Loveweaver (28 page)

The place smelled foul and its inhabitants looked half starved. But Slayde took little note. For there Llyrica leaned against the wall, a bright place in a dark hall. An inward response, some of the pain in Slayde’s chest eased to see her safe. He gained the report from the corner of his eye, but dared not look at her nor give any sign that she was of any concern to him. He must keep the upper hand with Broder, whose state of mind appeared as volatile as his own.

“Indeed I
shall
kill you!” Broder shouted as he leapt from the table. He began a charge through the crowd. It parted to make way for him and his cohorts, swords raised. Llyrica’s scream sounded above the deafening roar.

Unarmed, StoneHeart pulled Byrnstan behind him and prepared to pay the price of his gamble, death by his enemy’s blade. Regrets of a wasted life raced through him, coupled with the sorrow of his unfulfilled love for Llyrica. At least he would die as warrior… a final, bitter testament to Ceolmund. Would that Byrnstan could be spared.

An unexpected reprieve, two Vikings suddenly placed themselves between Slayde and the onslaught. The men were elderly, yet giant warriors.

“Hold to, Broder!” bellowed one. “You seek to invite our destruction?”

“Step aside, Kare! You block my path to the devil!” Broder marched up and tried to pass the wiry-haired man to get at Slayde.

The second warrior, who also exceeded Broder in height and breadth of stature, executed a blow with his fist, knocking the youth’s sword from his hand.  “You will cool your head, lest your grief brings death on us all!”

StoneHeart breathed again as he saw opportunity reappear. He redirected the blood surge from his brush with a quick, painful death toward the completion of his mission.
But where is Haesten?

Broder’s face glowed crimson while the youngbloods around him looked confused. “And you Lang? Are you too old to face what must be done?”

“I am old enough, and
loyal enough
, to know that killing StoneHeart is not Haesten’s will.
He
would see this moment as a key to everything we have been waiting for.  Think! Think as he would think and therefore earn your place as his second!”

As Lang’s words seemed to find a mark, a myriad of emotions played across Broder’s face. He looked to his comrades, as though seeking an answer. Turning then to address Lang, Broder expanded his chest and raised his chin. Slayde recognized this posture well, but would exercise silent caution. Broder’s new composure might prove momentary.

“I am indeed my lord’s second in command and choose to heed your advice.” Broder’s words came in gravelly tones, a sign of his hard won concession … and perhaps another emotion. Lang had spoken of Broder’s grief.

But Slayde would not consider that the warlord might lie dead. The desire to wring the life from Haesten with his own hands yet burned hot.

“The demon StoneHeart will soon learn,” Broder continued through clenched teeth, “that he must deal with me.”

Impatience near made him burst, yet Slayde worded a careful response. “Then I await, by
your
decision, when my meeting with Haesten will take place.”

Broder narrowed his eyes at Slayde. “Aye, you will, demon. Just as it will be
my
decision how your truce will be made.” A pause indicated an inward debate. “See now the reasons why and by what means.”

He took a few steps to the wall behind him, gripped Llyrica by the arm and began leading her away. Slayde involuntarily jerked at her startled cry, and yanked at the hold his guards had on him.

Then Broder shouted over his shoulder as he pulled Llyrica along. “Bring the demon StoneHeart! And you, Kare and Lang! And all who would see what is to be done!”

The ache in Slayde’s chest foretold of a violent event. His eye twitched uncontrollably. Sickened by worry for Llyrica, he let the guards lead him and Byrnstan after Broder.
Holy Lord, keep Llyrica safe through this and what I will do.

They passed through the restless, murmuring crowd, where at the far corner, Broder stopped at the head of a pallet. “Behold, StoneHeart, and know why your fate, and the fate of your wife, are left in my hands. Here is my father Haesten.”

Candlelight lit a man’s body that lie there, surely a dead man, colorless, drawn. Nay, the man took a breath and stirred. Temptation reared, but Slayde would not venture a look to Llyrica. Byrnstan said something that Slayde would not heed.

With one quick, unsuspecting move, StoneHeart would leap down, clamp his hands around Haesten’s neck and wring the remaining life from him. ’Twould mean a release and relief from Ceolmund’s influence rule, a last installment to earning father’s ideal of manhood.

StoneHeart tensed and readied to fall upon his enemy in a death grip.

“
Slayde.
”  Llyrica whispered his name. But nay, he heard it deep inside his mind and it made his body jolt. Lured now, then caught by her voice within, he raised his sights to her.

