Heart's War (Heart and Soul) (22 page)

She gasped softly as he slowly entered her, his cock thick and engorged. He pushed forward, sliding deeper. She breathed his name as pleasure jumped within her. The intensity of his gaze did not waver and still
he did not speak. He pulled her closer then pushed himself up on his arms. Rose watched in fascination as the muscles bunched and lengthened in a mesmerizing cadence of harmony. He thrust within her with a bit more power but kept his tempo agonizingly and wonderfully slow. She found that her breathing matched his movements exactly. His lips hovered over hers and he slowly lowered his head. He touched his mouth to hers, his kiss featherlight. She shuddered with the pleasure he ignited within her. He seemed suddenly a different man. The depth of his intensity was almost frightening. She wondered if she could truly ever understand his heart.

He shifted his weight to his left arm and his right hand gently cupped her cheek then smoothed her hair away from her face. Again h
e lowered his head and kissed her; she opened her mouth and his tongue swept across hers. His tempo increased ever so slightly. She felt the wondrous sensation growing deep within her. She wanted to moan and thrash under him but his weight pinned her to the bed and she could not move. She found the fact that she could not escape what he was doing to her body wildly erotic, and she trembled underneath him.

H
is fingers lightly traced down her skin. He deepened his thrusts but kept them long and slow. He stared at her breast as his fingers traced its curve. His breathing grew harsher and he licked his lips. His mouth closed on her breast, hot and intense but also light and gentle. He swirled his tongue around her nipple then lightly toyed with it. She shivered, trying to drag air into her lungs but found she suddenly could not breathe. Her fingers wove through his hair, the soft locks trailing over her skin. He lightly scraped her skin with his teeth.

His calloused hand continued to slide lightly down her side
, his skin rough but his touch maddeningly gentle. Again he caught her hip, pulling her body against him so he could deepen his thrust. She tried to move, she had to escape the fire that built within her, but she could not. He kept her firmly pinned beneath him and would not allow her to find refuge.

How could he do this to her? How did he make her so insane with need with just a touch? She could not break the spell he wove about her.

She felt the strange energy building within her and knew Brynmor would take her to the perfect point of pleasure. She trusted him to lead her down the path and gift her with the greatest wonder she had ever known. She felt her body contorting under his weight, reaching, stretching, but not quite obtaining. Throughout it all her gaze remained locked on his beautiful eyes. She felt his roughened hands caress her body and ignite the firestorm within her.

Softly, gently he brought her to perfection. He never once altered course, never wavered from his goal. He backed away enough to drag his fingers down her belly
to lightly caress her soft folds and found her aching nub. His breathing grew more ragged as his fingers lightly slid over it, matching the timing of his thrusts. He kept his touch soft, driving her wild as her body automatically opened to him. In the deepest point within her, where his cock thrust and she could no longer tell where he ended and she began, the energy formed and danced outward. It seized her in brutal perfection with an intensity that demanded she move, but Brynmor still would not allow her. It ripped through her, tensing every muscle in her body, bowing her backward with shuddering glory. She fought not to cry out and kept her gaze locked on Brynmor. The fire that leaped in his eyes only increased her pleasure.

Her fulfillment was the most intense she had yet experienced with him, possessing her completely, washing through her like a tide. She watched as
the muscles in his chest and shoulders suddenly contracted, protesting their confinement under his smooth skin. She touched his chest and slid her hands down over his hard stomach. She felt the muscle tighten with amazing strength. His body bowed then shuddered violently in response to hers. He continued to surge within her and she felt his seed, hot and slick within her. He shuddered one last time. Her name whispered from his lips and he sagged against her.

He slowly lowered himself
, gently nuzzling her ear, tracing his lips over her neck and throat.

She squeezed her eyes closed as aftershocks continued to ripple through her body. She tried to find her heart and slow its ragged dance only to discover she had utterly lost it to him.

The retainers who owed Brynmor service arrived with their men. When Brynmor called for his retainers, they in turn called theirs, and at times would conscript even more with the promise of payment.

B
rynmor’s forces totaled over five hundred. A small portion of these he sent to support Lestrange’s army, but Longshanks awaited in the north and demanded the majority and Brynmor’s best. He brought with him not only nobles on heavy destriers but knights also mounted on strong horses. Welsh freeman, much like Brynmor had been before inheriting Powys, rode rangy coursers, and Brynmor brought even more from his stables. They formed a Welsh light cavalry that could hit hard and fast for raids. But they also raided on foot, and Brynmor’s ranks boasted strong men-at-arms as well. Infantry comprised several walks of life, from paid mercenaries to the lowest serf. Brynmor did his best to provide them with weapons and armor. Behind the troops came their support: food and replacement weapons. The blacksmith rode in a cart in the midst of the line. Men and women all served the army in different ways, even if they did not bear weapons.

Denbigh was about fifty miles north and they departed Powys castle in early morning. Brynmor
pushed his troops hard in hopes they might arrive by nightfall.

As they traveled north, Brynmor had his scouts range around them, watching for any sign of
an enemy who might seek to ambush his column, especially Owain.

