They both sucked their breath — he at his flaring desire and need for release, she with surprise at the heat and length and feel of his blade of passion, so wondrously smooth and hard.
They cherished each other then, losing themselves in the fires of passion. With mouths and tongues and hands, they explored each other thoroughly and intimately — she moving down over his throat and chest to trace the tight nubs of his nipples and flick them with her tongue as he had hers; he causing her to quiver as he pressed kisses behind her knees, then upward over the sensitive silk of her inner thighs, moving higher and higher.
When she squirmed at the direction of his path, he smiled and moved over her, claiming her mouth in a deep and ravishing kiss, trusting there would be many nights to teach his bride the numerous ways of love.
Their bodies blended, Lyting’s merging with Ailinn’s as he pushed deep inside her and began to move with fluid power. Ailinn wrapped her legs about his, joining him in that ardent pace, her excitement mounting with his, her pulse thudding in her veins.
On they surged, their rhythm increasing as they tasted and touched and whispered words of love with feverish haste. Their whispers quickly became groans, their pleasure gaining a fierce intensity, setting them aflame and bearing them upward, out of time and place.
Lyting and Ailinn gloried in each other as they rode their passions higher. Ailinn cried out Lyting’s name as her nerves convulsed, then took Lyting with her, roaring to his completion. Together, they cleaved to one another and strove in a joining of bodies, a melding of hearts, a fusing of souls.
»«
Much later, as they lay comfortably entwined in the afterglow of their lovemaking — their third, or was it their fourth coupling now? — Lyting trailed his hand idly over the curve of Ailinn’s waist and hip and thought on Thord’s visit midday.
The throne of the Macedonians was secure, young Constantine and his mother safe. The last of the conspirators had been entrapped and dealt a swift Byzantine justice. Xenia — her treachery exposed and without the protection of her lover, the Strategos, Andronicus — chose to consume a fatal dose of poison. She’d been found dead in her workshop.
Thord also brought more uplifting news. A fine ship was being readied for Lyting’s and Ailinn’s departure west. First, however, the little emperor insisted they remain a month longer so that more celebrations might be enjoyed and Lyting be properly honored for all he had done.
Lyting pressed a kiss to the side of Ailinn’s head, a final concern rising to mind.
“My heart, I am sworn to my brother, the Baron of Valsemé. I am his liege man. We will need live in Francia, yet, I have promised to return you to your homeland.”
Ailinn tilted her head back to look up at him, feeling wondrously languid in his arms. “You may.”
Her eyes sparkled, and she laughed softly as surprise skipped through his blue eyes. She smiled, shifting so she lay atop him, and brushed her lips over his.
“Some day,” she added. “Mayhap to visit. But my home is in you now, my love. Wherever you go, there shall I be, for my heart is in your keeping.”
“Elskan mín.” Lyting cupped her face in his hands. “I loved you from the moment I first saw you, and every moment my heart has beat since. It seems I have waited a lifetime to find you and another to claim you. May God grant us an eternity of days to love one another.”
Ailinn thought her heart would burst, her love for this man overflowing and bringing tears to her eyes.
As Lyting’s mouth descended over hers, Ailinn met him fully. Their breaths mingled and became one, their desire quickly mounting.
Together, they scaled the heights of passions until the earth could no longer bind them. Then, their love burst forth in a brilliant shower of light as they attained the heavens and joined the stars.
Epilogue
On a crisp, clear day in early autumn, Lyting and Ailinn traversed the waters between Francia and England, skimming the Frankish coast. At Lyting’s charge, the crew turned the vessel into the headwaters of the River Toques and set course for Valsemé.
A blaze of color fired the woods lining their passage — scarlets, golds, russets, and cinnamons. Overhead winged a flock of swallows, swift and elegant, their long, twittering song heralding the ship’s approach.
Lyting’s anticipation mounted, as did Ailinn’s.
In time a familiar sight came into view. Lyting lifted his arm and pointed ahead. “There. The keep of Valsemé.” He squeezed Ailinn’s shoulder, the sweetest of joys pouring through him. “We are home, elskan mín. ‘Tis my hope you will come to love Valsemé as much as I.”
