“But you were never caught?”
“In Wales, I am safe enough.”
“You have been nearly captured in England,” she guessed. “Why did you risk the journey to Northumberland?”
He might have imagined the lady to be concerned for his fate, but Rhys knew that he saw only what he desired to see. Madeline had great compassion for all, he knew this well. Rhys looked away from her concern and spoke gruffly. “I had to be certain of my cousin’s fate.”
“You had to secure Caerwyn, at any cost. Oh, you are a fool to risk your hide for a title!”
Rhys kept his gaze averted, not wanting to know for certain whether she was scornful of his ambition or concerned for his life. “Henry pardoned the others, a few years past, and I had hoped that my name would be cleared. Perhaps that day yet will come. Perhaps the king has forgotten me.”
Madeline snorted. “No English king forgets any man who raises a blade against him. Do you truly believe that Henry will grant you suzerainty of Caerwyn?”
Rhys met her gaze, letting her see the steel of his determination. “It is not my intent to grant him a choice. I trust you have the wits, even if you are my cousin’s daughter, not to challenge my suzerainty either.”
Their gazes held, a shimmer of will in the air between them, and Madeline straightened beneath his gaze. “You have never been granted your desire, Rhys, but I can change this detail. I cede all claim to Caerwyn, and I will sign a deed to that effect. I know that Caerwyn is the sole dream you hold within your heart. You have treated me kindly. This will be your compense.”
She told no lie, Rhys knew it well, yet his triumph was as dust in his hands. He felt no need to shout in victory, he felt no satisfaction that he had achieved his goal.
Instead, he watched Madeline turn her back upon him and felt that, yet again, he had erred.
“I will sit vigil while you sleep,” he said, knowing there was little else he could offer her.
“I will not sleep in this place,” she argued, though her exhaustion was clear.
“You have need of sleep, my lady, to heal from that potion. I will remain with you, and remain awake. I pledge to you that I will ensure your safety if ill fortune befalls the ship.”
“Why?”
“Because, for this moment at least, you are my wife.”
“And thus, your duty?”
“And thus, my concern,” he corrected with some annoyance. “I do not wish you ill, Madeline. Can I not grant you some courtesy without suspicion?”
The anger melted out of Madeline’s shoulders as she regarded him. “Of course you can.” An unexpected smile lifted the corner of her lips. “I thank you, Rhys.”
Though it was a pale shadow of the dazzling smile she could offer, still it rendered Rhys mute. He silently offered his cloak to her and Madeline wrapped herself in its generous fullness, even as she yawned. She tried to make herself comfortable opposite him on the chamber’s floor, and he watched her for a moment, before lifting her into his arms. He braced his back in the corner, setting a finger against her lips when she might have protested.
“I would have you be warm,” he said and wrapped his arms around her. She sighed in capitulation and laid her cheek against his chest, her one hand furled like a new leaf within his own. In but a trio of heartbeats, her breathing had slowed and the lady slept.
Rhys was content, smelling her sweet scent and the lingering perfume of apples, Gelert nestled against his leg and Madeline curled in his lap. He was so content that he wished they would never arrive at their destination.
He recalled the moral of his own tale, and he savored the gifts granted to him, knowing all too well that Madeline might soon be gone.
Chapter Sixteen
They sailed southward for four days and nights. Rhys assured Madeline that the sea was particularly calm, though she started at every ripple on its surface. She preferred to be on the deck, and mercifully, their journey was blessed with such good weather that she could remain outside.
Madeline stood at the rail by the hour, the sun warming her hair and Rhys bracing his hands on either side of her. His voice was always in her ear, his tales and his songs enchanting her utterly. Every rock seemed to remind him of a song; every bay, every cliff, every tower prompted him to tell her a story.
There was an urgency about Rhys, though Madeline believed it was because he drew near to his home. It was proximity to Caerwyn that brought a tremor to his voice, it was love of this land that brightened his eye. It was the prospect of seeing Caerwyn that made him shout on the fifth morning as they rounded a point.
