Wild Is My Love

by Janelle Taylor

  The Viking threat lessened and life was quiet. Alric’s court traveled frequently, and Isobail was left behind at the castle. But tragedy struck when Alysa was nine—Catriona died. Alric raged at the gods who were punishing him for his black past, but nothing could bring his wife back to him.

  Worse, Giselde had gone mad after her daughter’s death. The old woman had accused him of slaying his wife in order to claim Isobail and Moran. She had threatened him with vengeance, but instead Giselde had vanished mysteriously. He had never learned how she discovered the dark truth about him, or what she might have told Catriona.

  Tormented by shame, Alric had gathered his retinue and left Malvern Castle, managing to stay gone for three miserable years. Gradually he realized that the agony he was trying to flee had been carried around within him, so he had returned home.

  Guilt added to guilt to plague him daily, until he became ill. Lady Isobail insisted on caring for him herself. For days he wallowed in his misery and remorse while she tempted and enticed him day and night. Yet he resisted her, fearing what Giselde might do if she returned and found them together. Then a night came when his sufferings were so intense that he recklessly allowed Isobail to soothe them with her gentle hands and passionate body; that erotic night led to others, and finally to marriage, when Isobail suspected she was carrying another child. He could not allow their second child, possibly another son, to be born unclaimed. In his crazed state he thought the gods were showing their forgiveness by giving him a chance to be happy again. He even imagined that they had chosen Isobail as his rightful wife, for he had been warned not to marry Catriona. It seemed as if he and Isobail were thrown together time and time again, so he had yielded, later discovering there was no child.

  For three years he used Isobail’s exquisite body to slake his desires, used her with an almost punishing frenzy, which she seemed to enjoy. Then he suddenly became ill and his manhood ceased to do its duty. He could not help but think of Caedmon and what the man had endured, knowing he could not take his wife or appease his cravings with any woman. Perhaps, he thought, that was the reason Caedmon had been so quarrelsome, and why their former rivalry had developed: so Caedmon could distract himself from his torment.

  A curious resentment toward Isobail sparked with Alric. He tried to conquer it, for the bewitching Isobail had been seemingly blameless in their affair; and she had been nothing but kind and patient with him since his illness began. In fact, she had done everything she could to protect him from public shame and to keep his princedom running perfectly, and had always been loyal to him. serving him in any way he commanded.

  His illness had come and gone for eight months. Princess Isobail had apologized and moved into the other tower, vowing she could not sleep while he groaned and thrashed in agony, or tolerate the odor of his chamber. Humiliated, he had not forced her to stay with him. Yet in his wretchedness, his mind played cruel tricks on him and wild suspicions plagued him.

  Alric knew he did not love Isobail and never had; but he would never allow his wife, the Princess of Damnonia, to cuckold him in his own castle, as she had done to Lord Caedmon when he could no longer sate her desires. He had hired a gifted bard to live and entertain in his castle, and to watch Isobail and make certain she took no lover; he believed that Guinn had done both jobs admirably for five months.

  Five long and agonizing months… That was how long it had been since this strange illness had worsened, often confining him to bed for weeks at a time. He was relieved that Isobail had taken over for him; she had protected him from total humiliation and had kept Damnonia from suffering as he was suffering.

  Alric now realized with dismay that he was rubbing his rumbling stomach. “Ye Gods, no,” he shrieked in anguish, then grabbed for the chamber pot to heave over it. Afterwards, weak and shaking, he drank the rest of his wine, plus another goblet, to remove the foul taste from his mouth. He dropped his head to his pillow and closed his eyes, forcing the tears that had gathered there to roll down his cheeks. It had been only a brief respite, perhaps a taunting one by the gods. Wanting to end his misery, Alric consumed a third goblet of wine.

  By the blood of Brutus! his mind ranted angrily. Will it never end? Will I never be the man I was long ago? Must I always suffer and pay for one black deed, one short period of madness? Ye gods, forgive me, or end it now, he pleaded, then began to weep.

