“I am grateful that you found a way to save me. To keep me,” she whispered.
“You should have known that I would. I told you so that first night. I said that I would fight to have you.”
He kissed her again, then turned with her under his arm and faced the plain and distant hill. “Who do you see waiting for us out there, Nesta?”
She saw English soldiers, in whose minds this day would quickly fade, since no battle had been fought. She saw Arundal, who would be well contented that a conquered people had been kept under England’s heel.
On the distant hill, however, she saw Welsh men who would return to their fields and their families, and teach their sons and grandsons to be ready when the next call came. Because of Mark, the dream would not be made real this year, but, also because of him, neither would it be crushed.
“I see a Welsh army and an English army, Mark.” He lifted her hand, and kissed it. “I see only people, my love. Our people.”
Chapter 26
Marcus gazed out the window of Joan’s London house, watching the children play. They tumbled around the garden, flush-faced from the cold. The house was full of them today. Addis and his wife Moira had brought their brood over to join a little feast to welcome him and Nesta to the city.
Addis claimed to be visiting London to see to his wife’s property, but Marcus knew the real reason. He had really come to give Edward his account of what had happened in Wales, should Marcus’s own version be doubted.
“So, who was this Scot whom her sister was to marry?” Rhys asked, probing for the details to complete the story Marcus had just told him.
“Robert the Brace’s grandson, Robert the Steward. He is next in line in their claim on the Scottish throne, after the Brace’s son.”
Rhys whistled lowly. “It would have been a shrewd alliance. Although not so good for the girl. It is said that the Steward has sired enough bastards to fill a shire. You probably saved her from much unhappiness.”
That was true. Of course, Genith would not have known much happiness with Edward’s choice of husband either.
“Considering your tale, I am not sure that I should be welcoming you in my home like this,” Rhys said. “Then again, you have spared me a hard choice, so perhaps I should be grateful.”
“You have lived in London almost your whole life, Rhys. You even serve the King. I would not have thought the choice would have been very hard at all.”
“I am Welsh. That does not change, no matter where one lives or whom one serves.”
“Would you really have gone back to fight in such a war?”
“Probably, if there had been a true chance for success. I think that I would have had a lot of company on the road too.” He smiled, and shrugged. “I am Welsh.” The affirmation did not come in English this time, but in the ancient language of his homeland.
Marcus had a vision of men leaving castles and abbeys and universities and towns, streaming across England toward the western mountains.
He had done the King a greater service than he had thought.
That was good to know. It might prove useful soon.
“Word has it that the King is still in a sour mood,” he said.
“He has been angry since his surprise return in November,” Rhys said. “Slipping back into the realm like that stunned everyone. His fury took a heavy toll. Most of his councillors have been replaced, and although Stratford avoided imprisonment, the King is still very bitter there.”
Stratford’s sudden fall had raised a lot of curiosity. The King claimed that his chancellor had mismanaged finances and left the army on the Continent short of funds. There were whispers that Edward’s anger had been stoked by other, more personal annoyances once Stratford’s activities had been examined.
The crisp summons to court that had arrived at Anglesmore right after the feast of the Nativity took on new meaning with such rumors. The summons had specifically included Nesta. Although the message had said that Edward wanted to hear about Carwyn and the rebels, Marcus suspected that the audience would not really be about that at all.
“Stratford is still the Archbishop of Canterbury. No king can undo that,” Marcus said. That was a useful detail. An archbishop fighting with a king would not be annulling any marriages at that king’s request. “He will survive. He always does.”
Whether Marcus of Anglesmore would survive so well remained to be seen. The King could make or break a baron at will.
The women emerged from the kitchen, bearing wine cups. Joan brought her husband one, and took the opportunity to whisper in Marcus’s ear. “I like her, Mark. For many reasons, but mostly because she appears to love you very much.”
Marcus found himself smiling at her use of his boyhood name. He had felt none of the old bitterness when he rode into this ward and entered this house today. The events of the last months had finally put the past to rest. Choosing his own destiny had reconciled him to the years when he had been both a victim and a beneficiary of others’ whims and risks.
“And I love her, Joan.”
“Then my prayers have been answered. I will confide in you that there is something you must do to secure her happiness, however.”
“What is that?”
“Her sister. You must find Genith, and bring her and the bard home.”
Marcus noticed Nesta and Moira dawdling near the kitchen. No doubt they hung back so that Joan could raise the matter of Genith.
Nesta and these ladies had formed a friendship fast. After only a few hours together, they were all already conspiring against him.
“I suppose our household could use a bard,” he said, although having a Welsh bard singing in a Lord Marcher’s hall would be a hell of a thing.
His voice carried. Nesta heard, and rewarded him with a mesmerizing smile. She came to him with the wine, and he pulled her onto his lap.
Moira stood with her two cups, glancing around. All of the women had been cooking, but Moira showed the worst of it. Her green courtly garments were covered with flour, and bits of herbs clung to her dark hair. The mess only enhanced her earthy appeal. Everything about Addis’s wife gave the impression of domestic contentment.
