A brusque voice sounded beside him, jarring Garreth from his thoughts. He turned to find the head butler berating the two idle servants and ordering them off to fetch fresh casks of wine from the cellar. Unsmiling, the men moved away and followed their superior down the kitchen passage. Garreth stepped farther into the hall, his pace much slowed, his spirit dampened. Threading through the press of people, his gaze impulsively sought Ailénor and the stairs she must now be descending with her lover. Garreth spied a flight of steps rising just beyond an archway on the opposite side of the hall and beneath the gallery. ‘Twas wrapped in shadows, and he could not help but wonder whether the couple lingered there.
Stabbed anew by the green horn of jealousy, he rebuked himself roundly and turned away. He had no claims on Ailénor or cause to behave thusly. ‘Twas his own selfish interest and shortsightedness that led him to believe her to be a virginal maid. Quite obviously she was of marriageable age and likely wed. The man, then, would be her husband.
Or possibly her betrothed. Or, if mayhap she were already widowed, a love interest. Recalling their ease and familiarity with one another churned Garreth’s blood anew. Ailénor suited neither the image of a staid widow nor, did he wish to believe, a wanton one.
Garreth pondered the puzzle of Lady Ailénor. Would she be given to climbing trees for kittens in one instant, and in the next to sharing stolen moments of passion on balconies and stairways?
Garreth dismissed his vexing thoughts. He forced the matter of Ailénor to the back of his mind and concentrated on his mission in Normandy. Restless and as irritable as a boar, he gazed out over the hall for sight of the duke. But as he did so, a scarlet mantle and one of green-blue once more caught his eye, this time near the dais. There Ailénor and her noble approached a second couple — a man with golden hair and a woman with ebony plaits flowing over her shoulders.
Garreth pressed his lashes shut and opened them again, thinking his eyes played him a trick and that he saw double again. The golden-haired warrior stood a shade taller than the other, but facially the men’s features were remarkably similar. Kinsmen to be sure. Brothers, he guessed, and from their attire men of import.
His gaze returned to Ailénor’s back, trailing over the creamy veil covering her hair, then downward over the luminous green-blue mantle that so thoroughly concealed her form. He found himself wishing she would turn in his direction and take note of him.
“You appear better for your bath.” A hand clamped Garreth firmly on the shoulder, and he recognized Richard’s cheerful voice.
“I am much indebted.” Garreth met him with a smile. “Not only to be clean, but the water’s heat pulled the soreness from my bones. I vow, I rolled over more fallen fruit than I’d realized and bear bruises aplenty.”
Richard laughed, and as their smiles slackened, Garreth began to ask of the two noblemen where Ailénor stood. But Kylan chose that moment to appear, grinning widely, with a golden-haired maid on one arm and a raven-tressed one on the other, both beauties of exception.
“Word of your gallant rescue of the fair Ailénor has spread quickly, Garreth of Tamworth. Now all the ladies clamor to meet you.” Kylan gave a mirthful wink and nodded first to one maid, then the other. “May I present to you our sisters, Marielle and Gisele.”
One after the other, the maids dipped into curtsies, their gazes fluttering over him as they did.
“And this,” Richard added as he retreated a pace, widening the circle for another lady to join them, “is our cousin Etainn, Ailénor’s sister.”
A striking maid with an incredible snowfall of hair stepped forward. Upon her gloved hand, she carried a hooded goshawk, snowy white with a sprinkling of black across its feathers. She, too, dropped into a brief curtsy, regarding Garreth with crystal blue eyes, not unlike Ailénor’s.
“You saved our dear cousin?” Marielle touched his arm lightly, drawing back his interest.
“Did you truly find her in a tree?” Gisele abandoned Kylan’s arm and pressed closer. “We are all so amazed that she should climb one.”
“More, that she should jump from one,” Etainn added in a surprisingly low-pitched voice. She studied him closely as she stroked the bird’s chest. “Tell me, do you hawk?”
Another maid pushed eagerly into their circle. “Do tell us of the Saxon court.”
“And of His Majesty, King Athelstan .” Yet another joined them, followed by more, all wreathed in smiles.
