Wild Is My Love (5 page)

Her tone serious, Giselde refuted, “There are powers and secrets of which you know nothing, Gavin. But soon you will confront them and be compelled to accept them. If you believe in Good, then you must also believe in Evil. If there are gods, there must be devils. I have met and battled such dark forces many times, as you will. When they clash, which they will, forces such as you have never seen or fought before will be revealed.”

Gavin realized the woman firmly believed in such things, so he dropped the subject. “You hate Isobail, do you not?” he asked.

“Yea, she is aligned with Evil. She murdered Catriona and took her place. She must die. I know of her evil, past and present, that is why I am a threat to her.”

Gavin’s brows lifted. “How do you know this? Why would Prince Alric marry her? Surely you are wrong.”

Giselde shook her head vigorously, dislodging more gray hair and causing the loosened strands to shudder as if they had cold bodies of their own. Her voice shrill with emotion, she said, “I know many things about plants and spells, and her death was not a natural one. That is why I left the castle to live in hiding. If she knew I was nearby, Isobail would kill me. She has blinded Alric, perhaps enchanted him. Before Alysa was born, he brought Lord Caedmon’s widow into his castle and dallied with her secretly. And after Catriona’s death, Isobail traveled with him for years, then became his harlot until they wed. A man who selfishly betrays his wife, his child, his duty, and his honor, is unworthy of a crown or of life. Only Alysa, this land, and Britain concern us. He is doomed forever, as he should be.”

“Does your granddaughter know who you are? Does she know all this?”

“Nay, for the truth could endanger her. And I would have your word that you will not divulge this truth to her.”

“You have it,” Gavin replied.

“When all is right again,” Giselde continued, “I will tell her everything. Do you not hear my words with your mind and heart, son of Briac, and know they are true?”

Gavin reflected on the five kingdoms of Britain which Giselde claimed were in peril: Strathclyde, to the north, was ruled by King Cailean; Albany, to the northeast, was ruled by numerous chieftains, without a High
King over them, and had been tormented by fierce Vikings for many years; Logris, to the southeast and largest of all kingdoms, was ruled by Vortigern, and was a land with two chunks cut from its vulnerable belly on the southern coast and inhabited by savage Jutes; Cumbria, the kingdom ruled by his father, bordered all kingdoms and the sea; and Cambria, ruled by Bardwyn, was the owner of the territory of Damnonia, the southern peninsula of their large island.

The twenty-seven-year-old prince briefly mused on King Vortigern, one of the few warlords who had changed his rule and territory drastically after the Romans departed, but had kept his troubles and greed within his borders. Vortigern had used a Roman ploy by hiring foreign warriors to defend his land’s borders; he had allowed many shiploads of Jutes—aggressive and powerful warriors from Jutland—to settle in his kingdom and keep his lands safe from other marauding Vikings and the possible return of the Romans—a terrible mistake which he could not correct, for the Jutes had demanded land as their payment instead of money or jewels, more and more land, and Vortigern dared not refuse.

The Jute chieftain was a barbaric but clever Viking named Hengist, and he owned and ruled the southeastern tip of land between the Thames River and the Oceanus Britannicus.
*
His brother Horsa had been placed in control of another large portion of land on the southern coast of Logris, halfway between Hengist’s stronghold and the principality of Damnonia, an area that provided many openings to the sea for Hengist to bring in more warriors without Vortigern’s knowledge. All Britons had been shoved from Hengist’s domains, and according to rumors, the Jute chieftain’s greed was increasing rapidly. If he were allowed the opportunity
to stretch his boundaries by accepting a challenge from Isobail or by joining forces with her to take over Damnonia and Logris, there was no guessing what horrors lay ahead for Damnonia and the other four peaceful kingdoms. It was up to Gavin to uncover such a sinister plot and to prevent it.

As if reading Gavin’s mind, Giselde cautioned, “We must be careful with our moves until we know who we can trust. You must tell no one, no one, Hawk of Cumbria, who you are or why you are here. How will you mask your perilous search for the truth?”

Gavin repeated the tale he had told the girl by the stream, his explanation refreshing her enchanting vision in his mind. He was tempted to inquire about her, but realized he should not be concerned with personal matters at this time. “It is common for knights errant to ride about in other lands seeking adventures or glory or the chance to right wrongs, or for restless warriors to seek a little mischief and fun and money,” he said. “Hopefully such actions will throw us into contact with those who terrorize this land.

