His Captive Bride (3 page)

“I am the only maiden here,” Josette commented, “so I cannot claim to be an expert, but I do not think God is so miserly with love.”

Avril reached out her free hand to Josette, smiling at her sweet nature. “You are both so kind to be concerned about me. I am fortunate indeed to have friends like you. Truly, I
am
happy. I have all of you, and Giselle, and when we return to Brittany, I will be reunited with my cousins and kinsmen. What more could any woman ask? What more love could I need? I...”

A sudden, unbidden image of her dream last night flitted through her mind.

She had spoken to no one of the heated images that had disturbed her sleep of late, not even Celine or Josette.

“I... think it is time for us to go,” she finished awkwardly. “Look how high the sun has gotten.”

Gaston came striding across the bailey to join them, apparently finished giving instructions to his men. Both children ran to meet him, Giselle racing ahead of little Soren. Gaston scooped her up with both hands and swung her high over his head, making her squeal with delight. “And who is your favorite uncle today,
ma petite
?” He tucked her close.

She locked her chubby arms around his neck. “Uncle Gaston!”

“Soren up now!” her black-haired cousin demanded, arms extended over his head, his face awash in two-year-old indignation at the attention his cousin was receiving.

“I keep hoping he’ll grow out of this.” Celine sighed. “He’s become an absolute little tyrant.”

“I cannot imagine where he inherited that trait.” Avril grinned. Rising, she decided to rescue her
beau-frère
from having to choose between the children.

“Soren up now!” the boy repeated, stamping his tiny foot.

Avril took her daughter as Gaston bent to pick up his son.

Giggling, Giselle played with a lock of Avril’s hair. “
Maman
bring me a pretty spinny?”

“Aye,
ma petite papillon
. My little butterfly.” Avril hugged her daughter fiercely. “Oh, how I will miss you.”

“A pretty spinny?” Josette asked with a puzzled look.

Avril smiled. “That is her word for a spinning top.” She rubbed her nose against her daughter’s. “Aye,
Maman
will bring you a pretty spinny, Giselle. Do you remember where
Maman
is going?”

“Lady friend!”

“Aye. I am going to visit a lady friend, who is getting married in a very large city by the sea. Do you remember?”

Giselle nodded vigorously.

“And in ten days—after you have eaten the last of your raisin sweetcakes—I will be back. And then we will go to our new home in Brittany.”

“Where
Maman
was a little girl.”

“That is right. Where
Maman
was a little girl. But until I return, can you make a promise for me? Can you promise to be very, very good for Aunt Celine and Uncle Gaston?”

“Promise!” Giselle rained kisses over her cheeks and nose.

They all walked over to the cart, but Avril was unprepared for the pain in her heart as she gave her daughter one last kiss, cuddled her just a few seconds longer... and handed her to Celine.

“I love you,
ma petite papillon
. I will be back soon.”

“Soon!” The little girl repeated enthusiastically. “I love you,
Maman
.” She wiggled her fingers in farewell as Gaston helped Avril and Josette up into the cart.

With a slap of the harness, their driver set off. Wheels creaked and hooves clattered as the cart rolled through the castle gate. Avril could not keep herself from looking back, waving to her little girl, while everyone in the bailey called out farewells and good wishes.

Then the cart crossed the drawbridge and followed a curve in the path, and she could not see Giselle anymore.

“And off we go,” Josette whispered.

Avril glanced at her curiously. “You sound uneasy, Josette. Are you worried by the presence of so many guards?”

“Nay, I... mayhap it is because I did not sleep well. Did you...” She paused. “Did you notice that strange mist around the castle last night?”

Avril felt a tingle down the back of her neck. She looked away, her gaze falling on the chapel in the woods, rimmed by morning sunlight. “Aye.”

“You did? No one else seemed to know what I was talking about when I asked this morn. I thought mayhap it was common here in the Artois. That mist came right through the shutters of my window and...” She cleared her throat. “Awakened me. I could not get back to sleep after that.”

