Desire Lines

by Elizabeth Kingston

  Soon he would not be a prince. And now, next to her, naked in bed, he was her Welshman and nothing else.

  She lifted the dagger, carefully and slowly, so as not to wake him if he slept. At the edge of the bed, just within her reach, was the table where all her defenses were laid. Dagger in hand, her fist touched the table, cool air on her outstretched arm and his solid warmth all around her. Then she let it go, setting it among the other blades, and pulled her hand back to rest beneath her cheek.

  His arm lifted to gather her in, his lips pressed to her hair. He would be hers. Her Welshman. She turned to him, skin against skin, and clutched him to her with both hands open. There was nothing between them. Nothing but their mingled breath and the new morning light.

  “Gruffydd! By God, it is good to see you at last!”

  It was all Gryff heard before Will embraced him tightly, pounding his back and laughing. To his slight surprise, Gryff was every bit as glad to see Will, who had grown tall and handsome and powerful, but seemed just as eager and joyful as he had been as a boy. When he pulled back, Gryff could see him trying to rein in his emotion and put on a more sober face. It was unnerving, how quickly and easily he accomplished it. But it was good to know the old Will was beneath the mature facade, and happy to see him.

  “In faith, I thought you had stopped growing,” Gryff smiled up at him. “But that was a vain hope, I see.”

  Will’s eyes strayed to Gryff’s scar for only a brief moment before he blinked away his interest in it and smiled warmly again. They were in the yard outside the hall, standing in the midmorning sun with what felt like a hundred eyes on them. From the corner of his eye, Gryff could see Robin craning his neck, looking about.

  He was likely hunting for Nan, who had left Gryff’s chamber barely an hour before Will’s party was seen riding toward the manor. Finally, just as Gryff had begun to despair, Will had arrived – with nearly a dozen other men, many of them armed knights.

  “There is refreshment in the hall, if my lord of Ruardean would have his men take their ease.” Lady Eluned spoke formally, her eyes not missing a thing. “More will be brought to the solar, if my lords will prefer to take their own ease in private.”

  “Aye, we would, Mother.”

  A few of the men ranged out behind him were greeting Lord Robert, all of them handing their horses to servants. Will called to one of the men to join them, waving the rest toward the hall. He must have seen the wariness in Gryff’s face, for he put an arm around his shoulder as they walked to the manor house and leaned in close to say, “There is naught to fear, I swear it. The news I bring is happy. These men are come to protect you should the bastard learn you are here.”

  As they made their way up the stairs he explained that he had taken time to assemble these trusted men in secret, to consult most closely with the king, and to find a distraction to put in Rhodri’s path. It was not safe to send a message; the court was filled with prying eyes. It pleased Will, this kind of intrigue and maneuvering. It was plain to see that he thrived on it.

  When they reached the solar, he introduced the other man as a royal clerk of the chancery, a word that sent an icy wind down Gryff’s spine. He thought he managed to hide his alarm but Will, like his mother, missed nothing.

  “I have told you there is no need to fear,” he said again as they sat. “I will tell you all, but first I would learn where you have hidden yourself these many years, my lord prince.”

  “Nay, Will, never call me prince.” Gryff said it firmly, leaving no doubt he meant it. “The people of Aderinyth are Edward’s subjects, not mine. So too am I his subject, and I would never be called prince again.”

  At this, Will’s brows went up in surprise. His lips curved in an admiring smile and he glanced toward the royal clerk, exchanging a pleased look. “It will gratify Edward to know it,” he said. “I will not fail to tell him these were the first words from you, even before you heard his offer.”

  All the air seemed to have left the room. This was not a word he had expected at all.

  “Offer?”

  At that moment, Lady Eluned came in with servants who carried refreshment. She bade them put it down and then depart. She remained to open her own offering – a bottle of mead, the finest and famed, from her own Welsh family’s estate. While she busied herself, Will answered.

  “Edward would give you much in return for serving him well in Aderinyth. Do you agree to his conditions, you will rule there as your father intended, and none of your lands sacrificed.”

  Gryff only blinked at him as Lady Eluned placed a cup in his hand. He concentrated on holding it, forcing his numb fingers to function as he tried to take in everything Will had said with so few words. He finally shook his head in confusion, and spoke to the part of it he was most sure of, only to gain time to absorb the rest.

  “As my father intended?” he asked skeptically, almost laughing at the idea. He could not recall if he had ever told Will of it, how often his father had praised Gryff’s brothers for being so truly Welsh, so like the princes of old. Gryff himself had not been told outright that he was less admired, but he did not have to be. “There is naught he could have wanted less. He gave me as hostage so his eldest son and heir need never be corrupted by Norman ways.”

  Will gave him such a look that he began to doubt everything he had ever known of his life.

  “Nay, Gryff. He was made to give over his heir, and he gave you.” He shook his head, as though it were the most obvious of facts. “How else do you think Edward would have been content with you and not your brother, may God assoil him?”

  He was so utterly sure that Gryff could only stare, frowning. His father had declared that he would follow Norman ways of inheritance, and that Aiden would be the sole heir. Everyone in Aderinyth knew it. Yet it was not Aiden who was given as hostage, as he should have been.

