The Captive Heart (Kathleen Kirkwood HEART Series)

by Kathleen Kirkwood

  “Garreth is my captive now.”

  Chapter 16

  Never in his life had Garreth sailed at such great speed. But never had he sailed with the man called Sjorefurinn, the Sea Fox. And, at the moment, Sjorefurinn — Lord Lyting — was one very angry father.

  The ship slipped down the southwestern coast of Ireland and skimmed across the Celtic Sea, fleet as an arrow. On it raced, gaining the Channel waters as it passed the tip of the Penwith Peninsula and pressed relentlessly onward.

  With consummate skill, Lord Lyting commanded the ship from his position at the tiller. Ingeniously he’d rigged the sheeting lines through the oar holes, running them astern and enabling him to control the sails from where he sat. At the same time, he navigated the ship with the steering board.

  Garreth had never seen the like. He also recognized that the presence of the two other seamen aboard was likely more to guard himself than to assist Lord Lyting in any points of sailing.

  Time skipped past, and soon the ship closed on Francia’s coast and entered the mouth of one of its rivers. Well into the night of the third day, it docked beneath a high bailey wall of pale limestone.

  As they disembarked, a half-dozen men-at-arms hastened to meet the baron, giving Garreth to realize he stood now before Chastel de Héricourt. On Lord Lyting’s orders, the soldiers removed Garreth straightaway to a chamber, high in Héricourt’s tower keep. There Garreth remained, locked and guarded, while Ailénor’s father presumably cooled his fury elsewhere.

  Garreth found little rest during the remainder of the night. As little, it would seem, as Lord Lyting. From the chamber’s window slit, he saw the baron pace the sentry walk in the twilight just before dawn. At sunrise, Lord Lyting rode out and galloped along the river, not to return until many hours later.

  Midafternoon, the guard opened the door long enough to set a platter of food and skin of wine inside. Garreth chafed at his confinement, but not until nightfall did the guard again unlock the door. This time he conducted Garreth to the keep’s main chamber, one level below.

  Lord Lyting awaited Garreth in the stark room, pacing its confines. The keep, being a defensive stronghold and storehouse for times of siege, held few furnishings. Two chairs had been positioned in the center of the room, facing one another. The baron gestured for Garreth to assume one of them, though he himself crossed to the window and looked out. For a moment he stood silent, turning his thoughts. When he finally spoke, his gaze remained fixed to the distance.

  “Ailénor’s mother was once a captive, carried off from her home by Danish raiders and enslaved.”

  Whatever Garreth expected the baron to say, ‘twas not this.

  “Ailénor has told me some of the story and how you sailed with Lady Ailinn to the east and freed her.”

  Lyting nodded, then turned from the window and met Garreth’s gaze with solemn regard.

  “Understanding the realities of captivity and its darkest aspects as we do, I cannot begin to describe the depths of our anguish when Ailénor disappeared. At first we even considered you might have taken her.”

  The comment took Garreth aback. Before he could reply, Lyting raised his hand and forestalled him.

  “We quickly concluded you did not. Still, we know little of what actually befell Ailénor at the ducal palace, and nothing beyond the time she vanished from Rouen. I would hear that tale now.” Lord Lyting left the window and seated himself on the chair opposite Garreth. “Shall we begin with what drew Ailénor to the garden at dawn?”

  Garreth cleared his voice, once more caught short by Lord Lyting’s questions, but glad for the opportunity to explain what had occurred.

  “My business in Rouen concluded rather abruptly. With little time for farewells, Ailénor and I agreed to meet in the garden, just before I was to sail.” Garreth avoided mentioning their potent attraction to one another. “When I arrived, Ailénor was not present, nor did she appear. Much later, I learned she had already been seized by Rhiannon’s men.”

  Lyting listened intently as Garreth described the events that unfolded — Grimbold’s and Wimund’s presence aboard ship when he arrived at the docks, his later discovery of Ailénor in the hold, their crossing, and the sudden, violent storm that overtook them and proved to be their salvation.

  “We escaped into the village of Hamwih and took refuge in a mill on the edge of town. ‘Twas three-storied and had a loft high in the rafters. We climbed up and passed the remainder of the night there.”

