Heart's War (Heart and Soul) (21 page)

She glanced at the pile of clothing he had left strewn about and fought down a smile. “I will in a moment.”

He nodded and left the room.

Rose shook her head and gathered his clothing to put in the basket. A servant would take it to the washer-women. But she always wondered why men seemed to never be able to get the clothing into the basket. It didn’t take her long to gather everything, but she noticed a servant had left a basket of neatly folded clean clothes.

She turned to the bureau and opened the drawers, putting the clothing away. Her hand bumped something in
one of the drawers. She paused and frowned, pulling out a small, intricately carved box about the size of her hand. What in the world? She didn’t even think but impulsively opened it. She saw some silk inside and carefully moved it away, then stopped in shock.

A single
, perfectly dried flower sat in the silk. She blinked rapidly, unable to believe what she was seeing,. She remembered this flower. She remembered being so frightened on the trail, not knowing if Brynmor really meant to rescue her or take her to her father’s Welsh enemies. She had drugged Brynmor with valerian root in order to escape but had felt awful about doing so. The flower, a simple weed, had been her apology and she had stuck it in his fingers while he slept.

He had kept it?

A tear welled and spilled down her cheek.

All they had endured on the trail in order to get home, then all of the years that had passed since
—somehow the tiny dried flower had endured, tucked safely away.  Suddenly, its significance became something far more. She swallowed hard, blinking away her tears, and carefully replaced the silk and returned the box to its place. She wiped the remaining tears from her eyes and put away the rest of the clothing while she tried to gather herself.

October
1282

The chill of autumn made the air crisp and cool. Brynmor descended the stairs from his keep, moving purposefully to the bailey. He had been working on the curtain wall to help build the timber hoardings. The wooden platforms stretched out from the walls, giving men protection as they fired arrows or dropped rocks on the enemy laying siege to the castle. As soon as the threat of siege was over, the hoardings would be removed.

True to his word, Longshanks had advanced his armies in the north, forcing Llywelyn to return to
his mountain stronghold in Snowdonia to support his brother. Llywelyn no longer directly threatened Powys, but Brynmor wasn’t about to rest on his laurels. As quickly as this war moved, he had to be prepared. As he ascended the stairs and strode across the wall walk, he spotted a wagon approaching the gates.

It was laden with foodstuffs and other supplies. Brynmor was glad to see it
, even though it was only the second to return out of all the ones he had sent into England in August. Marcus had known of markets that had not yet been stripped; unfortunately they were far flung from Wales. Rumor had it that Longshanks had taxed resources so greatly that men were being sent as far as France to find good horses for the war effort.

While the second wagon would help tremendously, it was still far from what they needed to support the castle if they came under siege. As of now, if forced to close the gates, they w
ouldn’t last a week behind their walls.

They also had heard nothing from Owain and his army. Brynmor did not know if he had returned north with Llywelyn
, but the raids against Mortimer’s army and Brynmor’s holdings had stopped. In September, Longshanks had taken Ruthin and turned his eye toward Denbigh, which was one of Dafydd’s castles. It was entirely possible that Owain, as one of Dafydd’s retainers, had been called north to help defend the keep.

The morning
was aging and Brynmor still worked on the hoardings when a familiar cry resounded and he once again saw Longshanks’s herald approaching his gates. He sighed. At this rate, he might as well designate a room for the man since he was becoming such a constant fixture. Brynmor stood and walked to the stairs, his gaze sweeping across the outer bailey. Blacksmiths worked their forges, preparing fittings for various construction on the castle. They repaired armor, made weapons, and shod horses.

Master masons worked to cut rock into the proper shape, keeping the great stone walls in good repair. What stone the masons did not use was carried up to the ramparts to be dropped on the heads of the enemy. Craftsmen made quarrels for crossbows and arrows for the archers. Brynmor looked to the list fields
, where many practiced their archery skills or tested their swordplay against each other. The activity in the bailey always raised a cacophony, but now everything was geared toward one thing—war.

Brynmor crossed the bailey as the herald rode through the gates. But this time the man did not smile in greeting as he normally did. He dismounted and handed Brynmor a scroll
case with Longshanks’s seal.

“I fear I bear grievous tidings,
my lord.”

