Heart's War (Heart and Soul) (3 page)

Rose quickly gathered cups and the finest wine Montgomery
had to offer. Her mother tended the guardsmen at the table in the great hall and passed by Rose leaving the kitchens, giving her a reassuring wink. Rose entered her father’s study to see the men settling comfortably before the large hearth, a small table between them. She approached Longshanks and bobbed a quick curtsy. “Your Majesty,” she said softly.

“Ah
, thank you, my lady,” Longshanks said, selecting a cup.

“Would you like anything else,
Your Majesty?”

He took a drink of wine and settled. “Cheese
, if you do not mind, my lady.”

“Of course,
Your Majesty.” She offered a cup to her father. He took it and smiled at her.

William took over the tray so Rose could fetch the requested cheese. She also brought more bread and extra plates. By the time she returned
, she noticed William once again sat next to her father and the tray with the wine now sat out of the way. She offered the king the first selection, then her father, then the other nobles by rank.

She stood back, wine bottle in hand, waiting to refill cups as necessary.

“I understand, Your Majesty,” her father said, “your army is only fifty miles north, in Chester.”

“Aye,” Longshanks replied, taking another long drink of his wine. His gaze did not leave her father
, but he held his cup out slightly to his right.

Rose quickly
stepped forward and refilled it, returning to her place next to the wall. Her gaze traveled over the men. The gesture requesting a cup to be refilled was subtle, and she needed to watch for it as well as listen.

“I am sure you are aware,” Longshanks said, “Dafydd
ap Gruffydd moves troops, threatening English holdings in Wales.”

Her father nodded, his jaw tightening. “It appears he has suddenly become dissatisfied with the reward you gave him years ago.”

Longshanks also nodded, his expression darkening. “And they call me the leopard that can change its spots,” he growled. “Llywelyn has attempted to assure me he does not support this rebellion. I do not believe him.”

“If Dafydd moves against England, Llywelyn will support his brother no matter the consequence.” He paused and shook his head. “The man is shrewd
, but at times he can be a trusting fool. Dafydd is hotheaded and Llywelyn struggles to control him.”

“Aye
, and this time Dafydd has the support of the Welsh nobility and that of the populace.”

Her father drew a deep breath into his lungs and Rose knew
he weighed his words carefully. “I fear,” her father said softly, “if Dafydd succeeds in any measure, we will have a full-blown rebellion on our hands.”

“Aye,” Longshanks said, nodding. “And this time, I mean to crush that rebellion
—permanently.”

Rose only just suppressed her gasp. The king and Mortimer held out their cups
; Rose stepped forward to refill them.

A soft knock sounded on the door.

“Enter,” her father said.

The others glanced up
, but when they realized it was only Gwen who stood at the door bearing another tray, they ignored her.

Gwen’
s tray carried more bread, cheese, and two bottles of wine. Rose silently took the tray from her, collecting used plates and replacing them with clean ones and a fresh loaf of bread, still warm from the kitchens.

Now with a second full bottle of wine in hand, Rose once again waited. Gwen left the room, closing the door behind her.

“I intend to bring the attack from the north,” Longshanks said, leaning forward and breaking off a chunk of bread from the loaf. “Mortimer will bring his troops to the center. Gloucester will bring troops and attack in the south.”

Her father stiffened and examined his cup, then held it out for Rose to refill. “Am I to summon my barons who owe me duty?”

Longshanks looked to Mortimer.

“Nay,” Mortimer said, shaking his head. “Keep them in reserve, Montgomery. We need you to do what you do best and hold the border. As I move my troops, I need to be assured the Welsh will not try to slip past us and attack our holdings directly.”

“You have my assurance in that regard, Mortimer,” her father said firmly. “You know that.”

Mortimer grinned at him. “Aye, Montgomery, I know I can count on you. But there remains one great concern.” He too held out his cup
and Rose refilled it.

“What is that?”

“As I bring my forces across the Severn River ford, there is one Welsh holding that troubles me greatly.” He paused, staring at her father. “Powys.”

Fear clamped around Rose’s heart.

“Powys is allied with Montgomery,” her father said firmly.

