The Captive Heart (Kathleen Kirkwood HEART Series)

by Kathleen Kirkwood

  Garreth acknowledged them all with a single nod, then addressed the two soldiers who had first come forth. After a brief exchange the men opened the gate, then filed into a strict line with the other soldiers, and hailed Garreth and Ailénor through.

  Ailénor quickened her step beside Garreth, questions sprinting through her mind. She opened her mouth to pose one, then another, but then clamped her lips shut again, so confused was she.

  Their reception pleased — nay, it astounded her — as did the ease by which they entered the city. She had presumed days ago that Garreth — as a thegn and member of the royal household — was of noble blood. She did not know his precise rank or, apart from his acting as the king’s agent in Francia, how he otherwise served the monarch. Obviously Garreth’s station was higher than she supposed. Higher than that of the guards, to be sure. Being part of the court, Garreth would likely be known to them. Wouldn’t he? Yet, there were so many. And why did they show him such deference?

  She held her questions as Garreth ushered her left along another twichen, this one running along the inner wall and paved with flint cobbles. They continued to follow the lane west, the ground rising gently but steadily beneath their feet, reminding her that the city lay at the base of steep rising hills.

  To her right, Ailénor observed large open expanses, and beyond them an immense complex of ecclesiastical buildings that stretched, from what she could tell, back to the city’s eastern wall.

  “‘Tis Nunnaminster.” Garreth gestured toward the easternmost end of the complex, seeing Ailénor’s interest. “St. Mary’s, if you will. ‘Twas built by King Alfred’s queen, Ealhswith, for the women religious. To this end, you are actually looking at two minsters.” He pointed to the buildings directly across from them and slightly west. “They are constructed so close to one another only a slight-built man can walk between. I certainly cannot.”

  Ailénor marked Garreth’s grin. “For shame,” she scolded teasingly. “Is this some manly boast?” she squinted back toward the buildings and tried to distinguish two separate roof-lines. “Surely you jest.”

  “Not at all. Look for the two bell towers. Better, wait until they ring out at compline and the monks of both minsters raise their voices in evensong. They fairly confound one another.”

  He was chuckling now, but Ailénor continued to concentrate on the distance. Her mouth suddenly dropped open. “There are two! And two bell towers.”

  “Aye. As I said. The smaller one to the fore is Old Minster. New Minster is the grander one that lies behind. ‘Twas begun by Alfred, but he and his queen died before either of their minsters could be completed. King Edward, Athelstan’s father, saw the buildings finished as well as Alfred’s and Ealhswith’s mortal remains translated to the New Minster.”

  “Is that yet another minster to the left? ‘Tis magnificent,” Ailénor proclaimed as she gazed on the building’s solid but graceful architecture.

  Garreth followed her line of sight. “That is the royal palace itself. The minsters serve the palace in varied capacities and are closely associated with it. ‘Tis why the three were raised within paces of one another. They form an imposing complex, do they not?”

  “Indeed, monumental. I am impressed.”

  Ailénor had not expected to find such architectural sophistication in England. Winchester belied her ideas of the Saxon isle being filled with naught but rustic, timbered halls and simple stone churches. Looking to Garreth, she realized she must learn much more of the homeland of this man who held her heart, for he took obvious pride in it and loved it well.

  Dusk began to dim the airs as Garreth conducted her right onto Mensterstret, Little Minster Street. Here shops and tenements lined the way, each occupying generous-sized parcels, marked off by ditches.

  She gladly noted that the street stretched in a direct line toward the palace. Tired to the marrow, Ailénor looked forward to being settled in the palace and hoped, when she could finally seek her rest, she would be afforded a fine feather bed.

  The light continued to dwindle, cloaking the grounds in deep velvet shadows as Garreth and Ailénor arrived before the gate of the palace’s high enclosure wall. Once more, Garreth’s presence brought the guards to rigid attention, and they signaled them through without delay.

  The gate opened onto a large, cobbled courtyard where an assortment of people, horses, and carts yet milled in the descending dark. Many a man hailed Garreth in greeting as they crossed the expanse, and Ailénor herself drew more than a little attention. They continued on to the royal residence that rose to a lofty height and where additional sentries lined its stately facade.

