Blind Impulse

Table of Contents

Prologue
             

Chapter One
             

Chapter Two
             

Chapter Three
             

Chapter Four
             

Chapter Five
             

Chapter Six
             

Chapter Seven
             

Chapter Eight
             

Chapter Nine
             

Chapter Ten
             

Chapter Eleven
             

Chapter Twelve
             

Chapter Thirteen
             

Chapter Fourteen
             

Chapter Fifteen
             

Chapter Sixteen
             

Chapter Seventeen
             

Chapter Eighteen
             

Epilogue
             

Prologue

Kirkoswald Castle

East of Eden Barony

England, Late Spring, 1219 A.D.

Your father has died.

Grief battered Sir Garin Swein and knotted his stomach. He held the fragile parchm
ent his mother had sent to him in the Holy Land, his gaze locked on one line.  Exhaustion and agonizing pain of the deep wound across his chest, made the furor of emotions much harder to defeat.  Slowly, he refolded the letter and returned it to his pouch.
 

Garin rode toward the gates of Kirkoswald Castle, trying to sort through the riot within him. 

I am home. 

For four harrowing years, Garin had fought the infidel at Damietta, Egypt.  The Crusaders suffered through disease, starvation, and heavy losses
, but Garin had taken the Oath of the Cross and could not abandon it - until he received the letter from his mother.  Now it was time for Garin to take his rightful place as baron of East of Eden.  But he grieved deeply over the death that brought him home
.

Garin and his father had been very close.  Harold Swein had been a fine knight, a good baron, and a kind father.  But he would not be present to welcome the return of his only son.  Garin’s heart ached with loss.  

He led a group of bedraggled knights t
hrough the small village thriving in the shadow of Kirkoswald Castle.  Garin was shocked to receive a hero’s welcome.  His people lined the road, shouting and cheering.  They threw flowers in the path of the returning knights.  Garin’s spirits lifted and h
e managed a smile, waving as he passed. 

His gaze swept over the simple but pleasant village, its buildings made of wattle and daub.  The verdant hills, bounding with life and greenery, caught and held his attention.  Mist shrouded the morning, cool air t
ouched Garin’s skin and dampened his cheeks with a baptism of life.  It was such a vibrant contrast to the oppressive heat and bleak landscape of the deserts surrounding the Nile Delta. 

Ahead, Kirkoswald Castle stood like a stoic giant, lording over the
valley, and wearing the mantle of mist about its shoulders.  The castle remained ever watchful,
keeping East of Eden safe and secure.

The huge gates to the castle opened, allowing Garin to hear and see the people of the keep also cheering his return.  But
his heart dreaded one event awaiting him; an event even more difficult than attending his father’s memorial.  Garin’s betrothed, Alyna Salkeld, was now at Kirkoswald.

In a sennight, Garin would be married to a woman he hadn’t seen in twelve years, a woman
he had met only once at their betrothal...when he was fourteen and she only ten.

Sir Simon of Renwick, two years older than Garin and his best friend, nudged his destrier closer. “Such a troubled expression, my lord.  Does coming home not sit well with yo
u?”

“’
Tis not that,” Garin replied and flashed him a grin.  “I missed this place too much.”

“
Ah,” Simon answered with a knowing smile.  “’Tis the fate of matrimony that has you quaking like a squire.”

“
I am not quaking.”

Simon laughed, his dark eyes glitte
ring.  “Perhaps you would prefer fighting the infidel?”

“
Nay, I’ve had my fill of that.”  Garin took a deep breath and tried to loosen his jaw a bit.  “I just wonder what Alyna looks like.”  He remembered well the young lass who had laughed and played amon
g the flowers on the day of their betrothal.  Her long hair, black as raven’s feathers, tumbled down her back in rich waves.  Alyna’s smile had been bright and quick and her wonderful laugh filled Garin with warmth.  But her steel gray eyes had betrayed a
seriousness he never expected to see in one so young. 

