Heart's War (Heart and Soul) (5 page)

Montgomery
grinned brightly, but in an instant it vanished, leaving Brynmor wondering if he had imagined it. 

“It would have been easier if I had stayed a farmer.”

Montgomery arched an eyebrow at him. “Are you sure about that? I understand plowing a straight furrow is harder than it appears. I wouldn’t be able to do it.”

“You would with practice.”

“Which is my point, Brynmor.”

Brynmor snorted, shaking his head.
“But farming I understand.”

“You will learn.
You have already learned much since becoming the Earl of Powys.”

Brynmor inclined his head at the unexpected compliment.
He still wondered why Montgomery and his family showed him such preference . . . such faith. He had gotten to the point where he really didn’t question it anymore—it didn’t do him any good.

“Speaking of dowry,” Brynmor said
, “what sort of bride price do you think is fair?” Montgomery was the only man Brynmor trusted enough to answer the question honestly, without trying to take advantage of him.

“The alliance with Montgomery is enough.
While you’re swearing fealty to Edward, the link between our two houses is the true strength. Besides, I’ve studied maps of your holdings, and with Dafydd on the rampage, I do not wish to weaken your stance by bringing lands under Montgomery’s control. ‘Tis best to leave them as they are.”

That’s why Brynmor respected, and
, he grudgingly admitted, liked Montgomery. Wisdom and honor ruled him, not greed.

“Brynmor, Mortimer waits at the Severn River ford. He waits not only for Longshank
s’s command, but my word as well. You know he will have to move through your holdings.”

Brynmor gritted his teeth. Again his Welsh blood screamed in defiance, but he nodded. “As long as Mortimer does not allow his men to rape and pillage, I will maintain my stance. But if he does, then I will take exception and will have no qualms about meeting him on the field of battle.”

Montgomery nodded. “I think it might be prudent to invite him to dine with you this eve. You can voice your concerns to him in person. I can summon him for a meeting, if you wish.”

He thought for a moment.
“Aye, thank you, my lord.”

“If Edward approves this alliance, I suggest you plan on holding the wedding immediately after receiving his permission.
If Llywelyn’s spies find out, he will do all he can to stop this union.”

Brynmor
shot him a puzzled frown. “Why? Llywelyn’s wife, Eleanor, is English—Edward’s first cousin, in fact.”

“I do not think he would object to Rose being English were it not for this war. But
stopping you from allying with Montgomery and swearing fealty to Edward is simply sound military strategy.”

“Aye,” Brynmor said. “And Llywelyn has done nothing to endear himself to me. Refusing to believe my innocence in regard to the plot against him was a powerful mistake. It is as if he’s trying to drive me to ally with Longshanks.”
He paused, his eyes narrowing. “Or keep me off balance.”

Montgomery’s lips
curved upward. “Exactly, Brynmor, now you have it aright.”

“Are you certain you want this,
Montgomery?” he asked softly. “Are you certain you wish for your daughter to marry me?”

Montgomery
held his gaze for a long moment then slowly nodded. Although they spent most of the time insulting each other, the ribbing covered a deep respect. “You are a good man, Brynmor. I trust you to do right by my little girl.”

Brynmor chuckled.
“She’s not little anymore, or so she keeps reminding me.”

Montgomery
laughed. “Aye. She does the same to me.” He paused, his smile fading. “’Tis hard to let go. But I know you would give your life to keep her safe.”

Brynmor arched an eyebrow in surprise
, but Montgomery was right, he would give his life for Rose. Just as he had placed it on the line so many years ago. “I would in a heartbeat, Montgomery. But I worry. What if she marries me then decides she hates me? I do not want her to be miserable in this marriage.”

Montgomery
stiffened, and Brynmor abruptly remembered what he had heard regarding the man’s first marriage.

“No one can know the future,”
Montgomery said softly, and for a brief moment, Brynmor saw the haunted look in his eyes as he dwelt upon painful memories. “But Rose and I have spoken in depth over this. Gwen also approves, and I trust her judgment as well.”

