Kathleen Kirkwood & Anita Gordon - Heart series (41 page)

Lyting heaved for breath, still holding Leonites in his grip. Leonites sought to jerk free, looking fiercely about as though he expected aid. No one came forth except Leo Phocas, who bent to the ground, then rose with a small velvet pouch. Opening it, he drew out two brass rings, each with raised symbols on their surfaces
— one bearing a Cyrillic
omega
, the other with an
I.

Leonites
’s expression changed to that of a trapped animal. A furor suddenly seized him. He fought Lyting with an outburst of energy. Wrenching within Lyting’s grasp, he lunged for Andronicus, taking Lyting with him. A blade flashed in Andronicus’s hand and as the three toppled to the ground, Andronicus drove it into Leonites’s heart. Lyting’s weight, as he fell atop him, forced the knife deeper.

Leonites
’s hand clawed for Andronicus’s face, then dropped as death overtook him. Lyting dragged himself off Leonites and pulled the body from Andronicus. As they stood, Romanus collared Andronicus.

“
Why did you kill him?” he shouted angrily. “He could have provided the names of those who serve him.”

Leo Phocas imposed himself between the two men, gesturing to the commotion in the street and on the balcony.
“We have more work to finish for now. The lions have been caught, but the conspirators flee.” He moved off, commanding his soldiers to cull the crowd. Romanus and Andronicus followed.

The Varangians continued to maintain their shield-wall, protecting those within. Seeing Constantine
trembling upon his throne, Lyting moved toward him and caught the boy up in his arms. Carrying him to the empress, he restored the child to his mother. The two sat clasping each other on the ground.

Ailinn rose to her feet, her shakiness overcome by her awe of Lyting. Once more was she witness to his incredible prowe
ss and courage.

“
Are you all right,
elskan mín
?” His hands came to her shoulders, for she looked as though a breeze could carry her away.

“
So long as you are near,” she whispered truthfully, bringing a smile to his face.

Those of the procession slowly regained themselves. The populace returned as the streets were quieted, bringing wine to refresh the wedding party. When at last the procession began to reassemble,
Zoë and Constantine came before Lyting, smiling their gratitude.

“
Once more an Atlison has saved the throne of the Macedonians,” Zoë commended in her rich smooth voice. “We are eternally indebted, Lyting.”

Pale but composed, Constantine looked to his mother.
“
Mitera
, we need honor and reward those faithful to the crown. Let us begin by seeing Lyting and Ailinn properly wed. They have waited long enough. Besides, if we do not hurry, all the candles in the church will be burned out,” he added in a childlike manner.

Those around smiled and softly chuckled. Constantine ordered the damaged canopy raised, then took his place once more on the litter and throne.

Lyting turned to face Ailinn and held forth his hand.

“
Come,
elskan mín
. ‘Twould seem our presence is needed.” A teasing light sparkled in his eyes. “We are already late for our wedding, but the emperor is determined we not miss it altogether.”

Ailinn
placed her hand in Lyting’s, a wondrous joy stealing through her as he drew her to his side.

Lyting
’s pulse raced at her touch. The fight was done. ‘Twas time to claim the prize and return homeward. Gazing on Ailinn, he regretted he could not claim that prize fully. His soul knew a most painful yearning.

Still, he intended to enjoy their wedding celebration to the full.
‘Twas the only one he would ever know, and Ailinn was the only women he ever desired to marry, even if in name only.

This moment in time was theirs. He would savor it for eternity.

In magnificent ritual and splendor the wedding procession escorted Lyting and Ailinn to the Church of Saint Euphemia.

Ailinn gazed on Lyting in wonderment and awe, her heart racing madly. Who was this man? she asked herself anew, even as she had that distant day on the waters of Riga. Who was this shining lord, this star-bright warrior? And how was it possible she should find herself here, about to exchange vows with him and become his wife, even if in name alone?

The semicircular portico that fronted the church greeted them with welcoming arms. The procession passed beneath its arches and entered the church proper — a solid-built structure, octagonal in shape with a massive dome and buttressing vaults. Yet, as they stepped through the portal, all heaviness departed, and they entered a luminous realm of shimmering mosaics which floated over the surface and rendered the walls naught but weightless shells.

The archbishop awaited the bridal couple in the narthex. Once the procession gathered inside, he opened his richly covered gospel and began the Rites of Betrothal.

Ariana stood behind Lyting and Ailinn, translating the many prayers so they might fully comprehend the ceremony, which was considered the actual contract of marriage.

The choir sang the responses, and the deacon instructed Lyting and Ailinn to bow their heads for additional prayers. The archbishop next took up the rings and blessed the
couple, making the sign of the cross with the ring of the bride over the groom. “The servant of God, Lyting, is betrothed to the handmaiden of God, Ailinn, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

He next turned to Ailinn and made the sign of the cross with the groom
’s ring over her and prayed similarly. Repeating the blessing and vows three times over each of them, he placed the rings on their right hands, then indicated for them to exchange the rings.

