Wild Is My Love (3 page)

Pulling her hands free and rising, Giselde said, “You are in no danger my child. The spirits of Good protect you.”

“Then why can I not help you and the others?” she asked.

Giselde walked to the doorway and halted there, gazing out as she replied, “Because Evil can cause danger to others if you interfere.”

Alysa stared at the old woman’s back and puzzled over her words. “If Evil has cast a spell over my father, I must free him. Tell me how, Granmannie. If you truly love me, help me; help him.”

When the old woman spoke, her voice was weary. “Upon the heads of all I love,” she said, “I am doing all I can to defeat Evil. If you interfere, all could be lost.”

“Then I am helpless?”

“For a time all are helpless, little one, even me.”

Long, silent minutes passed. Alysa realized that Giselde would tell her nothing more today. “Why not send word to my grandfather? King Bardwyn and Cambria are powerful, surely he will send warriors to help us.”

Giselde was glad Alysa could not see her face as she responded, “If your father desired help from King Bardwyn, he would send word. He does not wish him to know of the trouble here. If Alric cannot defend Damnonia and make her prosper, then he can never become king after his father. He was sent here to prove himself, and he is failing. Do not be sad, Alysa. That is good, for his wife Isobail would rule beside him as Queen of Cambria and Damnonia; she would take King Alric’s place as she has taken Prince Alric’s place.”

Alysa had not considered one vital point, for she had been too worried about her ailing father. What of Damnonia and what was best for it? she wondered. Where did her loyalty lie? In order to protect her father’s honor could she stand aside while her land was destroyed? There was so much at stake, and she had to learn all she could before acting unwisely.

“I will obey you, Granmannie,” she promised.
For now,
she added to herself. The blood of female fighters,
Viking and Celtic warriors, ran swiftly in her veins. Surely there was something she could do to help her father and their lands…

Giselde turned and hugged her tightly. “Do not worry, little one. You will find a friend and ally where you least expect one.” She watched Alysa cover her bountiful hair with the hunter’s green cape and hood, then fade into the trees.

Now sitting quietly in the forest at the water’s edge, Giselde’s words kept running through her head, and she did not know what to think about them. Squinting, she gazed at the mesmeric glitters on the surface of the pool until she became drowsy, which came easily since she had slept little the last few nights. Slowly her green-clad body sank to the grassy earth, and she began to doze and dream.

Alysa witnessed a terrible battle being waged in a colorful meadow where grass and flowers were stained forever with bright red blood. She saw her people, dressed in glowing white garments, clash desperately with barbaric foes dressed as the darkest night. She was amazed to see female warriors, whose faces were shadowed, fighting skillfully beside their mates. She quickly joined them, for dear old Sir Piaras had allowed her to practice with the squires, until Isobail had put a stop to it.

Alysa moved agilely as she used her lightweight sword to defeat several foes, before grabbing her lance to pierce the bodies of two more. The reality of their deaths never entered her mind, for she was exhilarated by the fact that she was defending her land. Then she saw her mother wounded. Abruptly, Alysa tossed aside her bow and arrows, but before she could reach Catriona, her mother sank into the earth and vanished. Stunned, Alysa heard a female voice shrieking warnings of doom, and she turned to find Giselde standing on
a cliff which overlooked the meadow, a strong wind whipping her flowing white garments about her body. Before she could react, Giselde was slain by a giant black bird. Alysa knew she should stay and fight, but she wanted to run from the tragic scene.

As with all dreams, Alysa was tossed here and there at the whims of its images. Suddenly she was swept into a stranger’s arms and they galloped away on his golden charger, her dazed mind dismissing the previous scene as if it had never happened. Her silky gown and long hair whipped about wildly in the wind. She could not make out the man’s face, but she perceived blurs of gold and green, and a curious patch of blue. She felt strong arms banding her body, and thrilled to his sensuous touch and magical allure. Heady masculine smells—musky sweat, well-worn leather—filled her nostrils and caused tingles to race through her.

