Finally, the monk stood back and gave Rhys a friendly cuff on the shoulder. “You old sinner. Are you in need of sanctuary again so soon? Is there no end to your wickedness?”
This charge was made without malice, as if the pair commonly jested about such things. It reminded Madeline of how her brothers teased each other, though she was fascinated that any soul would tease Rhys FitzHenry.
And curious as to what he would do about the matter.
The color rose on the back of Rhys’ neck, and his manner became even more stern than usual. “It is the lady in need of your aid on this day. I only accompany her.”
“A lady!” Thomas sobered and straightened, tugging futilely at the front of his robe as he turned to Madeline. “Good day, my lady, and welcome to our humble gates.” He bowed, the effort such that the bald top of his head framed by his tonsure turned crimson.
“This is Lady Madeline of Kinfairlie.” Rhys spoke with care and Madeline guessed that he meant to present a slightly altered version of their adventure. She held his gaze, willing him to understand that she would not deny his tale. “She was beset upon the road by bandits. Mercifully, I arrived in time to be of aid.”
“God in Heaven!” Thomas crossed himself. “What times we live in! How fortunate that you came upon her and recognized her plight.”
“Not so fortunate as that, old friend.” Rhys smiled slightly and Madeline felt suddenly warm beneath his gaze. “The lady and I are betrothed, and I thought I recognized her steed at a distance.”
“Merciful heavens! God is great indeed that he granted you such keen vision!” Thomas looked between the pair of them with astonishment. “But why did we not know of your betrothal sooner, Rhys? That you of all men should take a bride is a tale worth hearing, and you were here but a fortnight past.”
Madeline blinked. She had only heard of Ravensmuir’s auction a fortnight past. Rhys must have ridden from Wales for some other purpose—what might it have been? And why had he chosen to attend the auction, no less to buy her hand?
Rhys cleared his throat pointedly. “I did not share this news, for I thought you unconcerned with the ways of the mortal world.”
Thomas flushed and grinned. “That does not mean that we have no interest in gossip. Rhys FitzHenry to be wed!” He laughed and shook a finger at Madeline. “You must be an intrepid lady to take such a ruffian as this to your side!”
“Thomas...” Rhys growled, but the monk ignored him.
Thomas leaned closer to Madeline, his manner conspiratorial. “Or are you, Lady Madeline, that uncommon manner of woman who sees the gold that the careless eye will perceive as dross?” Thomas winked mischievously and Madeline fought a smile, even as she considered Rhys anew.
What did the monk mean?
“There is little of merit in this world that reveals all of its value to a cursory glance,” she said.
Thomas hooted with delight. “Indeed, indeed! I should have known that Rhys would be unafraid to wed a woman with her wits about her.”
“He told me a fine tale while we rode here, and I am much appreciative of his kindness.”
“A tale? Where did you find such a glib tongue, Rhys?” Thomas nudged Rhys, then said something that Madeline did not understand. He winked at her puzzled glance. “An old Welsh proverb, it was. ‘The best Welshman is the one away from home.’ That fits you well enough, does it not Rhys? It is not often that you loose a measure of your meager charm.”
Rhys glared at his friend and seemed at a loss for words.
Thomas leaned closer to Madeline, his manner that of a man practiced in selling goods to those who have no need or desire of them. “Truly, Lady Madeline, this one has tales of his own to tell, though he never does. Discretion is the second name of our Rhys...”
“As opposed to your own second name, which is garrulous,” Rhys muttered.
Madeline laughed, for their banter lightened her heart.
Thomas huffed, though his eyes yet sparkled. “Well, there is not a soul alive who will mistake me for a man struck to stone, as you are pretending to be this day.”
“Much less a man struck dumb,” Rhys retorted. “I thought you offered hospitality at these gates to those in need of it.”
“Indeed, indeed.” Thomas threw up his hands and laughed. “Forgive me! Come, Lady Madeline, come within the circle of our gates.” Thomas claimed the reins of Rhys’ destrier and spoke to it.
The creature immediately followed his bidding.
