The Captive Heart (Kathleen Kirkwood HEART Series)

by Kathleen Kirkwood

  Garreth shifted his stance, his back still to Ailénor and his tall figure blocking her sight of the other man whom he addressed as Cynric. ‘Twas this Cynric, she realized, who now spoke.

  “William is a predictable man. Ever has been. He and his Normans have struck a deal with the Robertians, and for the price of land, their swords now sing from their scabbards for the Robertians’ and Raoul’s cause. William will not support Louis’s claim without ample reason or for sufficient gain. Mark my words.”

  “The duke and certain of his barons contend the time is ill-favored to restore the Carolingians,” Garreth remarked, “The effort would be doomed.

  “It surprises me, Garreth, you did not seek to persuade the duke otherwise. Or might it be possible he has beguiled you to his way of thinking, hoping that you might influence King Athelstan?”

  “‘Twas not my place or my mission to persuade, negotiate, or contrive any plans either for Raoul’s removal or Louis’s return. My charge was solely to gather what information I might. To that end, I would remind you, Cynric, I am accountable to none but the king of my findings in Francia. Certainly not to you.”

  Ailénor froze in place. Garreth, a spy? Nay, it could not be so.

  “As the wicgerefa of Winchester . . .” Cynric began.

  “As the wicgerefa you have no say in such affairs.”

  “As a member of the Witan, however, I do. I can assure you, on many a night in your absence we discussed this very matter to great depth, in this very room. The king wants his nephew Louis to wear his rightful crown, and soon.”

  Cynric moved apart of Garreth and into sight of the table. Taking up the pitcher, he refilled his goblet. As he turned back toward Garreth, lifting the goblet to his lips, his eyes stilled over Ailénor, and he paused midmotion. Slowly he lowered the vessel, his gaze slipping over her.

  Cynric proved to be a sharp-featured man of medium height, his hair light brown and cut straight across the brow. His nose was thin and aquiline, accenting angular cheekbones and a well-defined jaw. His fine clothes and jewels spoke of high station. Ailénor suspected him to be a chief minister and confidant of the king.

  Yet if that were so, why would he be speaking to Garreth on the matters he did? And how did Garreth’s “mission” of gathering relics connect to Duke William and Louis’s throne?

  Garreth caught Cynric’s look and turned to discover Ailénor. As he faced her fully, her eyes rounded wide.

  Garreth stood before her, magnificently attired, his movements setting off the gleam of gold and glint of jewels. His tunic was a rich garnet in color, edged with embroidery, the sleeves fashionably wrinkled over the forearms nearly to the elbow, declaring great cost. The belt about his waist bore richly ornamented clasps and mounts, while a large and resplendent brooch fastened his mantle at his left shoulder. About his neck he wore a gold torque and on his finger a large ruby. A silver-hilted sword gleamed at his side. The man who stood before her was no collector of bones.

  The realization jolted. Who was Garreth of Tamworth?

  Why did he present himself as he did at the court of Normandy?

  A wide smile spread Garreth’s features, and as his gaze traveled over her, she saw a flash of pride in his eyes. Coming forward, he dismissed the guard and Aldith and, taking her by the hand, led her into the chamber. Before she could utter a word, he made her presentation.

  “Lady Ailénor of Héricourt, daughter of Baron Lyting Atlison and cousin to Duke William of Normandy.”

  Immediately Ailénor felt Cynric’s close scrutiny. He reminded her much of the Burgundians who had so recently infested the duke’s court.

  “Lady Ailénor.” Cynric bowed over her hand. “Garreth has apprised me of your unfortunate experience. I am Cynric, wicgerefa, the High Reeve of Winchester. I confess I am both enchanted and dazzled by the beauty of Normandy.”

  “Save your flatteries, Cynric,” Garreth clipped out. “Lady Ailénor understands naught of our tongue.”

  Startled and amused by the testiness she detected in Garreth’s voice, Ailénor began to correct his impression of her abilities to communicate when a movement in the shadows caught her eye. There sat another man at the end of the table.

  Slowly he leaned forward into the light, his eyes fastening on her. A sense of foreboding rippled through Ailénor. She marked his dark hair and twisted, forked beard. Did she know him? His eyes glittered as he gazed on her, glittered with something akin to hate. Ailénor’s heart lurched. She recoiled and stepped toward Garreth.