“Through a tenuous bond,” Longshanks said.

“Yet one recognized by English law,” her father replied. “Brynmor is Gwen’s adopted brother. He controls the land in her stead, and you, Your Majesty, have known both Gwen and I long enough to understand our loyalty is with you.”

“Aye,” Longshanks said firmly. “I doubted you years ago when you allied with
de Montfort, but you have never given me cause to question you since then.”

“Unlike your father,” her father said softly
, “you have done much for the community of the realm, Your Majesty. You have upheld the Provisions of Oxford, creating a parliament in your court. You have strengthened the law and the administration of your government since ascending the throne. You have earned my respect and admiration.”

Rose blinked at her father. Even though he had paid the king a tremendous compliment, there was much Longshanks might have taken exception to. The king was required to earn nothing in the eyes of those he ruled.

Surprisingly, Longshanks laughed and lifted his cup in salute. “That’s what I like about you, Montgomery. I always know where you stand. I may not agree with you, but I always know. You place your kingdom and your people first, no matter what it may cost you.”

“Thank you, my liege,” Montgomery said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “I can assure you, Brynmor ap Powys is the same type of man.”

Longshanks’s humor quickly faded. “You are certain of this?”

Her father nodded.

Gloucester and Longshanks held out their cups. Rose moved to refill them, but her thoughts were spinning. They trusted her father, but what about Brynmor? They did not know him despite the years he had governed Powys.

“He is a Welshman,” Mortimer said. “If I bypass Powys because of its allegiance with Montgomery, I need to be assured he will not be snapping at my flanks a sennight later.”

“Although I do not get to see much of Brynmor, he sends me word of the happenings regularly. Llywelyn believes him involved with the assassination plot.”

Longshanks
frowned. “Dafydd and Owain begged my protection after that failed nonsense. I granted it to them just to fluster Llywelyn, but they mentioned nothing about Brynmor being involved in the affair.”

“Nor would he be,” her father replied. “Honor runs deep within him. So much so, he would never be involved in such a cowardly plot.”
He hesitated and leaned forward. “Your Majesty, his fighting skills are impressive. He can best me on the list field as often as I can best him. He would not have to resort to such treachery. His skill and strength are unlike anything I have yet seen. If he wanted a man dead, he would simply meet him on the field of battle and allow his sword to make his point.”

Longshanks stared at his cup, thinking for a long moment. “He is
the son of a farmer.”

“But one who has le
arned his duty as a knight and a Welsh prince quite well.”

“Aye,” Longshanks said and nodded. He held his cup out again and Rose refilled it
, but this time he stunned her by looking up at her. “I understand,” he said softly, “there is another reason Powys is allied with Montgomery.”

Rose blushed, finished filling his cup, and stepped back
, but her father caught her free hand and pulled it to his lips. He looked at her from his chair and gave her a genuine smile.

“Aye,
Your Majesty,” he said softly. “He returned my daughter to me. When I thought all hope was lost, when I thought my enemies would slay her, he brought her home safely. Brynmor will always have my gratitude. That will not change.”

“You are a beautiful young woman, Rose,” Longshanks said. “Why is it you have not yet married?”

Rose’s face heated even more and she took a breath to speak, but her father’s hand tightened on hers and stopped her.

“I have not yet found a lord worthy of her,” her father growled.

Longshanks chuckled and took another drink from his cup. “You are entirely too overprotective, Montgomery.” Again he regarded her thoughtfully. “I hear word you have become a fine healer.”

Rose knew her face had to be a bright crimson. “Thank you,
Your Majesty.”

“Gwen and Rose
, both,” her father said, smiling proudly, “are two of the finest healers this land has ever seen.”

“I fear your skills will be sorely tested,” Longshanks said to Rose. Then he looked at her father. “If Dafydd insists on this foolishness, I shall answer the challenge. I shall not stay my hand, and I will not be merciful. Make sure your Welshman understands that.”

“The bond with Montgomery is too tenuous,” Mortimer grumbled.

