Stealing Heaven

by Madeline Hunter

  Her father had taught her to see all of this when, after her brother died and Llygad ap Madoc resigned himself to having no male heir, he had begun to open his elder daughter’s eyes to the realities of their world.

  The view was not all bleak, however. The English, both the marcher lords of old and the new lords established after the defeat of Prince Llywelyn fifty years ago, might claim this land as theirs, but the Welsh knew differently.

  The mountains and ridgeways belonged to them alone. The bards kept the history and legends alive. The chieftains still dealt with their people in ways no English overlord could ever replace. At the cymanfaoedd, the hilltop assemblies, the people renewed their true allegiances.

  These western lands might be thought a part of England now, but Cymru lived on as a shadow nation, waiting to be reborn to the light.

  “We should arrive at Anglesmore in two days,” Marcus said. “Your sister and I will marry soon after we get there.”

  “I cannot condone such a hasty marriage. She will need some time to accommodate herself to this.”

  “She had weeks in London for that.”

  “As her mind is now, it will be little more than rape if you do not wait. Or are you one of those men who assume that women can be given pleasure even as they arc forced?”

  The body pressing her side stiffened. She looked up and saw a tightness in his expression.

  “I am not a man who believes that, Nesta. Which is why I want you to change her thinking.”

  “It is not for me to change her thinking, but you. If you became familiar to her, she might soften her opinions.”

  “I do not think she will soften any opinion until you give her permission. Since your plan to spirit her away has failed, it is time for you to do so. For the sake of your family, and her.”

  He raised his hand to signal a stop to the men behind him, and guided his horse into the moor. “Now, we will rest, and then the bard can walk again and you will return to the wagon. Since we speak of my marriage to your sister, the pleasure I have taken in holding you here should not continue.”

  “He watches you. They all do. When you came back to the main fire that first night, all the men watched, but especially him.”

  Genith’s low words whispered into Nesta’s ear as they lay beneath the stars, wrapped together in their blankets. All around them other bundles slept, the women on one side of the fire and the men on the other.

  Nesta knew which man Genith meant. She had walked away from Marcus that night to break the magic of his eyes, but her heart had pounded so loud and long that Dylan’s music barely penetrated her awareness. It had pounded the same way most of this afternoon after his hands lifted her down from the horse.

  “It was not unkind, the way he looked at you, but a little frightening and dangerous,” Genith added in a thoughtful tone. “I don’t think a man has ever looked at me like that.”

  “That is because you are virtuous. I am a whore, so men feel free to look. It doesn’t mean anything except that all men are lustful, and will look thus at any woman if the world says they can.”

  “You are not a whore. I know that.”

  “It does not matter what you believe, or even what is true. The world has decided, and so men do not hide their thoughts. But they are well aware of you, Genith, in a more respectful way. You are very beautiful, far more beautiful than me, and all who see you notice.”

  Genith did not disagree. Nesta guessed that by now Genith found it commonplace that everyone thought her entrancing. On seeing her sister after eight years, Nesta herself had been astonished. They shared similar features, but it was as if God had used the older face for practice and then, on forming Genith, had corrected His errors and achieved perfection.

  Genith rose on her arm and looked to where Marcus slept near the horses. “He guards them as if he thinks someone will steal them during the night.”

  Not someone, Nesta thought. Me. The idea had crossed her mind, and she did not care for the evidence that Marcus had guessed that.

  Normally she could disarm such suspicions with a few smiles and a bit of teasing. The thing about having men look at her with lust was that it made them vulnerable, and she was not above using that. Marcus, unfortunately, seemed to see through the ploy every time. Worse, as he had shown in the cottage, he also had the weapon this time.

  She heaped silent curses on Edward and his chancellor Stratford. Why couldn’t they have chosen a stupid man for Genith? Saints knew the English included enough of them. Or at least chosen one whose looking could be used, rather than shamefully savored? This man was making everything much more difficult than it should be.

  “Have you decided what we are going to do?” Genith sounded fretful and confused.

  She wrapped her arms around Genith, and relished the sisterly bond so much that her heart whispered a traitorous cheer that the escape had failed. “I know what to do. Sleep now, and do not worry.”

  She was lying. She had no idea what to do. Her conversation with Marcus on the horse had revealed more than he intended, however, so she at least knew how to thwart his plans until she figured out the rest.

  Marcus pushed them along at a good pace, but once they crossed from Clun into his own lands that changed. Their approach to his home slowed as he paused to greet farmers along the road. In two villages he made the retinue wait while he dismounted and spoke at length with the reeves. Nesta overheard talk of wives and kinsmen, and not only discussions about duties and sheep and such.

  Anglesmore proved an impressive castle that showed signs of recent expansion. The folk greeted their lord’s return with good cheer. By the time she climbed out of the wagon in the inner yard, Nesta knew that Marcus’s return was welcomed and not dreaded.

  She found that disheartening. Dissatisfaction would have been more useful to her. She wasn’t surprised by the contentment, however. She knew something of the recent history of this place. For a horrible few years the people of Anglesmore had suffered under the worst of men. Even if Marcus had proven less than fair, they would have been grateful to have him instead.