Ailinn covered his hand, then a smile stole over her lips. “Lyting, listen. Do you hear it?”
Lyting glanced landward, his ear catching the distinct and joyous ringing of a bell.
“Valsemé’s church possesses no bell,” he declared, then hesitated. Lyting swallowed around the knot that rose to block his throat. In his heart he knew ‘twas the bell of Saint Anskar.
The wharf came into view, and now they could see people, filling the banks, waving their handkerchiefs and cheering their return.
Ailinn turned to Lyting in wonder. “How did — ?”
“I sent ahead a message when we changed vessels at Dives,” Lyting replied as he spied Rurik’s golden mane and Brienne standing beside him, waiting on the quay.
The twins scampered about their mother’s skirts. Ketil towered above all with his flaming ruff of hair, and diminutive Aleth stood before him. Little Elsie clutched a fistful of flowers, and Waite scooped up the mongrel, Patch, and waved his paw. There was the Seneschal, Bolsgar, and Brother Bernard and many of the men-at-arms with whom he had long worked and trained, and a multitude of others.
“Now, my lady wife, we are truly home.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “It pleasures me beyond words to present you as my bride.”
As their boat glided alongside the pier, Rurik and Brienne came forth to meet them.
Lyting climbed onto the planking, then aided Ailinn from the ship. Turning to greet his brother, he clasped forearms with Rurik and shared a manly hug. Smiles split their faces, and as they parted, a trace of moistness glazed their eyes.
Ailinn felt the invisible bond that joined the two men.
“I am glad you have returned to us whole and hail,” Rurik declared in Frankish. “I have sent many a message seeking word of you both but heard naught till your missive from Dives.”
Brienne raised on tiptoe and kissed Lyting on each cheek, then welcomed Ailinn with a warm embrace. “We have all been so worried for you two, heartsick for want of news.”
Rurik dragged a hand along his jaw, a fresh smile breaking over his face as his steel-blue eyes moved from Lyting to Ailinn and back again. He inclined his head toward Brienne.
“I believe I have never seen Lyting look better, astin mín. Or more rested. He doesn’t possess that keen edge of one ever looking over his shoulder. Instead, he looks to be a man who is supremely content,” Rurik baited with a grin.
“That I am.” Lyting encircled Ailinn with his arm and gathered her to his side. Her mantle slipped back, exposing her rounded stomach.
Rurik elevated a brow. “I see you have been busy these past months, broðir. I assume you have reconsidered your call to Corbie. Or, leastwise, I hope you have.”
Ketil, who had come to join them with Aleth — and seeing the swell of Ailinn’s stomach — grinned broadly from ear to ear and rocked back on his heels.
Lyting pinned Ketil with a look. “In truth, we have been married twice over. We will speak of it later, for there is much to tell, and our adventures are many. Suffice it to say, we have returned to make our wedded life here and to enlarge the population of Valsemé.”
“Welcome once more, dear sister.” Brienne kissed Ailinn’s cheeks. “You, indeed, are most special for Lyting to have chosen you. He, himself, is a very special man.”
Ailinn warmed at Brienne’s open acceptance of her. She knew �
�twas Brienne who had first spurred Lyting to take pity on the maids of Clonmel in the streets of Hedeby and, because of it, brought his attention upon herself.
Rurik also welcomed Ailinn into the family with a brotherly kiss and hug. The twins took that moment to dash onto the pier and throw themselves at Lyting. As he caught them up, one in each arm, they laughed gleefully.
“Uncle! Your bell is ringing!” Richard cried in delight, pointing back in the direction of the church.
“Bell ringing,” Kylan echoed.
The others broke into laughter, and Ketil roared with jovial mirth. “I’d say it has done a might more than ring!”
“Lyting! Are you blushing?” Brienne teased with great mischievousness. “In truth, the bell has hung silent until this very day. Rurik purchased the bell of Saint Anskar, knowing how you wished it for Valsemé’s church, but once installed, he forbade it to be rung until your return.”
Lyting looked in amazement at Rurik. “And if I had not?”
Rurik’s smile sobered, the laughter draining from his eyes as he held Lyting’s gaze. “Then the bell would have hung silent for all time.”
