Jacqueline Navin - The Viking's Heart

“Are these dangerous lands?”

“They are some of the safest you will find in England, but what place is completely impervious to evil?”

“Evil abounds everywhere, sometimes even in those we trust.”

It was such a strange utterance, and so soberly spoken. “It can be true,” he agreed.

“Oh, it is true,” she said, then fell silent.

Lucien rode up to them after a while. “You do not seem the worse for your trials, Lady Rosamund. We shall offer you comfort and rest soon enough inside the walls of our keep, and therein my lady wife shall be glad to welcome you.”

Agravar felt her tense, saw her glance down and away, her only response an incomprehensible mutter he could not hear. He exchanged a look with his friend, and as Lucien was not well-known for his facility or tact with the fairer sex, he quickly kicked his destrier to move on past them.

“Has my lord and liege displeased you?” Agravar asked gently.

Her blond head shot up, almost striking him in his chin. “Nay. I…I am sorry. Did I seem unpleasant to him, do you think?”

“Rest easy, my lady. Lucien doesn’t know what insult is—his hide is too thick to feel anything less than full assault.”

“Then I have not angered him, do you think? Oh, bother. I shall try to make it up to him when next we speak.”

Agravar was disconcerted by her anxiety. Lucien’s reputation was of a formidable warrior, it was true, but there was no reason for a maid to fear him as much as she seemed to.

The mystery deepened when Gastonbury came into view—pale yellow sandstone walls spread in a swath across the meadows under a cerulean sky. Yet, at its first sight, Rosamund stiffened and Agravar would swear he heard a soft, mewling sound from her, like a soft cry of fear.

“Gastonbury,” he said softly into her ear.

“Yes,” she whispered in a rusty voice. Was this the same woman who had brandished his own weapon—albeit a maimed one—against him? How was it she was so suddenly cowed and almost unrecognizable from the defiant little virago he had met in the wood?

Stranger still was how her intriguing blend of courage and fear affected him. He found himself fighting not to tighten his grip, to draw her up against him, shield her in a way he didn’t fully understand. It was a pleasant feeling, somehow, but it was a wanting as well.

It was then he remembered why Lady Rosamund had come.

She was here for a short visit, no more, on her way to Berendsfore Manor, home of the distinguished knight, Sir Robert of Berendsfore, where she was to become the good man’s bride.

And so he said nothing, did nothing to indicate he had even noticed her strange, pained tensions as they drew nearer to his home.

Once they were through the castle gates, the group bypassed the stables and headed directly to the upper ward. The comforts of the hall beckoned. The men were tired and hungry and there were servants who would see to the horses.

Rosamund was bone weary, bedraggled, caked with mud and covered in dust from riding in the open. She was heartsick. And deep down, she was terrified.

Taken out of her thoughts by the sound of her name being called, she saw a beautiful woman rushing toward her. Agravar dismounted and his large, capable hands lifted her down.

“Rosamund, welcome,” the woman said. “I am your cousin, Alayna.” Rosamund turned to her, unexpectedly finding herself in an embrace.

The momentary closeness brought a shock. Alayna was heavy with child, her rounded belly unmistakable as it pressed against the slim lines of Rosamund’s own body. Rosamund froze, a cold strike of shock slicing straight down her spine.

Her mother in silhouette, her ripe form swelling before her. Her hands laid over it, folded, as if to protect the wee life within. Turning now to Rosamund, her lips parting as she said…

Alayna held her out at arm’s length with a smile ready, then frowned. “What has happened? Was there some mishap?”

Thank goodness, Alayna was in no way similar to Rosamund’s mother’s ethereal golden beauty. This woman was strong featured, with dark hair and blue eyes. The lack of resemblance brought Rosamund back to herself quickly.

“Some highwaymen, I am afraid,” Rosamund supplied in a voice still a tad shaky in reaction. “We had a chase. Or two.”

Alayna’s eyes widened. “Lucien, how did this happen?” she demanded, whirling to face her husband, who had come up behind them.

A tiny tick showed at his temple as he ground his teeth together. “We shall discuss this later. Privately.”

Rosamund’s heart skipped a beat at the low sound of the warning in his voice. “All is well, cousin,” she said, placing a restraining hand on Alayna’s shoulder.

Alayna ignored the plea in Rosamund’s tone. “Did I not ask you to ride this day to the edge of your lands to see my cousin safe? Did you not promise you would?”

“’Tis my fault,” Agravar said, coming to his lord’s side.

“Oh, hush, you overgrown Viking. My husband hardly needs you to defend him.”

Rosamund covered her mouth to keep from crying out in alarm. But Agravar only tucked his chin to his chest. She noticed his shoulders were shaking.

“Well?” Alayna demanded, once again facing Lucien.

“I did forget my promise, Alayna.” The words were nearly choked, as if they cost him much to say. Rosamund’s heart raced as she waited for the explosion to come. Yet, he continued, apparently remorseful. “Forgive me.” He paused and then nearly growled. “Please.”

“I want to hear what happened before I grant my pardon. Honestly, Lucien. Do you think I make idle requests…ah!” Placing her hand over her belly, she stopped.

Lucien turned pale and was upon her in a flash. “What is it? Is it the pains? Oh, Jesu! Pelly, call the apothecary! Call the midwife!”

Alayna slapped him away. “Nay, nay, you madman, stop hovering over me. ’Tis only a twinge. You shall not escape the questioning I have planned for you. Come.” She whirled and moved with ponderous steps toward the studded oaken portal to the hall.

Lucien raked his hand through his hair a few times and glared after her with a murderous scowl. Softly, and to no one in particular, he muttered, “More likely ’tis the gibbet you’ll have me dangling from if the whim suits you.”

Rosamund cringed at his angry words. She nearly fainted with alarm when Alayna whirled and narrowed her eyes at her disgruntled husband. “Did you say something, Lucien?”

“Nothing of import,” Lucien called back. Casting a dark look about that dared anyone to snicker, he fell into stride behind the stately lady.

“Come, Lady Rosamund,” a soft voice said at her side. She recognized it as Agravar’s.

“Will he beat her?” Rosamund cried, whirling to face him. She forgot herself enough to place a hand against his massive chest.

He appeared taken aback. “Beat her?”

“Oh, please stop him—” She snapped her mouth shut when she saw the look on his face. “She meant no harm,” she finished lamely.

“Rosamund, Lord Lucien would never lift a hand against his lady wife. She is beloved to him. Why, he would cut off his right arm for her. He would never do anything to cause her the slightest pain.”

Wrapping her arms about herself, she turned her face away from him. She was suddenly chilled.

He didn’t know. He didn’t understand. No one had known about Cyrus, either.

She could never make him see. “I would like to freshen up,” she murmured.

“Go with Margaret. She will show you where Alayna has arranged for you to sleep. I shall see you at supper, Rosamund.”

“Aye.” She almost said thank you, then thought better of it. He had robbed her of freedom and delivered her to this, the next step closer to a dreaded destiny. She had little to thank him for.