Alysa struggled to see him clearly, but his image evaded her.” She perceived that he was a tall, muscular man, a fierce warrior with matchless skills, fearing nothing and no one; a man seeking many things in her land, a man with dangerous secrets, a conqueror of lands and enemies and women.

Alysa tried to pull free of the persistent and powerful stranger but something irresistible drew her to him, even though she sensed peril surrounding him, even though she knew she could not trust him. A terrifying feeling of entrapment invaded her entire body, and she struggled harder for freedom. Refusing to release her, he galloped through the castle gates, claiming both her land and her as his victory prize. He dismounted from the horse, smiled, and she felt as if the blazing sun was beating down on her. He called her name and beckoned her, exuding enormous magnetism, and she found herself wanting to yield to him. Her body warmed, her pulse raced, and she could not disobey.

She heard him murmur in her ear, “Come, m’love,
and soar the heavens with me, for no harm can reach you under my wing. Come, m’love, and we will drink passion’s nectar from the same cup, until our thirst is sated. Come, m’love, for you are bound to me forever.”

Alysa could not stop herself from walking toward him and reaching out to him. Suddenly they were outside the castle gates once more. She knew her father was in peril, but dark forces would not allow her to reach him. She pleaded with the tawny warrior for help, but he shook his head and told her, “He is doomed, and you are my captive.”

Then Moran, her stepbrother, appeared and challenged the unknown warrior to do battle for her, the castle, and the Crown. The men fought brutally, until Isobail magically appeared and bound the stranger to a quintain, the post squires and knights used for tilting. As Moran galloped at full speed toward the helpless stranger about to pierce his golden body with a lance, Alysa cried out and struggled to free him, but discovered she could not move, even though someone was shaking her.

Giselde, now very much alive, suddenly appeared and freed the warrior. Alysa flung herself into his arms and covered his face with kisses, until his lips fused with hers and caused her senses to spin wildly. She clung to his body, admiring its contradictory feel of hard, stonelike muscles beneath soft flesh. She savored the taste of him and the feel of his mouth on hers. She knew so little about love and sex, for she had only experienced a few inquisitive kisses stolen by squires at her father’s castle, and they were nothing like these. These sensations were unique, frighteningly different, yet they were as compelling as he was. She enjoyed his embrace, and feared it would end too soon, for never was too soon, and she was enchanted by him.

Alysa snuggled against his firm chest, greedily offering her lips to his again and again. She loved the way
he gently caressed her flushed face and trailed his hands up and down her bare arm, then over her back. She liked the feel of his tawny hair surrounding her fingers, and liked how she boldly drew his mouth more snugly against hers. Alysa instinctively recognized the flames that licked at her fiery body and the fierce hunger gnawing at her womanhood: raging desire. But the intense yearning that filled her heart and bound her to him could be nothing less than love.

She began to writhe because the biting pains in her legs could not be ignored and they threatened to awaken her from this beautiful dream. Seeking a comfortable position, she squirmed against the warrior’s rough clothing, which increased her discomfort and caused her to cry aloud, which woke her. Immediately Alysa was confused, for she found herself a willing captive in a stranger’s arms!

Before seeing the man clearly, Alysa pushed away from the muscular body which was clad in a curious warrior’s garb. She was breathing erratically, and struggling to master her senses. The stranger made no attempt to seize her; instead he instantly rose to his feet and extended his hand to her to help her rise. But she did not accept it. Sitting on the ground, she straightened her garments, then her dark blue eyes began their appraisal at his feet and slowly traveled up his body.

Brown leather strips which had been studded with black metal circles—obviously the source of the discomfort that had woken her—were sewn to a large belt and dangled in a variety of lengths near his knees. This unusual warrior’s apron was strapped over loose fitting black breeches which were tucked into mid-calf brown boots, his legs spread wide in a self-assured stance.

Brown leather studded with the same black metal pieces banded his neck, covered his heart, and became two strips that joined the belt; the back of the leather garment, she knew, formed a large X from collar to belt. From his size and stance, this was a man of great prowess and strength, a man with a body which—

Alysa hastily cut off that line of thought as she noticed the brown leather bands with black metal stubs
that encased his hard, smooth arms from elbows to wrists. Suppressing tremors, she almost feared to lift her eyes.

