Feuding Hearts

Chapter 1

Aldere towered over the kneeling knight, every muscle stiff with fury. Only the hand of his brother on his arm stayed the sword in his own hand.

You miscalculated, Sir Phoenix, Baron Aldere Wyke said.

Cowering under that gaze, Sir Devyn Phoenix spoke but one word, Aye.

Encompassed in that one word, Aldere heard the younger man’s anger, disappointment and resignation. Yet he thought he heard something else as well. Hope. What could the man possibly be hopeful about? Did he not kneel before his sworn enemy upon the ground of his final defeat in battle? Could the young man possibly believe anything could sway Aldere from claiming the final Phoenix's life and ending the feud between their families? Aldere turned to his brother, his brow arched in question. Before the brothers could consider the issue further, the young knight spoke.

I am my sister’s only living relative, my Lord, Devyn said. As such, I beg your indulgence, and call upon your renowned honor. Take up her guardianship when I am dead.

Aldere’s brows shot up with surprise. Another Phoenix? And a daughter at that. The Wyke and Phoenix families had been feuding for more than 100 years. A Phoenix daughter married to a Wyke son could have ended the bloodshed ere now. If there were a Phoenix daughter, why would the family hide her away? Unless the sister were a ruse to keep the young knight alive.

Where is this sister? Aldere demanded.

She awaits my return at Phoenix Hall, my Lord, Devyn said. His voice, his posture and his eyes begged the larger man for mercy. She’ll be alone now.

Aldere spun on his heel and stalked several paces away from Devyn. Around him, the signs and sounds of battle assaulted Aldere. Men groaned and cried. Others lay silent and still. So much pain and suffering. So many families torn asunder with this feud and all along there had been a bloodless solution available. The fact the Phoenix family had chosen to fight rather than give up this daughter to end the feud weighed heavily on Aldere's heart. How many widows could have been saved the pain of losing their husbands if this one, insignificant woman had been given over to the Wykes in payment for the feud? Aldere shook his head. There likely wasn't a sister. Aldere knew that to save the lives of the Wyke men who had died on the battle fields, he would have given his sister in marriage to the Phoenix family, had he had a sister. Even through the din of suffering men, Aldere heard his brother, Farrell approach.

We don’t know there truly is a sister, Aldere, he said.

I realize that, brother, Aldere snapped. If there were a sister, marriage to her would end the feud. As head of the family, Aldere supposed the responsibility of marrying the wench fell to him. If she were real, of course.

The thought of marriage did not sit well with Aldere. Women often bored him after only a few moments of their worthless chatter. Binding himself purposefully and permanently to a simpering fool chaffed. The fact that the fool in question would be the child of a Phoenix, a family known for instability and infidelity in their women, made the prospect even less appealing. Should this supposed sister turn out to be anything like the harlot who had caused the feud, Aldere would feel obligated to kill her, starting the whole mess again should he choose to leave Devyn alive. If the sister turned out to be a ruse used by Devyn to escape the battle field and rejoin a waiting portion of his army, Aldere had one other option available to him. He could always kill the last living Phoenix and end the feud that way. Bringing about an end to the killing was paramount in Aldere’s mind and overshadowed all else. Marriage, distasteful as it might be, was at least preferable to the killing.

Besides, marrying this Phoenix daughter would keep the matchmaking mothers in the area away from his door. Aldere hated spending time with women of rank. Their silly, sycophantic mannerisms when he was present annoyed him to such an extent that choices for a suitable Lady Wyke were few. He had to admit, even to himself, it was time he settled down to the business of continuing the family name. At worst, he’d marry this chit, get her pregnant and then continue on with his life until the time came to sire another child for Wyke.

Aldere? Farrell called. We cannot dally with this. There are men to see to, preparations to be made, before night falls.

Aldere nodded. We’ll go with the Phoenix knight to his holding. If there is a sister, I’ll marry her.

Marry her? Farrell exclaimed. Are you certain that’s prudent, brother? Ye’ve never been much for spending time with ladies and now you with to marry our greatest enemy’s sister?

The feud must end, Farrell, Aldere said, sighing. Our family and our retainers will not continue dying for it. I’ll marry the Phoenix wench, if there is one. If not, we will kill the Phoenix knight. Either way, this feud ends tonight.

Farrell, nodded, stunned surprise still evident on his face. I’ll tell Cecil to prepare the men to return to Wyke Castle.

Aldere glanced back at Devyn. The knight knelt where Aldere had left him, the late morning sun glinting off his black hair and chain mail. Aldere suddenly wondered how they’d come to this place. Could a family feud nearly 100 years old really bring two families to the brink of extinction? After generations of fighting, warring and killing, both families were reduced to the men on this battlefield. And it had all been over a worthless woman.

Aldere shook his head in disgust. A woman, for God’s sake. A woman’s worth was no more than the dower land she brought to her husband and any vassals attached to that land. A woman certainly wasn’t worth the death of nearly every able-bodied Wyke male, including Aldere’s own father.

Farrell returned to Aldere's side. Cecil will pack the gear and meet us with the men at the midpoint in two days, brother.