Garreth found himself suddenly surrounded amid a bevy of court lovelies. Futilely he attempted a glance in Ailénor’s direction to assure she was still there, but the others so engaged him, he could neither look to her nor ask his own questions of the man who held Ailénor’s heart.
Besieged, Garreth looked helplessly to Richard and Kylan whose eyes crinkled with merriment and whose shoulders vibrated with unvoiced laughter.
“You’ve gained favor swiftly at Duke William’s court,” Richard tossed blithely.
“Best accept the burdens of fame graciously and savor them while you may.” Kylan chuckled. “Who knows what the morrow brings.”
But as the press of ladies filled Garreth’s vision and hearing, he found his thoughts filled with Ailénor.
»«
Ailénor tarried in her chamber. She smoothed imaginary wrinkles from her pale gold gown, straightened the jeweled brooch securing her ivory mantle, then plucked up the disk of highly polished steel and observed herself for a hundredth time — checking her hair, eyes, teeth, and the tiny scar beneath her chin to determine if it was truly noticeable.
She released a sigh of exasperation and set the mirror aside.
By now Garreth was in the Great Hall, drawing the attentions of the court maidens. Being so compellingly handsome and virile a man, she imagined ‘twould take little time for the ladies there to lay claim to him.
The corner of Ailénor’s mouth twisted with annoyance — annoyance with herself. She’d dallied too long. But even had she accompanied Garreth into the hall, he would have likely soon forgotten her. The court was filled with comely women, a healthy portion unmarried. Then, too, there were her cousins and sister. As much as she loved them, she oftentimes felt inadequate by comparison.
Marielle, her cousin, was utterly beautiful and possessed a treasure of golden-blond hair. Blondes, of course, were the current “ideal,” and men pursued them avidly.
On the other hand, her cousin, Gisele — though ebony-haired like her mother, Lady Brienne — was absolutely exquisite. She never wanted for suitors.
Etainn, her own sister, was exceptional — breathtaking, really, with her rare silver-white hair, the same as their father’s. With a falcon ever present on her wrist, Etainn possessed an aura of mystery and magnetism that held men enthralled. Scarcely fourteen, Etainn seemed unaware of the spell she wove over them.
Ailénor took up the mirror again, feeling dismally inadequate to the moment. Her own hair shone of a deep, woody red — the same shade as her mother’s. Personally she loved the color and oftentimes received compliments on it. But red was red, not blond. She also had to acknowledge that there were those men who simply did not favor red hair of any kind on a woman.
Added to that, she knew herself to be overly tall, which served only to intimidate men. If she observed correctly, men preferred their women more petite and fragile, who made them feel all the more manly and protective — and fired their possessive natures as well. Unfortunately for herself, she looked men of average height straight in the eye. She could be thankful that among the full-blooded Norse who still comprised the significant portion of men in the duchy, many were on the tall side. Those she looked in the chin.
Setting aside the mirror, she released another small sigh and resigned herself. The other court ladies would undoubtedly outshine her, captivating Garreth and leaving her to roam the hall forgotten.
“My lady, are you still here?” Felise appeared in the portal of the adjoining chamber and, due to her affliction of shortsightedness, squinted to better s
ee her charge. “The horn will soon sound for supper, and you have yet to greet your parents. Lord Lyting arrived from the Contentin just a little while past and has been with your mother. Hurry now, they wait below.”
“Oui, Felise. Can I tell them of Ena? Does her stomach still ache?”
“Non. But she is slightly warm to the touch. I bathed her with herbal waters, and she is sleeping comfortably. I will repeat the procedure in the coming hour as Lady Brienne suggested. You might tell your maman and papa that. Now best you be along.” She gestured toward the door. “And mind you take care around that Saxon wolf.”
Ailénor chuckled. Crossing to her lifelong nursemaid, she gave her an affectionate hug.
“You worry for naught, Felise. There are ladies aplenty in the hall to consume his attention. No doubt I’ve already melted from his thoughts completely.”
Ailénor tried to make light of the words, but inwardly her heart sank, believing her words to be true. She dropped her gaze away.
