Authors: The Knight of Rosecliffe
Rexanne Becnel (25 page)
Slowly light crept back into the forest, and when he spied fresh hoofprints in a muddy patch, his hopes rose further. He found Helios cropping new clover near the riverbank, and once assured the destrier had suffered no injury, he mounted the beast.
In the sky the sun was halfway restored, and though Jasper was not superstitious, he shuddered with profound relief. For some reason God had seen fit to save him from certain death. He’d spared his life, and yet at the same time, had destroyed it. Jasper would survive this day, it seemed. But would he survive the endless empty days to come? The ache in his heart proclaimed the truth: He loved Rhonwen. But she did not love him.
Sunk in his own misery, he turned Helios and kicked the animal into motion. Best to cross the river and make his way north to Rosecliffe along the far bank. He’d lost this round to Rhys, but he knew they were bound to meet again.
And next time he would not charge unprepared into the fray, blinded by rage or love—or the torturous mix of both those emotions.
He crossed the river where it was wide and the banks strewn with gravel. The water was shallow enough that Helios never lost his footing. Jasper glanced periodically up at the sky, where the sun had bloomed almost to its full circumference again. It was as if something had blocked its light, then moved on.
The moon? he wondered, staring at the dark orb now visible beside the sun. They had not collided at all, it seemed, but had briefly overlapped.
He should take a lesson from the heavens, he told himself, urging Helios up the riverbank. He and Rhonwen had been drawn into one another’s paths, and for a while it had seemed that they had collided. But they had merely overlapped. Now, like the sun and the moon, they would go their opposite directions.
But no matter that he tried to characterize it otherwise, Jasper
could not escape one fact. Going a direction opposite Rhonwen’s was ripping his heart in two.
could not escape one fact. Going a direction opposite Rhonwen’s was ripping his heart in two.
“God curse me for a fool,” he muttered.
The words had barely left his mouth when a phalanx of riders burst from the trees. Helios reared in surprise and in a trifling Jasper was surrounded by hooded knights. English knights, with their swords drawn and their intentions clear.
He whipped out his own sword and held it in a defensive position. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded to know, bringing Helios under control.
The circle of riders parted and a man rode forward. When he pushed back his mail cowl and gave a feral grin, Jasper’s blood ran cold.
Simon LaMonthe. And if his triumphant expression was any indication, he’d not come to save Jasper from the Welshmen who pursued him.
Rhonwen rode before Rhys. She’d wanted to walk. She’d wanted to escape his presence. But he’d not afforded her that luxury, and now, when her heart was breaking, she must pretend to be grateful that he had saved her.
She hunched forward, trying to control her shaky emotions. Why couldn’t she be happy? This was what she’d wanted, to get away from Jasper and to avoid a fight between him and Rhys. But her mind kept returning to Jasper. Had he escaped? Would he make his way safely back to Rosecliffe Castle?
Would he come after her again?
Did she want him to? Oh, but she was perverse. How could she even think such a thing?
Rhys guided the horse down a hill, following a faint deer trail. “That was not a sign,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “That darkness meant nothing. Only a superstitious fool would believe it did.”
“There are more than a few superstitious fools residing in these hills,” Rhonwen responded.
When noon comes black as beetle’s back
echoed in both their minds. Well, that day had come.
echoed in both their minds. Well, that day had come.
The children’s song which had been so comforting was now coming true before their astounded eyes. Stones that grew. A midday shadowed by darkness. All that remained was for winter
to burn as hot as summer. Could such a thing truly occur?
to burn as hot as summer. Could such a thing truly occur?
She was beginning to believe it could.
Rhys kicked the horse to a faster pace. He was in a ferocious mood, and she knew why. He’d had Jasper in his grasp—at least for a few minutes. He’d had the man who’d killed his father. But Jasper had escaped.
“I want to know what you learned during your days in the English fortress,” he said in a terse voice. “LaMonthe’s men said you had much freedom there, the run of the hall and the bailey. They said also that they delivered their message to you. But you left Rosecliffe before the dark of the moon. Why? Why didn’t you do as you were ordered?”
“I am not yours to order about. I am not one of your men—”
“You are Cymry! If you love your land and your people, then you must give your all in its defense.”
He pulled up the horse in a muddy clearing and slid over the animal’s rump. Then, scowling, he caught her by the waist and rudely dragged her down. His grip on her arms was harsh; his expression was furious. “But for your cowardice, we would take that fortress tomorrow night!”
“I am not yours to command!” She tore out of his hold and faced him with her fists knotted. “Nor am I a coward. You men know only one sort of courage, only one form of bravery. You throw yourselves at one another, you impale yourselves upon each other’s weapons, and you bleed your lives out onto these lands.”
She pressed her knotted fists passionately to her chest. “But we women, we are the ones who watch that blood seep into the earth. As children we see our fathers die, and our mothers weep and then carry on. As women we lose our brothers and husbands—and friends—to the gruesome lure of war. Always war! Then we grow old and we lose our sons as well.”