“I thought that I heard Addis return,” she said.
“Not yet,” Rhys said. “He must still be at Westminster, trying to smooth ruffled feathers.”
Moira’s blue eyes glinted with humor. She set her cups on the hall’s table and settled on a bench. “He thinks some plainspokenness is in order, although I told him that smoothing feathers requires more subtlety. He does not practice the latter much, so the King is probably getting a lecture.”
“I do not think there is any danger waiting for Marcus at court,” Nesta said. “He did his duty as commanded. There was no need for Addis to make this journey and speak on our behalf.”
She appeared fretful, as she often had since that summons had come. He knew that she worried that he would pay dearly for this marriage.
He kissed her cheek to reassure her. “Whatever happens with the King, we cannot be parted. Hundreds witnessed our marriage, darling.”
“The cost might be great,” she muttered.
“I do not count the cost.” He meant it. If he lost Anglesmore, it was through his own acts and his own choices, not deeds done by other men. He had known the risks when he took her hand on that hilltop, and when they exchanged vows down in the valley. The months since had confirmed the truth of what he had said to her that day. She had been well worth it, and he would never regret fighting to have her.
A commotion in the garden caught his attention. The children ran to the back portal, to greet the tall man entering. Amidst the turmoil, two little hands rose up, beckoning. Addis lifted his youngest daughter into his arms and waded through the throng.
He entered through the kitchen, and the children followed. The hall suddenly filled with shouts and running feet. The boys poked and pushed and laughed, their excitement that the feast could begin provoking a noisy chaos.
&nbs
p; Moira and Joan tried to herd the little barbarians back to the kitchen with scolds to go wash. Addis handed his daughter to Moira, and approached the window.
“No food for you two, I’m afraid. I have told the groom to saddle your horses,” he said. “The King knows that you arrived today, and wants to see you both at once.”
Marcus felt Nesta stiffen within his embrace. They both looked to Addis.
He understood the unspoken question. “He was very quiet at our audience. I do not know where his mind is.”
Nesta slid off his lap. “I must go change my garments. It would not do to meet the King in a gown covered with cooking smells.”
Addis watched her dodge yelling boys as she crossed the hall. “There is something else, but I thought it wise to not let her hear it right now. Edward is in a black mood today because he has received unwelcome news. The Scots are on the move.”
They entered the royal chambers hand in hand. Nesta had been very subdued on the ride to Westminster, and as the door closed behind them her face assumed an inscrutable expression.
Marcus hoped that his demeanor appeared just as bland, but he doubted it. This meeting would have been hard enough if it had just been him and Edward. With Nesta present, however, he would have to control thoughts and emotions hardly befitting a dutiful servant and courteous noble.
She had changed into a lovely red gown that enhanced her dark beauty and fair skin. A gold filigree headdress decorated her abundant black hair. Mysterious lights filled her eyes, and even her cool manner had a sensual appeal.
The luxury of the royal study complemented her noble presence. She looked like a queen. In a previous age, she might well have become one.
Small wonder, then, that a king had been drawn to her.
An edgy annoyance pricked at him. He did not care too much about what had happened between them years ago. He knew that Edward could never sway her now. Still, he resented like hell that he would be forced to witness this reunion.
Nesta noticed. “You are angry.”
“Not with you.”
“You are jealous.”
“I am a man.”
“And I am a woman. I am angry too. I may give him a good scolding when he comes in. There was no need for me to be here.”
There had been no need, but she had been called all the same.
Had Edward surmised the role she had played in that rebellion, or had he called her for other reasons? Marcus knew the latter explanation would be less dangerous, but that hardly eased his mind.
The door opened. A page held it for the royal entry.
Nesta reached for Marcus’s hand. Her soft palm was sweating, revealing how unsettled she was under the indifferent pose.
The gesture touched him. He moved closer, and laid his arm against the back of her waist. Let the King see them as one, and together in love as well as marriage.
Edward entered with a clerk, discussing some document that he carried. The page whispered, and the King’s quick glance into the chamber stopped his conversation. His royal gesture had the clerk backing up while he came forward.
He was not much older than Marcus, just over thirty, but he appeared world-weary. He had grown a beard while on the Continent, and put a few pounds on his tall frame. His youthful face had acquired some lines that Marcus guessed were the result of the experiences of the last year. Edward’s glorious victory at Sluys had not been followed by the quick campaign he had expected.
The plans that were supposed to procure the French crown had unraveled, and the army on the Continent had been idle for months and costing the realm a fortune.
Marcus had to release Nesta to make his greeting, but he replaced his arm when it was done. Edward raised one eyebrow at that.
He gave Marcus a very direct look. “My lady, if you would leave us, please. I will speak with Marcus alone first.”
Nesta had thus far bestowed one formal smile. Now she gave another. She accepted the page’s escort into the chamber from which Edward had come.
