Alaina cautiously ventured further into the room, inspecting her surroundings to ensure she was alone. A breath of relief escaped her lips as she embraced the fleeting solace of privacy. Approaching the bed, her gaze fell upon a dress laid out for her, markedly simpler than the fanciful attire she donned in Hann Aisle. The elegant cream-coloured, off-the-shoulder garment featured sumptuously soft, lightweight fabric, subtly embellished with gold trim around the collar, arm sleeves, and hem. Tracing her fingers along the delicate edges, she admired its beauty.
Alaina recognised the dress as distinctly different from those customary in the Western Kingdom. Her memory of the detailed illustrations in her history and culture books confirmed its origin: a typical style reserved for northern women of distinction, such as daughters or wives of tribal leaders.
Alaina stole another glance at the door, ensuring it remained closed. Apprehensive that an intruder might enter and exploit her vulnerability, she hesitated, but the repulsive scent of blood that clung to her skin spurred her into action. She stripped off the bloodstained tunic and trousers, leaving them in a dishevelled heap on the floor. Retrieving a clean white robe from the stand, she placed it on a chair beside the bath.
Testing the water with her fingertips, she found the temperature just right. Alaina carefully stepped into the tub, immersed herself, and released her hair from its confines, letting the water cleanse her auburn tresses of dirt and dried blood. The heat soothed her tired muscles and refreshed her spirit. Using her fingers as a makeshift comb, she ran them through her tangled locks to straighten them.
Her thoughts swirled with unanswered questions: Why did they know her? How did they know her? Who was Gareth? How had they taken over the castle so effortlessly? Each inquiry begot countless others. Snapping back to the present, Alaina recalled the need for haste lest her captor outside lose patience. Climbing out of the bath, she shuddered at the cold air that greeted her dripping form, immediately donning the robe and wrapping it tightly around herself. Despite the lit fireplace, the room's chill persisted, prompting her to rub her arms for warmth.
After putting on the undergarments and the dress, she admired how it fit snugly against her curves without the constriction of a corset. Lightweight and airy, the gown fell gracefully to her ankles. Alaina slipped on her shoes and approached the mirror, where she brushed her hair. The dressing table bore no ribbons or ties, so she left her tresses loose. The rich auburn of her locks glowed brightly, further enhancing her appearance, now free from the knots and tangles that once ensnared her hair. Once she felt like she looked presentable, she went to the door and knocked.
"I am ready," she called out. The door opened, and her captor stood in front of her. He looked at her up and down, he did not smile, but he did not look displeased either.
"Come" was all he said and walked up the corridor. Alaina padded behind him, trying to keep up with his strides. He looked like he was in a hurry, and she could not understand why. She followed him down another few flights of stairs, trying as hard as possible to remember her former home. Unfortunately, nothing about this place seemed familiar in the slightest.
Upon arriving at the great hall, Alaina noted that its grandeur paled in comparison to Hann Aisle castle. Sturdy wooden beams lined the hall's ceiling, and the walls were constructed of grey bricks. The only vibrancy within the space came from the tapestries elegantly draped around each column. The windows, made of thick glass rather than delicate stained panes, seemed designed to offer extra insulation during frigid winters. Large black braziers swayed from the ceiling, casting a warm orange light throughout the hall.
A raised platform at the room's centre showcased three intricately crafted chairs. Upon the central, most imposing seat, a towering barbarian held court. He appeared younger than those she had encountered so far, sporting long braids in both his hair and beard. In contrast to the others, his face was free of black paint and clean, despite his clothing and armour bearing signs of battle wear.
The only occupants of the room were Alaina, the barbarian who had escorted her, and the one seated upon the platform. Feeling exposed and vulnerable, she clutched her dress tightly. Her escort nudged her forward, causing her to stumble slightly.
"Be gentle, Einar," boomed the man sitting on the chair. So, her escort's name was Einar. It was a relatively common Northern name. Einar grunted in response.
"Come closer, Alaina. I will not harm you", he continued. To Alaina's surprise, his voice came across as gentle, dispelling the fear that had enveloped her. An inexplicable sense of familiarity washed over her, as though she knew him somehow. Her advance was cautious yet resolute, her gaze locked on his. His eyes seemed to smoulder as a small, genuine smile graced his lips, warm and welcoming.
