Stealing Heaven

by Madeline Hunter

  She reminded herself that this was not about sorrow or happiness. It was bigger than her spiritual comfort, and these people, and not limited to this time and place.

  But if others were to suffer, who was she to be spared? She had been an agent in creating this conflict. To leave now, to hide in the mountains and leave Wales eventually, would be the final, and most hideous, betrayal.

  She did not welcome the clarity of her choice, but she could not deny the inevitable decision it forced on her. Divided heart or not, she knew what she had to do.

  “I do not need meat. Let the children have the chicken. Before we feast, however, I need a scrap of parchment to write on,” she said.

  “We have no parchment here. Not even in the church.”

  “How do you record baptisms and deaths?”

  “There’s a linen that the priest writes on when he comes. Problem is, it fades fast, so most don’t know when they were born.” He chuckled and patted his chest. “Some say I am over eighty, some say only sixty. I say somewhere in between. I remember Llywelyn’s war, but I was a youth then. As if it matters. When you are young, you are young. If you get old, you are old. Not the birthing that counts, nor the dying, but the living.”

  There was wisdom in his words. They soothed her, and reinforced the decision she had made. “Please find me some linen, just a scrap, and a means to write on it. I will also need a brave man to carry what I write.”

  “We can burn sticks for the writing, I suppose. But the men left are slow and feeble. If not, they would be with the banner of the dragon.”

  “Is there no mule in the village to carry a man?”

  “There were two, but they were taken, along with half the pigs.”

  So Carwyn’s little army had not just been living off the land, but requisitioning from the villagers. “Have more than a few animals been taken?”

  His face fell, and he made a little shrug. “Some grain. And word has it there was trouble with some girls in the next valley. Such things happen.”

  Her back instinctively stiffened. Despite what Ifan said, there were some things that should not happen, no matter how common they might be during war, and this was one of them.

  Her misgivings about her course of action disappeared at once. Overhunting the forests was one thing, and taking the people’s livestock another. This transgression could not be excused on any grounds. Her father’s men needed her, for many reasons.

  “There’s my granddaughter,” the elder said. “She knows the hills as well as any man, and is strong and quick. She will run where you want her to go with this message of yours.”

  A bit of linen was found, and the sticks were burnt. Nesta banished everyone from the cottage while she wrote her message.

  She read her scratchy words when she was done.

  They would change nothing. They could not undo the past, or stop the river that now flowed. They would have such little effect on the outcome, that there was really no point in sending them off.

  She would anyway. She owed it to him.

  Calling the elder’s granddaughter in, she handed over the message and gave instructions on its delivery. The young woman had dressed as a boy, and seemed unfazed by the danger she would face. She headed out of the village at a run as the feast got under way.

  Nesta stayed in the village another night, but before dawn the next day she was back on her horse. Long before anyone else stirred, she was gone.

  She rode with a new energy, and a new sense of purpose. It was time to do what she had been born to do. She did not doubt that Mark would understand.

  Her horse suddenly broke its gallop and reared. She clung to its mane as the world blurred. When she regained control, she found herself facing four spears held by bearded, wild-looking men.

  As she had at the village, she held up her arm so that the armlet showed. “I am Nesta verch Llygad. Take me to Carwyn Hir.”

  The camp was neither large nor well provisioned. A few tents had been pitched, but most of the shelter consisted of rough lean-tos constructed of saplings and boughs.

  The crudeness of the scene surprised her. This was not Carwyn’s stronghold, of course, where men lived for years on end. That was high in the mountains. Presumably it was more impressive.

  At most three dozen men looked toward her as her escort led her out of the trees. She had not expected an army to greet her. The Welsh forces would not gather in one place until called. All through the hills, there would be other camps like this, many of them, full of men waiting for the word. Still, she had expected more than this to be encamped with the leader.

  She dismounted and walked her horse toward the large fire circle, noting the weapons and equipment. Her eye caught very little armor, no more than ten swords, and a dozen longbows. An enclosure for horses contained only a few animals. The image of Marcus’s camps, of the swords and helmets and well-fed men, lived in her head as she observed her father’s rebels.

  Carwyn sat at the fire with several other men. He did not rise until she approached very near, even though he had noticed her as soon as she stepped from the trees.

  “You escaped?” he asked.

  “He allowed me to leave.”

  “It is a generous man who permits his bride to join the enemy.”

  “He thinks I have left the region, and gone into hiding. The English lords with him know that I sent information to you.”

  “And useful information it was, Nesta. I trust that you also sent it north.”

  “Of course.”

  Carwyn gestured to the fire circle. “We are holding a council. We will finish soon, and then you and I can talk.”

  She sat on a log beside the one where he had been resting. “I will join this council, in my father’s name.”

  He did not like that. After some deliberation, he retook his place.

  “Tomorrow next, then,” he said to the men, continuing a conversation that she had disrupted. “We will gather during the night on the hill beyond their camps, and attack at first light.”

  “How many do you have?” she asked, interrupting the agreement of the others.

  Carwyn barely glanced at her. “More than he does.”

