Gwyn smiled, her eyes luminous. “It’s strange, but I no longer care much, for I belong to you without a priest. But I care for the sake of any child of ours, Rhys, for we dare not deny a child his birthright.”
As Gwyn lay thinking of the afternoon, there suddenly came a hail from the sentry. Rushing to the sentry’s side, they saw an approaching party coming from the east. As it drew closer, they could recognize Normans in full armor, yet traveling under a flag of truce. Gwyn said quickly, “Don’t believe them! It’s a trick! You know how they did at Brecknock. A flag of truce just means they can get close enough to attack.”
Rhys agreed. “But we cannot run. They are better horsed than we are, and they could catch us before we got out of the valley.”
He put his arm around her shoulders and hugged her reassuringly. A grin spread over his face. It touched his lips, but not his eyes. “Perhaps they only came to take the waters.”
4
Gwyn whispered, “I fear nothing as long as we are together.”
Rhys looked at her then, a brief look that seemed eternally long, holding in it all the mystery of the love they had found at last
The small group, spread out behind the leader, made her wonder. Surely it was an unusually small group to travel across England.
The Norman leader told them his name was Denis du Pons. Gwyn remembered him from her days at court.
“I come in all courtesy from our King William.”
Rhys said, “Your king is not our king. Where is the Princess Nesta?”
Du Pons seemed taken aback, yet he controlled his temper. “I am speaking to Rhys, the traitor?”
Gwyn said sharply, “He does not come in friendship, Rhys!”
Rhys narrowed his eyes and said, “Nor do we receive him in friendship.”
Rhys’s hand dropped to his dagger, yet he made no threatening move. “But we would know what brings you here, Norman.”
The Norman gave up all pretense. He put his hand on the handle of his sword and readied himself to charge.
Rhys said, “You would ride down an unarmed man? That is no more than I might expect from Norman chivalry. Where is the Princess Nesta? I did not know that the Normans waged war on women.”
She watched the color drain from Rhys’s face. He was far weaker than he supposed.
Gwyn said warningly, “Rhys —”
Du Pons settled into his saddle and said, “I do not know where she is. She is of no account, for I came to take the Lady Gwyn back.”
“You will die first!” shouted Rhys, taking a step toward the Norman. Gwyn was watching Rhys, lest he falter and betray his physical weakness. She gave only a little of her mind to wondering about the odd behavior of the Normans.
The men moved unobtrusively around the encampment, spreading a net. Too late, she saw the trap. She screamed, “Rhys, watch out!”
The truce, if that was what it had been, was broken. Du Pons rode forward and snatched Gwyn into his saddle. Rhys, still weakened by his wounds, was no match for the three men who bore him to the ground. The other Normans, carefully coached in advance, spurred their horses in pursuit of the Welsh. Rhys, shaking free with difficulty, roared after his men in Cymric, “Run! Save yourselves!”
Rhys lowered his head and charged du Pons in a feral rush. Du Pons struck Rhys with his mailed fist, and by chance the blow fell directly upon Rhys’s wounds. The sudden pain was excruciating, and Rhys doubled over in agony.
Gwyn screamed to Daffyd, but all she saw over her shoulder was the giant Welshman sagging to his knees in the midst of half a dozen of the enemy. She struggled toward Rhys, but her captor held her gripped too hard. She couldn’t move away from him.
It was no use, she thought. If Rhys is dead, then I am dead, too.
Her hands were tied and she was placed in the saddle of one of the Norman palfreys. She knew that Rhys was slung over another saddle, somewhere behind her. Mercifully, her mind turned dark and she rode in grateful numbness.
At length Gwyn spoke to her captor, “To come under a flag of truce and then to attack — we can expect that from the Normans.”
Du Pons lifted an eyebrow. “But you are Norman, too, are you not?”
Her words dripped scorn. “I am so ashamed of my Norman blood that I do not claim it. Treat me as you would a Welsh lady, for that is what I am. I would not take advantage of my Norman inheritance.”