  Alysa paced her chambers nervously. She had everything prepared to carry out her daring task: the torch, the wine jug, her locked door, and her courage. Now she had to wait for a later hour before she could safely approach her father’s chambers.

  Leitis had visited her earlier and told her she had seen the prince’s server hide a pouch behind a keg in one of the storage rooms. As soon as everyone was busy in other areas, Leitis had exchanged the baneful herbs for Giselde’s healing ones.

  Alysa was relieved that it had been accomplished without Leitis being seen. That left only the need to replace the wine which might be tainted. A jug of wine lasted for two or three days, so at least it wouldn’t have to be changed daily and endanger them as often. With luck and courage, Alric should be well soon.

  Alysa went to the secret panel and pushed on it. Nothing happened. She tried once more, and still nothing. It felt as if the panel was sealed from the other side! She forced the panel with all of her strength, and it moved slightly, then continued to force it until it opened just enough to slip through. The odors that assailed her nostrils nearly caused her to retch. She peered into the darkness and shivered from a damp chill, then lit a torch, fetched the wine jug, and stepped into the secret passage.

  Poised on a square stone landing, Alysa glanced to her right and left several times, allowing her eyes to adjust to the eerie shadows. Steps descended in both directions into enclosing darkness, and she hated to think of what she might find at the bottom. The ones to her right led to the gatehouse and the escape passage at the river. She needed to head left to the Great Tower, where her father’s chambers were located. The secret panel in Alric’s room hidden in the woodwork near a recessed window.

  The torch flickered and crackled, air pulling at its leaping flame. Alysa recalled that narrow shafts had been constructed near each fireplace along the path of the passageway to provide air for the hidden route. Realizing that smoke from the burning torch could alert someone to her movements, she extinguished the torch and returned to her room to fetch a candle to light her path, which she knew would give off less light along her scary journey. Then pulling the panel closed behind her, she clutched the wine jug tightly and began to make her way down the steep steps.

  She halted at the bottom to slow her racing heart and steady her hands. Even her legs were trembling! She wished this task was not necessary, but knew it was. Moving again, dreading each step, Alysa edged her way along the stone hall. She shifted the candle up and down to sight any obstacle in her path. Eventually she concluded with relief that it was too damp and barren of food in the eerie corridor for rats and spiders. Here and there foul water soaked her leather slippers and skirttail, and she cautioned herself to be careful of the damp stones which were slippery in places. If she fell and injured herself, no one would ever find her.

  Musty, dank odors fouled the air from the mold and slime that seemingly surrounded her, and she crinkled her nose in displeasure. Alysa knew she was walking beneath the chambers of Earnon, Guinn, and Baltair; yet through the thick stone walls no one could hear her passing. It was like being inside an ancient tomb. Just as she reached the point where the passageway widened slightly near the Great Tower, she stopped short and gasped.

  In a recessed area, two skeletons were chained to the wall. Alysa guessed that the builders had been entombed here so no one could know of the existence of a secret passage. It dismayed her to realize that her father was responsible for this cruel action, and she shivered while hurrying past.

  Locating the steps to her father’s chambers, she climbed to the landing then stopped to rest. She placed the candle
and jug on the floor and looked for the catch to open the panel.

  Her heart drummed wildly as it creaked open. She peered into the darkened room and saw no one, but spotted a form beneath the bed covers. She waited tensely to see if the noise had awakened her father, but it had not. Lifting the jug, she moved into his room and toward his bed.

  Her long brown hair fell forward as Alysa leaned over her father to find him sleeping deeply. Even though the light was dim, his color was very pale tonight. She poured the wine in Alric’s goblet into his jug and refilled it with wine from the one she had brought with her. She placed the new jug on the table, remembering to mark the bottom of it so she could tell if it was swapped again before her next visit, then put the tainted jug in the passage.

  Taking a rag from the table, Alysa wiped away tracks on the floor from her soiled shoes. From the smells in Alric’s room, she knew he had been sick again tonight. Surely between hers and Leitis’s actions, everything should be all right from now on, she concluded optimistically.