Good, Aldere said. Let’s deal with Sir Phoenix and this mystery sister. Then we go home for good.

The brothers approached the kneeling knight. They were similar in appearance, though Aldere was certainly the more powerfully built of the two. Both men were blonde and blue-eyed and carried themselves with an air of superiority born of an innate skill on the battle field and a conviction that their family was in the right on this feud. The Phoenixes, of course, would disagree with this viewpoint.

Aldere saw Devyn look away as he and Farrell approached, attempting to hide his anger and despair in a deferential posture. Aldere was certain he knew what the knight was thinking. He knew that were he in the same position, his family responsibility would weigh heavily on his soul.

Phoenix, if you’ve lied, you’ll die in your own hall, Aldere said.

I’ve not lied, my Lord. My sister is awaiting my return at Phoenix Hall.

Aldere nodded and then turned to motion to his squire. The boy brought both Aldere and Farrell’s horses and held them as the men mounted. Devyn’s guard bound his hands in front of him and tossed the end of the rope to Aldere.

Cecil is in command, Aldere shouted over his shoulder as he led his bound captive from the battle field.

Chapter 2

Miss Cecilia, they come.

Cecilia Phoenix shivered, a chill running down her back and dread rising in her chest like the swelling of the tidal sea. Had Devyn finally defeated the Wykes? Was the feud finally at an end? She prayed fervently that such was the case. Her worst fear was the the Wykes would discover there was a living Phoenix daughter and demand she marry their lord to end the feud. How could she possibly bear marriage to that brutish family? They had slaughtered an innocent woman when her father had reneged on a portion of her dowry. Surely these were not the actions of honorable men.

Cecilia wasn’t averse to marriage at all. In fact, she prayed nightly for a suitable man to marry. Someone who would love her and give her children. So far her prayers had remained unanswered. The only man to ask for her hand was Lord Braden Fitzroy, a neighbor. The thought of him, of marriage to him, made Cecilia’s skin crawl. Shaking herself to shed her uneasy feelings, she put her embroidery aside.

How many return, Heartha?

Can’t tell, Miss. Don’t look like many, though.

Dear God, Cecilia thought. How many more women would be widowed today?

Knowing her brother was likely to return from the battle field today, Cecilia had dressed carefully that morning. She’d chosen a plain under-tunic and a warm surcoat bearing the family crest. Her belt, a simple braided ribbon, rode her narrow hips gracefully and lay at a jaunty angle. Her wimple covered her abundant chestnut hair, which she kept neat with a ribbon tied tightly at her nape.

Reaching the great hall, Cecilia noted Lord Fitzroy and his personal guard were gathered around the hearth fire. They stopped their conversation as she came close enough to hear.

Good day, Miss Cecilia, Lord Fitzroy said. Cecilia could feel his eyes devouring her and lingering on inappropriate areas of her body.

Lord Fitzroy, she said, dipping a shallow curtsey, I thought you’d be with my brother on the battle field. Would he not have benefited from your expertise?

Cecilia made a wide circle around the Baron and his men, heading toward the high board.

Your brother wanted the battle glory for himself, so I remained to look after you.

Cecilia shuddered to think how Lord Fitzroy intended to look after her. Turning, she caught Heartha’s shoulder as the servant hurried toward the kitchen.

Be sure there is wine and food ready, Heartha, she said. Best tell the cook to expect Lord Fitzroy and his men will be staying. I’ll set the high board.

The servant rushed to do her mistress’s bidding while Cecilia gathered the precious plates and cups used in the hall. Though high-born, Cecilia had been raised in Heartha’s care after the death of Lady Phoenix. It had been Heartha who had taught her to be self-sufficient. Cecilia liked doing things for herself and her brother and often did what other ladies of rank would consider to be beneath them.

Braden’s gaze devoured Cecilia as she worked. He’d waited with growing impatience for her to mature and reach a marriageable age. Now that time had come and he intended to make her his wife, to own her body and soul. He cared not that Devyn had already refused his suit. He knew with time Devyn would be so deeply indebted to him over this feud with the Wykes that the knight would gladly give up his sister in return for forgiveness of that debt.

He watched how Cecilia directed the servants and how they responded without question or hesitation. His thoughts filled with the orders he would give her and her responses to them. A lecherous smile settled on his lips, leaving little to the imagination about the track his thoughts had taken. She would be a Lady Fitzroy the family could be proud of in the hall. In the bedchamber, she would be his willing slave. Braden licked his lips and smiled as Cecilia turned to glance at him over her shoulder.

Cecilia could feel Lord Fitzroy’s eyes on her as she helped her servants set the high board. Stealing a glance at the man, she saw his smile and had to force her stomach to remain calm. Knowing she was the object of the lust she saw in his eyes made her want to retch.

She attempted to ignore Lord Fitzroy as she worked, but his face and his obvious lust kept intruding upon her thoughts. She distrusted the man and hated the hold he seemed to have over her brother. Thankfully, despite that hold, Devyn had refused Lord Fitzroy’s repugnant suit. Contemplating marriage to that man made her stomach revolt.

