“If you feel that way, why are you willing to help me?”
“’Tis not you I’m helping but Alana. For some reason—though I don’t fully understand why—she wants you alive.” Dylan tossed a pile of clothing, along with a pair of soft leather boots, at Paxton’s feet. “Dress yourself, Norman, and make haste. Sunrise is not that far off.”
As Paxton pulled on the pair of braies that he’d drawn from the mound of garments, he said, “You know we are married, yet you didn’t tell your father. If you despise my kind so much, why didn’t you give him the news?”
“I swore to her I wouldn’t. ’Tis the same as my not telling her you were our prisoner. What is a man’s word if he does not keep it?”
Nothing, Paxton thought as he donned the tunic that he’d grabbed from the pile. He respected Dylan’s conviction, but he still didn’t know if he could trust him.
“So what is your plan to get me out of here?” he asked, shoving his feet into the boots.
“Put that hood on and pull it low over your brow to hide your face,” Dylan said, pointing to the last article of clothing beside Paxton. “When we leave here, I’ll take you to a location inside the ringwork where you are to remain hidden. You will wait there until I come for you. The plan, Norman, is that you’ll walk out of the gate, alongside Alana, the guards thinking I am beside her. Not a word once we leave here. Now come. We haven’t much time. If all goes well, you and your bride will be back at the fortress before noontide.”
The hood in place, Paxton indicated he was ready, and Dylan snuffed the candle, throwing the room into blackness. Once they were at the door, Paxton held back while Dylan checked the area outside.
When it was time for Paxton to leave his prison, Dylan caught his shoulder. “Treat her well, Norman,” he said. “If you don’t, one day you will find yourself staring at the end of my blade. The only deliverance you’ll receive from me then will be from this earthly life.”
As Paxton stepped into the chilly predawn air, he knew the threat was not to be taken lightly. Then he wondered if that was what had happened to his friend.
Alana’s kin—had they killed Gilbert? Had they then masked his death, making it appear as though he’d drowned?
A possibility, Paxton thought as he followed Dylan to the back of the storage hut, then along behind the line of buildings, toward the entrance of the ringwork. Currently, he wasn’t in any position to discover if the concept held any truth.
His own life lay at risk, and until he was free of the danger, he could think of naught else but himself.
“Are you certain this will work?” Alana asked.
The sky showed a faint hue of light on the horizon. Dawn would soon be upon them. Having escaped the hut before Rhys and the others had awakened, she and Dylan were making their way toward the entry of the ringwork.
“I cannot be certain of anything,” Dylan replied, “but I’m hoping that what I’ve devised will see you and the Norman safely on your way.”
“How will you explain Paxton’s escape to your father?”
“Probably with the truth.”
“Do you intend to tell him I’m married?”
“You can’t keep it from him forever. Besides, you’ve made your decision. You’re returning to the fortress with the Norman. He won’t let you escape him again.” Dylan paused. “Do you think he’ll punish you for running from him?”
Alana didn’t know what Paxton would do. “Nay, I doubt it,” she said, not wanting Dylan to worry over her. “He will want an explanation though.”
“And what will you tell him, Cousin? That you ran from him because you’ve fallen in love with him?”
“Nay—never that.”
“You know, Alana, the truth might serve you far better for once. ’Tis all the lies that got you into this trouble in the first place.”
She came to a halt. “What would you have had me do? Tell Henry that Gilbert was a treacherous bastard who deserved to die as he did? Do you think Henry would have believed me? Nay, Dylan. I had no choice but to lie.”
“I understand your fears, but one day, you may regret you withheld the truth, especially from your Norman.”
“It cannot be helped.” She searched the sky. “’Tis getting lighter.” She wanted to hug Dylan, but simply squeezed his hand, lest someone interpret the show of affection for what it was: a farewell. “Thank you for your help. I owe you much, Cousin.”
“Aye, you do. And one day I shall seek payment. But for now, let’s get going.”