When she finally looked at his face, she inhaled sharply and could not speak: he was the unknown warrior in her dream! If not for a ruggedly strong chin, his face would have appeared almost square. She found it breathtakingly handsome. His wind-tossed blond hair with sunny streaks curled slightly just above his powerful shoulders. His brows were wide and long, their color was dark blond; his nose a perfect size for its shape; his upper lip thinner than the full lower one, which seemed to roll downward, making it appear as if there was a slight indentation beneath it.

She continued her bold study, and he silently submitted to it. His face was as tanned as his body—a shade of dark honey—and his cheekbones set at a prominent angle above a stubbled jawline. She noticed how quick and alert he was, his more than six-foot frame moving easily and gracefully. But his green eyes most captured her attention—they spoke of mystery and self-assurance. Noticeably, his long and thick lashes were darker than his hair or brows, and edged his expressive eyes most temptingly. She could not stop her gaze from slipping over his entire frame once more, very leisurely and thoroughly. This time she realized that under his leather garment, his firm chest lacked any hair on its splendid surface, and that he was weaponless.

As Alysa continued to stare at him, the warrior knelt and lightly pushed aside her mussed hair, revealing how surprisingly gentle his large hands were. He smiled, and she felt as if the bright sun were beaming down upon her, just like in—She backed away from him.

“M’lady, forgive me, I did not mean to frighten you,” he murmured in a mellow voice which teased pleasantly over her sensitive nerves. “But I heard your cries and rushed to your side. I fear the demons I sought to rescue
you from are those of your own making. Come, I will see you home safely.” He offered her his left hand once more.

Alysa gaped at the extended hand, then at his grinning face. “You speak falsely, sir. Not a moment past, you—” She halted as she wondered how much of what happened was only in her wild dream.

The warrior grasped her confusion. His fingers brushed over her mouth as he gazed deeply into her eyes and said, “I fear I did steal kisses from these sweet lips, m’lady, but I am not to blame. When I sought to free you from the dark spirits of your dreams, you reached out to me and blinded me with your beauty and desire. Never in all my travels have I seen one as beautiful and irresistible as you. If you are not a vision or a nymph, then speak your name and tell me you are not bound to another in life or in heart.” He felt the powerful pull of her sea-blue eyes, and wondered if he could drown in those bewitching pools. Her shiny brown hair appeared as a wave around her face, shoulders, and torso, and caused him to think of little else but his entranced senses. Clad in green like a mysterious and alluring wood nymph, she reeked of potent magic and innocence, of seductive enticement.

Astonished by his words and manner, and baffled by her stirring reaction to him, the young princess said, “What man of honor and strength sneaks about preying upon defenseless maidens? I was asleep and did not know you were real. Who are you and why are you in the royal forest? It is forbidden to enter here.”

“Do those same laws not apply to an errant maiden who sneaks from home to dally with a forbidden lover? Or are you the nymph who protects the forest?” he countered. “Surely it is more dangerous for a maiden as radiant as the sun and as lovely as the rarest flower to be caught alone here, than for a man who can defend himself or wickedly take what he desires. Or, if you are
flesh and blood, is it an enfeebled father or a blind husband who guards you so pitifully against such mischief?”

“Neither,” she retorted haughtily. “I can protect myself.”

“With what?” he inquired, grinning broadly as he watched anger flicker in her eyes and pinken her cheeks.

Princess Alysa Malvern frowned at the handsome man, but she knew he was right. She had no weapon, and although she carried one on Calliope, it was useless because the horse was tied far away. She had been careless to place herself in such danger. What if this man was one of Isobail’s raiders, who could abuse her or abduct her, or a castle knight who could tattle on her? What if he was a desperate poacher who might do anything to prevent arrest? No, she concluded, he did not look like an evil brigand. “Who are you?” she demanded. “Prince Alric gives no one permission to invade his forest.”