It truly frightened Cecilia to contemplate her fate had she and Devyn not been as close as they were. How often had a sister and daughter been sacrificed for the good of the family? Had Devyn and she not shared a special and close bond, would he have hesitated to trade her to Fitzroy in return for forgiveness of his debts?

Cecilia spread the white cloth carefully over the high board. She laid out the best silver knives and spoons and set each place with a goblet for wine. Thinking of her brother, his two commanders and herself, she set four places. Then, remembering Fitzroy, she set a fifth as far from her chair as possible. The other soldiers would eat at the lower tables where servants were even now setting trenchers and spoons.

The gate watch should have announced Devyn’s arrival by now, Cecilia thought, reaching to place the large salt cellar on the table at Devyn’s seat.

The door at the side of the great hall suddenly burst open. Cecilia’s head snapped up in time to see Lord Fitzroy drawing his weapon and standing firm with his personal guards. Two strange men strode through the open door, the larger of the two tugging impatiently on the rope bound to Devyn’s hands.

Aldere saw first a line of armed men, and then a small child standing near the high board, salt cellar poised over the table.

Drop your weapons, men. We are not here for battle. Yet. Aldere watched closely and noted that the leader motioned to his men to lower their weapons. Aldere began to wonder if he should have brought extra soldiers to the hall after all.

Where is this sister, Phoenix? Aldere bellowed.

Devyn, exhausted from his walk from the battle field, could only dimly search the hall for Cecilia. Aldere followed the knights gaze carefully, watching for signs of deception. Instead he was assaulted by the sudden sweetness of the voice coming from the child at the high board.

You needn’t shout, my Lord, she said. May I assume you are looking for me?

Devyn’s head swiveled swiftly toward the sound of the girl’s voice.

You must be the Right Honorable Lord Wyke.

Cecilia’s gaze locked with Aldere’s. Lightning seemed to arc between them. His bronze eyes captured her black ones and held them. Neither could look away. Tension mounted between them until Aldere tore his gaze away.

You’ve lied, Phoenix, Aldere said through gritted teeth. This chit is naught but a servant and a child.

Cecilia’s snort, decidedly unladylike, caught Aldere’s attention, bringing his gaze back to her unwillingly. Setting the salt cellar on the table, Cecilia came to stand before him, apparently not intimidated by his towering height or control of her brother’s fate.

We Phoenixes are not a family of liars, my Lord, she said. I am Mistress Cecilia Phoenix. Sir Devyn is my brother.

Aldere was speechless for a moment. He had thought her a child at a distance, but standing almost on his feet as she was, he saw she was young, but not definitely not a child. She overwhelmed him. She was small and young, yet her body had begun to develop. He noticed her budding breasts pressed against her surcoat. Her hair, which had fallen forward to drape over her right shoulder while she worked at the table, was a rich, chestnut, but Aldere was certain he saw red mixed with the brown as the early evening sunlight form the open door touched it. Her lips were full, sensual and begging to be silenced with a kiss. But it was her scent, a mixture of smoke from the central fire, soap, and heather that sent Aldere’s head to spinning. Never before had a mere woman affected him this way. Surely this was only lust, but what lust it was.

As you have guessed, sister, I was not successful.

Aldere caught the look Cecilia shot her brother. With a sardonic smile, Aldere handed the rope he held to his brother and reached for Cecilia’s hand.

Lord Aldere Wyke at your service, my Lady, he mocked her.

Cecilia snatched her hand from Aldere’s grasp and pulled it back as though to slap him. She must have thought better of it since she patted her wimple to cover her action, but Aldere’s grin proved to her she’d not been successful in hiding from him.

Will you eat, my Lords? she asked. Without waiting for an answer, Cecilia turned and walked away.

She’s a cold fish, brother, Farrell said. I don’t envy you.

Aldere barely heard his brother’s snide remarks. He was, instead, enthralled by the sway of Cecilia’s hips as she walked away from him. At the high board, she turned to face him.

Surely, my Lords, my brother’s good behavior can be guaranteed in his own hall. Just the laws of civility would demand it. Cecilia turned to Lord Fitzroy and said, Lord Fitzroy, will you send your guard to the courtyard so the Lords Wyke will feel confident in releasing my brother?

Aldere watched the man Cecilia had addressed as Fitzroy debate his chances of overcoming the Wykes. Each plot Fitzroy considered and discarded showed in his face. Finally, the man agreed and sent his guard out.

Watching the guard leave, Aldere nodded to Farrell who untied the rope from Devyn’s wrists The knight glared at the younger Wyke and rubbed his wrists to return circulation to them. His hands shook when he took the full goblet of wine offered by his sister.

Settling into the Lord’s chair, Aldere watched Cecilia direct servants and serve him and his brother as honored guests. Devyn’s trencher was also heaped with choice bits of venison and vegetables in creamed sauces, but Lord Fitzroy was left to the mercy of the servants. Aldere noticed how Cecilia avoided the man. He also saw that she was, despite her obvious dislike of her guests,