Kathleen Kirkwood & Anita Gordon - Heart series (42 page)

Lyting
’s eyes held her somberly. He would never initiate an annulment himself. Every day he drew a breath of life, no matter where he bided in this world, he would hold Ailinn in his heart as his one true wife.

Lyting
’s words wrung Ailinn’s heart. She could not think on them. Inadvertently her gaze went to the scar lining his cheek. He visibly flinched and moved to take up his robe from the bed. Lyting’s reaction stabbed at Ailinn. Gazing on his back, she found she could not let it pass.

“
I have often wondered how you might have gained such wounds,” she braved as he began to turn, then met his piercing gaze more boldly than she felt.

A mixture of e
motion gripped Lyting. “Wielding my sword, Ailinn.” He hesitated a moment, then added, “Do not forget, I am a man of Danmark.”

Ailinn stiffened and he regretted the need to make the remark. But
‘twas best to place a wedge between them and for her to think on the Norse blood that flowed in his veins. The high spirits of the day, the flowing drink, and more important, her melting look right now was fast eroding his mastery of himself. Better she look on him with a measure of hardness in her heart, before he became her undoing.

“
Look on my scars, Ailinn, and remember I have long been a man of the sword, my fighting skills honed among the Danes.”

Ailinn shrank back before his words. Not until this moment did she think on Lyting as a Dane. Only as a man. Why did he wish to dispel the blissfulness of the last hours?
‘Twas torture to her heart. A torture she could not bide. Bracing herself, she met his words headlong.

“
What warring then wrought such scars?”

He stared at Ailinn. Why
did she press him on the matter? ‘Twould be best for her to look on him as she did any other of his kindred.

“‘
Twas not warring that scarred me, but a single encounter, the night I fought my own blood kinsman — my half brother.”

“
Your half brother did this?”

“
He and his two henchmen. My only regret is that I did not kill him myself.”

His words visibly took Ailinn aback, and he
despised himself for distressing her. Yet, he believed such words necessary.

Ailinn pondered Lyting
’s multitude of scars and the one particularly deep wound — all on his back. He was exceptionally skilled. Yet, he had been outnumbered. The beasts must have taken him down. His back would have only been opened to them if he had no longer been able to wield his sword or stand his ground. Such venom. Why would his half brother have wished to kill him?

“
Your reasons for fighting must have been very strong.”

Lyting
’s gaze held hers. She would not let it go.

“
We fought over my brother’s wife.”

Ailinn recalled the dark-haired beauty at Hedeby, standing next to the golden lord who would have been Rurik. Despite Lyting
’s words, she knew the truth at once.

“
You defended her,” she stated, not understanding why he might wish to lead her into thinking less of him.

A wave of exhaustion rolled over Lyting. Physically spent, the evening
’s drink taking its effect, Lyting moved to sit on the bed. Ailinn saw through his words, and he could not deal with the tender look of concern in her eyes.

“
‘Tis a long story,” he said tiredly. “One that haunts me still and fills me with anger and regret. Because I failed that night and did not kill my half brother, Brienne nearly died.”

“
But — ”

“
Ailinn, this is no talk for our wedding night, though thankfully it has diverted my mind for the moment. I will be plain. You have come all this way undefiled — miraculously so. But if you do not wish to yet be ravished by a Norseman, then look on me with no softness nor tempt me further from my vow. The passions of the North flow strong in my veins. I fear if I must continue to look on you thusly, I shall have you in an instant, and even you will not realize the deed done until after it is wrought, so strained am I.”

He dragged a hand over his face.
“Tomorrow, I will see about the arrangements for our voyage home. The court expects us to celebrate our marriage for eight days. Now,
elskan mín
, prepare yourself for bed. I shall not watch or violate your privacy.”

Lyting crossed to the bed and, lying down, threw an arm over his eyes. His holy call in Francia seemed a dim and distant thing at the moment, but the pledge he had made to Ailinn was not. He must honor that vow, even though it continued to crucify his flesh anew. Releasing a long breath, exhaustion overtook him.

Ailinn fumbled with the lacings of her gown, which were fast becoming as
knotted as her insides. Moving off toward one of the reclining couches, she quickly drew off her
stola
and wrapped herself in the brocaded robe. Her thoughts and emotions swirled with dizzying effect.

Lyting. Ever noble, ever righteous. She should have known how his scars were gained. Never had she seen him wield his sword or might otherwise than nobly, courageously, and to an honorable end.

Her thoughts leapt back in time. From the first he sought to free her from captivity. And though he sailed with the chieftain for reasons of his mission, she had ever felt he kept her beneath his protective eye. At Riga, Lyting triumphed over the pirate fleet, and at Gelandri, he nearly gave his life for Deira. He saw them through the dangerous lands of the Rus, fought tribesmen, defended her against Hakon, and saved her several times more since their arrival in Constantinople. Today, he saved a child, his mother, and his throne.

Ailinn thought of Lyting defending his sister-by-marriage. Thought of the treacherous half br
other and his henchmen raining blows on him. Imagined Lyting’s pain as their steel slashed and stabbed into his flesh. She then strove to comprehend his frustration and guilt for not having won that battle.

Noble Lyting. Her shining warrior. Her protector. Her husband. Her love.

The word blazed through her. As she faced and embraced that love, a fiery ball centered in her chest, threatening to consume her.

She
did
love Lyting. Most desperately.

Ailinn
’s thoughts scrambled to find the thread of that love and follow it to its beginning. It took her back through weeks, through months, to the first moment Lyting lifted her from the street of Hedeby and held her in his arms. Ailinn could not breathe for a moment as the fires of her love for Lyting flamed high in her heart.

She turned and looked toward the bed. He appeared to be sleeping, his arm dropped down alongside his head. Slowly, softly, she crossed the room. Ailinn drew shallow breaths as she gazed on him and traced his handsome features.

