Authors: Janelle Taylor
Alysa took a cloth and wet it in the tepid water from a pitcher. She gently wiped his face and spoke soothingly to him, as if he were a sick child. “I will make you well again, Father. You must have fresh air, and sunshine, and hot food. You cannot lie abed each day and night if you wish to regain strength. Until Baltair returns, I will ask Leitis and Piaras to help us. You must not give up hope.”
Alric’s bleary green eyes tried to focus on his daughter, and he attempted to smile at her; both were difficult actions. As with a newborn pup, his flesh and muscles refused to obey him, and sometimes his bodily functions did the same. He knew he must look a terrible sight. He did not want his daughter or his subjects to witness such humiliating disabilities, which was why he remained confined to his room and bed so much these days. He wanted no one’s pity or jests, and he did not want any enemies to learn that Damnonia’s ruler was on the verge of total incapacitation or death.
The prince thought that if people believed he was very ill, or simply too busy to visit or receive them, they would leave him alone to endure his mental and physical anguish as best he could. From reports by the stewards—Sheriff Trahern and Baltair—Princess Isobail was running the land smoothly and prosperously. When he had to make an appearance, Isobail spent several days personally tending him to help him gain enough strength to carry it off without shaming himself, and he was very grateful to her. Too, he had Captain of the Guard Phelan, and Piaras, to see to his knights and soldiers. His feudal lords and seneschal Baltair were trustworthy and intelligent, so he could depend on his vassals to handle everything until he was well again.
“You should not be here, my child. I am too ill for
visitors. Go and do not worry; my servant will take care of me,” he chided weakly. Alric’s pride was bruised deeply at appearing so vulnerable, so helpless, so forgotten by the gods whom he had offended and wronged. He did not want Alysa to see him like this, and he had agreed with Isobail to keep her away from him. “It is nothing more than the spring gripans. You forget I am no longer a young man, and it takes me longer than you to conquer such a persistent foe. You can tend me no better than my faithful servants. Worry not, I will be riding with you again soon.”
It hurt Alysa to suspect that her father did not want her with him, just as his last remark pained her deeply—as they had not gone riding or hunting together for two years, and she doubted if they ever would again. “You are hardly old, Father, and it is no longer spring. I will punish the servant who sneaked from his post to play sticks with the knights or to dally in some dark corner with a serving wench.”
Alric tried to dismiss her vexation with laughter, but the sound of it was unnatural. “I sent my servant to rest while I napped. He checks on me every hour. I am in no danger, need nothing while I sleep. You should visit Lord Orin’s or Lord Daron’s, loyal vassals who have sons soon to be knighted. Perhaps, my child, you are in need of diversion, or of a worthy suitor or two,” he hinted.
Enforced wedlock, her mind shrieked in panic. Once married, she would be compelled to leave her home and father to live with her husband until she became ruler. What if Isobail had contrived that path to get rid of her? she thought. Her blue eyes sparked with protest, and she replied, “I desire only for my father to be well again and in control of his land and people. How can this ever be when you do nothing to strengthen your self?”
“Has my child learned the arts of healing since I
became ill? Speak only of those things which you know. If all I needed was a good healer, I would be riding with the hound and hawk this day. Pour me some wine to wet my throat,” he ordered.
Alysa obeyed, then placed the container on his bed stand once more. “Our kingdom needs you, Father; I need you. Please let me help you.” Realizing the need to break through his dazed state, Alysa spoke sternly. “Has no one told you of the fierce brigands who raid your villages? Who terrify and slay your people? Your lords grow impatient and angry at your continued absences. There are troubles and perils all across our land. You are our ruler; you must get well and solve them.”
Alric sighed wearily as his stomach began to cramp anew. In his distress, he spoke sharply. “Why does my child tell me such foolish tales and speak so harshly? You are mistaken. My wife and loyal retainers give me reports each week. Not three weeks past, we met with the lords and they greeted me with open hearts and arms. They spoke of no troubles.”
“But what of the raiders, Father? Why do your knights not stop them?” she demanded, then reminded herself he was ill and her father.
Beneath the covers Alric’s body seemed to burn and sting. Spasms ripped at his insides and he felt himself becoming nauseous. Beads of sweat began to soak his sleeping gown. His throat was dry and fiery, and he asked for more wine before replying, “My wife sees to royal matters for me. Princess Isobail is alert; she will warn me of problems.”