“How curious,” Madeline said. “I thought Arian followed only Rhys’ bidding.”
Rhys said nothing, though his lips seemed to tighten.
“Is that the tale you were told?” Thomas demanded with glee. “What nonsense!” He gave Rhys a playful shove, then strode onward.
“How delightful it is to know when a man’s word can be trusted,” Madeline said, her voice so low that only Rhys heard her.
To her satisfaction, he seemed to avoid her gaze and the back of his neck turned ruddy. “The fiends even attacked her palfrey,” he said to Thomas, indicating Tarascon’s wound.
“Ah! Such wickedness!” Thomas was immediately concerned with the horse, talking to her and stroking her back as he murmured.
“Thomas is the ostler I mentioned,” Rhys said to Madeline without glancing her way. “His talent is widely reputed.”
Thomas led the palfrey toward the stables, his focus on the steed so complete that he might have forgotten the rest of the party. Tarascon seemed to understand that she had encountered one who would care for her. Her ears flicked less vigorously as Thomas spoke to her, and one last ripple passed over her flesh as she settled.
His seemed so uncommon an ability in such a place that Madeline could not hold her tongue. Indeed, there was not another horse to be seen, or any sign of one, in the abbey’s courtyard. “But surely an abbey has little coin for the expense of horses?”
Rhys’ smile flashed, the sight making Madeline’s heart leap. “Our Thomas was a horse thief afore he took his vows.”
“And you knew him then?”
Rhys nodded, his attention upon the other man. “We wasted our youths together, it is true.”
Madeline was intrigued by the affection in his tone. She might have asked for more detail, but Rhys raised his voice. “There are more of us, Thomas, than simply one steed,” he called. “And I do not think that wound so grievous.”
Thomas jumped with guilt. “It is her fear which is the greater injury,” he agreed. He smiled reassuringly for Madeline. “In a week or so, my lady, she will be hale again.”
“I thank you for your assistance. She is a faithful steed and I was much distressed to see her injured, let alone so willfully.”
“You speak aright, my lady. It is a wicked man who can inflict a wound upon a horse.” Thomas called for a boy to aid him. That boy continued to stroke Tarascon as he led her toward the small empty stable.
The palfrey favored her leg, but her terror had been dismissed. Madeline realized that her own fears were similarly gone. She considered Rhys, as he watched the palfrey being led away, and admitted herself intrigued.
It might not be so foul a fate to wed so protective and competent a man as Rhys FitzHenry.
Or was that precisely what he wished her to believe?
Satisfied with the boy’s efforts, Thomas turned his gaze upon the rest of the party. He frowned at the other destrier. “But what of this other steed? What need have you of a second stallion, Rhys?” Thomas asked, his hand landing upon Kerr’s destrier. “I have never seen this beast before.”
Madeline said nothing, for she was uncertain what Rhys meant to do about the beast. He clearly had a scheme for he stood more stiffly, his manner more alert. Had Thomas noted the difference in Rhys’ posture?
Rhys shrugged, feigning indifference. “No need, to be sure.”
“You did not buy it?”
Rhys shook his head. “It must have belonged to one of the bandits. We found it wandering where the lady was assau
lted.”
Madeline shivered. “That villain will have no need of it any longer.”
“And I would not leave the beast to wander the moor, lest it become fodder for wolves.”
Thomas nodded in understanding and ran his hands over the horse. “It is not a bad steed. Not poorly tended or fed.” He granted Rhys a shrewd look over the steed’s back. “A bit of a rich mount for a bandit, one would think. A destrier is a better mount for a warrior than a thief, given the thief’s need for speed.”
Madeline straightened, certain the truth would out, but Rhys did not so much blink. “He must have stolen it from another victim then.”
“Indeed.” Thomas watched Rhys, his eyes bright. “Do you mean to keep it?”
Rhys shook his head. “I owe you a boon, Thomas, for this visit and the last one. Sell it and put the coin in your community’s coffers.”
Madeline was astonished by his act of generosity. A destrier was worth a considerable measure of coin.
Thomas pursed his lips. “We could keep it for the abbess. She has a fondness for a good mount.”
