Kathleen Kirkwood & Anita Gordon - Heart series (29 page)

Ingered and Ashild lingered there. What was it about the sisters that reminded her of two vipers, lying in wait in the day’s full sun? Ailinn wondered.

As she crossed the courtyard with
Lyting, Ingered and Ashild slipped to his opposite side and engaged him in conversation. Ailinn rolled her eyes when the sisters continued in their company, monopolizing Lyting’s attention.

As they entered another shaded street, fresh concerns intruded on Ailinn
’s thoughts. In the last days, Arnór’s daughters had found new ways to annoy and beset her. At the same time they had renewed their fawnings over Lyting. What emboldened them remained unclear.

Since Saint Gregory
’s Island, ‘twas obvious Lyting wished for his kinsmen to think he and she shared their bed each night, intimately — that she was his consort. She assumed, for his kinsmen’s sake, that he had dispelled any impression he would enter the monastery. Could it be, she wondered, that the clever sisters suspected the truth — that Lyting kept himself from her, and that she remained an untried virgin?

If they
were familiar with fleshly intimacies themselves, then mayhap her innocence was plain to see. She wouldn’t possess the glow of a woman who had known a man in the carnal sense. Doubtless, such things would be reflected in a woman’s eyes and countenance, in the very way she looked upon her lover.

Mayhap
the women believed Lyting found her lacking or displeasing in some wise and hoped he would set her aside. On the other hand, it might not matter. The Norse were accustomed to their men keeping more than one woman to warm their bed, be they slaves, concubines, or wives.

The burning in Ailinn
’s legs reminded her that they were climbing again. Just as they emerged from the street onto another small, sun-filled square, the incline leveled off. Here, a red-marble fountain stood at the center, surrounded by matching benches and waxy-green shrubs. Statuary marked each of the courtyard’s four corners, backed by stately spires of black cypresses, reaching to immense heights.

Leaving the square, they entered a pleasant avenue, wider and brighter than the first two, bustling with carts and people. Fine homes, only two and three stories high,
lined the street, their fronts faced with either brick, stucco, or sometimes marble. On the upper level, many contained windows set with colored glass.

Another square followed, grander than the last, with flowers and bronze statuary and plump golden pigeons pecking about the fountain. An imposing church occupied the corner of the next street, its heavy stonework interrupted by shallow niches, patterned brickwork, and a multitude of windows.

Continuing on, they passed more magnificent dwellings, ofttimes interspersed with lesser ones and having no particular order — some no more than hovels, others the multistoried tenements.

“
That must be the Aqueduct of Valens.” Lyting pointed off to the right. “The Mesê should lay just to the other side of it.”

Ailinn followed Lyting
’s arm to discover what appeared to be two arched bridges, standing one atop the other and towering above the city. She tilted her head, perplexed.

“
Why do the Byzantines build a road so high over the land? Do their armies use it?”

Lyting
’s brow dipped, but he quickly replaced his quizzical look with a gentle smile. “ ‘Tis not a roadway. The aqueduct supplies fresh water to the city, a Roman device. Have you no aqueducts in Ireland? I thought the Romans raised them throughout all the reaches of their empire.”

She shook her head.
“Their aggressions did not extend so far. They confined their plunderings to England and did not cross the Irish Sea. Thanks to the Almighty for that. At least, we were spared
their
offenses.”

Too late, she realized the double inference of her words and the bitterness that had crept into the last of them. She dropped her gaze away, unable to meet his eyes.

“The sorrows of Munster bide ever in my heart — the attack of the Danes, all those lost, enslaved, and lost again. I shall never forget the miseries the Norsemen visited upon my people. Never.” She shook her head sadly.

Lyting held his silence. When she dared looked to him, she found his beautiful blue eyes contemplating her, their depths grayed with thought and concern.

“You have every right to despise my kinsmen, especially those of Danmark. Would that I could roll back time itself and set that day aright. Unhappily, yesterday is no longer ours.”

He
looked to the distance, once more silent, turning his thoughts. Ailinn felt his frustration as he slowly expelled a breath and folded his feelings deep within.

“
Come,” he said quietly. “Let us partake of the day that has been given us. ‘Tis all that is truly ours.”

Lyting
lifted his hand to usher her forward, then dropped it away as though believing she would not wish him to touch her, for he, himself, was a Dane.

Ai
linn regretted the pall she’d thrown over the light mood they had shared until then. Unhappily, Ingered and Ashild, who now moved ahead, had noted the exchange.

Side by side, Ailinn and Lyting proceeded along the street without touching, without speaking, coming at last
to the grand boulevard, the Mesê.

»«

Wonderment flooded Ailinn as she and Lyting stepped onto the wide, stone-paved avenue with what seemed the rest of humanity.

Marble colonnades stretched in either direction, lining the boulevard and sheltering the stalls of artisans, tradesmen, and moneyers whose tables were heaped with goods and spread with coin.

Following Arnór’s lead, she and Lyting moved along the edges of the crowd, diverting when necessary around street magicians and acrobats, who performed their feats and bedazzled spectators for what favors they might gain. Vendors barked their wares, proffering everything from sandals, soaps, and mare’s milk, to costly enamel brooches and embroideries worked with silver and gold.

Arnór
bid them on, crossing the avenue at an angle and heading toward a great canopy erected on the opposite side. The Byzantine official tracked after him, as did Jorunn, their daughters, and a half-dozen members of the Norse convoy.

“
What has become of the others?” Ailinn called to Lyting as they worked their way through the congestion of the street, realizing of a sudden how greatly their numbers had diminished.

“
They separated into smaller groups during our walk from the harbor.” Lyting caught her by the arm and drew her back as a litter passed. “ ‘Tis my guess their interests led them elsewhere along the Mesê. This is but a small portion of the boulevard. It stretches nearly the entire length of the peninsula, from the Sacred Palace to the land walls, branching at one point into two avenues.”

