Hearts Aflame (34 page)
“So I did.” There was a long silence, then: “So be it.”
“You can resist the temptation?” Royce persisted.
“I have said I do not want the blood of enslaved men.”
“Then you are welcome. You will begin work in the morn. In the afternoon you will train with my men. Seldon, see to the man’s comfort.”
Alden leaned close to Royce as Seldon took the Celt to the barrel for a horn of mead. “You are sure?”
Royce raised a brow. “You ask that after you spoke for the man? Aye, I am sure.” But he added darkly, “Sure enough to have him watched until I am even more sure.”
L
ate in the afternoon, when Kristen returned to the hall with Eda after putting the guest chambers to rights, she was still wondering how she could have her revenge against Alden, without forfeiting her own life. She had wondered about it all day. She had listed in her mind the many ways she could wound him—or, rather, permanently maim him, so that he might succumb to depression and take his own life. The only problem with that was, what if being a cripple did not do it? How would a man who was otherwise so carefree and cheerful react to depression?
She did not consider giving up and letting Alden live. Quite the contrary. Fretting about it all day had made her think more and more of her brother, and that only strengthened her resolve.
But it was perhaps having Selig on her mind so strongly that caused her to have such a bad reaction on her first sight of the stranger in the hall. He sat with his back to her, and yet she turned deathly white, lost her breath, lost the use of her legs, even lost her sight for that one heart-stopping moment when she thought her brother had come back from the dead.
Eda plowing into her brought Kristen back to life, too much life, for she reacted badly to her momentary madness. “God’s teeth, woman! Watch where you are going!”
“Me!” Eda was taken aback. “Me? Who stopped dead? I ask you.”
Kristen merely glowered at her and stalked on toward the cooking area. Once there, her eyes were drawn back to the stranger again and again. It was the cursed hair, blackest black. It was the cursed breadth of shoulder, just the exact width. It was the cursed long-muscled back, just like the one she used to ride on when she was so much younger. No wonder she had thought she looked at Selig, despite every sense that told her it was impossible. From behind, the stranger was his double.
She could not stop watching him. She could not stop the need that built to see his face. Yet he did not once turn around. He sat with Seldon and Hunfrith swilling mead, an occasional laugh coming from one or more of them as they talked quietly together, too far away for her to hear their voices.
When Royce came into the hall, some of Kristen’s agitation calmed. He had that power over her. Yet she was still annoyed with him for his threat and gave him only a cursory glance. Alden was with him, and to Royce’s cousin she cast a murderous look that made him chuckle. No more than ten seconds later her eyes were back on the stranger. Who
was
he?
“His name is Gaelan.”
“What?” Kristen turned to see Edrea grinning at her.
“Gaelan,” Edrea repeated. “A Celt from Devon. I noticed you watched him too.”
“‘Too’?”
Edrea giggled now. “Look around you.” She indicated in particular the sewing area. “Even Lady Darrelle stares at the man.”
“Why?”
“Why? You jest, Kristen. He has a face made in heaven. Why else do you stare?”
“I only wondered who he was and what he does here,” Kristen said testily. “I thought we were done with strangers coming here.”
“As to why he is here, milord has retained him. He will work on the wall with the others.”
“Aye, he has the body for such work.”
“Indeed.” Edrea sighed.
“I thought you held a tender for Bjarni.”
“I do.” Edrea smiled blushingly. “But if the Celt would notice me…” She sighed again. “But then, I have the same problem. He does not speak our tongue, and though many here can speak his, I am not one of them.”
Eda came over to scold: “Edrea, make haste and help Aethel set up the tables. Gossiping does not get work done. And you, Kristen, finish shelling those peas.”
Kristen grabbed the old woman’s arm before she could turn away again. “Eda, did you notice the Celt?”
Eda looked across the hall to where Gaelan sat. “Aye. You cannot help but notice him, as big as he is.”
“But I thought only the Cornish Celts were giants, and you said Royce is enemies with them.”
“True, but this one is not from the Cornish coast. And there are exceptions everywhere as to the size of a people. Look at Lord Royce in comparison with other Saxons, but he is a Saxon true.”