Moved beyond words, Lyting stood quiet as he felt a stinging at the back of his eyes.
“We have much of which to speak.” Rurik cleared his suddenly roughened voice. “But not this day. ‘Tis a day of thanksgiving and celebration, for God has brought you both safely home to Valsemé.”
Brienne looked to Ailinn. “Come, you have not met Ketil and his wife, Aleth.”
Now the pieces fell into place as Ailinn looked at the fiery giant and the diminutive Frankish lady with honey-brown hair. “But I do remember you both, from Hedeby,” Ailinn said as she received their greetings.
“There is someone else here from Hedeby.” Ketil grinned, looking for all the world hard-pressed to contain himself.
Ketil and Aleth stepped aside, revealing a petite young girl with dark brown hair, waiting on the wharf at the end of the pier.
Ailinn’s hands flew to her mouth. “Lia!”
Tears bleared her vision as she started into a run and hastened along the pier, as did Lia. They met midway and gripped each other tightly.
“Dear God, Lia. I thought you to be gone forever.”
Hot tears cascaded over Ailinn’s cheeks, wetting Lia’s hair, as Lia’s did hers. The others waited, allowing them the moment until they could compose themselves. When they did, not a dry eye remained among any of those assembled.
“I was told you were sold to a fierce-looking Norseman.”
“She was!” Ketil’s beard parted with a grin as he and the others joined them. “I found Lia being sold in the market. She reminded me so much of my sweet Aleth, well — ” He shrugged. “I couldn’t bear to leave her there. I thought for sure Aleth would think I’d gone mad, but she understood, and we took Lia under our wing.”
“Lia was sickly for atime,” Aleth added, brushing back the girl’s hair in a motherly gesture. “Lady Brienne and I nursed her to health. But she had a fitful spell the day you sailed. Lyting, you remember, ‘Twas why we couldn’t see you off at the harbor.”
Ketil picked up Aleth’s story. “ ‘Twas later that same day that we discovered Lia spoke Frankish and learned you were stepcousins. We told her Lyting went with you and assured her he would bring you home.”
Lyting arched a brow. “Confident, weren’t you?”
Ketil’s eyes sparkled. “My faith has never wavered in you, lad.”
Ailinn looked up to Lyting. “You never mentioned Lia.”
“Upon my word, I did not know of your relation until this moment and saw her only briefly while in Hedeby. As I recall, most of my time was spent in alleyways watching over you, elskan mín, if not cooling my considerable ardor in the river.”
This admittance brought laughter all around.
Lia touched Ailinn’s arm. “Do you know what has become of Deira and Rhiannon?” she asked hesitantly. “When Lord Rurik and Ketil went in search of them, they were told they had sailed with the chieftain Skallagrim.”
Ailinn’s head sank forward as she searched her heart for the words she must speak. She took Lia’s hands in hers.
“Deira sleeps in a more heavenly place now. I like to think she has found her peace, where no pain can touch her, and that she knows a greater joy in God’s presence than we here on earth can possibly conceive. Surely, she smiles down on us even now.”
Lia received this news quietly, her eyes filling with moisture as she looked apart. “And Rhiannon?”
Ailinn’s voice grew sharp. “For her treachery, Rhiannon was carried off by tribesmen and is among them now, somewhere on the great plains of the Steppes. Skallagrim and Hakon are both dead.”
Lia pressed her lashes shut against the images, gained strength from the last, then turned and hugged Ailinn once more. “Praise God, for you have been restored to me this day.”
“As have you.” Ailinn hugged her close.
Brother Bernard moved beside Lyting and rested a hand on his shoulder as they watched the scene.
“I see you have found your calling, my son. God needs his warriors afield, even as He needs those such as I, to pray for those such as you, and most earnestly, too.” He grinned, enjoying his verbal play.
As Lyting escorted Ailinn from the pier, a sea of well-wishers enveloped them. After many long and cheerful exchanges, the gathering assembled at Valsemé’s church to celebrate Lyting’s and Ailinn’s return with a Mass. They then entered the bailey and went to the manor house, where a great feast awaited. Many a tale was shared, and many more promised for future nights.