When she arrived at the foot of the platform, Alaina hesitated, unsure of the proper etiquette, obscure as it was to her, when it came to the customs of northern men. Tentatively, she curtsied. The man on the chair responded with a low, hearty laugh, exuding an unexpected warmth that she had not anticipated.
"There is no need for those courtesies here", he smiled. "You never need bow to me". As he rose from the chair, Alaina took him in.
He possessed the towering stature and imposing build reminiscent of the legendary northern warriors she had read about in books, his sculpted physique both a testament to his strength and an alluring sight. His striking features bore an enchanting, statuesque quality, softened only by the captivating charm of his full lips and steady, yet gentle gaze. His eyes, a captivating shade of azure, held depths of loyalty, courage, and hints of beguiling mischief.
A golden cascade of sun-kissed tresses was pulled back from his face, intricately braided into a warrior's style of both elegance and practicality. Strands of honey, cream, and sunlight interlaced in a stunning tapestry, echoing the fierce beauty of the man who bore them.
His beard, equally magnificent, was exquisitely braided to accentuate his chiselled jaw and complement the rugged masculinity of his visage. The braids in his beard spoke not only of his prowess on the battlefield but also of the artful finesse with which he balanced his duty and desire.
He was a fusion of wild abandon and undauntable spirit, an enchanting force that emanated raw power and sensuality. To behold him was to behold a tempest of passion, an all-consuming storm poised on the brink of gentle touch and fierce embrace.
Alaina realised she was staring at him, which sent an involuntary blush to her cheeks, causing her to look down in embarrassment. How could she find this invader attractive? Her heart hammered within her chest, a whirlwind of emotions swirling inside her.
"You must be Gareth," she said quietly. She noticed that he flinched when she mentioned his name. He circled her, giving her a respectful distance, but she still felt embarrassed that he was inspecting her.
"You know who I am?" he asked, stopping before her. His face showed no emotion, but his voice contained no anger.
"Your men mentioned your name," she replied. He stared down at her, making her feel small.
"I trust my men have been treating you well?" He shot Einar a glance. Alaina nodded, unsure of what else to say. Einar frightened her; she would hate to say something that would cause Einar to hurt her.
"May I touch your hair?" he asked; the respectfulness of his question shocked her.
"Yes," she breathed; it was almost a whisper. He extended a powerful, muscular arm, his calloused fingers gently caressing her auburn tresses as if they were delicate strands of silk. The rugged hand, undoubtedly shaped by countless battles, moved with a remarkably tender finesse, enveloping her in a sense of comfort that seemed to defy the very essence of this hardened warrior. A loud thud interrupted him, and he looked up at the door, retracting his hand. Alaina turned behind to the cause of the sound.
"Durerinn er he!" yelled Einar. Two giant barbarians walked in, pulling along their prisoner with a thick rope. When they parted ways, Alaina saw that it was her father who was bound. Her face paled, seeing her once confident father in such a defenceless state.
"Papa!" she yelled, running over to him. The two barbarians who held him captive blocked her way. She turned to look at Gareth, her eyes pleading to let her through.
"Let her pass!" Gareth instructed with a wave of his hand. Without waiting for them to move out of the way, she pushed between them and held her father's face in her hands.
"Papa! Are you all right?" she cried, tears welling in her eyes. He looked at her and nodded, his face stained with blood. "Are you hurt?" she continued.
"Only my pride," he smiled, leaning against her soft palms. She searched her father's face, her eyes darting to his body to check for any injuries. She saw no significant injuries, but his clothing was stained with blood that she hoped was not his.
"Help me up," he said quietly, grunting as she supported him off his knees. He stared hard at Gareth, his eyes searching him.
"Gareth…" he grunted, acknowledging the leader.
"Rainald," Gareth replied, nodding at him. Alaina was stunned at the lack of decorum between the two men. But more importantly, how did he know her father? She had so many questions, what did her father know that she did not?
"Congratulations on your successful invasion of the castle, though I do not understand how you breached with such ease," her father said sarcastically, looking at the unruly barbarian men who dragged him into the great hall. Gareth only smiled in response; his smile was so warm that it made Alaina blush.