The man relaxed his stance. “My name is Gavin Hawk,” he said. “I was returning home to Strathclyde from a long adventure. My friends and I joined others seeking the lost kingdom of Carthage, but we could not find it. Many say there are lost treasures hidden there, but the Romans left no stone standing or prizes to be found. Life is dull in my land, for King Cailean seeks to battle no foe. I am a warrior who needs a place to use his skills, so I seek adventures and pleasures in other lands. Many told us this land is overrun with Jutes and raiders. We came to join the fighting and to earn great rewards for helping those in peril.”

“You fight for money and glory?” she asked. “How can you when peace is more valuable than war? Have you no home or family? Have you nothing to do but spill blood?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Each man must find his
own place in life, and that is mine. Peace is often purchased with the blood of men like myself. Who is better to have in your land, hired warriors or greedy conquerors?”

“Neither,” Alysa stated firmly. She could not explain why she was not terrified of this man and why she did not flee quickly. She was intrigued by him, and enchanted. She wanted to know all about him and to remain here a while longer; yet, a curious panic was building within her.

“All people and travelers in your land face great dangers. Why does your ruler allow such Evil to go unhindered? Where is the castle of Prince Alric? How many knights and warriors does he have? Many strong warriors would come and fight for your princedom of Damnonia if he rewarded them. Tell me all there is to hear about your land, and perhaps I will stay and help defeat your enemies.” But when she remained silent, he sought a question that would entice a reaction. “Are the tales of your princess true? Is she truly wicked? Surely some evil has befallen your ruler for him to endure such peril.”

He waited for a response or a denial, but none was forthcoming. He could use a beautiful and daring female like her, he thought. “Can it be a brigand has stolen your tongue from beneath my eyes while you dazed me with your matchless beauty?” he teased when the silence continued.

Alysa was reluctant to reply because she did not want to discuss her stepmother with a stranger or spoil the heady magic of this unexpected meeting, which teased her senses like a wild ride on Calliope’s back. Even if what he said were true, he was touching on dangerous areas. Indeed, he had insulted her father. But she had to acknowledge that he did not know to whom he was speaking so frankly. Still, it distressed her that he knew so much about Isobail. Had news of her stepmother’s
malicious ways truly reached far and wide, she wondered, even into other lands? If so, why had her grandfather, King Bardwyn, not sent inquiries?

No matter, she could not confide in a stranger, a man who hired out as a fighter, perhaps to anyone who could meet his price. Besides, he was a commoner—a foreign warrior—and she was royalty, although dressed as and obviously taken for a peasant. He seemed intent on obtaining information, especially on her land’s strengths, and she was wary of this curiosity. She could not help but wonder what he would do if he knew her identity, which she dared not reveal. She decided it was rash to linger here any longer.

As she observed him, Giselde’s words came to mind. Here was a man “with sunny hair and leafy eyes,” whose words dripped “with honey,” and whose smiles were “sweet.” Could he be the “fierce conqueror” who had a “hunger for our lands and throne” whom Giselde had warned her about? she wondered fearfully. Without a doubt, he fit Giselde’s description. Why was he in the royal forest, questioning her so intently?

A troubled look clouded his green eyes. “You fear me, m’lady, and I do not know why. I see many questions in your lovely eyes, and your body trembles. Surely a few stolen kisses do not frighten you so. I have come a long way and my body is weary, else my control would not be so lax. Forgive me and calm your worries. I only seek to rest here until I see your ruler and learn if he wishes to hire me and my friends to help him save his land from those who plunder it. If not, we must find ways to earn money for food and lodging along our way home. Surely your people would pay eagerly to be freed of raiders. Speak, for you are in no danger from me.”

Alysa became more and more confused by the stimulating man and the hold he seemed to have over her. She could not dismiss the sense of mystery and danger
exuding from him, nor the aura of great strength and tenderness which seemed to seep from him as honey escaping a ruptured comb. Little did he know that it was not fear of him that caused her tremors, but that she had the wildest urge to throw herself into his arms and to cover his mouth with greedy kisses; and far worse, to make passionate love to him here by the stream! Never had such unbridled, wanton emotions challenged her to such precarious self-control! If they were not strangers, she would yield to him and claim him as her own, commoner or not!

