Lord of Hearts

by Gillgannon, Mary

  For all it was May, the day was misty and cool. The drifts of fog hanging over the hills made him worry they might have trouble finding the herd. But with luck the mist would lift. Despite all that already had transpired, it was not yet after nones.

  Once they’d left the castle, Marared started to ask questions about the herd. He answered as best he could, half-wishing he’d had Ormond come with him. But the stableman was busy with Star and her baby, and another mare that had foaled recently. Besides, he wanted to be alone with Marared, somewhere besides their bedchamber.

  He spoke conversationally. “I’m surprised you know so much about birthing horses.”

  “The Cymry have been breeding horses since long before the English arrived. ’Tis said some of the bloodlines go back to the days of King Arthur, when he bred native ponies to horses left behind when the Romans left Britain.”

  “King Arthur? You speak as if he was a real person. I thought all those tales of him were legends.”

  “Of course he was a real person! And he was a Cymro, as well. Although he might have been born at Tintagel on the Cornish coast, and his father half-Roman, his mother was a Cymraes. Her name was Igraine, after all.” She made a sound of disgust. “Your people seek to steal our greatest king and pretend he was from Brittany or some such place, but the evidence is clear. Although he fought the Saxons in east Britain, Arthur grew up in Cymru, and we are the ones who have kept his history alive.”

  Gerard made a gesture of surrender. “I know little enough of the lege…man. All I’ve heard are tales told by bards.”

  “Most bards are Cymro. Or they were. Before the English decided to overrun Britain and steal everything.”

  Most of the bards Gerard had encountered were from Aquitaine or Normandy, which made him dubious of Marared’s claim. But he wasn’t going to argue the matter. Better to try to soothe things over by making much of Arthur, whose reputation was impressive, whether he was real or not. “You should be proud the tales of Arthur have spread so far and he is so well-known. Clearly, he was an extraordinary man.”

  Marared raised her jaw. “He was a visionary, a man who saw Britain as one kingdom, not an island divided among warring tribes. He fought valiantly against the Saxons, but there were too many of them, and too few of our people. ’Twas the same when we faced the English.”

  It seemed a curious idea to Gerard, that Britain could ever be united as one land. Twould be like Normandy, Aquitaine, Brittany and the other duchies around Paris all being joined together in one country. “I truly know little of these things. My father was a hired knight from Anjou.”

  She turned to look at him. “Then why are you known as Gerard of Malmsbury?”

  He felt the flush creep up his neck. No matter what he did to prove himself, every time he faced the facts of his birth, the sense of humiliation came roaring back. “I’m a bastard. I couldn’t take my father’s name.”

  She gave him a quick smile. “Among the Cymry, ’tis no shame to be born on the wrong side of the blanket. As long as your father recognizes you, you’re treated the same as his other sons.”

  He would never understand this woman. A moment ago, she was resentful and angry. Now she sought to reassure him. “The Cymric way seems fairer. Although what I believe is that a man should be judged by his deeds and accomplishments, not by his father’s position or title.”

  “That sounds sensible enough. Although we both know the world isn’t like that. And if you think all men should be judged by their actions, what about women? If being born a bastard shaped your life, consider how being born a woman has shaped mine.”

  “But a woman isn’t the same as a man. Thank heavens.” He smiled at her, hoping to remind her of what they had shared in bed.

  “Oh, aye. I know. A woman is weaker, frailer, less fit in every way. And her mind and character are deficient as well. The scriptures say so.”

  “That doesn’t mean it’s true.”

  “You would question the Holy Scriptures? Is that not blasphemy?”

  “The scriptures say one thing, but my experience says another. That doesn’t mean the scriptures are wrong. It simply means they don’t apply in all situations. For example, my lord’s wife, Lady Nicola, she is the equal to any man in terms of her mind and character. In addition to her skill in managing the whole castle household, she can tally sums and read and write.”

  After a time, Marared shot him a defiant look. “If you believe women can be the equal of men, does it not seem unfair we have so little power? I had no choice in wedding you. Yet you were eager enough to take me to wife, even though ’twas clearly not what I desired.”

