Stealing Heaven

by Madeline Hunter

  Chapter 12

  The news spread through the manor that men carrying Llygad’s banner had attacked David and Sieg. The exploits of the rebels made for good stories, and their ability to avoid capture had reached legendary status. Even those at Anglesmore who did not favor Llygad’s cause found the tales of his men fascinating, and everyone was happy to have something to talk about.

  The excitement paled when Marcus prepared to go after the thieves. Nesta could see how that confused the sentiments of even the Welsh farmers who came to the market the next morning. A bit of raiding and thievery was one thing, but if Marcus rode out there could be serious fighting. No one liked having their allegiances divided that way.

  But ride out he did, with Paul and four other knights and a troop of men-at-arms. Nesta had been waiting for him to do so. There was only one reason for Carwyn Hir to send men onto Marcus’s lands. He was trying to give her a way to get to the town to meet with his messenger, and that would be easier if Marcus was drawn away from Anglesmore.

  No sooner had the gate closed on Marcus’s troop than she set about doing just that. It had been three days since Iolo had told her of the man waiting to speak with her, and her heart harbored the dreadful fear that he brought bad tidings about Genith. The worry had grown until it made her nauseous as she lay in bed at night.

  Sieg had insisted on joining Marcus’s action, but David remained at Anglesmore. She sought him out soon after Marcus’s departure, and found him in the garden playing with the harp. In a very short time he had taught himself enough that a simple but lyrical melody flowed.

  “Thank you for the cloth,” she said. “It was kind of you to remember I had admired the green velvet.”

  “I brought it for Marcus. If he gave it to you, that was thoughtful. Your thanks should go to him.”

  “However I received it, I am grateful. Now that I have it, however, I am impatient to see it made into a garment. I have dreamed of a surcotte since I first saw the fabric in your shop. The women here are busy with other sewing, but there is a tailor in the town who I think could do it as I want. Have you been to the town?”

  “Not yet.” Most of his attention remained on his fingers and the strings.

  “It is of good size for Wales, although none of our towns are very big. Still, it has a few merchants wealthy enough to buy even your foreign luxuries. Why don’t we go to the town today? You can bring your wares, and I can visit the tailor.”

  “Why not, indeed?” He set the harp aside. “The day promises to be quiet and tedious with Mark gone. I will have the wagon prepared, and if we leave soon w should be back by nightfall.”

  Delighted that her suggestion had met with quick approval, Nesta ran up to her chamber. Digging in her chest, she grabbed her engraved, gold armlet an pushed it up her arm, under her sleeve. She stuffed the velvet and some other items in a cloth sack. By the time she returned to the yard, David’s wagon was waiting.

  “What is in the chest?” she asked as she climbed up to sit beside him on the board. No one made any attempt to stop her. In his haste to go after Carwyn Marcus must have forgotten to give any orders about whether she could leave the castle.

  “Good cloth from Flanders, and small rugs from Castile.”

  “That sounds very valuable. Don’t you fear the thieve taking it?”

  “I count on Mark keeping them far from here Besides, if I thought thieves would attack us, the object of my trade are the least of it. You would not be coming.

  Nesta decided it was fortunate that David was English, and ignorant of just how bold the Welsh could be. Then she noticed a lethal long dagger attached his belt, and decided the merchant was probably no wholly dependent on Sieg for protection.

  The road to the town was quiet, no doubt due to rumors about the raiders. Nesta found David pleasant company. He had traveled widely, and explained how h had just returned in the spring from a long journey to Saracen lands.

  “What brings you to these parts?” she asked. “Afte your exotic travels, it seems odd for you to peddle you goods out here.”

  “The western lords are grateful for the luxuries, am are willing to pay a higher price than those in London. I often come to western shires, and then make my way north to Scotland.”

  “You intend to go north when you leave here? Perhaps I will have a tapestry design or two for you to take. You will not see the profit that you would if you brought them to Flanders, but what you do see will come more quickly. I know a merchant in Carlisle who will buy them from you.”

  “I am always interested in a quick profit. Pity I did not bring the others with me.”

  Chatting became more of a chore as they neared their destination. Excitement over meeting the messenger, and worry about the news he brought, distracted her. She kept up the conversation with effort. As they rolled into the town, she pointed out the shops that carried high-quality wares.

  They parted at the wagon. Carrying the linen sack, Nesta strolled away as calmly as she could even though her blood thrummed with impatience and caution.

  She visited the tailor, but did not stay long. Opening her sack she laid out the velvet, a scrap of parchment showing a drawing of the surcotte she wanted, and an old gown that could be used for her measure.

  David was nowhere to be seen when she slipped out of the tailor’s shop. She ducked around to the alley and made her way to the edge of town where the wainwright crafted his wheels.

  Iolo had said that the messenger stayed in a storage shack behind the works. She picked her way across a ground littered with bits of wood, and scratched at the wide, crude door of a structure that looked like a little stable.

  She heard movement, and sensed someone peering at her through the door’s cracks. Since most of her father’s men had never met her, she shoved up her sleeve and held her arm high, so that the armlet and its en graved dragon would be visible.