  The baron’s brows pulled slowly together. Garreth silently rebuked himself for calling attention to the loft. By Lord Lyting’s look, ‘twas obvious he surmised correctly ‘twas the very place he had deflowered Ailénor.

  “With Rhiannon’s hirelings breathing down our necks, we needed to find a place to hide ourselves,” Garreth added hastily. “It seemed the best solution at the time.”

  Lyting held Garreth with an unblinking gaze, his look inscrutable. “My daughter, did she . . . ?”

  Garreth stiffened, his every instinct vaulting to protect Ailénor. “Sir, what passed between your daughter and myself in the loft . . .’twas not her fault.”

  Now Lord Lyting did blink, and his brows deepened as well. “You are admitting you seduced her?”

  An image of Ailénor eager and passionate and oh-so willing in his arms flooded Garreth’s mind.

  “The seduction was mine, sir. She is innocent. I pray you hold her to no blame.”

  Lord Lyting rose, pondering Garreth for a prolonged moment, his lips compressed, his hand flexing at his side.

  “‘Twas not my intent to question you about what transpired in the loft. With Ailénor’s fear of heights, I only found it surprising she would attempt such a climb. But now that you have opened the matter of having been intimate with her, I would know if there is aught else you wish to say.”

  Garreth steeled himself against Lord Lyting’s piercing blue gaze as it bore into him. Garreth gained the distinct impression he waited for him to voice something in particular. But what more could he add? Garreth drew a bracing breath.

  “Sir, I have led your daughter astray. I stand ready to take complete and sole responsibility for my actions.”

  A coldness settled over Lord Lyting like a mantle, and his eyes cooled to chips of ice. “Indeed, you shall.” Plainly unsatisfied with the answer, his anger returned.

  At his signal the guards came forward and removed Garreth, returning him to his chamber above and leaving him to wonder of the new source of the baron’s displeasure.

  »«

  Once again, in the early-morning hours, Lord Lyting frequented the sentry walk, then rode out at dawn.

  Garreth glimpsed him in the field outside the wall, working his horses — magnificent animals, more impressive than the best of England’s stock. At times the baron would look up toward the keep. Garreth could feel the bite of his eyes and felt certain the baron could see him standing at the slender window.

  The day lengthened, and Garreth was left to himself to ponder his transgression. As the skies deepened, the guard appeared and unlocked the door. Once more, Garreth found himself escorted to the chamber below.

  Torches blazed in iron brackets, causing shadows to chase over the walls and around the edges of the room. The two chairs from yesterday remained in the center of the floor, this time with trestles set between and upon them a large gaming board.

  Lord Lyting sat over the board, setting out hefty playing pieces on its field of squares, these of alternating colors. He appeared composed, his mood tempered. Garreth could only hope the baron had alleviated his anger in his earlier physical exertions. Mayhap ‘twas why this meeting and the one before took place so late in the day. Ailénor’s father was, after all, a born and bred Northman, a Dane. Garreth could think of few men more dangerous than an irate father with Norse blood boiling in his veins.

  Lord Lyting motioned Garreth to sit.

  “This is the game of shah. I brought it with me from Constantinople. ‘Tis a Persian
game. A war game, actually. Shah in Persian means ‘King.’ The object of the game is to capture the opponent’s king. The board shall be our battlefield.”

  Something in the way Lord Lyting said the last made Garreth look up. He wondered what the baron was about. Were they to execute their personal battle upon the board? Was the baron testing him in yet some other way? Or might he be using the diversion to further hold rein on his temper? Garreth found little choice but to oblige him and attempt the game.

  Lord Lyting finished positioning two ivory “armies” — one white, one gold — on opposite sides of the board and explained the movements each piece might make.

  “You will learn best by experience.” The baron demonstrated leading out one of his foot soldiers.

  The first game ended four moves later as Lord Lyting devoured Garreth’s men on the board. On the second try, Garreth concentrated more fully, wondering again why they were engaging in the game, but appreciating its complexities that duly tasked one’s mental abilities.