“I suppose.”
Eda’s eyes narrowed. “I see you are interested, but you would do well to quell that interest immediately. Milord would not like it at all.”
“Royce does not—”
Kristen grinned, the words
own me
dying in her throat. Royce
did
own her and she should worry about his likes and dislikes—as long as it suited her. But she was not really interested in the Celt, not as Eda meant. She just wanted to see his face.
“Your warning is taken, Eda.”
“Good. And now the peas, ere they have not the time needed to cook.”
But not five seconds after Eda turned back to the hearth, Kristen deliberately moved the heavy cauldron of shelled peas to the edge of the table, where it balanced precariously for half a second. When it crashed loudly to the floor, peas rolling out like a green carpet toward the hearth, her eyes flew not to the mishap she had caused, but remained fixed on the Celt.
His was not the only head that turned at the sound of the crash. But his was the only one Kristen saw.
“God’s mercy, wench!” Eda exclaimed behind her. “What ails you to be so clumsy today?”
Kristen did not even hear. Her eyes were locked with gray eyes she had never thought to see again. A strangled sound came from her throat, escaping through the hand that covered her mouth. Her other hand pressed against her breasts, for her heart pounded so it hurt. It could not be true! God help her!
Selig! Alive!
She rose from her stool to go to him. He rose from his chair to meet her halfway. At the exact same moment they both came to their senses and stopped.
Kristen swung around, her hands now gripping the table behind her to keep her there. Alive! Her eyes closed tightly. Really alive! She breathed deeply, fast and hard, to try to stop the urge she had to scream, to laugh, to cry.
She couldn’t go to him. God help her, she couldn’t hold him in her arms. To do so would have him locked away with the others. Yet joy washed over her in rapid degrees and she thought she would burst from it.
She finally noticed Eda staring at her in bewilderment. On an impulse she leaped forward, grabbing the old woman off her feet and swinging her round and round, laughing at her shrieks. She could laugh at that. She had to have this excuse to laugh. Oh, God, her brother was alive!
“You are mad, wench! Put me down!”
“I am apologizing!” Kristen’s smile was brilliant. “For all your advice I did not heed. I concede you are wise beyond your years, Eda. Oh, Eda, I love you!”
Kristen twirled the old woman once more before she set her down to commence the worst grumbling and scolding Kristen had ever heard before. She smiled through it all as she hurried to collect all the scattered peas, not daring to look again across the hall.
But across the hall, Selig was also smiling. His search was indeed at an end. He had found Kristen, and she was hail and hearty and making a fool of herself to keep from racing to him. He knew her exuberance. She had knocked him flat on his back more than once when he returned from a sailing trip and she threw herself into his arms in greeting. How she contained herself now was a wonder, but it was a warning, too, of which he was already aware. He could not go to her, could not acknowledge her in any way. Throughout his search he had been tormented with the thought of her death. But she was alive. Alive!
“What do you make of that, Royce?” Alden wanted to know.
They had both watched Kristen behaving most bizarrely. “What can I say? She ceases to surprise me with the strange things she does. Nay, she still surprises me, but I am more used to it now.”
“Well, ’tis strange indeed that she should find such humor in spilling peas.”
Royce laughed at Alden’s disgruntled tone. Several feet away, Selig tensed, seeing the lords watching Kristen.
He nudged Seldon beside him. “What do they say?”
“They are speaking of the Viking wench.”
“She is a prisoner here, too?”
“Aye, but ’twould be more meet to call her Lord
Royce’s personal slave, if you know what I mean.” Seldon chuckled. “That is one Viking he has tamed.”
Selig closed his eyes. Beneath the table his hands clenched into fists. He had only feared for her death. Not once had he thought of her ravishment at the hands of these Saxons.
His eyes opened slowly, a dark and violent storm gathering there. He was going to have to kill this Saxon lord.
K
risten came to Royce as soon as he stepped into his chamber, her arms going around his neck to drape loosely there, while her fingers played with the hair at his nape. His brow rose questioningly at this unusual display of welcome.
