Authors: The Knight of Rosecliffe
Rexanne Becnel (17 page)
“Even Englishwomen?” he mocked.
“She is half-Welsh. And anyway, we women have suffered at the whims of our menfolk for longer than the Welsh have struggled against the English.”
Josselyn looked up. “You are sorely outnumbered here, Jasper. Best you wait for your brother to bolster your position.”
He looped his arm across Gavin’s shoulder. “Soon enough Gavin will also be a man of this family.”
“A man who also is half-Welsh,” Rhonwen threw in.
Josselyn raised a hand to forestall Jasper’s reply. “There is no need to debate this matter now. Upon his return I will take it up with Rand. Meanwhile,” she said, turning back to Isolde, “you are not to fret over this. Do you understand what I say?”
Isolde swallowed hard, then nodded, her face solemn. Then her round eyes sought Rhonwen, and for once there was no animosity in her expression. Rhonwen shrugged and smiled, and to her great satisfaction, received a hesitant smile in return.
It was a beginning.
“Now,” Josselyn said, “you two children run along. Your uncle and I have matters to discuss.” When they complied, she turned her attention to Rhonwen. “I believe you have your needlework to occupy you,” she said.
“’Tis pointless. I will never master it,” Rhonwen replied.
“Perhaps you can practice coming down the stairs,” Jasper muttered.
Rhonwen stalked away, furious—and hurt. Hateful churl! she fumed, stomping up the stairs. Arrogant ass! He was all the crude and evil habits of men rolled into one obnoxious package. Rude. Selfish. Mean.
Worst of all, he thought her sorely lacking as a woman.
In the empty solar she stared glumly at her abandoned needlework, at the hopelessly knotted mess she’d made of it. It was true. She couldn’t stitch, at least not the fine work proper Englishwomen did. Nor could she manage her too-long skirt.
Her manners were coarse, her education slight, and she was wont to curse at the first provocation. No wonder he disdained her. No wonder he mocked her and did not see her as worthy of serious attention. He’d had the one thing he wanted of her, and though he might want her in that way again, it was not enough. She needed him to want the whole of her. Only he did not.
Her manners were coarse, her education slight, and she was wont to curse at the first provocation. No wonder he disdained her. No wonder he mocked her and did not see her as worthy of serious attention. He’d had the one thing he wanted of her, and though he might want her in that way again, it was not enough. She needed him to want the whole of her. Only he did not.
She felt the hated sting of tears and with the heel of one hand dashed them away. Why should it matter what he thought of her? He was nothing to her. Less than nothing.
But no matter how she tried to convince herself of that, she could not. Something in her, something perverse in the deepest part of her, wanted him to admire her. And for a moment he had. As she’d descended the stairs in the lovely mauve gown with its snug-fitting waist, his eyes had glowed with admiration.
No, she amended. They’d glowed with lust. It was not the same thing.
She snatched up her pitiful handiwork and climbed into the window seat, intent on flinging the symbol of her failure out into the moat. Let the ducks use it to line their nests. It was good for little else.
She opened the rare window glass and stared out past the castle walls where the masons yet labored, beyond them to the rooftops of thatch and slate in the growing town, and farther, to the brown fields and green forests, and dark rising hills. She sucked in great draughts of the crisp air and suddenly felt overwhelmed by sorrow.
She wanted to go home.
But where, precisely, was home?
The tangle of threads in her hand was no more a muddle than her life. To remain Jasper’s captive was eventually to fall prey to his lust for her—and hers for him.
She let out a sad, ironic laugh. Even in his lust she could find no real compliment. For his main purpose in keeping her was not for lust, but to lure Rhys into his trap. He’d had to let Rhys go to ensure Isolde’s safety. But he would not let Rhonwen go until he had Rhys back.
To complicate the situation even further, should Rhys somehow manage to elude Jasper and set her free, then he would expect an appropriate gratitude from her.
Rhonwen stared at the embroidery, then slowly began to pluck at it, following the tiny knots to their source and painstakingly unraveling what she’d done. What if she escaped on her own? She would then be beholden to no one. But where would she go? Back to her mother and her stepfather’s household? There was nothing for her there.
And therein lay the true source of her dilemma—and Isolde’s dilemma, and that of every other woman. She had no way to live on her own. Under her parents’ roof, or her husband’s, or the Church’s—those were the meager choices women had.
Or remain a captive in another man’s household, she thought.
She lowered the embroidery to her lap. There must be another way, a life and livelihood she was overlooking.