They reported back to Brynmor throughout the day. Nay, they had not seen the army, but had spotted the track of what appeared to be a large one, moving south.

Brynmor’s gut clenched and he tried to force his worries down, but he could not help but think he had left the one who meant the most to him terribly vulnerable. That went against every instinct he possessed and made his nerves raw.

They made surprisingly good time
, and at sunset, Brynmor stopped his horse on a small rise, overlooking the valley and Denbigh castle. He blinked in shock. The castle was almost as large as Powys, but Brynmor saw it had been badly damaged. The massive army that now camped in its shadow boggled the mind. Pavilions of every color dotted the land. People worked not only to repair the damaged castle but to feed everyone. Even from a distance he heard the ring of hammers from the blacksmiths and the bellows of their forges. Smoke rose from the many campfires filling the valley. The forces and support Edward had gathered for this venture stretched for miles. Brynmor shook his head, barely able to take it all in.

The herald led them forward
, and not far down the trail, he hailed a sentry.

The sentry nodded as he looked a
t Brynmor’s heraldry and let them pass unchallenged. They descended into the lowlands around the river and reached the outer edge of the encampment. Many barked greetings and waved, glad to see the arrival of reinforcements. As they moved deeper, the number of pavilions grew in size and grew closer together. Brynmor also noticed the quality of weapons and armor improved the closer they got to the castle.

He paused and dismounted from his horse, deciding to walk the rest of the way. He motioned for
the others to do the same. There was an unspoken rule he had been taught, he wasn’t sure if it was true, but with a king as volatile as Longshanks, he did not want to risk it. Even though the king had ordered Brynmor to bring his strongest troops, riding forward under banner might be considered a threat, or at the least, a lack of respect. Brynmor decided on caution.

As he walked beside his horse, his gaze continued to sweep around him. Many sat at fires in the midst of their tents and pavilions, cooking their own meals. Ale flowed freely and he heard music and song. No doubt they chose to celebrate their victory over Denbigh while they had the chance.

They reached an area where the stipendiary knights—hired swords—gathered. The tough veterans were boisterous in their celebration.

“I hear de Tany is growing impat
ient being stuck on that island,” one veteran said, taking a long drink from his mug.

“Aye,
” another said, “but he should know not to anger Longshanks.”

“
I doubt he could prove himself any more a fool than Hyde,” the first said, wiping his mouth.

“
Hyde, a fool? What do you mean?” a third asked as he used a whetstone to sharpen his blade.

The first mercenary grinned broadly.
“Longshanks sent Thomas de la Hyde to bring Clun Castle under control of the crown. Hyde did so, but when the king’s men arrived to inquire of his status, Hyde met them outside his gates. The garrison, all Welsh, locked the gates behind him and refused to allow him reentrance.”

The men roared their laughter and Brynmor felt his lips twitch. He looked at the herald walking beside him.

“Aye,” the herald said, also fighting down a smile. “’Tis true. The garrison barred his own gates against him. He was forced to return with the king’s men in shame.”

They continued walking, the trail ascending upward. Here, near the castle gates, the pavilions became very large and opulent
, belonging to Longshanks’s barons, earls, and high-ranking officials. Brynmor glanced at the heavily damaged gates and wondered if the king had chosen to take residence in the castle or if he would wait until it could be fully secured.

As Brynmor and his army ascended
, more shouts of welcome greeted them.

“Ho!
Lord Powys!” a familiar voice called.

Brynmor scowled, his
gaze searching the crowd. To his surprise, he saw Talon Montgomery push his way through.

Talon smiled, greeting him warmly.

Brynmor returned the welcome but his worry levered upward. “Talon, I know you provided Lestrange with some troops, but I did not realize Longshanks had summoned you here.”

“Aye
, and believe me, I am not happy about it.”

“I had hoped
the bulk of your forces remained at Montgomery.” He swallowed hard; no doubt Montgomery had been left with a minimal garrison as well. “Powys will not be able to call on Montgomery for aid.”

“That, son, is exactly the reason why I am not happy about it.
” Talon paused and summoned another man, instructing him on where to lead the bulk of Brynmor’s forces so they could set camp. A page wearing Montgomery’s livery took Brynmor’s horse.

Montgomery
faced him again. “You should not keep Longshanks waiting.” The herald led the way, but surprisingly, it was away from the castle.

Montgomery
fell in stride with Brynmor.

Brynmor looked around
; the pavilions towered over him as large as some of the outbuildings in his keep. Awnings stretched before them, offering shade, and expensive rugs covered the dirt and grass. In the very center stood the largest pavilion Brynmor had ever seen. Several guards stood around it, alert and focused. In chairs before the pavilion opening sat several men, heralds, and pages, all waiting in case the king called on them to perform some errand.

They saw Brynmor and Montgomery approaching and hastily got to their feet, bowing.
Montgomery gave them a brief nod but otherwise ignored them.

Brynmor waited only a moment while the herald announced him
, then entered the giant pavilion. His gaze stopped first on the huge table made of fine English oak. Elaborate stands in the corners of the tent held expensive candles that cast a warm glow. Rugs with foreign designs and intricate weaves adorned the floor. Several men of rank sat at the table, wearing mail and silks that made Brynmor feel as if his expensive armor and clothing were nothing more than peasant rags. Brynmor’s gaze found Longshanks sitting in a chair so ornate he wondered how his throne in England could be any grander.

