The Captive Heart (Kathleen Kirkwood HEART Series)

by Kathleen Kirkwood

  “Gunnolf! I am sore glad to see you,” Ailénor proclaimed as she slid from her mare and hastened toward him.

  Garreth quickly joined her while other crew members also abandoned their tasks and gathered round. Another familiar face appeared — that of Einar. She’d last seen them at the long Christmas celebrations at Valsemé. Gunnolf was one of her uncle’s chief shipmasters and Einar an important mate, soon to command his own ship in her uncle’s growing fleet.

  Recovering from their shock at the sudden appearance of their employer’s niece on the wharf of Lundenburh, Gunnolf and Einar inundated Ailénor with questions.

  Garreth strained to understand their rapid exchange, attuning his ear to the heavily accented Frankish the Norman sailors spoke. As he groped for their meaning, he better appreciated Ailénor’s trials communicating these past weeks.

  If the men of Valsemé displayed surprise at Ailénor’s arrival, then they viewed him with blatant suspicion, eyeing him closely. Garreth restrained his tongue while Ailénor related a much abbreviated version of their adventures and spoke only of her abduction, his intervention, and their flight from Rhiannon’s men. She turned and introduced him more fully, presenting him as a member of King Athelstan’s royal court and an officer of the Hird. She then pressed the urgency of her returning to Normandy — danger still threatened her mother, and her family knew naught of her whereabouts.

  The men comprehended the gravity of the situation and vowed to see her safely there.

  “The cargo is only partially loaded and cannot be abandoned,” Gunnolf explained. “The men will need at least another day to complete the task. We should be able to depart Saturday morn, shortly after dawn. Will you be safe until then?”

  Grasping the seamen’s words and their concern, Garreth’s hand moved instinctively to rest on his sword hilt.

  “You can count on it,” he averred, slowing his Frankish so the men would understand. “I will secure lodgings for Ailénor away from the riverfront, up on Candlewick Street, and guard her myself. If the man Wimund comes sniffing about, you will know him by his grotesquely large eyes.”

  Relieved and thankful at having found the ship still in port, Garreth and Ailénor took their leave, promising to check on the crew’s progress on the morrow.

  Leaving the Downgate quay, they proceeded directly to Candlewick Street. There Garreth secured lodging from an elderly widow from whom he often leased when visiting the city. For a modest amount, she let out to them the upper floor of the tiny row house adjoining her own — the property of her perpetually absent son.

  The accommodation enjoyed a separate back entrance and sparse furnishings — a table and chairs and, what Garreth appreciated most, an extra-long bed with a wondrously soft mattress. The lodging fee included fresh linens and a candle for each night’s stay. But for an additional sum the widow provided a modest meal, tonight a small roast capon, plum and currant tartlet, and a pitcher of cold ale.

  While Garreth stabled the horses at the end of the street, Ailénor waited with the little repast in the upper room. Weariness washed over her. With their safe arrival and successful contact with Valsemé’s ship, it seemed a huge weight had lifted from her. What remained in its absence was an acute realization of how truly tired she was.

  Overcome with fatigue, Ailénor rose and moved to the bed. Pulling off her gown, she started to slip between the covers, but at the rumbling complaint of her stomach, she wrapped a sheet around her and returned to the table. When Garreth entered the room moments later, she was in the course of nibbling a diminutive drumstick.

  “I am sorry. I could not wait.” She looked up to him and smiled sleepily.

  Garreth came to stand before her. Lifting her chin with his strong hand, he gently traced the dark circle beneath her left eye with his thumb and smiled his understanding.

  “I am the one who is apologetic for I did not mean for you to wait for my return.”

  Joining her at the table, he stretched out his long legs and took a swallow of ale. They ate in quiet companionship, the capon dwindling to bones and the tartlet to crumbs. Ailénor covered her mouth, unable to stifle a yawn.

  “Rest, Ailénor.” Garreth submitted softly. “I’ll finish the ale and join you in a moment.”

  Ailénor rose, then paused to lean forward and gift Garreth with a kiss. “Merci, my love. Thank you.”