The answer suddenly blossomed within Rose’s mind. In a heartbeat
, she knew how to assure Mortimer and Longshanks that the alliance between Montgomery and Powys would be unquestioned. Her heart pounded and she took a steadying breath. Rose understood at that moment she would never find her match in any noble suitor, for she had already discovered it in a Welshman with long black hair and blue-green eyes. But did she dare suggest it? Would her father agree to it? He had to. It was the only way to save Brynmor from Longshanks.

She locked her father in her gaze
, and this time her fingers tightened on his.

He studied her a long moment,
seemingly in understanding, yet trying to judge her resolve. Rose gave him an imperceptible nod, he had always praised her for her sharp intellect and she knew exactly where she had inherited it from—and it was not the mother who had died giving birth to her.

“Trust me,” her father said
, his gaze leaving hers and returning to Mortimer. “I have a plan, and if it is successful, you will not question Brynmor’s loyalty again.”

Longshanks scowled. “And what is this plan?”

To Rose’s surprise, her father shook his head. “Forgive me, my liege, but I must ask your indulgence this once.”

Longshanks
gazed at him intently then took another drink from his cup. “Very well, Montgomery. You have asked little of me over the years.” He paused and his expression grew deadly. “But rest assured, if I am not comfortable with your solution, you shall be the one tasked with the taking of Powys.”

Powys Castle

The Welsh/English Border

Palm Sunday,
1282 AD

Brynmor stood grimly on the northern ramparts of his castle. The battlements only reached his waist since he stood taller than most. He leaned forward, his fingers trying to dig into the hard granite. A night wind toyed with his long black hair and tugged at his cloak. Brynmor’s gaze focused on the glow of fire several miles to the north and his jaw clenched.

With the wind came the faint
smell of smoke. At least he thought it such—it could well be his imagination, he told himself. But the distant glow in the night sky was not to be denied. Dafydd had brought forces against the English-held castle of Hawarden, and Brynmor knew Dafydd’s trebuchets pummeled the castle’s defenses into the ground.

Now the English king
would have no choice but to answer. Soon war would arrive at Brynmor’s holdings. Or would it? He did not know who might appear at his gates with siege engines. Llywelyn had made his doubts clear about Brynmor’s loyalty, even though Brynmor maintained his innocence regarding the plot to assassinate him. His scouts had reported that Earl Mortimer gathered his troops on the edge of Brynmor’s holdings, waiting for the order from Longshanks to march.

Brynmor had no idea if he should challenge the marcher earl if he attempte
d to cross his borders. Would Mortimer threaten Brynmor directly? He may not for one simple reason. Brynmor glanced up at the silhouette of a giant castle to the east, across the Severn River, guarding the English Marches.

Montgomery.

“My lord,” a timid voice said from behind him.

Brynmor turned to face his steward, biting back any angry oath at the intrusion.
“What is it?”

“
We have received word. Not only has the English holding of Hawarden fallen under attack, so has Shropshire. Dafydd’s forces also move against Llandray, Carreg Cennen, and Oswestry.”

“Damnation,” Brynmor muttered.

“There’s more, my lord. The men on watch just spotted a small, heavily armed party moving toward us from the Severn River ford.”

Brynmor scowled.
“A raiding party?”

The steward, a
n old wiry man, shook his head. “There appear to be two women in their midst. The one knight in the lead looks very much like the Earl of Montgomery, except his guard is too few in number and he bears no heraldry on his shield.”

“Montgomery?” Brynmor asked in shock.
“At this time of night?” He strode quickly along the ramparts, heading for the barbican at the gate, his steward following. “Have you received word from my mother's entourage? Have they arrived safely?”

“Aye, my lord, they are safe
, although I fear her cough has worsened.”

Brynmor cringed. “If we come under siege
, it would have meant her death.”

“Aye, my lord, it was wise
to send her to safety. I'm sure once she settles, it will pass soon enough.”

Brynmor
didn’t reply as he walked to the barbican. This late night visit did not bode well, and Brynmor suddenly felt cornered. He stopped at the barbican and looked down. Torches lined the castle walls and the road leading up to the gates. The light flickered violently in the gusting wind; Brynmor struggled to identify the approaching riders.

A giant bay destrier in the lead was unmistakable
, and although the knight astride it wore a black great helm and surcoat with no crest, the size and power of the body under the mail armor was also unmistakable. Talon Montgomery had come calling in the middle of the night.