At the gate, Dylan greeted the guards in a genial manner. The men were aware that Alana and Dylan would be leaving at sunrise, since they had been informed the night before.
Amenities exchanged, Dylan said, “We have a long journey ahead. Open the gates and allow us passage will you?”
That was Alana’s signal. “Dylan, where is your hood? If the rain comes again, you’ll need it for protection.”
He gazed at his hands, which held a spear and a sack of food. “’Twas here a moment ago.” He looked at the guards. “I must have dropped it along the path. Open the gates. I’ll be right back.”
“When you find it, put it on so you don’t lose it again,” Alana admonished as Dylan loped back up the trail. She turned to her kin. “Sometimes you men remind me of children,” she commented, then smiled. “Without a woman to see to your needs, you’d probably forget your heads if they weren’t already attached.”
Apparently each man had heard the same words from his wife, for they all grumbled an incoherent reply, then set about opening the gates.
Soon a hooded form came loping back down the path and stopped beside her. In the dim light, Alana saw it was Paxton, spear and leather bag in his hands. Nudging him ahead of her, she prayed they got out the gates, down the hillside, and a good way toward the fortress before anyone discovered he was gone.
“A safe journey to you,” one of the men called as they passed beyond the palisade.
“Thank you,” Alana called back to him while Paxton merely waved his hand.
As she urged Paxton into a northwesterly course, making it look as though they were headed to Anglesey, she heard the gate swinging to. She was close to breathing a relieved sigh, when a shout sounded from inside the ringwork.
It was Rhys.
“He’s found us out,” she proclaimed. “What shall we do?”
Paxton swore an oath. Dropping the leather bag, but retaining the spear, he grabbed hold of her hand. “Down the hill,” he ordered, motioning to the east and the direction of the fortress.
Though a pathway snaked down the hillside, bordered by stone walls separating the fields from each other, it appeared that the best course was a straight one, and Paxton pulled her along to the rock wall. She clambered over the barrier while he vaulted it with ease.
Once on the other side, she yanked up a handful of bliaud and chainse, for she was again wearing her own clothing. Together she and Paxton descended the incline at a full run through the grain as though the devil were after them.
He was, Alana thought, knowing if they were caught, Rhys would probably kill them both. And what of Dylan? Surely Rhys wouldn’t slay his own son!
Alana flayed herself mentally.
The peril that Paxton, Dylan, and she now faced was of her own making. She should never have sought to escape Paxton, especially by fleeing to the ringwork.
But who would have thought Paxton would have been so foolish as to risk life and limb by following her into this nest of Welsh who hated his kind with a vengeance? He knew Rhys lusted for Norman blood. So why had he chanced it would be his that Rhys spilled?
The horrifying cries sounded above them as her kinsmen streamed down the hillside after them. Merciful Saint David protect us!
The silent prayer lifted as she and Paxton came to the end of the field. Another wall stood before them, higher than the first. Alana groaned, for it was even taller than she.
“I’ll never get over,” she said as she and Paxton skidded t
o a halt in front of the wall. “Go. Save yourself. He won’t harm me.”
“Damned if he won’t,” Paxton returned. He dropped the spear, then cupped his hands. “Quick. Put a foot in here and I’ll hoist you over.”
The moments were precious to them both, and Alana didn’t argue. Her foot met his hands, and he hefted her high. Her belly hit the top of the stones; the spear sailed over the wall, Paxton leaping and pulling himself up behind it.
“Get going,” he said, his gaze centered on her.
But Alana was frozen in place, her own attention held straight ahead. A hissing curse broke from Paxton’s lips when he too looked to his front.
There, blocking their way to freedom, were a dozen of Alana’s male relatives, weapons aimed directly at them. She imagined they’d heard the shouts from atop the hill and had come from their positions in the wood where they guarded against a possible attack.
Glancing back over her shoulder, she saw Rhys was now behind them. “’Tis finished,” she said to Paxton, tears welling in her eyes. “Why did you follow? Why?”