“I am sure it was merely a strange trick of the weather.” Avril studied the bright blue sky, then turned to face her friend. “There is naught to be uneasy about, Josette. We will be in no danger. It is not as if we are going to Barcelona or Marseilles or some other uncivilized place.” She smiled reassuringly. “We are going to Antwerp.”

“M
orvan,” Avril said lightly, summoning the leader of the six guardsmen who had accompanied her and Josette into Antwerp, “I believe it may be time to make another delivery to our rooms at Baron Ponthieu’s chateau.”

“Aye, milady.” The brawny man-at-arms came forward to take the miniature Noah’s ark from her, trying not to drop any of the dolls, ribbons, pastel bead necklaces, or the fluffy toy lamb he already carried. With a long-suffering sigh, he handed this latest purchase to one of his men.

Avril swallowed a smile, afraid that she and Josette might dissolve into a fit of giggles at the men’s expressions. The six battle-hardened guards Gaston had assigned to protect them during their journey north had been pressed into service of a different sort today.

The guards had done such excellent work escorting them to Antwerp safely and swiftly, they had arrived at their destination earlier than most of the other wedding guests. And when Josette heard that the city was playing host to a trade fair, she had coaxed Avril into spending a day strolling among the market stalls and enjoying the sights.

As they walked along streets crowded with merchants, the late-afternoon air buzzed with voices speaking French and Italian, Arabic and Russian, Antwerp’s native Flemish, and a half-dozen languages Avril could not even name. Castle stewards bargained with traders over the price of cook pots or lemons or Persian silks. Servants cursed at the dogs that ran loose in the streets. Richly dressed guild members and sea captains discussed the dancing bears, wrestling matches, fortune-tellers, or pickpockets they had just seen.

Josette almost had to shout to be heard over the din. “You are having a good time,” she commented happily, linking her arm through Avril’s.

“Oh, aye. Aye, indeed I am.” Avril returned her smile in full measure. She could not remember the last time she had spent a day like this, perusing displays of hats and scented soaps, nibbling mince pies purchased from strolling vendors, dabbing on exotic perfumes. They had even indulged in having their hair curled with hot irons and treated with a blend of rare frankincense and ginger. Every time she inhaled, the scent made her smile.

Glancing up at the rose-streaked sky, she found herself regretting that the sun would set in another hour or so.

When they stopped at yet another booth selling shoes, she heard poor Morvan sigh behind her and realized he did not share her sentiments. Avril glanced over her shoulder with a grin. She could not resist teasing the captain of the guards, for he always seemed to be in one of two moods: gloomy or dour. “I believe I have a new assignment for you, Morvan.”

“Aye, milady?” he asked warily, mustache twitching as he awaited whatever new indignity might be heaped upon his men’s broad shoulders. “We are at your command.”

“Well, then, after you return those packages to Baron Ponthieu’s chateau... mayhap you and your men should take the rest of the evening to enjoy the fair. You have done us loyal service this day, and you deserve a reward.”

She succeeded in bringing a smile to his craggy face. “The men would be most grateful, milady.”

Avril opened the velvet purse fastened to her belt and started counting out silver coins. “Then each of you take ten
livres
and have a most pleasant evening.”

“You are more than generous, Lady Avril.”

Morvan passed the coins to his men, instructing one to stay behind with her and Josette until they were ready to return to the chateau.

As the five guards departed, a passing merchant caught Avril’s eye.

“Oh, Josette, look at that!” She pointed out a man tooting on a pipe and carrying a T-shaped pole festooned with small wooden toys. “I wonder if he has any spinning tops. I promised Giselle I would bring her one.”

“Run and ask him, Avril.”

“You would not mind if I abandoned you for a moment?”

Josette nodded toward the bright rows of silk slippers in the booth. “There is enough here to keep me happily occupied for, oh, at least an hour or two,” she teased. “Go.”