  During the brief course of the second game, he acquired a rough feel for the moves of the pieces, and even though Lord Lyting trounced him thoroughly, Garreth found he looked forward to another try, enjoying the challenge. His confidence building, they began a third round. Garreth reached for one of his foot soldiers.

  “I know from my brother your true purpose in coming to Normandy.” Lord Lyting spoke with calm deliberation. “As you have admitted to being intimate with my daughter, I believe, as her father and guardian, I am entitled to know just exactly who you are.”

  Garreth’s concentration splintered, and he set the gaming piece down randomly on a square. He raised his eyes to the baron.

  “I am no ceorl if that concerns you. As to my lineage, my father was heah gerefa, high reeve of Aylesbury. I am a thegn of high station, one of the select officers of the Hird, the king’s elite guard. I am also soon to be elevated to Ealdorman of Hamtunscir, if ‘tis of any consolation. Ailénor did not lose her maidenhead to a commoner.”

  “‘Tis no consolation for a daughter to be seduced by a man of any rank,” the baron said bluntly, then removed Garreth’s foot soldier with his horseman. Silence hung thick between them. “Why did you send no word from England once you eluded Rhiannon’s men?”

  Again Lord Lyting’s question came swift and to the point. Garreth moved another piece upon the board as he began to describe Ailénor’s and his flight to Winchester and the incidents that occurred thereafter.

  He had not intended to reveal as much as he did in the end, but Lord Lyting continued to fire question upon question, deftly prying the answers from him. ‘Twas as though, for Lord Lyting, doing two things at once — playing the mentally demanding game and interrogating Garreth served to sharpen his mind to a keen edge. For Garreth’s part the experience was mentally exhausting. ‘Twas a mind game Lord Lyting played as move by move, play by play, question by question, he extracted information from his opponent.

  In the course of things, Garreth disclosed Cynric’s part and how he himself had come under suspicion for embracing Duke William’s and Lord Rurik’s view on the question of restoring young Louis to the Frankish throne. He went on to explain how his attempts to contact Normandy failed, and how he felt bound to wait on the king’s decision, averse to circumventing his sovereign’s authority. He hoped the baron appreciated his position.

  As the game pieces disappeared from the board — mostly Garreth’s, but a number of the baron’s as well — Garreth began to detail Ailénor’s removal from Winchester to Andover, her escape, and how they came to be in Lundenburh.

  In disclosing the king’s order to transfer her to Andover, Garreth quickly defended his king’s action, stating his belief ‘twas Athelstan’s intention to distance her from Cynric’s authority and examine the matter when he returned. But when Mora’s and Rosalynd’s part came to light — how in their jealousy they had arranged Ailénor’s escape — Lord Lyting came forward in his chair.

  “Jealous? How so? Do they have legitimate claims on you?”

  “In their minds alone,” Garreth assured. “They believed I would choose one of them for my wife.”

  Fire flashed in Lord Lyting’s eyes. “You had two other women waiting at the altar when you seduced my Ailénor?”

  “‘Twas not the way of it at all,” Garreth countered hastily, then explained the circumstances that had entangled him with the king’s kinswomen. The tension eased visibly from the baron’s shoulders, and judging by the twitching around the corners of his mouth, Garreth believed Lord Lyting found his predicament more than a little amusing.

  Garreth continued his story, telling of the second near abduction of Ailénor on the road to Silchester and of his overcoming Grimbold. He skipped ahead in his story and told of his decision to help Ailénor leave England and of their abduction in Lundenburh and removal to Ireland. But Lord Lyting returned to the subject of Silchester and their stay in Lundenburh, leveling a volley of shrewd questions until Garreth again fell into the trap of revealing more intimacies with Ailénor.

  “‘Twas not a single seduction then, but many?” Lord Lyting raised a questioning brow. Garreth attempted no reply. “I assume Ailénor was a willing participant?”

  “She owns no fault in the matter,” Garreth returned stoutly, chafing under the ceaseless questions, angry at himself for having revealed so much, and his patience worn thin. He recognized Lord Lyting pressed him apurpose, trying to wring from him some further confession, but he knew not what he sought.

  They both sat over the board in frustration. A muscle worked in Lord Lyting’s jaw as he studied the board.