“Because I had to know why you ran,” he said. His hand settled over hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Why did you?”
Alana had no time to answer, for Rhys was ordering them from the wall. Taking hold of her other hand, Paxton helped her down. Afterward he dropped to the ground. Side to side, Alana and Paxton faced her uncle.
“Did you free him?” Rhys asked, his eyes narrowed on his niece.
“Nay, she didn’t.”
The words came from behind Rhys, and he spun around. Dylan was making his way through the dozen men who had chased Alana and Paxton down the hill, including his two brothers.
“I freed him,” Dylan said when he reached his father’s side. “I did so at Alana’s request.”
So furious was Rhys that the veins stood out on his temples and neck. “You, my eldest son, betrayed me?”
“What would you have me do?” Dylan countered. “Betray Alana instead?”
“Why would you betray Alana?” Rhys asked. “The Norman means nothing to her. He is, however, a threat to all of us. Therefore he must die.”
“Nay,” Alana said as she stepped in front of Paxton. “You are wrong, Uncle.”
“What do you mean?” he inquired, his attention now centered on her.
“He’s not a threat to you.”
His lip lifting beneath his mustache, Rhys sneered at her. “You must be mad, Niece. He comes here claiming for Henry the land that was your birthright. Next he’ll be reaching farther and farther, until he declares the soil on which we stand as his own. He can’t do that if he’s dead.” Rhys cocked his head. “What happened to your loyalties, Alana? Do your kin and your heritage mean nothing to you?”
“My loyalties are the same as they ever were. Likewise, my feelings about my kin and my heritage have not changed.”
“Yet you protect the Norman, even after he’s stolen from you.”
“He has stolen nothing from me. What is mine is his by law.”
Rhys snorted. “You mean by Henry’s law! The bastard does not rule here.”
“Nay, I mean by God’s law. And He will smite you if you attempt to undo what has been done.”
“God will not smite me for killing a Norman.” He waved his sword. “Stand aside so it may be done.”
“Would you kill your own kinsman?” she asked, standing firm.
Rhys grew very still. “What are you saying?”
Alana took a step closer to her uncle. “If not by blood then by marriage he is now your kin. Paxton de Beaumont is my husband.”
CHAPTER
16
“The Norman bastard is your husband!”
Rhys’s words rang out in a half question, half statement, as though he couldn’t quite accept what Alana had said was true. He turned to Dylan.
“Did you know about this?”
“Alana told me.”
“And you said nothing,” Rhys declared, accusation resounding in his voice.
“She made me swear I wouldn’t.”
“I made you swear you wouldn’t tell her the Norman was here, but you broke that vow.”
“He did not, Uncle,” Alana interjected. “I found Paxton on my own.”
“How?” Rhys queried.
“I went to the storage hut in search of some flour to make more lagana for Dylan and myself to take with us on our trip.”
“I came upon her inside the hut,” Dylan said. “She was very angry, Father, at finding her husband bound and naked and beaten.”
“And I suppose you told her what was to happen to him?”
“Nay,” Paxton stated as he stepped forward. He’d been listening to the exchange quietly, but it was now time for him to act. “I told her. It was only fair to let my wife know what her uncle had planned for her new husband.”
Rhys’s eyes narrowed on him. “If you think her marriage to you will stop me from slaying you, you are wrong, Norman.”
Paxton heard Alana’s gasp as the tip of Rhys’s sword met the center of his chest. Paxton did not move, but announced, “You show a great deal of courage, Welshman, especially when facing an unarmed man. Yet I wonder if you’d stand the test if we were matched weapon to weapon.”
A dark smile spread across Rhys’s face. “Do I detect a challenge in your words?”
“Aye,” Paxton stated, knowing he braved much. But if he’d guessed right, Rhys was the sort to take the bait. “A challenge to see who is better with his sword,” he finished.
“And what prize is the victor to claim?” Rhys asked.
