Heart's War (Heart and Soul) (23 page)

Longshanks scowled, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “I
forced Llywelyn to return north. I mean to keep him here.”

Again Brynmor's gaze fell on the map
of Wales in the middle of the table. He leaned forward and stretched out a long arm, tapping a specific marker. “’Tis not Llywelyn I am truly concerned about for the moment, but Owain. This marker needs to be moved farther south.” He glanced at Longshanks, who nodded. Brynmor picked it up and moved it. “On the way here, my scouts ranged around me. They spotted signs of enemy troop movement here.” He placed the marker.

All eyes turned to the map. The position of
Owain's troops made him a perfect threat to the unstable castle Powys.

Montgomery
leaned forward. “Well done, Brynmor,” he whispered. He sat back, shaking his head. “My liege, even I did not predict the threat would be so grave, but now that Powys has indicated it, I agree with him wholeheartedly.”

Longshanks
stared at the map thoughtfully. “And you just stated this Owain has taken exception to you in the past.”

“Several times I have defeated his political treachery.”

“And he is the one who arrested your lady. You say he threatened and manhandled her?” as he spoke, Longshanks’s jaw grew tighter and his eyes narrowed. He focused on the marker, and for an instant, Brynmor thought it would burst into flames under his scrutiny.

He
swallowed hard. It was not what Brynmor saw that sent a chill down his spine but a change within the man that he sensed. He wasn’t sure of the reason for it but could not deny the apprehension he suddenly felt. No wonder people found Edward so intimidating. He maintained control over expression and emotion that many royals would envy but still conveyed a threat that made Brynmor glad he was not the man’s enemy.

“My liege,” Brynmor said
, hoping to use the change he sensed to his advantage. “Powys is honored to stand guard at your back. Normally, Owain would not be a threat, but as I mentioned afore, the refugees have stretched us dangerously thin. If Powys falls to siege, Owain gains not only a base of operations but has a straight shot at your flank.”

Again Longshanks studied the map for a moment then captured Brynmor in his intense gaze. Brynmor fought not to fidget. “Powys, I mean this with the greatest praise when I say I am honored to welcome the son of a freeman farmer into the ranks of my nobles.”

Brynmor blinked at him, stunned. “I . . . I thank you, my liege.”

“Montgomery, I am also grateful to know you are allied with this young man and will guide his education.”

Montgomery allowed his bright grin to escape. “I thank you for your confidence, my liege, but I cannot take the credit. This young man has not needed much guidance.”

Brynmor ducked his head
, his cheeks burning.

“You bring a valid point to our attention, Powys,” Longshanks continued. “Your propos
ed alliance indicated your willingness to swear fealty to me.”

“Aye,” Brynmor said firmly
, even though his gut knotted at betraying his Welsh brethren. “I will give you my oath.”

“Tomorrow,” Longshanks said. “I will hear your oath. But I fear Powys will have to stand strong for a time more. I need your troops and men
. In a few days, we will launch across the Conwy. We are timing our attack with de Tany as he brings his forces across the strait. By attacking the Welsh who hold the northern line, front and back, we will route them and completely surround Llywelyn in Snowdonia.”

Brynmor wanted to curse
, but he held his tongue. He looked to Montgomery, hoping he could present a counter.

But he
only nodded, his jaw tight. “With your permission, my liege, we will take our leave and I shall prepare my son-by-law to give you his oath upon the morrow.”

“Well met, Montgomery
. We shall send the herald for you tomorrow, Powys.”

“My gratitude, my liege,” Brynmor said. He rose and bowed to his king
, but his jaw clamped so tightly he feared he would break his teeth. He followed Montgomery out of the pavilion and when he was out of earshot of the other nobles, he swore violently.

“Aye,”
Montgomery said tightly. “I fear Longshanks does not understand the volatility of this. Owain will not stay his hand.”

Normally
, Brynmor would have been angry with Longshanks's decision, but now his thoughts focused on his beautiful wife. Black fear settled in the pit of his belly. He could not bear leaving Rose in such danger. Before he left, Brynmor had told her with his body how much he loved her, allowing it to say the words he did not have the courage to speak. But now Brynmor wished vehemently he had given voice to his heart. He may never have the chance to tell her after tomorrow.

Montgomery
gripped his shoulder and Brynmor looked up in surprise. “I have faith in Rose to manage the defenses of Powys.”