  Garreth’s gaze followed her as she crossed to the bed and drew off her sheet, seemingly forgetful of her nude state. He took another mouthful of ale, fully appreciating her feminine perfection, her smooth back, the curve of her waist where it nipped in, her pleasingly rounded behind, long slender legs, and, as she turned toward him, her full rose-tipped breasts.

  Ailénor stretched out across the bed, sinking into its softness.

  “Mmm.” She nestled into the mattress, then felt for the sheet and drew it up. “Do you realize, Garreth,” she murmured, drowsy and content, “this is the first time we shall actually share a bed — a real bed?”

  Garreth’s smile spread. Downing the rest of the ale, he rose and crossed to her, an ache in his loins. But as he came to stand over her, he found she had already drifted into a deep and much needed sleep.

  Garreth reached down and gently outlined her face with the tip of his forefinger, then trailed it to one round breast. Feeling his own weariness and seeing its claim on Ailénor, he released a long breath and withdrew his hand.

  Disposing of his own clothes, he climbed into bed beside her and adjusted the sheet. Conforming his body to hers, he cradled her and looped his arm over her waist.

  Exhaustion traveled through him, claiming him inch by inch. Content and comfortable, wrapped around the woman he loved, Garreth allowed it to carry him into a dreamless sleep.

  »«

  Early the next morning, Ailénor awakened to find Garreth holding open the door to a procession of people with an exceptionally large tub, linens, soaps, and buckets upon buckets of hot water.

  As they prepared the bath, Garreth strode to the bed bearing small loaves of warm fragrant bread and spiced cider. He sat beside her, grinning.

  “Today is ours, my love. And I intend we enjoy it to the full.”

  Ailénor pushed to a sitting position, holding the sheet high against her throat as the other occupants of the room continued to fuss over the bathwater. While Garreth and she waited, they partook of the bread and ale. He then rose as the others finished and the last departed, and barred the door.

  Garreth returned to Ailénor’s side and began to divest himself of his mantle, tunic, leggings, and braies. Ailénor looked on as she finished the last of the bread, drawing her gaze slowly downward over his hardened physique.

  Laying aside his garments, Garreth reached for the sheet Ailénor still clutched to her breast. Drawing it from her fingers, he pulled it free and cast it aside. His gaze lingered over her naked form a moment. Then, without a word but smiling, he lifted her in his arms, carried her to the tub and stepped in.

  “Garreth?” Ailénor slipped her arms about his neck. “Garreth!” Her voice echoed her surprise as he sank into the heated waters with her firmly in his grasp.

  To her further astonishment, Garreth shifted her to face him, causing her to straddle his hips, for there was barely enough room. She gasped, feeling his manhood poised at her feminine entrance, ready to invade. But he did not. With a wicked smile he reached for the soap, slowly lathered his hands, and spread the creamy foam over her breasts.

  “Garreth . . .” Ailénor’s voice broke. She moaned with his seduction, tilting back her head as she luxuriated in the feel of his hands moving over her breasts, now cupping, now fondling, arousing her senses and opening them to him.

  “Ah, Garreth, how you do possess me so.” She lifted her head to look at him, her heart beating a quick rhythm. She moistened her lips and smiled. “But the seduction cannot be yours alone,” she whispered huskily.

  Taking the soap from him, she lathered his chest generously. “As you said, love.
Today is ours. Let us enjoy it to the full.” Her smile spread as her hand slid downward, disappearing beneath the water and causing Garreth to straighten instantly.

  “Wench!” He growled, surprise and approval rumbling in his voice. He seized her lips hungrily with his, then rinsing the soap from her breasts, he lifted her upward to him and feasted on her splendid offering.

  Hours later, after an impassioned, sometimes more leisured, morning of lovemaking, they emerged from their lodging and headed toward Downgate at an unhurried pace.

  At the wharf they spoke with Gunnolf who assured them the ship would sail on the morrow. As Garreth and Ailénor climbed the steep alleyway to Thames Street, Garreth saw her pensive, unsmiling look. At Gunnolf’s confirmation of the ship’s departure, he, too, felt the heavy reality of their separation pressing upon them, dampening the remainder of their time together as well as their spirits.

  Garreth slipped his arm about her. The hours are ours until dawn, Ailénor. Lundenburh has much to offer, especially on Fridays.”

  She lifted her gaze to his.

