by Lynn Kurland
Rollan was momentarily tempted to do a bit more lurking to see where Rhys went and to whom he spoke, but he stopped himself. He would speculate a few more hours and decide for himself what sort of scheme de Piaget would try to put into motion. Discovering the details any sooner would be an insult to his own imagination and plotting ability.
Nay, he would give de Piaget ample time to ruin himself, then do the honorable thing and step forward and expose the subterfuge before it went any further.
After all, a knight was bound to tell the truth, wasn’t he?
Rollan nodded to himself thoughtfully. It was the least he could do for the cause of chivalry.
11
Gwen stared out the modest window that had earned her chamber the lofty title of solar. It wasn’t much of a view, what with the courtyard of Ayre right below her. She’d been studying the piles of filth gathered here and there for an hour since the sun had risen, and devoted much thought to the merits of a sewing needle as a weapon. She’d used them before with good success. It was all she had at her disposal given that Rhys still possessed her filched sword.
Unfortunately she suspected that a small needle, even a sharp one, would be of little use against the Viking demons who guarded her. She’d had two meals brought to her since her imprisonment, and both times her guardsmen had been standing like unmoving trees in front of her door. They looked far too substantial for a good poking to do them any harm.
It was not an encouraging sign.
A frantic pounding on her door almost sent her pitching forward into the window enclosure. She turned and hastened to the door, flinging it open.
“Alain wants you,” John panted. “Immediately.”
Gwen would have given John an earful of her displeasure over being ordered about, but the look on his face stopped her. “He’s furious, obviously. Over what?”
John’s eyes were very wide. “I’ve no idea, but it has something to do with Sir Rhys. He’s been commanded to come as well.”
The Fitzgerald brothers parted in Red Sea-like fashion, and Gwen slipped out of her chamber behind John before her shadows could decide she shouldn’t be allowed any freedom. She heard them fall into step behind her. She suppressed a shudder.
The journey to Alain’s private solar was far too short. Gwen entered the chamber and looked about her. Alain, Rollan, and her guardian all sat in chairs as if they’d been royalty and she the lowly servant come to receive instruction. She was sorely tempted to comment on the ridiculousness of the situation, for to be sure if she were a man and owned her property by herself she could buy and sell the three before her several times over, but she knew it would not serve her. The less attention she drew to herself, the better off she would be. Perhaps if Alain thought she was malleable, he would ease his scrutiny of her and she would stand a better chance of escaping his clutches.
And then there was Rhys. He had obviously had a bath. A dangerous activity, but then again here was a man used to risking his life with his sword. Gwen looked up at his face and wished suddenly that someone had provided a chair for her as well. Even a small stool would have served. This was a sight that required something sturdy beneath one’s backside.
How four years could have made him more enticing she surely didn’t know, but it had. He was beautiful and forbidding and so darkly handsome that she could hardly look at him. She wondered if the men he fought were as overcome by the unyielding strength of his features as she was, or were they merely chilled by the coldness of his pale eyes? She very much suspected the women he met could only stare at him and wonder where their minds had gone. She understood completely.
And then she realized two things: she was gaping at him, and he was returning her look—only he wasn’t seeing her.
She dragged her attention back to Alain and his companions.
“You sent for me?” she said, hoping she sounded calmer than she felt. She’d given it thought on her way there and could divine no reason why she and Rhys should find themselves having an audience with Alain at the same time.
Unless he knew of their feelings for each other.
Alain, as usual, merely stared at her as if he rehearsed in his mind all the things he found so objectionable about her person. He frowned and chewed on the inside of his cheek.
“Is it possible then, my lord,” Rollan asked hesitantly, “that she knows nothing of this scheme we’ve discovered this morn?”
Hugh of Leyburn snorted and then smacked his lips. “’Tis a scheme I could easily credit her with dreaming up. Her sire let her run too freely in her youth, I say. I never would have allowed such daydreaming in my household.”