They disembarked, Madeline finding herself infected with Rhys’ anticipation. Arian was clearly pleased to have hooves on solid ground again. Gelert shook as Rhys bade the captain farewell and the men shook hands. Madeline found herself anxious to hasten onward but for a different reason than Rhys, for surely Rosamunde and James had reached Caerwyn by this time.
She made no protest when Rhys lifted her into the saddle, then swung up behind her. He clamped a hand around her waist and touched Arian’s sides with his spurs. They galloped, all intent upon making haste to Caerwyn.
They reached the summit of the point of land that jutted into the sea, and the glittering bay spread before them made Madeline catch her breath. The water was a deep blue hue, the sunlight making it look to be cast with thousands of gems. The cliffs around it rose steeply from its surface, the hills behind were verdant. Far above them all loomed Eryri, its flanks the hue of slate, a crest of snow still on its highest peak.
Directly opposite them, a fortress with four square towers seemed to rise from the very sea, its towers apparently hewn from the stone cliffs. Pennants snapped in the wind above those towers.
“Harlech,” Rhys murmured, following her gaze. He pointed to another fortress, so much further down the coast that it was barely visible. “Aberystwyth.” It all seemed so familiar to Madeline, for she remembered Rhys’ tales, and she half expected to see the old rebel Owain step out of the gorse to greet them.
Rhys’ indicated a keep below them and to the left. It was more humble than the others, a fortress that could be overlooked by a hasty gaze. A high square wall encircled a single tower. The gates were open, and a small village clustered outside the fortress walls. Madeline could see the harbor and faintly hear the bell of the chapel ringing.
“Caerwyn,” she guessed.
“Caerwyn,” Rhys agreed. He shouted and spurred the horse. Gelert barked, Arian surged down the hill, hooves thundering. Madeline laughed, savoring how delighted they all were to be home. She twisted to see Rhys, for she loved to see his smile.
“Home,” he said, an odd sadness in his eyes, then he kissed her so soundly that Madeline understood she would never taste him again.
She would leave him at Caerwyn and he knew it. Madeline knew she should have rejected his salute, but she could not turn away. She could not resist Rhys’ kiss, could not imagine being without it, for he awakened a yearning within her that she feared no other man could sate. Madeline turned so that she could wind her arms around his neck, she pressed herself closer to him and made this last kiss one she would never forget.
Later Madeline would realize that that kiss had betrayed them. Later she would realize how unlike Rhys it was to ride unprepared, his helm in his saddlebag and his sword sheathed. Indeed, he could not draw his sword, much less swing it, with her seated before him and his arms wrapped so tightly around her.
Later, she would see how fully they had erred.
They were within the village before Rhys spied the trap.
His head spinning from Madeline’s sweet kiss, he had wondered where the villagers were as they had drawn near to Caerwyn. He had puzzled over the relative silence of the surrounding hills. There should have been shepherds tending their flocks, there should have been fishermen mending their nets, there should have been women emptying slops and trading gossip.
But there was not a soul abroad.
Arian gal
loped into the village with such fury that none could have missed their arrival. Rhys heard a whistle, feared deception, then mercenaries erupted from all sides.
They were surrounded in no time at all.
Gelert barked furiously. Arian reared and whinnied. Madeline screamed. The destrier was useless in such close quarters, for it could not be turned. The sole advantage Rhys saw was that his attackers were not mounted.
He knew what—or who—they wanted.
Rhys leapt from the saddle in a smooth leap and only stumbled slightly. He unsheathed his blade before he found his footing fully, swung and killed a mercenary.
“Rhys!” Madeline screamed.
“To the hills!” Rhys shouted the command to Arian in Welsh. The destrier’s pace faltered and it hesitated to obey. Rhys had never dispatched it without him before, and Madeline was pulling the reins, trying to turn the horse back. Its nostrils flared at the chaos surrounding it, and Rhys thought it could probably smell the blood.