“Are you sure you can trust her, Father?” Alysa spoke before she could stop herself. “She is in control of everything, and many do not like her. A woman should not take the place of a great ruler. You must defeat this illness and return to your duties.”
Alric knew he was going to soil himself and his bed any moment now. He was too weak to get out of bed,
and he could not allow his daughter to assist him. He had to get her out of his chambers swiftly. Summoning the strongest voice and angriest expression he could manage, he shrieked, “Do not make me ashamed of my illness! I am not immortal. Leave me in peace to bear it and to conquer it as best I can. Is my child not a woman who will rule this land after me? Speak no more evil of my wife. She does only as I command her. I trust no one more than she. Go to the chapel and pray for forgiveness for your harsh words. Do not return to my chamber unless I summon you.” “But, Father,” she protested frantically. “There is much you—”
“Go! Or I will be forced to summon the guard to remove you,” he threatened wildly, knowing he could not endure this agony any longer.
Alysa stared at her father in disbelief. His green eyes were narrowed and chilled; no, they blazed with a fire she did not recognize. She noticed the beads of sweat that glistened on his face, and decided it was sickness causing him to behave this way. But what kind of sickness? It seemed most unnatural… It occurred to her that perhaps someone or something was keeping him so ill and confined to his chamber. Perhaps he was being poisoned? She was shocked at the idea, and spoke urgently. “Please, Father, let me help you, or find someone who can.”
“The only way you can help me is to depart my chamber and leave me in peace to heal or to suffer as the gods decide. You are like your mother: disobedient and selfish. She wished things her way, and caused me to suffer. Perhaps it is her barbarian blood within you which stains your heart and honor. Cleanse yourself of such wickedness, child.”
Alric’s face was twisted with agony, which appeared to Alysa as fury and hostility. He did not know how he
was cutting his child’s heart viciously with his wild rantings.
She turned and raced from her father’s chamber. If the castle gates were not closed and barred for the night, she would go to Giselde’s hut and perhaps never return to Malvern Castle! She had never seen her father in such a state, and never wanted to do so again. She could not imagine why he had been so hateful to her. It had been rash to speak against Isobail without proof, for clearly the woman had befooled him. Yet it was his insults about her mother that troubled her most. When next she visited Giselde, she thought, she must ask her old guardian why her father would say such things. But who could help her prove her suspicion of Prince Alric’s poisoning?
In her chambers Alysa quickly removed her over-tunic and kirtle, then brushed her long hair without waiting for her handmaiden’s assistance. To let Thisbe know she had turned in for the night, the young princess doused all candles but the one near her door. The room was nearly dark, giving Alysa a feeling of being trapped. As if in defiance, or in search for any type of freedom, she eased between her covers naked.
How she yearned to have someone hold her and comfort her as the unknown warrior in the forest had. No, she quickly realized, not someone, but him. Her fingers moved back and forth over her lips as she remembered the feel of his mouth on hers, and she hungered to experience those sensations once more. Her hand slipped to a breast as she gently caressed it, recalling how wonderful it had felt when he had done this in her dream, and perhaps in reality. Was it wicked to crave that same behavior again? she mused. Was it wicked to desire more from him, with him? Her heart and body seemed to ache for him, and she tossed upon her bed as she tried to vanquish such emotions.
She could not rid herself of those longings, and admitted
it to herself. But how could she find him again, unless he came to the castle to seek her father? And if she were gone at that time, he could be sent away without her knowing. Yet if she remained here and he failed to appear…
Alysa tossed the covers aside and walked to the narrow window overlooking the river. There was a village nearby, to the west of the castle, and one ten miles away, north of the castle. But he had been in the forbidden forest, which was southeast. Would he come here seeking to hire out as a paid warrior? Or would he try his luck earning money from the villagers or other lords? Or would he ride from her land to seek his fortune elsewhere?
A breeze came off the river, playfully teased her face and body, and gently ruffled her hair. She watched moonlight dance upon the water’s surface, and wished she could go for a relaxing swim. She suddenly realized why she was gazing almost mesmerically at the moon’s reflection—it reminded her of the shiny streaks in the stranger’s blond hair. His eyes were as green and lively as the forest not far away. She sighed dreamily as she recalled how they had brightened when he smiled. She adored his mysterious, self-assured, romantic gaze, and wanted to feel it caressing her again. She wanted to kiss him, to touch him, to talk with him, and to make love to him. Never had a man created such wild feelings within her.