Gwen sent a heartfelt prayer of gratitude flying heavenward that her sire hadn’t been this corpulent lump of lard. She pitied his daughters.
“I’ll rid her of the habit,” Alain grumbled. “I’ve no mind for a headstrong bride.”
“But she’ll breed well for you,” Hugh said, reaching for another fig and slipping it between moist lips. “Got good hips, does this one.”
“And what would you know of it?” Gwen demanded.
Hugh’s face turned a very unattractive shade of red. Alain’s eyes had narrowed, and he looked to be considering something foul. Rollan’s eyes had lowered, and she thought he might be judging her hips to see if Hugh’s observation had any merit.
Saints, but she could hardly believe she found herself in the same chamber with three such poor specimens of manhood.
She stole another glance at Rhys, just to remind herself what a man could be. Perhaps it was the contrast between him and the other men in the chamber to make her realize just how magnificent he was. Perhaps it was the way he carried himself, as if he had acres of soil under his feet and a powerful title to shield himself and his loved ones behind. Perhaps it was the simplicity of his garb that presented such a pleasing diversion from the baubles, feathers, and gaudy trappings that bedecked the buffoons before her.
Or perhaps it was that fat ruby in his sword that screamed he was not a man to be toyed with, else his victims would be finding themselves covered with a like color.
She sighed. A pity Rhys couldn’t just do Alain and the other two in. That would have saved her the trouble of this current foolishness which the three before her seemed determined to drag out as long as possible. Alain was fingering his ever-present riding crop. Hugh, of course, was shoving figs into his furiously working mouth as fast as he seemingly could. Rollan was looking far too contemplative for her peace of mind. It could only mean trouble where she was concerned. At least he wasn’t salivating at the very sight of her. She’d cured him of that during his last visit to her keep with his father.
He’d caught her alone in a passageway and proceeded to acquaint her with his kissing. His groin had been impervious to her knees and his skin resistant to her pinches. His belly, however, had seemed a fine place to stick her sharpest needle a time or two. At least her steel had worked well enough for her then. She’d left him howling and quickly retreated to her mother’s solar to there spend the duration of Lord Ayre’s visit.
She looked at Rollan and rubbed her belly pointedly. He seemed to take the hint well enough and turned his attentions elsewhere.
“Hugh,” Alain said, “tell me again what happened this morn, just so this pair hears it clearly.”
“Of course,” Hugh said. He licked his fingers thoroughly, then wiped them on his tunic front. He pointed a now clean finger at Rhys. “He came to me first thing this morning, before I’d had a chance to break my fast, mind you, and tried to—”
He belched a time or two, then started to choke. Gwen sighed. Not another brush with death. The man ate so much and so swiftly, he spent at least once a day fighting for air. She looked at her love and lifted one eyebrow in question. He wouldn’t meet her eyes. She would have been much relieved by a small look in her direction, but perhaps ’twas better this way. After all, she would soon be his and she would have all the looks she wanted. She turned back to the predicament bef
ore her.
Both Rollan and Alain were pounding on Hugh’s back. Gwen normally would have suggested they cease and leave Hugh to his fate, but she was too curious about what Rhys had done to say anything. Finally Hugh spat forth a great lump of something she had no desire to investigate more closely and sucked in great gasps of air. He wheezed for a moment or two, then pointed again at Rhys.
“—bribe me,” he finished with another gasp.
“Bribe you,” echoed Rollan, putting his hand over his heart as if it stood ready to fail him at the very thought. “Almost too dastardly a plan to contemplate.”
Hugh nodded enthusiastically. Alain looked momentarily perplexed, and Gwen wondered if he were having trouble with Rollan’s assessment of Rhys’s scheme.
So Rhys had tried to bribe Hugh. For her hand in marriage. Bold indeed.
“He wanted Segrave,” Hugh continued. “Said he’d been working for the land for years.”
Gwen nodded. A clever ruse. Of course he would have said the like.
