Malia Martin (13 page)

In actuality, it was probably her menses. Aleene said a quick prayer that it would not come until the king had left. If he still thought her with child, perhaps she could come up with a plan. She took another gulp of ale. Over the rim, she searched the other tables, finally finding Cyne and his guards.

Beside her King Harold clapped his hands, causing Aleene to jump and spill a bit of ale. “We shall have entertainment this eve,” he said, “to celebrate the end of this tedious summer and the end of any threat from across the water!” He sobered a bit. “For another year, at least, we have peace.”

The hall echoed with shouts as a bard came forward, lute in hand, and began to pluck out a joyful tune. He sang beautifully, something about a young maiden and lad settling down to prosper on the land. But Aleene was not concentrating on the music; she stared, instead, at her husband.

He turned as if sensing her gaze and their eyes locked. Aleene yearned to go to him, touch his hair, kiss his lips as she had done the night before. His eyes seemed to hold the same yearning. She knew that he could not need her, want her, as she did him. It must truly be beyond his capacity. She clenched her fingers together under the table and told herself not to care. Cyne was everything she needed. He would never hurt her, betray her. He would only hold her, touch her, give her weeds and make her see flowers.

She pushed at the heavy veil that seemed to cling to her neck, wishing she could tear the headpiece off. A stinging in her eyes made her realize that tiny drops of perspiration had beaded along her hairline and now slipped down her face. Wiping the back of her hand against her forehead, Aleene blinked, but kept her gaze on Cyne.

The song of the bard crept into her mind, and she suddenly wondered if perhaps she should run. In her mind she could see herself with Cyne, farming and having children. She would have a family and there would be no fear. No one would want to hurt her, control her. Aleene wiped at her face again, breathing erratically as the hall seemed to close in on her.

No, she could not throw this away. How could she ever run from Seabreeze? It was her life. It embodied a love that would be forever lost if she left. Aleene shook her head and tried to clear her thoughts. The hall seemed to whirl about her. Her stomach felt queasy and she leaned over and bowed her head.

Closing her eyes, she saw a field and Cyne, shoulders bare to the sun as he worked to bring in a harvest. Aleene reached for him, wanting his arms around her. But, as he turned she realized it was not Cyne, but Aethregard.

“Whore!” he screamed, and it thrummed in her ears, reverberating in her head. “Whore!”

Aleene cried out as her stepbrother came for her, his hands rough and angry grasping her arms. “Whore!” And then it was no longer Aethregard, but Tosig who held her, his hands touching her body letting the ugly, black demons loose from the cage in her mind. They raged through her, ripping at her, stomping on her. She writhed, curving her arms around her belly, trying to curl into herself.

But they would not let her retreat. They continued to rip into her, and she saw blood. Blood everywhere, on the demons, on Tosig. She screamed, knowing that it was her
blood. Knowing that they were taking her life from her.

Aleene struck out, hitting and scratching anything near. She would not let them take her! She lunged at the black demons, gouging her fingers into their yellow, slanted eyes, screaming and fighting. Finally they retreated and she turned to face Tosig, large, angry, and a hundred times more frightening than any demon.

She cringed, watching her blood pour from her stepfather’s stomach. It spouted, draining her life. Aleene weakened, holding her hand in front of her as if to ward off Tosig. But she knew she couldn’t. He was so much stronger, bigger, more powerful than her. She could never win against Tosig.

And then she felt a hand in hers. Strong, warm, comforting, it clasped her fingers. She turned to find Cyne standing beside her. She looked into his eyes, loving eyes that held intelligence and knowledge. He tightened his grasp on her hand and said something. Aleene strained to hear, but she could only see his lips moving.

She knew Tosig still stood in front of them, waiting. But she refused to look, instead she let herself be captured in Cyne’s gaze. She wanted to go to him, be closer to him than she was, she wanted to be engulfed in his steadiness, his security, his love. She pressed against his body, feeling his hard, muscular thighs against hers, his strong heart beating and thumping at her own chest.

Finally she heard him, his voice low and musical, just as beautiful and golden as the rest of him. “Aleene, you are safe. I will keep you safe, I promise.”

With a great relieved sigh, Aleene felt the presence of Tosig vanish. She closed her eyes but did not see darkness, rather a golden light. And she knew with all of her heart that it was Cyne.

“She stirs.”

Aleene moved, then groaned as her stomach clenched in pain and her head throbbed.

“Milady?”

Aleene tried to open her eyes, but her lids felt as if they were weighted down with rocks. She groaned again.

“Ah, my poor, poor child.” A warm, slight hand stroked Aleene’s forehead.

She squinted, trying to open her eyes, wondering where she was.

“Look what they’ve done to ye,” the voice cooed as the hand continued to stroke.

And then another hand took hers. A reassuring warmth spread up her arm and into her body. She opened her eyes.

Blurred images moved over her. She cringed, closing her eyes again as one image came toward her face. She felt the touch of a thin hand against her temple. “Milady? Are ye awake, dear?”

Her eyes fluttered open again. Finally, she focused, seeing the wrinkled visage of her maid. “Berthilde?” The sound from her mouth was cracked and without body.

“There, there, child, don’t try to speak just yet.” Berthilde moved away. “I shall fetch some water for ye.”

Aleene closed her eyes again, realizing then that she still held someone’s hand. She turned her head slowly, moaning with the effort, and opened her eyes.

Cyne smiled at her, his loving smile washed over her like the rays of the sun. She tried to speak, but he patted her hand and kissed her mouth lightly. Relaxing, Aleene closed her eyes and held tightly to Cyne’s hand. What on earth had happened to her?