"Untie the prisoner!" Gareth instructed. "We need to show our hosts hospitality." His men untied Rainald.
"Hospitality?" spat Rainald, snorting in response. Alaina gripped his arm, warning him not to take their invaders' niceness for granted.
"You would be glad to know that it was not an easy feat. Your men put up quite a fight." grinned Gareth. "But rest assured that the wounded are being taken care of in the dungeons. We did not kill unnecessarily, although there were some casualties." Alaina noted that his voice was honest. She almost felt at ease.
"I did not come here to take over your kingdom. I only came here to claim what should belong to me," Gareth continued, looking at Alaina. She shuddered at his gaze, although she was confused. Rainald saw his exchange of glances with his daughter, his face contorted into an angry scowl.
"She does not belong to you! You were supposed to be dead!" Rainald spat out with such aggression that Alaina felt droplets of his spittle land on her face. She turned back to her father, her eyes seeking answers.
"She will be" Gareth smiled again. Hearing the confidence in his voice when he made that statement sent a jolt of electricity through her spine. A warm gurgling started in her stomach, causing her to hold her stomach instinctively. She did not understand anything going on, and no one gave her any answers. She collected every ounce of confidence she had and stood up straight.
"Can someone explain what on earth is going on?" she yelled, looking back and forth between her father and Gareth. She even turned to look at Einar, who did not even flinch.
"You will understand soon, Alaina," Gareth replied gently. As his strong fingers delicately grazed her cheek, her skin flushed and burned under the unexpected warmth of his touch. What was this unfamiliar sensation? she wondered. Her heart raced, and her stomach fluttered. Why did she feel so inexplicably connected to Gareth? She dismissed the thought with a shake of her head, chastising herself for harbouring such feelings for someone who had encroached upon her home.
Emotions like these were uncharted territory for her, and she had never felt drawn to anyone before. After all, her only interaction with a man had been with Prince Sanson, a man she wholeheartedly despised. Thus, the conflicting emotions stirred by Gareth left her perplexed, her heart's desire tantalizingly pulling her towards that which her mind so vehemently resisted.
"Where's the Prince?" she inquired as if the memory of his existence had just dawned on her. Gareth's expression faltered, his countenance betraying a fleeting twinge of jealousy that she could mention another man. Composing himself, he cleared his throat and steadied his features.
"He is safe, confined to the dungeon," Gareth replied, his jaw tense with mild irritation. "He, however, did not put up much of a fight," a slow, mirthful chuckle filled the room. Upon hearing this, a wave of relief washed over Alaina. Her concerns, rooted more in the King's potential wrath should he discover his only son had been harmed, abated for now.
"His safety pleases you, Alaina?" he asked, searching her face for a reaction. She blinked, opening her mouth as if to say something, but she knew not the words to say. Her lack of response confused Gareth, but he did not press further.
"So, what are your terms?" her father's agitated voice interrupted her thoughts. "Gold? Land? Revenge?"
Gareth smiled; he raised his arms, motioning to his men in the room.
"How rude are we not to welcome our hosts from their long journey? Let us prepare a feast. We shall talk more after our bellies are filled." The men at the door summoned the servants, who rushed off to prepare a spread for dinner.
"Rainald, Jorha will escort you to your chambers to change and rest." He looked at Alaina, "You are free to either return to your chambers or stay here. The choice is yours. Or perhaps you wish to visit your betrothed in the dungeon?" The tone was icy, just like the blue of his eyes. Alaina gulped, looking at her father leaving the room with his escort.
"I wish to check on the prince's safety," she said, not meeting his eyes.
"As you wish." He turned around, his hand gripping the axe on his belt so tightly that his knuckles turned white. "Einar, escort Alaina to the dungeons to visit her beloved."
Alaina could not understand the iciness of his tone, but she looked towards Einar, who gestured for her to follow him. Silently, she followed behind him, looking back only once to see Gareth sitting on the throne with a look of disdain on his face.