“But I see he has far from melted from your thoughts.” Felise drew Ailénor’s gaze back, placing a curled finger beneath her chin. “Guard your heart, child. I’d not see him bring you grief.” She emphasized her words with a stern nod of her head, but her eyes held only concern. “Now, be along with you, before the servants are stacking away the trestles once more.”
Ailénor felt her heartstrings tangle that Felise could so easily read her. She felt them tangle again at the prospect of facing Garreth. How completely he affected her.
Giving a final smoothing to her gown and adjustment to her mantle, she bid Felise good eve and departed the chamber.
»«
Descending the stairs from the gallery, Ailénor lingered on the last step. Veiled in shadows, she directed her gaze through the arched pillars and into the hall, and scanned the vibrant sea of people collected there.
Garreth was not to be seen.
Ailénor’s pulse slipped a beat, and she felt a sting of disappointment. But only a portion of the hall was visible from the stairs. Surely he was in attendance somewhere within. Leaving the steps, she crossed the small expanse and paused at the pillars. Straightening her spine and squaring her shoulders, she entered the Great Hall.
Ailénor swept her gaze left and right. She nodded greetings to several she knew, and proceeded on, searching the room for the handsome Saxon who had so suddenly invaded her life. Ailénor halted abruptly as her gaze locked on his tall figure across the room.
As predicted, a crush of women enveloped him. His dark head and shoulders towered above theirs, even as he bent to them in ardent conversation.
If her heart had bobbed on a low tide of self-confidence before, Ailénor felt as though an anchor had just attached itself and sank it completely.
Dispirited, she moved off to seek her parents.
»«
Garreth lifted his head, laughing congenially at one of the women’s witticisms. He took the opportunity to glance in the direction of the dais. The sight of a maiden moving toward it captured his gaze completely.
She floated like a vision through the crowd, arrayed in a gown of pale gold and a mantle of ivory, her dark red hair rippling to her hips in fiery contrast. Ailénor. Was it she? His pulse quickened. Truly it must be. For the briefest of moments, she glanced in his direction the most bewitching woman on earth.
Garreth watched as she approached the silver-blond warrior and his blue-mantled lady. As clearly as if the skies opened up and a bolt of lightning struck him straight through, he grasped the truth of the matter. The woman who now turned toward the maid, though lovely indeed, was not Ailénor. She could only be her mother.
His spirits shot heavenward. Darting a glance to Etainn, then back to the noble with star-white hair, he marked the family resemblances. Obviously this was Etainn’s and Ailénor’s father, Lyting Atlison, the Baron de Héricourt.
Garreth looked on as Ailénor embraced her parents. One by one, she kissed them on both cheeks, then turned and likewise greeted the other couple. Certain the men were brothers, Garreth concluded the second couple to be none other than the Baron and Baronne de Valsemé, Ailénor’s uncle and aunt.
Garreth felt buoyant and utterly the fool — albeit a happy fool for his mistake. He grinned hugely as he continued to look on Ailénor and her mother, where they stood side by side.
“I see Ailénor captures your eye, mon ami.” Richard moved to his side. “But does she stir your humor as well?”
“You need forgive me.” Garreth’s smile did not flag. I seem to be seeing double in the hall tonight. Beside yourselves, and the amazing resemblance of your fathers, I mistook Ailénor’s mother for herself.”
“They do favor one another,” Richard concurred. “But not so greatly when you observe them close together.”
“Mayhap we should warn you that likenesses run strong in our families.” Kylan leaned closer. “You would be surprised.”
“Really?” Garreth brushed glances with Kylan but did not follow out the thought. Instead he centered his interest on Ailénor.
“She is rather tall for a woman,” he mused, then realized ‘twas the very reason, when he lay sprawled atop her in the orchard, they fit together so perfectly.
“A fine attribute, indeed,” he murmured with a wistful smile, vaguely aware of the twins exchanging glances.
»«
“We have sorely missed your presence at Héricourt these past months, my sweet.” Lyting smiled at her. “Are you happy here at the court of Rouen?”
“Oui, papa. Très heureuse. Though I do miss you all hugely,” she confessed.