Brynmor cursed softly.
“Open the sally for them,” he growled.

“Aye, my lord.”

A guard waved a torch from the walls, gaining Montgomery’s attention, and then moved along the wall to stand over the sally, a distance from the main gates. The earl turned his party and waited while the guards unbarred the small door.

Brynmor strode down the stairs
, his cloak billowing behind him. His long legs swallowed the distance across the courtyard to the sally. To his surprise, he saw only four guards with the earl, and two women, heavily cloaked against the night.

Montgomery removed his great helm and tossed it to a page as he dismounted.
Even in his early fifties, the earl was still a man to be reckoned with. He stood almost as tall as Brynmor, his broad shoulders and massive chest still corded with power. His long tawny hair, shot with gray at his temples, gave the only hint to his age, but Brynmor marveled at how the man didn’t look a day over forty. He still moved with the grace and balance of a warrior born to wield a blade.

Montgomery
quickly moved to help his wife from her horse. She lowered the cowl of her hood and smiled up at her husband. Those two were so besotted with each other, it was almost embarrassing. But Gwen appeared just as beautiful as when Brynmor had last seen her; it seemed the ravages of time did not have the courage to mar her features.

The earl
then moved to assist the second woman. She also lowered her cowl and any hope Brynmor might have had that she was a maid come to assist her lady fled. Pale blonde hair gleamed golden in the torchlight of the bailey. Her large blue eyes looked almost amber. Brynmor’s heart twisted in his chest and he clenched his fists. Rose. She seemed to have grown even more beautiful in the past eight years.

Brynmor took a breath to call out a greeting to Montgomery but Rose spotted him first.
“Bryn!” she cried and rushed toward him.

Brynmor couldn’t help the smile that escaped him as she threw herself into his arms.
He cursed himself for being such a saphead, but his arms encircled her and he spun her around. Her silky hair brushed his face. He kissed her cheek, inhaling deeply of her sweet scent. “Rose,” he said, trying to keep the warmth from his voice. “I have missed you.” He set her on her feet and gazed down at her beautiful face.

She was a tall
woman, taking after her father in height. She gazed up at him with a smile that could steal a man’s heart. Her face was beautiful in its artistry, her nose pert, her lips a dusty rose. Her skin was as soft as the petals of her namesake.

“Brynmor,” Gwenillian said, smiling as she approached.
“How are you, my brother?”

Brynmor released Rose only long enough to embrace his sister.
Brynmor loved his adopted family. Aside from his ailing mother, they were all he had in this life.

“I am well, Gwen, but concerned over you and your late arrival with lack of a decent guard.”

She stepped back as Montgomery approached. “My husband’s idea,” she said softly.

Brynmor gripped Montgomery's extended forearm in greeting.
“Welcome, Lord Montgomery.”

“
Brynmor,” Montgomery said with a nod. Of all the knights Brynmor knew, only Talon could match him in size and strength, and surprisingly, skill. He had sparred with the earl several times on the list field, noting the old war horse still gave as good as he got.

“Come,” Brynmor said and gestured toward the keep.
“I am sure you are weary. Refresh yourselves at my table and tell me why you chose to risk yourselves in the dead of night.”

He escorted them into the large keep, glancing at Gwen as they entered.
Although close to Montgomery in size and wealth, Powys’s great hall was spartan. Very few banners adorned the walls; the giant oak table in the center was solid but simple in design. Still, the hall was clean and warm with a large hearth.

Gwen paled as she entered, her gaze snapping from corner to corner, as if she expected her dead father to appear at any moment.
Her father had been an abusive sod. The servants who remembered had told Brynmor the stories of her childhood. It was a miracle and a testament to Gwen’s fiery spirit that she hadn’t been broken by his cruelty. She had risen above her fate but still hated the home in which she had been raised, which was why she had so willingly given control to Brynmor. For her to return must mean this meeting was indeed important.

Her husband linked his arm in hers, smiling reassuringly.
She seemed to relax a bit and allowed him to escort her to the table. Brynmor called for food and drink and settled himself in his chair.