Although vibrant with life and laughter, Alyna also had a willful streak and a temper as quick as lightning.  Garin started calling her
wildefyr
, an old Saxon word for lightning which infuriated Alyna
to no end.  He grinned at the memory.  Alyna had not been offensive in her behavior but Garin could not resist rankling her with the endearment.  On the day of their betrothal, he actually discovered himself admiring her spark.

“
She was a darling child,”
Simon said softly.

Garin glanced at him in surprise.  “Aye but I find myself wondering what sort of lady she has become.”  Her letters remained tucked safely in his pouch.  Garin had been fortunate to locate a young monk with the duty of carrying church mi
ssives from Egypt to England and back.  The monk had been kind enough to send and receive letters for Alyna and Garin.

Although the correspondence was unusual, especially considering the harsh battle zone Garin frequented, Alyna’s letters revealed a young
girl growing into womanhood.  They were witty and charming, a complete reflection of his
wildefyr
.  But they were also a welcome comfort in the midst of the terrible reality of war and death.

Within her letters, Alyna secreted a dried sprig of lavender.  A
reminder of the pleasant life Garin missed, a reminder of home, and his barony in East of Eden.  Although her letters had given Garin valuable insight as to the woman Alyna was becoming, he had no idea what truly awaited him at Kirkoswald.  Letters could
be carefully constructed - artful words could cloud the truth.  The question remained; who was Alyna?

“
No doubt your fears are unfounded,” Simon said gently.

Garin sighed.  “As always, you read me like a battle plan, my friend.”

Simon chuckled.

A cloud of
mosquitoes rose around Garin, buzzing in his face.  He batted at them in irritation.  “Glory,” he muttered.  “Is it just me or are the bugs worse this year?”

Simon also waved his hand around his face.  “They are worse.  Since we arrived in England weeks ag
o, all of us have mosquito bites.  I’ve heard some people speak of mild winters while we were gone.”

Garin smacked one that managed to land on his cheek.  “They’ve harassed us since we set foot on English soil.  It’s amazing but I think they can even bite
through chainmail.”

Simon chuckled and nodded toward the bailey looming before them as they ent
ered the barbican.  “A
group of women stand
with your mother.  I imagine one will be Alyna.”

They cleared the barbican and Garin’s gaze locked on th
e group of nobles standing at the base of the stairs.  His mother, delicate and regal as always, gave him a warm smile which he returned. 

Garin examined the other ladies curiously.  One with dark hair caught his eye and his heart dropped to his boots.  T
he thick locks he remembered as being a rich black had lightened to a mahogany.  The woman was small but rotund, her face pock-marked, with a double chin that rivaled Garin’s grandfather’s when he was alive.  Her mouth appeared pinched in tight disapproval
, her light blue eyes deep set and bleak.

Garin had to fight to keep from hauling his horse around and charging out the gate.

“
Alyna!” a
deep voice bellowed, silencing the rejoicing throng.

Garin’s head snapped around.  He recognized Alyna’s father instant
ly, standing at the far end of the bailey.  Geoff Salkeld’s attention focused away from the entourage.

Garin swallowed hard. 
Damnation, he hasn’t changed one whit...he still scares the hell out of me.

Alyna’s father was a giant and one of the barony’s f
inest knights.  Beneath the heavy brocade tunic was the powerful body of a warrior still in his prime.  Long black hair, fell in a mane about his shoulders with a splash of gray at the temples.

“
Alyna!”  Geoff roared again, his voice echoing with the power
of a battle cry.

Garin looked from the knight to the plump woman standing with his mother.  He could not help the sigh of relief that escaped him.

“
I’m sorry,
F
ather,” a soft, feminine voice called back.

Garin saw a young woman hurry into view
,
carrying a
filthy urchin on her hip. 

“
I fear Emily wedged herself into a crawlspace and I had a beastly time getting her out.”

Geoff tugged his hand through his hair, a sign of growing frustration.