  The door opened, but no one stood there. She stepped into a darkened space. Wheels of various size lined its two sides, but the center remained clear. Ahead of her she saw another large door. Wagons and cart could be pulled in, fitted with their wheel, and then rolled out the other end.

  “Nesta verch Llygad?” The deep, quiet voice was to her left. She pivoted to see a tall man standing against the wall, as if he had positioned himself to fight several swords.

  “You took your time getting here, my lady.”

  “I am being watched. If not for word of the raids, might not have been able to come at all. You should have trusted Iolo to bring me a message. We both risk too much with this meeting.”

  “This is not for the farmer’s ears, or anyone’s but yours. It is about your sister.”

  “She is ill? Injured?”

  “Nay.”

  “Oh, Jesus, do not tell me she is d—”

  “The bard did not bring her to us. They sent a message from the coast. He has family in Eire, and we think they went there.”

  Good for you, Genith. The thought jumped into he head along with a flood of relief. An image of Genith smiling and happy, secure in Dylan’s embrace as the; faced a distant shore, flashed through her, lifting he heart and making her smile.

  The joyful reaction disappeared in a blink, however, a the full implications of Genith’s rash act crowded it out

  “This could unravel everything,” she muttered.

  “Now you see why I could not speak of it to Iolo, and why I had to come myself with this news.”

  He stepped closer, and the light from the entrance made his height and features clearer. Nesta suddenly realized who was with her, and just how big this risk had been.

  “You are Carwyn Hir, aren’t you.”

  He was not powerfully built, but his height held a lanky, wiry strength. The bones of his face gave him an attractive, if craggy, appearance. Intelligent blue eyes sparkled with amusement at her surprise, and the mouth above his dark beard smiled.

  He was younger than she had thought. Probably younger than herself. She had always assume
d that a man her father’s age had taken his place.

  “You should not have come,” she said in a desperate whisper, even though no one was around. “If you are found—”

  “If I am found, we will both hang. So let us speak quickly, for there is much to decide. Your sister’s disloyalty means the strategy must change, and we must agree on new plans now, before word of this betrayal spreads to our allies.”

  A hundred thoughts crowded her mind all at once. She took a deep breath and tried to force some order on them. Genith had caused a disaster, and the alternatives racing through her head seemed poor substitutes for the straight road that her father had drawn and that she had spent two years clearing.

  “Perhaps I can take her place.” She said it without enthusiasm. The very notion had a sickening sensation spilling into her stomach.

  Carwyn shook his head. “The great lord that your father arranged for Genith to marry will not accept you instead. You are reputed to have lain with Edward. Aside from his pride, he will know that your past with the English king will only give Edward a personal vendetta as well as a territorial concern. It was why it was Genith and not you from the start.”

  “We have no choice, then, but to explain what has occurred. Genith’s marriage was supposed to seal an important alliance for us, and we must make that alliance happen anyway. I will send the message, in my father’s name. I will find a way to bring the message myself if I have to. The marriage of my sister was only symbolic anyway. The goal still has appeal, and the plan remains sound.”

  “It is not the alliance to be secured by your sister that concerns me, but those with the Welsh chieftains. That marriage might have only been symbolic, but it would have created assurances in their minds. It is the support of our own people that needs to be buttressed. You are Llygad’s daughter, and have spoken with our leaders, visited them and cajoled them in your father’s name. It is time for you to come and join with us, and do so again.”

  Her mind accepted the logic of it, but something inside her, something spiritual and powerful and furious, rebelled with a tremendous onslaught of denial. Her role in this should be done now. She did not want to spend the next weeks journeying throughout Wales, exhorting men who should need no convincing that it was now or never for the dream sustained by generations to be realized.

  Carwyn reached out and his finger traced the engraved dragon on her armlet, still visible below her scrunched-up sleeve. “A different marriage will make our cause strong and solid. One between you and me, so that when I lead these men, I do so for you and what you represent. All of Wales will know the meaning of it, and no man will hold back then, or lose heart.”

  His suggestion shocked her. Horrified her. She stared, paralyzed by a wordless repudiation so visceral that her blood pounded in her ears.

  “That was not part of my father’s plan, Carwyn.”

  “Your father never comprehended that your legend here was not one of shame. He never understood your power to inspire.”

  “You are not of the blood.”

  “Your status is beyond that of blood. When you accept me, the people will too. I will become the sword that you wield. Even if Genith had completed the marriage alliance, I would have suggested this. Now, with her gone, it has become essential.”

  He walked to the back doors and opened them. He left and returned with a horse that he proceeded to prepare for a saddle.

  He expected her to agree. Just assumed it. The cause was in danger, and the marriage he proposed might save it. She sought the argument to reject his logic, but the chaos in her head and heart did not permit clear thinking. The sense that she was trapped, that duty decreed she take this step, only raised her panic.

  Time slowed as he saddled the horse, but then it seemed only a blink had passed before it was done. Carwyn brought the horse forward. “Come, Nesta. Our men are keeping Marcus well away from here. We will be far gone before he returns.”

  She could not move. She could not speak. Her imagination showed images of herself with this man, lying with him. The notion repulsed her, and not because of his person or birth. Her heart screamed a furious refusal and began wailing, mourning the loss of another man and the enlivening excitement that she knew whenever he looked at her.