Alain snorted. “I can understand that, seeing as how he has no land of his own.”
“Just for the land?” Rollan asked. “Nothing else?”
“What else would he want?” Alain returned. “Her? He probably would have tried to bribe Hugh into keeping her if he’d thought she would come with the soil.”
Gwen looked at Rhys. She knew she shouldn’t. She knew that any look other than bored disinterest would be marked and remembered by Rollan and tucked away for use at the worst possible time, but she couldn’t help herself. She began to wonder what the truth was.
“Just the land?” she asked.
He looked at her and his eyes were chilly. Or bleak. She couldn’t decide which until he spoke.
“Just the land,” he said flatly. “What else?”
What else indeed. She searched his expression for any sign, however small, that perhaps he lied, or that he told less than the truth to cover his true feelings for her.
She saw nothing of the kind.
She could hardly believe what she saw, but there was no sign from Rhys that she should deny it.
She turned back to her tormentors and schooled her expression into one of complete disinterest. Let them speak of her disparagingly. Let them pick and prod at Rhys and hope to force from him some sort of confession. She cared nothing for either.
He didn’t want her.
She could hardly believe it, but Rhys’s eyes were so cold. Obviously, he’d had a change of heart. Or perhaps he had lied to her all along.
She wasn’t sure which thought hurt her more.
Rhys stood in Alain’s solar and had but one thought rage through him with the force of an angry gale: Hugh had betrayed him.
He should have known as much. He’d approached Gwen’s guardian but two hours before with more naïveté than he’d obviously ever possessed in his entire life. For being as skilled a warrior as he was, he’d been blindingly stupid.
He knew little of the man, but watching him at supper the night before had revealed a soul whose interest lay primarily in his gullet. How was he to know that behind all that belching and burping lay a man devious enough to place a substantial amount of gold in his purse with one hand, continue to throw food into his mouth with the other, and yet still have enough presence of mind to plot another man’s ruin? If Rhys had thought he could have gotten his fingers about Hugh’s throat to strangle him, he would have. Unfortunately, Gwen’s guardian was every bit as corpulent as he was untrustworthy.
By the saints, he had been a fool.
What gold he’d brought with him to England was lost. His chance to have Segrave was lost as well. He could hardly bear to think on what else he had lost in the bargain, but it was hard to avoid as she was standing not three paces from him, her back as straight as a blade. He’d hurt her, he knew, but there had been naught to be done about it. ’Twas bad enough that Alain suspected Rhys wanted Segrave. If Alain suspected Rhys truly wanted Gwen, Rhys knew he would find himself in Ayre’s dungeon in truth.
And then all hope would be lost.
“Her land alone?” Rollan mused, breaking Rhys’s concentration. “I’m surprised, Rhys. One would think your lofty chivalry would have dictated you desire the woman as well.”
Saints, but wouldn’t the man let the matter drop? Rhys clenched his fists. Strangling Rollan of Ayre would be too swift and easy a death for the man. Rhys wished he had the time and the leisure to think of a more painful way to end his life, but there was no time to spare. Alain was thinking again and that never boded well. Rollan generally did all the contemplating for the pair, but that didn’t improve matters, either. Rhys had no doubts Rollan was somehow at the bottom of this catastrophe, but he could afford to spare no thought to how that might have come about. What he had to concentrate on now was how to distract the fools before him until he could think of a way to free both himself and Gwen. Obviously, he would have to go to the king.
“I want land,” Rhys said, dragging himself back to the present. The three men were still staring at him waiting for him to say something.
“It must be very hard to have never had any of your own,” Rollan said sympathetically.
“And you do?”
A swift flash of loathing swept across Rollan’s face, but it was gone as quickly as it had come.
“I am full well content to do nothing but serve my brother,” Rollan said humbly. “And should he see fit at some time to gift me with a poor bit of soil, I would only count it graciousness on his part.”
Gwen snorted.