Alysa inhaled deeply to slow her thudding heart and to cool her passion. She told herself not to think such things or behave so ruttishly. A man like this could never become Prince of Damnonia and the future King of Cambria. She had duties to her father, to her land, to her kingdom. One day she would rule Cambria and Damnonia, and a man of equal rank or blood must become her mate and joint ruler. How wise Giselde had been to warn her to be careful of whom she chose to love. So many of her bloodline had endured anguish because of unwise choices; she must not allow herself to do the same over a mere physical attraction. She must be strong and loyal to her land. Whatever was drawing her to him, it must end today.

He was speaking again, repeating his promise, “Have no fear, m’lady; I will protect you from all harm, even from your rulers.”

Alysa finally spoke. “I have no love for Princess Isobail, that is true. It is to Prince Alric I am loyal, and will be till I die. I do not know you, therefore, I cannot tell you about our land and rulers. But I will warn you, sir, it is certain death to threaten these lands and to remain in this forbidden forest. If it is Prince Alric and work you seek, his castle lies in that direction.” She pointed westward. “Follow the road, and it will take you
there. If your heart is black, leave these lands before nightfall, or you will surely die.”

“By whose hand, m’lady?” he asked gravely. “For if powerful knights or brave warriors lived here, your land would not be in danger. Dusk approaches; I will see you home safely, then seek my fate. Come, Trojan,” he called out, and a Flemish-bred stallion with a tawny hide and white tail and mane trotted forward.

Alysa’s eyes widened as she saw the golden charger. “You are my enemy, sir, for I have seen you in my dream. If you remain in my land, I will make certain you are slain,” she vowed, then pushed him aside to race into the engulfing forest.

“Wait, m’lady!” he called out, but she did not look back at him. “Stay, Trojan,” he commanded, then pursued her.

Gavin could not believe how swift and cunning she was, for she seemed to vanish from sight instantly. Never had he been so smitten by a woman; this maiden thrilled him from head to toe. He wished he had not frightened her into running away, for he wanted to know everything about her. He had not even learned her name or where she lived! Or why she feared him so deeply. Had she been a castle servant, perhaps he could have enticed her into spying for him. She was one of the people he had come to help, yet he could not even tell her so, or who he was. Gavin’s father, King Briac, close friend and ally to King Bardwyn of the neighboring kingdom of Cambria, had sent him here to help Bardwyn’s son, Prince Alric, and the Damnonians. It was his duty to discover who was behind the debilitating raids on this land, and why. Survival of this principality and its people depended upon him and his men, sons of feudal lords and knights of Cumbria, all men who were unknown in this territory. He could reveal his identity and motives to no one except Giselde, the old woman who lived in the forest, who had sent
messengers pleading for help from King Bardwyn and King Briac. If only the fetching girl had answered his questions she might have helped him in his mission. For a time he had thought she was as attracted to him as he was to her, but then decided he must have been mistaken.

Prince Gavin Crisdean, whose name meant “hawk,” never imagined who the girl in green peasant garments was or why she had fled from him. He could almost taste the sweetness of her lips, and could easily recall the unbridled passion she had innocently revealed to him. He knew she had been drowsy and had not realized what she was doing; still, he’d been unable to stop himself from taking advantage of the tantalizing situation. He had known many maidens, in many lands, but none had tempted him as that blue-eyed peasant with her thick brown hair and fair complexion. No matter that he was royalty and she a commoner, and that no permanent union should come of such a match—he had to see her again, had to unravel the mystery in her parting words—I
have seen you in my dream.
Indeed, as dreamlike as she had seemed, he almost doubted her existence. But no matter how rare and exquisite she had appeared, clothed in forest green, he knew she was not a mythical wood nymph. She was real, and somehow he would locate her and vanquish her mystery and resistance. Even now his loins, and strangely his heart, ached for her. He vowed that when time allowed, he would seek her again and study her magical tug on him.