  Inside, their arrival sparked a flurry of activity. A man who appeared to be a steward of some order hastened forth, greeting Garreth, welcoming Ailénor, and sending the nearby servants scuttling in opposite directions with his orders.

  While Garreth spoke with the steward, Ailénor glanced about the palace’s elegant entry, then fingered back her tousled hair, increasingly self-conscious of her appearance. Returning her gaze to Garreth, she found a frown weighing on his brow as he listened intently to what the steward spoke.

  Ailénor tried to capture the man’s words, but as she did, a maidservant arrived — a smiling little woman with apple cheeks and plump as a woodcock. Her lack of height served only to accentuate Ailénor’s excess.

  Garreth addressed the woman directly, and this time Ailénor found she could understand most of what he spoke as he bid the maid to prepare her a chamber and bath.

  “Lady Ailénor is our guest from the ducal court of Normandy and is the duke’s cousin,” he informed, causing more than a few eyebrows to rise around them and sending the maid into a bobbing curtsy.

  Garreth turned to Ailénor, addressing her in Frankish. “Aldith will see to your needs and bring you to join me once you are refreshed. We can then enjoy a light repast and compose a letter to your parents.”

  He smiled and leaned to her ear. “Do not tarry overlong, my heart, for I shall sorely miss you.”

  Ailénor warmed at his words, her pulse picking up its beat. As she took her leave and followed Aldith along the corridor, she glanced back a final time before passing completely from his sight.

  Sending a silent smile across the distance, Ailénor considered herself the most fortunate of women. Tall and handsome, Garreth presented a striking image as he stood engrossed in conversation with the steward. But as Ailénor began to withdraw her gaze, she saw the frown of the moment before return and deepen his brow.

  »«

  Aldith moved fleetly ahead of Ailénor with swift little birdlike steps. Spying two young maidservants nearby, she clapped her hands, seizing their attention, and sent them scurrying ahead on a string of commands.

  Ailénor followed Aldith up a great oaken staircase, adorned with decorated shields and illumined by torches in elaborate iron wall brackets. Reaching the upper floor, they proceeded to an open doorway, partway down the corridor, and entered inside.

  There Ailénor found a chamber modest in size but richly furnished. Pillowed benches and fine coffers lined the room’s dimensions, while tapestries brightened the walls. A sizable bed occupied one corner, handsomely appointed with patterned bedclothes and matching curtains.

  With bustling energy Aldith directed the maid she called Edeva to open the shuttered window for air and to light the small brazier. The other girl, Leflet, she sent from the chamber on an errand. Aldith then turned to Ailénor and, with open hands and a kindly smile, offered to relieve her of her mantle.

  It pleased Ailénor that she had understood much of what Aldith spoke. She disliked the thought of being imprisoned by a barrier of language, unable to communicate except through others and having to depend upon their translations.

  Her thoughts shifted as she removed the coarse mantle supplied her by the miller’s wife, and revealed her ruined gown. Ailénor smoothed a self-conscious hand over its soiled, wrinkled fabric that, for its trials, now hung oddly from her frame. Had Garreth
not announced her noble station, none could guess it, she thought to herself.

  If Aldith held an opinion of her appearance, she gave not the slightest indication by word or look, but quietly took the cloak and folded it aside.

  The girl, Leflet, returned scant moments later with a tray of wine and followed by a small parade of servants bearing a half tub and buckets of hot water.

  While Edeva and Leflet supervised the bath preparations, Aldith led Ailénor to a chair and poured her a cup of wine. She then fetched an ivory comb from one of the coffers and addressed herself to Ailénor’s hair.

  As she sectioned the dark red tresses and worked the tangles free, Aldith cast a comment over her shoulder to Leflet, saying they would need to wash Lady Ailénor’s hair and instructed she bring out the rose-scented soaps.

  Ailénor smiled at the last, then winced as the comb caught in a snarl. Aldith apologized profusely, then worked at the knot more gently, offering small conversation as she did. Ailénor suspected she spoke more to herself, not expecting her to understand Saxon in any small measure.

