but it is more important for Alysa to survive than me. But if I fail…”

  Trosdan shook his head. “I can do only that which is good and right. Expect no more of me, Giselde. If we are exposed, we will both die. Have you forgotten that my cloaking spell protects her only from death, not from all harm?”

  “That is why I needed Gavin’s help and bound him to Alysa.”

  “What if the Hawk of Cumbria is pledged to another in his land? And what happens to them when their binding spell is broken at your death? I urg
e you to remove it now, before they sleep and it works its magic on them.”

  “I had to do it, Trosdan; I had no choice. It is too late to take another path. Alysa needs Gavin Crisdean.”

  The master Druid stared intently at the mystical symbols carved upon the smooth surfaces of the runes. “Yea, I know,” he murmured, but did not reveal what he saw to Giselde. He would remain silent about the lovers’ first meeting, which occurred before Gavin’s visit to this hut, for it was too late to free Alysa from bewitchment, and it would soon be too late to free Gavin.

  Trosdan, a Viking by birth and an Albanian Briton by choice, said, “As a young man, when I came to this isle with Rurik, my life was changed by a Druid master and your family. I still believe many of the things I was taught in my old land, but I have learned so much more in yours about the secrets of nature, as did your mother Astrid. You have learned much, too, Giselde, but you must use such knowledge and skills carefully.

  “For years I feared Rurik’s Viking tribe would learn about your survival and Alysa’s birth, but I see no imminent threat to either of you from them. Alysa is the last Viking queen, my queen, so I owe her my fealty and love. I wish she did not have to suffer so deeply before all is set right once more.”

  Giselde did not have to ask Trosdan if he would keep Alysa’s existence secret from the Vikings, for she knew his feelings about their barbaric ways. “The survival of this land and people is more important than Alric’s miserable life,” she said. “If Isobail is allowed to continue, all is lost. Between the prowess of the Hawk and our magic, we will save Alysa and Damnonia.”

  The old woman glanced at the simmering potion in the cruse and called Briac Crisdean to mind. A man’s family was responsible for a member’s deeds, so it was Gavin’s duty to set right the wrongs of the past which had been partially from his father’s weakness for Catriona. Besides, Giselde mused, no harm should come of her spell. Love was meant to be wild and wonderful and mysterious, as hers had been for and with her Viking husband Rurik.

  The wise man cautioned, “Concentrate on the Evil that surrounds us and how we must fight it. A war has begun in which powerful forces will battle, and the losses will be great. Not even a powerful wizard or the gods can control a war between Good and Evil. Your valiant warrior does not know about the forces confronting him. Let us see what the runes say about our hero and this forthcoming battle…”

  * * *

  *Later to be named the English Channel

  Three

  Alysa stood at her chamber window, gazing out at the inner ward of Malvern Castle, her home since birth over eighteen years ago. Malvern Castle was large and picturesque, one of the most well laid-out castles in all of Britain. The inner ward, or bailey, where most castle dwellers lived and worked, was constructed nearly in a square, with thick walls lined with defensive parapets stretching from tower to tower at each corner. The outer ward, large enough to hold the two closest villages, was surrounded by an imposing battlement which totally encircled the magnificent compound. Beyond the battlement the entire setting was protected by a wide and deep moat on three sides with a river on the fourth. Each entrance in the outer wall was guarded by two gates and a drawbridge.

  The castle sat high on the riverbank, with its southwestern side sloping abruptly to the river wall, too steeply pitched for a direct assault, even if enemies were lucky enough to conquer the battlement. Alysa could see the river from a side window in her sleeping chamber, and she often enjoyed the lovely sight.

  From her viewpoint, she could see little of the outer ward, but she knew the location and purpose of each area. Stables and barns for the knights’ and soldiers’ horses were built against the northwest wall of the inner bailey, with tiny rooms for stable lads. Beyond; animal pens and fowl cages lined the base of the battlement. The northeast area was lined with fruit trees and small herb and vegetable gardens, to sustain life if the castle fell under a lengthy siege. The southeast section, which Alysa could see from her sitting chamber window, served as the training yard for knights and squires.

  The site, construction, and garrisoning of a castle were vital to a ruler because it provided a defense against enemies, discontented peasants, and rival lords. It also provided the ruler’s subjects with stability and protection against foreign conquest which would throw their lives into chaos. A ruler controlled all of the land and people in his kingdom, and he could reclaim land grants or have people arrested and slain if he saw fit: crucial reasons to have a wise and just and valiant ruler.

