The Captive Heart (Kathleen Kirkwood HEART Series)

by Kathleen Kirkwood

  “Rest, my heart,” he whispered into her hair. “I am here and I vow ever to keep you safe.”

  »«

  He came again. Riding from the mists, tall and broad-shouldered, astride a fine silver stallion.

  His mantle billowed from the powerful lines of his body, and his locks flowed free with no helmet to constrain them or otherwise mask his face. His features remained vague, however, as ever they did. Yet Ailénor felt the heat of his eyes. They penetrated her straight through as he entreated her with unspoken thoughts.

  He came again, as he had so many nights before, circling the ancient abbey, waiting just beyond the wall, bidding her to come away with him into the pearly mists.

  Round and round he rode, the hooves of his stallion pounding beneath him, pounding in perfect unison with the beats of her heart and the heavy pulse in her veins.

  Ailénor felt a compelling, irresistible urge to join him. Destiny beckoned and beguiled, yet she knew instinctively the choice remained hers.

  The warrior reined his fine stallion before the age-old gate and waited upon her decision. Again she felt a deep pull within her soul, like a lodestone drawing her to him. In previous times she had vacillated too long, until he returned to the mists and left her aching with regret.

  Tonight, however, she did not hesitate, for at last she knew truly the longings of her heart.

  Nipping up her gown, she rushed on slippered feet down an endless, winding flight of steps. On and on she hurried, descending to the bottom, then escaped her confines and emerged onto the grounds. Hastily she sought the gate, but when she looked about, all had changed. She found herself enclosed in a hedged garden with no retreat — a garden that seemed familiar yet somehow discrepant in the abbey complex.

  She moved toward the stone bench at the center of the garden to consider what next to do. Scarce had she sat upon its edge than a sound caught her ear. A sound distinctive and vibrating with memory. A sound just past her right shoulder — footfalls and the swishing of cloth. She turned toward it, but before she could identify its source, a hand slid out and grasped her from behind.

  Ailénor screamed open-throated, but her exertions found no voice. Struggling to gain her feet, she grappled with her attacker, twisting in his hold and battling his restraining hands. He forced her down till suddenly she no longer stood but lay flat upon her back, writhing beneath him. Again she struck out with all her might, this time contacting a solid wall of flesh. The attacker trapped her hands, and another scream climbed her throat. Fiercely she struggled against his hold.

  “Ailénor! Ailénor!” A voice sounded in her ears.

  She sought its source, then to her amazement she beheld the mystic warrior.

  He came for her, astride his silvery steed. Riding the mist like a cresting wave, he stole over the ancient walls and into the garden, scattering her foe at his onrush. He leaned out and caught her up in one arm. Setting her before him, he held her fast against his hardened body, then turned his mount into the pearly mists.

  Ailénor’s heart beat madly. She shifted her position to slip her arms about the warrior and clasp him tight. No mail shirt did her hands meet, nor corslet of leather, but bare skin, hot and smooth and wholly unclad. She awoke with a jolt.

  “Ailénor . . . Ailénor.” The voice sounded at her ear, gloved in darkness.

  Ailénor blinked against the wall of pitch-black, momentarily disoriented but instantly aware of the hard, muscled body pressed against hers.

  “I have you, my heart. You are safe. ‘Twas but a dream.”

  “Garreth,” she whispered, recognizing his voice, the realm of her dream dissolving into reality.

  Her heart skipped several beats. The warrior . . . Garreth . . .

  ‘Tis you,” she said softly in a tone touched with recognition and awe.

  “Aye, ‘tis I. None other,” he assured.

  Ailénor lifted her hand in the dark and found his cheek. She explored his beard-roughened jaw, the fine ridge of his cheekbones, then feathered her fingers through his hair. Happiness welled inside her.

  “Truly, you are real.”

  “As real as a man can be.” He chuckled softly. Drawing her hand from his hair, he gave her fingers a kiss and a squeeze. “A moment.”

  He rolled apart. Ailénor heard steel striking flint. A flame sparked brightly to life against the night as he lit a small candle beside the pallet. Turning back, Garreth braced himself up on one elbow and smiled at her.

