Stuart, Elizabeth (27 page)

"We've
seed grain aplenty at Gwenlyn," Richard responded, ignoring the remainder
of the man's angry words. "When the fields are ready, come to me for what
you need." He studied the bruised, disbelieving face before him. "You
will be in charge of organizing these people. Bring one man from each family to
receive his share of seed. You may work your own plots till the fields are
planted, but I'll expect each man to work his share on Gwenlyn's fields when
that is done."

"And
when harvest time comes. What then?" the man asked bitterly. "Will we
watch our fields ruined, our crops taken by Englishmen who never did a day's
work to raise 'em?"

"Each
man will eat his own harvest save the tithe he owes the church and that he owes
the lord of Gwenlyn. That I promise you and I swear to make it so,"
Richard said evenly. He turned from the man and once more surveyed the crowd.
"The fighting is done and England has won," he said loudly. "You
do not like it, but it is so. I rule this place in Edward's name and I tell you
you will find in me a just master if not an easy one. The law will be obeyed by
Welsh and English alike, and you need not fear to ask justice from me—even
against an Englishman. You do not believe it now, but you will soon find it
so."

Turning
away from the crowd, he took his reins from Simon and swung onto his mount. The
prisoner moved forward and caught his stirrup. "You promise well,"
he. sneered, "but I've yet to see an Englishman keep a vow to one of my
race."

Richard
ignored the man's insolence. Leaning forward, he regarded him coolly.
"What is your name?"

"Heffeydd
Sele."

"Well,
Heffeydd Sele, you may live to see much you've not yet seen... if you correct
that insolent tongue."

The
man spat again and rubbed his swollen jaw. "Don't think we'll kneel in the
dirt and fawn like dogs just because you've tossed us a bit of a bone. We've no
more love of your kind than you have of ours."

Richard
raised one tawny eyebrow. "Have I asked you to kneel?"

The
man shook his head.

Richard
settled back in the saddle, his green eyes narrowing dangerously as they locked
with the dark eyes of the Welshman. "Well, I promise if I ask it, you will
do it... or you will do nothing else in this life!"

The
man dropped his eyes and shifted away, releasing his hold on Richard's stirrup.
"Aye. I'll have the people to their plots this very day. Barley'll grow
here and beans too."

Richard
barely controlled a smile. The man was daringly rebellious, but shrewd enough
to know when he had pushed too far. "Come to me when the fields are ready.
You'll have your seed." With that, he swung Saladin about and the
muttering crowd fell back. Simon followed at Richard's left, and the rest of
the troop joined in behind.

"Do
you think the Welshman spoke truth?" Simon asked.

"Do
you?" Richard countered.

"Well,
they looked hungry enough."

"Yes,
I believe he spoke truth. A man doesn't risk his life for a bit of game unless
he has no other choice. And we've just seen the fields. There's not even a leek
growing there."

"I'm
glad you stopped it, Richard. Cutting off those men's hands, I mean. It seems a
poor way to discipline."

Richard
nodded again. "Take a man's life before you take his limb," he
advised. "By maiming a man you make an enemy for life. If he deserves so
grievous a punishment, then slay him outright. Don't leave him to fester and
spread hate like some running sore."

"Do
you really think they'll ready the fields—theirs as well as ours?"

Richard
was silent for a moment. "Yes. They wish to feed their families and for
now they realize they must do as I say. And I've no plans to make them
desperate. A desperate man is a dangerous enemy to have, Simon," Richard
commented grimly. "Dangerous, because he has nothing left to lose."

***

From
her place in the sumptuous Queen's Chamber of Gwenlyn, Elen watched Richard and
his men ride into the bailey. Richard wore no helmet today and the warm spring
breeze ruffled his straight blond hair, making it gleam in the sunlight like
burnished gold. She sank down onto the cushioned window seat, studying his
profile. Her enemy was truly a man who was good to look at, she mused.

She
studied the width of Richard's shoulders beneath his surcoat and hauberk, the
play of trained muscles as he lifted his arm to point out something to one of
his men. All at once the memory of the afternoon they had almost made love
swept over her, and she recalled the feel of those muscles rippling beneath her
fingers, of the sleek power of his golden body stripped bare before her gaze.

She
sought to put the image from her, but her treacherous mind dredged up more
disturbing thoughts. The memory of Richard's searing kisses warmed her, and her
body suddenly ached from the remembered pleasure of his caress. He had brought
some unknown part of her to life that day— a part she had fought to forget.

Elen
rose to her feet and paced nervously about the room. What was it about Richard
that made her feel so restless and aching and longing to be in his company even
when they did nothing but fight? Her ungovernable thoughts returned to that day
and the remembered feel of his arms about her, of the exquisite pleasure of his
flesh against hers. She had never felt like that before—not even in Enion's
embrace.

The
realization fueled a bitter sense of betrayal that caught her up short. Enion...
had she truly loved him?

She
swung away from the window with a gasp of outrage. Of course she'd loved Enion!
She'd loved him all her life. The restless excitement Richard evoked was naught
but the remembered thrill of danger she was recalling, a danger that had
heightened every sensation of pleasure. She had known her life was at stake the
moment her enemy walked into the room. She had wondered if she could take his
life or if she would lose hers. That was all.

She
moved to the window, peering down into the bailey once more. The inner court
was empty now and she felt vaguely disappointed no tall blond figure met her
gaze.

Annoyed,
Elen told herself she didn't really wish to see Richard. It was only the
boredom of being pent up inside. Even the sight of her enemy was a longed-for
distraction, their frequent clashes the only diversion she was allowed.

She
paced about the room for what must have been the thousandth time, finally
pausing beside the bed where the gowns Giles had brought her were piled. The
dresses were too short for her unusual height, but the hems could be let down
several inches to hide her ankles. And since there was nothing else to do, she
might as well continue her sewing, she told herself dispiritedly.