  “How many, that you plan this attack before word comes that our allies have moved?”

  “We attack now because you sent word that in a few days more will join Marcus, and then we will not outnumber them.”

  “Unless you have five hundred, you do not truly outnumber them now.”

  “Do you think that one English man is equal to three Welsh? This new husband must have impressed you greatly.”

  The other men snickered. She turned a furious glare on them until they flushed and looked to the ground. Rising, she gestured to Carwyn. “You and I will talk alone.”

  Slowly, resentfully, he followed her to the edge of the camp. He crossed his arms over his chest. Strained forbearance turned his bright eyes dull.

  “The others should not see us at odds, or hear us demeaning the other’s opinion. As to my comment about needing five hundred, I was saying that one well-fed English soldier wearing armor and carrying cold steel outnumbers one Welsh man bearing a wooden pike. And ten mounted men-at-arms outmatch what I see in this camp, no matter what heart we bring to such a battle.”

  “Our longbows will even things.”

  “They too have longbows.” She looked him right in the eyes. “Stop dodging my question. How many do you have?”

  His mouth twitched in annoyance. “Over three hundred, but more arrive every day.”

  “I was told over four hundred, and that was a week ago.”

  “It was in our interest to have them think our numbers were greater.”

  A whirlwind of fury began spinning in her head. “You had a lie told to me for this purpose? You assumed that I would reveal your strength to Marcus?”

  He pierced her with a knowing glare. “I have not forgotten your delay in the wainwright’s shed. And I was at the stream, Nesta. I saw you save him, and also
the sweet looks before and after.”

  She felt her face burn. “Such things do not matter, nor should you assume that you know the meanings of those looks. I have executed my duty twice over, and I am here now.”

  “You are here now because he allowed you to leave. I wonder why he did that. Just as I wonder why you are so curious as to our numbers.”

  His sarcastic tone, and the implications of his words, infuriated her. “Do not forget who I am, Carwyn, or that you can count what numbers you have only because of me. Think long and hard before you insinuate that I am a traitor.”

  “I know who you are. Every man in these hills knows. It is good that you have joined us. When we move, you will come, and the sight of you will be better than any banner. However, if you have come to betray us, I will see that you do not. You will not be leaving my side, or speaking with any person who can carry a message for you.”

  He intended to treat her as a prisoner. She leashed her outrage about that, and repeated her warning. “You must retreat, and wait for word from Scotland. Battles on the northern border will draw off the English forces that might be called here. That was always my father’s plan, and you must hold to it or there is no chance for success.”

  “If your sister had not left, and we could be sure that alliance would unfold, your advice would make sense. If Marcus had not brought this army here, we would have waited longer until our numbers grew. But we cannot retreat now. Once gone, these men will not return, nor will they live in these hills into the winter. Events have conspired to force this, and so it will be.”

  “You will be slaughtered.”

  “Then future generations will know of our bravery, and bards will sing about us.”

  “No one will know or sing about you. Your blood will leach into these hills as so much other blood has, wasted. This will not be a great war, fit for songs, or even a great battle. Somewhere in London a clerk will note in his accounts that some shillings were paid to knights who punished thieves, and then he will turn the page.”

  He held up a hand impatiently. “Enough. I think that Marcus sent you to us so that you could argue for our submission.” He took her arm, and pulled her toward one of the tents. “You will stay in here, away from the others, so you do not poison their thoughts. Do not presume to lecture me further. You might be Llygad’s daughter, but you are merely a woman, and, I think, Anglesmore’s whore as well as his betrothed. If so, that might prove useful.”

  Men slept on benches and pallets all around the chamber. Marcus was still awake, watching the flames in the hearth, facing the fact that a battle had become inevitable. Scouts had arrived in the afternoon with reports of men moving in those hills, aiming east toward Llygad’s old manor.

  Noise at the entry caught his attention. Addis was hauling a boy into the hall.

  Addis dragged the boy forward, thrust him at Marcus, and pulled a felt hat off the fair head. The hearth’s light revealed a feminine face about twenty years old.

  “She was halfway through the camps before being caught,” Addis said. “A good thing it was our men who found her, and not Arundal’s. I don’t want to think what would have happened to such a pretty spy then.”

  “I am no spy,” she said.

  “Spies always say that,” Addis replied with a laugh.

  “Why would anyone send a woman into a man’s camp for such a purpose? No doubt there are spies there, but I am not one of them.” She reached under the neck of her tunic. “He called you Marcus. If that is who you are, this is for you.” She handed over a tiny linen roll.

  “Where did you get this?”

  “From the lady. She came to our village.”

  His hand tightened on the linen. “Where is your village?”

  “A half-day’s ride from here. A longer walk.”

  “I assume that you walked.”

  She shrugged. “I ran mostly.”

  “You had to pass by Carwyn’s camps too.”

  She shrugged again. “We know how to avoid being seen.”

  God knew that was true. He and Addis still had not made a good count of the men in those hills. Nesta’s message to Scotland had said four hundred, however.

  He looked down to the little rolled fabric. His clutch was turning it into a damp wad.

