Kathleen Kirkwood & Anita Gordon - Heart series

by The Defiant Heart

  “Of course, he might not have survived the revolt. Many died in the affray. When I left Constantinople, ‘twas with the frustration that, dead or alive, he had eluded my grasp. And, if he had survived, ‘twas likely he yet abetted the emperor’s degenerate brother.”

  Lyting watched the muscle flex along Rurik’s jaw as he obviously grappled with that frustration once more. Rurik, he knew, would never have left the city had it not been for Helena’s death. Shortly after Rurik routed the conspirators, the emperor lavished honors and riches on him and his officers. Leo had intended to elevate Rurik to one of the privileged ranks so that he might reward him further with Helena’s hand in marriage. But Helena fell suddenly ill and died within days. After her funeral Rurik left Byzantium and took up the life of trading — a hollow man, until he came to Normandy. . . .

  “Since my leave-taking,” Rurik broke into Lyting’s thoughts, “I have maintained loose ties with the Guard and kept an ear open for news from the East. The year I came to Valsemé, Leo died — a natural death. Alexander usurped the throne with little delay and exiled Zoë to a nunnery. My men kept careful watch to see if anyone aided him, but Alexander-was so intoxicated with his own power ‘twould seem he heeded no man’s counsel. Scarcely a year passed when he, too, died. Patriarch Nicholas Mysticus, whom Alexander had recalled, took control as head of the Council of Regency for young Constantine.

  “His rule proved as brief as Alexander’s, for this year past, another palace revolution occurred, led by Zoë and her generals. Zoë expelled the Patriarch and assumed power in the name of her son. She rules today, bedeviled with many of the old contentions along with new ones she inherited from Alexander and the Patriarch, namely a war with the Bulgarians. Adrianople has already fallen, and now they move on Dyrrachium. Many of our Varangians have joined the Byzantines in the field to repulse the Bulgarians including Askel.” Rurik paused and reached for the wide silver armband that encircled his left forearm.

  “Before departing Constantinople, Askel felt an urgency to send me this.”

  He drew off the piece and held it forth to Lyting.

  Taking the band, Lyting examined it. As he turned it over, his gaze fell to the runes engraved on the underside. These he read with relative ease:

  The spider yet spins in the palace of the Caesars.

  Leidolf, Thengil, Vegeir dead.

  His gaze went immediately to Rurik, then to the parchment. He drew a brow downward as he puzzled the armband and the letter. Something felt amiss. Darkly amiss.

  “Does the letter reveal what befell Askel in Dyrrachium? In truth, I could unravel little of it. Who is this Stephanites Cerularius? ‘Tis odd that he should write you of Askel, and that he names the others as well.”

  Rurik opened out the parchment. “He claims to be a friend of Askel’s. Evidently he commands a skutatoi, an infantry unit, mainly of spearmen. He admired Askel’s skill with spears and they struck a friendship. According to Stephanites, Askel confided the information contained in this letter and directed that, should he die, Stephanites was to see it set down and dispatched it to me through the merchants of Hedeby.”

  Lyting rubbed his hand along his jaw, an obscure thought nettling at the back of his brain. “And what of Askel’s missive?”

  “He apprised Stephanites that Thengil and Vegeir died of a sudden and suspicious sickness, ‘not unlike Helena.’ Leidolf was found murdered in the men’s baths. ‘Twas Askel’s belief that the one we ever sought — the one behind the plot against Leo and his family — had resurfaced and was carefully removing the ‘Dragons’ from ‘around the throne.’ There is no telling who this man now serves. Ten-year-old Constantine is the last in the line of the Macedonians. Askel feared that Zoë and her son are again in grave danger.”

  Lyting’s brows drew together. “Yet, if that is so, why did he leave Constantinople for Dyrrachium? Though there are many Varangians serving in the palace guard, that left only Koll from the original six to try to expose the man.”

  “I have no solid answer.” Rurik shook his head. “It makes little sense unless Askel was on the scent of something.”

  “Or someone.”

  “Exactly. Stephanites says ‘twas not a Bulgarian’s blade that felled Askel. He disappeared from nightwatch. His body was found the next morning in the desert.”

  “Then Askel was tracking someone.”

