Gerard rode up next to him and fixed the Welshman with a fierce look. “Explain.”
Madog grimaced. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
“How was it supposed to be?”
Madog looked away. “We weren’t even supposed to come here. Rhys had it all planned.”
“Rhys? Marared’s cousin?”
“Aye.” Madog glanced at Gerard, a glimmer of defiance in his blue eyes. Gerard glared back at him.
If Rhys had planned this, then it was likely Marared was involved. And she had probably met with Rhys when they stopped at Caer Brynfawr.
“Lord Gerard told you to explain.” Ranulf prompted.
Madog cast him a sullen look. “Rhys and his men were supposed to waylay us on the way here. The plan was to abduct Marared and take her to Gwenwynwyn. When that didn’t happen and we showed up here, Gwenwynwyn had no choice but take you prisoner, at least until his plan fell into place.”
“Plan?” Gerard struggled for control.
“To wed Marared, of course. He was going to have a priest declare your marriage invalid.”
Gerard sucked in his breath. He didn’t want to ask the obvious question and find out if Marared was part of this. He couldn’t bear to learn she cared nothing for him and was willing to disavow their marriage.
Ifan spoke for him, sounding incredulous. “And Marared agreed to this?”
“Not exactly.” Madog’s tone was sour. Gerard felt an absurd sense of relief.
“What does that mean?” Owain asked.
“It means she insisted a more senior church official must invalidate the marriage. Gwenwynwyn was taking her to the abbot of Strata Florida Priory.”
Gerard’s emotions flipped again, hovering near despair. Had Marared made this demand because she wanted to make certain her marriage Gwenwynwyn was valid?
“But then it all went awry.” Madog snorted in disgust. “I can’t believe she did it, a mere woman. They were trained, skilled men and Rhys had warned them to watch her. But she outwitted them all.”
Gerard was too startled to respond. It was Owain who asked, “You mean Marared escaped?”
Madog threw his hands up. “Aye. Disappeared. Gone. As if she vanished into thin air. Gwenwynwyn and his men looked and looked for her. They’re probably still searching. Although they did send a man back to the castle, on the odd chance she’d returned. That’s how I know these things.”
Gerard felt a swell of pride for Marared. His clever, fiercely independent wife. He could well believe she had done this. Aye, he could.
Owain spoke. “But why did you free us? Why were we allowed to ride out of the castle?”
Madog’s defiance was back. “I had to talk them into it. A lot of the men argued you’d return with an army and attack. But I told them we had no choice but to let you go. Otherwise they would have to kill you, and I wouldn’t have allowed that. I made it clear that killing you would anger Lord de Cressy and he would get the king involved, which is the last thing anyone wants. I didn’t intend to let you rot there either. So I finally convinced the castellan you should be allowed to escape.”
Gerard found his voice. “But without our weapons. Why didn’t you see that they were given back to us?”
“I didn’t want you to turn them on me.”
Ifan snorted. “We might well have done so, you prick! What possessed you to go along with this fool plan anyway? I thought you had more sense!”
Madog glared at Ifan. “Rhys was certain it would work. He convinced all of us that once Marared was wed to Gwenwynwyn, Caradoc and his allies and freeholders would have no choice but to go along with his plan.”
“Which was?”
Madog shot a cold look at Gerard. “To get the cursed English off our lands.”
“Dullard.” Ifan’s tone was cutting. “’Tis far too late for that. You should be happy we have a decent lord.” He gestured toward Gerard. “Rhys and the rest of you need to forget such nonsense. Find something better to do with yourselves than re-fighting battles already lost.”
Madog glowered at Ifan, his jaw clenched. A few moments later he jerked his horse around and went crashing through the marsh.
“Should we…?” Guy motioned.
Gerard shook his head. “I know his kind. Nothing will change his mind. At least this way we know who our enemy is.”
“Aye, we do.” Rob’s normally placid features were contorted with disgust. The knight had befriended young Madog. His sense of betrayal must run deep.
“But what about our weapons?” Ifan asked.
“Not much we can do,” Gerard said. “Better we leave behind our weapons than lose our lives.”