“If I win, you will allow me safe passage back to the fortress. If you win, you may do with me as you like. Either way, you will give me your word that my wife will not be harmed—not now and not in the future.”
Alana caught his arm. “Paxton, no! Because of what he put you through, you’re not as hale as you were when you were first captured.”
Paxton surveyed her. “You misjudge my ability, Wife. Even in the most weakened state, a Norman knight is able to stave off his enemy. This Welshman will present no problem.”
“Ha!”
The abrupt exclamation broke from Rhys’s lips, and Paxton regarded him again. Could he goad him into the fight? If so, he’d have a chance. If not, his next breath might very well be his last.
“I take it you disagree with what I’ve said,” Paxton commented.
“You have a bloated sense of yourself,” Rhys declared.
“Then prove it, Welshman. Meet my challenge and let us see which of us is the better with a sword.”
“Agreed,” Rhys stated. He swung back to Dylan. “Give him your sword.”
Dylan shrugged. “I didn’t wear it.”
Rhys addressed his second son, “Meredydd, your sword—give it to the Norman.”
Unlike his brother, Meredydd was able to comply. He pulled the weapon from the leather scabbard at his waist, then handed it hilt first over his forearm to Paxton.
Taking the sword, Paxton noted it was far lighter and about ten inches shorter than his own sword. He and Rhys would be in much closer quarters because of it.
“To first blood?” he asked of Alana’s uncle.
“Nay—to the death.”
A whimper sounded in Alana’s throat; Paxton gazed down at her to see tears shimmering in her eyes. “Stand away, sweet.”
“But I don’t want you to die. Rhys either. Must you do this?”
He touched her cheek. “Have faith, Alana. ’Tis what you told me.”
On Paxton’s nod at Dylan, Alana’s cousin came forward. Taking her by the shoulders, he moved her to a safe spot, away from the ensuing fray. At the same time, everyone else backed off, forming a wide arc around the two combatants.
Slowly Paxton turned to face Rhys. “Do you accept my terms, Welshman?” he asked.
“Aye.”
“Then swear it to all here so that there is no mistake.”
Rhys’s gaze swept over his kinsmen, his word
s uttered loud and clear. “If the Norman wins, he is to go free, my niece with him. That is the bargain.” Then he was glaring at Paxton. “Whether you had met your end by burning or whether you meet it now by my sword, it matters not to me. Prepare to die, Norman. For it will be so.”
Dawn burst across the horizon just as Rhys struck the first blow. Metal smiting metal, Paxton deftly deflected the blade with his own, and the battle for supremacy was on.
Rhys, Paxton discovered, was well-skilled, as good as any opponent he’d ever met. Prowess, agility, force, and cunning were the traits needed to win this fight. Alana’s uncle was invested with all of these.
But so was Paxton.
The blades clanged in the crisp morning air, sparks erupting with the potency of the need to either kill or survive.
Paxton could feel the shock of each brutal impact as it traversed his arm, the wave jolting his shoulder. With the next swing, he felt the sting of Rhys’s blade as it sliced through the tunic and across his arm.
Riotous anger filled him. Thus far he’d taken a defensive stance. Now it was time for him to attack. Gritting his teeth, he wielded the sword with all the fury that had risen inside him.
Battling his opponent and causing him to retract, Paxton promised himself that Rhys would not win. He had far more to lose than his life.
There was Henry’s pledge of the fiefdom. But even more than that, there was Alana.
He knew now that she hadn’t purposely led him here. She never intended that he should be taken prisoner by her kinsmen. He understood that the instant she found him. The stunned look on her face as she fell to her knees beside him, along with her demands that Dylan help free him, had quelled his suspicions.
But the one thing he didn’t know is why she had run from him in the first place. The answer would be given him only if he lived. That was the reason he had to win.
Striking out at Rhys with all his might, he backed the Welshman across the field toward the ring of observers. Rhys thrust his sword at Paxton’s heart, but Paxton managed to veer the blade from its appointed mark, circling it upward.
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