Montgomery
saw to his wife’s and daughter’s comfort then sat beside them. His amber eyes locked on Brynmor. “I decided stealth was more important—that is why I did not come during the day. We need to talk Brynmor, and I think you know why.”

Brynmor gazed at the wine cup a servant handed him and nodded.
“Longshanks and Llywelyn.”

“Aye. Your alliance with Montgomery as Gwen’s adopted brother is shaky at best.
Longshanks needs to be assured you will not move against him.”

Brynmor gritted his teeth.
His Welsh blood screamed in defiance. “Edward has no right to these lands.”

Montgomery
glared at him. “Dafydd refused Llywelyn’s counsel, foolishly. Edward will not stay his hand.”

“But it is the Welsh people who will pay the price in blood.”

“They are supporting him.”

“Only because they wish to reject English law,”
Brynmor snapped.

Gwen and Rose looked at each other in concern.

“Dafydd moves against English holdings and the Welsh leadership in Powys Fadog moves with him. Mortimer amasses troops at your border and Gloucester brings his forces from the south. You, Brynmor, are caught right in the middle. If neither side knows your alliance, both will pummel you into the ground.” He paused, his voice gentling. “You mentioned in one of your letters that Llywelyn believes you were involved in the plot to assassinate him.”

Brynmor battled to control his temper.
“Lies,” he growled and locked the earl in his gaze. “You know me better than that, Montgomery.”

“Aye.”
Montgomery sat back and gave a long-suffering sigh. “I know you would not stoop so low, Brynmor. But now that Dafydd has committed himself, Longshanks will answer. He will win this war. You know that as well as I do.”

“I have no desire to enter this fray,” Brynmor growled
, although every part of his being screamed for him to join his Welsh brethren and defend against the invasion he knew would come. They were fighting for their lands, their way of life, their very existence. Brynmor didn’t know if he could turn his back on that. His time with Longshanks’s army five years ago had left a sour feeling in his gut and the foul taste of betrayal in his mouth.

“If we strengthen our alliance by marriage,”
Montgomery said casually, “Longshanks will not raise his sword against you.”

Brynmor lifted his head, scarcely believing the words he had just heard. “Marriage?”

Montgomery gazed at him evenly.

Brynmor shook his head, his temper
flaring again. “If we strengthen our alliance and I swear fealty to Longshanks,” he snapped, his meeting with Llywelyn still clear in his memory. “And that will guarantee the Prince of Wales moves against me.” His gaze stopped on Rose, although he tried not to look at her. She sat silently, her head lowered, her cheeks bright red. Brynmor found her entrancing and struggled to maintain his thoughts, the anger strengthening him threatened to vanish when he looked at her.

“Aye,”
Montgomery said simply. “But Llywelyn will probably move against you anyway because he suspects you took part in the plot to kill him.”

“I told you—”

Montgomery waved him off. “If not for that
, then for your first alliance with Edward.”

Brynmor slammed his cup on the table, the wine sloshing over the edge.
“Which you convinced me to do.” He paused and shook his head angrily. “It almost killed me to raise my hand against my Welsh brothers. I’ll not do it again.”

“
There were also nine thousand of your Welsh brothers who joined your cause. Brynmor, if you do not form an alliance Longshanks can trust, you will be crushed between both warring factions.”

Brynmor cursed under his breath, no longer wishing to continue the pointless argument.
“I will have my steward prepare your rooms; I am sure you are weary.” He rose, striding for the north tower, the place where he gazed over the land and found a bit of solitude. His boot heels slammed against the stone floor as he walked.

He heard a tiny gasp.
“Papa!” Rose protested.

That was his only warning as a strong hand seized his arm, the other grabbing him by the scruff of the neck.
Brynmor snarled a curse and reached for his dagger as Montgomery hauled him into the tower and up the stairs.

“Were it not for my care of those two women in my hall
, I would kill you,” Brynmor growled, trying to wrest himself free.

“Were it not for my care of those two women in your hall
, you would already be dead,” Montgomery snapped back.

Equally matched, they struggled up the stairs
, until Montgomery shoved Brynmor into an archer loophole in the tower.