  Ailénor’s breath caught as the light illumined his impossibly handsome features and accentuated the virile lines of his half-naked body.

  Her heart thumped in her breast. Slowly she drew her gaze downward over the sturdy column of his neck to the base of his throat, then skimmed the width of his powerful shoulders, and drank in the sight of his chest, broad and sculpted and covered with dark, crisp curls.

  She took a swallow, then remembered to breathe. Garreth. Her warrior come to life. The man who held her future as well as her present. Lifting an unsteady hand, she placed it over his heart and felt its solid beat.

  “Truly, ‘tis you, one and the same.” She raised her gaze to mingle with his, then, approving her fate, broke into a deep smile.

  Garreth’s heart jarred beneath Ailénor’s searing touch. Jarred twice more as she embraced him with a stunning smile, all the while looking much as she did the day she lay beneath him in the orchard, her autumn-fire hair spilling entrancingly about her, kindling his blood with desire.

  He felt himself harden. But at the same moment a crease appeared between Ailénor’s brows, and her smile dimmed.

  “I was so frightened.” Her eyes clouded with memory.

  Garreth gathered her to him, settling her against his chest as he eased back down on the pallet. ‘Twas unclear whether she spoke of the dream that had awakened her or the ordeal of her abduction.

  “I was frightened for you.” He dropped a kiss atop her head.

  “Oh, Garreth, ‘twas horrible.”

  He felt a shudder pass through her. But before he could comfort her, she turned in his arms and raised herself up, leaning half over him.

  “I waited for you in the garden,” she said, intent with her thoughts, oblivious to the disorder of the blanket that enwrapped her and how it gaped from her breasts. “The men seized me.”

  Garreth followed her tale, yet his mouth went dry as he glimpsed the ripe swell of her flesh, the deep valley between, all bewitchingly enhanced by candlelight.

  “But ‘twas a mistake,” she continued. “They mistook me for my mother.

  Garreth pulled his gaze from the enticement of her breasts as the last of her statement brought him up short. Surely he did not hear aright.

  “Your mother is safe in Rouen,” he soothed, drawing Ailénor down against him and tucking her blanket chastely about her.

  How he craved to cup the fullness of her breasts and quest their sweet beaded tips. He shackled his rampaging impulse.

  “Twas but a dream,” he becalmed.

  “Non, Garreth. Not a dream.” Ailénor thrust upright once more, her eyes wide.

  Tossing the length of her hair over her bare shoulder, she caught the blanket just before it fell to her lap and exposed her fully. Garreth’s pulse leapt, his eyes fixed on the blanket and the movements of her hands. Much tormented, he tore his gaze away and pushed to a sitting position. Rearranging the snarl of blankets that entangled them and concealing his arousal, he concentrated on Ailénor’s words.

  Briefly she recounted what had passed in the garden — how Grimbold had seized her and struck her unconscious, and how she’d awakened hours later aboard ship.

  Anger flared in Garreth as he listened, overriding his passion of the moment before. He examined Ailénor’s jaw as she related Grimbold’s and Wimund’s conversation, and how they prided themselves on carrying off the Baronne de Héricourt.

  “They intended to deliver maman — me — to my mother’s stepcousin, Rhiannon, at Cahercommaun. She must be an e
vil, twisted woman to contrive such treachery. In truth, my family thought her to be long dead.”

  Garreth listened closely to the incredible tale, then bowed his head, filled with guilt and fury.

  “Forgive me, Ailénor. ‘Tis my fault and my failing that you suffered as you did, and that you are here now. ‘Twas my suggestion we meet at dawn. Had I not tarried in my chamber, I would have been present in the garden to protect you.”

  For the first time, he thought bitterly of the Psalter. He had taken pains to wrap it in a waterproof covering for the crossing. ‘Twas that which delayed him, to Ailénor’s detriment.

  Surprised that Garreth should assume any guilt, Ailénor caught his hands in hers. “Non, non. I came early. How could you know? Rhiannon’s creatures saw me pass through the grounds and followed me, believing me to be my mother.” He appeared unconvinced. She gave a squeeze to his hands. “Had they not seized me when they did, they would still be lurking in Rouen and perhaps by now have truly seized maman.”