  “Or mayhap followed out of the city.”

  “Still, there is something I do not understand.” Lyting’s thoughts congealed at last as that which plagued him came to the fore of his mind. “Askel took pains to send you an encrypted message from Constantinople — in runes, secreted on the back of an arm bracelet — as though he knew not whom to trust. Why, then, once in the field, would he detail the entire story — not to a Varangian bound by a code of brotherhood — but to a Byzantine soldier? From what you have told me, you six tasted full well of Byzantine duplicity.”

  “I have been struggling with that as well,” Rurik agreed. “When I remind myself that ‘twas Stephanites, not Askel, who authored the letter, it begins to come clear.”

  Rurik held Lyting’s gaze, the blue of his eyes draining to a flinty gray.

  “ ‘Tis my belief the letter is a lure, designed to draw me back to Byzantium, with Helena as the prime bait. It intimates that, like the rest, she, too, was murdered. He who wrote those lines knew full well that I could not bide to leave them rest.”

  Lyting marked the complexity of emotion that passed through Rurik’s face. “Then you think Stephanites is Askel’s murderer’?”

  “I know nothing with surety. Much lies in darkness.” Rurik brooded for a moment. “One thing is certain, however. Neither Askel nor Stephanites knew that I had abandoned my life of trading and now rule a barony in Francia with a wife and sons. Both sought to reach me through Hedeby, knowing it to be a major crossroad and market center of the North. That proved wise on their parts for the pieces found me easily enough. They came into the keeping of Issac the Jew, an old acquaintance, but he is too feeble to journey south anymore. He sent word with the ships bound for Normandy, and safeguarded the items here.”

  Lyting nodded, recalling the messenger, one of Issac’s kindred. “Have you determined what course you will take’?” Lyting handed him back the arm bracelet.

  “Nei. I need think on this longer. Even if Stephanites proves false, I doubt he is more than an underling for the viper behind all this. I’ll examine the band and scroll further and ask about. Most of our Norse merchants traveling the Eastern routes are Sverige-men, as are the Varangians. Mayhap I can glean something of value from them. There appears to be an abundance of Sverige-men here in Hedeby this season.”

  “I think Ketil would agree.” A smile touched Lyting’s lips, then dimmed. “Do you think to journey to the Great City yourself? To Miklagárd?”

  Rurik pressed his eyes closed a moment, then drew a long breath as he straightened and regarded Lyting.

  “If one thing distinguishes a Varangian, ‘tis his fierce loyalty to the throne of the Caesars. ‘Tis a loyalty he carries in his veins till the day his blood flows no more. And yet, for myself, there are new loyalties of equal import. They bind me by oath to duke and king alike, to Normandy and Francia. And there are my people of Valsemé, and, not the least, my family which I am loathe to leave. Still, Zoë and Constantine need be warned, and I would make contact with Koll. The possibility of Helena murdered tears at me, I confess. But as to whether I will undertake this journey, I have no answer.”

  Rurik tucked the parchment inside his tunic and slipped the band onto his arm. “Sorry to burden you, broðir, but I thought you need know should anything befall — ”

  He broke off the grim thought, then affected a smile. “I think I shall envy you your peaceful days at Corbie in some ways.”

  Brienne came forth from the hús just then and started toward him. The blue returned to his eyes, and he broke into an open smile.

  “And in other ways I shall not.” Rurik�
��s gaze shone down on Brienne as she stepped into his arms.

  Lyting watched as Rurik secured Brienne against his side and dropped a kiss to her lips. Rurik continued to hold her as though he did so against the moment he might have to part from her.

  Lyting dropped away his gaze, a tide of conflicting emotions sweeping through him. He glanced to the shimmering tree, then back again and caught the last of what Brienne spoke.

  “The children are sleeping soundly. Ketil returned and has taken Aleth out. It seems he is anxious to spend more coin on her, but he would not say what has taken his eye this time.” She laughed.

  “I, too, shall take my leave.” Lyting chafed to be moving, the familiar restlessness returned tenfold. “Unless there is some task you need me to attend, broðir, there are some purchases I would also make.”

  “Ah, Anskar’s bell,” Brienne said mindfully. “ ‘Twill be a fine addition to Valsemé’s church.”