At that moment Enid reentered the solar. She made a slow circuit of the chamber, putting an armful of clean linen into a chest, replacing candle stubs from the fresh supply of candles in her pocket, and checking the water pitcher used for ablutions. She did not at first notice Rhonwen as she performed her tasks, humming under her breath. When Rhonwen shifted, however, the stout Englishwoman gasped, then frowned.
“What are ye doin’ in here alone? Does milady know?”
“Lady Josselyn sent me here, not that it’s any concern of yours. Go about your business,” Rhonwen replied crossly.
The woman harrumphed, then did as she was told. But Rhonwen watched her and considered the maid’s situation. She had a roof over her head, food enough to sustain her, and a very few silver pennies paid to her every quarterday. In truth, that was more than any wife or daughter received. Perhaps taking service was the alternative she sought, if only until something better presented itself.
Jasper did not like the way Josselyn studied him. “May I see Rand’s missive?” he asked. She handed it to him without
speaking, then watched him the whole while he read it.
speaking, then watched him the whole while he read it.
“Rand plays a dangerous game with LaMonthe,” he muttered.
“What do you mean by that?”
Jasper grimaced. He hadn’t meant to alarm her. “Just that I do not trust LaMonthe to do what he says.”
She frowned. “Nor do I. But would he go so far as to profess support for Matilda and then betray her?”
“The man is more like to pledge allegiance to both Stephen and Matilda, then watch and see which of them can benefit him most.” He thought for a moment. “LaMonthe does not concern himself with matters of the English kingdom. ’Tis his own kingdom here in Wales that he seeks to strengthen. To ally himself with us or any of the other Marcher lords allows him to probe our weaknesses. Do not forget. He is rumored to have hastened the death of his wife’s father. And his brother-in-law, sent by him on an errand to Chester, was killed in a tavern brawl.”
“And the lands under LaMonthe’s control increased.” Josselyn’s fingers wove nervously together. “Does Rand hide anything from me, Jasper? I implore you to tell me if he does, for I cannot be a true helpmate to him if I do not fully share his burdens.”
Jasper covered her hands with his. “He keeps no secrets from you, Josselyn. But if you would help him, then do not fight him in the matter of fostering Gavin and finding a husband for Isolde.” She stiffened, but he held her firmly. “He seeks only to ensure their future, and that of Rosecliffe.”
“Is that what you do as well? Is that why you hold Rhonwen captive?”
He released her hands. “’Tis Rhys I want. ’Tis he I will eventually hold in Rosecliffe’s dungeon.”
“To keep Rosecliffe safe.”
“What other reason is there?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I only wish … I wish there were a way to peace between you and Rhys.”
Jasper ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “I killed his father, Josselyn. I pulled the bow and released the arrow and
he will never let that go. That it was to save you matters nothing to him.”
he will never let that go. That it was to save you matters nothing to him.”
“Yes, I know. But I cannot help believing that in time he could come to see it differently. That he could come to see the benefit of the Welsh and English living together in peace. Together we are stronger than we are apart. Rand and I are better together than we ever were singly. Certainly Carreg Du is a better place to live since Rosecliffe Castle and the village outside have grown up.”
“Rhys is too hotheaded to care about that.”
“But he does care about Rhonwen.”
It was Jasper’s turn to stiffen. “I am well aware of that, and I plan to use that knowledge to defeat him.”
“I wonder …” she said, after a moment. “I wonder whether that is, in fact,
why
you wish to defeat him. To prove to her which one of you is the better man.”
why
you wish to defeat him. To prove to her which one of you is the better man.”
“She has nothing to do with this,” he muttered.
“Indeed? I think she has everything to do with it, going back ten years, even, to the day she saved your life.”
“Rhonwen saved my hand, not my life. And even that was only to protect you. She did not care about my life then or since. She has boasted as much to me. Do you forget that she tried to kill me? That she kidnapped your own daughter?”
Josselyn folded her arms. “I forget nothing. Not her bravery as a child, nor Rhys’s.”
“They are no longer children, Josselyn. The game they play now is a dangerous one, as is the game you play.”
“I play no games. What do you mean?”
He stared at her innocent-looking face. “Why do you shape Rhonwen into an English lady?”
She met his suspicious stare without blinking. “So that when she returns to Rhys she can have a civilizing effect on him.”
Quick anger made him sharp. “She will never return to him,” he vowed.
Her brows arched and she smiled knowingly. “So. You plan to keep her for yourself?”
“I plan to release her once I have Rhys ap Owain. Do not
make her presence here into something more than it is.”
make her presence here into something more than it is.”
“Very well,” she said, waving one hand dismissively. “Do as you will and I will do the same. But beware, dear brother, that you do not get caught in your own trap.”
