It would be James, not Rhys, who Madeline loved until her dying day.
He told himself not to be disappointed, for he should have known not to expect better for himself. Love was not to be trusted or to be publicly confessed. Love was a treasure to savor privately. Should the Fates be so kind as to not steal her away from him now—losing Madeline just as he realized his love for her would be consistent with Rhys’ fortunes thus far—he would be the best husband that he could be. He would grant Madeline a good life, he would cherish her. He would find his pleasure in making her as happy as he could.
None of that changed the fact that Rhys knew that the lady was unfairly his own. He heaved a sigh and frowned. He did not know for certain the name of the lutenist who journeyed with Rosamunde, but he could surely guess.
And what was the merit of his love for Madeline, if he kept from her the sole news that would make her happy?
Rhys sat in the chamber with his sleeping wife and did not like his recollections of how he had treated her. She had asked him for honesty and he had deceived her. She had asked him for his own tales and he had denied her. She had sworn that her heart belonged to one man alone, and he had stolen her away from that one man in order to keep her for himself.
In that lonely chamber, Rhys made a wager with himself. He did not doubt that Rosamunde would find her way to Caerwyn, nor that James would be fast by her side. Though Rhys feared that he might lose his Madeline upon that day, in spirit if not in truth, he had the duration of this journey to make a difference.
He would begin by granting his wife the one thing she had asked persistently of him. He would answer her questions. He would surrender the honesty she desired. Rhys did not imagine that Madeline would like the truth, but he owed her no less.
And if James did come, and Madeline did desire to be with her love, Rhys would not impede her departure. He would yearn for her for all his days and nights, but he would rather lose her and know her to be happy than witness her unhappiness at his very side.
He lifted her hand in his and caressed it. No man of honor avoided what needed to be done, simply because it might not proceed in his favor.
Rhys would tell Madeline the truth.
Madeline awakened slowly. Her tongue felt thick in her mouth and her head seemed light. She was hungry beyond belief and her limbs were cramped. Worse, she might have been abed in a cradle, for all around her rocked.
What had happened?
Madeline stretched and opened her eyes, her movement making the hound Gelert abandon her side. The dog stretched, shook and yawned with a vigor that made her smile, then sat and watched her expectantly. Madeline braced her hands on the floor and discovered that she did not rock—the chamber did.
The walls were wrought of wood. Madeline smelled apples, which made her belly rumble even more louder. She was wrapped in Rhys’ dark cloak, its fur lining close against her skin, and her stockings were twisted awkwardly around her legs.
Rhys was slumbering against the portal. The sight of him made Madeline’s heart clench. He looked rumpled, and the fact that he had not shaved in several days made him appear more disreputable than she knew he was. There were shadows beneath his eyes and a furrow in his brow, as if all the world’s weight sat upon his shoulders.
Madeline stood, clutching the wall to gain her balance, and straightened her garb. She folded Rhys’ cloak rather than stand upon it and discovered that her pillow had been Rhys’ saddlebag. There was a comb within it, much to her delight. She combed and rebraided her hair, certain that a morsel in her belly would make feel fit indeed.
But where was she? She tried to ease past Rhys to open the portal and he awakened with a start. His gaze flew over her, as if he could not believe the evidence before his own eyes, then he scrambled to his feet with uncharacteristic haste. “Are you hale?”
“Well enough.” Madeline smiled for he seemed unusually uncertain of himself. She was surprised that he did not touch her, but his fingers tapped as if he did not trust them to reach for her. “Hungry beyond belief, and unsteady on my feet because of it, but well enough beyond that.”
He smiled then, his eyes fairly glowing. “Good. That is good news indeed.”
The chamber heaved and Madeline gasped as she lost her balance. Rhys caught her close and braced his feet against the floor. The heat of him was welcome and she leaned against his solid strength. Still she felt a reluctance in him, a reluctance she did not share.
She kissed his throat and he shivered.
“I am glad indeed that you are recovered,” he said into her hair. “I erred mightily in buying that posset and I apologize for my folly.”