  Lyting’s brows lifted with surprise. He had forgotten the bell since his encounter with Stefnir. In truth, ‘twas combs he would seek and a very long walk.

  “Já, the bell,” he repeated, wholly distracted. “I’ll leave by the side yard so I don’t risk waking the babes.”

  »«

  Brienne’s gaze followed Lyting as he departed. Pensive, she leaned into Rurik’s chest and watched Lyting’s bright head and broad shoulders disappear down the lane.

  “When first I saw Lyting,” she reminisced, “he was shrouded in a monk’s garb. It did not seem to befit him then, nor does the thought of him wearing it now.”

  “Are you of the same mind as Ketil, ástin mín?” Rurik bent to the sensitive spot behind her ear.

  “Mayhap.” She tingled at the warmth of his mouth and touch of his tongue. “You are the one least surprised by Lyting’s decision to take the cowl.”

  “I simply hold my peace.” Rurik began a slow, downward path, pressing kisses along her neck.

  Brienne wavered as shivers of fire showered her throat and shoulder. Reluctantly she resisted the sensations spiraling through her. Leaning back in the circle of Rurik’s arms, she gave him an expectant eye.

  Rurik drew her against himself once more, undeterred, and brushed his lips against her midnight hair.

  “You would have to have known Lyting in his youth and what it was like for him to grow up as youngest to a half brother like . . .” He stopped short of voicing Hastein’s name aloud.

  “How so, love?” Brienne pressed, quivering as the tip of his tongue traced the shell of her ear. “How could that one have possibly affected Lyting’s call to the monastic life?”

  Rurik pulled back with a sigh, realizing Brienne would own no ease till she had a fuller explanation. He sent up a small, hope-filled prayer that the twins would nap long and deep, and that the others would find much to occupy themselves for the coming hours. He would yet savor this time alone with his ravishing wife. With temporary resignation he covered her hands with his own.

  “Our half brother bedeviled Lyting from infancy, just as he did every other living creature. Have you noticed how ever vigilant Lyting is? How keenly alert? Like the forest animals he so beloves, ‘tis near impossible to steal up on him. Even when he appears asleep, ‘tis only a light, surface sort of slumber he keeps. Always with a sword at hand. ‘Tis born of the hazards he endured in his youth. The constant threat of our half brother’s shadow.”

  Sadness filled Brienne as she envisaged the ordeal of Lyting’s childhood. She knew firsthand of Hastein’s twistedness, having witnessed the full magnitude of his barbarity unleashed upon her brother-in-law.

  “It must have been horribly difficult for him. But how did that bear on his resolve to enter Corbie?”

  Rurik turned over her hands in his as memories of his own youth glanced through him. He leveled his gaze over the top of her head.

  “My brothers were a study in contrast. The one, malicious and spiteful, who derived pleasure in tormenting the most innocent of creatures. The other, profoundly humane and caring, who, despite danger to himself, came ever behind, righting the wrongs, easing the suffering. Even as a small lad, Lyting took it upon himself to rectify our half brother’s cruelties. Like you with your herbs, love, he was a healer of sorts, tending the injuries of animals he found callously brutalized and left to die — putting them from their misery only when faced with no other choice. That deeply affected him. He deplored the senselessness of it all.

  “As he grew in height and strength, he aided those children younger, pitting himself against our half brother with varying results. Not all the scars he bears were gained that night he defended you, ástin mín, though most were inflicted by the same one’s blade.”

  Seeing the pain that creased Brienne’s features, Rurik drew her against him and stroked her hair.

  “Now Lyting wishes to right the ills of Normandy wrought by our kindred. Never was he part to their plunderings in Francia. He arrived shortly after the king concluded his treaty with Rollo. Lyting was swift to embrace Christ’s cross from the first. Far quicker than I,” he added with a smile.

  Brienne tipped her face upward and searched Rurik’s face. “Then you think Lyting should enter Corbie?”

  “I simply trust his judgment.”

  Brienne’s lips parted to speak, but he placed a finger there.” Ástin mín, Lyting must follow his own heart’s calling.”

  Brienne gave a smile and small nod of agreement.

