Kathleen Kirkwood & Anita Gordon - Heart series

by The Defiant Heart

  Ailinn’s hand warmed atop Lyting’s. She’d felt a distinct tenseness enter his arm when the empress appeared. It bided there still.

  She cast her glance sideways. Due to Lyting’s height, she could see no higher than his chin. She would be forced to tilt her head conspicuously to read his eyes. Instead, she lowered her gaze to the crimson brocade that covered his chest, its silver threads and scattered gemstones gleaming in the torchlight. Her gaze then shifted to their hands. Unexpectedly he turned his hand and caught the tips of her fingers with his, giving them a gentle squeeze.

  Ailinn’s gaze flew to his face and found his smile. Yet, ‘twas a smile shadowed with concern. She took a small swallow, but against what she did not know.

  As the procession converged on the Sigma Palace, a second gathering greeted them, composed of high court officials and officers, prelates, musicians, and additional guards — both Byzantine and Varangian.

  The emperor waited upon a small throne, beneath a canopy of purple silk. Arrayed in full regalia, he wore the paludamentum, a lavish purple robe bearing the jeweled encrusted tablion, much like his mother’s but marking his rank as emperor. Upon his head, he bore a heavy diadem comprising eight enameled gold plaques. In his hand he held an orb, surmounted by a cross, and upon his feet he wore slippers of purple, embroidered with pearls.

  Lyting studied the child imposter, amazed at the resemblance. He consoled his misgivings with the knowledge that the real emperor was safe within the palace, protected by senior officers of the Guard, headed by the Acolyte, and including, at his own request, Thord. Still, he hoped this child would come to no harm.

  As they drew near, Zoë stiffened. In the same moment Lyting spied Thord among the guard that flanked the child. Lyting’s gaze sprang back to the false emperor and fixed on his features. Lyting vented a breath. No imposter sat upon the throne. ‘Twas Constantine, himself.

  Ahead, he saw Zoë’s hands clench into knots. But she did naught. Said naught. Evidently she intended to carry through their plans, knowing, as he, ‘twas likely they were already watched by those they hoped to entrap.

  Four distinguished-looking men crouched down beside the throne, and Lyting saw now that they meant to take up the litter positioned beneath it and the emperor. This, too, was another change of plan, for the child would offer an easy target if carried high. As the men elevated Constantine, Lyting prayed these men were carefully chosen, for he recognized none of them.

  He did, however, recognize the four officials who now took up the canopy, upholding its four poles and carrying the silk trapping aloft, over the emperor’s head. It gave him no comfort to see the very men he most suspected capable of treachery: the Drungarius, Romanus Lecapenus; the Domesticus, Leo Phocas; the Logothete, Leonites Byrennius; and the Strategos, Andronicus Styliane.

  Lyting noted that the Eparch, Sergius Bardanes, was absent from the gathering. Mayhap, in investigating the Minister of Trade and his court of concubines, the Byzantines found something they disliked about the Eparch as well. Hakon also dragged on his thoughts. Though expelled from the city, he was a determined and cunning man. He’d find his way back in before long.

  The bridal procession, now double in its length, slowly crossed the palace grounds, moving toward the Chalice Gate accompanied by the choir’s song.

  Dignitaries walked to the fore of the cortege, carrying lighted candles which flickered like a sea of stars. Units of the Imperial regiments followed, then prelates carrying icons and richly embellished holy books before the emperor — “God’s representative on earth.”

  Next came the Varangian Guards, flanking the Imperials and the bridal couple. Constantine reigned over the moment from his litter, and the Augusta Zoë walked slightly behind, succeeded by Lyting and Ailinn. Finally came the ladies-in-waiting and choir, again bearing lighted tapers.

  Thord dropped back to walk alongside Lyting and Ailinn.

  “The boy refused to be excluded from the ceremonies,” he gruffed. “Threw an Imperial tantrum. Being emperor, we could not disobey his direct charge, and his mother was not present to countermand him.”

  “And the litter? Whose idea was that, and why do guards not carry it?”

  “Again, ‘twas Constantine’s doing. Only the highest peers of the realm may carry the Imperial personage. To have guards bear him would be an insult. Such a breach of etiquette would also signal our trap.”