Much later, Ketil and Aleth sat at a gaming board. Lia sat at another with a man named Alain, one of the Franks in Rurik’s service. Lyting and Ailinn exchanged glances, wondering if perchance Lia had found happiness at Valsemé.
Rurik and Brienne shared a knowing smile and moved from the dais. As they departed the hall, Rurik looked to Lyting. “My lady and I will be walking by the lake this eve.”
Lyting did not miss Rurik’s unspoken message, which gave him to know what places would be unoccupied this eve.
“Come, elskan mín.” Lyting took Ailinn by the hand. “There is something I wish you to see.”
Leaving the manor house, he led her toward the keep. Ailinn looked up at the daunting tower and the wooden stairway that rose ever upward. Lyting rubbed his jaw. With a grin — light and laughter filling his eyes — he swept her from her feet and climbed the stairs.
When they gained the top and entered in, Ailinn insisted he set her down. They continued upward, resting at intervals for Ailinn’s sake, until at last they came to a low-ceilinged room in the uppermost part of the tower. There, a small ladder led up to a door in the ceiling. Opening it, Lyting aided Ailinn up the rungs.
As they emerged on top of the keep, the sight stole Ailinn’s breath. The sun’s fiery ball hovered over waters of the Toques, setting the waters aflame with crimson and gold, and burnishing the gently rolling hills all around for as far as they could see.
Lyting drew Ailinn in his arms. “This day we shall take up our lives anew, my heart. Here we shall live and love and birth our children into life. Here shall I cherish you unto the ages.”
Ailinn’s heart overflowed, her eyes misting. “As I shall you,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion as she tilted her lips to his, softly parted and inviting.
Lyting accepted that offering and covered her mouth with his.
As he drew her into a deep, soul-reaching kiss, their love flamed brightly, fused and spun out, lighting the fires of eternity and turning the nights to day.
Author’s Postscript
THE VARANGIAN GUARD: Although it was not until later in the tenth century, during the reign of Basil II, that members of the Varangian Guard were officially installed in the palace as the emperor’s personal bodyguard, the Varangians had been in service to the Imperial crown dating well back to the ninth century. An elite corps, the Varangian Guard was reputed f
or its exceptional fighting skills and its fierce loyalty to one another and to the emperor. Constantine Porphyrogentius, as an adult, wrote of the Varangians in his work De Administrando, placing them in the palace at Christmas as they performed their “yul” dance. With some liberty, I have depicted the emperor’s Varangian bodyguard to be in place in the early tenth century, but have otherwise been faithful to their portrayal.
BYZANTINE WEDDING CEREMONY: My source for the ancient ceremonials and rites was Marriage: An Orthodox Perspective by John Meyendorff, St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press: Crestwood, NY 10707 (1984).
THE FATE OF THE HOUSE OF THE MACEDONIANS: In 918 A.D., Zoë’s popularity plummeted after the Byzantine army endured two annihilating defeats at the hands of Symeon the Bulgarian. In her struggle to retain her throne, she relied heavily on Leo Phocas, now a widower and with whom she may have considered marriage. However, the Patriarch Nicholas Mysticus moved swiftly to remove Zoë from power only to be countered by Romanus Lecapenus who successfully usurped the throne and within a month married his daughter Helena to thirteen-year-old Constantine. Through his efforts, Romanus undermined the loyalty of the army to Leo Phocas. Leo was seized in flight and his eyes put out. Zoë, who had been allowed at first to remain in the palace at the desperate pleadings of her son, was caught in another palace intrigue and dispensed once and for all to the convent of Saint Euphemia. Meanwhile, Romanus solidified his power. Within two years he had Constantine elevate him to the status of Caesar and subsequently crowned himself as co-emperor. In time, he further displaced Constantine, taking the mantle of senior emperor and raising his three sons to the throne. In 944 A.D., Romanus’s sons seized power and dispatched him to the monastery on the island of Proti. Constantine in turn, discovering the brothers’ intention to kill him, supplanted them and sent the brothers into exile with their father. In January of 945 A.D., Constantine Porphyrogentius came at last into his own rule at the age of thirty-nine.
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