As Lyting lifted Ailinn
’s hand and slipped the ring in place, a fire traveled through his heart and scorched through the bonds that had long trammeled his passions. This ring belonged upon her finger. If only it could remain.

Intensely aware of the warmth radiating from Lyting
’s hands, Ailinn guided the wedding ring onto his third finger. She began to withdraw her hands, but he caught them and held them firmly in his as the archbishop’s voice rose in prayer.

The heat of Lyting
’s hands entered her own and spread up her arms. It flowed over her shoulders and downward again, warming her breasts and stomach before centering low in her abdomen.

Swallowing, she dropped her gaze to their joined hands and concentrated on their wedding rings. Identical save for size, they possessed wide octagonal hoops, decorated about the faces with tiny biblical scenes. The coin-like bezels surmounting the bands depicted the bridal couple with Christ standing between, joining their hands. Ailinn looked again at the artistry, amazed, for the miniature couple on each resembled herself and Lyting.

The archbishop concluded the prayer, and the bride’s attendants hastened to draw back Ailinn’s veil. Heat flooded her cheeks as Lyting’s smile fell on her, for ‘twas a smile that reached up and filled his eyes and wrapped her intimately in its embrace.

As the archbishop led the procession into the nave of the church, Lyting offered Ailinn his arm. Breathless, she placed her hand on his and accompanied him through the doors and into the main body of the church.

‘Twas as though they stepped from one realm into another. Leaving the brightly illumined narthex, they passed into the darkened nave where candles burned sparingly. Yet, the unevenness of the mosaics caught their flickering lights, casting and reflecting them over a million cubes of gold
tesserae
, setting the entire nave aglitter. As Lyting and Ailinn moved through the church, it seemed they floated through a firmament of stars, a radiant heaven in otherworldly splendor.

Ailinn gazed up at Lyting, the lights glittering about them. Truly, they walked in a mystical realm, somewhere between a dream and reality, she and her silver warrior.

Lyting looked on Ailinn, his breath catching. Against the scintillating field, Ailinn looked precisely as he’d once envisioned her against the shimmering lime tree of Hedeby. From that moment he could scarce take his eyes from her. Surely, they no longer moved on earth.

Coming beneath the great dome, the procession divided, veering off to assume their places and leaving Lyting and Ailinn before the altar with their attendants,
the emperor, Constantine, and Ariana.

Magnificent cloths draped the altar, and icons adorned the spaces before the sanctuary. Images of prophets, saints, martyrs, and the Virgin, looked on from over the altar and the aspe behind, witnessing their joining. Directly above, in the center of the dome itself, staring down was the immense, awe-striking mosaic of Christ the Pantocrator, the Ruler of the Universe. He gazed down in majesty from his golden Heaven, his hand raised in blessing.

The archbishop commenced the opening prayers of the Mass and, within the context of the liturgy, celebrated the crowning of the bride and groom. As the prayers were read, Constantine and Ariana stepped up on cushioned stools and imposed golden crowns on Lyting’s and Ailinn’s heads.

The Great Litany followed, and at the conclusion the archbishop raised his hand in blessing:
“Grant these, Thy servants, Lyting and Ailinn, the fruit of their bodies, fair children, concord of soul and body. May they abound in every work that is good and acceptable unto Thee, so that finding favor in Thy Sight, they may shine like the stars of Heaven. Unite them in one mind; wed them into one flesh, granting to them the fruit of the body and the procreation of fair children . . . unto ages of ages.”

Lyting
gazed warmly on Ailinn as he assimilated those words, imagining their begetting children, and through their children’s children, their joining reaching into eternity.

The choir sang the
koinonikon,
while Lyting and Ailinn received Communion and partook of the cup. Joining their hands, the archbishop led them around the altar three times in a circle, the symbol of eternity, emphasizing the permanence of their marriage. The choir then sang the
troparia,
and the bridal couple came before the altar once more for the final blessing. The archbishop raised his hand and made the sign of the cross over them.

“
May the joy of this day last your lives through.”

Lyting and Ailinn broke into wide smiles, their eyes shining as they turned and departed the altar. Once more they passed through the glittering field and into the narthex. Emerging from the church, they pressed through the waiting crowd, wh
ich showered them with violet and rose petals and tossed small apples at their feet.

An elegant carriage awaited, drawn by matching white hors
es. Lyting aided Ailinn up and onto its cushioned-lined seat, then joined her. At once the driver urged the steeds forward, and the carriage began rolling back toward the palace.

Guards fell into stride beside them, while the crowds waved enthusiastically to the heroic bright-haired Norseman who had saved their beloved emperor and empress this day, and to his ravishing bride, whom rumor held he had also delivered from the hands of fate.

As the carriage progressed, Lyting and Ailinn waved to the cheering populace. Lyting’s gaze stole over Ailinn. Her beauty filled his senses, and a hot rush of love spilled over the rim of his heart.