They paused for the passage of several nobles on white horses and a cart filled with furniture.

“Did you notice our armed escort — Byzantine soldiers — on the fringes of the crowd who were following us?”

Ailinn
’s eyes widened and whisked her glance about.

“
‘Tis all right. They have withdrawn now, no doubt to trail after our men, wherever they wander, and we will see naught of any of them until when we reassemble at the Gate of the Drungarii.”

As Lyting finished speaking, Ailinn glanced toward the side of the street. Her eyes widened at the sight of an ungainly creature there. It stood chest high to its master and was ponderous in size with a wrinkly gray hide, large ears, and an overlong snout. For all its oddity, it possessed a sweetness about its face, and Ailinn believed it to be a babe
among its kind.

“
Oh, Lyting, look!” She started forward, pointing.

The clacking of hooves and racket of metal wheels on stone assaulted her ears. Lyting
’s arms swept around her, hauling her back and catching her up, off her feet as a carriage clattered past.

Startled by the vehicle and its nearness, Ailinn seized hold of Lyting, wrapping her arms tightly about his neck. The pounding of her heart in her ears replaced the din of the carriage as she realized how close she had come to being trampled.

“Saints’ breath, Ailinn!” Lyting gripped her no less fiercely than she did him. “We did not survive the perils of the voyage to lose you beneath a carriage wheel.”

The words poured from him with passion, yet they carried neither anger nor reproach. Ailinn heard in them naught but his staggering concern. Her
gaze drew to Lyting’s. She gasped for the intensity she discovered in his eyes, and for the alarm that lay naked in their depths.

The s
hadows that had lingered between them since the aqueduct vanished. Once more, the special closeness and oneness of spirit they’d shared earlier returned, flowing back and enveloping them as a warm tide does the shore. Joy stole through Ailinn, sweet and silent.

“
Have a care,
elskan mín
. You nearly stopped my heart.” Lyting relaxed his grasp of her, breathing more easily, but made no effort to set her down. He smiled in earnest. “I can hardly return you to your people with a wheel mark down your front.”

Ailinn laughed at his jest, her eyes shining upon him.

The roadway thinned before them, clearing of carts and horsemen. Standing to the other side, the Byzantine official waited with spear and shield in hand. Impatience lined his features. Jorunn stood beside him, bearing a similar look which darkened at the sight of Ailinn in Lyting’s arms.

“
I see we are missed,” Lyting commented dryly as he started forward, carrying Ailinn.

Joining Jorunn and the official, Lyting set her to her feet. As he began to conduct her forward, to the canopied area where the others waited, Ailinn glanced along the street, wondering what had become of the curious creature she had seen there. To her amazement and delight, she found the owner leading it directly toward them.

“Oh, Lyting, look!” she exclaimed, gesturing to the incredible animal as it approached with a swaying, ambling sort of walk.

Surprise broke over Lyting
’s features. “Is
that
what claimed your attention?” He smiled at the wrinkled, gray beast utterly fascinated.

Arnór
came behind, bearing cups of wine. Seeing the animal, he waited and advised Lyting cheerfully in Norse.

“
Arnór says ‘tis a young elephant, and that there are many such wonders in Constantinople.”

“
I cannot imagine anything more wondrous, or strange, than this little fellow,” Ailinn avowed, wholly enthralled.

Seeing their interest, the owner indicated they could touch the animal. Ailinn gingerly patted the animal
’s head, which proved dry and possessed a sprinkling of coarse hairs. Lyting stroked the little elephant’s jaw and the top of its amazing nose, which seemed to please the animal.

Several long minutes later the owner prodded the animal forward, and they moved off at an unhurried gait.

Arnór
cleared his throat, then seized the moment to give over his offering of wine and speak with Lyting. Even as he did, he motioned them to step beneath the great canopy. Ailinn saw now that it overspread an enormous market.

“
A moment,
elskan mín
.” Lyting touched her arm, gaining her attention. “I must speak with our escort.” He indicated the Byzantine official with a meaningful glance, then withdrew. Arnór accompanied Lyting to assist him in communicating with the man.

While Lyting and
Arnór occupied the eunuch, Ailinn moved along the rows of tables where Jorunn, Ingered, Ashild, and those Norsemen remaining in their group were already inspecting the wares.

Never had Ailinn seen such a diversity of goods gathered in one place. One side appeared devoted to basic provisions and foodstuffs
— everything from flour, butter, oil, fruits, and cheeses, to lamps, string nets, collections of baskets, stacks of fine quality pottery, and more. The other side contained row upon row of luxury items — exotic spices, scented woods, carved ivories, perfumed candles, brilliant enamels, gems, and myriad religious articles that included beads, vials of holy water, and painted icons, gilded with gold.

Stepping to the edge of the tent, Ailinn gazed out over the boulevard and absorbed its colorful sights and sounds. There, Byzantines clothed in fine silks, glinting with gems, mingled with foreigners in fanciful attire. Litters and carriages passed, lavishly painted and gilded with gold.
‘Twas a most glorious place, Ailinn thought. A portion of Heaven on earth.

Her mother
’s words played through her thoughts.
“Sometimes the darkness holds the light.”

Had she not been delivered from the darkness of captivity?
Ailinn reflected. Surely, this was the light. If she truly was free, as Lyting said, mayhap she would choose to stay here, in Constantinople, and begin her life anew.

But even as Ailinn considered the possibility, she felt a twinge deep inside. Lyting would not stay in Byzantium. He would return West. To Francia. To Corbie. Whenever, wherever they parted
— whether upon the Golden Horn or the shores of Eire — he would take his own warmth and light and leave a hollowness within her heart.