Du Pons rode closer to her. “So you think all Normans are false? I would like to show you —”
Gwyn turned on him with fury. “You know nothing about honor! You know only to wage war against women and wounded men. I defy you to do your worst!”
The man’s eyes glittered in sudden anger. “There can be honor only among gentlemen,” he said. “The Welsh are nothing but savages.”
Gwyn said, “The Welsh are not vassals of the Norman king. You are no more than a raiding party, and I scorn to have anything more to say to you.”
After a bit Denis tried again. “The king says you are no longer virgin.”
Gwyn stared straight ahead in stony silence.
“Is he the one?” Denis pointed in the direction of Rhys. “He’s not much good to you now.”
Gwyn pretended she did not hear him. Her tormentor rode closer to her and reached out a hand as though to steady her in the saddle.
“I heard de Lacy say that your lover back there preferred a princess to you,” resumed the Norman, “but he’s a fool, if he did. Now I could appreciate a smile from a lady like you. I might even loose your wrists, if you coaxed me a little.”
She turned to look stonily at him. “I’d scratch your eyes out,” she told him calmly.
There was no further talk between them. Gwyn passed the rest of the terrible journey in silence, her mind fixed on Rhys, slung over the saddle at the end of the train. Was he alive? As time wore on, she began to think he was. Men whispered to du Pons, and she knew they spoke of Rhys. So he was not dead, and she began, once again, to let some feeling into her numbed mind.
When they arrived at Winchester, their situation was suddenly much changed. For the last few miles Rhys had been burdened with chains. It was because of the Normans’ concern for their horses that he had not been chained before. The heavy metal was too much to expect a horse to carry for long. When Gwyn slid down from her horse in the courtyard of Winchester, she looked around wildly for Rhys. Her heart stopped cold when she saw the chains dragging her love toward the ground. He could hardly stand, but he squared his shoulders and looked out from under his heavy brows with the ferocity of a captive eagle.
Gwyn darted toward Rhys, but she was held back and could not reach him. He was taken by the arm and marched off toward the dungeon.
Du Pons said to Gwyn, “Don’t waste time on him, for he will be dead by morning.”
Gwyn had her old rooms in the round tower. There was no servant provided for her, but she was content to be alone. She ranged back and forth through the two rooms, prey to scalding memories, until her restlessness drove her through the door to the stairs. There she found that she was less solitary than she had thought. Ranged on the stairway were half a dozen guards. They looked up at her with scarcely hidden malice, not daring to touch her. She was the ward of the king again, and that was her protection.
She closed the door hastily, as she would have barred gates against lurking wolves. Her whole being was filled with longing for Rhys, for his touch, for the unexpected darting glance that told her he was aware of her.
Where was he now? Dead by morning, du Pons had said, and she had no reason to doubt his word.
That night, the lowest point in her life, was worse than the night after the Port Madoc massacre. There she had known what was likely to happen. Here she was the prey of shapeless thoughts and wild speculations. And along with everything else was the knowledge that Rhys might indeed be dead by morning. Could he survive his wounds, the journey, and the dungeon?
In the morning, when they came to take her across the courtyard to King Will
iam’s audience chamber, she squared her shoulders and marched with a firm step. She would not let them think that a Welsh lady could be cowed by these Norman dogs.
King William, as red-faced and fat as ever, greeted her with false cordiality. “At last my cherished ward has returned to me! I wish that you could have come back of your own desire, for it would have made me much more pleased with you. But I have decided to forgive all.”
He surveyed her without pleasure. “You have changed. I do not see in you the charming little virgin who led all men astray.”
Gwyn said, “What I am, I am. I have paid for my sins.”
He laughed. “That may be, but you did not pay me. I have lost a good deal of money, one way or another, because of your treason.”
Gwyn said stoutly, “I am no traitor. I am a free-born Welsh woman.”
“Aha! The last time I saw you, I believe you told me that you were a Norman lady of position, eh? Well, well, whatever you are, you must pay the piper now, you know.”