Berthilde returned with a bucket of water and a ladle. Cyne tucked a strong arm beneath
Aleene’s back and supported her as Berthilde ladled life-giving water through Aleene’s parched lips.

After the first few drops, Aleene was able to gulp more water. “Slow down, child, ye shall make yourself sick,” Berthilde chided.

Aleene slowed down reluctantly, sipping at the water.

“That’s it.” Berthilde eased the ladle from Aleene’s mouth. “We shouldn’t overdo.”

Cyne laid her gently back and brushed her hair from her face.

She just stared, reveling in his unkempt beauty. A blond curl, displaced from his tousled mane, clung to his forehead. She frowned slightly and looked back at Berthilde. They both looked as if they hadn’t slept for a few days. “Wha-at happened?” Aleene was finally able to utter.

Berthilde shook her head and brushed the back of her knuckles against Aleene’s arm. “That bastard stepbrother of yours.” A scowl marred her motherly features. “He put ergot in your ale, the pig. ’Tis a poison that rids women of unwanted babes. Fortunately, one of the king’s men saw him do it, or we would never have known. When I saw all the blood and vomiting, I knew what it was. Then the house-carl remembered seeing Aethregard lean over and do something with your ale.”

Aleene blinked, her hand automatically going to her abdomen.

Berthilde laid her own hand over Aleene’s. “Everyone believes you’ve lost the babe.”

Aleene could only stare at Berthilde’s hand. It had been many years since her maid touched her with concern. Aleene had not allowed it for that long. She sighed.

“Now, now, dear.” Berthilde pulled a blanket higher upon Aleene’s chest. “It will be all right.” She smiled. “Everything will be all right now.”

The look of happiness that lightened Berthilde’s weary eyes gave Aleene pause. She turned to look at Cyne, then back at Berthilde. The maid nodded. “Aethregard has been banished!” She laughed then, and Aleene couldn’t help but smile.

“Banished?”

“The king himself ordered the boy back to his own land. Said that if he ever heard of Aethregard coming within a hundred paces of this castle he would have him drawn and quartered!” Berthilde recounted the events with a singsong voice, her eyes sparkling and her body swaying.

Closing her eyes, Aleene clutched at Cyne’s hand. She would be with Cyne in Seabreeze! And all because Aethregard tried to rid her of a babe that did not exist, yet. Aleene laughed a bit. The irony was wonderfully humorous.

When she opened her eyes again, Berthilde stood staring at Aleene’s hand clutched in Cyne’s. A look of foreboding had erased the joy in Berthilde’s gaze, but before Aleene could ask her what was wrong, the woman turned and bustled away. “I shall find some broth for you. You must get your strength back.”

Aleene watched the woman’s retreating back, wondering at her maid’s sudden soberness. Berthilde opened the door, then looked quickly over her shoulder at Aleene, before disappearing into the hall. As the door swung shut, Aleene saw a man in the darkness of the hall. A large man, with a boiled leather breastplate protecting his chest and a knife sheathed at his side.

One of Cyne’s guards.

The tranquility that had existed in the room evaporated, leaving Aleene tense and angry. The king had sent Aethregard away, but not in favor of Cyne. Not in favor of her choice.
Aleene squeezed her eyes shut. She would now face the tyranny of a new man, one she did not even know. A strong man, of that she was certain.

Cyne smoothed her brow with his hand. She turned toward his caress. She had spent most of her life controlled by a man who hated her. Since his death, she had actually believed she could fight herself free from his influence. Yet still, even with his son gone, she could not grasp onto happiness and keep it.

Aleene clenched her hands together at her sides and breathed in, filling her lungs with the scent of the man beside her. It was a good smell, warm sunshine, fennel, and man. She sighed as Cyne stroked her hair, his fingers tunneling through the long, heavy strands and massaging her scalp.

Why? She had finally found a certain peace, Seabreeze and Cyne. Why could she not keep them? The agony drained her of strength, and she felt the edge of her consciousness blur and knew that sleep haunted her. She allowed it to take her, no longer able to deal with the frustration of reality.

When she awoke next, the room was dark. Moving her head slightly, she saw a tray by her bed with a trencher of cold soup. She knew she had to eat it and regain her strength quickly. With agonizing slowness, she tried to sit up, her head swimming with each new movement. And then suddenly, she felt strength, felt herself lifted. Through the thick haze that seemed to surround her senses, Aleene realized that Berthilde stood beside her, supporting her body. The woman reached for the bowl of broth and brought it to Aleene’s lips.

“’Tis cold now, milady, but still good.”

Aleene sipped slowly at the watery liquid. She could feel her maid’s breath on her cheek and realized that she had not been this close to the old woman since Aleene had been a child. She swallowed, then said feebly, “Thank you, Berthilde.”

“Yes, milady.” She tipped the bowl again toward Aleene’s lips.

Aleene forced down all the broth. Then, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she relaxed onto her bed. Berthilde took the tray away and returned quickly with a wet cloth for Aleene’s forehead.

The cloth soothed the ache that throbbed behind Aleene’s temples, an ache so constant she hadn’t even realized it was there until it began to subside. “Berthilde?” she mumbled through lips gone stiff.

“Shh, dear, you must rest.”

Aleene knew she had to protest, knew she should speak to Berthilde, but she could not seem to get the strength to speak. Closing her eyes, she allowed her maid to stroke her hair.

“Why did you frown, Berthilde?” Aleene managed to whisper, already half-asleep.

“Shh, be still.”