Stuart, Elizabeth (37 page)

"Oh."
Elen shifted restlessly in her chair. No doubt Richard would be a tender
husband. He certainly knew the ways to win a woman's trust. "Is she... is
she young?" she asked, curiosity pricking her.

"Fourteen...
and godchild to the queen." Giles deftly took the chess piece she had
moved. "She's a sweet child and worthy of a man such as Richard."

"Oh."
Elen averted her eyes, concealing her feelings by pretending avid interest in
the game. From across the hall came the noise of several people entering the
room. She didn't look up. Probably Richard and his father returning from their
morning ride.

She
heard Richard call for wine and the preparation of another bedchamber. Giles
rose to his feet, a look of surprise lighting his face.

Elen
shifted about. A tall, gray-haired man had entered the hall, arm in arm with
Richard. He was rumpled and travel-stained, his clothing heavily powdered with
dust. But something about the man was strangely familiar.

He
swept off his traveling cloak, handing it to a servant. Elen caught her breath.
No... dear God, no!

She
swung to her feet. Sir Robert Grandison—the one representative from Edward her
father had been pleased to call friend. Her eyes flew to the door. Was there
any possibility of reaching it before she was noticed?

From
across the room, the Englishman's eye caught hers. With an exclamation of
surprise, he broke away from Richard. "Elen! Lady Elen, by Our Lord
Savior, what a relief!"

His
long strides ate up the space between them. "Christ, but I'm pleased to
find you here safe!" He took her hand, carrying it to his lips. "I'd
heard you and the Lady Gweneth were in France. Obviously the rumor was
false."

Elen
gazed at the man in stunned silence. As if from some great distance, Richard's
voice sounded in her ears. "You know this woman?"

"Certainly.
I was a frequent visitor at Lord Aldwyn's in Teifi. Elen and I are old
friends."

Elen's
eyes swept past Sir Robert to where Richard stood a few paces across the floor.
The lord of Gwenlyn was staring at her as if he had been turned to stone, while
behind him Hugh de Veasy leaned against a table... laughing.

"So
it was a lie. Everything you told me a lie. Everything calculated for deception
from the start. And I never even suspected it, would never have believed a lady
of rank would live in the wilds with a band of rebels like some... some—"
Richard broke off.

"Serf...
whore? Just what were you about to say?" Elen inquired coolly.

Richard
didn't answer, didn't even turn around.

"I'm
Welsh, Richard, not English. Your rules do not apply."

He
turned from the window and gazed at her coldly. "Before God, you've played
me for a fool! You might as well make a clean breast of it. Where is the Lady
Gweneth? By all the saints, I swear to turn Wales upside down to find her if I
must."

"Then
you'll have to move more than this earth," she responded. "My mother
is dead as I told you. To my sorrow not everything was a lie."

"Then
why don't you tell me what is truth?" he snapped. "I've given up
trying to sort your stories. You've more tales up your sleeve than a wasp has
stings!"

Elen
tensed nervously in her chair. It was the moment she had dreaded most since Sir
Robert had discovered her. Richard's suspicion was roused, and she was
terrified he would put the facts together and come up with the Welsh Fox.

Since
Owain's capture, the damaging raids of the Welsh had ceased. True, there had
been a few disorganized strikes and one clumsy ambush, but even Richard had
laughed and wondered where his old friend Rhys had got off to. And now he knew
she was Elen of Teifi, would Richard wonder if the Fox had stayed close to
guard her? Would he wonder if Owain might not be the man?

She
gazed into Richard's angry face, knowing she must maintain this fiction of Rhys
even though she longed to admit the truth and be done with living a lie.
"What information do you wish?" she asked.

"Why
don't you just start at the beginning? You're such a gifted storyteller, I'm
sure to be entertained whatever you choose to say."

Elen
clasped her fingers together in her lap. Why not tell him? It mattered little
now. Haltingly, she began her story the day of the English victory at Builth.
She told how her father's trusted captain, the man Richard knew as her uncle,
had taken her and her mother and fled north, how they had joined a host of
terrified Welsh fleeing Edward's army, hiding their true identities from all
save the handful of people from Teifi. She told how famine had stalked the
camp, more feared than the hated English soldiers, and how her mother had grown
ill and died, broken more by loneliness and despair than the harsh winter. She
even told how she and Tangwen had struggled to tend the wounded, how they had
fought to keep women and children alive, begging God in his mercy for a
plenteous and early spring.

When
she was done, Richard was silent for several long moments. He turned to her at
last, the scornful look in his eyes gone. "And Rhys?" he asked
softly. "What of him?"

Elen
stared at her hands, hating the lie. "I will tell you nothing of
him."

"You
must know I'll find him, Elen. I've had men searching for months. The Fox heads
the rebellion and it won't be finished until he's taken." He sighed
heavily. "I've no other choice."

She
didn't respond.

Richard
sent her a sidelong glance. "Tell me this one thing. Do you love
him?"

She
hesitated, thinking of Owain. "Yes."

"I
see. A foolish question, wasn't it? I had hoped—" He broke off abruptly.

She
dared a quick look up. Richard was staring broodingly into the empty fireplace,
head low, shoulders slumped. She had a sudden urge to go to him, to explain the
best she could.

But
what could she say? She dared not speak of Owain. And besides, Richard had had
men searching the length of Wales for Elen of Teifi while she had been safe in
his keep all along. She had made a fool of him before all of England.
"I... I'm sorry, Richard," she said, surprising herself as much as
him. "I'm sorry if you'll bear Edward's wrath because of me."