He dispatched another pair of mercenaries to meet their Maker, and glanced back to find Madeline trying to urge the reluctant steed toward him. She kicked a mercenary in the face who tried to grasp her, and spat at another.
Doubtless his intrepid wife would try to save him, given the chance! Rhys ground his teeth and struck another telling blow. There was sweat on his brow already, and the mercenaries were yet spilling out of houses and the fortress gates. He could not hold them back for long, but he would not grant them the chance to despoil Madeline.
Rhys shouted his command again, swinging his blade with gusto against his assailants. Gelert understood Rhys’ command and snapped at the horse’s legs. Arian shied, uncertain who to obey, fought the bit and kicked a mercenary fool enough to try to grab the reins. The dog snarled and leapt, Madeline granted a wound to an attacker with her small eating knife.
To Rhys’ relief, the destrier suddenly decided that the dog was the most insistent threat, and that the best plan was to evade Gelert’s teeth. Arian turned tail and galloped into the hills beyond the village, Gelert snapping at its heels. To Rhys’ relief, no one else pursued the steed. He heard Madeline shout in frustration, but knew she would not be heeded.
He roared to draw every eye to himself and fought with new vigor. The mercenaries fell upon him, his shoulder was cut and his thigh was nicked. Rhys fought until he could no longer hear hoof beats, until he knew for certain that his Madeline had escaped Caerwyn.
Then Rhys cast away his blade and held up his hands, letting himself be captured. They could do whatsoever they desired with him now. He knew Madeline had been saved.
The destrier was a crazed beast.
Arian galloped as if the hounds of Hell were behind it, although only Gelert was in pursuit. Madeline pulled the reins, she stood in the stirrups, she shouted and begged, but the horse did not heed her any better than it had previously. It ran up the path to the mountain, away from Rhys and Caerwyn, and over the crest of the first hill without slowing its pace.
A stranger urged his smaller horse off the road ahead, out of the path of the racing steed. The man seemed surprised and Madeline thought he had never seen a steed like this warhorse of Rhys’. She waved madly at him, hoping he might have some scheme to halt the horse.
The man whistled and the horse halted so abruptly that Madeline was almost cast over its head. She fell back into the saddle with a resounding thump. Arian stood, ears twitching and sides heaving, then nickered at the other man.
“You vexing beast!” Madeline cried and the stranger laughed. He was a dark-haired man, tall and slender, though he carried himself with some authority.
Madeline knew, though, that he must be Rhys’ friend. Only Thomas, in her experience, had been able to command Rhys’ steed. Gelert trotted to the man’s side, tail wagging, the dog’s response also calming Madeline’s fears.
This man looked to be slightly older than she, and the gaze he cast over her was appraising. “And how did an English maiden come to ride the horse of Rhys FitzHenry?”
“I am from Scotland.” Madeline dismounted and cast the reins over the destrier’s head as she strode to the other man. “You must be one of my husband’s friends,” she said. “He has been beset in the village at Caerwyn, and I fear he has been captured. We must aid him!”
Instead of making haste down to the village, the other man frowned. “I feared their scheme was as much. I thought to waylay him on his ride homeward.” At Madeline’s confusion, he gestured to the road behind them. “This is the best passage through the hills, and Rhys oft uses it.”
“We came by ship,” Madeline said and the man nodded, though he was clearly not reassured.
“Ah, forgive my manners!” he said suddenly and forced a smile. “I am Cradoc ap Gwilym. I am sheriff of Caerwyn.”
“But you are Welsh. I thought only the English could hold offices in Wales.”
Cradoc smiled. “And so they could, until Dafydd ap Dafydd chose to make the best of what would be, and so they were, until Rhys FitzHenry argued for a place for me. I owe him much. You call Rhys husband. There are those who will lose a wager when that man takes a wife.”
Madeline almost smiled. “Nonetheless, he has taken one. I am Lady Madeline, born of Kinfairlie and now Lady of Caerwyn.” As she claimed her title through Rhys for the first time, she felt her chin rise with a measure of his pride.