The King did not even watch her leave. One would think he barely knew her.
Marcus wasn’t fooled. He had noticed the glint of warmth in Edward’s eyes when he looked up from the document. If Marcus had been awaiting an audience by himself, he would have cooled his heels a long while until the business at hand was completed first.
“It is good to see an old friend, Marcus, and one whom I can trust. At least someone did his duty with honor while I was gone.”
“I tried my best.”
“Would that everyone did. Half your best would have been better than most of what I have been cursed with. Addis came today. He told me that the trouble with Llygad’s men is done with. A small problem, he said. How did he put it? So insignificant as to not be worth a chroniclers ink. He can be witty when he chooses, which is not often.”
“An apt description, however.”
Edward nodded, and appeared to drift into distraction. “The last thing I needed was a Welsh rebellion, since there is trouble up north again. Damn Scots.
Rumor has it Robert the Bruce’s son is returning from France where he has been in exile. Half the Scots think of him as their rightful king, despite my decision for Baillol. The French are behind this, of course. They want to draw my attention away from the true prize. They pull me in two directions. I am grateful that you kept me from being pulled in a third one as well.“
“I am honored to have served you.”
“It worked out well, giving you that duty. There is only one problem, as I see it.” His attention sharpened as the distraction fell from his expression. “You married the wrong daughter.”
Now they were down to it. “After Genith fled the realm, I married the only daughter left. The effect on your plan was the same.”
“Not quite.”
“Well, perhaps I should say that the effect was the same on the parts of the plan that I knew about.”
For a moment Edward appeared very much the King, and one who did not like wit at his expense. His displeasure over the marriage was obvious. Marcus half expected him to start bellowing his disapproval. Once that started, one never knew where it would end.
Edward glanced to the door of the inner chamber, behind which Nesta waited. The bluster seeped out of him, as if her invisible presence restrained him. When he turned his gaze back to Marcus, the look was not king to baron, but man to man.
“You did well for me. The prize that I promised is yours. The forest lands, and the manor and estate of Llygad. I want you in my new council too, sitting once more in the chair that Anglesmore occupied years ago. It is time that your family’s honor was completely restored.”
“Your favor honors me,” Marcus said.
“We will find a place for you at court too. I need men I can trust here, not these fools. Your wife can be lady-in-waiting to the Queen.”
So, there it was. “Again, you honor me. My wife, however, prefers to stay in Wales, and I with her. She has been gone from her home over eight years now, and would like to reside there.”
Edward got the message, and did not like it. “I can command your service.”
“Mine. Not hers. Not the service that I think you intend.”
“I am the King.”
“In this you are a man, that is all. There are limits to what the crown can requisition, no matter what royal favors are bestowed.”
“You risk much in displeasing me.” Edward’s gaze and tone turned flinty.
“I know what I risk, and I do so gladly. The King I know is not capricious in justice. If you have changed that much, do your worst. I speak to you now as a husband, and not your sworn man. She will not have you. Nor will I let you have her. Disseize me over this, and we can always live in the mountains. There are many there who will welcome us.”
A touch of caution entered Edward’s eyes, along with a good deal of royal annoyance. “Are you threatening me, Marcus?”
“I am merely explaining that Nesta verch Llygad will never be homeless in
Wales.”
Edward folded his arms and turned thoughtful. He glanced again to the door, and then walked toward it. “You speak as a husband, as one would expect. I will talk with the lady now. The notion of living at court may appeal to her, if not to you.”
She heard the door open, and was not surprised that only one man came through it.
Just as well. Sooner or later, this conversation had to be held.
The King’s expression was severe upon entering, as if he had just finished an argument with Marcus. Nesta could imagine what her husband had said.
Upon seeing her, Edward’s demeanor softened. He smiled. “I was hoping that time had not been kind to you. Instead, you are as beautiful as I remember.”
“It was all those years in the Highlands. The cold weather is good for the complexion.”
The allusion to her Scottish marriage made him uncomfortable. “The Queen—”
“If your knights had not told the world about me, if they had granted me the courtesy given your English ladies, if you had demanded their silence, the Queen and I would have both been spared a lot of humiliation. A high price was paid for one little mistake, and she and I paid it, not you, although the sin was yours.”
He appeared quite boyish and abashed for a moment. It passed quickly.
Of course it did. He was a king.
He gestured to the other chamber. “Did you tell him?”
“The songs told him.”
“That is not what I mean.”
“I never told him which song was true. He asked once how it had been, and I only said that I was not forced.” A vivid memory of that night beneath the window filled her head. One word from her, and everything that followed might have unfolded differently.
Just one word.
She had been unable to give it, even if the word would have been true.
“That was generous of you. Although, to my mind, it is the truth, more or less,” Edward said.
“Since you did not stay long enough to learn my mind on the matter, there is no point in discussing how much more or less. I did not tell Marcus, because he could have never served you if he knew how… ambiguous it was.”
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