  A shadow fell over them. A presence her spirit recognized invaded the shed. Carwyn’s head snapped around but she did not need to look to know who was there.

  Amidst the new panic that sent her blood racing, an other emotion also gushed. Wonderful, delicious, utterly traitorous relief.

  It all happened in a chaotic instant. Carwyn’s gaze darted to her. “Go, save yourself,” she ordered. Hi swung up on the horse as the shadows drew nearer.

  Bootsteps rushed behind her while Carwyn turned the animal. She pivoted to face the enemy.

  Marcus and David ran up next to her, their attention on the horse and its rider. David drew the dagger off his belt and balanced it in his hand. “Dead or alive, Mark?

  “Alive.”

  The expression on David’s face was that of a man who knew he could make his aim. She could not permit that. The daughter of Llygad could not allow Carwyn to be captured.

  Her eyes locked on the blade, and its rise, and the tension and movements of the arm that aimed it. At the vital instant of release, she lunged and threw herself into David.

  Hands grabbed her and threw her aside. She landed in a heap against a wheel.

  Shaking her dazed perceptions clear, she looked up Marcus loomed above her, his sword in his hand. The expression on his face was indescribable. She saw fury but beneath it there flowed a sadness, as if he had al ways hoped his suspicions were wrong.

  David ran to the misaimed dagger and snatched it up. He headed to the barn’s far door as the tail of Carwyn’s horse disappeared outside it.

  “Let him go,” Marcus called. Then his voice turned very quiet and calm, as if he spoke for her ears only. “Let him go.”

  He sheathed his sword and pulled her to her feet. That only brought her closer to his silent anger. She faced him as fearlessly as she could, but caution returned with her wits.

  The full implications of his arrival in this shed suddenly struck her.

  He had surmised that the reason for the raids had been to draw him away. He had expected her to make some move, and even guessed that a meeting would take place. He had ridden out and then turned back, just as he had the day she helped Dylan to escape, and had told David and others to cooperate with any plan she hatched.

  He understood her too well. It was as if he read her mind. How much else had he guessed? How much danger did he present to her?

  “I said that you would not be leaving, Nesta.”

  Relief split through her fear. He did not know why this meeting had really taken place. He thought it had only been a ploy to get away.

  David joined them, and Marcus’s relentless gaze finally broke away. He took her arm and pulled her out into the yard. The wainwright ambled out from his home, taking in the knight and merchant and her. Sieg was leading the wagon and Marcus’s horse out of the alley.

  Marcus released her. While he went for his mount, she walked over to the wainwright. The man was of middle years, short and spindly with thinning hair, and he smiled ruefully as she approached.

  “I think I’ll be going back home to Powys, looks like,” he said. “Won’t do to stay here now, with him knowing I let one of them live in my shed.”

  “This is your home, even if you have family in Powys. Your trade is here.”

  “Trade is where the craft is, my lady. I’ll be all right all the same.”

  Her gaze skimmed the house and shed that he would sacrifice. “You risked much to help me. I am sorry the you will lose everything.”

  “My grandfather died fighting with Llywelyn. My father had his livelihood taken away. When the time comes, we do what must be done and can’t count the loss, can we. Whether we live in the marches or the west or north, whether we serve the English as clerks c priests, t
he chance to have Cyntru back will not be forsaken because of some wooden wheels or a bit of bread. It was thus for my grandfather and me, and it will I thus for my grandchildren and theirs.”

  His words touched her in ways he could never Iolo. Her eyes teared, and shame ripped at her. She turned away from him, embarrassed by his loyalty because he own had been so unreliable.

  Marcus walked his horse toward her. David waited on his wagon, and Sieg on his horse.

  The chance to have Cyntru back will not be forsaken for some wheels or a bit of bread. She had been ready to for sake it for something less necessary to her life than those wheels and bread were to the wainwright. Something as frivolous as pleasure, and the foolish childish dreams that could sleep in a woman’s heart.

  Marcus lifted her onto his horse and swung up behind her. As if he guessed what had happened, he did not speak to her. He left her to her private humiliation.

  She tried to ignore his tense body behind her, an the fury pouring off him. She spilled all of her attention onto her self-loathing and disgust. She made it a point to not notice how comforting it felt to have him there, even if he was angry.

  She tried to block her mind to how his arms surrounded hers much like a gentle embrace, and how his breath on her hair soothed her turmoil in a reassuring way.

  Marcus dropped Nesta inside the gate, and then turned his horse and rode toward the hills. He went to a spot he had often visited as a boy, where the ground dropped away precipitously into a valley. As a child it had seemed to him that he could see the whole world from here, and he still found the vast view soothing.

  It did not soothe him this day. He paced along the ridge, daring the red stone to crumble beneath him.

  He had always known that he would face the devil’s choice about Nesta. He had hoped, however, that it would not be this soon, and this dangerous.

  He was furious with her, and with himself. Despite his warnings, she was pursuing whatever scheme she had become embroiled in. Today had proven that, just as it had proven that protecting her had become his first thought, his only thought, when she was in danger.