“But I must be careful,” Gavin added. “Only six men ride with me, though they are strong and full of valor and would follow me to the death. We will join a band of raiders and convince them there is no money or glory to be found in our old way of living, that we have joined them because we are weary of being poor and unknown. They will never suspect that we are not from Strathclyde, as we will claim. My men will call me Gavin Hawk, as I will call them by their first names. This way we will not expose ourselves with name slips. Thus will we gain the raiders’ trust, learn who has hired them and their real purpose. Whether it be plundering or treachery, we will defeat them.”

Laughter spilled from Giselde’s lips. “Yea, it is a clever plan. It will close their eyes to your mission.
There is no surer way to unmask them but to join them.”

Giselde was pleased with Gavin’s cunning. If he succeeded, his deed would become legend. Exhilaration flooded her body at the thought of being part of victorious history. Not since leaving Albany years ago had the flames of warriors’ fires burned so fiercely within her, or caused her heart to ache with longing for the old days and lost loves. Her Celtic father Connal and her Viking husband Rurik had taught her much about fighting strategy, knowledge she had tried to teach Alysa over the years, cleverly under the guise of games, as dear Piaras had done at the castle until Isobail halted him.

“Walk slowly and carefully, Gavin,” Giselde warned, “or our enemies will guess your plans. Remember that Trahern—the Sheriff of Damnonia—is fiercely loyal to Isobail, and only Sir Piaras and Sir Beag can be trusted at Malvern Castle. Soon we will see where the lords stand. But Alric is little more than a vanishing mist. He cannot hurt you or help you. Never trust him, Gavin.”

“What of Alysa, your granddaughter?”

“If you can, stay clear of her. Alysa must not be endangered by our plans. To draw her into them would provoke Isobail’s fury against her.”

“That is wise, Giselde. Since we cannot allow her to aid us, she would not understand our actions. If possible, I will make certain our paths do not cross.” Gavin arose and stretched his tired body. “I must return to my camp and speak with my men. I will come to you every six days, unless I ride far away to carry out our plan. If I do so, I will try to get word to you before I leave. When I find the safest place to camp, I will return and tell you its location. But we must be careful when we meet, or we will expose our alliance.” Gavin moved toward the door.

“Wait,” Giselde called after him. She went to her work area and withdrew a small stone that had been polished and attached to a leather thong. Handing it to Gavin, she cautioned, “Wear this at all times. Never remove it, even to bathe. If you lose it or it is torn from your neck during a fight, as swiftly as you can, return to me to obtain another one.”

Gavin stared at the necklace in his hand and asked, “What is it?”

Giselde’s gnarled fingers reverently reached out to stroke the talisman which had come from a crushed Druid Stone, a megalith sarsen used by Celtic Druids during sacrosanct rituals. She explained, “It is a sacred amulet which will guard you. Long ago it was blessed by Good forces. It cannot protect you from injury or death, but it will keep your head clear of spells.”

Gavin smiled indulgently.

“I beg you to wear it always,” the old woman urged. “Even though you do not believe in the Old Ways, do this for me.”

Gavin saw how distressed the woman was, and deciding it could do no harm to appease her, slipped it over his head and rested it against the leather shield that covered a symbol of death: a royal tattoo in blue. Royal and military tattooing was a custom started in his lands by the Romans, its dye coming from the woad of wild cabbage. When he was fighting or far from his homeland, he always wore garments over his heart so it could not be seen, unless he wished it so.

Giselde smiled happily when the young prince complied, then bid him farewell and good luck. As with Alysa, she watched his departure until the green forest swallowed him. Then the old woman went to her work bench and began mixing potions to enchant Gavin. During Alysa’s visit earlier that morning, Giselde had sneaked strands of brown hair from Alysa’s clothing which she had used for her granddaughter’s spell, a
binding spell to become effective the first time Alysa slept after it was cast. During Gavin’s visit, Giselde had furtively taken honey-colored hairs from his head for the same purpose.

As she labored skillfully with the intricate arts of enchantment, she murmured, “When next you sleep, Prince Gavin of Cumbria, you will seek your heart’s desire and she will come to you with the face and form of Alysa Malvern. Until you meet, Alysa will fill your dreams each night and your heart each day. Once you have gazed upon her, you will be captivated by her. When next you sleep, you will be ensnared by love and desire for only her.”