  “I somehow cannot imagine their succeeding with your father and the rest of your kin about.” Garreth shook his head. “Nay, I brought this misfortune upon you, all to have you selfishly to myself a last moment before I sailed.”

  “Ah, Garreth.” She smiled gently. “‘Tis not misfortune that has befallen us, but destiny.”

  He paused at her words and his gaze met hers.

  She moistened her lips, a fluttery feeling filling her heart. “You asked me once why I left cloister. ‘Twas a dream — a portent — that brought me from the monastery, the same dream I dreamt again tonight as I awakened in your arms.”

  Carefully she detailed the dream to Garreth with all its ominous and prefiguring aspects, describing, as she finished, how, this night, dream and reality merged to one.

  “All that has passed is exactly as ‘twas meant to be,” she said earnestly, her gaze holding his. “Even this mill — your chancing upon the couple’s wedding — ’twas all part of God’s design. Only ‘twas not chance at all,” she added softly, almost breathless. “Do you not see, Garreth? I was meant to be taken in my mother’s stead, as much as we are meant to be here tonight, in this loft, at this very moment in time.”

  Garreth went very still, his heart picking up its pace as he absorbed all that Ailénor spoke. His blood began to thrum in his veins as the potent attraction that ever existed between them charged the air. Instincts stirred strong and deep, ancient and ageless. Instincts to protect Ailénor, and meld with her, body and soul.

  Garreth lifted his hands from hers and threaded his fingers through the wealth of her hair. Its highlights shone of gold in the candlelight, firing his senses further still. He tipped her face to his, traced her lovely features with his eyes, then drifted his gaze downward over the creamy sweep of her neck to the pulsing hollow of her throat.

  He bent his head and pressed his lips there, his blood flowing hot and thick. He heard her soft gasp, then felt her yield toward him. Dropping his hands, he encircled her at once and drew her to him. His breath came short as he trailed several kisses upward, then paused over her lips.

  “Whether ‘tis destiny or dreams that bind us, I do not know,” he rasped. “Only ‘tis a force too powerful to deny. Nor have I the least desire to do so, Ailénor, for I would that you were mine.”

  His lips descended over hers, claiming them in a deep and hungry kiss.

  Ailénor’s passion spiraled to meet his as their mouths blended and joined. Fire spread through her limbs and swept along her senses, enlivening every inch of her skin. She parted her lips, welcoming, nay, urging his invasion. He did not disappoint but plundered at once and mated her tongue with his, stroking her to a fine madness.

  Ailénor went to liquid beneath his possession. The fire that sang in her veins migrated to the tips of her breasts and centered there, awakening them with an aching, urgent need she scarce understood.

  Garreth lowered her to the pallet as he continued his ravishment. Their lips coupled impatiently, and their breaths mingled. Leaving her mouth burning with kisses, he trailed a path of fire over her throat to the valley between her breasts. Cool air rushed over one breast as he pushed the blanket aside, followed by the intense heat of his mouth as his lips closed over her nipple.

  Ailénor arched upward, gasping as he swirled his tongue over the sensitive peak and then suckled it. Again he circled her nipple — and again — until it contracted to a tight bud and begged with want. Baring her other breast, he laved it erect with equal attention and care, triggering a hot, throbbing response between her thighs. Ailénor wantonly reveled in his seduction, experiencing both joyous fragility and power.

  His mouth returned and covered hers. She grew bold beneath his caresses, experiencing a fierce craving of her own to touch and taste and explore.

  As his tongue delved into the recesses of her mouth, she met him stroke for silken stroke. When his hands fondled and kneaded her breasts, hers strayed over his chest and shoulders, then skimmed down to his backside, outlining their contours, memorizing his well-muscled physique.

  He feathered kisses over her face, she along his collarbone. He nibbled the undercurves of her breasts, she nipped at the curve of his neck.

  His mouth roamed lower. Ailénor splayed her fingers over Garreth’s back as he stripped the blankets from between them and bathed her navel with his tongue. He moved lower still, pulling from her touch as he traced a moist line over her taut abdomen. She sank her fingers into his thick head of hair, her breath catching in her throat, as he paused over her womanhood. She flushed hotly as he placed a kiss there, shocked by his boldness as much as by her shameless enjoyment of it.