After a time Alysa returned to bed, closed her eyes, and helplessly summoned the enchanting stranger to visit her dreams…
She walked toward the tall man who was chopping wood near a small hut in a lovely glen. His exertions and the heat of the sun caused moisture to form and glisten on his bare torso. His sleek muscles rippled as he labored easily. Her gaze traveled up firm legs, over slim hips clad in a leather warrior’s apron, past a taut
waist, and over a strong torso, then settled on a wet tawny head. The closer she got to him, the more her tension and warmth increased. She did not hear the ax striking against the wood; only the pounding of her heart and the muffled sounds of tranquil nature reached her ears. As a stirring breeze came from nowhere, she closed her eyes to inhale its captive fragrances and enjoy its cooling freshness.
When Alysa opened her eyes, the handsome male was smiling down into her upturned face. Her trembling fingers teased over his lips, then her hand encircled his head to bring his mouth to hers. She shuddered with desire at his taste. When his arms tightly banded her body, she did not mind the way his sweaty body dampened her garments. Then suddenly her clothes were missing and their bodies were pressed together, sealing tightly and hotly like candle wax to tender flesh.
They kissed and embraced until rampant fires leapt within and between them. Their tongues danced and mated wildly and joyfully. Their hands boldly caressed and explored the other’s sleek flesh. Words of love were exchanged, and hearts were bound for all time.
The daring and possessive stranger swept her into his arms and carried her into their hut, and Alysa drifted off to peaceful sleep.
But in the forest not far way, the same dream was filling Gavin’s mind, and knowing more about men and women than Alysa did, his dream continued for a time…
He lay the beautiful and irresistible girl on a bed of straw which was covered by several blankets. He reclined on his side near her, his green eyes and deft hands roaming her shapely body at will, causing his body to respond eagerly to her sensuous allure. His lips played over her mouth and slowly moved down her throat. There was a nectar upon her skin which drugged him with fervid desire, and he could not have enough of
her. She was the most ravishing creature he had ever seen, but she was afraid of him. Why, he did not know. He entreated her to trust him, to love him, to yield to him. He saw her smile into his imploring gaze and heard her whisper, “Not yet, my love.”
As Gavin reached for her, she rolled away and teased, “Not yet, my heart’s desire, but soon, very soon…” And he was asleep.
Alric snuggled weakly into the clean gown and covers that had been changed by his servant. He had finished the hot soup and bread, as ordered by his wife after each attack, and he did feel a little better. As always, after an hour or two from their onset, the gripes and nausea passed. Yet each bout left him weaker and more depressed than the last one, and he wondered how long he could live in such misery. His punishment for the dark and bitter past, he thought again.
He realized he had been harsh with his daughter, but it had been necessary to protect his privacy. When he was better, he would earn her forgiveness. For now, all of his energy and attention must focus on getting well. If there was real trouble in his land, Baltair would tell him. True, Isobail was greedy and aggressive at times, but she would never dare to betray him and her rank. He was a prince, one day to become a king; he was confident that his vassals would remain loyal while he was ill. All knew that to oppose him was the same as opposing King Bardwyn of Cambria. No one would dare such a fatal offense! Alysa was young and did not understand certain matters, he decided; wicked bandits always preyed on villages. In the morning he would discuss his daughter’s worries with his wife.
Earnon, the advisor to Princess Isobail, paced his chambers apprehensively. He could not dismiss the feeling that something was gravely wrong this night. His black eyes stared into the candlelight as he tried to visualize what was troubling him, but no image would take shape. He inhaled deeply, then shuddered. The air around him flowed with eerie forces, intimidating forces, powerful forces. He went to a cabinet and withdrew a silver bowl with strange symbols carved upon it. After filling it with a golden liquid, he mumbled an incantation, then blew upon its surface and watched the ripples carefully. Someone was becoming a threat to his mistress, and he had to discover who it was; too, he had to know why that threat included and alarmed him. Yet some unknown and perilous power seemed stronger than he tonight, and it prevented his answers.