Alain ignored her. Rhys felt a shiver of apprehension course through him at that. That the lord of Ayre should overlook such cheek could only mean Alain’s attention was fixed upon him.
“Alain,” Rollan said quietly, “perhaps you should speak to Sir Rhys about that matter that concerns him so closely.”
Alain scowled at his brother. “Don’t want to.”
“Now, brother, a desire for land is not such a poor thing.”
Rhys had no idea where Rollan intended to go with that, but he knew it couldn’t be a good place.
“Our sire would have wanted him to have what is due him,” Rollan continued.
“Why should he have anything more than what he’s already received?” Alain demanded. “Father gave him enough. Besides, ’tis my land now.”
Rollan shook his head and gave his brother a patient smile. “How can it be yours, Alain, when our good sire had other plans for it?”
“It wasn’t his to give, either!”
“Ah, but it will be once you wed with Segrave’s lady.” He put his hand on Alain’s shoulder. “You must do the right thing in this matter, my lord. ’Tis only fair that Sir Rhys have everything that should be his. Regardless of the cost to you.”
Rhys wished desperately for a chair beneath him, for he was beginning to wonder if he would manage to stand through whatever madness these brothers intended to spring upon him.
“Very well then,” Alain said, sounding extremely reluctant. He looked at Rhys. “You’re to have Wyckham.”
Rhys blinked. And then he blinked again. Yet for all that, Alain still sat in the same place and Rollan still stood behind Alain’s chair with his hand on his brother’s shoulder. Hugh still shoved figs into his mouth at an alarming rate.
“Wyckham?”
“My sire wished for you to have it,” Alain said. “And so you shall. When I see fit.”
“Alain,” Rollan began soothingly, “do not torture poor Sir Rhys thusly. Making him wait yet more time for what he desires so mightily . . . why ’tis nothing short of cruel.”
Rhys wouldn’t have been any more surprised if Alain had offered him Gwen.
“Wyckham?” he repeated, stunned. “But how . . .”
“’Tis mine upon my marriage to her,” Alain said, with a negligent gesture toward Gwen. “My sire commanded me to give it to you afterward.”
“When Rhys had reached his score-and-sixth year,” Rollan corrected, “for
then he felt the lad would be ready for the challenge.”
Lad? Rhys ignored the urge to glare at Rollan. He had more important things to keep from reacting to—such as the fact that a piece of land might possibly be within his grasp and all he had to do to win it was stand there and keep his mouth shut.
“So you will serve me until that time,” Alain continued.
“That is two years, not one,” Rhys replied, somewhat amazed he’d found his wits to say even that. “I was bound to your sire for but one year.”
“And I say you will serve me two,” Alain said angrily, “in whatever capacity I choose.”
Cleaning the privies, no doubt, Rhys thought to himself.
“’Twas bloody foolish of him, if you ask me,” Alain groused. “Don’t want to do this at all.”
“But ’tis the honorable thing to do,” Rollan said gently. “And no one can argue that you do not always strive to be honorable. Besides, ’tis but a small token of esteem from our father for his beloved foster son.”
It wasn’t a small token. It wasn’t Segrave, but it was land enough. But in return for two years of service to Alain? Rhys found he simply could not voice any sentiment, either of shock or disbelief. Not even the thought of having to serve Alain for an extra year was enough to clear the haze of surprise away.
He could, though, see clearly enough that honoring his father’s wishes galled Alain to his depths. Rollan, however, was the mystery. Rhys had never once had anything but venom from Ayre’s second son. There had to be something he’d missed. He glanced at Rollan and saw the slight smile. And he knew then there was a great deal more to the proposition than there seemed.
“Where is the deed?” Rhys asked.
Alain glared at him. “I say ’twill be yours. That should be enough.”
“It isn’t,” Rhys said. He listened to the words come out of his mouth and was astonished at his own audacity. Never mind that he would be beholden to Alain of Ayre for another pair of years. It meant land would be his, and he should have been willing to do anything, believe anything to have it.