“’Tis a long way to Caer Brynfawr,” Guy said. “Without weapons we’ll be next to helpless.”
“Then we’d best get riding, hadn’t we?” Gerard turned his horse and urged the animal east.
*
Marared felt as if she’d been trying to find her way through the mist for hours. The chill and the tension squeezed her body and made her neck and shoulders ache. She could only take tiny steps for fear of tripping over something. Surely by now she should have encountered something: a building, a pen, a gate.
A dog barked suddenly, sounding very near. Marared’s heart lightened. “Here, boy! Come here!”
What if the dog attacked her? Despite her doubts, she called out again, making her voice soft and coaxing. She heard the dog approaching and bent low to offer her hand for it to smell. Then she petted its rough coat, feeling weak with relief. A moment later she grabbed the dog’s collar. “Home. Go home.”
With Marared hunched over, clutching its collar, the dog started off. They’d only gone a few paces when the mist abruptly ended and the farmhouse came into view. Marared released the dog’s collar and patted it. “Thank you.”
The dog whined and licked her hand before ambling off toward the barn. Marared stood frozen for a moment. It seemed as if some force wanted her to remain here. For good or ill, she must accept that.
She went to the house, opened the door and slipped inside. Everything was as when she’d left, although the fire in the grate had burned down and the room was cool. She hung up her mist-soaked cloak, removed her boots and tiptoed through the sprawl of bodies sleeping on benches. This time, no one woke.
In the bedchamber, a few rays of moonlight seeped past the shutters. She made her way to the bed, stripped off her clammy gown and shivering, climbed in wearing only her shift. Burrowing beneath the blanket, she stared unseeingly into the darkness. Her frantic struggle through the mist seemed like a dream. Yet she knew it had happened. Was the mist trying to protect her from her foolish urge to flee? Or was it a means of trapping her here?
She worried over the matter until she finally fell asleep. When she woke, sunlight gleamed around the edges of the shutters. She rose quickly and donned her gown, wrinkling her nose. The garment smelled of mud and sweat. Why had she rejected Bronwen’s offer to wash it? Many of her actions the day before appeared foolish.
The main room of the farmhouse was nearly deserted. Bronwen and another woman were cleaning up after the morning meal. Everyone else must already be outside doing other chores. Bronwen greeted her with a smile. “Good day, lady. How did you sleep?”
“I slept well.” If her hostess didn’t know of her midnight escapade, there seemed no need to mention it.
Bronwen gestured to the table. “Have some freshly made oatcakes and cheese. Your boots and cloak are nearly dry. By the time you’ve broken your fast, my sons will be ready to escort you on your way.”
“Thank you for your generous hospitality. It’s kind of you and Talhern to look after me.”
Bronwen nodded in response.
Marared ate quickly. Bronwen and another woman finished putting the food away. Then they dragged the two looms near the fire and unshuttered the windows at the front of the house so they would have light to work by. Two women, including the one she’d spoken to the night before, returned to the h
ouse. The women set to work, two of them spinning a pile of fluffy wool, the other two at the looms.
This must be what they did all day, everyday. Except when they were washing and cleaning the wool after shearing, dyeing the yarn, and other aspects of making cloth. Or doing other chores. Once again, Marared realized how fortunate she was to have been born a chieftain’s daughter. And now she was an English nobleman’s wife. That is, if Gerard didn’t decide to set her aside after everything that had happened. If he was even still alive. A pang of dread shot through her at the thought.
She rose, again thanked Bronwen and went outside. Talhern’s sons were waiting for her. They rode shaggy brown and white ponies that were barely tall enough to keep their legs from trailing on the ground. But the animals looked like sturdy, well-fed beasts, and even if there was no way the animals’ short legs could match Gwenevere’s gait, it would be much faster to travel with the two youths mounted than if they walked.
Talhern was holding Gwenevere’s reins. The mare let out a nicker as Marared approached.
“A beautiful animal.” Talhern handed Marared the reins.
“Aye, she is.” Gwenevere was another reminder of her privileged status.