Madeline pulled back slightly to regard him as she assembled her scattered recollections. “You mean the posset that the innkeeper brought after our dinner, the posset that made me sleep.”
Rhys shook his head. “The posset made you ill. It was supposed to merely make you sleep.”
“You bought a potion to make me ill?” Madeline pulled out of his embrace, but Rhys nodded.
“I did indeed, though that was never my intent. I erred most gravely in trusting the skill of a stranger, Madeline, and ask your forgiveness.”
Madeline stepped out of the circle of his embrace, scarce reassured that he had seen fit to buy any kind of potion for her.
“Why would you do such a deed?” She did not expect him to answer her, for Rhys had proven to be adept in avoiding questions, but he colored and stared at the floor.
To her astonishment, he answered her. “I thought it would be simpler if you slept through the morning.” He sighed. “I knew you would ask many questions, that you might disagree with me about my chosen course, and that you might not decide to remain alone in the chamber of the inn, even if I bade you do so.”
“So you bought me a sleeping potion and deceived me as to its nature.” Madeline did not hide her annoyance. “You told me it was no more than hot cider!”
The back of Rhys’ neck flushed scarlet, but he did not look away from her. “I did. I thought it best. I was mistaken.”
The chamber heaved again, and Madeline was thrown against one wall so heavily that she was certain she would be bruised. She did not reach for Rhys this time, though, so vexed was she with him.
“What manner of chamber is this?” she demanded irritably. “Where are we that the very floor roils beneath us?” Before Rhys could answer, Madeline gasped in understanding. “We are on a ship!” She clutched the wall as the ship rocked again, then lunged for the portal.
She had to get out of the hold!
Rhys stepped in front of the portal. “What ails you? There is nothing to fear.”
“We are on a ship!” Madeline tried to push him aside, though her efforts were futile. “That is reason for fear enough.”
“There is no peril here. Our captain is well experienced and the weather is fair. We are not far from shore, yet we are far enough to evade rocks and shallows...”
Madeline snatched at the portal again, as she tried to push Rhys aside. “We are on a ship and that is peril indeed!”
Rhys caught her shoulders in his hands. “Have you been on a ship before? Why do you fear it so much?”
“I must leave!”
“Why?” Rhys shook her. “Why, Madeline?”
“Let me out!”
“Tell me.”
Madeline struggled against his grip to no avail. She quickly decided that the easiest way to pass the formidable obstacle of her husband was to win his agreement. “My parents were drowned last autumn. Their ship sank and all aboard died.”
“Ah.” Rhys considered this, taking overlong to do so, to Madeline’s thinking. “So that was why you protested our boarding.”
“Let me out!” Madeline’s breath began to come quickly, so great was her terror that she would share her parents’ fate. “I will not linger in the hold and wait to die!” She clutched Rhys’ shoulders and tried to shove him out of her way. “Move, Rhys, or I shall go mad!”
&nbs
p; He moved, but caught her elbow in a fearsome grip so that she was obliged to remain fast by his side. “Come up to the deck with me and see what a fine day this is.”
There was a narrow corridor outside their portal, and a blessed patch of blue sky could be seen far ahead. Madeline hastened toward it and fairly fell upon the ladder.
“I will climb ahead of you,” Rhys said in a tone that brooked no argument. “So that you do not lose your footing on the wet deck. Follow close behind me.”
“Rhys, hurry!”
He paused and caught her in a tight hug. “We are safe, Madeline. You will see as much shortly.” Then he and his reassuring heat were gone, his shoulders blocking the sight of the patch of sky that was keeping Madeline from madness. She scrambled behind him, not caring whether she was graceful or not, and blinked as she lunged into the bright sunlight of a glorious day.
Rhys caught her around the waist and pulled her to one side of the ship, out of the way of the busy sailors. The wind was blustery, and the sails snapped with vigor.