  Cynric withdrew for a moment to speak with the man at the table, then nodded his head in agreement at something the man said. As Cynric returned to Ailénor and Garreth, the other man eased back into the shadows once more, a thin smile playing over his lips.

  Ailénor’s gaze leapt to Cynric. She wished she could read what she saw reflected in his eyes. Instinct told her to trust him not at all.

  He paused before her, smiling the same thin smile as the other man. “Truly, we are most pleased to welcome you to the royal court at Winchester. You shall be His Majesty’s very special guest.”

  Cynric waited as Garreth interpreted his words, then without turning his head or altering his expression, he shifted his eyes to Garreth.

  “Well done. I really must congratulate you, Garreth. Very clever. But then you always were one to seize an opportunity whenever it presented itself and turn it to the best advantage.”

  As Ailénor struggled to make sense of Cynric’s words, she felt Garreth stiffen beside her.

  “Normandy’s duke will be pleased by your valor,” Cynric continued, “having so courageously rescued his kinswoman from the hands of cutthroats and brought her to safety.” His voice lowered, filled with cunning. “I am sure Duke William will understand completely should Ailénor choose to remain in our company for a time — to acquaint herself with Francia’s exiled dowager queen, of course, and provide companionship to Louis. Undoubtedly King Athelstan will be glad to accommodate her until the day Louis is restored to his throne.”

  Garreth took a quick step forward. “What scheme do you imply, Cynric?”

  “Imply? I but state the obvious. ‘Tis not the first time you have turned opportunity to advantage. And this time, in delivering the duke’s kinswoman to Athelstan, you have provided him a perfect device to force William’s hand — a most noble guest.” Cynric’s smile spread to a grin as he assessed Ailénor with his look. “Yes, she will be a fine surety for Louis’s restoration.”

  Ailénor’s eyes slewed to Garreth. She prayed she misunderstood the meaning of Cynric’s words, words he obviously did not expect her to comprehend. Garreth held himself rigid, his face a granite scowl. His hands balled into fists as Cynric continued.

  “You can be certain of a reward. But of course you knew that. And the king always rewards you well. I’d say your new title as ealdorman is well earned this day by bringing His Majesty such a prize.”

  “Prize? Nay, you mean hostage.”

  Hostage? Ailénor latched on to the word, shock following shock. She was to be used as a pawn? And Garreth was to be rewarded for his part in the event?

  Ailénor’s eyes narrowed on Garreth. He had betrayed her. By his deed, she would be made a captive of the Saxon court until one throne was traded for another. Anger raged in her breast as he began to turn toward her.

  “Deceiver!” she cried and cracked her hand across Garreth’s face with all the force she could deliver.

  Whirling from him, Ailénor fled the chamber.

  Chapter 7

  Ailénor stormed to her chamber, carried on a wave of fury. But the instant she crossed the threshold great tears began to tumble over her cheeks.

  Surety. Hostage. Captive. The words resounded in her ears.

  Ailénor took hold of the door and slammed it shut, startling Leflet who stood at the bed, tucking in fresh linens. Ailénor swiped at her tears, despising her weakness, but found, once unleashed, she could scarce staunch their flow. The ordeals of the past d
ays now took their toll, all her suppressed emotions rushing forth to overwhelm. Yet for all she had endured, this betrayal she found to be the most bitter. Garreth had deceived her most cruelly.

  Leflet started forward to comfort Ailénor, but before she took two steps, the door burst open, shuddering upon its hinges. Leflet squeaked and scampered back to a corner as Garreth filled the portal and entered in.

  Ailénor turned a glacial gaze on him, then gave him her back and started across the room. But Garreth took a lunging step, caught her by the arm, and spun her around. Ailénor struggled against his hold and smote his chest, but Garreth easily trapped her hands. Jerking her flat against him, he pinned her arms to her sides.

  A squeak came from the corner, and Garreth spied Leflet. “Leave us!” he boomed.

  “Stay, Leflet!” Ailénor countered.

  “Leflet, go!” Garreth leveled a hard-as-nails look at the girl.

  Leflet sucked in her breath and, quick as a mouse, scurried past the couple and out the door.

