He was lean and taut, with well-defined muscles in his shoulders, chest, stomach. She remembered how the crisp hair of his chest had brushed against her own sensitive skin, how his strong arms had held her in their embrace.
She shivered.
“You’re cold.”
“I—I dropped my—”
He reached down and picked the blanket up for her. Then, when she thought he would wrap it around her, he seemed to change his mind. He handed it to her, keeping some distance between them.
“You…must be hungry.”
Siân nodded. “It woke me, I guess,” she said in a small voice, avoiding thoughts of the nightmare. She pulled the blanket around her shoulders and turned to reach for the butter crock.
“Henry’s asleep?”
“Yes,” Siân said. “He had a long day.”
“So did you,” he replied, watching her spread the butter. He poured her a mug of water. “We never talked about the incident this morning…with Wrexton.”
Siân shook her head and sat down on a hard, wooden bench near the fireplace. The fire was still smoldering and Hugh rearranged it to burn hotter. Siân took a bite of her bread.
“What did Wrexton do to make you hate him so?” Hugh asked as he took his place on the bench next to her.
“You won’t understand,” she said.
“You cannot know that,” Hugh responded. “You might be surprised at the kinds of things I understand.”
Siân realized that it was true. He had surprised her several times in the days since she’d met him, and perhaps it was time to speak of what Wrexton had done. She’d held the pain inside for so long…
“When my da died, Owen was sent to London,” she said. “I was given to my mam’s brothers in Pwll.”
“How old were you?”
“When I went to Pwll? Ten or so,” Siân said. “Pwll’s a small village—it lies near the eastern border of Wales. It’s just a hillock or two from Wrexton lands.
“The people of Pwll weren’t exactly pleased to have a Tudor in their midst…My father’s name was heavily associated with Glendower and the rebellion. I couldn’t deny it. My uncles couldn’t deny it. And Pwll had already had plenty of trouble from Wrexton.
“So I was supposed to keep to myself,” Siân said. “I was to stay away from the other children in town, though that wasn’t quite practical. I couldn’t avoid them altogether.”
Hugh got a distinct impression of a lively young Siân, being kept to a solitary existence and his heart clenched in his chest, thinking of the loneliness and isolation she must have felt. Though Hugh’s own parents had died when he was young, he’d been welcomed into Wolf Colston’s family like another son. And after Wolf’s father and brother had been killed in ambush, Hugh had been taken into the house of Wolf’s German grandfather. He had never wanted for companionship.
“Our families didn’t know it, but I had friends…two young boys in particular. Idwal ap Rhys and Dafydd ap Dai. We used to run all over the hills and dales, getting into trouble as much as not, but careful not to let anyone know I was with them.” She smiled wistfully, remembering the fun they used to have.
“It was late winter, about a year after I had gone to Pwll, when I found two young lambs lost in a narrow valley that lies between Pwll land and Wrexton land. They weren’t any of ours, at least that’s what Idwal said. Between us, we decided that if they were Wrexton’s, he could afford to lose a couple of little lambs, being a rich Saxon.”
Siân stopped to take a swallow of water.
“People were hungry. It hadn’t been a good year, and we were in need of food,” she said. “Dafydd butchered the lambs out in the woods and we took the meat home. Their mothers were suspicious, as were my aunts, but hunger won out and our families had several fine meals.”
“How did Wrexton find out?”
Siân shook her head. “I’ll never know,” she said. “We never thought to bury the carcasses…never realized…In any event, Wrexton came to the village with some of his men, demanding that the thieves own up.”
“And did they?”
“Not at first, of course,” Siân replied. “We were children. Afraid. But people had figured it out…”
“What happened, Siân?”
“I—I came f-forward first,” she said, her voice trembling now, her throat burning. “I told him I’d stolen the sheep and that I’d pay for them. The earl laughed in my face. He said he knew a measly girl hadn’t taken his sheep and butchered them in the woods—even if I was a Tudor. He had me tied to a post and he beat me—”
“God’s Cross, Siân!”
“—and tried to get me to tell who’d helped me.”
Hugh pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her.
“Idwal came out,” she said. “Then Dafydd. They couldn’t bear to watch what Wrexton was doing to me. His men grabbed them. Oh, Hugh!” she cried, burying her face in his chest. “They were only boys! Barely twelve years old! Their voices had not yet changed. They were still so soft, so gangly.
“Wrexton took them. He had them bound…”
“You don’t have to finish,” Hugh said quietly, but it was as if she hadn’t heard him.
“The Saxons threw ropes over a tree branch,” she said, weeping now, having difficulty getting the words out. “Wr-Wrexton said this was what they g-got for trusting a Tudor. And he…he h-hanged them. In front of me, in front of the whole town…everyone.” Her voice was the barest whisper by the time she finished.
“I still see their faces sometimes,” she said, sniffling, thinking of the nightmare.