  He was on treacherous ground now. Mayhaps he’d been unwise to bring up Lady Nicola and his thoughts on women. Then the perfect response came to him. “I had no choice in wedding you, too. Lord de Cressy bid me do whatever I must to arrange an alliance with your father. Your father was the one who insisted the marriage to you be part of the agreement.”

  “You didn’t want to wed me?”

  He’d walked into a trap. If he spoke honestly, he would insult her. If he lied, she might think all his previous words were false as well. Somehow, he must find a balance, a way to make the truth seem less harsh.

  He gave her a rueful smile. “I must admit I’d always imagined myself marrying a more ordinary woman. One who was plainer, less keen-witted, and more biddable. But now that I’ve been spoiled by your beauty, your intelligence, and your fire, I realize it wasn’t such a bad a bargain after all.”

  “Even though I’m a Cymraes?”

  “Especially since you are a Cymraes. After you, all other women seem plodding and dull.”

  He saw that he’d pleased her and exhaled in relief. Now, if only he could find a way for her be happy with her lot as mistress of Tangwyl. He hoped her interest in the horses might lead to that.

  They left the main trackway and started into the hills. The sun burned off the mist and when they reached the top of a rise, in the pasture below they could see more than a dozen mares, many with their foals beside them. The sight of the beautiful animals, their coats glossy gray, chestnut, and bay against the vivid green of the knee-high spring grass, made Gerard’s breath catch. It seemed to him that at this moment, there could hardly be a more fortunate man in all of England. He glanced at Marared, his beautiful wife, and knew that it was so.

  She smiled back at him, obviously affected by the thrilling scene as much as he was. They started down into the valley. Gerard’s mood dampened when he saw the herdsman. He’d forgotten the man who looked after the horses was Welsh, or a Cymro, as Marared would refer to him. At least Gerard felt certain that the man must be Welsh, with his short, stocky build, dark hair and slightly swarthy skin. But he couldn’t remember the man’s name, which made it awkward. Would Marared think he hadn’t bothered to learn it because the man was only a herdsman and a Welsh one at that?

  They dismounted and secured their horses at the gate in the hedgerow, then climbed the stile into the pasture. The herdsman approached. “My lord,” He nodded to Gerard, then his gaze turned to Marared. “Lady. What do you here?”

  “We’ve come to see the horses,” Gerard answered.

  “Of course.” The man turned and motioned. “There are three mares left to foal. The other two…one didn’t conceive and the other had a stillborn colt a fortnight ago.”

  Gerard gazed out at the mares, focusing on the ones without offspring. “Ormond didn’t tell me we’d lost one.”

  “It happens. There was naught anyone could do. She dropped the foal during the night.”

  “Ormond said we bring the younger ones into the stables when they start labor.”

  The man shrugged. “You can’t always tell. This one wasn’t showing much. And her colt was very undersized. ’Tis likely it wouldn’t have survived even if it had been born alive.”

  Gerard felt a sharp sense of loss. Foolish. What was one foal, out of more than a dozen? And yet it was a young life lost, and he could no
t help mourning it. He glanced at Marared, expecting her to also react with sadness. To his surprise, she seemed to be studying the herdsman. All at once Gerard felt disinclined to leave her alone with the man, even though that had been his plan.

  He glanced sharply at the Welshman. His weathered face gave nothing away. “Which one lost the colt?”

  The man jerked his head in the direction of the herd. “The bay. Might have been too soon to breed her.”

  “Who decides which mares will be bred?”

  “The lord of the castle, I presume.”

  The coldness of the herdsman’s dark blue eyes pierced Gerard, arousing a sense of warning. He shook it off. “When the time comes this fall to breed the mares, I will ask your advice. And Marared’s.” He nodded to his wife. “That’s why she’s here. She has some knowledge of birthing animals and tending livestock.”