  “Let go of me!” Ailénor writhed beneath his iron-hard grasp but did no more than warm him with her squirming, her breasts, stomach thighs pressed firmly against his length.

  Garreth tensed and pulled slightly apart. “Ailénor, stop this. Listen to me.”

  “Non. I have heard enough!” she blurted angrily, tears wetting her cheeks.

  “And just what do you think you heard?” he snapped, his temper fraying. “Do you speak Saxon so perfectly?”

  “Not Saxon. Danish. And I understand well enough to know by your deceit I am to be held captive at the Saxon court — ‘surety,’ was that not Cynric’s word? — to gain Duke William’s support for Louis’s cause. I understand enough to know you use me to scale the heights of power and profit — at my expense and that of Normandy!”

  She aimed her slippered foot at his booted shin. Contacting his ankle, she winced in pain.

  Garreth held her at arm’s length. “Ailénor, no more, I say. This is madness. Naught is as it seems.”

  “Vraiment? Then I am free to leave? This night? This instant?” she challenged.

  Garreth hesitated, and her eyes thinned.

  “I thought not. Tell me then. Why were you in Normandy? And who are you truly?” Her eyes flickered over his finery and his silver-hilted sword. “‘Tis obvious you are so much more than you presented yourself to be in Rouen. Did you deceive William as successfully as you did me?” She stubbornly fought back a tear, but it rolled from beneath her lashes despite her effort.

  “William knew precisely my purpose in Francia. ‘Twas why I sought an audience with him.”

  “Yet you departed court so abruptly. Did your meeting with my cousin not come to a favorable conclusion? Did he dislike what you had to say? Is that why you sailed from Rouen so suddenly?” A dark suspicion poisoned her thoughts. “Is that the reason you asked me to the garden? To seize me yourself?”

  “Enough, Ailénor, I’ll hear no more!” Garreth barked, seeing where her thoughts led. Next she would accuse him of hiring Grimbold and Wimund himself, a partner to their perfidy, and his bringing her here all an elaborate plot.

  He released Ailénor. She rubbed her arms and backed away several steps, distraught and trembling.

  Garreth shoved a hand through his hair. It seemed the whole world reeled about him. When events first exploded in the chamber below, he had been stunned by the turn of things. Scarce did Cynric make his astounding pronouncements when Ailénor came to life and turned on him, striking him across the face. She bolted before he could recover from his shock or comprehend her actions. Now, realizing what had passed, it cut deep that she believed him part to Cynric’s schemes. He would brook no more assaults upon his person — verbal or otherwise.

  “Ailénor, listen to me. In truth, my mission to Francia was for more than relics and Psalters. Rather, ‘twas to garner information. The king wishes to assess, firsthand, which way the wind blows in Francia and where Hugh and William stand concerning the crown. If the Carolingian line is to be restored, ‘twill require their aid more than any other to displace Raoul. Despite the king’s desire to see Louis crowned, Athelstan is a wise and prudent man. He will not place his nephew in a futile situation. Nor would he hold a woman hostage. ‘Tis not the king’s way. Nor is it mine.”

  Ailénor dropped her gaze, avoiding his. “Still, by what I heard — Cynric’s words and yours — it seems events played most advantageously into your hands.”

  “That is where your understanding of the language falls short — or at least of its inflections. Obviously you cannot differentiate between that which is stated as fact and that which is spoken with denial or sarcasm.”

  “But . . .”

  “Hear me out, Ailénor. In no way have I wronged you. I saved you, if you will recall. Saved you from certain ravishment and I dare not think what else. And do not accuse me now of taking advantage of your maidenly virtue. The passions we spent last night were hotly shared. Our futures are bound together, Ailénor. Destiny, you called it, or have you forgotten?”

  He took a deep breath. “For now, I shall consider your words the ravings of an overwrought woman. A woman I cherish. But I ask some measure of faith. Surely you know in your heart I would never bring you harm or unhappiness.”

  Ailénor’s mouth dropped open at his words. “Mais, non . . . Oh, Garreth, I did not mean . . . What I heard . . . I thought . . .”