Brynmor steeled himself, broke the seal
, and withdrew the scroll. The missive was written in plain English, but as he read, Brynmor felt his gut clench into a sickening knot. This was news he did not wish to hear, and there was more. A part of him had always known this day would come, but he had dreaded it. He looked again at the herald. “It will take me two days to prepare. You will stay?”

“Aye, I am to accompany you.”

Brynmor nodded then strode into the keep.

He spotted Rose working to organize the foodstuffs the wagon had just brought. He caught her attention and inclined his head toward the stairs. She nodded, put down the box she carried
, and gave brief instructions to a servant. Wiping her hands, she smiled at him as she approached, but her smile vanished as she studied his face.

“What’s wrong?”

He said nothing only escorted her to his solar. He closed the door behind him and drew a deep breath. Damnation, he did not wish to tell her this news.

“I received word from Longshanks.”

“Aye?”

He clenched his teeth suddenly wishing he had the talents of a bard to somehow be able to soften this news fo
r her. “Rose . . . I am sorry . . . Mortimer is dead.”

Her face drained of color and she blinked rapidly at him. “Nay,” she whispered. Tears filled her eyes and she covered her mouth as if to stop a sob.

He stepped forward, pulling her into his arms. “I am sorry,” he said again. “I know what he meant to you.” Brynmor grieved as well. Although he had not known Mortimer long, he had encountered a good man, and his care for Rose had been obvious.

She choked, trembling against him. “My father will be devastated.”

“Aye,” he said softly, his arms tightening around her. And he knew she would be too.

Rose battled her tears but a few escaped. He continued to hold her, wishing he could somehow protect her from this. But the news in the letter only grew worse.

“Did . . . did he die in battle?”

“I know not,” Brynmor said. “The letter did not say. Longshanks only told me because he is concerned that Mortimer’
s army will become unstable. He is placing Mortimer’s son in charge but worries it will be torn. He is gathering more forces under another earl—Lestrange.”

“I’ve heard the name mentioned but have never met him.”

“Aye,” he said and sighed. “Rose, forgive me, but there is more.”

She looked up at him, her eyes red-rimmed with unshed tears. “More?”

“Lestrange is to gather forces from Bulith and Montgomery to help support Mortimer’s army. I am to bring the bulk of my forces north to Denbigh and swear fealty to Longshanks.”

Brynmor didn’t think her face could lose any more color
, but it did. Her father had taught her well, and he knew the moment the full ramifications of the situation hit her.

“But
 . . . but that will leave Powys with only a portion of its garrison. Even if you call up your retainers who owe you service, there will not be enough to hold the castle if it should come under siege.”

He nodded then gently guided her to sit with him on the edge of the bed. “Longshanks succeeded in taking Denbigh. Llywelyn
’s and Dafydd’s forces are surrounded, but they hold strong in the mountains of Snowdonia. Edward knows the mountains favor the Welsh and he needs overwhelming forces to go in after them. But winter rapidly approaches. I am certain he does not wish to deal with a massive army in the middle of such weather. I know he is calling me not only to swear fealty but to fight against my Welsh brethren and route them from the mountains.”

She swallowed hard. “What of Owain? We do not know where his army is.”

“Aye, and that is my greatest concern. Most likely he traveled north to try to defend Dafydd’s castle at Denbigh, but my scouts have not been able to locate him.”

“But if he has not moved north,
and you leave with the majority of our forces, Powys will be weakened. Because we have not yet been able to recoup supplies, we will not stand long if we come under siege.”

“Aye,” Brynmor said, pulling her to him. “You have it aright, but I wish you didn’t.”

****

“Rose,” Brynmor said. “There is something I must show you before I leave.”

She swallowed hard but accepted his hand. She did not wish him to leave. Damn Longshanks! Did he not realize calling Brynmor to battle weakened Powys’s defenses?

“I fear
Owain, if he has remained in the area, will not be able to resist the temptation when I take men and join Longshanks’s army. But I cannot ignore the king’s command.” He led her inside the keep, his sharp gaze scanning the great hall. He moved to the stairs, but instead of ascending, he strode around to the side where the stone of the castle made the foundation. A small tapestry hung on the wall behind a divan, making a small and little used sitting area. He moved the divan out of the way.

“Give me your keys.”