  Again Alysa entered the passage, closing the panel securely. Retrieving her candle and the old jug, she gingerly began her return journey. Moving swiftly now, she noticed how the candlelight did ghostly dances upon the walls. Her body was tense and her ears on alert for any sound of an unwelcome creature.

  Halfway back, the flame flickered erratically and the candle went out, the smoky odor of the extinguished candle permeating the imprisoning hall. Alysa halted in terror as blackness engulfed her. The foul odors seemed stronger to her nose in the dark, and it was almost deathly silent, except for her noisy respiration and the loud drumming of her heart. She strained to make certain she heard nothing and no one approaching her. Hating this cold black place and wanting out of it quickly, she commanded herself not to scream. Be calm and think, Alysa.

  The dampness attacked her, causing goose pimples to cover her flesh. She shuddered and dropped the jug; it crashed loudly at her feet and splattered her kirtle. She smelled the wine and felt it rolling down her legs. She had no choice but to complete her journey in pitchblack darkness. Wiggling her toes carefully, she pushed the broken shards aside and shakily continued her walk. Her hands rebelled at moving over the slimy wall surface to guide her, but they obeyed.

  After what seemed like ages she stumbled against the bottom step that led to her chamber and fell forward to the stairs. Before she could prevent it, she squealed with pain. Slowly, limping, she ascended the stairs until she reached the top one, freezing in her tracks when a frightening sound touched her ears. Bats! her mind shouted in panic; bats flying down the chimney. She did not know whether to remain rigid or to hurry.

  When something darted past her head, she hurried onto the landing and fumbled for the release catch. A series of high-pitched noises, sounded near her. She ducked her head and prayed none of the creatures would become entangled in her hair. She had seen that happen, and a servant had been forced to cut the bat from the petrified girl’s hair. Alysa wished she had left the torch lit, and vowed to the next time. She would simply light a fire in her brazier to disguise the smoke from the torch.

  At last she got the panel open and nearly fell inside her room. Quickly she closed it and leaned against it. Her chest was rising and falling furiously, and she closed her eyes and breathed deeply to calm herself. When a small measure of control returned, she glanced at her clothes and shoes; they were filthy.

  Without delay, Alysa stripped them off and tossed them inside the secret passageway. She would decide what to do with them later. She washed off in a basin and donned her nightgown. Her brown hair was a mess, and she wondered how she would explain it to Thisbe in the morning. The least she could do was brush it, which she did.

  Afterwards she fell across the beckoning bed, exhausted from her daring episode, and was asleep within minutes; to dream of scary places and a handsome rescuer.

  A few nights later, Alysa repeated her actions; she once more exchanged the wine jugs in her father’s chamber, then made certain they were not switched again by checking for her mark on the jug’s bottom. Yet her father remained violently ill and muddleheaded. She paced her floor and tried to accept Giselde’s warning: poisoned food and wine might not be Alric’s problem, or its entirety. Leitis had swapped Earnon’s herbs for Giselde’s, and had seen nothing unusual during her intense observation of Isobail’s hirelings. Alysa felt helpless, and had to face the fact that she might have been mistaken about Isobail being responsible for Alric’s condition.

  Perhaps Isobail was up to some other unsavory action, Alysa thought. Since her time and energies appeared wasted here, perhaps it would be best if she tried to see what else Isobail was doing. Gavin, she mused, and a smile crossed Alysa’s face. Where was he? What was he doing? Could he help her? Would he? The thought of sinking into his protective arms warmed her, and she trembled with longing. Whether she decided to seek Isobail out and spy on her, or wait here for Gavin’s return, she must go to their meeting spot and leave a message for him.

  When Alysa drifted off to sleep each night, her mind filled with constantly changing dreams of Gavin. At first she was in the dark passageway, running from a terrifying peril in the blackness behind her. All manner of scary sights and sounds tormented her. Suddenly Gavin was before her with “a bright and warm torch. She raced into his beckoning arms and clung to him for protection and solace.