“Alden tells me you gave him a look earlier that could have smote a man to his knees, and not two hours later, you smiled at him.”
“Ah, well, milord, I let my hate pour out of me, the last of it, ere I put it to rest.” She laughed at his doubtful frown. “I took your warning to heart. Is that so strange?”
“From you, aye.”
“Time will tell.”
One finger traced circles about his ear. Her eyes were soft, inviting, yet her mind was not in tune with what she was doing. She thought if she did not show some curiosity about his new retainer, he would think that strange too.
Casually she said, “I noticed you have a new man. Is that normal, for you to retain strangers?”
Her question had the opposite effect from what she sought, arousing his suspicion instead. “You show not one whit of interest in the King of all Wessex, nor his nobles, yet you ask about this Celt. Why is that?”
“I was no more than curious, milord. All the women talk of him.”
“They can talk,” he said roughly. “’But you will stay away from him. He hates all Vikings as much as I do.”
It was time to redirect his thoughts. Her eyes half closed. Her finger came down along the edge of his jaw, then moved up to slide across his lower lip.
“Do you, Saxon?” she murmured huskily. “Do you still hate
all
Vikings?”
His answer was to crush her to him with a groan. And Kristen no longer had other things on her mind. But her joy in her brother’s return from the dead was prevalent in all she did. Just as she had grabbed Eda earlier because she had to share her joy with someone or burst, she shared it tonight with Royce.
She was playful and passionate, shy and aggressive. By turns she was the seductress, the virgin, the wild vixen. She was everything to him, until Royce ceased to marvel at the changes. Her throaty laughter, never before heard in his bed, fired his blood to boiling. He took her again and again, and was only vaguely amazed that he could. But when she whispered that she wanted more of him, she tempted his soul. She wrung him dry, and when he finally slept, it was the sleep of the dead.
Kristen slept too. But with her emotions still so charged, for her it was a fitful sleep, from which she was able to awaken early, long before dawn.
She spared only a moment to savor the feeling of being held in Royce’s arms. Then she carefully worked herself loose from his hold and quietly dressed in the dark.
Intuition told her she would find Selig waiting for her. He was, at the bottom of the stairs. He had waited through the night, sitting with his back to the wall and facing the stairs, sleeping in only short bouts, waking with each little sound he heard. So he had heard her soft tread and was standing when she reached the bottom of
the stairs. And he was braced to take the weight of her body, which she did indeed throw at him.
They held each other fiercely for long golden moments. And then Kristen leaned back to run her hands over his beloved face. She could not see him. All the torches had ceased to burn, and only vague moonlight came in through the open windows. She did not have to see him.
“I thought you were dead, Selig.” The tears in her eyes were heard in her voice.
“I thought you were.” His hand caressed her hair, and then he pulled her close again, pressing her head to his shoulder. “It is not manly to cry.”
“I know.” She sniffled, thinking he spoke of her tears, until she felt one of his own fall on her cheek. She smiled, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “Come. We cannot talk safely here.”
Kristen took his hand in hers and led him around the stairs and to the back door. Like the windows, the door was not locked. Selig hesitated as he stepped outside, expecting to find a sentry on guard.
Kristen recognized his caution. “I do not think guards patrol. I have been out once before at night and saw no one about the yard. But it is not like these Saxons to be so careless. Mayhap there are patrols outside the walls.”
“Then we will deal with them when we come to them. Let us be gone, Kristen.”
She jerked him back when he started to pull her away from the shadows of the hall. “Selig, I cannot leave.”
“Cannot?”
“I gave my word I would not.”
“By Odin! Why?”
She flinched at his tone. “To keep from being chained again.”
There was silence, and then softly: “Again?”
“I had been chained like the others since our capture. My—”
“Who is left, Kristen?” he interrupted.
She gave him every name, and then waited while he thought of those who had died. She noticed the breeze while she waited, teasing at her hair. She heard the sound of night insects chirping. She felt his pain, but knew it could not be as bad as it could have been, for he had thought them all dead.