  A half-day’s ride from here, Nesta had made this and sent it to him. He exhaled deeply, as if he had been holding this breath since sending her off. She had gotten past Carwyn’s men, and was heading west as he had commanded.

  Addis took the arm of the young woman. “I will bring her to the women who still use Nesta’s chamber. You will remain where I put you, girl, and not tell anyone that you brought this.” He began guiding her away. Glancing over his shoulder, he said, “Burn it as soon as you have read it.”

  Marcus already knew that he would have to do that. Nesta’s escape had brought heavy suspicion on him. Only his status had prevented Hubert from making a blatant accusation, that and Hubert’s conviction that the Welsh within the manor could not be trusted, and could have found the means to aid their lady. Arundal also watched him carefully now, but was equally of the opinion that Nesta might have used witchcraft to escape.

  He carefully unrolled the little piece of linen. The rough, grey lines covering it had become blurred from the sweat of the girl’s body and his own hand. Doubting that he would be able to decipher anything, he moved closer to the fire. The joy that she had sent this was touched by an unspeakable sorrow that her last words to him had been lost.

  He stared long and hard, willing the words to emerge. Finally, sadly, he gave up and accepted they never would. Only then, as his desperation faded, did the sooty scratches and smudges form patterns and letters and become a message.

  I have betrayed you far worse than you know, she had written. You must repudiate me now, before it unfolds, or I will have condemned us both. When next you see me, you must be the King’s man, and I the daughter of Llygad, although my heart will always be yours. Know that I love you, even though we both must deny each other now. Think of me when you gaze up at your stars, Marcus.

  He smiled, and experienced a moment of complete peace and glowing happiness. He closed his eyes and savored the exquisite sensation, holding it in his heart while he filled his mind with her.

  He opened his eyes, and dropped the linen into the hearth. The flames grew to consume it. As they rose he released the little bliss, and allowed it to burn away too. In the heat made by her message, he faced what it had contained besides words of love.

  She was not fleeing. She was joining Carwyn. Most likely she had already.

  He had prayed she would not, but he had also known that she would.

  He had counted on it.

  He thought of her message, and also of the words she had spoken their last night. She assumed that all the betrayals had been hers. Soon, however, she would realize how he had permitted most of what she had done, so that he could foil her in the end.

  So that he could save her.

  She had never used him to achieve her ends, but he had used her.

  Hopefully, when they were done with this, when they were no longer the King’s man and Llygad’s daughter, she would forgive him for that.

  Chapter 25

  There could be more,“ Hubert said. Worry made his voice pitch higher than was seemly. ”They could be on either side of us, for all we know. How the hell is someone supposed to fight in these mountains and forests.“

  “Now you know why the King’s grandfather brought a huge army with him, and why no English king before him had managed to hold all of Wales,” Marcus said.

  He surveyed the far hill. The men lined up on its crest shouted insults and taunts, goading their foe below. Cheers of ruthro Eingl, rout the English, rang in the sky. A few ran halfway down the hill and danced little jigs before sauntering back up.

  It was impossible to tell how many were behind the thick line, on the far side of the low mountain. The challenge had been made, however, and could not be ignor
ed. The troops being sent by other barons were at least two days away, but this skirmish was not going to wait for them.

  Marcus rode with Addis and Arundal and Hubert to the front of their line of knights. The newly risen sun that had revealed the waiting enemy was barely visible in the overcast sky of this bitter, damp day.

  Four hundred, Nesta had written to the Scots, and probably more now. He had but two hundred and fifty. Still, if the men held to this valley and clearing, they should prevail. If they were drawn into the forests or up into the hills, however, they could indeed be routed.

  Even a small victory for the Welsh could turn this skirmish into the first battle of a long and bloody war.

  “What are you waiting for?” Hubert asked, pacing his steed back and forth in front of Marcus.

  “For them to attack.”

  “I say we go up that hill,” Hubert snarled.

  Even Arundal rolled his eyes at that. “Oh, aye, attack men who hold high ground. That is shrewd, Hubert. How much did your father pay the King to secure your position here?”

  “One hundred marks,” Hubert said, missing the sarcasm.

  “Do not let the Welsh know that,” Marcus said. “They will fight harder to repay the insult that the King accepted such a small bribe before sending them such a great fool.”

  Hubert’s face turned red. Marcus was glad to see it. If goaded enough, Hubert might actually fight well after his bluster fell beneath the first sword he faced.

  The jeering on the hilltop suddenly ceased. An unnatural silence poured down instead of the taunts. As if attached to rods, the distant heads turned in unison to the line’s center.

  The line parted, and two horses rode through. A huge cry came across the valley in a wave, growing louder as the shouts from the back of Carwyn’s army were joined by those of the men who had just seen their leader.

  Carwyn wore armor, but he was one of the few Welsh who did. The figure beside him certainly did not. As the two horses rode back and forth in front of the men on the crest of the hill, the small figure on the second horse became very visible. Long dark hair floated behind it. Carwyn held the reins of the horse, pulling it along, displaying the rider like a banner whether she welcomed it or not.