  The next moment he realized he should have referred to her as Lady Malmsbury, or at least Lady Marared. But he did not think the oversight would trouble her.

  The herdsman’s expression remained unreadable. “Is that so?”

  “I thought you could show Marared the herd. Have her familiarize herself with the animals, especially the mares that have yet to foal. She already saved one little filly, and likely its mother as well.”

  Gerard looked at Marared, who didn’t seem as pleased by his praise as he’d expected. He had the sense he was missing something.

  He pushed aside the twinge of warning. “I have things to do at the castle.” He met the herdsman’s gaze, wishing again that he could remember the man’s name. “I’ll depend on you to look after Marared and see that she gets back to the keep safely.”

  “Of course, milord.”

  Gerard gave Marared a quick smile and headed for the gate. He climbed the stile, untied the reins, and mounted before looking back. Marared and the herdsman stood facing each other, their stances stiff. He wondered if the herdsman resented having to deal with a woman. Marared had probably picked up on the man’s cool manner and was angered. But she could handle the situation, Gerard felt certain. His wife was not one to be put off by anyone.

  *

  “Daffyd, what are you doing here?”

  “I might ask you the same.”

  “I would think that was obvious. My father wed me off to Lord Malmsbury. I had no choice in the matter.”

  “Ah, but ’tis a fine life, isn’t it?” Daffyd jerked his head in the direction of the castle. “A warm, spacious keep. Servants to do your bidding. A fool of a husband who you clearly have wrapped around your little finger.”

  “It isn’t like that!”

  “What is it like, Marared?”

  She wanted to say that even now she was plotting to be rid of Malmsbury. But then she remembered her husband’s warm smile as he left her, and knew a sudden sinking feeling.

  She focused on Daffyd. His blue eyes burned with hostility and anger. “How did you come to be employed here?”

  “Malmsbury needed a herdsman, and I have the skill.”

  Among other skills. Daffyd had accompanied her brothers on raids many times. He was a shrewd and ruthless warrior. “You know what I mean. You wouldn’t willingly work for a Sais, not unless you had some plan to undermine him.”

  Daffyd’s mouth twitched. “Not undermine. That would be too good for the puling worthless coward.”

  “He’s not a coward!”

  Daffyd smiled unpleasantly. “Is that so? I see the fine life of being the leman of a Saeson swine has won you over.”

  Marared jerked back. “I’m his wife, not his mistress! And I’ll thank you to remember my father is your chieftain. Not to mention, my husband is not uncouth, evil or ruthless, or anything you might associate with the English race. He not only treats me well, he treats everyone well, from the lowliest kitchen boy to the knights in his garrison. He rose from humble beginnings himself, and he hasn’t forgotten what it’s to be an underling.”

  “Strange. You defend him now, but only a few days ago you were so anxious to be rid of him that you asked your cousin to lead a raid on Tangwyl.”

  Marared let out her breath in a hiss. “How do you know about that?”

  “Rhys and I are in regular contact.”

  Her heart fluttered like a frantic bird in her chest. “How long have you been employed here?”

  “Since last winter. Not long after Lord FitzAdam died.”

  “Who hired you?”

  “The first man de Cressy sent here, as soon as the king made him overlord of the castle.”

  “What was his name?”

  “Reynard. The name means fox, and he looks like one, with a bush of red hair. But he’s clearly not as wily as his namesake. Otherwise he wouldn’t have–” Daffyd’s eyes narrowed. “What does any of this matter to you?”

  She sought to regain control. “I came here to look over the mares. We’d best get on with it.”

  Daffyd gave her a lazy, assessing look. “What do you want to know?”

  She followed him around the pasture as Daffyd pointed out different animals, gave her their names, or at least the names he used for them, and their histories. He discussed whether they had had a difficult or easy time giving birth, whether they took to their offspring quickly and if their foal was thriving. The few who hadn’t yet dropped their foals, he assessed in terms of how soon they might go into labor.

  Daffyd was very knowledgeable about horses. Marared could well imagine why de Cressy’s man decided to hire him.