Garin watched the woman approach, her fine blue dress soiled and to
rn.  Rich black hair tumbled over her shoulders like a maiden’s and he noted the inky cape was down to her knees.  She was taller than he expected with the grace and bearing of a swan. 

The woman spotted Garin and froze.  Her face paled considerably, high
lighting a
smudge of dirt on her cheek.  Steel gray eyes regarded him in amazement, matching the misty weather around them.  Her face was perfection with pronounced cheekbones and a slender jaw.  Her lips were wine red and her fine brows black like her hai
r.  Garin was certain he had never seen anyone so exquisite. 

“
Alyna?” h
e whispered, scarcely daring to hope that the little girl he remembered had grown into such a beautiful young lady. 

Simon sucked in his breath and looked at Garin archly.  “Well?”

“
She cannot be Alyna,” Garin replied, a smile tugging at his lips.  But he knew.  His little
wildefyr
stood before him in much the same fashion as when he had first seen her at the betrothal.

“
Emily,” Geoff said sternly.  “Go to your mother now.”

“
Unca
Geof
f, I’m sorry,” the filthy girl wailed.

“
Go.”

Alyna released the child, still staring at Garin, and slowly straightened her shoulders.  She made an effort to wipe the dirt from her dress and failed, but lifted her chin and approached.

Garin found his smile
growing.

Alyna stopped next to his horse and gave him a graceful curtsey.  “Your excellency,” she said, her voice dulcet.  “I pray forgive my bedraggled appearance.”

He chuckled softly.  “’Tis good to see my
wildefyr
.”

Her gray eyes sparked furiously and h
er face turned a beautiful shade of crimson.  But as she gazed at him, her indignation melted into a dazzling smile.  “Welcome home, Garin,” she whispered.

He slid off his stallion but a wave of dizziness assailed him as his feet hit the ground.  Garin clu
ng to the saddle, praying his vision would clear.  The wound across his chest, a deep slash from an Infidel’s sword, burned with agonizing intensity.  The pain stole Garin’s breath and tunneled his vision but he forced himself to suck in some air.  He refu
sed to collapse at the foot of his own stairs with his people and his betrothed watching.

“
Garin?”  Alyna’s fingers touched his mail covered arm.  The gentle scent of lavender reached him - just like the dried sprig she put in each letter.  He paused and i
nhaled deeply.  Garin saw concern in Alyna’s vibrant gray eyes and smiled to ease her worry.

“
I’m fine,” he said.  “I’m just tired.”

Simon approached and snorted.  “Exhausted and
half-starved
more like.  Take heart, my lord.  Tonight we shall fill our bell
ies with good food and fine wine.”

Garin offered his arm to Alyna, vowing he would not collapse and drag her to the ground with him.  He turned and met his mother who fair tackled him with a hug.  Garin sucked in his breath as his wound screamed and his vi
sion went black again but somehow he maintained his feet.

“
Welcome home, my son,” his mother said, her voice choked. 

Garin stepped back and caught his mother’s hand, pulling it to his lips.  “I missed you.”  He was surprised to see lines of age and grief
more prominent on her gentle features.  But he was even more surprised to see tears well in her eyes and spill down her cheeks.

Garin glanced again at his betrothed.  Alyna’s eyes widened as she gazed at him.  Garin wondered if she was shocked and appalle
d.  He had seen too much death as of late.  No doubt the ravages of battle wore heavily on his face and his body. 

He had earned his spurs at seventeen but his father would not allow him to participate in the barons’ rebellion against King John.  A hot-bl
ooded youth, Garin chafed against the enforced neutrality.  When word reached them of Pope Innocent’s Holy War, Garin and Simon had taken the Oath.  Shortly after arriving in the Holy Land, he had realized his mistake in the midst of carnage and death, but
the crusaders needed knights and Garin and Simon were two of the best. 

His mother stepped to the side.  “You remember Alyna’s father, Sir Geoff Salkeld.”