  When she lifted her head to gaze into his handsome face, they were riding swiftly over a heather-covered moor on Trojan’s strong back, riding toward freedom from all of their troubles, riding toward a blissful life together. He smiled at her before tenderly fusing their lips.

  Then they were lying beside a waterfall, the sound of it roaring in their ears as loudly as the pounding of their rapid pulses. His mouth slashed hungrily across hers and compelled her to respond feverishly to him.

  Once, they were clad in peasant garments, but craved to yank them off so their fiery bodies could touch.

  She wanted him and needed him. Thoughts of him were driving her wild with irresistible desire. Surely she would perish if she did not share love’s banquet table with him soon. Only by taking him could she end these haunting dreams of unrequited love and passion.

  In her dreams Gavin yearned to make her his, and raged against the obstacles that prevented his possession. He vowed to challenge any man who tried to take her from him. As she walked away from him to return home, he pursued her and seized her within his demanding embrace. He could not release her until their lives and hearts were one.

  Alysa watched the priest marry them, then saw Gavin gather her into his arms and run into a flower-strewn hut that glittered in the sun. He tantalized her with kisses and caresses until she was trembling and pleading for appeasement. As he pushed her top aside and fastened his mouth to a breast, she thought she would faint from bliss. His hand slipped beneath her skirt and rapturously up her thigh…

  Alysa moaned and thrashed upon her bed until peaceful slumber replaced her bittersweet dreams. And far away, Gavin’s damp body was released from a matching bout with beautiful passion.

  In her chamber Kyra stretched and grinned as she mused over the last few nights and days with Earnon. She had him duped completely. He was teaching her marvelous, even frightening, magic, and his skill in pleasuring a woman was surprisingly varied. But despite her confidence in her beauty and charms, Kyra had not expected to ensnare Earnon so easily. She doubted if he realized how many clues he had dropped about Isobail while he was making wild love to her or was training her. Soon she would control his soul, she thought, as she now ruled his heart and body.

  Today she would increase her pace with Earnon, as only a few days remained before Isobail’s return. Before then she must make certain Earnon was hers. She would drop more hints to her teacher about her mother’s greed, cruelty, flaws. She would help Earnon realize that Isobail could not be trusted completely.

  Kyra ate and dressed quickly before hurrying to Earnon’s chamber. Once inside, she kissed him hungril
y. After a passionate bout in his bed, Kyra looked into his dark eyes as she said, “I wish we did not have to worry about the eyes and ears of others, Earnon, so I could remain with you all day and night. I hate sneaking about as if we are mischievous children. I long to awaken in your arms and to see your face at first light on each new morning.”

  Kyra’s hands wandered over his pliant body and her lips drifted over his tingling flesh. As she nibbled playfully at his ear, she murmured huskily “We are alike, you and I, Earnon. We belong together. When matters are settled in our land, we must convince Mother to allow us to marry. Once she is our ruler, she can take Lord Fergus’s or Lord Daron’s grant and give it to us. If she is to take over Damnonia, she needs loyal vassals at every castle. If we help her, she must reward us.”

  Kyra rolled atop the impassioned man and between greedy kisses said, “Think how wonderful it would be for us to marry and have our own castle. We could spend all day on our work and all night on our love-making. What a pair we will make some day, my sweet Earnon.”

  Earnon pressed Kyra to her back and stared into her eyes. “Would you truly marry me, my beautiful Kyra?” he asked. “Will you feel the same when your mother refuses to allow us to be together again?”

  “She cannot, my love,” Kyra protested. “I could not bear to lose my heart and soul. You are important to her. Force her to give me to you as payment for your skills. She is selfish, but she is fearful of your powers. She would never refuse your commands because she needs you. But I warn you, my love, never let her become stronger or smarter than you are. She sucks life and knowledge from people, then casts them aside. She has never loved me or wanted me, and she will be happy to be rid of me. She owes us our chance for happiness, Earnon; she owes us marriage and a castle. We should not have to fear her or obey her, yet we do.”