She departed then, and Jasper watched her leave the hall. But her words would not so easily go, for Jasper feared they were prophetic. Already he felt ensnared by the wild and beautiful hostage he kept. When he’d seen her today, descending the stairs, radiant in that close-fitting violet-colored gown, he’d been struck dumb. With the air of a queen and the breathtaking beauty of an angel, she’d leveled all his defenses and roused all his desires.
Thank God she’d stumbled, else there was no telling how he would have embarrassed himself.
But he could not rely on that sort of intervention to strengthen him in the future. Eventually she would master the full skirts of English garb. Eventually her wild Welsh spirit would be cloaked in English manners and reserve.
But he knew already what passions lurked in her heart. Disguising them would only sharpen his need to reveal them again.
God help him when she figured that out!
Rhys ap Owain sat his horse in the middle of a rough meadow, midway between Afon Bryn and the River Geffen. His compatriots lined the north edge of the field, where the coarse grasses met the encroaching forest. Across the sloping meadow to the south, an indistinct line of English men-at-arms moved out of the shadowy tree line, then halted.
The time had come, Rhys thought. If this was a trick LaMonthe planned, to lure the thin ranks of Welsh rebels out, then slaughter them, the signal would come momentarily. His hands tightened on the leather reins as unaccustomed panic burned up from his stomach and into his throat. His horse snorted and tossed its head nervously, and Rhys fought the urge to bolt for the safety of the wildwood.
He was too young to die. He had too much yet left undone. He had Rhonwen to set free.
A rider broke from the trees. Rhys squinted to see, but the sun was in his eyes. LaMonthe had planned that, he realized. Just a small disadvantage to the Welsh, but a telling one. Still, the man rode at an easy canter, and when he pulled his horse to a halt five paces distant, wariness displaced Rhys’s earlier panic. This might not be a trick after all. Still, the English lord wanted something. Since Rhys did not usually roam the lands LaMonthe controlled, the man had to be an emissary from
FitzHugh, no matter that his messenger had sworn he was not.
FitzHugh, no matter that his messenger had sworn he was not.
LaMonthe studied him impassively. “Is it true you are but ten and six?” He spoke in Welsh.
“My age is like to my rage,” Rhys sneered. “As old as these hills.”
A faint smile thinned the man’s lips. LaMonthe was pale of skin and pale of eye. A bloodless English bastard whom Rhys would as soon skewer as look at. But he’d arranged this meeting for a reason, and Rhys was curious enough to be patient.
“You are said to be brave beyond your years.”
“You speak like an old man. ’Tis my youth that
makes
me brave,” Rhys countered disdainfully. “Old men fear the approach of death, and so they cower before their hearths, hoping to fend it off. But young men fear only the miserable lives proscribed for them. And so we are brave and daring and not cowed by the enemy who would keep us in our misery.” He met LaMonthe’s unblinking gaze with a frigid one. “If you come to parlay for FitzHugh, then give him this answer.” He spit on the ground between them. “He is a coward who hides behind a woman. Well, I will make a woman of him!”
makes
me brave,” Rhys countered disdainfully. “Old men fear the approach of death, and so they cower before their hearths, hoping to fend it off. But young men fear only the miserable lives proscribed for them. And so we are brave and daring and not cowed by the enemy who would keep us in our misery.” He met LaMonthe’s unblinking gaze with a frigid one. “If you come to parlay for FitzHugh, then give him this answer.” He spit on the ground between them. “He is a coward who hides behind a woman. Well, I will make a woman of him!”
LaMonthe lifted a hand. “Hold. Hold!” he said, chuckling.
“You laugh at my solemn vow?” Rhys’s hand whipped to the hilt of his sword, but LaMonthe was not alarmed.
“Listen to me, boy,” he growled. “Listen and learn and do not disappoint my faith in you.”
Rhys glared at him. “I do not covet your faith in me.”
“But you do covet the lands FitzHugh has wrested from your people.”
When Rhys did not respond to that, the man smiled again, a smug stretch of narrow lips over uneven teeth. The feral grimace of a beast of prey. But Rhys understood at once that this beast meant to prey on his own kind. LaMonthe had not come to aid FitzHugh’s cause. He’d come to undermine it.
Rhys schooled his features so as not to reveal his contempt for such a man. If LaMonthe’s betrayal could benefit Rhys—and Rhonwen—what care had he for the man’s morality? “I want FitzHugh ousted. In that you are right. But what interest have you in that?”
“I too would have him ousted.” LaMonthe was silent a moment. “There are ways we might join forces to better achieve our common goal.”
“My goal is to oust him, but not so that another Englishman might take his place.”