Her chest heaved with the force of her emotions, but her anger burned itself out. She lifted her arms, then let them fall in a gesture of hopelessness. “Will it never end, Rhys? Will it never end?”
“Yes. Yes, it will end.” He caught her again by the arms
but he was earnest now, and his hands were gentler. “When we drive our enemies away from our lands, then it will end.”
but he was earnest now, and his hands were gentler. “When we drive our enemies away from our lands, then it will end.”
Rhonwen was silent for a minute, just looking up at him. He’d been waging this war of his so long, it was easy to forget how young he was. Only six-and-ten, yet he’d shouldered the responsibilities of a man his entire life. Had he ever played like other children played? Had he ever cavorted across a meadow, or laughed purely for joy?
She cupped his cheek with one hand and felt the faint fuzz that promised a man’s beard someday soon. He was unbearably young and, for all his experiences, still unaware of life’s possibilities. She, meanwhile, felt old and so world-weary. “Oh, Rhys,” she murmured.
He covered her hand with his, then turned his face and pressed a fervent kiss to her palm. “To know he held you was a torture. Sweet Rhonwen—”
He broke off when she curled her fingers against her palm. “No. Don’t.” She backed away from him, shaking her head regretfully. “Please don’t do that, Rhys. It can never be like that between you and me.”
The longing in his eyes froze and became an accusation. “Why? Why do you spurn me?”
His men had ridden into the clearing behind them, and now they sat their horses in silence. Rhys did not seem to care that they heard all. “Is it that FitzHugh?” He stared at her as if she were someone he didn’t know. “It is, isn’t it? You gave yourself to him.” He shook his head in disbelief. “You gave yourself to him.” Then his debelief turned to fury. “My God, you’ve become his whore!”
He stalked her and she fell back. His men watched their interplay. Only Fenton interfered. He cut his horse between them, then slid down to face Rhys. He was shorter and older, but he faced Rhys fearlessly.
“Think, lad. She mightn’t have been willing. The man most likely forced her.” He spat on the ground. “She wouldn’t be the first woman as has suffered that way at the hands of our enemies.”
Rhys looked past Fenton to where Rhonwen stood and she
saw the question in his eyes. “Is that what happened?” he asked. “Is it?”
saw the question in his eyes. “Is that what happened?” he asked. “Is it?”
A fit of trembling seized her. She clasped her arms across her chest. “You want to know what happened. You all do. I wonder, though, which answer would satisfy you more.” Her trembling increased and her teeth began to chatter. “Would you rather that he raped me, Rhys? Would you rather that he used his greater strength to hold me down and force me, no matter how much I might have struggled and fought?”
Her tortured gaze swept the silent circle of men. “Would it make all of you feel better if I said he violated my body and stole my innocence? Is that the answer you would prefer to hear?” she finished in a stricken voice, facing Rhys once more.
His face had turned ashen at her words, but nonetheless, it did not deter him from his goal. “Is that what he did?”
“Do you want that to be my answer?”
“No,” he swore. “How can you think it?”
“So you’d rather that I had gone to him willing.”
She stared at him until he could not avoid answering her. “No.” This time his voice was a hoarse whisper.
She gave a bitter laugh. “Those are the only two choices. Which one do you prefer?”
“What I want is for none of this to have happened,” he hissed. “But I cannot have that.”
“No. You cannot. So tell me. Which answer do you prefer?”
He shook his head, and she saw the misery in his eyes. “I have never wanted you to be hurt.”
She pressed her lips together. “When men fight, women are always hurt.”
“But there is no other way.”
Rhonwen sighed and looked away from him. Tears stung her eyes, but she did not let them fall. “I know,” she whispered, staring around the bleak clearing. “I know.”
One of the horses whinnied. At once the audience of men-at-arms went rigid. Swords slithered from their sheaths as the ragged Welshmen jerked their attention to the encircling forest.
Forgotten in the sudden tension, Rhonwen darted for the dubious shelter of the gnarled trunk of an ancient yew tree.
Forgotten in the sudden tension, Rhonwen darted for the dubious shelter of the gnarled trunk of an ancient yew tree.
Rhys had flung himself onto his horse. He glanced momentarily at her, then kicked the animal into the center of his milling men. At the same moment, a trio of horses burst into the clearing.
They were English!
Rhonwen pressed her hands to her mouth in horror. The battle she’d tried to avoid had found her.
But although the Welsh warriors did not relax their grip on swords and battle-axes, neither did they raise those weapons to attack. Then Rhys spurred forward to greet the English leader and Rhonwen understood. This was Simon LaMonthe and his men, Rhys’s English allies. Behind the three riders, another, larger group emerged, and their jubilance was plain.
Rhonwen leaned forward to better hear their parlay, but the milling horses muffled their words. Then Rhys looked back at her. So did LaMonthe.
Rhys’s face was troubled—both anger and triumph seemed to war for dominance. LaMonthe’s feral features were easier to read. He was elated. It put her in mind of a vulture’s smugness. Something had happened, and she sensed immediately that she would not like it.