Quickly
, Brynmor gathered his wits and lowered his gaze. He dropped to one knee and bowed his head. “Your Majesty, I bid you fair greeting from the Earldom of Powys and honor you with the pledge of men and sword.” Brynmor gritted his teeth, hating that he could not dare use Powys’s true title of Principality. He was also acutely aware of the commoner’s burr in his voice and that a freeman farmer was in the king's presence as a member of the peerage.

“Welcome,
Lord Powys,” Longshanks said. “We bid thee greeting and welcome thee to our table. Lord Montgomery, we also bid thee fair welcome and offer thee a place at our table.”

Brynmor and Talon rose
, taking the offered chairs at the king's table. Longshanks was a harsh man, his countenance foreboding, but he also appeared strong and healthy with an air of ruthless cunning about him. Longshanks matched Brynmor in height but not in breadth. Still he did not discount the man’s skills as a warrior. His brown hair was short; a heavy coronet graced his brow. His dark eyes glittered with intelligence. Brynmor was careful not to look at him directly, stealing glances out of the corner of his eye. His face was angular, his jaw strong and proud but hidden under a neatly trimmed beard. He wore finely made silken tunics with an ermine cloak gracing his shoulders.

Longshanks motioned for a servant to fill their cups and place bread and cheese on their plates.

Brynmor noted the half dozen battle commanders sitting at the king's table, earls, barons, constables, and a few others of lower rank he recognized by the heraldry they wore. They eyed him with open mistrust, but he also sensed their anxiety. His reputation for ferocity on the battlefield once again preceded him.

On the huge table before him
, maps of the battlefield and organization of the front lines lay before him as well as maps of Wales as a whole and positions of various castles and armies. Brynmor examined them critically for a moment, mentally comparing them to the maps he had studied before he left home. His gaze fell on one enemy marker that confirmed his fears.

Brynmor also kept one eye on
Montgomery and followed his actions. He had been taught the etiquette of sitting at the king's table, but Brynmor knew he dare not make a mistake and risk offending a king with such a powerful temper.

Montgomery
took a drink of wine then used his eating dagger to spear a piece of cheese and pop it into his mouth.

Not wanting to mimic his father
-by-law too closely, Brynmor broke off a chunk of bread and ate it, taking a drink of wine to wash it down. The bread, although excellently made, threatened to lodge in his throat. But the wine was the finest he had ever tasted.

“I thank you,
Your Majesty, for your gracious hospitality,” Brynmor said.

Longshanks nodded in satisfaction. Brynmor drew a deep breath into his lungs, his nerves stretched so tightly they threatened to snap.

Longshanks took a drink from his own cup. “We are most pleased to see this alliance between Powys and Montgomery. We trust all is well?”

“Aye,” Brynmor said.

“I received a letter from Montgomery a few months ago informing me that Dafydd ordered the arrest of your betrothed and that you sought recourse through the Prince of Wales. I gather you were able to recover her safely.”

“Aye,” Brynmor said. “The
prince was much more practical and . . . understanding.” Brynmor allowed himself to make eye contact with the king, knowing the man would appreciate his meaning.

Longshanks nodded. “I had hoped he would be.
And your new wife, Rose, she was unharmed?”

“Aye,” Brynmor said, knowing his relief still colored his voice. “Despite Owain’s threats and manhandling of her.”

“Owain?”

“Dafydd’s retainer. Owain
ap Gwynwynwyn and I have had long-standing differences.”

Longshanks scowled but then his expression relaxed. He glanced at Montgomery. “’Tis good to hear, I had just chided her father on being overprotective. But she is a beautiful young woman
, and when I received your letter, Montgomery, I must admit at being concerned for her well-being. Many of the Welsh have been accused of heinous crimes against women and prisoners of war.”

Brynmor bit his tongue. Owain, aye
—he did not trust the man to act honorably in any situation. But making such a broad statement about all Welsh? Others had accused the English of similar crimes. He immediately dismissed his spinning thoughts. It was all a matter of propaganda and even the leaders began to believe their own dogma.

“My son-by-law was true to his word and returned her safely,”
Montgomery said softly. “I am pleased he handled the situation so diplomatically. I would have not been so kind.”

Longshanks nodded. “At least now with your marriage, that sort of foolishness will end
.”

“Aye.”
Brynmor took a long drink of wine and summoned his courage. “But there is still a . . . concern . . . my liege,” he said cautiously. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Montgomery's subtle nod. “I know you are aware of the strain the refugees placed on my holdings not long ago, and I thank you for sending aide.”

“You honor the Maker and our
crown with your actions, Powys.”

“Thank you, my liege, but I am aggrieved.
While refugees no longer weigh heavily on us, recovering our stores, especially if we must prepare for siege, has been difficult. I fear bringing men to fight under your banner will make Powys too great a temptation for Llywelyn to resist. I know this alliance has worried him.”