“Sell it,” Rhys said, steel in his tone. “And the trap, as well.”
Thomas straightened. Consideration lurked in his own gaze. “There is a good market for horses in Newcastle,” he said with care, still stroking the beast, still watching Rhys. “And I must go to the moneylenders there at month-end for the abbess.”
Rhys spoke in the same deliberate manner. “I hear the market is better in Carlisle.”
“Oh no!” Madeline protested, wanting only to be of aid. Rhys was not from these parts, after all, and she knew he would want the abbey to fetch the best price for Kerr’s steed. They must make the most of his generous gift! “I know that destriers fetch a far better price in Newcastle than in Carlisle. The king himself sends men there to acquire steeds and the market is most competitive.”
Rhys appeared to be gritting his teeth. He granted Madeline a dark glance, then spoke with vigor. “Nonetheless, a beast of this size and hue will garner a better price in Carlisle.”
Madeline shook her head, certain of her facts. “No, Rhys. I beg your pardon but you are not from these parts. My father bought only palfreys and ponies in Carlisle, for he said the stallion stock was poor there.”
Rhys glared at her. “Perhaps your father erred, my lady.”
Madeline parted her lips to argue but Rhys held her gaze with such heat that she knew he warned her to be silent. She closed her mouth with annoyance and glared at him in her turn.
What ailed the man? Did he not want the most made of his gift?
“I know Carlisle to be a better market for this beast,” Rhys repeated firmly.
“Carlisle ’twill be, then,” Thomas said, looking between the pair of them with interest. “Your counsel is always good, Rhys, though Carlisle is less convenient.”
“I think it would be well worth the journey.” Rhys seemed to be fighting his exasperation with the pair of them.
What vexed him about Newcastle?
Then Madeline realized the truth. Newcastle was closer to Ravensmuir and Kinfairlie. Rhys did not want the horse recognized, for then retribution for Kerr’s death could fall upon this abbey. It was entirely possible that no one would believe the mercenary had been killed by thieves, equally possible that Kerr’s comrades might question that conclusion if his horse was spied.
If suspicion fell upon the abbey for having some involvement in the mercenary’s death—or worse, if Kerr’s fellow mercenaries demanded a vengeance of their own—that would be a poor reward to the abbey and its occupants for any favor they had shown to Rhys. His aunt was abbess, after all.
And she had nearly foiled his protective intent. Even now, Thomas was suspicious of the horse’s origin, suspicious as he might not have been if she had kept her counsel to herself.
Rhys must think her a witless fool, so thoroughly did she err in his presence!
Rhys frowned. “The trap, however, might sell for a better price in York.”
“A horse with trap always fetches a better price,” Thomas said, amusement in his tone.
Rhys bent toward the older man, his manner intent. “Perhaps even Lincoln or Winchester would be good.”
Thomas grinned. Mischief danced openly in his gaze now. “Why do you not save the horse, Rhys, and take it all the way to Wales to be sold? Surely the price will be better there?”
“Perhaps the gain would not be worth the risk.”
Thomas chuckled and clapped the other man on the shoulder. “I welcome your advice, Rhys. Fear not, old friend, all shall be done as you counsel. I shall ensure that this horse is not recognized.”
Madeline saw that Thomas had understood Rhys’ intent all along, and had only teased him.
“Can you tell me more of who might recognize it?”
“It is better that you know less.” Rhys spoke with such resolve that Thomas nodded.
Then the monk smiled. “Aye, you are protective of those you call your friends, of that no man can have a doubt. I hope you have espied this man’s true nature, Lady Madeline, and not been deceived by his poor manners.”
Madeline nodded. She had seen much of merit in her companion on this day.
Rhys folded his arms across his chest. “Perhaps the abbess might be summoned, that the lady could be aided as well.”
“My lady, are you injured?” Thomas demanded with horror.
“She is stalwart, but has had a shock,” Rhys said when Madeline might have demurred. “Summon the abbess if you will.” He held Madeline’s gaze with sudden determination. “I would ask another favor of the abbey, for I would have our nuptials celebrated here this very day.”