Marared focused on the two youths who would accompany her. Geraint was stocky and dark like Talhern. Elidon took after his mother, with reddish brown hair and fine features. They sat their horses stiffly, scarcely looking at her. She hoped that as they traveled, they would become more at ease and converse with her.
Their father motioned. “Look after Lady Marared. And give my regards to her father, Lord Caradoc, when you see him.”
“Thank you for your hospitality. And for having your sons guide me on my way.”
They set off. Marared struggled to keep Gwenevere to a slow enough pace for the ponies to keep up. The high-spirited mare was eager to be on her way.
Marared turned and smiled at Elidon. As the younger of the two, he might be easier to win over. “’Tis kind of you to guide me all this way. Or do you welcome this trip as respite from your usual tasks? What would you be doing this day if you were not traveling with me?”
The youth shot her a wary look. “We would probably be moving the flock to the north pasture. Or gelding the calves.”
“Would you rather be doing this?”
She waited, but neither youth responded. At this rate, the journey was going to be long and tedious.
“Tell me, have you ever been to Caer Brynfawr before?” She gazed pointedly at Elidon. When he didn’t answer, she turned to Geraint. “What of you? Have you ever been there?”
Geriant shook his head.
“Then how do you know the way?” The question sounded rude, but at this point she didn’t care if she offended them.
Again, neither youth answered. Marared felt a stab of aggravation. She could travel much faster if she was alone. The day was sunny and clear and she had a fair idea of which direction to go. She really didn’t need their help.
Her temper boiled over. “I don’t see the point of having you escort me. You obviously have no desire to make this journey, and since you don’t seem to know where we’re going, I see no reason to inconvenience you to appease your father. You can tell him I rode off and you couldn’t catch up. That would certainly be true. Your mounts are no match for mine.”
She glanced at Elidon. Despite her cold tone, she wanted to give them one last chance to redeem themselves. No matter what the youths told Talhern, it was likely he would be angry with them.
Elidon did look distressed. He gave his brother a look, then glanced at her. “Please don’t send us back. Although we haven’t been to your father’s fortress, we’ve traveled to the area.”
“Aye,” Geraint put in. “And you will be safer with us than you would be on your own.”
She resigned herself to their company. At least riding this slowly she could appreciate the beauty of the countryside. The foxgloves were beginning to bloom, their tall rosy purple spikes rising above the thick green grass. The sky was a clear, rich blue. The sun on her face was warm and soothing.
Lulled into complacency, it took a moment for her to realize the landscape had begun to look familiar. Indeed, if they followed the crest of those hills to the south, they would be in sight of Caer Brynfawr in no time.
Even as she had the thought, Geraint called out, “It’s this way.” He pointed east, to a route she knew led down into a steep valley.
“Nay.” She gestured. “I know where I am. This way is faster.”
Geraint brought his mount up beside her. “You’re wrong. We have to go this way.” His blue eyes flashed with anger and threat. A moment later he urged his pony directly into her pathway. She turned her horse, only to discover Elidon on her other side.
She looked from one youth to the other. Did they really think they could control her so easily? If she gave Gwenevere the order to run, the mare would obey in a heartbeat.
As if guessing her thoughts, Geraint reached for the bow slung over his shoulder. “I’m a good shot. I’d hate to think of your fine horse being wounded.”
Marared let out a gasp of horror. She could not risk the safety of her beloved mare. She should never have trusted Talhern. He didn’t send his sons along to guide her safely home, but to lead her into a trap. “Where are you taking me? What do you want?’
Geraint’s eyes still glinted with warning. “You’ll see.” He motioned for her to ride east. The two youths stayed close, essentially herding her in the direction of the valley. Marared silently cursed herself. Would she never learn? Would she continue to make stupid mistakes and trust the wrong people? If her escort was taking her to Gwenwynwyn, she was doomed. She’d never escape him a second time. Regret cut her like a knife. What if she never saw Gerard again? The thought made her want to weep.
Above her, a hawk called to its mate. The fragrance of meadowsweet and chervil floated up from the tall grass. The moist air glided across her skin and gently lifted the curls and tendrils around her face. But she felt numb…except for her heart, which was like a cold stone inside her.