  As they talked, she agonized. It was disturbing to realize Rhys had spies here. But since he was her ally, why did it bother her? Perhaps because it pointed out so starkly that her loyalties were no longer clear and certain. She didn’t want anyone at Tangwyl to suffer or be hurt in any way due to a raid, or any other conflict with her countrymen. But this was war. People were bound to be hurt.

  She’d been so intent on taking back control over her life that she had not considered the effect of her actions on other people. Now she could see how naïve and selfish her plan was. But how did she change things? The plot she’d set in motion could not easily be ended.

  When they finished discussing the herd, Marared went to her horse. Daffyd followed. “There’s still a chance to redeem yourself. Prove you’re a true Cymraes and help us throw off the yoke of the Saeson usurpers.”

  “How would I do that?”

  He fixed her with a keen look, then shook his head. “Nay. I’ll not share our plans with you. ’Tis clear you’re too far gone.”

  Marared wanted to protest, but knew it would be a waste of breath. Daffyd could read her too well. She might fool Malmsbury, but she could not fool this man.

  She rode back to the keep, her mind whirling. Somehow she had to find a way to get word to Rhys that she’d changed her mind. But if what Daffyd said was true, it was too late. What else could she do, except go to Malmsbury and confess everything? But if she did that, he would know how untrustworthy and deceitful she was. He would never trust her again, and might well have her watched and controlled every moment.

  Her turmoil made her feel sick, and she wondered how she was going to sit beside Malmsbury at the evening meal and pretend all was well.

  Chapter Fifteen

  As soon as she joined her husband at the high table, he gave her surprising news. “A messenger came while you were gone.” He motioned with his head to a slim, dark-haired youth who was shoveling mutton stew into his mouth as if he was starving.

  Marared stared at him. “Cynan?” Turning back to Malmsbury, she asked, “What message did my father send?”

  “He’s wants us to meet with Prince Gwenwynwyn of Ceredigion at his stronghold along the coast.”

  “What?” She’d heard of Gwenwynwyn, but could not fathom what he wanted with them. “What’s the purpose of this meeting?”

  “King John has wed his illegitimate daughter Joanne to Prince Llywelyn of north Wales. Gwenwynwyn is furious. Your father wants to us to meet with him and convince Gw
enwynwyn that his own alliance with de Cressy is not part of some English plot to take control of this part of Cymru as well.”

  Marared tried to make sense of this new development. “I suppose I can reassure him regarding my father’s intentions, but it will be up to you to discuss de Cressy’s plans. Llywelyn…” She shook her head. “The prince of Gwynedd obviously has some sort of scheme in mind, but I doubt anyone here in the south knows what it is.”

  “I can see why your father wants you to go. You understand these matters much better than I do.”

  “But what can I do? I’m a woman. I have more rights under Cymric law than English, but I have no say in matters of politics. After all, my father did barter me off like a piece of livestock.”

  “Nay. He passed you on to me as if he was offering me a precious jewel, the most valuable thing he possessed.”

  Marared felt herself flush. Must Malmsbury always be so unfailingly chivalrous? It made her feel even worse about her arrangement with Rhys. No matter how it made her look, she had to get word to her cousin that she had changed her mind. Convince him Malmsbury was a good lord and no threat to Cymru. Nay, the real threat was the constant power struggle between the princes who controlled different parts of the country. If they had agreed to work together long ago, instead of fighting each other like dogs over a bitch in heat, the English would never have gained control over her beloved homeland.

  What did it mean that Prince Llywelyn had agreed to marry an English princess? Was he really accepting John’s authority over his lands in the north? She wondered what her father thought. Suddenly she realized the perfect plan was staring her in the face. “I will go. But we must talk to my father first. Caer Brynfawr is on the way.”

  “I agree. Mayhaps while we are there, your father can choose some of his men to join us on the journey.

  She breathed out in relief. Now she could eat without feeling every bite stick in her throat. While she was at her father’s stronghold, she would find a way to get a message to Rhys. “When will we leave?”