It had been three long months since she left Héricourt and her family. A week past, her mother and siblings arrived at court in anticipation of the ducal celebrations. Disappointingly, her father did not accompany them, having been summoned to some urgency in the Contentin. Now, elated to see him and overjoyed to have her family reunited once more, Ailénor felt tears burn the back of her eyes.
Her mother hugged her gently, understanding carried in the smiling warmth of her golden-brown eyes. “You know, your sister Etainn has been pressing us to allow her to join you and Marielle.”
“As does our Gisele,” Brienne, her aunt, added with a light shake of her head and a sigh.
“Richard and Kylan have been keeping close watch of you two, I trust?” Rurik raised a meaningful brow.
“To a fault, Uncle.” Ailénor gave a small inward laugh, remembering their swords, flashing in defense of her virtue just a short while ago. “Truly, you must not worry.”
“Fathers ever worry over their daughters.” Lyting smiled warmly, chiding, “Or did you not notice in recent years while you have been growing into such a lovely young woman?”
“Of course I have, papa.” Ailénor flushed under his praise and gave a squeeze to his arm. She looked again to her mother. “Maman looks radiant tonight, do you not think?”
Her mother always looked beautiful, Ailénor thought, but suspected her father was responsible for the present glow in her cheeks tonight.
“And such a glorious cloak. Is it new?” Ailénor fingered the luminous cloth, exceptional in its weave and its color most rare — a stunning blue yet green in its shadows. Given to the light the colors vied — a Nordic fjord and an emerald vale.
“A gift from your father just now.” Ailinn raised loving eyes to Lyting.
“The color so complements your mother’s hair, I could not resist,” he confessed. “In truth, I purchased additional cloth and ordered a second made, knowing ‘twould be equally stunning on you, Ailénor. It will be delivered to your chamber during supper.”
“Merci, papa. Ailénor pressed an impulsive kiss to his cheek.
The deep, mellow tones of an ivory horn sounded just then, signaling the arrival of the duke. Ailénor looked to see William Longsword and his three companions making their way toward the dais.
“I see the duke is entertaining the king’s men this eve. Burgundians, are they not?” Lyting directed his
observations to his brother.
Rurik nodded grimly. “The three arrived this morn. Raoul keeps close watch of Normandy’s duke.
“As he does all those who move within the duchy.”
Ailénor detected disapproval in her father’s and uncle’s voices. At the same time the reason for Garreth’s presence in Normandy flickered through her mind.
“I see Leutgarde is still in absence from the court.” Her father’s voice disrupted her thoughts.
“Shh, love. They grow near,” Ailinn cautioned, then added, “Leutgarde summers at Bayeux.”
“And Sprota at Fécamp with the babe, Richard,” Brienne whispered with a tilt of the brow.
Listening, Ailénor found she could not help but feel sorry for Leutgarde, a pawn in the games of men. She hoped for a more agreeable marriage for herself, one like her parents or that of her aunt and uncle. Theirs were ones of great happiness.
As Duke William approached with the Burgundians, Ailénor observed a subtle stiffness pervade her father’s and uncle’s stances. Even the smiles on her mother’s and aunt’s lips seemed to cool as they presented themselves to Raoul’s men.
“Cousin,” Duke William greeted Ailénor as she dipped into a curtsy before him. A tall man with golden hair, much like her uncle’s, the duke was a passably handsome man, Ailénor believed, and though he wielded great power and authority, he was but eight and twenty years.
The Burgundians followed with greetings of their own, each bowing over the ladies’ hands, the last man, named Faron, tarrying a trifle overlong over Ailénor’s.
“The beauty of the court doth blind this eve, Duke William.” Faron measured Ailénor with undue interest.
Ailénor fought her disgust. The oily little man repulsed her, especially when his eyes slid to her breasts.
Judging him to be of less than average height, she took distinct and unrepentant pleasure in rising from her curtsy to the full of her own, and then staring back down upon him.
A trill of pipes signaled the commencement of supper. Ailénor’s heart skipped as she reclaimed her hand from the Burgundian, fearing he might insist on sharing her trencher. Mercifully, Kylan chose that moment to appear.
The Captive Heart (Kathleen Kirkwood HEART Series) Page 5