  Gryff looked down into the amber liquid in his cup. The scent that rose from it was indelibly linked to his childhood, the rich fragrance of the same mead that had been served at his father’s table. He was transported, a boy again as his father commanded him to learn the ways of the Normans. But also to never forget that he was Welsh. They cannot take that from you without you permit it.

  Lady Eluned had handed a cup to Will and was now setting the bottle on the table between them. She had known his father, at least a little. She would understand. She would tell Will it could not be true.

  “My father,” he said to her, and then was caught in her piercing gray gaze. “Aiden was eldest. Always was Aiden meant to be heir.”

  She stayed still, looking at him as she took a slow and careful breath. She clasped her hands before her, her face a careful blank.

  “Your father played a deep game,” she said. “Is true he meant always to follow Norman ways in allowing only one son to inherit, and by custom it should be his eldest. But he knew well that the Welsh were not likely to win against Edward, and that in victory the king would give land and grant power as it pleased him.” She glanced at her son, and then at the clerk who only seemed bored by this conversation. “Did the Welsh prevail, your father meant Aiden to inherit. But did they lose, he would have a son with a Welsh heart who might yet rule as a Norman.”

  It could not be true. He stared hard at her, trying to discern if this was a convenient lie, or conjecture, or a truth his father had given her directly. But she was an unyielding wall. She gave nothing away, and in the silence he began to see how it was possible.

  All those years, he had so rarely heard from his father, or his brothers. The sudden distance had become unbridgeable, and now he saw that his father had planned it thus. To sever the close ties and allow Gryff to give all his undivided allegiance to the English king – and so that it might be easily believed that Gryff shared no politics with his treasonous family.

  Almost he could feel his father’s satisfaction from the grave. This moment, this outcome... All of it was exactly how he had planned it, should the Welsh fail.

  Except he
had not planned for Gryff to run and hide. He had never considered what it would mean for his son to be caught in the middle, ignorant of any grand scheme and fearing for his life.

  Gryff could not raise his eyes to Lady Eluned now, nor to Will. He could only stare into his cup and think of Philip Walch, murdered for his loyalty to a prince he believed would return any moment. How many others were there, dead and persecuted, living in fear and hunger and worse, because Gryff had abandoned his people?

  “Edward does not forget how well you advised him in the Welsh campaign,” Will was saying as Lady Eluned exited. But Gryff was preoccupied with the sudden realization that this was why Rhodri had tried to kill him, and not his other brothers. He must have known or at least suspected their father’s plan. “The king wants only what is due to him,” explained Will. “You must pay homage to him publicly, swear your oath and some other arrangements as are customary – and Aderinyth is yours.”

  The words made his heart speed up. Aderinyth. He could go home.

  Now the clerk stirred to life, pulling out parchments, citing the terms of old treaties that had been violated on both sides for generations. Amidst it all came another realization: if Gryff had known his father’s mind, if he had not fled out of fear, he might have gone home already. Years ago.

  The clerk was saying there were details to be settled, conditions to which Gryff must agree in order to be declared the lord of Aderinyth. He launched into a lengthy explanation of how the disputed southern border would be determined according to English law and not Welsh, but Gryff barely heard it.

  He had never thought to rule; he had only ever wanted to go home. But what would there be left of his home if a Norman lord ruled there, or Rhodri? Already the people suffered with no leader to protect them from greed and spite. All because his father had thought he was so clever to play both sides.

  A sudden memory came to him, of how once he had dared to argue with his father, saying Aderinyth should stop fighting and live peaceably as vassals to the English crown. He had not meant it to be an argument – he thought it was an obvious fact, because a prince should want only peace and prosperity for his people. But it had infuriated his father, who had shouted about pride and courage and ancient lineage. Gryff had looked at his flushed and angry face and struggled to find the words to say that there were ways besides war, other paths that might be taken to preserve power and gain advantage. He had been a child, though, and could only shout back that his father was selfish and just as cruel as the king he hated.

  Now he saw how right he had been. How selfish it had been of his father, who had not wanted to sacrifice his title or lands or allegiance. How much more selfish it was for Gryff to have run away, thinking only of his own life, blithely forgetting that it was the people who paid the price. It was they who suffered and died, for one man’s pride and another’s cowardice.

  No more could he think only of his own selfish desires. The home he had longed for could be preserved, his people protected. No more falconers would hang, no more useless wars would be fought.

  He would not be a prince. But he could not be only a simple Welshman.

  She would understand it. She must. They would find a way.

  He interrupted the droning clerk. He did not care about details. “The charge to care for my people will be given to me and no other?” he asked Will. “I will be allowed to go home?” He could not keep the emotion from his voice on the last word.

  Will nodded, solemn. “I swear it. The king swears it, do you do as he commands.”

  “I will,” he answered. Home. “Whatever he commands.”

  They were so long in discussion that he was almost surprised to find sunlight when they came down from the solar and into the yard. It seemed deserted, everyone still in the hall. He could hear music playing there, and the noise of people.

  Gryff knew he must find Nan, and quickly. Will was saying that they would begin the journey now so that they might be at court tomorrow. It would leave little time to explain everything to Nan, and he did not want to speak to her in the crowded hall.