  Lyting nodded his understanding, but wholly distrusted the turn of things. “Mayhap someone should have checked their shoulders for scorpions,” he muttered. “But I imagine that, too, would be an unforgivable insult.”

  “Take heart,” Thord rejoined. “If the empress truly doubted those bearing her son, she would not allow us to take another step.”

  Lyting fell to a reflective silence, then glanced to Thord and set his jaw. “If aught should befall me, protect Ailinn. See she returns safely to Ireland and give her all that is mine.”

  Hearing her name, Ailinn’s eyes drew to Lyting. He looked straight ahead but his expression caused her breath to catch. Foreboding seeped into her heart. Instinctively, her hand tightened on his.

  The procession passed through the “Brazen Entrance,” then advanced along the outside of the enclosure wall and entered the Augustaeum. Startlingly, an enormous crowd jammed the forum, awaiting the bridal cortege. Ailinn pressed closer to Lyting as they progressed across the square. Lights burned bright in the Hagia Sophia, and for a moment Ailinn wished their steps were directed there. ‘Twas so near.

  Passing onto the Mesê, the procession turned left to follow the street along the Hippodrome. Despite her unease, Ailinn could not help but be caught up with the gaiety and excitement surrounding them. The street and balconies overlooking the route were festively decorated with carpets and silk hangings. Onlookers hailed them with enthusiasm, raining petals of violets and roses upon them.

  Lyting’s gaze continuously roamed the crowd. ‘Twas obvious the people loved their young emperor and equally so their empress. Zoë was at the height of her popularity, he had been informed, having affected a great victory this year over the Persians. The mood of the populace confirmed her high favor, but Lyting knew not everyone loved the Macedonians.

  It concerned him anew that beneath the purple canopy, Constantine provided an easy mark for an assassin. The “scorpion” was clever in using others, and, as in Rurik’s day, ‘twas likely he and his men held close to the emperor. Lyting withdrew his searching gaze from the crowd, leaving that matter to the guards and the Imperial spies. Instead he concentrated on those nearest the boy and his mother.

  Continuing along the crowded street, the choir sung hymns, and the prelates swung their censers. Saint Euphemia’s stood halfway down the side of the Hippodrome. Just before it a street opened off to the right, running along the opposite side of the church and extending behind the Mesê.

  As they neared it, something flashed brightly on one of the balconies, and a clamor went up there. A ball of fire engulfed it. In the next moment several more balconies burst into flames, then a racket sounded from the direction of the Hippodrome. People began to run, screaming. Someone had loosed two of the lions kept there for the games.

  Panic seized the crowds, and they began to disperse. Meanwhile, Lyting saw the shadows come to life in the side street as wraithlike figures, dressed in black, poured from their concealment and pressed hurriedly in the direction of the procession.

  The Varangians closed ranks around the Imperials and the bridal couple, creating a wall with their overlapping shields and drawing on their axes. The Byzantine units dealt with the furor surrounding them as did the Imperial forces hidden in the masses.

  Lyting shuttered his mind to the chaos, certain ‘twas but a diversion from the real deed intended. If the “scorpion” wished to put an end to the house of the Macedonians, then ‘twas Constantine he would need kill.

  Lyting drew Ailinn rapidly forward with him. Tossing court formalities to the wind, he caught the empress by the ar
m and propelled her to the ground and Ailinn with her.

  “Thord, watch over them!” he shouted back, at the same time sharpening his eyes over those holding the canopy and litter. Another distraction escalated off to the right, but he ignored it and held his gaze firm.

  The dignitaries quickly lowered Constantine to the ground and, much shaken, crouched there. Constantine twisted around and sought his mother, his eyes huge and filling with tears. The child’s look tore at Lyting. He bolted forward, intent on plucking him from the throne that yet marked him and delivering him to Zoë.

  The four officers still upheld the canopy, though the Drungarius and the Domesticus began to free a hand and reach for their swords. Lyting’s pulse quickened, fearing their next move, but Romanus and Leo turned toward the crowd. Lyting’s eyes skimmed to Leonites and Andronicus. His glance shot back to Leonites Byrennius, the Logothete, just as a knife dropped from his sleeve into his palm and he cast himself toward the boy, releasing the pole that upheld the canopy.

