Heart's War (Heart and Soul) (24 page)

Brynmor frowned. “What are you saying?”

“I have learned Llywelyn has unexpectedly left Snowdonia again, headed south.”

Brynmor
looked at Montgomery, his face paling.

“The last time we spoke of this,” the herald said
, “we worried that his target was Powys. Now I fear it is almost guaranteed.”

“You are certain of this information?” Brynmor asked, his voice hoarse.

“Aye. There is more. Lestrange has sent word he is moving to try to intercept Llywelyn, but it is not known if he will be able to.”

“And what of Owain’s forces?”

“He made no mention of them. Surely if Llywelyn means to bring his army against Powys, he will use Owain as a vanguard to launch an attack. But it is doubtful Lestrange will care. There is no glory in defeating Owain, at least not compared to defeating Llywelyn.”

“Damnation,” Brynmor growled, coming to his feet. “
Montgomery, we need to go home.”

“I agree,” Talon replied. “But how can we convince Longshanks without tipping our hand
that this young man gave us such valuable information?”

Brynmor started pacing, trying to think through his worry and frustration.

“You may not have to,” the herald said. “There is another herald searching the camp for you. I directed him but knew you needed this information first.”

Brynmor frowned in confusion.

“I seek the Earl of Powys!” a voice called.

The herald stood, inclined his head, and walked into the camp.

“I am Powys!” Brynmor said.

He saw the herald approach
, recognizing his own livery and horse. “Rose,” he whispered and quickly stepped forward.

The herald bowed and handed him a note.

Brynmor's heart stalled when he saw Rose's flowing script. He quickly broke the seal and read.

“Damnation,”
Montgomery growled. “What is it, Brynmor?”

“What we feared,” Brynmor said softly. “
Owain lays siege to Powys. Rose, bless her, has tallied the forces rising against her. She is outnumbered three to one.”

“We need to find Edward now.”

Brynmor's head buzzed and it seemed the world spun around him. He woodenly followed his father-by-law to the royal entourage. Montgomery barked commands, demanding an audience with the king. Brynmor was grateful for him. Even a king such as Longshanks would not deny someone with Montgomery's rank and standing.

“What is the meaning of this, Montgomery?” Longshanks bellowed
, emerging from his pavilion.

“My liege,” Brynmor said softly and handed him the note. Rose's own words were better than any he could dream up. “
I’ve heard rumor Lestrange seeks out Llywelyn’s forces but I fear if Powys falls you will find yourself facing a two-front war between Snowdonia and South Powys.”

Edward read the note, his face paling. “She is her father's daughter,” he murmured. He looked up
, his gaze turning flinty. “I praised the freeman farmer for his knowledge but did not heed his warning. Powys, Montgomery, gather your men. If the castle has fallen, retake it. I will bring troops against Denbigh. As soon as things are completed here, I will provide reinforcements.”

“At once,
Your Majesty,” Montgomery nodded and dragged Brynmor with him.

Brynmor's legs felt leaden and his brain
seemed to be wrapped in wool.

“Damnation, Brynmor, snap out of it
.”

He could not meet
Montgomery's gaze. “I have damned her, Talon, despite my best efforts. Rose will pay the price of my mistakes.”

Montgomery
snarled and hauled on his arm. “You obviously do not know my daughter despite the years between you.”

His
words struck Brynmor to the core as he remembered saying something similar to her not so very long ago.

“
Wait,” he snapped, his brain finally functioning again. “It will take us three days to return to Powys because the enemy now controls Denbigh. We will have to go around it.”

Montgomery
hesitated, rubbing his eyes. “Damnation.”

“I need a map.”

“My pavilion,” Montgomery said, “we need to tell the men to break camp and pull back, but we can study the map while they work around us.”

“Aye,” Brynmor said and followed
him.

Quickly the word pas
sed through their men that they would withdraw from the north. Brynmor made sure they all knew this wasn't a favor. They faced a hard march which would probably end in the retaking of Powys.

Brynmor stood in
Montgomery's pavilion, studying the map before him. He rubbed his eyes, wishing he could see something more, but the map did not reveal a route that did not exist.

“Bloody hell,” Brynmor growled. “We have no choice but to go around and add another day to our journey.”

Rose ducked and threw her hands over her head
as a huge stone from a trebuchet slammed into the wall before her. The great castle shuddered.

“My lady,” the steward cried. “I beg of thee, do not endanger yourself, get to the solar.”

It had been three days since Owain had taken the field and they had closed the gates. Owain’s trebuchets threatened to pound the curtain wall into dust. But Rose refused to give up. They had to stand strong until Brynmor returned. And he would return any moment . . . he just had to.

“Nay,
Petran,” she growled. “Powys is a strong keep, worthy of my father's respect when it was in enemy hands. We need only to remember that.”

Another boulder slammed into the walls, this one partially destroying a tower and scattering men. Her troops fled from their posts.

“Nay!” she cried, but they were too terrified to hear her. She ran forward, ordering them to turn and fight, to stand strong.

One soldier grabbed her arm. “Nay, lady,” he pleaded. “We are lost, I pray run for safety, we would give our lives for you rather than see you come to harm.”