Pitiful to see, Llyrica’s eyes were red from crying. The light seemed to have left her face and hopelessness taken its place. Slayde’s heart felt heavy and burdensome in his chest. And in that singular instant, only
Llyrica
mattered.
She
was his test to be won, not the vanquishing of a withered, dying warlord. The fist so tightly knotted at his side released. If a sword had been in his hand, it would have fallen to his feet. So too, did fall away his concern for what anyone else might think of him. This decision came in this very moment in time. His life would be his own at last. And he would spend it with Llyrica.

“’Tis over.” Slayde mouthed the words to her, to which she replied with a nod. He knew she understood and wished they were far away from this place to begin again.

A sudden clamoring as of thunder sounded outside, a racket of shouting and pounding of trampling feet. The roar moved closer. Slayde turned to see chaos in the hall abound. People scattered, screaming, confused. A wall of StoneHeart’s own men pushed through, led by Ailwin, mowing any who got in the way. Those who did not fall under the Saxon sword fell back as Broder’s armed men swung their blades in unprepared panic. The noise of battle continued outside, as well. Ailwin, sword before him, drove on to Haesten’s pallet. He disregarded StoneHeart, yea, seemed intent on a mortal purpose. Broder, scrambled to gather his fallen sword, and might reach his father in time. Lang and Kare reached to draw knives tucked in their baldrics.

Slayde shouted a command. But Ailwin hesitated for only an instant, eyed the situation, especially Haesten on the pallet, and surely finalized a decision.

“I do what none else will do!” He yelled and plunged his sword toward the dying warlord.

Llyrica and Broder’s united cry blotted out all other sound as StoneHeart yanked free of his guards and threw himself before Ailwin’s blade and fell atop Haesten. The sword ran through the flesh of Slayde’s right side. Fire hot agony seared him as he felt the iron blade hit his rib.

His best effort to remain conscious failed.

Llyrica knew that no weaver’s song would help. Not far from where Haesten remained unconscious, lay Slayde’s still body. She kneeled beside StoneHeart, searching his face for signs that he would awaken. The massive bleeding in his side had long stopped, and his breathing had eased, yet he had not stirred for hours. How lost he looked unshaven, with hair unclean and his body stripped to his brecs. Oh, she longed to lie beside him until he revived, then renew his spirit with a bath and loving words. Llyrica adjusted his blanket and touched his eye, its twitch now quieted. She cherished the understanding that had passed between them in that still moment before StoneHeart had taken Ailwin’s blade in her father’s stead.  That silent exchange had been a definitive moment of recognition: It was the first time that the man she knew as the sleepwalker had looked upon her by day. 
Do not let him die, Lord.

Llyrica raised her head to view the hall and listened to its sounds of murmuring and conversations half-discerned. In the corner, Broder sat with his knees pulled to his chest, his face knotted with confusion and grief. Lorna slept against his shoulder. Byrnstan remained solemn in his prayer vigil beside his godson.

Only Ailwin seemed in command of himself. Aside from directing an occasional frown first to StoneHeart and then to her, he showed no remorse for what he had done to his ealdorman. He conferred now with Lang and Kare, making his demands as to the terms of surrender of Fortress Lea. He ordered Saxon soldiers to stand guard and oversee the clean up after the attack, with the dead removed and the injured attended.  All of Haesten’s Vikings were stripped of weapons and knives and considered prisoners. Llyrica watched Ailwin hand a parchment to a young soldier, a dispatch, Brynstan told her. The news was bound for London announcing the taking of Fortress Lea. That same report told that Haesten would surely be dead within days. Inhabitants from here to there could rejoice that peace from the Vikings was at present secure.

Amidst this business, Llyrica sat in a chaos of tattered emotions. She feared she would come undone and collapse into a worthless pool of tears.
Lord, I pray thee help me bear this.

Glide on o’er the waves that carry your ship aloft,

To rise and fall in gentle seas beneath the sky so soft.

High tide calls you home to its beckoning shore.

There to the one who loves you evermore.
 

Her warm, low, melodic song washed over him.  Slayde looked up to see Llyrica kneeling beside him, her aqua eyes brightly fixed on his. Her hair was wet, as was her lavender silk cyrtel. Her peach lips trembled into a tentative smile as a tear rolled down her cheek. “Praise God. You have awakened,” she whispered.

Praise God, indeed, that the struggles in countless nightmares ended here, with the vision of Llyrica’s beauty and love.
How many hours have I slept?

He formed words with dry lips and throat. “I searched for you in my dreams, little fox.” Feeling her small hand beneath his, he tried to clasp it, but discovered his own hand weak. “I have found you, at last.” He tried to rise, but his body, dressed only in brecs, felt stiff and slow to respond.

Llyrica leaned closer and lifted his hand to her cool, damp cheek. “We will get you on your feet soon enough. You have been on this pallet for three days.  It is nearing nightfall.”