How proud she had been to walk by his side this day and exchange vows with him. She was Lyting’s bride, she thought with awe, the fire increasing in her breast.

When was the last time she had thought on Lyting as a Norseman or a Dane? Whenever she had, she could no longer remember, so little did it matter. Where was her defiance now for the men of the North? a voice cl
amored from deep within. Truly, her revulsion remained for most of his race. But not for Lyting. Her great love.

Ailinn
’s gaze lingered over the scar on his left cheek. Again she felt his pain. Recognized his nobility. Recognized her enormous, all-consuming love for this man.

Easing upon the mattress
’s edge, she watched him in sleep, listened to his even breaths, skimmed his features once more — the bright hair, the fine, straight nose, the firm lips. Her gaze shifted to his cheek.

Ailinn
’s heart moved, touched by all he’d suffered. Overcome with emotion, her heart aflame, Ailinn leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the scar on Lyting’s cheek, ever so lightly. Her gaze went to his mouth and lingered there. Unable to resist, she touched her lips to his.

Lyting stirred in the sweet depths of his dream, where an angel
’s kiss brushed his cheek. Light and shadow shifted. Someone poised above. He began to climb from the valley of sleep, then sensed ‘twas Ailinn who hovered above him. Incredibly, she bent and kissed him, her lips soft and warm and honey-sweet.

Through the drugged haze of sleep, Lyting sought to return
Ailinn’s kiss. He dragged his heavy hand upward, a terrible weight. Clumsily his fingers caught in Ailinn’s tresses, discovered their silk, stirred their fragrance to tease his senses.

What manner of dreams
’ illusion could conjure this? he wondered in a clouded part of his brain. Questioning it no further, he struggled toward consciousness, yearning to taste her lips fully and wrap her in his arms.

But s
leep weighed on him like a huge body of water. He battled against it, fighting upward. Just as he began to slice through the slumberous depths and surface, he felt cool air rush between his and Ailinn’s body.

He struggled furiously then, realizing she was withdrawing
, and sought to find her in the dark. Breaking through to wakefulness, he found himself breathless for the effort. He dragged open his lids, felt the cool of the sheets beside him. Ailinn was gone, the bed empty.

Bracing himself up on
one elbow, Lyting peered into the room’s darkness. Lamps softly illumined the chamber but did not reveal Ailinn. A flutter of fabric drew his gaze to where double doors opened onto the balcony.

There Ailinn stood with her back to him. A light evening breeze billowed the silken fabric of her robe and stirred her long tresses. She remained as
motionless as the statues that graced the balcony, all frozen in time as they looked over the harbor.

Lyting ball
ed his fist and warred within his soul. Dear God, how he wanted Ailinn. More than life itself did he want her. He wished to bound from the bed and snatch her up, then return and press her into the mattress, all the while telling her he had no intention of returning her to Ireland or seeking the cloistered walls of Corbie.

A beast raged within. His Norse blood fired his veins, urging he seize the prize and mate her at once
— tonight and all nights left to him upon this earth. Lyting shuddered with repressed desire. Ailinn — the one woman he wanted most in this world, the woman honor and vows prevented him from having. But even if his call dimmed in the mists of time, his vow to Ailinn did not. Even if it could be laid aside, she would never accept a Dane.

Lyting
rolled to his other side. Gripping the mattress itself, he anchored himself to the bed as flesh and spirit warred on the battlefield of his soul.

Tears spilled over Ailinn
’s cheeks as she stood upon the balcony, looking to the stars in the heavens. The fires of her love burned brightly in her heart, yet darkness enveloped her world once more.

‘
Twas her great misfortune to so desperately love a man God had already chosen and called to Himself. Lyting was to set his foot for Corbie, and he had indicated no change of heart otherwise. She could not, in good conscious, tempt him like a harlot from his holy call for the passions of the flesh.

Heavyhearted, she lifted her gaze to the stars, points of white light shining in the heavens.

“Sometimes the darkness holds the light.”

Ailinn wavered as she beheld the night sky, illumined by a million stars.

“Her “star-bright” warrior. How often had she referred to Lyting precisely as that? Again her thoughts reached back in time — to her mother, Fianna, as she lay dying.

“
Hold fast, my dearest Ailinn. Sometimes the darkness holds the light,” Fianna had said, then raised loving eyes to Lorcan. Lorcan. A sharp jolt of realization plunged through Ailinn.

Fianna herself had been taken in a raid
— by Lorcan — during an Irish
tain
, a cattle raid, Whether by mistake or apurpose, Lorcan fell instantly and irrevocably in love with Fianna and refused to return her to her clan. ‘Twas only Fianna’s insistence that she wished to stay and wed Lorcan that averted a clan war.

Now Ailinn understood. The
“darkness” to which Fianna referred was her captivity, but the “light” was Lorcan himself — the light she found in the darkness, her love.

Ailinn
’s thoughts went to Lyting. Truly, he was the “light” who had turned her darkness into brilliant day. She would love him forever.

Lifting her damp lashes, she looked to the stars shining high above. One shone brighter among the rest. Like the stars, Lyting lay forever beyond her reach.

»«

Early morn the choir arrived singing at the chamber door, waiting to accompany the bridal couple to a dining hall to break their fast.

The servants had already seen to their baths, which Lyting and Ailinn managed to partake of separately.

Lyting had used a small vial of goat
’s blood to sprinkle the sheets, suspecting they would be displayed, or at very least examined as in the West to prove the bride’s virginity and the consummation of the wedding. He did not wish for anyone to think Ailinn had been previously defiled at the hands of his kinsmen. Now those men who had wandering eyes for her at court would truly accept their marriage as valid and direct their attentions elsewhere.