Now that she was chatelaine of Powys, a great number of keys graced her belt. She handed them over, her curiosity taking over her confusion.

He found the one he wanted and looked around
again as if to make sure they were not observed. “Secrecy is what is most important here, Rose,” he said and moved the tapestry to reveal a small door. He quickly put the key in the lock and opened it.

“So that's why I could never find a lock for that key.”

He flashed her a bright smile that fair melted her heart. But too quickly it vanished. He seized her hand and stepped inside the door, pulling her with him, and shut it behind her.

Rose found herself surrounded by total darkness. Her breathing echoed harshly in her ears. An inexplicable fear gripped her and she stepped closer to Bryn
mor. His arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her tight against the hard granite muscle of his body. “’Tis all right, my sweet,” his voice rumbled through the darkness. “I know it is disconcerting at first.” He took her hand and guided it upward. “There is a shelf here, feel around it and you will discover a lantern and tinderbox.”

She didn't want to, certain her hand would discove
r not a lantern but a huge spider. She felt a box under her fingers and sighed in relief. “What is this place?” she asked as she lit the lantern with the metal fire striker.

A soft golden glow filled the small alcove. To her surprise
, the light revealed not a cobweb-filled room but a clean passage filled with weapons and dried foodstuffs.

“If the castle should come under siege, there is a good chance
Owain will breach the defenses. I'll not have you trapped here. I want you to get out, but make sure no one sees you. This passage is only effective because no one knows about it.”

“Where does it go?”

He led her forward a few steps until the light from the lantern fell on a trap door in the wooden floor. “The tunnel descends below ground level. Follow the passage and it will lead you to the woods. Supplies and weapons are stashed in alcoves along the way. You should find everything you need. Hide in the woods and I will find you.” He opened the trap door.

Rose swallowed hard
. Although the small alcove was clean, the tunnel leading downward was not. cobwebs filled the black hole and the wooden ladder looked precarious. “Bryn . . .”

“I know
, my sweet, but hear me.” He took the lantern from her and set it on a crate. His hand gripped hers tightly. “I cannot leave unless I know you will be safe. Longshanks will have my head if I do not obey him. Promise me you will use this, Rose. If the defenses fall, you will get out.”

Rose bowed her head and squeezed her eyes closed. Her courage abandoned her. She
couldn't do this. Not without Brynmor.

“Rose,” he whispered, lowering his head so his lips brushed her ear. “I feel the fear within you. I know this is hard
, but I need you to be strong for just a time more.”

A sudden image flashed across her memory, an image of her sprawled on the trail and her abductor reaching to grab her
, of her screaming, unable to escape, and then, as if conjured by magic, Brynmor, a young lad of only eighteen, appearing and stepping over her, his sword dealing death.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and clung to him, fighting back her tears. “Bryn, I can't lose you. I need you to be safe too.”

His arms closed around her with such power he nearly squeezed the breath from her lungs. “I will return to you, Rose, I vow it.” His mouth found hers and he kissed her with passion, with the feral desire that burned in his soul. He would never be a man who could be tamed, who would truly belong among the ranks of nobility; he was wild—primal—and Rose would have him no other way.

****

Rose slowly awoke to the wonderful sensation of Brynmor lightly tracing his fingers over her skin. She lay on her side facing him. As she blinked the sleep from her eyes, she saw his intense gaze focused solely on her.

“Good morrow,” she said softly
, although she noted the sun had not yet risen.

Brynmor said nothing. In this light, his eyes appeared as dark as emeralds, his expression hooded, sending a thrill through her and making her heart race. His fingers never stopped their wonderful journey, tracing lightly down her arm to her narrow waist then moving upward again to follow the curve of her breast. Her nipple pearled in response to his soft touch.

As she had discovered on the night of their wedding, Brynmor disliked bedclothes, preferring to sleep completely naked. Although he had said nothing, she honored his unspoken request and also came to his bed unclothed. She shivered, feeling delightfully wicked. She cared not what others might think of what was proper; he was her husband and she delighted in pleasing him.

Her breath caught under his heated gaze. Still
, he spoke naught to her, his fingertips continuing to trace lightly over her skin. They traveled over her flat belly and moved to her hip then to her thigh, where he caught the back of her leg with his hand. He pulled her leg over his hip and positioned himself.