“A beautiful day,” Rhys said, his very tone calming Madeline. He braced his feet against the deck and gripped the rail on either side of her, making her feel within the shelter of his embrace. He pointed to the shore. “See? There is the isle of Arran, unless I miss my guess. With this wind, we shall be home at Caerwyn in no time at all.”
Madeline took a shaking breath. The hills of the isle seemed especially verdant in this sunlight, and she could spy goats or sheep grazing. The sea, when she dared to look upon it, glittered as if its surface was wrought of gems. She did not look down into its dark depths, but across the sparkle of its surface. The air was crisp and cleared the last of the fog from her head.
She turned as the sailors began to sing in unison.
“They sing to ensure that they pull as one to hoist the sail,” Rhys said, anticipating her question. Then he raised his voice and joined the song, his rich voice filling Madeline with an unexpected pleasure. She watched, fascinated, as the sailors hauled on ropes and pulled a massive sail up the mast in steady increments. This second sail swelled in the wind, and snapped alongside the first, and she felt the ship move more quickly.
It was reassuring to have Rhys so fast behind her. His voice steadied her fears, just as his talk had eliminated Tarascon’s fear. She found herself leaning slightly against him and told herself that she seemed to be safe enough.
And in truth, there was little she could do about being on this ship. She could not swim and this ship was not directed toward the shore. She took a deep breath. He had spoken aright—it was better on the deck than in the cabin.
The song ended and the sailors knotted the ropes, shouting to each other to ensure the task was done well. “Now our speed will be considerable,” Rhys said.
“You never sang before,” Madeline said and he shrugged, as if discomfited by her attention.
“We have not known each other so long as that,” he said gruffly.
“But you know I am fond of music.”
He colored in a most uncharacteristic way. “My voice is a humble one,” was all he said, then looked across the sea.
Another detail about their departure from Dumbarton drifted into Madeline’s thoughts. “I had a curious dream, courtesy of that posset,” she said and knew she did not imagine that Rhys stiffened.
“Aye?”
Madeline tipped back her head to regard him, and noted that his eyes had narrowed. Had there been a vestige of truth in her dream? “I dreamed that those who pursued us, upon the six black destriers, came to the very wharf while we departed.”
Rhys’ features seemed to set to stone.
“I dreamed that they were not the king’s men, but that my aunt Rosamunde led the party. I dreamed that they rode stallions from Ravensmuir.”
Rhys’ lips tightened.
Madeline dared not fall silent now. She would utter the worst of it, and let him refute it. “And I dreamed that you knew the truth of it all along.”
He shook his head with such resolve that she thought he would deny her charge. “I have only known since Moffat. Before that, I too believed the king’s men to be fast behind us.”
Madeline stepped away from him. “You did know!”
“Indeed, I did.”
Madeline considered this. Her family gave chase, but why? Rosamunde had been the only one to endorse Rhys—she must ride in pursuit to rescind her support.
Something had made Rosamunde change her thinking about Rhys.
In face of that, Madeline felt new suspicion of Rhys’ motives. His easy confession was most uncharacteristic. “Why are you admitting to this deed? It is unlike you to answer my questions so readily.”
Rhys’ smile was almost a grimace. “I resolved that it was time I answered your queries. I have served you poorly, Madeline, both with the posset—though I never imagined it would be so potent—and in refusing to tell you what I know. You asked me for honesty, and I have made a poor task of granting that to you.” His manner was so sincere, that Madeline’s annoyance with him faltered. “I would do better, if you would grant me the chance.”
Madeline turned to face the sea, both hands grasping the rail. “You knew that my family pursued us, yet still you fled onward.”
Rhys nodded as he turned, taking a place alongside her.
“Do you know why they pursued us?”
He braced his elbows upon the rail and rubbed his chin with one hand. He shot a quick glance her way and his eyes were bright. She had the definite sense that he was uneasy. “I can guess.”
“Then, I would ask you to do so.”
Rhys pursed his lips, as if seeking the words. “First you should know that I doubt that they are your family, or your blood kin.”
He could not have uttered another thing more astonishing to Madeline. “How can this be?”