Cradoc smiled and bowed. “May God in his grace grant you many sons and many years of happiness.”
Madeline understood that this must be his customary blessing for married couples, but still she sobered. “God can do no such thing if Rhys is killed by his assailants. Who are they?”
“They came from Harlech just days past and evidently came to await Rhys’ return. They have hidden themselves and those bold enough to protest their presence have disappeared.”
“But surely they would have arrested the sheriff?”
Cradoc grinned. “They would have had to catch me first.” He gestured further down the road. “I invite you to accompany me, my lady. Now that we know their intent, perhaps we can reason how better to foil their scheme.”
Madeline whistled to the dog, cautious about proceeding to some more private place with a man she did not know.
Cradoc surveyed her so thoughtfully that she wondered whether he guessed the root of her hesitation. “There are others hidden over the crest of the hill, already. I halted them on this road this very morning. You may know them for they, too, came from the north.”
“Who?” Madeline demanded, even as her heart began to pound in anticipation.
“Madeline?” Vivienne cried and Madeline spun to find her siblings racing toward her. They surrounded her with noisy enthusiasm and Madeline smiled to see them all again.
“Are you hale enough?” Alexander asked.
“Were you injured?” Vivienne asked.
“Darg!” Elizabeth cried. “Darg is on your shoulder!”
Alexander caught her close and spun her around. Vivienne kissed her cheeks and hugged her tightly. Madeline picked up Elizabeth in her turn.
“Tell me that Kerr had no chance to hurt you,” Alexander insisted, his gaze intent.
Madeline smiled and kissed his cheek. “I was safe all along,” she said with surety. “I was with Rhys.”
Rosamunde forced her way into the tight circle of siblings. There was a suspicious shine in her eyes and her embrace was uncommonly forceful. “Did I not tell you as much?” she whispered into Madeline’s hair.
“I told you the lass was as strong as good Toledo steel,” Padraig said roughly. This faithful cohort of Rosamunde’s winked at Madeline, the way he shifted his weight telling her that even he had been fearful of her fate.
Then her family stepped back, so that Madeline could see the last member of their company. James was taller and slightly broader than he had been, his smile was more ready and his tan was darker. Madeline waited for her body to respond to his presence, but she had felt more relief in encountering Rhys’ frien
d Cradoc than in her betrothed.
“Well met, Madeline,” James said, then bent low over her hand. He kissed her knuckles and Madeline felt nothing at all. Not a shiver was awakened by his touch and no heat awakened in her belly. It was all too easy to recall Rhys’ suggestion that James had never kissed her as Rhys had done.
No less to find it true.
It was shock that slowed her response, to be sure.
Madeline deliberately closed her fingers over James’ hand and forced a smile to her lips. “It is good to see you, James.”
He laughed. “Only good to see me? I think it wondrous to be in the presence of your beauty yet again. You are as lustrous as I recall, my Madeline, as luminous as the moon.” He made to strum his lute, glancing across the company to ensure that all watched him, then grimaced when his fingers coaxed forth no sound.
Vivienne laughed. “Rosamunde has yet to return the strings!”
James sneered. “Any soul is a heathen, clearly, who cannot appreciate a fine tune.”
“James had more interest in his music than your safety,” Alexander said grimly. Madeline watched her siblings turn against her betrothed, their opinion of the man more than clear.
“Would it not have been fitting for me to greet Madeline with a love song, composed only for her?” James demanded, taking affront at their manner. Madeline noted that their reserve did not melt. “An ode to Madeline’s spectacular beauty would have been a fine greeting, but I have no such offering to make, thanks to your interference.”
Madeline was beginning to find his references to her beauty annoying. “What is of import in this moment is how we shall aid Rhys,” she said firmly, then told the others that Rhys had been captured.
“These are sorry tidings,” Rosamunde said, then turned to Cradoc. “You feared that something dire was afoot.”
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