  Ailénor pressed her lashes closed, felt his breath fan her thighs, then felt him move over her once more. Flesh branded flesh as Garreth stretched above her, and she felt the irrefutable proof of his desire.

  He recaptured her lips, coaxing her mouth open, while at the same time he parted her legs with the caress of his hand. Ailénor’s heart leapt wildly and she jolted against him, nearly coming out of her skin as he touched her intimately. But the movement only served to guide him deeper and heighten the contact. She found the sensation too exquisite to deny.

  And Garreth would not be denied as slowly, deliciously he began to massage her sensitive core. Lowering his head, he feasted on her breasts, flicking the globes with the tip of his tongue, taking them between his teeth. He continued to stroke her femininity with masterful skill, setting her afire and driving her to an impassioned delirium.

  “Garreth, please . . .” Ailénor implored, feeling tension mount between her legs, innocently begging for an unknown release.

  Garreth needed no further encouragement, his need for Ailénor so great, his control of self barely existent. As he settled between her thighs, she opened her warmth fully to him. He kissed her deeply, ravenously, as he began to push into her. Almost at once he met the barrier of her maidenhead.

  He stilled, a complexity of emotions passing through him, stung with guilt from the knowledge that he would claim her virginal proof. Yet if destiny decreed and conspired that their lives be joined — if, as Ailénor said, all this night was as ‘twas meant to be — then was not her maidenhead meant to be his and his alone? he reasoned hazily in a cloud of passion. She herself offered her treasure. He did not take it lightly. Once he coupled with her, ‘twould be for now and evermore.

  “Garreth.” Ailénor pleaded, like to explode. She reached out to him, her hands sliding over his hips, urging him to complete their union.

  Impassioned, Garreth pushed forward with a single, solid thrust, holding her still as he did so, hearing her sharp intake of breath, and regretting the pain he caused her. He then completed their joining, sheathing himself fully in her. He thought he tasted heaven, so sweet and hot and tight was she. Garreth feared he might lose hold of himself, yet remained very still, allowing her body to adjust to the new sensations, wanting the moment to be perfect for Ailénor.

  She also lay motionless
, her fingers pressing into him.

  “There will be no more pain, ever, my darling.” He brushed kisses against her temples and into her hair. “I vow, only the sweetest pleasure.”

  He kissed her long and deep until she met him, her passion stirring anew. Then, shifting, he lowered his head and seduced her voluptuous breasts with all the skill he owned. As she pressed against him, his hands skimmed the curves of her waist and molded her backside. Slowly he began to move against her, shallowly at first, then with deeper thrusts, unsure how long he could maintain his hold on himself.

  Ailénor’s body now opened to a world of sensation never before imagined, the feel of him inside her incredible to her. Her sensitive core craved his touch, and she exulted as Garreth guided her in a joint rhythm.

  Ailénor matched his movements, instinctively wrapping her legs about him, reveling in the intensified contact with him.

  Meeting his passion thrust for thrust, her kisses became as devouring as his. Tension coiled inside her, building to the point of eruption. Just when she thought she could stand it no longer, a sensation shattered through her feminine core, a star burst, sweeping her away. She cried Garreth’s name as the tide of ecstasy overwhelmed her and carried her to a dazzling height.

  Her intense response triggered Garreth’s release. He growled deep in his throat, then vented his passion with a cry as together they exploded in a brilliant, shuddering surrender to destiny.

  Bodies and souls joined as one as the fires of passion melded their hearts.

  Chapter 6

  Ailénor woke abruptly to her unfamiliar surroundings. “Garreth . . . ?” she called, instantly aware of the bare space beside her.

  She shoved herself up onto her elbows and scanned the loft. All lay quiet in the pale glow of morning. No sounds rose from below, nor filtered from without, except the cheery twittering of birdsong. She spied the top of the ladder where it jutted above the end of the flooring.

  Had something occurred that prompted Garreth to go below? Or had he simply risen early — in response to nature’s urging, or perhaps to seek the miller and their clothes? Their clothes . . .