  Lyting vaulted, hurtling himself through the air and crashing down atop Leonites. They skidded beneath the canopy, disappearing beneath the silk trappings.

  Ailinn gasped as she watched the canopy billow and heave as the men roiled beneath, the emperor and dignitaries trapped there, also. Andronicus grappled with the shifting length of fabric, then thrust beneath to join the fray.

  The silk shot upward, looking momentarily like a small mountain with a peak. But in the next instant a gleaming blade ruptured the peak and split the fabric. Two arms appeared, straining over the knife. Ailinn recognized Lyting’s at once. Fear rioted through her.

  The mountain disassembled as the men plummeted to the ground and rolled in the cloth. Romanus and Leo scrambled to pull the canopy free, managing to fell Andronicus in the effort, who swore blackly beneath the cloth.

  Lyting and Leonites strained over the knife. Suddenly there were hands — Romanus’s and Andronicus’s intervening, dragging them upward to their feet. Lyting gripped tight the neck of Leonites’s tunic, but as the Logothete struggled, it tore, exposing a scorpion branded on his shoulder.

  Lyting heaved for breath, still holding Leonites in his grip. Leonites sought to jerk free, looking fiercely about as though he expected aid. No one came forth except Leo Phocas, who bent to the ground, then rose with a small velvet pouch. Opening it, he drew out two brass rings, each with raised symbols on their surfaces — one bearing a Cyrillic omega, the other with an I.

  Leonites’s expression changed to that of a trapped animal. A furor suddenly seized him. He fought Lyting with an outburst of energy. Wrenching within Lyting’s grasp, he lunged for Andronicus, taking Lyting with him. A blade flashed in Andronicus’s hand and as the three toppled to the ground, Andronicus drove it into Leonites’s heart. Lyting’s weight, as he fell atop him, forced the knife deeper.

  Leonites’s hand clawed for Andronicus’s face, then dropped as death overtook him. Lyting dragged himself off Leonites and pulled the body from Andronicus. As they stood, Romanus collared Andronicus.

  “Why did you kill him?” he shouted angrily. “He could have provided the names of those who serve him.”

  Leo Phocas imposed himself between the two men, gesturing to the commotion in the street and on the balcony. “We have more work to finish for now. The lions have been caught, but the conspirators flee.” He moved off, commanding his soldiers to cull the crowd. Romanus and Andronicus followed.

  The Varangians continued to maintain their shield-wall, protecting those within. Seeing Constantine trembling upon his throne, Lyting moved toward him and caught the boy up in his arms. Carrying him to the empress, he restored the child to his mother. The two sat clasping each other on the ground.

  Ailinn rose to her feet, her shakiness overcome by her awe of Lyting. Once more was she witness to his incredible prowess and courage.

  “Are you all right, elskan mín?” His hands came to her shoulders, for she looked as though a breeze could carry her away.

  “So long as you are near,” she whispered truthfully, bringing a smile to his face.

  Those of the procession slowly regained themselves. The populace returned as the streets were quieted, bringing wine to refresh the wedding party. When at last the procession began to reassemble, Zoë and Constantine came before Lyting, smiling their gratitude.

  “Once more an Atlison has saved the throne of the Macedonians,” Zoë commended in her rich smooth voice. “We are eternally indebted, Lyting.”

  Pale but composed, Constantine looked to his mother. “Mitera, we need honor and reward those faithful to the crown. Let us begin by seeing Lyting and Ailinn properly wed. They have waited long enough. Besides, if we do not hurry, all the candles in the church will be burned out,” he added in a childlike manner.

  Those around smiled and softly chuckled. Constantine ordered the damaged canopy raised, then took his place once more on the litter and throne.

  Lyting turned to face Ailinn and held forth his hand.

  “Come, elskan mín. ‘Twould seem our presence is needed.” A teasing light sparkled in his eyes. “We are already late for our wedding, but the emperor is determined we not miss it altogether.”

  Ailinn placed her hand in Lyting’s, a wondrous joy stealing through her as he drew her to his side.