A
rueful smile lit his face for an instant. "Oh, de Veasy will see I'm a
laughingstock for a while, but I've been the butt of Norman wit before and
doubtless will be again. The king will understand when he reads my
letters." He shrugged his shoulders. "After a good laugh at my
expense, he'll be pleased to have you at last."

Elen
studied him in surprise. Few men would so easily dismiss being made to look a
fool, especially by a woman. "Will it—" She took a breath, forcing
herself to form the question. "Will it affect your marriage negotiations
with this Ranulff de Borgh?"

"There
are no marriage negotiations. I put an end to them last week by refusing to
meet the man."

Last
week. He had ended it last week. Her heart quickened painfully.
"Why?"

His
eyes met hers, then shifted away. "I think you know the reason."

For
her? Impossible. She'd be foolish to think such a thing. But that look would be
difficult to forget.

"My
concern now is for you, Elen," Richard was saying. "You're Edward's
ward—your future at his disposal."

She
forced herself to attend to his words. "And what does that mean?"

"Your
blood is the best in Wales. He'll find a man of sufficient rank, someone he
needs to weld more closely to himself, someone who can rule your lands and
wring a tithe for England." Richard hesitated. "Someone politically
expedient to be your husband."

"Well,
I won't agree! He can't marry me off without my consent. In Wales—"

"Welsh
law no longer applies," he interrupted. "Edward rules now, Elen, and
you'll have no choice. And I beg you, do not anger him with your tricks. He's a
just king, but he has the temper of all his ancestors. I'd hate to see you ill
used."

She
gazed at him rebelliously. "Well, I won't go along. I'm no slave to
Edward! I'll go to a nunnery. Surely that would please your saintly king."

Richard
shook his head. "You'll have no choice."

"But
Llywelyn's daughter, the infant Gwenllian," she protested. "Edward
placed her in a nunnery."

"She's
a babe. You're much too valuable to waste in such a way. According to our law,
your father's lands go with you to any man you wed. It's my guess the lords of
the Welsh Marches will be seeking your hand for themselves or their sons by the
time this news is at court a full day."

Elen
stared at him, obviously torn between fear and fury.

She
was young in so many ways, Richard thought. And she could never even pretend to
fit into life at the English court. He would have to make Edward understand
that. Perhaps he could even convince the king to let her remain here until she
was wed.

Until
she was wed.

The
thought was bitter as gall, making his voice harsher than he intended.
"I'll do what I can for you, but I fear it won't be much."

Elen's
eyes widened in alarm, but she made no further protest. He moved to stand
beside her, the memory of those moments between them at the forest pool
painfully vivid. He longed to take her in his arms, to make love to her just
once before she left him forever. But that would be foolish beyond belief. It
would only make the parting more painful.

"I
must go now," he murmured. A wisp of chestnut hair had escaped her heavy
braid. He pushed it behind her ear, thinking it a shame such hair would soon be
covered by a wimple. "Sir Robert brought messages from Edward and I've
business to see to." His fingers lingered along her cheek and she didn't
pull away. His gaze dropped to her mouth, the hunger to taste it once more
almost overpowering. Her lips trembled, then parted. "Richard..."

Duty,
think of duty. Elen was Edward's ward! Spinning about quickly, Richard strode
through the door before he lost all thought of honor. Elen would soon belong to
someone else. He only hoped to God he would be gone from Wales long before that
day!

***

Day
followed endless day, finally merging into a week and then two. Richard
arranged many pleasantries for his guests, but his heart wasn't in them. And
though he avoided Elen as much as possible, he couldn't get her out of his
mind. She had taken possession of near every waking thought and even his dreams
were fired by her image.

And
now that all hope was denied him, he faced a disconcerting fact. He was in love
with Elen of Teifi and had been for some time. He didn't know how or when the
feeling had crept upon him. He had told himself all along he had naught but a
powerful desire for the girl. Yet it was a desire that couldn't be quenched by
other women. And the

thought
of never seeing her again, or worse yet, seeing her at court as wife to some
English earl, left him shaken and unexpectedly rebellious.

He
reached for the flagon of wine Simon had fetched and almost upset a guttering
candle. Love—a foolish word for a foolish emotion. In the past he had scorned
all thought of the feeling, telling himself it made men weak and witless. Women
were a pleasant enough diversion, but his father had been a fool for a pretty
face and he'd seen the weakness destroy others. Yet Edward loved his queen and
she him, and theirs was no weak or foolish union.

But
Edward was a king, Richard reminded himself. And what was he save a
near-penniless knight who would inherit naught but a small holding of
overworked land—if he lived through Edward's wars to enjoy such a dubious
future. He gripped his wine cup angrily, the bitterness of his position almost
overwhelming him for the moment.

"Richard?"

He
glanced up. Simon was standing in the doorway.

"I
knocked, but you didn't hear," the boy added, still hesitating. "I
hate to intrude, but a man's come from the village. He speaks little but Welsh
gibberish, and I can't find Giles. I think there's trouble at Ruthlin."

Richard
put down his cup and swung to his feet. Even his squire had hesitated to
trouble him of late. "I'll come," he said, buckling his sword belt
into place.

He
followed Simon down the spiraling stone stairway of Gwenlyn's western turret.
Two rushlights still burned in the chill hall but the servants were rolled up
asleep on their pallets at the back of the room. Richard squinted in the dim
light. A stocky man in a dirty homespun smock paced restlessly before the
fireplace.

The
man hurried forward at once, anxious words tumbling out like a river in spate.
Richard raised one hand. Christ, where was Giles? "Hold... I understand
less than one word in three. Speak slowly for I'm new to your language."

The
man took a breath and began repeating his story.

Richard's
features shifted into grim lines. "Simon, wake Henry!" he snapped.
"Have him bring a dozen men and horses to me in the bailey."