Rhys held up a finger for her silence, then turned to face the sea as he told his tale. “Once, many years ago, I was witness to a wedding. Dafydd ap Dafydd saw his sole surviving daughter wed to a knight name of Edward Arundel.” Madeline watched a smile touch Rhys’ lips in recollection. “They were a most happy pair. I remember their laughter. She wore a coronet of daisies in her dark, dark hair.”
Madeline felt slightly uneasy with this detail, her own ebony braid flicking in the wind behind her.
Rhys glanced at her. “The bride was well known as a rare beauty. She had eyes of the clearest hue of blue, so blue that they were oft compared to sapphires. Her name was Madeline, Madeline Arundel.”
The uneasiness within Madeline grew.
“Despite the couple’s happiness, theirs was a match that suited their families’ desire for alliance. Dafydd was intent in securing the new Welsh alliance with the Earl of Northumberland. Edward was the son of a prominent knight in the Earl’s household.”
“But that was the alliance that saw Henry Hotspur, the Earl’s son and heir, charged with treason and killed.”
“Nay, Hotspur was killed later, in 1403, though all was rooted in the same unrest.”
Madeline tried to forge a link between Hotspur and the charge against Rhys and failed. “You were too young to have fought even then.”
“But not too young to have seen the damage.” Rhys pursed his lips as he stared across the sea. “Many men died trying to regain the sovereignty of Wales in those years of warfare and strife. Villages were razed and much damage done in retaliation for the rebellion. I was raised in a land that echoed with absences, with the silence of those who should have been there. Last winter, even Dafydd ap Dafydd passed this earth, his dreams of a sovereign Wales turned to disappointment.”
Madeline leaned closer, intrigued despite herself. “But Dafydd ap Dafydd’s death must have left his daughter’s husband, Edward Arundel, as his heir.”
“It would have, if that couple had lived longer than the old man himself.”
“They are dead?”
Rhys nodded. “I followed them, all these years later, to Northumberland.
Madeline Arundel lived but a year, her husband a few years longer.”
So that was why Rhys had been so far from home! He had been seeking his family.
“Then the holding reverts to the crown, does it not?”
“In England, it would. But in Wales, the blood in a son’s veins is of more import than the marital state of his parents. A bastard can inherit lands under Welsh law.”
“You are talking about Caerwyn,” Madeline guessed. “Caerwyn must have been Dafydd ap Dafydd’s holding. Are you Dafydd’s bastard son?” She knew Rhys would not answer such a personal query and was astonished when he did.
“I am his nephew. My father Henry was Dafydd’s younger brother. He had four daughters by his wife and one bastard son by his concubine.” Rhys met her gaze as he tapped his finger upon his own chest.
“But I would wager that you can inherit Caerwyn only if you are the last of your kin,” Madeline guessed. “You said that your sisters were dead and that Dafydd had only one daughter. Did Madeline Arundel have no children?”
Rhys smiled and regarded her so warmly that Madeline was confused. “She had one. Madeline Arundel died in childbirth, but the child lived. That child was a girl.” His gaze was steady. “My cousin bore her babe at Alnwyck and died in so doing, though the name of her child is not recorded.”
Madeline gripped the rail even tighter beneath his steady gaze, for she guessed what he meant to imply. “Alnwyck is near Kinfairlie,” she said. “You think I am that daughter.”
“Madeline’s babe was born in 1398.”
“As was I!” Madeline stared over the water herself, stunned by what Rhys suggested. What if her kin were not her kin?
He leaned down and murmured into her ear. “It was writ at Edward Arundel’s funeral in 1403 that the Lady of Kinfairlie took the deceased’s daughter to raise as her own.”
Madeline felt suddenly dizzy. It all made a treacherous sense.
“Why else would your kin be so ready to be rid of you that they would sell your hand at auction, as one would sell livestock? It is clear that they meant to save the expense of a dowry upon one who is not of their lineage.”
Five Unforgettable Knights (5 Medieval Romance Novels) Page 107