by Lynn Kurland
“I should have thought these years of battle, mock battle though it was, would have taught you the truth of the matter,” Alain said. “The strong rule the weak. Isn’t that so, brother?” He looked at Rollan for a nod of approval. “And so I will rule you,” he continued. “And I’ll rule that headstrong wench once I beat some obedience into her. I think I’ll begin now.”
When I’m dead, Rhys thought to himself. He would have said as much, but he hadn’t earned his reputation by ignoring the odds of success in any given battle. It was him and Gwen against Alain, Rollan, and a score of Alain’s guardsmen, several of whom had reason not to care for him overmuch. Better to talk his way out of this one.
“You might want to leave her with her strength of will intact,” Rhys offered. While Alain digested that, Rhys spit his next words out with as much haste as possible. “’Tis something she may well pass on to your sons.”
“Ha,” Gwen said from behind him. “As if I would ever bear a son of his!”
Alain urged his horse forward, and Rhys backed up a pace to avoid being trampled.
“She’s bound to wed me,” Alain said. “Her father promised.”
Gwen snorted. “He was in his cups at the time—”
Rhys looked over his shoulder and spared Gwen a frown. She left the rest of her words unsaid, but scowled at him. Rhys turned back to Alain, ready to move should he need to, but the newly made lord of Ayre only caressed his whip and chewed on his thoughts. Not a substantial meal likely, but seemingly an enjoyable one.
“Perhaps there are more effective ways to drive her cheek from her,” Rollan offered smoothly.
Alain looked at his brother. “Are there?”
“On your wedding night, perhaps,” Rollan said.
Alain looked faintly perplexed, then shrugged. Obviously uncovering the hidden meaning in Rollan’s words was too much for him. Alain looked down at Rhys.
“I see by your nose that she’s marked you. I take it you were trying to stop her from fleeing?”
“Of course,” Rhys managed. “What else?”
Alain grunted. “Then I suppose you’ll serve me well.”
“Serve you?” Rhys echoed. “Why would I serve you?”
“You owed my sire one more year.”
“Aye, your sire. Not you.”
Alain scowled. “Before he died, my sire commanded that you give that year to me. As part of my inheritance.”
It wasn’t the first time Rhys had heard of the scheme, but he’d always managed to avoid agreeing to it. He found, as he stared up at Ayre’s new lord, that he could say nothing in return. How often had Bertram tried to convince Rhys to tend Alain? “Just a year or two, son,” Bertram would say. “Stay by him for a year or two after he weds. Perhaps you can be a steadying influence.” With the way he feels toward me? Rhys would always argue. I’ll be serving out my year in the dungeon. Bertram had always promised Rhys it would be worth his time, but Rhys had never been able to imagine anything that would have made such a sacrifice bearable.
In return for Segrave perhaps.
Or Gwen.
Damn you, Bertram, he swore silently. Why did you do this to me?
“I’m still itching to beat her,” Alain announced. “Everyone stand out of my way so I might do so.”
And with that, Rhys had his answer. Bertram had obviously wanted Rhys close by to protect Gwen. Rhys snorted to himself. What was he to do, sleep between the pair?
Nay, it would never come to that. Gwen would never wed with Alain.
Rhys would see to that personally.
“Perhaps you should wait until you reach home,” Rollan suggested. “Beat her in the privacy of your solar with a goblet of wine at the ready. You’ll be more comfortable there.”
Alain considered, then nodded. “Someone give me a rope,” he barked, dismounting. He shoved Rhys out of his way and reached for Gwen. “Perhaps the walk back to Ayre will teach you not to run away again,” he said as he jerked a coil away from one of his men.
Rhys clenched his hands at his sides as Alain bound Gwen’s hands together. He mounted and turned his horse toward Ayre, holding on to the rope’s end. “Mount up, de Piaget. I have important things to see to. A hunt, perhaps, though ’tis certain she’s ruined the morning already for that kind of sport.”