This seemed unimaginable. “Three days? Where am I?” He smelled rain as he now twisted a bit from his pallet to view his surroundings, a tiny sod dwelling, perhaps a storehouse. A dull ache radiated from his bandaged side, a reminder of the events that led to a sword in his flesh.

“You are here in this hut not far from Haesten’s hall. Here, drink a bit of this.” She helped lift his head long enough for him to sip from a cup of mead. “We moved you here at Ailwin’s request.” Llyrica drew a breath and held it as if to hold back more tears.

He felt the potent drink warm and saturate his insides. He drank again before Llyrica set the cup aside. “I tell you I will be well, so do not cry.” Slayde stroked her face, and fingered wet strands of her blond hair. “Were you caught in the rain?”

She shrugged, seemed unable to speak for another moment. Thunder rumbled outside. “I have run between StoneHeart and Haesten’s pallets these past three days, wondering each time what would await me. Y-y-yesterday I found my father had died in his sleep.”

Slayde felt the softening of his heart that began before he fell from the sword. Perhaps the time had come to foreswear the name StoneHeart. “Ah, Llyrica. Lie here beside me.”

With one simple movement she was nestled fragrantly there against his uninjured side. She kissed his cheek, then laid her head in the hollow of his shoulder. With what strength he had, Slayde pulled her close, and knew the bliss of loving Llyrica. Would that this embrace be more than brief. But Llyrica’s tense body cautioned Slayde of more bad news. Damn it also, that his mind began to fill again of Viking battles, which would not so easily be washed away.

Llyrica seemed to fight for air. “I want to stay here with you. Yet time grows short and a decision needs…”

“Shhhh,” Slayde interrupted her. “Be still a moment. Time will grow shorter yet. But I will have you only to myself until the world intercedes.” He turned to face her. The price was a new pain in his side; the reward was the vision of his loomstress in wet silk. Her eyes, though shadowed with grief, looked at him with vibrant allure. He met her lips with his and truly tasted her for the first time. Possibilities of happiness, once a bleak dream, flourished now in the soft warmth of Llyrica’s kiss.

The conflict between Broder and Ailwin mattered little in light of this very instant. She would foreswear, for now, the trials of the last few days and just how faltering was her state of mind. So Llyrica obeyed Slayde’s wish, surrendered to the sweetness of lying in his arms, and shared a kiss that changed everything.

Wordless, it yet spoke of all she knew of StoneHeart, a man ruled by stern determination, and the sleepwalker, a man with the boundless need to love and be loved. The kiss he now poured into her possessed both halves of the man: a firm demand, and a gentle, almost desperate request. She answered both, would match the passion of the first, and the fragile emotion of the second.

He ended the kiss and pressed his lips to her forehead. “I love you, Llyrica.”

These words that she longed to hear radiated joy throughout her body. “And I love you,” she whispered against his mouth. She propped herself up on an elbow to look at him, to search the truth of his words. “Then is StoneHeart’s work finished?”

“Aye, Vixen. But
this
man’s is not.” His smile was an unusual sight to see by daylight and made her belly flutter with a kind of trepidation. There had been safety in loving two unattainable men.

Now Llyrica saw the danger of losing her heart completely to one.

Slayde clasped her to him again, using one hand to sweep the curve of her back, and the other to stroke her from hip to thigh. In spite of his infirmity, his arousal hardened between them, the low rumble in his throat seeming to affirm his need. “If you only knew the days I longed for you, and the countless moments I wished to speak of my love for you. When I saw you with Canute at Athelswith’s lodge, I thought I would go mad.” Slayde drew a breath and Llyrica felt his heart pounding.

Thinking of that day, of unleashed passion born of fear and anger, she wrapped her arms more tightly around him. “StoneHeart hurt me then and even after our time together on your ship, I doubted since that there would ever be love or peace between us…”

“Say you forgive me. For every injury I have done you.” Slayde pressed his petition to her ear, followed it with a kiss to her neck. Hot chills raced through Llyrica’s body. Scant barriers, her wet garments melded to his bare skin. “I am no longer the sleepwalker with sweet words to seduce, nor StoneHeart who fears he will crumble at the slightest tenderness. I am now a man loving the woman who saved both. I swear I will never hurt you again.”

She wanted to believe him, to give herself over to his promise. But her heart, uncertain of a future when judged by the past, sought to protect itself. “Swear not, since bits of StoneHeart surely yet dwell within you. That name and its way of life cannot so easily be changed. I must be cautious of you.”