  “The color of your hair is exceptional, milady. Very beautiful.” The comb caught again. “And very tangled,” Aldith clucked. “You must have made a difficult journey.”

  Ailénor fingered the cloth beneath her hand, acutely aware she looked more a scullery maid than the daughter of a baron. She felt moved to explain her state — or, leastwise, to attempt to do so, but hesitated, wondering how these women might react to hearing the Danish tongue. ‘Twas the Danes who had been responsible for so much grievance in England over the present and past century. Still, it offered her only way to communicate.

  Ailénor gestured toward her hair as Aldith worked another tangle. “Rain . . . storm . . . At Hamwih.”

  Edeva and Leflet stopped in their preparations and uttered a simultaneous “ahhh” of comprehension, then quickly chattered something between themselves.

  Aldith sent them a sharp look, silencing them, but not before Ailénor caught mention of Garreth’s name. She shriveled a little inside. How it must appear to them — she and Garreth arriving equally bedraggled, he her sole chaperon.

  When the servants who had delivered the tub and bath-water withdrew from the chamber, Aldith motioned for Ailénor to stand so she might unlace the back of her gown.

  As Aldith began, Ailénor once more felt the need to offer some explanation of her circumstance.

  “Garreth saved me. I was . . .” She cast for the correct word for “abduction” but could not recall it. “I was taken . . . stolen . . . from the court of Duke William in Normandy.”

  “Ah, Duke William.” Aldith nodded, while across the room Edeva and Leflet echoed his name. “Do you understand our Saxon tongue, milady?” Aldith opened the back of Ailénor’s gown and began to strip the garment away.

  As Ailénor stepped naked from the dress, a horrifying thought struck her. Mayhap the three women could simply look upon her and tell she was no longer a virgin, that she had lain with Garreth. Heat crept into her cheeks, and she fumbled for the question Aldith had just asked. Saxon tongue — did she understand it? she remembered a heartbeat later.

  “I must listen well. How do you say? — I catch more with my ears than I speak with my lips. ‘Tis the same at home. I need to practice more.” She climbed into the tub and sank into its concealing waters.

  “We shall have you speaking Saxon itself and like a native in no time, Lady Ailénor,” Aldith cheered, then bid Edeva and Leflet to begin their ministrations.

  Ailénor smiled but refrained from comment, unknowing of how long her stay would be in England. The thought halted her. Returning to Francia meant leaving Garreth, but remaining in England meant being severed from her family from whom she had been so abruptly and unceremoniously ripped away.

  The realization flew as an arrow through her heart. Garreth had declared he would not allow her far from his side. Yet, as she thought on it, he had made no promises either — not of rings or vows or anything that would bind himself to her in a relationship more licit or permanent. The thought nettled. What plans did Garreth hold for their future?

  When the troubling thoughts threatened to bring on a massive headache, Ailénor released her concerns, trusting in Garreth. There had been precious little time to discuss a future of any description. Now that they were safely ensconced in the palace, the luxury of time was theirs. They could speak of it later and to their hearts’ content.

  She smiled and sank farther down into the heat of the water, then felt the soreness slowly seep from her bones. While Edeva and Leflet soaped and rinsed her hair, she enjoyed a friendly if limited conversation with them and Aldith. When she asked of King Athelstan, Aldith shook her head.

  “His Majesty left Winchester several days past. He rides after the Scots,” she explained. “They ever are a thorn in the king’s side. This time they have stirred trouble on the border. A little trouble, not much. God willing, he shall soon return.”

  Ailénor realized ‘twas likely the king’s absence that had caused Garreth’s earlier frown.

  Rising and stepping from the tub, Ailénor waited as the maids quickly wrapped her in thick toweling, then followed them to stand by the warmth of the brazier. With additional cloths Edeva and Leflet worked to squeeze and blot the wetness from her hair, drying it as best they could.

  Aldith next brought forth a thin linen undergarment for Ailénor to wear next to her skin. ‘Twas what the Frankish called a chemise. Aldith, however, pleased to instruct Ailénor with her first word in Saxon, called it a smoc.