“Aid me in this and Rosecliffe Castle will be yours.”
Rhys stared at him suspiciously. “Why do you seek his defeat, if not to claim his fortress and his lands?”
“My motives are my own,” LaMonthe snapped.
“And I do not trust them,” Rhys bit back at him. “I will not fight your battles for you, only to have you cut me and my men down.”
They stared across the short distance between them. Rhys’s horse tossed its head. In the distance the cry of a hunting falcon pierced the strained silence. Then LaMonthe shrugged.
“FitzHugh is the one man who can sway—or bully—the other lords of the Marches. With him gone they will bend to my will.”
Rhys snorted. “Is that knowledge meant to reassure me that you will leave Rosecliffe in my hands? For I tell you, it does not.”
“Do you want Rosecliffe Castle or not, boy? Once FitzHugh is gone, it will be yours—yours to hold and defend like any other lord defends his demesne. But the man who controls Rosecliffe will not easily be removed from power. The place is a fortress and impenetrable. It must be undermined from within. ’Tis Randulf FitzHugh’s death I want, not his castle.”
“Randulf FitzHugh?” Rhys blurted out.
LaMonthe cocked his head to one side. “Yes, Randulf FitzHugh, Lord of Rosecliffe. Who do you think I—Aha! Now I understand. ’Tis not Rand who provokes your ire, but his brother. Jasper.”
Rhys did not bother to lie. “Our enemies are not strictly the same, but it appears our goals are.”
“Good,” LaMonthe said. “Good. I want Randulf FitzHugh gone. You want Jasper gone. But the fact remains: The castle must be undermined from within.”
From within. Yes, Rhys knew that. Then, once overrun by
Welshmen, no Englishman could retake Rosecliffe, not even LaMonthe. But the only person inside Rosecliffe who was loyal to his cause was Rhonwen, and he was loath to risk her safety. Still, the very thought of her in Jasper FitzHugh’s clutches drove any thought of caution from his mind.
Welshmen, no Englishman could retake Rosecliffe, not even LaMonthe. But the only person inside Rosecliffe who was loyal to his cause was Rhonwen, and he was loath to risk her safety. Still, the very thought of her in Jasper FitzHugh’s clutches drove any thought of caution from his mind.
“Rand is absent the castle.”
“And en route to Oaken Hill,” LaMonthe supplied.
“Can you prolong his absence?”
LaMonthe pursed his lips. “I can.”
Rhys swept the meadow with his eyes, thinking. Considering. “I have someone in the castle. A prisoner.”
“What good is that?”
Rhys allowed a small smile. It was painful to remember Rhonwen’s beauty and her bravery, knowing Jasper FitzHugh held her completely at his mercy. But he would free her, he vowed, and then that beauty would be his.
They would rule Rosecliffe Castle together, and people it with fine Welsh babes. He met LaMonthe’s skeptical gaze.
“She is more than a prisoner,” he vowed. “She is a beautiful prisoner and Jasper is infatuated with her.”
LaMonthe’s feral grin showed again. “And she is loyal to you?”
“Aye,” Rhys swore, convincing himself it was so. “She is completely loyal to me.”
“Velvet must always be brushed,” Josselyn explained, handing the forest-green gown to Rhonwen. “Water can ruin the lay of the pile.”
“Let me try,” Rhonwen said. Holding the clothes brush as she’d seen the maid do, she attacked the dried mud on the hem of the luxurious garment.
“That’s very good. Very good,” Josselyn murmured as the silk pile slowly raised back to its former plushness.
Rhonwen smiled down at the soft fabric in her lap. For the past three days she’d applied herself to the lessons of household and manners. Three days that had pleased the bemused Josselyn and filled some of the emptiness inside Rhonwen. She did it not to satisfy Josselyn, however, nor even to fill her
restless hours. Nor did she do it to aid Rhys’s cause by deluding her captors into relaxing their guard. She did it for herself, for her future, which heretofore had seemed so bleak. She was learning a skill, one she could sell to a wealthy family, and she wouldn’t care if they were English or Welsh.
restless hours. Nor did she do it to aid Rhys’s cause by deluding her captors into relaxing their guard. She did it for herself, for her future, which heretofore had seemed so bleak. She was learning a skill, one she could sell to a wealthy family, and she wouldn’t care if they were English or Welsh.
She bent over the velvet, brushing the dried stain, first in one direction, then in the other. Once she was free of Rosecliffe, she would depart these hills of her childhood. She considered her choices every night as she lay in the small chamber given her—the small locked chamber—and she’d come to a hard conclusion. Once she was freed she must somehow make her way to Llangollen or Betws-y-coed or some other fair-sized town, and take service in a household there.