“Shall I accompany you, milady?” the guard asked.

“Nay, there is no need. Stay here with Lady Josette until I return.” Trying to see where the toymaker had gone, she hurried into the throng.

~ ~ ~

“Kel, if you cannot keep your mind on the task at hand,” Hauk said as he pulled his friend out of the path of an onrushing horse, “at least try not to get yourself killed.”

“
Ja
, I will,” Keldan replied absently, speaking around a mouthful of pickled pheasant eggs, which was his eleventh or twelfth meal of the day. Hauk had lost count.

Keldan struggled to balance three bulging sacks of souvenirs as they made their way through Antwerp’s bustling streets, his head swiveling left and right, dark eyes wide as he took it all in—every foreign sight and taste and scent and sound. He stopped to stare at a passing group of men dressed in flowing black robes and odd, squarish hats. “What sort of people are those?”

“Lecturers from the local university. And those”—Hauk answered the next question before Keldan could ask it—”are Christian pilgrims, the ones in brown homespun wearing large crosses. They travel from city to city visiting cathedrals and the tombs of local saints.”

“What is a saint? And what is a university?”

“It will take too long to explain.” Hauk pushed him forward down the street. “Kel, you are supposed to be—”

“How much do you think these cost?” Keldan asked, moving forward only a few paces before he stopped at a booth selling exotic wooden sculptures. He finished the last of his eggs and licked his fingers.

“Never mind how much they cost. If you eat one more thing or buy one more souvenir, our ship will sink long before we reach home. You already have more boots, books, flasks, and food than you can carry. What you do not yet have is a woman. And may I point out,” Hauk added dryly, “you might find it difficult to carry one off with your arms full.”

“I cannot help it. I have never seen such... such...” Keldan paused, watching a troupe of acrobats go tumbling past.

“You have seen only the best of the city the past two days, Kel. Many of these people live in poverty, packed one atop the other. Fighting to survive. Killing each other on a whim.” As they walked on, he nodded to the many peasants and nobles around them who had missing limbs, blackened teeth, pox marks upon their skin. “Violence and illness are part of life in this place you are so busy admiring.”

Keldan stopped in his tracks and turned to face him, his expression suddenly serious. The crowd parted to flow around them in a noisy, jostling river. “We could help them.”

A pained grin curved Hauk’s mouth. Keldan sounded so earnest, as if he were the first man of Asgard to ever have that idea.

“
Nei
, my young friend, we could not.” Hauk shook his head. Keldan was still rather naive and softhearted. “We cannot take all of them with us. There are thousands of people in this city alone. And this is but one city. There are hundreds more like it scattered around the world.”

Keldan shook his head, as if he could not grasp even the
idea
of such a vast number of people. “But—”

“And we have a more pressing task before us, if you recall.” Hauk clapped a hand on Kel’s shoulder, pushing him forward once more. “You and the others are to steal the women at twilight. We are supposed to rendezvous back at the ship in little more than an hour.” He directed Keldan’s attention upward, to where the sun dipped low in the sky. “Everyone but you is ready. If you do not choose a female quickly, you will be returning home with naught more than boots and books to warm your bed.”

Keldan sighed, his gaze flitting from a pretty dairymaid to a blond silversmith’s daughter. “That is the problem. Choosing only one. I do not understand how the others could make their selections so easily. If only I could stay another day, or two or three...”

“
Nei
, we have been here two days already. We must leave tonight, under cover of darkness so that no one can follow. That is the law.”

“But, Hauk, are you not always saying that some of our laws should be changed?” Kel asked hopefully as he traded a smile with a passing gypsy girl.

“None of us can change
that
particular law,” Hauk replied with soft bitterness. They could not be away from Asgard for more than six days. “Now choose a female and be quick about it. What about the wench selling apples you spoke to near the wharf? She held your interest longer than most of the others.”

“
Ja
, she was fetching enough, but there was a dullness about her, no spark in her eyes.”