LaMonthe signaled to someone, and a knot of horses moved forward. But Rhonwen stared at Rhys, stared at him until he averted his eyes. Only then, with dread hovering over her, did she look at the riders who moved to the center of the clearing.
Jasper sat in the midst of them. Jasper, riding Helios, with his cowl pushed down and his hands tied behind his back.
“No!” She did not realize she’d rushed forward until Rhys cut his horse in front of her.
“Stay back,” he ordered in a low, threatening voice.
“What are you going to do to him? Rhys!”
“Hold your tongue,” he hissed, trying to herd her back from the knot of mounted riders.
But LaMonthe had noted her concern and he edged his animal toward them. “What is this?” he asked as his eyes raked her with an unpleasant thoroughness. Too late Rhonwen realized
that Rhys was not only trying to keep her from Jasper. He also wanted to protect her from LaMonthe. Instinctively she leaned against Rhys’s booted leg as LaMonthe circled them both.
that Rhys was not only trying to keep her from Jasper. He also wanted to protect her from LaMonthe. Instinctively she leaned against Rhys’s booted leg as LaMonthe circled them both.
“She is my woman,” Rhys said. “And I don’t share.” His horse made a nervous circle too, but Rhonwen stayed close. Only when the two men ceased their deadly measuring dance did she risk a glance over at Jasper. What she saw caused her blood to run cold. Though he sat his great destrier unbowed, it was clear he’d been beaten. Blood crusted his brow. One of his eyes had swelled shut, and the front of his tunic was torn and caked with mud. But he met her gaze, and she could not look away.
I love you. I love you!
She did not say the words, but with every fiber of her body she sent the message to him.
I love you and I am so sorry I have brought you to this.
She did not say the words, but with every fiber of her body she sent the message to him.
I love you and I am so sorry I have brought you to this.
“She is your woman?” LaMonthe chuckled. “From what I have heard, she is naught but a whore for the English. Well, I am English. And I am sore in need of a woman of her talents. Victory does that to a man,” he added with a chilling smile in her direction.
Rhys ripped his sword from its sheath. “She is not the issue here.”
LaMonthe did not flinch. “No?” His brows raised. “It seems to me she has managed to position herself in the midst of everything. Kidnapping FitzHugh’s brat. Exchanging the girl for your men—and herself for you. And now, in our moment of triumph, she once more appears.”
“You go too far, LaMonthe,” Rhys growled. “She has led FitzHugh straight into our clutches. What else would you have her do?”
The man smiled, then rubbed his crotch, an obscene gesture that made Rhonwen gag. He leered at her, ignoring Rhys entirely. “She could fuck me—a goodwill gesture, you understand.”
Rhonwen shrank back against Rhys’s leg. At the same moment Jasper cursed out loud and his horse abruptly reared, drawing everyone’s attention. Rhonwen gasped. She was certain
Jasper would fall and be trampled. But even with his hands bound, he managed to retain his seat. In the pandemonium of milling horses, Rhys leaned down and hissed, “Go.” Then he gestured and shouted, “Fenton! Take her!”
Jasper would fall and be trampled. But even with his hands bound, he managed to retain his seat. In the pandemonium of milling horses, Rhys leaned down and hissed, “Go.” Then he gestured and shouted, “Fenton! Take her!”
Rhonwen ran as Rhys ordered, toward the other Welshman. When she reached the shelter of Fenton’s protection, she looked back to see two men yanking at Helios’s head, while two others dragged Jasper down from the horse. But amid all the stamping horses and shouting men, she lost sight of him, and that increased her fear tenfold.
“Jasper. Jasper,” she whispered, horrified by what she’d led him into. She’d tried to keep him away from Rhys and his awful ally. But instead, she’d drawn him into this hell! Abandoning Fenton, she darted toward the men who surrounded Jasper.
“Rhonwen, no!”
But she ignored Rhys’s cry. Yanking and scratching, she fought her way into the group of men-at-arms who struggled to control Jasper. Then a man raised his arm to strike Jasper.
“No!” she screamed as the heavy hilt of the sword swung down. It caught Jasper on the side of his head and drove him to his knees.
“Hold!” LaMonthe snarled dismounting and pushing himself into the middle of the throng.
At the same time Rhys caught up to her and flinging himself down from his horse, trapped her in his arms.
“Damn you,” he muttered in her ear, holding her so tight she could scarcely breathe. “Damn you for being a traitorous bitch!”
“Well, well.” LaMonthe strolled up to Jasper. “This grows more entertaining by the minute.”
His men and Rhys’s drew back to form a circle, all of them plainly eager for the bloodletting they anticipated. Jasper’s blood, Rhonwen knew with increasing desperation.
LaMonthe looked sidelong at Rhonwen and Rhys, a nasty, speculative stare. With a wave of his long-fingered hand he signaled them to join him before the kneeling Jasper.
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