She paused a moment and sighed. She would be alone and far removed from the world she knew. Then again, there was no reason for her to stay here. Certainly there was no husband for her to build a home with, nor was there likely to be.
“Rhonwen?” Josselyn laid a hand on her shoulder. “Is aught amiss with you?”
Rhonwen started, then returned earnestly to her task. “My mind wandered a moment. That is all. Here. Is this well cleaned?”
Josselyn spread the lustrous velvet smooth. “’Tis very well, indeed. Just as your efforts at spinning, at scenting the candles, and at mixing herbs for the rushes have been very well performed. I confess to a curiosity, however. Your resistance to my efforts has vanished of late.”
“And you wonder why.”
“I do.”
Rhonwen stood and shook out the gown, then began carefully to roll it up as Josselyn taught her, sprinkling dried lavender inside the garment and smoothing out the folds as she went. There was no reason not to be honest. Josselyn might have some advice on how she might go about finding a suitable position.
“I have decided to take work in a rich man’s household. That is,” she added with a snort, “I will do so whenever Jasper sees fit to set me free. So long as I remain at Rosecliffe
it seems the wisest course for me to learn everything I can.”
it seems the wisest course for me to learn everything I can.”
Josselyn nodded. “I see. ’Tis a wise plan. But what of Jasper? And of Rhys?”
Rhonwen frowned. “They are two men bent on destroying one another. I cannot prevent what will surely occur. Nor do I wish to witness it,” she added in a lower tone.
Josselyn was quiet a moment, then waved the two maids in the solar away. Only when the oak door closed with a quiet thud did she speak. “Jasper vows that he will not let you go until he has recaptured Rhys. You cannot avoid witnessing their clash.”
Rhonwen threw her hands up in dismay. “Do you
want
them to meet in battle, Josselyn? Do you
want
one of them to kill the other?”
want
them to meet in battle, Josselyn? Do you
want
one of them to kill the other?”
“Of course not. But they are both stubborn. They hate one another—and they both want you.”
Rhonwen turned away and walked to the tall, narrow window, wrapping her arms around herself. “Well, I do not want either of them.”
“I see.”
“I mean what I say. I do not want either of them. They are bent on vengeance and each of them sees me only as a tool he might use against the other.”
“Surely you do not believe that. I know Jasper sees you as more than a tool for his vengeance.”
“He does not! He behaves as if I do not exist! He’d rather me banished to the dungeon than be given the freedom of the keep as you insisted. He hates me,” she finished, in a voice that came precariously close to trembling.
Josselyn chuckled knowingly. “Jasper is well aware of your existence. Trust me in this. If he behaves otherwise, I assure you it is not because he hates you.”
But that was no consolation. Rhonwen bent her head, letting her hair swing forward to cover her hot cheeks. “You think that because he … because he lusts after me that he does not hate me. But you are wrong. He wants me only because of Rhys. And he hates me all the more because he wants me!”
At that Josselyn began to laugh in earnest. Rhonwen whirled
around. “Is my unhappy existence such an amusement to you? I assure you, I do not think it so!”
around. “Is my unhappy existence such an amusement to you? I assure you, I do not think it so!”
“Not amusing, no,” Josselyn said, managing to repress her laughter but not her smile. “You but suffer the terrible pangs of love—”
“I do not!”
“—as does he.”
“He does not!”
But Josselyn was not listening. She went on. “Love is much like birthing a babe. It takes time to grow, and comes to fruition only amidst much pain.”
“Women are known to die in the process,” Rhonwen snapped. She hoisted herself up into the window well and stared gloomily across the valley.
“Is that it?” Josselyn asked, her voice soft and kind. “Do you feel as if you will die from the love stoppered inside your heart?”
Rhonwen shook her head. She could not answer with words, for words could not make sense of the knot of emotions she felt. “I do not love him,” she finally whispered. “I only endure my captivity and prepare for the day when I may leave here.”
“As you say,” Josselyn replied after a moment. “I applaud your efforts to improve yourself, and so will help you any way I can. When the time comes for you to go, I will write you a letter of introduction to aid you in your search for a position in a good household.”
Rhonwen looked over at her. She hadn’t thought of that, and despite their angry exchange, she gave Josselyn a small, grateful smile. “Thank you. But I beg you,” she added, “do not reveal my intentions to him.”
“To Jasper?”
Rhonwen nodded. “So long as I am his hostage he controls my fate. But when I am freed, my life will be my own. He need not know my plans, for they do not concern him.”
“What if he makes them his concern?”
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