  “Sweet Ailénor, let us fill the next hours with as much happiness as our last ones, so we might carry them with us with warm remembrance.”

  At his words, a smile touched Ailénor’s lips, and she lifted her hand to his cheek. “Oui, Garreth. Let us fill them to overflowing.”

  Garreth caught her fingers and filled her palm with a kiss, then escorted her north and west along the streets.

  When they came to Cheapside Street, they slowed to peruse the many craftsmen’s and merchants’ stalls with their wondrous variety of goods and luxuries. Garreth purchased Ailénor a flower garland for her hair, and they enjoyed roast joints of meat and cups of ale acquired from street vendors.

  From there they moved north through the metalworkers’ lane where goldsmiths, silversmiths, and jewelers displayed their wealth and skills. Emerging near the northwest wall of the city, they headed for Aldersgate. There, amid considerable traffic, they passed through the gate and arrived at a wide-open field that proved level and smooth.

  “This is Smoothfield, or Smithfield as some have begun to call it,” Garreth apprised as they threaded through the crowd gathered there. “Horse markets are held here each Friday and races in the afternoon. With your love of horses, I thought you might enjoy seeing them.”

  “‘Tis like a fair,” Ailénor noted happily, glancing about, for musicians, jugglers, and hawkers wove through the assemblage. Around the field, horses were being displayed and put through their paces. To one corner, however, a different sort of market was taking place. There, pigs and cows were being sold as well as plows and other farm equipment.

  Garreth and Ailénor spent the next hour looking over the various steeds. They especially enjoyed watching the even-gaited palfreys which were trained to bring both legs down on one side at the same time, thereby giving an exceptionally smooth ride.

  They moved on to see the fleet-footed coursers and lively, high-stepping colts, then on to the plow mares, many with bellies swollen with young. As they moved on to the strong-legged packhorses, Garreth paused, a prickling sensation passing down the back of his neck. ‘Twas as though someone watched them.

  Garreth scanned the area, seeking any menace that might lurk near.

  “Garreth?” Ailénor broke into his thoughts. “Is something amiss?”

  He glanced around them once more and, finding no threat, shook his head.

  “Come, my heart. I see the races are about to commence.”

  To Ailénor surprise, stable lads rode the spirited steeds without benefit of harness or saddle but only with bits to curb the animals’ mouths and reins to guide them. The horses raced in twos and threes, the riders urging and switching them on to the cries and exhortations of the crowd.

  At the close of the races, the crowds did not dissipate. It seemed the city had emptied out to enjoy the Friday festivities. Round dances now formed, the dancers holding hands, circling and singing to the accompaniment of the vielle and bells. Ailénor and Garreth enjoyed cups of spiced wine as they watched, then joined in the merriment.

  As the approaching eve drew its veil over their day and the light diminished, Garreth and Ailénor started back for Candlewick Street. They walked in silence, pleasantly tired from the day’s activities. They could no longer ignore that their time was fast coming to an end, however. Garreth looked at Ailénor and saw the melancholy that had enveloped her earlier had returned.

  “I would have a smile from the lady who keeps my heart,” he cajoled.

  “Garreth, the hours advance so quickly now. Soon ‘twill be — ”

  “Shhh, love.” Garreth stopped, putting a finger to her lips. “The hours are still ours. Let us not waste one precious minute on fretting or laments.”

  Noting their location to be near the lane of the goldsmiths, he led her one street over and partway down its length to one of the shops. Coming to the door of a jeweler, Garreth pounded heavily upon its oaken surface.

  “Good fellow, forgive me for disturbing your peace,” he called out. “Tomorrow my lady and I must part for many a month, and I desire to purchase her a keepsake.” He looked to Ailénor. “Something pleasing, to remind her of myself and proclaim my love while we are apart.”

  Ailénor smiled at Garreth and slipped her arm in his.

  From within, they heard the tread of footsteps, followed by a scraping sound as the bar was removed from the door. Seconds later it screaked open revealing a diminutive man with wiry gray hair. He looked up at them, looking none too pleased by the disturbance. But as he noted the quality of their clothing that marked them as well born, his mood brightened.