“I owe you nothing.”
William said, musing, “Too bad I do not indulge in women’s charms. I find the flesh of women overripe for my taste. Another man, my brother perhaps, might enjoy this situation. A fascinating woman who owes me much.”
She eyed him stonily. There was nothing to lose, she thought. “Where is Rhys?”
William said, “Who? Oh yes, I remember, the man you came with. The man who styles himself Lord Rhys of the Western Marches, which is actually Norman territory. And yet he claims not to be my vassal. I do not understand the man’s reasoning, but it really makes no difference.”
Heaving his large bulk from the chair, he advanced across the room toward Gwyn. She shrank back, fearing he was going to touch her with his pudgy fingers, but he did not. Instead, he gazed at her with satisfaction. “I have certain plans for that companion of yours. I don’t think I’ll tell you about them now. But I must remember to feed him, else he will be no good to me. Does he bite?”
She stormed, “He is a sovereign lord. In his own land he is a prince, and you have no right —”
William said calmly, “In my dungeon men have no name and no rights. Forget him.”
Gwyn quickly decided that guile might serve her better than demands. “You know, I married while I was gone. Not the man you call your prisoner, but another.”
William said carelessly, “It makes no difference. I will provide you with another husband. For I am sure that if you have married, and experienced the delights that go with that state, you will be wild to repeat them.” He laughed sourly. “So. I had heard that you were no longer virgin. Does it matter?” When she did not answer, he chuckled, and his amusement alarmed her more than threats. “Too bad you do not relish my jest. You shall, my dear, you shall.”
Gwyn heard herself saying, “You plan to turn me over to your courtiers?”
William said, with an appearance of serious consideration, “No, no, I think not. They would simply kill you, and your suffering would be cut too short.”
He was a dangerous man; his dark soul brooded upon evils only he could know. A cold finger touched her spine.
Then suddenly the door opened and Prince Henry entered, unannounced. Gwyn turned to him, but Henry ignored her. He was furious with his brother. “Why have you put Lord Rhys in the dungeon? Why have you taken Gwyn prisoner? You agreed, we had an agreement —”
William replied loftily, “I do not acknowledge your right to take me to account. What I have done, I have done.”
Henry raged, but it was no use. William did not even appear to listen. At last Henry said, “I wish to take Gwyn away from this place. She is, after all, a lady, and she needs to have maidservants and others to attend her.”
William allowed it. Henry took Gwyn away. But William did take the precaution of sending his own man, Wat Tirel, with them. Henry gave her a word of caution, while Wat was bringing up the horses. “I will do what I can for you, Gwyn. But you must promise me one thing. You must trust me, and not mention Rhys to me or to William again.”
She said, “It is a crime what they are doing to him!”
Henry nodded in agreement. “I will get you out of here, but you must trust me, whatever happens.”
“But Rhys?”
Henry said harshly, “Look to your own skin, lady, and fret not about what cannot be helped.”
“Rhys is a lord by birth and breeding —”
“So was de Mowbray. Don’t forget it.”
De Mowbray, the great Earl of Northumberland, had rebelled against William Rufus five years ago. He had disappeared into a dungeon, and no man now knew — or admitted he knew — where he was, or even whether he was now alive or dead.
There was nothing more to be said, for Tirel came up with the horses, and they rode out through the gates. They were soon out of sight of Winchester. Henry turned, taking the left fork, away from the river, and soon they arrived at a small manor, hidden from the well-traveled track. Henry kept a secret smile on his face, like a child ready to show a surprise. He opened the door of the manor and ushered Gwyn in ahead of him. There at the far side of the reception room, next to the window, sat Princess Nesta!
Gwyn was shocked. But she could understand that Henry, a man with an eye for a pretty woman, would make Nesta his own.
Nesta preened herself complacently. She was, Gwyn quickly realized, very happy.
“Henry, my love,” said Nesta. “Please order some refreshment for our guest.”