Rhys hardly had time to fix Gwen’s stolen sword to his saddle before Alain had led her a goodly distance away. He grasped his horse’s reins and hastened after the company. He fell into step next to Gwen, leading his mount. They walked together for a time in silence before she spoke.
“I was coming to find you,” she said quietly.
He sighed. “I wish you had waited at Segrave.”
“I was already at Ayre and I couldn’t bear the thought of staying there another night. Besides, I thought you might have wanted someone to guard your back.”
He almost smiled at that. “Indeed.”
She scowled at him. “Think you I could not have done it?”
“Ah . . .”
“Today was my first day as a mercenary. I assure you I would have improved with practice.”
The thought of Gwennelyn of Segrave guarding his back was enough to make him break out in a sweat. Saints, but ’twould be enough to get him killed.
“Besides,” she said quietly, “I’d heard rumors that you were uninterested in taking a wife.” She looked at him from under her eyelashes. “I thought I might appeal more as a mercenary.”
“Oh, by the saints,” he groaned, wondering what other untruths she’d heard bandied about the garrison hall. He generally kept enough to himself that the only tales people had to tell of him were ones they made up themselves. He turned to ask her just what she’d overheard, but found himself looking at air.
Alain had jerked the rope so hard, he’d tugged Gwen completely off her feet. He was currently dragging her, ignoring her struggles to regain her footing. Rhys dropped his reins and ran forward to pick her up. Alain wheeled around and lashed out at Rhys with his crop. Rhys ducked, pushed Gwen to her feet, and backed up a pace.
“This is most unseemly, my lord,” he said sharply.
The riding crop came at him again so quickly, he barely had time to react. He caught it before it struck his face.
“You forget your place,” Alain snarled.
“I haven’t yet agreed to serve you,” Rhys returned before he could think better of his words.
“Such cheek,” Rollan said with a shake of his head. “Truly a disturbing trait in him.”
Alain looked at his brother. “It is, isn’t it?”
Rollan nodded. “I don’t know that I wouldn’t worry about his lack of humility, given his station.”
“True enough,” Alain said.
“Perhaps a taste of your displeasure,” Rollan suggested.
Alain fingered his crop, then nodded suddenly. “Ten lashes for his disobedience. Guards, come hold him.”
Rhys was surprised enough to just stand still and gape at his lord’s son.
“I will not be flogged,” he managed.
“You will if I command it.”
“I will not submit willingly,” Rhys said, wondering how many of Alain’s men he could do in before he was overcome just the same. A full score surrounded him. He could take perhaps half of them if he could mount quickly enough.
“Then I’ll whip her instead for your cheek,” Alain said, jerking on Gwen’s rope.
“Nay,” Rhys said, aghast. “You cannot mean to—” He didn’t bother to finish. It was all too clear that Alain would do whatever he pleased, the consequences be damned.
“Submit, then,” Alain said, dismounting. “Kneel at my feet and submit.”
’Twill keep her from his wrath, Rhys told his knees, but they weren’t listening. It took all his willpower not to draw his sword and use it liberally on the fool standing in front of him.
“Perhaps he needs aid,” Rollan suggested.
“Likely so. Guards!” Alain called. “Take him and bend
him over something solid.”
Rhys considered. If he didn’t have to kneel on his own, perhaps he could submit. Besides, ten lashes were a small price to pay for keeping Gwen on her feet and out of Alain’s whip arc. Damned annoying chivalry. He was far better off when he ignored its clamorings.
He looked at Alain’s guardsmen and recognized most of them. Those were the ones he had met previously in the lists while training. There wasn’t a bloody one of them he hadn’t left crying peace more than once. They were the ones who were slow to dismount and even slower to draw their swords.
The others bounded down enthusiastically and surrounded Rhys. Rollan, of course, was still safely sitting atop his horse a healthy distance away. Rhys looked at Alain’s brother and hoped the man could see the promise of retribution in his eyes. Rollan only lifted one eyebrow and smiled. He didn’t, however, come any closer.