  Weary, Garreth broke the silence, hoping to bring the discussion to a close. “I believe you know the rest — except perhaps that Rhiannon ordered Varya to kill me. Suffice it to say, we had an encounter with a peat bog. Varya lost.”

  Lyting directed a glance at Garreth’s grimy clothes. “Is that what that is?”

  Garreth nodded. “As I said, you know the rest.”

  “Except that which I need know most of all.”

  Garreth vented a breath. “I have told you everything and more.”

  “Not everything.” Lord Lyting moved his empress piece obliquely along three squares. “Watch your shah.”

  Garreth flicked a glance over the king, then returned his gaze to the baron, supremely frustrated, a headache throbbing at his temples. He was tired of playing games.

  “You pick my brains for hours, then tell me I have not told you that which you wish to hear?”

  Garreth shoved to his feet and held the baron with a hard gaze.

  “I’ve admitted to seducing Ailénor. I’ve vowed to take full responsibility for my actions and whatever punishment you deem proper. What more do you seek? My regret? I do not regret having made love to Ailénor, and I would do so again and again. I love her, more than life itself. And she loves me. We pledged ourselves to one another in the church at Silchester. It had no altar and was a crumbling ruin. The roof was open clear to the heavens. But God heard our vows, of that I am sure. And he knows our hearts. Do to me what you will, but my love for Ailénor, and hers for me, will remain, burning pure and bright in our hearts.”

  Lyting slowly rose to his feet, his gaze locking with Garreth’s. He studied him closely.

  “You will accept full responsibility for your actions, no matter the cost?”

  “No matter the cost.”

  “So be it.”

  Lord Lyting reached down toward the board and displaced Garreth’s king with his empress.

  “Shah mat,” he said. “The game is at an end. Your king is forfeit.”

  Lord Lyting turned to the guards by the door, speaking rapidly in Norse. Garreth barely grasped the words but believed he called for pen and parchment.

  The baron started for the door, energy and purpose in his step. “We sail at dawn,” he declared as he closed on the portal. He suddenly halted and turned back, tossing a glance to Garreth, then addressed the guard beside
him.

  “But before then, see he has a bath.”

  »«

  Valsemé

  Ailénor gazed out the window in her aunt’s solar, scanning the view of verdant hills rolling in the distance, and a portion of the River Toques that sparkled with sunlight. It appeared as though a thousand diamonds had been scattered over its surface.

  She rested her head against the side of the window, her thoughts reaching to Héricourt and to Garreth. What was her father doing to him?

  “Come, darling,” her mother spoke softly, moving to her side. “Join us for some perry. ‘Tis sweet and cool and will refresh you.”

  Ailénor brought her eyes to her mother, her heart aching. But before she could speak, her mother lifted a hand to gently touch her cheek.

  “‘Twill be all right, sweetheart. You will see.”

  “But, papa . . .”

  “Your father loves you deeply, Ailénor. We both do. Nothing can change that.”

  “But what of Garreth? Oh, maman, papa must be very angry with him. With us both. Do you think he would .

  “I think we must trust your father’s judgment. He will strive to do only what is best for you.”

  “But not so for Garreth, I fear.”

  Ailinn slipped an arm around her daughter and gave her a hug. “I know of no man as just and fair as your father. Except, perhaps, your uncle. It may be more difficult for him to battle through his anger for he is very protective of his family, especially of his ladies. Have faith in him. Has he ever failed us?”

  Ailénor wiped the moisture that had slipped from her eyes and shook her head. “Non, maman.”

  Ailinn gave her another squeeze. “Come, then, and see Marielle’s needlework. She has almost finished the border on her new gown.”

  Ailénor followed her mother and rejoined the others who gathered in the solar with their sewing. Her Aunt Brienne and cousin Gisele worked edgings on pillow casings, while Marielle put the finishing touches to the hem of her rose-colored dress.

  Ailénor’s sister Etainn did not join them, of course, being too impatient to work a needle. Instead she had taken Lucán and Michan to the mews to instruct them in falconry. Felise oversaw the youngest of the children outside in the fresh air of the garden. Adelis and Brietta, however, sat together, each with a small square of cloth, working daisies and stems with basic stitches.