She turned to Gwyn and led her across to a window looking out on the lawn. Henry turned to give orders to the servant and then came to sit nearby, watching Nesta as one watches a precocious child.
Nesta was pointing out her new gown to Gwyn. “Henry will bring me many more. He has promised me a castle, and some jewels, but I do not know just when. I am getting impatient, Henry.”
Gwyn spoke at last. “You didn’t ask about your brother, or Rhys.”
Nesta looked blank for a moment and then said, “Oh yes, it all seems so far away. How are they?”
“Nesta,” urged Gwyn, “you must go back to Brecknock. We have come all this way to rescue you. The prince will take you back if you ask him to.”
Nesta’s face went blank. “But I’m not going back. Why should I?”
Gwyn sought in vain for any mark of homesickness on the lovely face, any sign that Nesta realized that she was merely a paramour. “Your brother nearly died in your defense, and Lord Rhys was grievously wounded. Had it not been for his desire to bring you back to safety, he would not have traveled before his wounds healed.”
Nesta said, “They should not have bothered. For I am fortunate that Henry noticed me in the battle.”
Henry laughed regretfully. “By the saints, the Welsh tribes fight like demons!”
Gwyn returned to the attack. “You don’t care that your brother nearly lost his life? You don’t care that Prince Owen was sorely wounded? You don’t care that Rhys is now in a dungeon?”
Nesta said, “Of course I care. But you must tell me whether you like this color on me, or whether it is too pale a green.”
Gwyn demanded, “And what price does the prince demand of you?”
Nesta’s eyes flashed once, and Gwyn caught a glimpse of shrewdness there. “Any man,” said Nesta, “would demand the same, and what is my body, after all?”
As soon as Gwyn could, she made her escape. She nearly dragged Henry behind her into the hall. Henry gave her a rueful smile. He shrugged his shoulders and said, “A poor exchange, I agree.”
“And you forced her!” cried Gwyn.
Henry laughed. “Does she act resentful? Did she say I seduced her? It is not Nesta who is the victim, but I.”
Gwyn said, “As I thought. When did you find out I was not your captive?”
He said, “The cloak was yours. I saw it on top of the parapet. I had no doubts until much later. Your people were winning, and we had the worst of the battle. Since we had our objective, all wrapped up in the red cloak, we retre
ated in good order.” He fell silent a moment, and then said, “I had no idea there were so many casualties on your side, and I am sorry for it. Your men are braver than any other we have fought.”
Finally he threw his head back and laughed. “Do you want to know something? I’ll tell you exactly the moment when I realized I had taken the wrong woman. It occurred to me that my captive was not fighting me tooth and nail — so I knew it couldn’t be you!”
Gwyn was forced to smile. “You will not wed her?”
Henry chuckled. “I cannot take my eyes from her. A vision, is she not? Adorned by my largess, she makes a lovely picture.” He lowered his voice. “But wed? It is only my eyes she rules, not my head.”
Gwyn managed a sour grin. “What are you going to do with her?”
Henry said, “She’s pretty, and content with me. She is even-tempered, and she suits me very well indeed.” Then in an attempt to be honest, he added, “For now.”
5
Henry looked earnestly at her. “Let us have done with talk,” he said. He took her unawares, his hands upon her shoulders, and kissed her lightly. Then his eyes grew dark, and he pressed her against the wall, and his arms slid around her. He kissed her again, not lightly, his exploring hands moving across her back, down past her waist, to cup her body against his.
At length his lips moved to touch her lightly on the tip of her nose and as if in benison, on her forehead. His body did not move away.
“You are too easily roused,” Gwyn said breathlessly.
“You always could do this to me,” he told her.
Henry seemed to be laboring under some great mental stress. “Gwyn, I told you once that I had a destiny, but that my fate and England’s were tied up together.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Do you remember that?”
Solemnly she nodded. She did not know where he was leading, but it was clear that he had something of great importance on his mind. He continued, “This is a smiling land. It is fertile, it holds great promise for those who love it, and for those who will care for it. To guard it against invaders, to bring law and order —”
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