“I do not doubt that, for she is her father's daughter. But I fear she has no defense left to manage.”

Montgomery's jaw tightened. “Then we shall endeavor to see that Longshanks succeeds in all haste.”

****

“My lady,” Petran cried. “I pray come quickly.”

Rose glanced up from her
ledger tallies, trying to ignore the despair that threatened her. Even with less people in the castle, their stores were woefully short.

“My lady, come with me to the south tower. Our sentries have spotted men in the woods.”

“Nay,” she whispered, sending prayers to the heavens that her worst fears were not coming true. Brynmor had been gone for a sennight. She followed Petran to the tower and hurried up the stairs.

“There,” he said pointing.

Although not easy to see because of the distance and the coverage of the trees, Rose's heart sank. She recognized the flash of weapons and armor.

“
Owain?”

“Aye
, and his forces have been strengthened.”

“How long before they take the field against us?”

“We know not. They may simply camp and wait.”

She looked across the bailey. The
y were no longer overburdened, but with a threatening army, many from the village and outlying farms would seek shelter in the castle.

“
Tally the forces and watch them closely, Petran. If they move to take the field against us, I will send word to my husband, but not until then. Just make sure our fastest horse is prepared to leave at a moment’s notice. If we wish word to reach my husband, the herald will need enough of a start to avoid enemy capture.” Brynmor had left his fastest courser for just this purpose.

“
Aye, my lady,” Petran said and bowed.

Rose
again looked to the enemy army. She knew it was only a matter of time before they attacked, but how long did they have? Should she send word to Brynmor now? Nay, she knew Longshanks well enough to know that without certainty of attack, he would not send Brynmor home, if he would send him home at all.

November 6, 1282

Brynmor stood on a
n open rise, staring over the land beyond the Conwy. Longshanks’s army gathered to launch its assault against the Welsh forces holding the northern route. A thick cloud cover hid the sun, and a raw wind swept over the water from the north, tugging at his cloak. His long hair fell in a heavy braid down his back but wisps of it teased his face. The wind, although damper than what he was accustomed to, did not bother him much.

In the distance of roughly twenty miles
, he could see the straits. On his left pushed the mountains of Snowdonia; only a few miles of flat land stretched from them to the northern water.

He heard his father-by-law
curse as Montgomery stepped next to him. He walked with a definite limp. Brynmor frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“I am gett
ing too damned old for this,” Montgomery growled, pulling his cloak tighter about him. “This damp air makes my joints ache.”

Brynmor’s lips twitched. “Shall I get you a cane?”

Montgomery glared at him then winked. “Aye. Then I can beat you with it.”

Brynmor chuckled softly and shook his head.

“It shouldn’t take too long for Edward to get the army into position.”

“Aye,” Brynmor agreed. He paused and scowled. “I heard
de Tany was building a bridge of boats to get across the strait.”

Montgomery
nodded. “He seemed confident.”

“I am glad I am not crossing that wearing armor.”

“Aye,” Montgomery said, nodding vigorously. “He simply awaits word from Edward to move so we can coordinate our attack.”

A noise within the ranks caught Brynmor’s attention. He turned to see Longshanks, mounted on a fine destrier, his armor and the large crown on his helm gleaming in the muted light, surveying the battle set
of his forces. Men took a knee as he passed. Montgomery and Brynmor did the same as the king approached.

“Montgomery, Powys,” Longshanks said
, pulling his horse to a stop before them. He made a motion with his hand for them to rise.

They did so
, but Montgomery struggled. Brynmor automatically reached out to assist him but Montgomery stopped him with a glare. Brynmor dropped his hand, fighting back a smile.

“Stand you ready?” Longshanks asked.

“Aye,” Montgomery said. “Our men are prepared.”

The wind shifted slightly, carrying with it a strange sound. A wail of a horn? Brynmor looked away from the king and toward the straits. Sentries raised a cry. In the distance
, Brynmor heard more horns resound.

Longsh
anks spun his horse, also hearing the alarm. “Damnation!” he roared. “De Tany moves across the bridge too early.”

Another horn sounded, this one l
ouder, coming from the mountains. Brynmor knew it could only mean one thing: Llywelyn moved his troops down to attack de Tany while he crossed.

Brynmor swallowed hard.
De Tany’s men would be helpless on that damned bridge.