Madeline blinked. Rhys still intended to wed her?
On this day?
“Here?” Thomas echoed in astonishment. “But what of the lady’s family?”
“We cannot continue to Ravensmuir until the steed is healed.”
“But they could come here,” Madeline suggested. “Surely we could wait until they arrived from Ravensmuir?”
Rhys shook his head. “Surely, events of this day has shown that we dare wait no longer. We will be wed before nightfall, my lady, and send word to Ravensmuir in the morning, after our match is consummated.”
With that, Rhys pivoted and strode toward the stables, leaving Madeline fuming at his commanding tone. He might have asked her opinion on the matter, instead of ordering her to do his bidding like a trained hound! Her anger must have shown, for Thomas touched a fingertip to her arm.
“I would remind you, Lady Madeline, that it is ill-advised to murder a man within the walls of a community pledged to God’s work.”
“Then I shall have to wait until we depart,” Madeline said with sweet ferocity. “Doubtless the road is long and quiet to my lord husband’s home.”
Thomas laughed. “I have oft thought murder too fine a fate for some rogues, my lady. Let him live long, the better that you might to plague him with your wit.”
Madeline found herself smiling at the monk’s counsel.
“There,” Thomas said. “It is always a better omen if the bride is merry.”
That reminder sobered Madeline utterly. She would be wed. And Rhys had made it clear that their match would be consummated this night. Given her experience of this day, that prospect filled her with a goodly quantity of dread.
It had not, perhaps, been the best way for Rhys to declare his desire and intent to wed Madeline.
Rhys brushed down his steed, cursing the fact that he had no abilities to summon sweet words for this woman’s ears. Why could he not have been blessed with a silver tongue? Why was he so incapable of saying what nonsense a woman wished to hear? He could have eased Madeline’s fears, but no, he had redoubled them. It had been brilliantly done.
So engrossed was Rhys in his task and his recriminations, that he did not notice Thomas’ arrival until that man cleared his throat.
Rhys jumped and pivoted to find the other man leaning against the d
oor of the stall. Gelert watched with interest, though the dog had already flattened himself a bed in the straw. The hound had become accustomed to this stable of late.
“Do you mean to change her thinking, then?” Thomas asked.
“I do not need your reminder that I know little of courting a noblewoman,” Rhys said and turned back to his task.
“Perhaps you need a reminder that she can spurn you until the vows are exchanged.” At Rhys’ glance of alarm, Thomas smiled. “She could take the veil here, and you know it well.”
The prospect sent a new thread of fear through Rhys. He had not considered that possibility. “My betrothed will never become a bride of Christ. It is not her nature.” Rhys was not as convinced as his words might have sounded. Indeed, the lady had already shown her desire to evade wedding him by fleeing Ravensmuir.
The abbey had to offer a more alluring option than Kerr had presented. A cold hand closed around Rhys’ heart and he brushed the horse down with renewed vigor.
Surely Madeline would not do as much?
But Rhys did not know and he dared not hope.
“Do not be so certain of your suit, old friend,” Thomas said, offering no reassurance at all. “Women are a fickle and unpredictable lot. The abbess would be delighted to claim another noblewoman’s soul for her community.” Thomas nodded, making the prospect sound dangerously plausible to Rhys. “It can never hurt to have more coin in the coffers and more influence at court.”
“Perhaps I should tell the abbess that the lady’s family has neither coin nor influence.” That was not strictly true, Rhys realized, for the Kinfairlie clan now had the coin he had paid for Madeline’s hand.
“Kinfairlie have no coin? Are you mad?” Thomas gave a low whistle. “They are kin with the lot at Ravensmuir, who are auctioning a considerable cache of religious relics this week, are they not?”
“Indeed they are,” Rhys agreed, seeing where this argument led.
Thomas amiably plucked the brush from Rhys’ hand. “Leave the beast some flesh, Rhys.” He shook the brush at Rhys. “Do you know what your aunt would do for a larger relic than the one currently in our chapel?”
Five Unforgettable Knights (5 Medieval Romance Novels) Page 94