With
a deep sigh, she ran her hands appreciatively over the soft gown of blue wool
she wore. It was good to wear fine clothes again, if only for a little while.
Naturally, she would take nothing with her when she left Gwenlyn. She had
mended her old brown tunic as well as she could, and it would do far better
service in the mountain wilds than these rich fabrics. Settling herself
resignedly on a stool, she took up one of the gowns and began letting down its
hem.

Some
time later, the sound of familiar footsteps came to her from the corridor. She
took a deep breath. Would Richard stop or pass by?

The
footsteps halted. A knock brought her to her feet, and she nervously smoothed
the folds of her gown. "Yes?"

Richard
strode into the chamber. His eyes traveled slowly over her, coming to rest on
her face with a warm look of approval. "I see you've made use of the
clothing. I've no notion to whom it belonged, but it's my wish that you keep
it." An engaging smile flashed. "I was growing quite weary of
brown."

Elen
fought the urge to smile in return. How could she even think of making pleasant
conversation with the hero of Builth? "I can't see why I should wear such
grand garments," she said stiffly. "Surely you'll not keep me here
much longer."

This
bedchamber was one held in readiness for Queen Eleanor's visits. Richard gazed
pointedly at the tapestried walls, the other rich appointments. "This room
is fit for a queen. Do you tire of luxury already? I thought women enjoyed such
things."

"No
woman tires of luxury such as this. But I tire of prison, Richard, no matter
how luxurious," Elen said earnestly. "And I tire of wondering what
will become of me and those I care for."

Richard
moved across the floor, pausing at the window to gaze down into the bailey.
"So you are weary of your prison," he repeated. "I do not blame
you, so too am I. While I cannot set you free as yet, I've no desire to keep
you a close-held prisoner unless you force me. You are free to come and go
within Gwenlyn as you wish—if you give me your word you'll not attempt to go
beyond the walls."

Elen
stared at Richard in amazement. She wasn't sure what she was expecting, but it
certainly wasn't this.

Richard
swung around. "Well, what say you? Will you swear an oath to remain in
Gwenlyn?"

Her
eyes rose to his. This was her chance. Richard had said nothing about pardoning
Owain, but once out of her room it would be simple enough to learn where the
Welshman was held. An easy trick for a few slow-witted guards and she and Owain
could be on their way to France.

"You've
told me you keep your word," Richard reminded. He was smiling again.
"Well, prove it. We might both benefit thereby."

A
dozen conflicting thoughts spun through her. Yes, this was a chance, a chance
for freedom for Owain and herself— but dare she foreswear a vow? She might lie
to Richard, for among her people a lie to one's enemy was no dishonor. But she
couldn't break an oath, not even for such purpose as this. And Richard had
treated her well, so well in fact, she was more than a little ashamed of her
past treachery. "No," she said abruptly. "I cannot give you such
an oath. You must know I'll do all in my power to leave this place as soon as I
might."

"I
see." Richard leaned against the wall, his dark face thoughtful.
"That bit of honesty just cost you a great deal, did it not, Elen? I thank
you for your truth, and I would offer you something in return. I'll give you
your freedom for a time of two days if you give me your word for the same time.
You may be quit of this room without making so binding a vow."

A
rush of gratitude swept Elen. Richard understood. But she was surprised he
would make things so easy. "You would do that?" she whispered
incredulously. "You would trust me?"

"Not
overly so, but I will try. Is it agreed?"

"Yes,"
she said quickly. "Oh, yes!"

Richard
smiled. Things were going far better than he had hoped. The hatred was gone
from Elen's face, the bitterness from her voice. It was a small victory but,
perhaps, a beginning. "Since that is decided let us speak of your uncle. I
talked with him last evening and again this mom. I made him the same offer of
freedom about Gwenlyn I just gave you. But your uncle is a wise man. He took
the offer. Though he'll not swear allegiance to Edward, he's given his oath not
to raise steel against the men of Gwenlyn or attempt an escape."

"Y-you'll
spare him?" Elen inquired breathlessly.

"I've
thought long on your words, Elen. If your kinsman fought only for your honor,
I'll not fault him." Richard sent her a swift, slanted glance. "As
you said, I would have done the same. If he keeps his oath and abides here
peacefully, I'll hold nothing more against him. But I warn you as I did him. If
he violates any detail of his oath, his life is forfeit."

"Oh,
Richard..." Elen took an impulsive step toward him, reaching out to catch
his arm. She had hoped and prayed for this, but some small part of her had been
terrified Owain would be taken from her. She stared up into Richard's hard,
handsome face, feelings of surprise, relief, profound gratitude, washing over
her. "I... I cannot thank you enough. You've been kind, so much kinder
than I ever expected!"

Richard
gazed down into the lovely, heart-shaped face turned up to his so eagerly. This
was only the second time Elen had touched him voluntarily, and her hand on his
arm sent all his good intentions scattering to the winds. How simple to bend
his head and make that wide, sweet mouth his, to take Elen in his arms and
forget their enmity in pleasure.

He
bent toward her. One kiss, one taste of that sweet mouth. One kiss... and then
he'd let her be.

Elen
saw the sudden change in Richard's face, knew he wanted to kiss her. And she
was shaken by the realization that she wanted it as well. They had kissed last
in anger. It had been punishing, intentionally cruel. But she felt no fear of
Richard now, only an inexplicable sensation of loss, a terrible disappointment
that there could be nothing between them—nothing but hate.

Her
hand tightened on his arm and she held him away. "No, Richard," she
said low. "Don't..."

Richard
caught himself. His eyes narrowed, and he straightened at once. Elen's hand
fell back to her side, and she stared uncomfortably at the floor.