“We must gather our forces,” Longshanks said as he hauled his horse around.

“My liege,” Brynmor said quickly, his thoughts scrambling. “My coursers, let me take my Welsh raiders. We can cross the distance faster than heavy horse.”

Longshanks hesitated only an instant then nodded. “Aye, Powys. Light cavalry
. Montgomery, go with them. We will be right behind you.” He spurred his horse away.

Brynmor barked orders to his men. A page led his courser forward and took the reins of his destrier. Another page assisted him in pulling off his heavy armor, leaving only his light padding. He swung up on his courser
, noticing Montgomery had done the same and his own knot of light cavalry joined him. Together they boasted about one hundred men.

“That’s one hell of a distance to cross, Brynmor,”
Montgomery said.

“Aye, but we’re the only chance they have.”

Montgomery nodded grimly.

Brynmor hefted his horseman’s axe and barked the order. With their men in fine form behind them, they galloped over the ford of the Conwy and charged toward the straits.

Montgomery had been right, it was a distance to cover. Brynmor pushed his horse hard, but it seemed as if the trail grew longer instead of shorter. Finally, only a slight rise separated them from the sweeping lands that led to the straight.

Only now could Brynmor clearly see the battle. Llywelyn’
s men charged the bridge on foot, and several were simply grabbing knights off of their horses and throwing them into the water. Brynmor saw them struggle for a moment, but the weight of their armor quickly dragged them under to drown. Horses also panicked and went over the edge, wearing armor they could not escape, and drowned as well.

Brynmor bellowed orders to his men
, but upon seeing them gallop over the ridge, another horn sounded, signaling a retreat. Llywelyn’s forces withdrew into the mountains before Brynmor could reach them. He slowed his mount, realizing his mad gallop was pointless. By the time they arrived, only a few of de Tany’s men survived on the other side of the bridge and the Welsh had completely withdrawn.

He
dismounted, leading his horse, searching for survivors. His gut twisted at seeing the death around him. A Welshman, one of the few of Llywelyn’s men slain, lay sprawled on the sand. Brynmor blinked, realizing he knew the man. He had lived in the same village as Brynmor, before Powys had adopted him. Brynmor crouched next to him and turned him over. He had taken a sword wound to the chest and no doubt had died quickly.

T
rying to force his emotions down, Brynmor moved closer to the water. The tide began to slowly give up its victims. A body rolled toward him, pushed by the waves. An English knight, well armored, but that armor had been the cause of his death.

“
De Tany,” Montgomery said from beside him. He too had dismounted.

Brynmor strode away, moving along the shore
, but saw no sign of survivors. Another Welshman washed up on the waves, this one heavily armored. He had allied with Longshanks and had fought for de Tany. Again Brynmor recognized him. He was a young nobleman who lived in the north but had family in the south. Many times he had traveled to see them and had stopped at Powys for a meal and to visit with Brynmor. He had been one of the few who did not seem to mind that Brynmor had been a freeman by birth.

Brynmor’s stomach rolled and threatened to rebel.
He turned away, leaning against his horse, his eyes squeezed shut.

“Brynmor,”
Montgomery said, gripping his shoulder. “What’s wrong? Your face is gray.”

He fought to master himself. “Some of these men
 . . . I knew . . . some had been friends.” His voice cracked and he fought to steady it. “Talon, this is not a war for independence. It’s a civil war. We are ripping Wales apart.”

His father-by-law’s
fingers tightened on his shoulder. “Brynmor, listen to me. Forget not that I too fought in a civil war. I understand well the pain you suffer. But England survived, just as Wales will survive.”

“But my people
 . . . our way of life . . . what of that?”

“No man can know the future, Brynmor. All you can do is fight for what you hold dear. And you are
—you are protecting your family and the people you govern. They will survive because of you.”

Brynmor’s shoulders slumped and he stared at the ground. “I pray you are right.”

“Come. We should get back, there’s nothing we can do here.”

Another low wail of a horn sounded from the mountains.

Montgomery’s head snapped around. “Damnation. I’ll lay odds Llywelyn now brings his men out of the mountains to meet Edward’s forces in battle as his troops try to cross the Conwy.”

“Aye,” Brynmor said, swinging into the saddle. “He seized the advantage with this unexpected victory, now he means to capitalize on it.”