They crested the hill and descended into the valley. She could see a make-shift settlement sprawled along a small stream. There were lean-tos and tents made of branches and cowhides, and a pen for horses. More than a dozen men were gathered around open hearth. As they drew near, she saw one of the men was Rhys.
Chapter Nineteen
Marared glared at her cousin, fighting the growing dread bubbling up inside her. Rhys would probably take her back to Gwenwynwyn. He would make certain she didn’t escape.
Rhys nodded to her. “Greetings, cousin.” To her escort he said, “Well done, boys. I’m glad to see you refused to listen to your father with his pathetic talk of keeping the peace and honoring his vow to Caradoc.”
Marared glanced at Geraint. The youth looked very uncomfortable. She wondered if he was reconsidering his decision to defy his father.
She turned back to Rhys, her chin raised in defiance. “What will you do now? Take me back Castell Ystwyth? ’Tis a long way, and I will try your patience every moment.”
Rhys snorted. “I’m sure you would, stubborn, difficult wench that you are.” A muscle twitched in his jaw.
“Why so gloomy, Rhys? You got what you wanted.”
“I would have, if it wasn’t for worthless cowards like Gwenwynwyn and Madog.”
Madog? What did he have to do with this? “What do you mean?”
“By now Gwenwynwyn is probably holed up in Ystwyth with his men, terrified that Fawkes de Cressy or your father will come and kill him. Or at least seize Ystwyth and send him into exile.”
“Aye. They might do that. Gwenwynwyn was a lackwit to think he could get away with kidnapping me and forcing me to wed him.”
“Nay, his mistake was in not killing Malmsbury and having done with it.”
Rhys’s words implied Gerard was alive! But she dare not react. “If he did that, de Cressy would almost certainly have sought revenge. He might even hav
e involved the king.”
Rhys’s mouth curled. “Aye, the king. Let him send his army. Then perhaps my countrymen will understand they must fight. If we give in now, the cursed Saeson will only want more. They won’t be happy until they’ve driven us into the sea and taken everything.”
A part of her feared he was right. But she also knew there was no way her people could win back the lands already lost to the English. Her outlook was greatly changed from only a few months ago, when she’d been determined to fight the enemy to the death.
Rhys was still regarding her with cold contempt. She knew her cousin well enough to be certain he wasn’t going to let her go. “If you’re not sending me back to Gwenwynwyn, what do you plan to do with me?”
“You? Treacherous, traitorous bitch that you are? You’ve caused me a lot of trouble, and cost me an important ally. I’d like to see you pay with your life for your selfish defiance.”
Her heart beat faster. Would he truly kill her, his own kin?
A faint, icy smile replaced Rhys’s contemptuous glare. “But that would be short-sighted. You’ve cost me much. I intend to get some of it back. I’m going to hold you for ransom. If your doting husband wants you returned to him, he’s going to have to pay me twenty marks of gold.”
Marared inhaled sharply. “He doesn’t have that sort of wealth!”
“Nay, but his overlord does.”
“And how will he contact de Cressy when he is imprisoned inside Castell Ystwyth?”
Rhys’s mouth twisted. “It pains me to say that Malmsbury and his men escaped, aided by the scheming, deceitful piece of cach known as Madog.”
Gerard was free! He was safe! Her heart soared with relief.
Rhys had drawn his knife and was testing the sharpness of its blade against his calloused thumb. “Of course, another of my requirements will be that Malmsbury brings the gold himself.” His chilling smile made his unspoken words quite clear. His real goal was to lure Gerard into a trap and kill him.
Marared breathed in sharply as dread seeped through her veins.
But maybe she could escape. She glanced around the camp. Most of the men here owed loyalty to her father. If Caradoc came for her, those who still honored him might refuse to follow Rhys’s orders and set her free. They might do that anyway, if she could make them understand how foolish and dangerous Rhys’s plan was. She grew calmer. There was no reason to despair. Not yet.
Lord of Hearts Page 20