  But when Will fell silent, looking over Gryff’s shoulder, he knew she stood there. He turned to find her half-hidden at the corner of the tower, watching, only a few steps away. She wore her cloak over the blue dress, and all her defenses. The belt was too thick and plain for such a fine gown and the braces were strapped clumsily over the silk sleeves.

  From her anxious look, her stance, he understood she waited there in preparation for action. To defend him, did they seek to carry him away by force. Through a rush of affection, he shook his head faintly and smiled to reassure her that all was well. Still she looked anxious, because she could not know that this party had come to protect him in case his bastard brother should learn he was here. It was why Robin had not brought the message sooner by himself, for fear Rhodri would intercept him and make mischief.

  “Go you to your men, Will,” he said, turning back to his friend. Already a servant had appeared, and Will was telling him to prepare the mounts. “They will be loath to leave off their merriment.”

  Will nodded. He glanced again in Nan’s direction, then seemed to pointedly avoid looking at her.

  “They will find merriment enough in Chesterfield, and I am glad you will join us for it. I will command them to prepare to leave at once.” He smiled and clapped a hand on Gryff’s shoulder. “Do not be overlong, Lord Gruffydd. Is possible your betrothed will be at court, and you would not wish to be late to meet her.”

  He walked to the hall, leaving Gryff alone in the deafening silence to wonder if the words had been calculated, or if it was merely that Will could not imagine that Nan would care.

  It was a long moment until he could turn to face her. He seemed unable to move or breathe, incapable of any thought beyond the memory of her hand this morning, illuminated by the light of dawn, putting aside her last defense. For him.

  Alone in the solar with Will and the royal clerk, it had seemed almost incidental, one of the many details the clerk had been tasked with. The king wanted an alliance, owed a favor to some lord, and a lady of high birth and meager dowry met all Edward’s requirements for an advantageous match. This was how such things were done. It was how it must be done, if he was to obey his king.

  But now as he felt Nan’s eyes on him, it was real in a way it had not been only moments ago. Now it seemed faithless, indefensible. He turned and made himself look at her.

  Her face was devoid of any expression. There was no surprise in her, and that was the most damning thing of all.

  “I must marry,” he said, because he must say something. He must explain it. He stepped toward her, stopping when he was near enough to touch her. “At the king’s behest.”

  He could hear the cowardice in his words, the defensiveness. She could hear it too, he knew, and that was why she looked him in the eye. The startling blue unnerved him, reminding him of his first sight of her, a shock of compassion amid the violence.

  “It is a condition of the agreement.” He would not be so craven as to say he must do it to save his life. She would forgive that. But it was not for his life. It was for Aderinyth. “I have said I will not be a prince. But I will rule in Aderinyth, do I obey Edward.”

  She lowered her eyes then, just a little. Just enough to cut off the connection to him. Her expression never changed, flat and closed off, an absolute silence.

  “My people suffer, Nan. Too long have I abandoned them to cruelty and death. Nor can I continue to flee my duty to them. I am the last of my family, the last to whom they will gladly give their hearts. I must care for them.”

  Only last night she had said it, and he had been sure she was wrong – that he was born to be a prince, that it was in his nature. His inescapable fate. So well did she know him. Better than he knew himself.

  “Come with me,” he said, and it sounded so different than it had an hour ago, when he had imagined saying it to her. Now it was a plea, a breath away from despair. He reached out to pu
t a hand to her hair, and she did not pull away. His thumb moved lightly over her temple. “Come with me now, as we planned. There is naught that will stop us being together.”

  Almost could he feel her go cold beneath his hand. Such a stillness came over her that she might be made of marble, a carved angel in a cathedral. All the words that had sprung to his lips – about how it was a political alliance, how it meant nothing, how it need not be an impediment – they all dried up.

  Her eyes met his, a look that cut through him and spoke plainly the words she had said so long ago. I am no whore. Nor do I wish to become one.

  Now he understood the enormity of his misjudgment, the carelessness of his presumption. It did not matter that he would give her an honored place in his household, and the only place in his heart. Her children would be bastards. She would be seen as naught but a servant to his lust. And he would never be her simple Welshman.

  Her gaze was steady, even as he let his hand drop from her. Men began spilling from the hall into the yard, loud voices and music, horses being brought forth in preparation for the journey.

  “Nan,” he said, despair closing like a fist over him. He wanted to go on his knees and beg her to come with him, even knowing it would not move her. “You must understand.”

  But she did understand. She knew what it meant to have a lord’s duties, why he went and what her place would be if she followed. She understood it all, and she quietly rejected it. No words were necessary, and so she did not speak them.

  He looked at the knife on her belt where her hand rested. Her Aunt Mary seemed to whisper in his ear, telling him Nan used to be the most chattering girl. He waited for her to draw the knife, to plunge it into him. Then he prayed for it, because anything was better than this silence.

  Of course she would not give him words. Not curses, or platitudes, or even farewell. Of course not. He did not deserve them, arrogant fool that he was. He would lose her, and it would be silent, because nothing could be more devastating.