  During the confusion of unloading the wagon, Nesta saw Marcus approach Genith. Before she could get to them, Marcus had guided her sister through the manor house’s doorway.

  Annoyed by the distractions that had permitted his quick move, she attached herself to the steward and nagged along the settlement of herself and the other women into a chamber.

  She prayed that her sister would have the sense to neither agree nor disagree to whatever Marcus commanded. In fact, she counted on Genith knowing not to say anything at all.

  “Three days hence.”

  Genith did not even flinch when Marcus informed her of the quick wedding. For a girl who had shed a lot of tears on the first day of their journey, she remained remarkably calm. She sat on a stool not more than an arm’s span away from his chair, like a lovely form carved out of serenity.

  She was one of the most beautiful females he had ever seen. As a boy he had dreamt of such ladies, and of possessing one when he reclaimed his place. From the shadows of the fetid alleys, he had watched them in the London markets, imagining himself dressed as richly as they were and not in rags, buying them small luxuries and receiving warm smiles in return.

  He had been a smooth courtier in those fantasies, a champion of jousts and a hero of battles, and not a London gutter rat. In the pageant of his mind, his bed had been shared by many ladies of noble breeding before he finally took the hand of a sweet, innocent, perfectly beautiful girl in marriage.

  Now the end of the boyhood dream sat within reach, but she moved him not at all. His lack of desire irritated him. So did her total absence of reaction.

  “Have you nothing to say, my lady?”

  Her face lifted, and her dark, vacant eyes regarded him. “We have not been betrothed.”

  “We will do it this evening.”

  “That will be a very short betrothal.”

  “If you had not taken ill in London, it
would have been much longer.”

  For an instant she reminded him of Nesta. Not in her features, which were always similar, but in a fleeting spark of expression that indicated the mind was not quite as vacant as the eyes.

  “I was not ill in London. I lied, in the hopes Nesta would hear of the marriage and come.”

  Her honesty about the ploy surprised him. “You sought delay so that your sister would be with you when you wed?”

  “I sought delay so she might come and save me before I wed.”

  “Why did you want to be saved? Were you afraid?”

  “I was not born for this marriage. You are beneath me. My father was uchelwyr, and the blood of kings and princes flows in me. I am meant to marry into another family of royalty.” She insulted him calmly, as if explaining something so accepted that it needed no apology.

  Marcus experienced irritation that she had been fed such ancient, useless ideas. There was no nobility left in Wales, and the lineages Llygad and others like him claimed were little more than creative concoctions. Genith had no doubt been taught them as great truths, however, and he had just spent two weeks riding all over England tracking her down because of it.

  “Your sister has the same blood, but she married other than royalty.”

  “That marriage was arranged by Archbishop Stratford, as a way to make my sister invisible. The stories about her embarrassed the Queen, and the Archbishop convinced the King to do it. They also hoped that with her gone the stories would die, and that my father might be less angry. But he did not approve of the marriage, and it only made things worse.”

  So, Stratford had been dabbling in this affair from the start. Marcus was learning more from this girl in one conversation than he probably ever would from Nesta. “Was your sister forced into the marriage?”

  She shook her head. “She agreed. I think she also hoped that it would lessen my father’s anger, and have him make peace with the King. And so she left me.”

  Her last words came less calmly, and her eyes turned sad. Marcus pictured that leavetaking, with Nesta preparing to do her penance in Scotland and Genith, a child still, losing the only family left to her.

  “Genith, you may think this marriage beneath you, but it is a necessary one. With it, you and your sister will be together again. Without it, the men who followed your father will die as traitors and thieves. We will be betrothed tonight and wed three days hence.”

  Again, no reaction came from her. She looked at him so blandly that it entered his mind that she did not know what marriage meant. That was the last thing he wanted to deal with.

  “Come with me now, Genith. I will present you to the people.”

  He took her hand and led her down to the hall. She did not deny him the touch, but there was not true acceptance. Her fingers did not move, and remained limp and lifeless in his.

  A chaos of activity waited in the hall. Squires removed armor from knights, and servants bustled around preparing for the evening meal. It took three calls for Marcus to command everyone’s attention. The noise dimmed until silence reigned.

  “I bring you your new lady, whom our good king has given to me to wife. Lady Genith is the younger daughter of Llygad ap Madoc. By this union, the King absolves Llygad of his treason. Our son will carry the noble blood of both England and Cymru, and will be a new lord for a new age of harmony in these lands.”

  He had chosen his words carefully, and practiced them during the journey. His pride in his newfound eloquence was ruined, however. Halfway through his little speech he completely lost the rapt attention of his people.

  He saw it happening. First one glance away, then another. One head turning slightly, then a whole group of them. Finally the gazes shifted as one until everyone in the hall looked not to him, but to a spot behind him, just left of his shoulder.

  When he finished, no one reacted because no one had noticed.

  He turned his head to see the cause of the rudeness.

  Nesta stood at the bottom of the stairway. She stayed in the shadow while Genith glowed in the light, but she might have been emitting rays of fire, so totally did she fascinate the people.