  Lyting’s pulse raced at her touch. The fight was done. ‘Twas time to claim the prize and return homeward. Gazing on Ailinn, he regretted he could not claim that prize fully. His soul knew a most painful yearning.

  Still, he intended to enjoy their wedding celebration to the full. ‘Twas the only one he would ever know, and Ailinn was the only women he ever desired to marry, even if in name only.

  This moment in time was theirs. He would savor it for eternity.

  Chapter 21

  In magnificent ritual and splendor the wedding procession escorted Lyting and Ailinn to the Church of Saint Euphemia.

  Ailinn gazed on Lyting in wonderment and awe, her heart racing madly. Who was this man? she asked herself anew, even as she had that distant day on the waters of Riga. Who was this shining lord, this star-bright warrior? And how was it possible she should find herself here, about to exchange vows with him and become his wife, even if in name alone?

  The semicircular portico that fronted the church greeted them with welcoming arms. The procession passed beneath its arches and entered the church proper — a solid-built structure, octagonal in shape with a massive dome and buttressing vaults. Yet, as they stepped through the portal, all heaviness departed, and they entered a luminous realm of shimmering mosaics which floated over the surface and rendered the walls naught but weightless shells.

  The archbishop awaited the bridal couple in the narthex. Once the procession gathered inside, he opened his richly covered gospel and began the Rites of Betrothal.

  Ariana stood behind Lyting and Ailinn, translating the many prayers so they might fully comprehend the ceremony, which was considered the actual contract of marriage.

  The choir sang the responses, and the deacon instructed Lyting and Ailinn to bow their heads for additional prayers. The archbishop next took up the rings and blessed the couple, making the sign of the cross with the ring of the bride over the groom. “The servant of God, Lyting, is betrothed to the handmaiden of God, Ailinn, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

  He next turned to Ailinn and made the sign of the cross with the groom’s ring over her and prayed similarly. Repeating the blessing and vows three times over each of them, he placed the rings on their right hands, then indicated for them to exchange the rings.

  As Lyting lifted Ailinn’s hand and slipped the ring in place, a fire traveled through his heart and scorched through the bonds that had long trammeled his passions. This ring belonged upon her finger. If only it could remain.

  Intensely aware of the warmth radiating from Lyting’s hands, Ailinn guided the wedding ring onto his third finger. She began to withdraw her hands, but he caught them and
held them firmly in his as the archbishop’s voice rose in prayer.

  The heat of Lyting’s hands entered her own and spread up her arms. It flowed over her shoulders and downward again, warming her breasts and stomach before centering low in her abdomen.

  Swallowing, she dropped her gaze to their joined hands and concentrated on their wedding rings. Identical save for size, they possessed wide octagonal hoops, decorated about the faces with tiny biblical scenes. The coin-like bezels surmounting the bands depicted the bridal couple with Christ standing between, joining their hands. Ailinn looked again at the artistry, amazed, for the miniature couple on each resembled herself and Lyting.

  The archbishop concluded the prayer, and the bride’s attendants hastened to draw back Ailinn’s veil. Heat flooded her cheeks as Lyting’s smile fell on her, for ‘twas a smile that reached up and filled his eyes and wrapped her intimately in its embrace.

  As the archbishop led the procession into the nave of the church, Lyting offered Ailinn his arm. Breathless, she placed her hand on his and accompanied him through the doors and into the main body of the church.

  ‘Twas as though they stepped from one realm into another. Leaving the brightly illumined narthex, they passed into the darkened nave where candles burned sparingly. Yet, the unevenness of the mosaics caught their flickering lights, casting and reflecting them over a million cubes of gold tesserae, setting the entire nave aglitter. As Lyting and Ailinn moved through the church, it seemed they floated through a firmament of stars, a radiant heaven in otherworldly splendor.

  Ailinn gazed up at Lyting, the lights glittering about them. Truly, they walked in a mystical realm, somewhere between a dream and reality, she and her silver warrior.

  Lyting looked on Ailinn, his breath catching. Against the scintillating field, Ailinn looked precisely as he’d once envisioned her against the shimmering lime tree of Hedeby. From that moment he could scarce take his eyes from her. Surely, they no longer moved on earth.