The Captive Heart by Bertrice Small

those hands, loosening them enough to scream again and yet again. “Help me! Help me! He is trying to kill me!” she cried as his hands again closed about her flesh. She fought the madman, struggling to sit up, scratching his face, yanking at his hair as he sought to choke the life from her. And then, to her vast relief, the door to her chamber flew open again as the two serving men rushed in, pulling Hayle Watteson from atop Alix. Sir Udolf stood, staring with shock and dismay at the scene before him.
    Alix reached up to stroke her bruised skin. The marks of his fingers were bright scarlet on her creamy flesh, and she was gasping for air. She tried to stand, but her legs would not hold her. And then, without warning, Alix began to cry.
    Her husband, restrained by his father’s servants, stared at her, and then with a shout he broke away from his keepers and ran from the room.
    “Take him!” Sir Udolf roared. He was furious and dismayed all at once. “Alix, my child, I am so sorry,” he began. “In my eagerness for a grandchild I forced him to come to you, and it was too soon. I see that now. Forgive him. Forgive me.” And then the baron departed the chamber following the sound of his son’s pounding feet and those of the servants pursuing Hayle. The madman moved up the stairs of his house, to the attics where his servants slept. There was a narrow corridor on that top floor, and reaching it, Sir Udolf saw his son standing in the open window at the hall’s end. For a brief moment he thought that his heart had stopped, but no. It was beating rapidly. The two serving men seemed frozen where they stood.
    “I’m sorry, Da. I have to go to my Maida,” Hayle Watteson said in a clear, calm voice. And then he flung himself from the window’s ledge.
    “Jesu! Mary!” one of the serving men cried, and they both crossed themselves.
    Sir Udolf stared at the open window. His son. His son had stood in that window but a moment ago, and now he was gone. The baron turned and ran with all possible haste downstairs, trying as he ran to remember which side of his house the attic corridor window was located. Two men from the stables came running, shouting, pointing. He followed them in the dusk of evening. Hayle Watteson lay sprawled upon the earth, his neck twisted at an odd angle. Sir Udolf knelt by his son’s body.
    “He’s dead, my lord,” someone said.
    “Killed himself, he did,” came another voice.
    “Him and our Maida are together now for eternity,” someone else murmured.
    Sir Udolf was numb with his grief. He brushed a lock of his son’s hair back from his forehead and rose to his feet. “Take him to the hall,” he instructed to no one in particular. “I must tell his wife.” Then the lord of Wulfborn turned away and walked slowly back into the house. His son was dead. He had no heir, and he was past forty. Finding his way upstairs to Alix’s chamber, he entered without knocking.
    “My lord?” Alix looked up from her place on the bed where she was sitting. “What has happened?”
    “My son is dead,” Sir Udolf said slowly as if tasting the words. “My son has killed himself, but I shall deny it to the priest. Hayle must be buried by the church.”
    She grew pale with shock. “Why? How?” And then a sense of great relief swept over her. She would never again have to bear his company in a darkened room.
    “He loved her,” Sir Udolf said in a tone tinged with surprise. “And he threw himself from a high window to be with her. He really loved the miller’s daughter. She was a peasant, but a few generations removed from serfdom. Yet he loved her though she was not suitable. A man marries for wealth, for station, for land, but not for love.”
    “My parents loved each other,” Alix said quietly.
    “Your father told me the Count d’Anjou made the match between him and your mother. That your mother and he barely knew each other. They were fortunate that love came afterwards. Hayle’s mother was a