Hauk sidestepped around a waddling flock of squawking geese. “Then why not the one who served our midday meal in that tavern? You could hardly take your eyes from her, and she was lively enough.”

“Pleasing to the eye,” Keldan said thoughtfully, “but with the intelligence of a sheep.”

“Sparks, liveliness, intelligence,” Hauk grated out impatiently. “What does it matter? One woman is more or less like the next in bed.
Choose
one.”

“It matters to
me
,” Keldan snapped. “I want a woman who will stir my
heart
as well as my loins. Mayhap if I were more like you, if I did not care about anything but...” He stopped himself, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “I am sorry, Hauk. I did not mean that.”

“
Nei
, it is true.” Hauk shrugged. “And I regret to tell you it is a lesson you will learn yourself eventually. When you are older. We all do.” He turned a corner into an adjoining street. “The less a man feels, the better off he—
oof!
”

An unexpected impact knocked the breath from him as he collided with someone coming around the corner in the opposite direction. The blow knocked him backward a pace and knocked the woman—for the rushing whirl of skirts and soft curves that had hit him was clearly a woman—on her derriere in the dirt.

He bent to assist her, unnerved by an odd, dizzying sensation, as if the earth itself had tilted beneath his boots. She declined his offered hand and got to her feet without help. His head spinning, he scooped up a small object she had dropped.

“My apologies,” she sputtered, brushing filth from her skirts. “The fault was mine. I should have been watching where I was going, but it took so long to find the toymaker and...”

As she glanced up at him, she seemed to forget the rest of her sentence.

Hauk could not draw a breath, could not tell whether it was from the collision, the unfamiliar sensation wreaking havoc with his mind and body—or the fact that he was gazing down at the most strikingly lovely and utterly unkempt lady he had seen in...

In his entire memory. A silky riot of curls the color of ginger and nutmeg almost concealed a flawless, heart-shaped face, cheeks flushed with excitement, eyes a bright, vivid green. She looked as if she had just tumbled from a man’s bed. His heart missed a beat, then started to pound.

The direct way she stared up at him was not in the least ladylike, though her fine velvet garments clearly marked her as a noblewoman. And though it seemed impossible, she even smelled of those same precious spices; he distinctly caught the scent of ginger.

He could not reclaim his balance.
Nei
, the unnerving, breathless feeling only became more intense as she returned his gaze.

Even the air around him—between them—seemed to shimmer with a heat, a brightness, as if the sun suddenly blazed hotter in this place where they stood so close together.

She held out one slender hand, her eyes never leaving his. “I... I will need that back.”

Her voice matched her face and figure, infinitely soft and feminine, yet strong at the same time. Hauk could not coax his tongue to form words.

Keldan—curse him—offered no help at all.

The lady tilted her head to the side and a single spice-colored lock of hair dipped engagingly over one eye. “
Sprechen Sie Deutsch?
” she asked him in German. “
Parla l’italiano?
Spreekt u flamande
—”

“I do indeed speak those languages,
demoiselle
,” he replied at last in fluent French. “But I speak yours as well.”

For some reason, his voice seemed to render her mute. Her lips parted soundlessly and she reached out to her right, as if expecting to find something solid to steady her rather than empty air.

Hauk took her hand in his, surprised by his own gallantry, even more surprised by the unexpected heat that seared through him, a feeling like desire yet far more powerful. Consuming. It startled him like a bolt from above.

She withdrew her hand quickly, lips forming an O of shock, as if she too had felt something startling. She stepped back from him a pace, her gaze moving over his features, his eyes... almost as if she recognized him. “A-are you one of the wedding guests at Baron Ponthieu’s chateau, sirrah?”

“Wedding?” Hauk could not persuade his brain to supply aught more than that one word.

“I feel as if we have met before,” she said breathlessly.

“Nay, that is”—he willed his heart to slow down—“impossible. I would—”

“Remember you,” they both said at the same time.