  Ailénor slipped the garment on over her head, then sat at Aldith’s request so she might next work with her hair.

  “‘Tis still quite damp, Aldith pursed her lips as she circled Ailénor and considered the length and texture of her hair and the shape of her face. “A braid, I think. Yes. Atop your head.”

  Without another word, Aldith wove Ailénor’s tresses into a single thick braid, then circled it atop her head into a crown and secured it with ivory pins studded with pearls. Her eyes sparkled as she looked on her creation. With a quick waggle of her hand, she motioned for Edeva and Leflet to bring the gowns and prompted Ailénor to stand.

  Ailénor found herself at the center of much fussing as the maids helped her into a milky white undertunic embellished with a broad border of gold along the hem. Over this they drew a full-length overtunic, violet in color and trimmed with embroidery. This they bloused up over a jeweled belt, exposing the border of the undertunic.

  Leflet brought slippers of soft deerskin with slim bands that fastened elegantly across the ankles. Edeva added a silken mantle, lined in contrasting colors — pale blue against deeper violet. To complete Ailénor’s attire, Aldith fastened two filigree brooches to her mantle, one at each shoulder, then covered her hair with a long, light veil.

  Stepping back, Aldith clasped her hands together and smiled broadly. Leflet brought forth a mirror. When she held it up, Ailénor found herself startled by the image that gazed back. Her hand fluttered to her throat.

  “Merci. I — I feel . . . beautiful.”

  “You ARE beautiful, Lady Ailénor, and you shall claim many a heart at King Athelstan’s court,” Aldith avowed. She tilted her head and smiled softly. “But then, ‘tis probably just one you wish to entrance. Come, milady. Let us not keep him waiting any longer.”

  »«

  Ailénor’s heart beat light and rapid as she followed Aldith from the room. The very thought of seeing Garreth made her whole being well with a bottomless joy.

  Outside the chamber, she and Aldith stayed their steps as they encountered a palace guard waiting just beyond the portal. Aldith conferred with him, then, by look and gesture, indicated to Ailénor they were to accompany him below.

  Descending the great staircase to the entrance floor, they proceeded to a hall, moderate in size but splendid in its trappings. A table — great and round — sat at the room’s center surrounded by oaken chairs, one grander than the rest in size an
d appearance. A forest of pennants lined the walls, each individual and distinct, suspended from lances far above their heads. Ailénor guessed the room to be the king’s council chamber.

  Continuing across, the guard led them to an arched doorway located at the upper end of the hall. Traversing its portal, they found themselves in a small antechamber that opened onto yet another interior room. There the golden glow of light suggested the presence of others gathered within.

  Scarcely a heartbeat later, male voices rose in conversation — one rough and rumbling, the other smooth and pleasantly pitched. Ailénor smiled, recognizing the last to be Garreth’s.

  As Ailénor stepped toward the entrance, the other man discharged a sharp laugh, followed by what seemed a terse pronouncement. Ailénor could not distinguish whether the man jested, was angry, or whether he and Garreth merely debated some matter in a lively but combative fashion as men were wont to do.

  The guard hesitated, seeming reluctant to interrupt, and gestured for the women to wait. Aldith moved back several paces, but Ailénor, hearing Garreth’s voice rise on a brisk rejoinder, remained fixed in place.

  She peered into the chamber but, from her vantage, could see little more than the opposite wall and the end of a table. The dimensions of the room lay mostly to the right so that she saw nothing of Garreth, nor of the man with whom he spoke.

  But even as she craned to catch sight of Garreth, he moved into view, his back confronting her as he addressed the other man. Ailénor concentrated on their words, expecting Garreth was in the course of detailing their adventures from Rouen.

  Listening, she began to sense a tension that hung between the two men and wondered if Garreth might, instead, be explaining the unhappy fate of the Psalter. As she caught snippets of the conversation, she realized Garreth spoke of Duke William. To her surprise, his words did not concern her but the Carolingian prince, Louis, and the crown of Francia.

  Did she hear aright? she wondered, taken aback. When had Garreth spoken with William? What interest did he have in the political affairs of Francia?