Brynmor nodded.
At least now Montgomery was happy with a good wife who loved him and a throng of children. Brynmor wondered if he too would be so fortunate to find such joy in life. It was so rare and elusive that Brynmor held out little hope his own future would be so bright.

He sighed, gazing at the stone walls around him. It was all so fleeting, the joy and happiness this life could offer
. Even the blessing of a family was tenuous in this harsh land. There were no guarantees no matter the direction this war went. If Llywelyn won, Brynmor, because he was not of noble blood, might find himself stripped of his holdings and his noble wife taken away from him. But Longshanks had his own reputation. He only supported alliances as long as they benefited him. If he won, he could well reject Brynmor’s oath of fealty, and Brynmor might find himself in the same predicament simply because he was Welsh. But if he married Rose, made her his wife, and brought her to his bed, he would not be able to give her up. Once this was done, his fate was sealed. He would fight unto the death to keep what was his, even a wife whose beauty, fire, and goodness he did not deserve.

****

Brynmor escorted Rose to the great hall for dinner, glad that his error from that morning seemed to be forgiven. A headache still thudded dully between his temples and the gold coronet he wore reflecting his station only increased it. But he and Montgomery had emerged from the study late afternoon with a completed marriage agreement. It would be on its way to Longshanks come the dawn.

Now Brynmor descended the stairs with Rose’s hand lightly resting on his arm. He suddenly discovered himself aware of her every movement. She
also wore a delicate coronet as the daughter of a powerful earldom and a fine blue dress that matched the color of her eyes. Her shining blond hair fell in soft tendrils down her back; her skin glowed as pale cream in the golden light of the torches. Brynmor struggled to maintain his concentration lest he make yet another bumbling error and embarrass them both.

Brynmor’s gaze quickly passed over the great hall
, noting several people, but the number of guests was far less than normal. Typically at sunset, his hall would be filled with travelers and merchants, those seeking a hot meal and a safe place to bed down for the night, but with Dafydd’s battle and enemy troops amassing, few dared risk the roads right now.

His gaze continued, stopping on Montgomery with Gwen at his side. She also wore a fine brocade dress, a rich emerald, her black hair falling in an inky cape down her back. Then Brynmor spotted the man Montgomery
spoke to.

“Mortimer? What is he doing here?” Rose whispered.

“Your father thought it best I meet with him in person.” The man was Montgomery’s same age and rank. While his surcoat was of a fine weave, he wore armor, chain mail complemented with steel plate.

Montgomery looked up, spotting Brynmor and Rose. “Ah, Powys,” he said warmly.
He crossed the room with Mortimer only a step behind.

“Montgomery,” Brynmor said in acknowledgment then turned his attention to the man beside him. “Mortimer, I bid you welcome to my house.”

“Powys,” Mortimer said, bowing, but Brynmor gritted his teeth. The Englishman recognized his station, but only as it applied under English law, not Welsh. Powys was a principality, but that designation was reserved for Llywelyn, the Prince of Wales, alone.

“May I present Lady Rose of Montgomery,” Brynmor said.

Mortimer took her hand and bowed over it. “Well met, my lady. I vow you grow more lovely each day.”

Brynmor’s jaw tightened even more as Rose blushed and curtsied. “Thank you,
my lord. ’Tis good to see you again.”

Brynmor managed to work his jaw loose.
“Accompany us, please,” he said and gestured toward the table. He offered Rose his arm again and escorted her while Mortimer and Montgomery fell in stride with him.

“You have very valid concerns, Powys,
” Montgomery said. “I hope Mortimer’s reassurances will do much.”

“Aye,” Mortimer said, nodding. “Although I must admit being surprised at this solution,” he paused and winked at Montgomery. “Longshanks was right, you are entirely too overprotective.”

Montgomery laughed and shook his head.

“But,” Mortimer continued
, “it does much for my reservations.”