“Give your lives for me?” she snarled, an unexpected fury rising within her. She spotted a spent crossbow on the wall walk. She grabbed it and found a bolt. She stuck her foot in the stirrup and hauled with all her might on the bowstring. She never knew how she managed, for the pull weight of the bow was far greater than her own body. But she set the string in place to the wide-eyed amazement of the soldiers around her.

She loaded the bolt and popped over the wall, searching for a target. Her gaze locked on one man, gesturing wildly as he directed his troops
to bring scaling ladders to the damaged walls. She squeezed the trigger on the crossbow.

The bolt ripped through the lower half of the man's face and turned his head with such force that it snapped his neck. He dropped without uttering a sound. For the briefest instant, his troops milled about in confusion, waiting for someone to step up and take his place.

“Pitch and quicklime, now!” Rose cried. Her soldiers returned to their posts, cheering her success. The flaming brew dumped on the heads of the hapless warriors below ended the threat for the moment.

Rose stood and shoved the crossbow into the soldier
’s hands. “Target their leaders.”

He stared at her wide-eyed. “Aye, m'lady.”

Rose backed up and surveyed the walls. They would hold for now, and they had held for much longer than expected. She knew Owain grew frustrated over his inability to take a weakened castle. But she knew all she had to do was to hold out until Brynmor returned. She prayed the second messenger she had sent had reached him, but she did not know for certain if the first had managed. How could she hope a boy would succeed where a full grown man might have failed?

I pray hold strong for just a time more,
his voice whispered in memory.

She had to check on the wounded, knowing her healing skills would be needed. She spoke briefly with the commander then descended the stairs. Halfway down she staggered, leaning heavily against the wall. She stared at her hands
 . . . hands healed . . . hands that had just killed. Tears pushed forward and she sobbed, collapsing on the stairs. “Bryn, where are you?” she cried. “I need your strength . . . I need you.”

****

Brynmor snarled in frustration; they were only a day away from Powys but it was all he could do to keep from whipping his horse ahead of the column.

The day once again promised to be
bitingly cold. Brynmor rode with Montgomery in the midst of the column, his men providing protection. From the front of the column, a hue and cry arose.

His archers readied their bows. “Hold until my order,” Brynmor snapped, s
truggling to see.

A young boy only a half score of years ran toward them. On a long stick, he had fashioned a flag of Brynmor's colors. “Peac
e!” he cried. “I bring news from Powys!”

“Stay your weapons!” Brynmor barked
. Though most of his men had already lowered theirs, he worried that some fool would send an arrow through the boy's chest in an effort to earn favor.

Brynmor leaped from his horse as the boy ran toward him. Then he caught the stench. Gagging
, he backpedaled. “Saints have mercy, boy, what have you been into?”

“Forgive me, my lord
,” the boy said, as he bowed, his chest heaving from his exertion. “But my lady said if garder chutes could be used to enter a castle, they could be used to exit one as well. She paid me a gold piece to make my way through them and find ye.” He held up the gold in his stubby, dirty fingers.

Montgomery
choked then roared his laughter.

Brynmor, in spite of himself, felt his lips
curve upward. “She's your daughter, Talon.”

Montgomery
slapped him on the back. “She's your wife.” He laughed so hard there were tears in his eyes.

“My lords,” the lad said
, “when I left last night, my lady still held the keep.”

Brynmor's humor faded at the same instant
Montgomery's did. They looked at each other.

“Holy hell,” Brynmor whispered. “Lad, surely you exaggerate.”

He shook his head. “My lady was on the walls.”

Brynmor's heart twisted into vicious knots.

“When soldiers ran away, she ran toward the fighting. My lord,” he said looking up his eyes wide, “she was the bravest of all of us.”

“Of course she would be,” Brynmor whispered, squeezing his eyes closed. “Why would I think anything less?”

“But my lady sent me through the chutes because she fears she cannot hold the castle beyond tonight. She didn't want me captured and told me to give you this.” He handed Brynmor a small box.

Brynmor swallowed hard and opened it. Inside
was a small piece of parchment and a well-folded, faded fabric. His heart slammed against his ribs as he opened the fabric. He saw the tiny dried flower he had kept for so many years. Tears blurred his eyes as he opened the parchment. In Rose's flowing script he read three simple words.

I love you.

Brynmor's knees buckled and he sank to the ground. The agony that threatened to rend his heart was so very real. He knew in his heart she was saying good-bye. She did not know he was only a day away. But was he too late?

Montgomery
sighed raggedly and observed the flower and note. He cautiously pulled them from Brynmor's fingers and put them away undamaged. “Brynmor, hear my words. I know this comes as a surprise to you, but it does not to me.”

Brynmor looked at him, blinking in confusion, unable to think beyond the grief possessing him.

“Brynmor, you have always loved Rose and she has always loved you. ’Tis the only reason I agreed to the marriage. Treaties be damned, I knew it and so did Gwen. The only two people who needed to come to an understanding were you and Rose.”

Brynmor looked at the boy. “Lad, tell me of your lady.”