Once Alaina and Einar had left, Gareth found himself alone with his thoughts. He hadn't anticipated that seeing Alaina after all these years would rekindle the flames of passion lingering within him—flames that had ignited since they were children. Back then, it seemed like an innocent yearning for a girl he could never hope to possess. How could a highborn noblewoman ever fall for a lowborn stablekeeper's son? He had always deemed himself undeserving of her attention and affection during their youth. Yet, Alaina had been a constant presence, her fiery red hair bounding towards the stables each afternoon, her melodious voice like a captivating sonata when she spoke his name. An unmistakable sensation stirred within him, like restive knots in his stomach that refused to stay still. His heart would race, and an irrepressible grin would light up his face like a lovestruck youth.
Despite the passage of time, his feelings for Alaina remained undiminished. He had believed that seeing her once more would make him realize his longing had been nothing more than a fleeting childhood fantasy, something he could laugh off as naive infatuation. But reality proved quite the contrary.
The instant Alaina entered the room, looking vulnerable and disoriented, his buried emotions were unleashed with the ferocity of an avalanche, confirming that his love for her was anything but a childish whim.
She was a vision of enthralling beauty, her fiery red hair cascading in a symphony of copper, scarlet, and auburn. Each strand shimmered and danced like a sunlit flame, creating a mesmerizing frame around her enchanting face. Her milky skin, dusted with a galaxy of freckles delicately kissing her cheeks and nose, echoed the tender glow of the first light of dawn. A sublime tapestry of sun and stars played across her visage, evoking the unparalleled charm of nature's most delicate paintbrush.
Her eyes, an intoxicating pair of emerald orbs, sparkled with the brilliance of the finest gemstones; their depths held the promise of untold tales of love and adventure. Those captivating green eyes spoke of romance beneath the moonlight and whispered of the fierce devotion that lay within her soul. Whenever she cast a glance, the heartstrings of anyone fortunate enough to meet her gaze were instantly ensnared within the spell of her hypnotic beauty. Her enchanting radiant presence embodied both the serenity of an unspoiled woodland glen and the fiery passion of an untamed heart, a breathtaking force impossible to resist.
He had to take a few moments to calm his nerves before approaching her. She still smelled the same… he recalled as he held her hair. It would have been too intrusive to bring her locks up to his face, but he could smell her all the same. The bubbly girl who was his entire world had grown to be a magnificent woman, holding a beauty that floored him completely. It had taken a mountain of strength and willpower not to grab her and pull her into his arms the very moment he saw her. \
Gareth was ever the mastermind, orchestrating his every move with precision and forethought. He knew his newest plot would demand patience and time, two commodities he was no stranger to giving. A decade had already ticked away; what harm lay in a few more? Sitting on the regal throne, he allowed his eyes to shut, evoking memories of Alaina's delicate skin - peppered with freckles that told tales of sun-soaked youth. The years had painted her skin in softer strokes, rendering it as luminescent and smooth and molten moonlight.
He was well aware of the tales of Alaina's treatment in Hann Aisle, but she didn't display any physical signs of her ordeal. Nonetheless, he would have cared for her just as deeply even had she been left with a limp. He knew the accident had nearly taken her life, and that, without her care in Hann Aisle, that fateful day could have been the last for her.
The harrowing images of her cold, lifeless body still haunted his dreams. He remembered shaking her with fervent desperation, pleading for her to move and stand, but to no avail. The shattering of his heart at the thought of losing her forever remained indelibly etched in his memory. His sweet, sweet Alaina—the keeper of his undying love.
But now, Alaina was here, back in the very land where their friendship had once taken root and flourished. He couldn't help but chuckle at the sheer absurdity of the circumstances. And though she had no recollection of him or their shared past, he was resolute in his vow to win her heart.
He had noticed her reaction to his touch—an involuntary blush when his hand caressed her cheek. It assured him that, deep within her soul, the ember of their bond still flickered brightly, even if she had yet to comprehend its nature fully. If only he could unlock the memories that lay dormant within her.
The twinge of jealousy he felt when she inquired about the prince gnawed at him. Ten long years in the same castle as the prince might have swayed her affections. But since they were not yet married, Gareth knew that he still had an opportunity to win her heart. Doubts plagued him; what if, in the end, she chose not to reciprocate his love? The very thought caused an unbearable ache in his chest. With a defiant frown, he thrust aside his apprehensions as quickly as they emerged.
There was no turning back now. Gareth had made his decision, and he would move heaven and earth to secure Alaina's love—even if the quest proved to be his ultimate undoing.