  “Now, love” — Rurik’s eyes glowed softly — “shall we discuss my brother the day long or avail ourselves of the fine new mattress of eiderdown that awaits us within?”

  He trailed kisses over her temple, cheek, and jaw and teased her lips apart. “I would favor a set of daughters to match our sons,” he whispered against her mouth, then drew her into a deep, intoxicating kiss.

  Brienne melted into Rurik, her passion climbing to meet his. Vaguely she felt her feet leave the earth and herself lifted high, deliciously weightless in the power of his arms. Without breaking their kiss, Rurik carried her toward the hús.

  Crossing through the portal, Brienne caught a last glimpse of the silver lime, sparkling and winking on a breeze. As it passed from sight, she wondered hazily where the “heart’s calling” would lead her noble brother-in-law.

  »«

  A fire burned in Lyting’s soul. He traveled the streets of Hedeby — north to south, east to west five times over and five times more. Pace unabating, he drove himself on, a boil of argument.

  Mounting the steep ladder to the crown of defense works, he circled the town once, twice, thrice. At last he halted and braced his hands against the low timbered wall.

  Below spread that small portion of the world that was Danmark, stretching forth to the grayed rim of the horizon. Lyting focused on the distance. He skimmed the muted line where sky met earth, then allowed his thoughts to slip past and continue on with mind’s sight across the heath.

  Southward rose the great Danevirke severing Danmark from Frisia and the East Frankish kingdom. Farther to the south and somewhat west lay Francia, his adopted homeland. There he committed himself by sword and by oath, the sum of his days for three years passing contained in a single word — Valsemé. Another name waited there to encompass his future — that of Corbie.

  Lyting moved along the battlement to gaze westward. Across a short portage the rivers Rheide, Treene, and Ejder flowed into one another and connected to the North Sea — once his battlefield. Beyond that vast body, lay the land of the Saxons and the isle of the Celts. From those fertile shores came the maid of fire and beauty to haunt him with her golden-brown eyes.

  On he strode atop the great earthen mound, past the towers and woodworks. He paused to gaze northward, reaching across time and distance with heart’s memory to the magnificent blue waterways of the Limfjord and the place of his birth. There was he formed and nurtured. There did he grow to manhood.

  At what age had he realized that Limfjord did not hold his future? When had he first perceive
d that his destiny lay apart from her? And yet, Lyting mused, when he sought to journey east, he found himself west. And when he thought to return to the family’s holdings in north Jutland, his father bid him south to Normandy. He had not returned since.

  At length Lyting came to stand and look eastward. He tarried a while, arrested by the light fracturing the surface of the Schlei as it coursed slowly toward the Baltic. Across that near-tideless sea lay the passage to Byzantium.

  Lyting closed his hands to fists. Where did his destiny abide now? Where in God’s holy truth did the Almighty intend that he serve?

  Guilt rode him. He chastised himself for not having offered at once to sail in his brother’s stead for Constantinople. Purposely he held back. Underlying his impulse to aid Rurik was his increasing obsession with the maid of Eire. ‘Twas the thought of her that spurred him to voice his willingness to undertake the journey. In truth, the words nearly tripped from his tongue. But if last night’s dreams be counted, his motives were not so high-minded. His first act of the day was spent, not on bent knee in prayer, but in the icy river, quenching the passions kindled in sleep, quelling their obvious effect.

  Saints breath! What madness possessed him? The girl belonged to Skallagrim. Skallagrim, he emphasized sternly. And the chieftain commanded a drakkar of warriors eager to safeguard her from all, including himself.

  Did he imagine to join the convoy and keep guard of her on the journey east? To what end? To see the maid safely into the arms of the Byzantine? Or, mayhap, escape with her into the mountains, forests, or grasslands — all crawling with fierce barbarians?

  And what of Rurik’s missive to the empress Zoë and young Constantine? ‘Twould still need to be delivered. Still necessary to reach Miklagárd and hazard the reprisal of his choleric kinsmen.

  Lyting tossed back his mane of hair and set his face to the heavens.

  Mayhap ‘twas all a testing. Brother Bernard warned that the path of the religious be an onerous one, beset with many trials, most especially those of the flesh.