  Alysa thought about the duties that her father was allowing others, particularly Isobail, to carry out in his name. A responsible and honorable ruler traveled his lands most of the time, holding court in the castles of feudal lords or stopping in villages and hamlets to show himself to his people and to hand down judgments. A wise ruler visited lords to bestow knighthood and favors on those worthy of them. A smart ruler met with his retainers to discuss defense and problems in each area. And he hunted with his high-ranking subjects to study their loyalties, to show courtesy toward them, to retain their homage.

  A just ruler was supposed to tell peasants when they could sell or trade animals or abodes, and to inspect their farms and workshops. He was to make judgments where crimes or misdeeds were involved, and settle boundary disputes. He was to approve, deny, or command betrothals and marriages, and collect fair taxes and special fees. Yet Prince Alric saw to none of these duties anymore, and many noticed this failure.

  Giselde had told Alysa about the dissension growing among the powerful feudal lords, and the grumblings in many villages. The people no longer felt safe in this land, for they were burdened by Isobail’s demands. Her taxes had nearly impoverished them, and her harsh punishments were resented. Too, the countryside had been terrorized by wandering bands in recent months, and no one in authority appeared capable of putting an end to it. At first they had feared for Prince Alric’s health and prayed for his recovery. Then they had grown rebellious at the troubles his absence created in their lives. Many spoke out for a new ruler, and many of those rebels vanished or were slain by the marauding raiders.

  One lord, Friseal, who had tried to incite the others to speak out against Alric and Isobail, had been arrested and executed for treason at Isobail’s command, and his holdings confiscated and granted to Sheriff Trahern. The other three lords had been unable to help their unfortunate friend, for the man had spoken out publicly against their rulers, and many retainers had borne witness against him in the royal court. Alysa’s father had presided over that court but had been unable to grant his vassal mercy, as the crime of treason had been proven against him. Yet Giselde had told Alysa that the matter had been instigated by Isobail’s men, and the witnesses against the vassal had lied.

  Worse, Giselde had told her that Isobail was plotting to take over every feudal estate in Damnonia and place her royal retainers in control of them. Alysa thought about the three remaining lords—Orin, Daran, and Fergus—and she fretted over their safety. She could not help but wonder if Isobail would also try to take Sir Kelton’s castle at Land’s End—property that once belonged to Isobail and her first husband, Lord Caedmon Ahern—and give it to her son, Moran. Long ago Isobail had struggled to retain Caedmon Castle for Moran, but Alric had refused to allow a woman with small children to keep such a vital stronghold. Alric had taken Isobail and her children into his protection by bringing them to Malvern Castle and making Isobail his wife’s waiting woman. How could a woman love and wed a man who had taken her home and son’s heritage from her? Alysa wondered. But such conjecture presupposed that Isobail was capable of feeling love for another person—an unlikely supposition.

  If Isobail was plotting against Sir Kelton and the other lords, she would know soon, as Moran’s knighthood was approaching, a rank that required money and land before it could be bestowed. And if Giselde was right about the raids on the villages, then Isobail was trying to frighten the peasants into obeying her every whim. This land would run red with innoc
ent blood if Isobail was allowed to carry out her intent. Alysa knew she needed proof of her wicked plots, and had to figure out how to obtain such proof and get it to King Bardwyn, her grandfather.

  Alysa’s chambers were in the south tower on the second floor, the smallest tower of the compound, the one built for nurseries and children, their guardians and teachers. The space and privacy had not been necessary, as Alric and Catriona had had only one child. Her handmaiden Thisbe’s room was nearby, along with Alysa’s privy and wardrobe. Beneath her on the first floor were the chambers of Princess Isobail’s son and daughter by the deceased Lord Caedmon—Kyra and Moran Ahern—when Prince Moran was home.

  To her right was a lengthy section housing knights and their squires, the prince’s guard, the armory, and the men’s eating hall. Then came linked twin towers on the western corner, which served as a massive gatehouse with its imposing turrets and portcullis, structures that were fortresses in themselves and served as the only entrance to the inner ward. The buttress-connected towers contained the royal stables and farriers on the lower floors, and military retainers—castle watchmen, men-at-arms, and archers—on the second floors. Here was where her beloved friend Sir Piaras, the knight trainer, lived and worked.

  Another lengthy section with numerous rooms and workshops was located between the gatehouse and the north tower. This was where the skivvies, armorers, smiths, carpenters, and other craftsmen labored in service for their ruler. Some slept in their workshops, while others lived in the nearby village or had huts along the inner wall of the southeast battlement.