Rhys looked at the other handful of Alain’s guards who had encircled him. Either they had heard nothing of his skill or had heard it and didn’t believe it. Rhys told himself it would do him no good to wipe those smiles off their faces, but the temptation to draw his sword and do just that was almost overpowering.
This will save Gwen from Alain’s whip.
That was the only thing that kept his sword in its sheath. He didn’t think, however, that he would be condemned overmuch for using his fists a time or two. He bloodied several noses and felt the satisfying crunch of teeth coming loose, but in the end there were simply too many hands for him to avoid. They stripped off his upper garments and bent him over a stump.
“You vicious whoreson!” Gwen exclaimed. “He did but try to protect me from your foul temper!”
“My foul temper?” Alain echoed. “You’re the one with the shrewish tongue!”
“At least I don’t flog innocent men for my flaw!”
“He’s hardly innocent,” Rollan said, “and far too cheeky for his place. I’d say that deserved twenty lashes not ten, wouldn’t you, brother?”
Rhys fixed his gaze upon Rollan and gave himself over to the contemplation of revenge. That unfortunately didn’t last long, for it took all his concentration to keep his own mouth closed.
There were two things Rhys could say for Alain of Ayre: he was very strong and he wielded his crop with great skill. Rhys would have bitten off his own tongue before he cried out, but he did his fair share of grunting. Alain paused in his work, came around, and lifted Rhys’s head up by his hair.
“Have you found obedience yet, Sir Rhys?”
Rhys took stock of his strength and measured his fury. Aye, there was a bit more there yet to sustain him. He immediately thought of half a dozen vulgar things he could suggest Alain do to himself, but he had no breath for the voicing of them. So he contented himself with spitting at Alain’s feet.
“Another ten!” Alain thundered, stomping off.
After those were accomplished, Rhys decided he’d perhaps had enough of the building of his character for the morning. He could see that Alain was almost beside himself with rage. Rhys suspected if he pushed the man any further, he would be seeing a great deal of Ayre’s oubliette. That hardly served his purposes.
It galled him to do it, but he gave Alain the answers he wanted and was deposited none-too-gently back on his feet. He thanked those who helped him back into his clothes, memorizing their faces for future reference, and then imprinted upon his memory every pull, twitch, and drop of blood that his back had produced.
Alain would pay for them all.
And then Rollan would pay as well.
Rhys walked stiffly over to his horse and swung up into the saddle, biting his lip to maintain his silence. And then he found the presence of mind to look for Gwen.
She was watching him with tears streaming down her face.
Rhys looked away before he himself wept. This was not how he had intended their reunion to go. What he wanted to do was snatch her up in his arms and flee with her. All he could do at the moment, however, was concentrate on keeping himself in the saddle. He was hardly in any condition for successful rescuing.
He would repay Alain for that as well.
He would return to Ayre with her. He would see his back tended and take a day or two to shore up his strength. And then perhaps it would come to him just how he intended to see the future come about. If they fled, they would leave behind her mother, which Gwen would not do, and her lands, which he would not do.
He closed his eyes and wondered if his desires were too greedy to merit a heartfelt prayer for deliverance.
He looked at her again as she stumbled along behind Alain’s horse, and watched the woman who had kept him on his feet for the past four years. Saints, but she was beautiful. And so full of fire she fair left him gasping for air. To think he’d had her ragged, dirt-smudged self within his grasp and he’d been too stupid to recognize her while they’d had the time.
He should have asked for another ten lashes as repayment.
7
Gwen felt her face flame as she trudged along up the way to the castle. Her mother would have been appalled, her sire incensed at her current plight. She herself was simply mortified. She’d gone off in such a rush of glory. This was not exactly how she would have chosen to return. Given that she’d never intended to return at all, the insult was doubly painful.
“You could release me now,” she said distinctly, jerking suddenly on her rope to gain Alain’s attention.