  Garreth took her hands in his and laid them against his chest. “Believe me, my heart. We have both been caught in Cynric’s web. And Barbetorte’s. ‘Twas he who sparked the idea in Cynric. Did you not see when he spoke in Cynric’s ear?”

  “Barbetorte?” Ailénor’s voice rose in amazement. “Alain Barbetorte, the prince of Brittany — Comte de Cornouaille and Nantes?” A great light dawned, illuminating all that had foregone.

  “You know him?”

  “Of him.” Ailénor nodded. “Two years past he led an uprising to reconquer his lost lands, crossing over from England at the head of his exiled Bretons.”

  Garreth nodded gravely. “Their attempt failed, forcing them to return into exile.”

  “Did you also know William met his challenge in battle?”

  “Nay, only that King Raoul awarded parts of the Breton lands to the duke — the Avranchin and the Contentin.”

  “Oui. Barbetorte despises William. In truth, he despises anyone with Norse blood flowing in their veins. ‘Twas the Northmen of the Loire who first wrested Brittany from Alain’s father, Mathuedoi. There was great bloodshed and, as you know, many noble Bretons fled across La Manche. I cannot blame Barbetorte for his feelings, yet I fear he would stoop at nothing to get at William, even through me.”

  Garreth held her close. “Then you do believe me?”

  The vision of Alain Barbetorte, his eyes glittering, his detestation palpable as he observed her from the shadows and leaned to Cynric’s ear, gave her to believe Garreth’s innocence. Concern closed in on her again.

  “Surely Barbetorte holds no real influence in the English court.”

  “He is Athelstan’s godson,” Garreth apprised. “He and his Bretons stand ready to assist Louis, hoping to regain Brittany in the bargain. While Barbetorte holds no real power in England, he does have access to the king’s ear and holds sway over many of high rank around him — notably, Cynric. Believe me, Ailénor. I am as astonished as you by this contortion of events. Cynric is a powerful man, but I promise you he will not see his plans to fruition.”

  Ailénor sank her head against Garreth’s chest and released a long, weary breath. “I have wronged you and I am sorry.”

  He lifted her chin with the tip of his finger. “Shh. You must be exhausted. ‘Tis all right. Take some rest now, while I go and confront Cynric. Regardless of the outcome, I shall draft missives to the king and to your parents and see them sent this very night. I cannot go directly through Cynric’s authority, but I can go around it.” A smile touched Garreth’s lips. “Rest easy, my darling. All shall be
set aright, I vow.”

  He covered her lips with his, drawing her into a deep and healing kiss. Ailénor melted against him, her lips parting and welcoming him further. He stroked the silk of her tongue with his, then allowed his hand to glide slowly along the side of her waist, upward to her ribs and higher still to cup the swell of her . . .

  “Milady? Are you all right, milady?” Aldith called as she bustled into the room. “Leflet said . . . Oh, dear. Oh, my, my.” Aldith halted, startled and thoroughly flustered by what met her eyes.

  Garreth released Ailénor instantly, dropping his hand away. He doubted Aldith saw more than the kiss from where she stood. There was no way to extract himself from this situation comfortably, but he could save Ailénor her embarrassment.

  Lady Ailénor owns no fault here, Aldith. Nor has she been compromised in any way.” Not today, he added mentally. “Count it as my own weakness. I trust we may rely on your discretion.”

  Aldith stood pinch-lipped for a moment, then relented. “Aye. That you can. But there will be no more dallying in milady’s bedchamber.” She wagged a finger.

  “Upon my word,” Garreth returned. “Now, if you will see that Lady Ailénor is comfortable for the night, I will take my leave.”

  Turning to Ailénor, he noted the flush in her cheeks. “I shall seek out Cynric. I suspect he prepares a private missive for the king and I shall need to dispatch my own apace.”

  “And my parents?”

  “Aye. I’ll not forget them either.”

  He started to drop a departing kiss to Ailénor’s lips but, feeling the maid’s heavy gaze, diverted it more chastely to her brow.

  Ailénor watched after Garreth, her lips still alive with his kiss. As he disappeared out the door, she realized her questions concerning him had gone unanswered. Who was Garreth of Tamworth?

  As Garreth reached the bottom of the great stairs, he spied the manservant, Osbert, and bid him over. Asking of Cynric, Osbert shook his head.