  “You are to be separated, you say?” His eyes went to Ailénor, and a sparkle appeared in his eyes. “Well, young man, if I was your age and had such a beauty waiting for me, I’d wish her to carry my token, too. Mayhap a ring would best serve. One she can place on her fourth finger that is connected to her heart.”

  The jeweler disappeared to the back of his shop and returned moments later with a tray of gold and silver rings, some incised with flowers and engraved with sentiments inside.

  “They are lovely,” Ailénor praised and took one up.

  Garreth rubbed a thoughtful finger over his lip, however, not wholly satisfied. “I would have something with gems or pearls for my lady.”

  Ailénor’s eyes widened, reflecting her surprise at Garreth’s extravagance. The jeweler’s countenance also lit up once more, as he realized the profit to be made off this late transaction. He considered Ailénor’s dark red hair and the length of her slender fingers.

  “I believe I have something most suitable for your lady. Step inside, step inside,” he bid, heading back into the shop.

  When the jeweler returned, he bore a small velvet pouch. Opening it, he withdrew an exquisite gold ring mounted with a large pearl with four amethysts surrounding it, of a deep purple hue. He held it up for Garreth’s and Ailénor’s approval.

  Garreth nodded and relieved the jeweler of the ring. Slipping it onto Ailénor’s finger, he found it to fit perfectly as though made especially for her and for this night.

  “‘Tis beautiful,” Ailénor whispered.

  “Then ‘tis yours.” Garreth lifted her hand to his lips, placing a kiss on the ring and her finger all at once.

  Turning to the jeweler, Garreth bartered the price and in the end gave him most of the contents of his coin purse and the fine silver brooch that secured his mantle.

  Ailénor started to object and remove the ring, but Garreth caught her hand. “Nay, love. Keep it upon your finger where I have placed it. Let it be the symbol of our love and faithfulness and the pledge we took at Silchester.”

  Ailénor’s love shined in her eyes. “Merci, mon amour. I shall not remove it and each time I gaze upon it, I shall think of you.”

  Turning to the jeweler, she praised his talent and thanked him, then accompanied Garreth out and down the lane.

  Garreth pressed a kis
s to the softness of her hair. “Come, love. Let us return to our lodging. I wish to hold you till the dawn.”

  Neither spoke as they entered the row house and climbed the narrow stairs to the upper floor. Once inside the room, Garreth flamed their last candle and placed it on the table, then turned to Ailénor.

  His gaze lingered over her for a long silent moment. She lowered her lashes but not before he saw the sadness filling her eyes. Their day had dwindled to hours, and now scant few remained to them.

  Garreth closed the space between them, and tipping up Ailénor’s chin, brought her gaze to his.

  “No laments, remember? Let us savor each moment that is ours, and pray our separation will be brief and see us soon rejoined.”

  “But, Garreth, what if — ”

  “Shh, my heart.” He brushed his lips over hers. “All will be well.” He placed a kiss beneath her jaw, then another beside her brow and then her ear. He slipped her mantle from her shoulders. “For the time left to us, I would ask a wish, Ailénor.”

  “You have but to name it, love.” She smiled, then drew a quick breath as he outlined the shell of her ear with the tip of his tongue.

  “From now until dawn wear but one thing for me.”

  “One only, Garreth?” She closed her eyes, a shiver of desire running through her as he trailed kisses along her neck to the curve of her shoulder.

  “Aye, one thing. Your ring alone.”

  Ailénor opened her eyes and met his dark and smiling ones. “And am I to be afforded the same wish?” she teased, her spirits enlivening.

  “I have no ring, Ailénor.” His smile widened to a grin.

  “Ah, domage. A shame.” She rose on her toes and kissed the base of his throat. “Mayhap you can manage without one.”

  His grin turned wolfish. Drawing the flowered garland from her hair, he sent it to join her mantle on the floor. “I am sure we will both manage quite well.”

  He captured her lips at that and together they tasted and teased, their appetites quickly growing.

  Garreth sought the lacings at the back of her gown and worked them free. The fabric separated beneath his hands and he drew it downward, baring her flesh as he sent the gown to puddle at her feet. Ailénor aided him from his own garments with equal swiftness to litter the floor as well. Stepping free of their discarded clothes littering the floor, Garreth caught her up in his arms and carried her to the bed, laying her there.