He only glared over his shoulder at her. Gwen thought briefly about fighting, then abandoned the notion. Alain would just drag her along as he had before. Considering the wretched condition of Ayre’s bailey, she preferred to have her face remain as far away from the ground as her legs could manage.
She did her best to cross the drawbridge without breathing any of the stench wafting up from the moat. It was no wonder Alain employed so few upon his walls. The reek of the water alone was enough to cause his enemies to swoon.
Unfortunately, the smell in the inner bailey was no better. She could hardly believe her father had actually wanted her to pass the rest of her life in this hovel. Surely no political alliance was worth this.
She sighed. She knew she had no cause for complaint. Her sire had made the best match for her he could and trusted her to use her wits to improve her surroundings. Which she would have done, of course, if she’d ever found herself misfortunate enough to be at Ayre for any length of time. As it was, she didn’t plan on being there long enough to gather up the rubbish and refuse and carry it well away from the walls. What freedom her attempts at being a mercenary hadn’t earned her, Rhys’s appearance in England certainly would.
Though she had to admit that she felt the tiniest bit anxious about how he would manage to free her from the wedding Alain had planned for less than a se’nnight hence.
She breathed through her mouth as she trudged over the hard-packed dirt. Alain dismounted before the great hall. He was no taller than she, which afforded her a fine view of his angry eyes as he released her hands from their bonds. Gwen prayed her disdain didn’t show. Alain was a bit on the plump side, nigh on to losing the greater part of his hair, and had teeth that would likely rot from his head before spring. And he was bowlegged. She suspected that came from his spending most of his time on horseback, either hunting or using the perch as a means to intimidate those who might have been taller than he.
All in all, not her first choice for a husband.
That soul, whom she could see out of the corner of her eye, was stiffly dismounting his horse. His feet hit the ground with an unsteady thump. He leaned his head briefly against his horse’s withers before he suddenly straightened. She suspected that he wished no one to know of his pain.
He looked over his shoulder, and she found herself staring into pale gray eyes. He said no word, nor did his expression reveal anything of what he felt. But in his eyes she could see it.
We will be free of this place.
Then, as if he knew she’d understood him, he nodded. He turned
and slowly led his horse toward the stable.
Gwen winced at the stiffness of his gait. Perhaps she had made a mistake by stopping him from drawing his sword. Then again, had he done so Alain likely would have had his guard cut him down where he stood. This was a painful alternative to death, but likely a better one, though she wished she hadn’t been privy to it. She had made herself watch Alain take his whip to Rhys’s back, partly so she might meet his eyes should he look up and need strength, and partly to imprint on her mind another example of Alain’s cruelty. It had taken every smidgen of willpower, though, to remain where she was and not fling herself at Alain and maim him with her hands alone.
“I see you found the gel.”
“No thanks to you. You were to watch over her and see she comported herself well!”
Gwen looked up. Alain was currently expressing his displeasure to her guardian, who stood on the steps leading up to the great hall. She indulged briefly in the wish that she could have hied herself off after Rhys to the stables. Listening to Hugh of Leyburn and her betrothed argue over who was responsible for her flight was something she would have been pleased to avoid.
“I am but a simple man,” Hugh said, reaching into the pouch at his belt for something else to put into his mouth. He slurped up a fig or two, then chewed diligently. “I am unused to such disobedience. I surely threatened her properly.”
“How?” Alain sneered. “By vowing to take away her sewing needle?”
Her guardian shrugged. “It worked for my gels.”
Gwen wondered if Hugh’s daughters had also been threatened with losing their place at the supper table. Hugh was not a slender man and neither were his girls, or so rumor had it. The only reason Gwen could divine as to why her father had chosen him to watch over her and her dowry was because Hugh was more interested in Segrave’s larder than he was either in Gwen or her mother. Tallying up the rents with one hand while stuffing his maw with the other left no hands free to investigate either of Segrave’s ladies. Gwen was most grateful. She suspected her mother was even more so.
“Might I go now?” Gwen asked, moving past Alain before he could say her yea or nay.