  Marcus could almost hear the reaction to her. So, that is she. The elder daughter. The King’s whore. The wronged woman. The Welsh temptress. The heir to Llygad.

  She stood like a queen, self-possessed and shameless. Marcus half expected the Welsh in the hall to drop to their knees.

  It occurred to him that Stratford may have made a serious mistake in sending her here.

  He turned to Genith. “Go to your sister. Tell her about the betrothal and wedding, so that she can prepare you.”

  “What did you speak of?” Nesta demanded as soon as she and Genith entered their chamber.

  “The marriage.” Genith strolled about, checking the room’s measure. Her wandering glance took in the one bed, and the pallets waiting for the servants. Stepping around the one stool, she ended up by the window, and peered down into the yard below.

  “Nothing else?”

  “Nothing else.”

  “He did not question you about why you left me, and where you were going? He did not seek information from you?”

  “We spoke only of the marriage he plans to make with me. It will be in three days. We will be betrothed tonight.”

  “Saints. He said soon, but I did not expect this soon. A betrothal binds you as surely as a wedding.”

  “I know.” Genith rested her elbows on the window niche’s edge and gazed out the thick slit in the wall. “Where did they take Dylan?”

  “He is in a cellar chamber, beneath the north tower.

  “Will Marcus hang him?”

  “There is no proof that Dylan is with Father’s me Nothing has been sworn against him. I do not think that Marcus will condemn a man without just cause.”

  “What if he is very angry?”

  “If anyone pays, it will be me.” Nesta slid her an around Genith’s waist. “You know what to do?”

  “Aye.”

  “Can you do it?”

  Genith nodded. “I can do it.”

  Chapter 6

  Anglesmore was a man’s world. Nesta had absorbed that impression on riding through the gate, but it became abundantly obvious as the household gathered for the evening meal.

  There were many more males than females. Furthermore, although some of the women showed aging faces, almost all the men’s were youthful. Boys crammed the lower tables and created a raucous noise that thundered through the great hall. Marcus had an abundance of squires, and even his knights appeared new to their spurs.

  Nesta knew why. There were no older men because they all had been killed. After the siege in which Marcus’s father had lost this castle, there had been a massacre.

  The noise diminished to a gentle roar when she and Genith entered. Many of those male eyes were momentarily distracted by her sister’s beauty.

  Marcus waited in front of the high table. He had donned a courtly sapphire pourpoint that emphasized his broad shoulders and lean muscularity. His dark blond hair had been neatly groomed, although errant short locks insisted on carelessly skimming his temple; His face, which could form harsh planes in anger, appeared calm and beautiful in the hall’s glow of candle and torches.

  Nesta’s heart rose at the sight of him, and she glanced anxiously at her sister. Arguments and brow beating could be thwarted, but what if Genith became mesmerized by the man himself?

  He pointedly did not look at her, but only Genith. Nesta felt herself melting all the same, and once more checked for Genith’s reaction. She needn’t have worried. Genith seemed not to notice Marcus’s appeal, but only his danger.

  As they approached the high table, Genith’s hand suddenly gripped hers. “Look,” she whispered desperately.

  Nesta tore her attention from Marcus. Another man, was easing over to stand beside his lord. Nesta took the man’s priestly vestments.

  Marcus intended to perform the betrothal now, prior to the meal, with the wh
ole household as witnesses.

  Genith’s grip got tighter. “Not here, in front of hundreds. I cannot.”

  “Request the chapel. It is a small thing, and he will not deny you.”

  They found themselves at the table, facing Marcus and the priest. Marcus did not appear eager, but neither did he appear unkind.

  “I regret that you do not have a kinsman here Genith, but although it is customary for one to give in your hand, it is not necessary,” he said.

  “Nay, not necessary.” She still clenched Nesta’s hand and her trembling traveled through that connection.

  Nesta squeezed back in reassurance, and tried to transfer some will to her.

  It seemed to work. Genith’s shoulders squared. Her grip relaxed. “My sister is here, so I am content that my family witnesses this. I would prefer the chapel to this hall filled with drink and ill-mannered boys, however. Such an occasion deserves more dignity, and the presence of God, to my mind.”

  Nesta almost swatted her sister’s shoulder. They needed Marcus moved by a shy girl’s fears, not challenged by a proud one’s demands.

  Marcus’s gaze sharpened. “We will do it as you prefer, Genith.”

  The priest led the way out to a chorus of objections from people who didn’t want to miss the spectacle. Into the yard they filed, and on to the chapel, with a few knights following to bear witness. They entered the ancient structure built in the Norman style with a high stone ceiling and thick walls that kept it cold and dark.

  The priest lit some candles and then beckoned Genith to stand beside Marcus. The lord’s closest retainers gathered around. With heavy solemnity, the priest began rambling a benediction.

  “I am not willing.” Genith spoke so lowly that Nesta doubted that anyone had heard but herself. Even she would have missed it if she had not been straining her ears.

  Nay, one other heard. Marcus’s head snapped around.

  The prayer droned on.