“She was an angel upon the ramparts. I daresay the men feared her fury more than the weapons of their enemy. But she captured the hearts of each and every one when she loaded a crossbow greater than her own weight.”

Brynmor looked to Rose's father
and he blinked in surprise.

“The lad has
the gift of story-speak,” Brynmor said. “Perhaps we shall have him tell the men . . . after we throw him in the river and find him clean clothes, of course.”

The lad smiled, still gripping the gold piece in his hand. “My lord, where is the blacksmith?”

“Farther back in our ranks,” Brynmor replied. “Why?”

“I need him to drill a hole in this so I can wear it about my neck.”

“Son, what is your name?”

“
Lewys.”

“
Lewys, my lady has given you a great gift for your service. You can buy fine armor with that piece.”

“Nay,
’tis my lady's favor. It holds far more value than its price in gold.”

“
Lewys,” he said gravely. “I have need of a squire. Methinks you might serve well.”

Lewys
's eyes widened. “I want nothing more, my lord, but I am a son of a peasant.”

“And I am a son of a freeman farmer, yet every man here calls me
the Prince of Powys. So what say you?”

“Aye, my lord
,” the boy whispered.

“Go get cleaned up.” Brynmor said.

****

The battering ram pounded against the gates and the entire keep trembled and groaned. Rose snapped her head up as dust fell from the ceiling. A second
assault caused the timbers over her head to shiver. She stood in the solar and quickly moved toward the door.

“My lady,” a voice barked. Rose saw the knight
, Elwyn, who Brynmor had tasked with her safety, run up the stairs. “Lock the door.” He pushed her back, reaching to close it.

Rose’s heart pounded
; trapped in the solar, she could not reach the escape route. “Nay!” she cried, struggling to push past him.

He ignored her and shoved her back, slamming the door. “Throw the bar!” he barked.

She had no choice. She settled the bar in its stanchions.

A terrible rending sound of shattered wood caused the keep to shudder. Voices scream
ing in terror were matched by the roar of an invading army. The gates had fallen. She stared out the loophole at the death and destruction below. Her only chance now was to reach the escape route while everyone was distracted with the fighting.

Rose
grabbed a small pack. She removed important papers from Brynmor's desk and shoved them inside.

Where are you, Bryn?

She could only hope that Longshanks would deem Powys too important to lose to the enemy and send him back. But she had to stay alive in the meantime.

Follow the tunnel to the woods,
he had said.
I will find you.

She grabbed one of Brynmor's large daggers.
For luck,
she told herself and shoved it into her belt. Fortunately, because she feared the gates might fall, she wore only a simple wool dress and a wimple to cover her hair. She might not even be recognized as the lady of the keep except for the keys on her belt. Keys that she needed to open the door to the escape route. Shouts of terror echoed up the stairs. Oh God, they had breached the keep already.

She listened intently to the sounds outside her door but heard nothing. Cautiously, she lifted the bar, opened the door
, and peeked out. Nothing. Elwyn had left her door and the way to the stairs appeared clear.

Shouldering the small pack
, she sprinted out the door and slammed into an armored body just as he charged up the stairs. She bounced off, dazed, and the warrior caught her arm. She looked up and terror cut through her. “Owain!”

“
I have taken Powys in the name of my benefactor, Dafydd.” He paused, his gaze sliding over her in a fashion that made her skin crawl. “I warned you of what would happen if you defied me.” He tore the wimple from her head. Her long blond hair spilled over her shoulders. “Now it is time for me to claim my prize.”

Her hand fell on Brynmor's dagger and she drew it. “Do not touch me!”

The gleaming blade brought him up short. He sneered at her. His hand moved so fast she never had time to realize what was happening. His mail-covered fist slammed into her jaw. White light exploded in her vision. The dagger slipped from her fingers and she hit the ground. She fought back the darkness, only dimly aware of him hauling her up. He threw her against the wall; stars exploded in her vision again as her head smacked the stone.

“The farmer
thinks he can join the ranks of nobility. He will see what happens when he leaves his noble wife unguarded.” He kissed her, his tongue forcing its way into her mouth. His hands groped her body, squeezing her breasts painfully.

Terror possessed her. She bit his tongue and slammed her knee into his groin.

He howled and yanked away from her. She lunged for the stairs, still unable to see clearly.

He grabbed her arm and hauled her back around. His fist slammed into her gut with such force it tossed her backward. Suddenly there was nothing under her feet. The stairs! She fell, her ribs striking the edge of a step. Agony cut through her as they snapped. She rolled down
, pain robbing her of her awareness.

It returned only moments later as she came to a stop at the base of the stairs. Fighting raged around her
, but she could not see clearly. Blood streamed into her eyes. She tried to move and agony nearly stole her consciousness again. Movement on the stairs told her Owain pursued. She battled to force down the pain. Her ankle throbbed. Damnation, it was either broken or badly strained. Her gaze fell on the tapestry hiding the door.

Promise me you will use this, Rose.

“My lady!” a voice cried.
Elwyn was still alive, wounded, but still fighting. He charged up the stairs. Steel rang against steel as he fought against her attacker.