Slayde must have pondered this before his delayed reply. “Indeed perhaps, my sweet fox. But no more so than I must be of myself, since old habits die hard.” Stoic, almost unemotional, his voice contained the quality of StoneHeart’s cold resolve, and less that of the sleepwalker’s sensitivity. “So I shall not swear a vow that I cannot keep before I am a new man. Name what promise you require that you will know my heart’s truest intention. I would even put it in writing and sign it before a witness.” 

With these words that seemed so like the StoneHeart she had known, came her need to make a final decision. Should she give herself to a man who
promised
to change his ways? Could Slayde learn to give love, to share and to trust openly, or would he need to cling to what he knew? Promise or no, her life with him could prove full of misunderstandings.

Llyrica raised herself from his side to carefully look at him. A mistake, yea, for the expression on his face erased all commonsense. His mouth was the hard line of fearlessness that she knew well, but there in the corners she saw a twitch of uncertainty and childlike vulnerability. A furrowed, determined brow reminded her that he could withstand loss and pain, but his moist, brown eyes entreated her with hope. And the tick in his eye had returned, a sight that her heart could not bear. Though a fool she might be, she would belong to him.

She kissed his eye at once, then pressed her cheek against his. “Promise naught, for you have already given it. I love you and shall be your wife. Let me stay by your side wherever you go.”

Slayde drew her near to enclose her in his arms. He buried his face in her hair, his breath coming in fitful waves. Half words and muffled phrases heated Llyrica’s neck, exposing Slayde’s outpouring of feelings, but his need to yet stifle them. Rather than worry that StoneHeart yet controlled the man, Llyrica would let him be. She would love him as he was.

After heaving a long draught of air, Slayde cleared his throat. “Now tell me what troubles you, what decision must be made.”

This sudden request and the tone of his voice said his mood was moderated, his emotions mastered. Llyrica opened her mouth to speak as she heard someone in the doorway of the hut.

“
I
shall tell of it, StoneHeart.” It was Ailwin.

Llyrica propped herself up. Turning to see Slayde’s second-in-command, her vexation with him rose again to the surface. In the last three days, Ailwin countered her every need and request,
and Broder’s
, with hostile disregard. This had intensified with Haesten’s death.

Broder lived at the brink of sanity, and only by her constant effort had kept him from acts of violence. His lethal grief might be calmed with Haesten’s ceremonial funeral at sea. But Ailwin, heartless and unmoved, had already seen to it that Haesten was buried in a cairn. Llyrica must petition her husband and undo this misdeed.

Byrnstan and thegn Eadwulf now stepped in along side Ailwin. The three men filled the small space to capacity.

Wincing, Slayde turned his head to see them. “Llyrica, help me to sit.” He already endeavored to raise himself from his recline, while holding his side with one hand.

Kneeling behind him, Llyrica pushed at his shoulders, then let him rest half upright on a roll of furs. Though her vow of unconditional love was mere minutes old, she was startled at StoneHeart’s quick return. Among his fellow men, he must need to show he could conquer pain. She helped him put on a tunic. Then, troubled at his grim expression so changed from its previous warmth, she remained silent.

A throbbing head and blurred vision attended Slayde’s seated pose. Finishing the rest of the mead, he now also saw a bowl of cold broth, and drank it down. He vowed that in hours he would be walking. Duties remained and StoneHeart, as leader of an army, would see his campaign concluded. His familiar self stepped in, but would not rule as in the past. He assured himself with a remembrance of Llyrica’s recent kiss.

“I require a full report, Ailwin, of what has occurred since your blade ran me through. But first defend your reckless and insubordinate actions.”

Byrnstan intervened, stepped forward, and knelt to his godson’s pallet. Eyes that looked old and weary spoke of the priest’s worry. “I am mightily glad you live, son. Llyrica and I have prayed night and day.”

“I, too, have worried,” added Eadwulf, rubbing his hand across his bald head.

Slayde nodded to Eadwulf. He then ventured a smile and put his hand on Byrnstan’s shoulder. “You know I would not quit a task before its completion. Not even Ailwin’s sword can lay me low enough for that.” He aimed a critical eye to his second as Brynstan arose.  “How came you to attack the fortress without my order?”

Ailwin broadened his stance and folded his arms across his chest. “As your second-in-command I called a meeting. You had been gone a day and a night. All present agreed that yours and Byrnstan’s success was in doubt, and that your ill-advised decision to go in alone in the beginning was influenced by your personal concerns in the matter. Your wife …”

“We had this discussion beforehand.” Slayde felt what little blood he had left rise to his face. Anger flared along with the knowledge that Ailwin was right. StoneHeart had let his emotions replace rational thinking. He stammered an instant, but would not admit his mistake. “As commander, I did what I saw fit! I gave an order.”