Brynmor reached his chair at the high table. Rose would sit at his right. Montgomery, as her
father would sit next to her, along with Gwen. Mortimer, as an honored guest, would sit on Brynmor’s left. Butting up against the high table, a second long one stretched into the great hall, lined with benches forming a T-shape. Brynmor’s gaze did not miss the subtle changes to his hall, noting that with the visiting nobility, expensive beeswax candles now graced the tables. Roundels with bread and cheese provided the guests with food until dinner could be served. Servants attended cups with wine and finely made ale. His men, many wearing their armor, had polished the steel to a bright sheen. Several escorted their ladies, also dressed in their finery. A bard with a lute played softly near the great hearth. Brynmor nodded in satisfaction; the great hall had not seen such pageantry in years, but it had also not seen visits from such high-ranking nobles in years either.

Those in attendance noted Brynmor stood by his chair and moved to
ward the long table. Brynmor’s steward had made certain everyone stood at their appointed place according to rank. All eyes turned toward Brynmor and the minstrel stopped playing. A servant poured wine into Brynmor’s cup. He lifted it and nodded toward Montgomery. “I welcome our noble guests, the Earl of Montgomery and his wife and daughter.” He turned toward Mortimer. “And to the Earl of Mortimer, I also offer the hospitality of Powys.” He then faced the rest of his guests. “Welcome all to my humble home, may the blessings of God be upon us.” He took a drink from his cup as others voiced their appreciation of the welcome and did the same. Brynmor ushered Rose into her chair then sat, and the others in attendance followed his lead.

He could not help the sigh of relief that escaped him. Rose glanced at him curiously and a rueful smile tugged at his lips. “I’ve always disliked doing that.”

“You managed quite well,” Rose said.

“Thank ye
,” he replied, allowing his burr to color his voice. “But I always fear they hear my commoner’s roots, not the Prince of Powys.”

“I find your voice enchanting.”

He blinked at her, startled.

A sudden blush rose on her cheeks and she bit her lip.

An unexpected warmth infused him. He drew her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. Her blush burned even brighter and his entire body suddenly coiled.

The servants brought their food
, a hearty stew served in trenchers, and Brynmor swallowed hard. He would have to share a trencher with Rose. He suddenly felt himself off balance and uncertain. The servant sat the trencher before him and stepped back. It smelled wonderful. With the arrival of their guests, Cook had certainly outdone himself. Brynmor lifted his dagger, found what he thought was the best piece of meat, deftly cut it, and then speared it, offering it to Rose.

She took the piece in her mouth and Brynmor’s body suddenly came alive. She chewed and he watched her slender throat muscles work as she swallowed. “Thank you, my lord,” she said softly and daintily dabbed a piece of bread in the thick gravy. He should eat as well
, but she had completely captured his attention. He couldn’t resist cutting a small slice of potato and offering it to her. She accepted it, leaning closer, her shoulder brushing his. Her sweet scent held him in thrall. Brynmor drew a deep breath into his lungs, trying to steady himself. Never in his life had he experienced such a thing. He savored the intensity of the strange feelings coiling through him, but then his wits returned and he cursed himself. He controlled Powys only through luck. If his life had been normal, he would be nothing more than a simple farmer admiring Rose from afar, the commoner he had been born to be.

****

Rose watched as Brynmor’s expression darkened like a thundercloud. Worried, her hand closed over his. “Brynmor,” she whispered, “what’s wrong?”

He stared at her hand a long moment
, and for an instant, Rose saw a terrible anguish reflected in his blue-green eyes. He drew a deep breath and with his free hand reached for his cup, taking a long drink. “Nothing, my dear,” he said and returned his cup to the table. He smiled at her, but Rose knew it was forced.

“
Forgive me, my lord,” Mortimer said.

Brynmor stiffened. “Aye?”

“Montgomery has told me your concerns,” Mortimer said. He stared at his cup thoughtfully then returned his gaze to Brynmor. “I must say, if the roles were reversed and I had troops amassing at my border, it would give me pause as well.”