Once again, Brynmor barked orders to his men and they galloped back the way they came. But he could not rid his thoughts of the devastating sight behind him.

Brynmor was sorely glad he had opted for light cavalry instead of riding heavy horse
as they galloped back the twenty miles. His fast moving coursers were the only way for he and his men to dodge around Llywelyn’s lightning attacks. The Welsh were driving hard at the English as they tried to cross the ford at the river Conwy. They had Longshanks retreating. Brynmor and Montgomery swung north then used their cavalry to flank and destroy a small group of Welsh infantry. That allowed a portion of Longshanks’s army to make an organized retreat back across the Conwy.

Brynmor
’s cavalry quickly followed them across the ford. But orders rippled through the ranks. Denbigh was threatened and Longshanks had ordered a retreat to Rhuddlan. Brynmor, though he knew their mounts were hard pressed, continued leading his cavalry to make quick, surprise flanking moves around the enemy. That forced the enemy to reduce their pressure on the front lines and maintained an organized fighting retreat for Longshanks.

Finally, at sunset they reached Rhuddlan
, and Llywelyn’s forces returned to the mountains. But Brynmor had no desire to learn of the losses of the day. Longshanks was fuming, no doubt. Not only had de Tany lost a powerful army by crossing too early, the weakened forces put English control of the island of Anglesey in doubt, and they had lost Denbigh Castle, a prize that had been hard won.

Brynmor handed his exhausted horse over to a page and trudged toward his pavilion.
He sank into a chair and hung his head, his elbows braced on his knees. He could not get the faces of the men he had known out of his mind, men who had fought on opposite sides. He gritted his teeth. He was a Welshman who had just sworn fealty to an English king. It felt as if his heart had been torn in half. What would happen to his country and his people?

He squeezed his eyes closed
, suddenly wishing he could hold Rose in his arms. But that thought only brought more worry upon him. The garrison he had left was not enough to defend the castle against siege. Edward’s demand for a specific levy of troops had seen to that. Owain had taken her from him once. What if he did it again? What if this time Brynmor would not be able to get her back?

****

Rose awoke at dawn when the sentries on the walls raised a cry. She knew instantly the reason for it and hastily pulled a woolen dress over her head. For almost two weeks, they had watched Owain’s forces loiter in the woods, waiting. She had tallied the forces and written a note for Brynmor. Rose sprinted down the stairs, praying her instructions would be followed. She slid to a stop, opening the door to the keep.

“My lady,” the herald said and waved at her, her note in hand.

Rose breathed a sigh of relief.

T
he herald swung up on Brynmor’s prized courser.

Her heart slammed against her ribs as the animal launched itself forward before the man could find his seat
, but he was an excellent rider and easily settled into the saddle. Rose looked to the gates and a new fear assailed her. The windlass spun, and the great iron-banded portcullis screeched as it dropped, the thick wooden gates slowly swinging closed.

The herald would not be able to reach it in time.

But the man leaned over the horse’s neck and asked for more speed. Rose stared in shock as the horse flattened itself and ran with all its heart. She witnessed the exact reason why Brynmor held the stallion in such high regard. With scant inches separating the rider from the deadly spikes of the portcullis, the horse and rider lunged through the gate then turned sharply on the trail, moving away from the advancing army and turning north.

“God speed,” Rose murmured as the gate boomed shut and the
massive, weighted bar settled into the braces with a loud
thunk
.

****

A fortnight had passed since his arrival, but there was little to do for men such as Brynmor and Montgomery. Longshanks’s army had taken a hard blow and the king worked to rebuild his forces. They sat in Rhuddlan and worried over the homes and loved ones they had left behind. Longshanks refused to release Brynmor unless he knew more about Owain’s potential threat. Brynmor knew Longshanks wanted to retake Denbigh and reestablish his control.

He sat outside his pavilion talking with
Montgomery when a voice called his name. He looked up, surprised to see Longshanks’s herald approaching.

“Greetings,
my lord,” the man said.

“Welcome,” Brynmor replied and offered him a chair and a cup of wine. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

The man’s smile faded a bit. “I come to your holdings so often, I feel almost as if I know you, Lord Powys.”

Brynmor felt a smile tug at his lips. “Aye.”

“I know of your situation at Powys.” He paused and gazed at Brynmor a long moment. “As a herald in service to the king, I am privy to a great amount of information. But it is not for all to know.”