Giselde dropped three rose petals into the liquid heating in her cruse. When delicate smoke began to rise, she added the tawny strands of Gavin’s hair. She closed her eyes and murmured, “By all of the powers within and without me, I command you to bind Gavin Crisdean’s heart and life with Alysa Malvern’s.” She mixed this potion with the one from Alysa’s and stirred them together gently. “Let no woman claim Gavin’s heart and eye save Princess Alysa Malvern. Let no man claim Alysa’s heart and eye save the Hawk of Cumbria.”

“It is dangerous to intervene in the fates of others, Giselde. She will be unable to resist this man to whom you have bound her heart and soul. I did not reveal my secrets to you so you could play games with others’ lives.”

Giselde turned on her stool as a tall, bearded man lowered the tapestry that concealed the hidden back door. She gazed at Trosdan, who had been her teacher long ago, and her teacher here in Damnonia since she had summoned him from Albany two years ago. At sixty-nine, Trosdan’s hair was a blend of black and gray, yet his full beard was snowy white. His tall slim body possessed an air of dignity and grace, and Giselde could feel the power that flowed from him. His sky-blue eyes
seemed to pierce flesh and bone, as if they could see into a person’s mind and heart, or into one’s very soul. Few men knew the secrets that Trosdan had mastered, yet he used them wisely and sparingly, for he recognized their hidden dangers. Trosdan was one of a dying breed of mystical and magical Druids, who had been outlawed by the Romans long ago but still practiced their beliefs secretly.

“You heard all?” she asked.

He nodded as he took a seat at the table. The Druid master pulled a cloth bag from his long tunic and shook it gently before spilling small, square rocks upon her table, runes from the same sandstone as Gavin’s amulet. “Did you selfishly bind Alysa’s heart to the Hawk of Cumbria and his to hers to save her from Moran until your victory?” Trosdan asked softly.

Giselde nodded and explained, “With Prince Gavin’s protection added to yours, Alysa will be safe from all harm.”

Trosdan warned, “Be wary of revenge, Giselde, it is a dangerous weapon. Once the forces of your magic begin to fill the air, Earnon will sense them and seek to stop you. He is totally loyal to Isobail. She will order your death and Alysa’s torment, and her followers will seek to obey her.”

Giselde argued, “Long ago many deadly secrets invaded our lives, Trosdan, but now I have you to help me. Until victory is won, your
fith-fath
spell will protect Alysa from all harm, for your powers are great and no Evil can pierce a
fith-fath
cloak. You taught me that a powerful spell can be used only once, so I know the peril I face.’ I know you cannot cast a protective aura around both of us, but it is more important for Alysa to survive than me. But if I fail…”

Trosdan shook his head. “I can do only that which is good and right. Expect no more of me, Giselde. If we are exposed, we will both die. Have you forgotten
that my cloaking spell protects her only from death, not from all harm?”

“That is why I needed Gavin’s help and bound him to Alysa.”

“What if the Hawk of Cumbria is pledged to another in his land? And what happens to them when their binding spell is broken at your death? I urge you to remove it now, before they sleep and it works its magic on them.”

“I had to do it, Trosdan; I had no choice. It is too late to take another path. Alysa needs Gavin Crisdean.”

The master Druid stared intently at the mystical symbols carved upon the smooth surfaces of the runes. “Yea, I know,” he murmured, but did not reveal what he saw to Giselde. He would remain silent about the lovers’ first meeting, which occurred before Gavin’s visit to this hut, for it was too late to free Alysa from bewitchment, and it would soon be too late to free Gavin.

Trosdan, a Viking by birth and an Albanian Briton by choice, said, “As a young man, when I came to this isle with Rurik, my life was changed by a Druid master and your family. I still believe many of the things I was taught in my old land, but I have learned so much more in yours about the secrets of nature, as did your mother Astrid. You have learned much, too, Giselde, but you must use such knowledge and skills carefully.

“For years I feared Rurik’s Viking tribe would learn about your survival and Alysa’s birth, but I see no imminent threat to either of you from them. Alysa is the last Viking queen, my queen, so I owe her my fealty and love. I wish she did not have to suffer so deeply before all is set right once more.”