She turned to him, as though drawn by the power of his gaze. Their eyes met. And held. Unable to stay himself, Lyting reached for Ailinn and gathered her into his arms. As his mouth descended over hers, the crowd broke into ecstatic cheers, casting their petals high so that they returned to earth in a snowy blizzard. In the same moment Ailinn went to liquid beneath
Lyting’s strong but gentle kiss.

The procession returned to the grounds of the Sacred Palace and continued to the Boucelon Palace overlooking the harbor. The choir accompanied them with song to the bridal chamber, where Lyting and Ailinn removed their crowns and placed them on the bridal bed. For a time they received guests, and Lyting gifted Ailinn with a golden bridal belt, decorated much
like their rings. Everyone then made their way through the corridors linking the palaces, to the Dining Hall of the Nineteen Couches, where they were to partake of the wedding breakfast with their guests.

Here, everyone reclined on couches in the Roman manner around a table shaped like a Latin
D
. The young emperor sat at the center of the arced side, with the Augusta on his left and the officials on his right. On this occasion the women were included in the party and reclined along the left. Lyting and Ailinn reclined side by side next to the emperor.

To the accompaniment of lyre and zither, a lavish wedding banquet was served. Servants bore in platters of suckling pig, roasted game, and grilled birds with sauces. An array of soups, salads, artichokes, asparagus, dwarf olives, and mushrooms followed.

Lyting and Ailinn exchanged glances, astonished to be served on plates of pure gold. Again, they were provided silver spoons, knives, and small two-pronged forks. Ailinn gasped when three immense bowls descended from the ceiling. These, also, proved of gold and contained a bounty of fruits. Too heavy to lift, the bowls remained suspended, and by means of a mechanical device, servants moved them from guest to guest.

While acrobats entertained, Lyting
’s gaze wandered time and again to Ailinn. He restrained his increasingly unruly passions, hoping most sincerely that the Byzantines did not embrace the custom of stripping the groom and tossing him naked in bed with his equally naked bride. Despite his word and honor, he would be lost. Lyting drained his cup and held it forth for the servant to replenish.

The miming and dancing continued, until at last the festivities came to an end. The guests surrounded Lyting and Ailinn and with much merriment and song escorted them from the dining hall, back along the passages to the wedding chamber.

Lyting’s heart drubbed in his chest as he and Ailinn arrived before the doors and, facing each other, waited while the others finished their song.

Ailinn
’s heart beat high in her throat, unsure what to expect. The doors opened to the chamber, and she saw that servants waited within. For a moment she feared all present would accompany them to the bridal bed itself and see them into it. She had not considered that until now and swallowed deep as she considered the many forms the bedding ceremony could take. Slowly she entered the chamber.

She and Lyting stopped inside the door and sought each other
’s gaze with breathless uncertainty. As the guests finished their song, Ailinn’s concerns rose. Surprisingly, everyone remained outside the chamber and did not breach the portal. Instead, the servants came forward and swept the great doors closed, sealing Lyting and Ailinn into the privacy of the bridal chamber.

Together, Lyting and Ailinn released a long-held breath, then laughed softly, realizing they had both been holding it for the same reason.

The servants ushered Ailinn toward the bed, where they removed her long veil and the stiff, shimmering overgown. When they began to draw off the emerald-green
stola
, Lyting stayed them, saying he’d prefer to undress his bride himself. They bowed at his dismissal, laying out soft, silken robes in parting and seeing that a pitcher of cool wine and fruits waited on a small table to the side.

Lyting and Ailinn gazed at each other across the room for a long moment.

A smile lifted the corners of Lyting’s mouth. “Mayhap I should not have dismissed the servants so quickly. Are you able to free yourself from your dress or will you require my assistance?”

“
I believe I can manage,” she returned softly, suddenly mindful of their seclusion together.

Lyting cleared his throat.
“I will turn away and see to myself so you can have some privacy.”

Ailinn nodded, but did not move as he crossed to a chair, removed his mantle, and began to draw off his brocaded tunic. Seeing that he did so with difficulty, she went to his side to aid him.

“Here, bend forward more.” She took hold of the ends of his tunic and pulled stoutly, stripping it away and baring his back.

Unable to stop herself, she gasped
aloud as her gaze alighted on the many forgotten scars that covered Lyting’s back and the one particularly vicious-looking gash. Lyting straightened, his eyes locking with hers but not before Ailinn’s gaze went to the scar on his cheek. The moment grew awkward, and Ailinn silently upbraided herself. What he must think?

“
You have a scarred husband, Ailinn,” Lyting said soberly, the lightness leaving his mood.

The scars
remained an emblem of his failure one grim night in Normandy. At the same time Ailinn’s words at the aqueduct returned to him. She would ever despise Norsemen. Surely, his scars served as a painful reminder of his heritage and the turn of fate that rendered her married to a member of her sworn enemies.

“
On the morrow I will see what progress has been made with the arrangements for our return West,” he said abruptly. “As I promised, I shall return you to Ireland. Then can you initiate an annulment to this marriage.”