“Siân, don’t.”
“And their mothers…I hear their voices…see their eyes,” Siân continued. “And I know I was to blame.”
“You weren’t, Siân,” Hugh said. “If there’s any blame at all—it lies with Wrexton.”
“Yes, he carries the blame,” Siân said, “and that’s why…this morning…why…”
“I see now.”
“I promised myself that day—the day those boys died—that I would deal with Wrexton someday,” Siân said. “I didn’t know how or when, I just knew that someday I would end his life just as he ended Idwal’s and Dafydd’s.”
Hugh let out a long sigh. Her head was nestled under his chin, so his breath ruffled the hair on top of her head. “Siân…”
“But even now, I don’t know. Even if you hadn’t stopped me, I don’t know if I could have gone through with it,” she said, pulling away and looking up at him with those luminous blue eyes, her nose red and runny, her lips swollen from crying. “I still don’t know if I have the courage to hold to my vow.”
Hugh tenderly caressed her face. It was no wonder she’d wanted to murder Wrexton. Her feelings for the man must have been akin to what he’d felt about Philip Colston, the deadly madman who’d captured and imprisoned him in one of the dark tunnels under Windermere Castle. The man who’d tortured him beyond all covenants of humanity.
Hugh didn’t know if murder was ever justified. But he did know how it felt to want it more than he wanted his next breath.
“You were a child when you made that vow,” he finally said. “You can’t hold yourself to it now, Siân.”
She didn’t answer him, only sat close, in the shelter of his arms. Hugh didn’t feel the chill of the room on his bare skin, nor the lateness of the hour. For now, it was enough to hold Siân Tudor.
They left Morburn Manor before daybreak, to avoid being seen by the thatchers and carpenters who would soon arrive. Henry was still asleep, a condition in which both Hugh and Siân wanted to keep him, so Hugh carried the boy for the first hour of the day’s journey.
Siân rode quietly behind Hugh, thinking of the way he had held her the night before as she poured her heart out to him.
She couldn’t remember ever receiving such comfort before, and it gave her an odd sense of belonging, a feeling of intimacy, that she’d never experienced before. No one had held her or spoken gently to her after the boys
had been killed. Her uncles had untied and released her hands from the post where Wrexton had beaten her skin raw. They’d taken her inside her uncle Llwel’s house where her wounds had been tended in miserly silence, without a thought to the grief and guilt she felt over the tragedy.
But now there was Hugh, who seemed to understand the depth of her anguish. And Siân’s heart swelled with the wonder of it.
They rode on, following the worn little footpath as the sun crept its way above the horizon directly behind them.
“Hew?” Henry said as he awoke with a yawn and a stretch. “Hungry.”
“You are always hungry, Parry,” Siân said with a laugh. She nudged her horse closer to Hugh’s and handed the boy a slice of apple. “We’ll stop in a few minutes, shall we, Hugh?”
Hugh’s brow furrowed with incredulity. How could she smile and appear so carefree when the events of her youth had been so devastating? She might not be justified in murdering Wrexton, but how could she go on so cheerfully, knowing the man lived…prospered?
Siân chatted amiably with Henry as Hugh mulled things over. She was amazingly resilient, leaving all she knew in Wales to go to her brother in London, accepting Owen’s decree that she go to the abbey, taking charge of the children at Clairmont, organizing activities for them during the repair and rebuilding of the town.
He knew of no ladies who could have endured all that Siân Tudor had, and still retain her sense of humor, her apparent delight in life. And courage? She wondered if she had the courage of her convictions.
Hugh almost laughed.
Just because she hadn’t murdered Wrexton didn’t mean she lacked courage.
He wished he could hand the despicable earl’s head to her on a platter, then stopped to realize that it was not his place to become Siân’s champion. He would find a suitable husband for her, and provide a decent dowry if need be, if only to see her satisfactorily settled. Nicholas hadn’t declined to wed her, but he hadn’t exactly agreed, either. In fact, his manner had been altogether unlike Nicholas. He’d been uncharacteristically quiet and pensive when Hugh had spoken to him about taking Siân to wife.
Hugh vaguely wondered what was amiss with his friend. It had been so long since the cares and worries of others had bothered Hugh that he didn’t know what to make of Nicholas and his quiet, sober attitude of late. Something surely was not right, but Hugh dismissed the question for now, since there was naught he could do for Nick until he returned to Clairmont.
The day’s ride was long and tedious again, with the threat of rain hovering over them all afternoon. The clouds were dark, low, and heavy, and Hugh worried that they would not make as many miles as were needed to get to their destination, and that they’d wind up staying the night somewhere along the road.
Though Henry started well, he ended up being difficult, and Siân insisted on stopping several times—too many times, in Hugh’s opinion—to give the boy a chance to run and play.
But Hugh was only as patient as common sense would allow, and more than once he had to compel Siân and Henry back into the saddle, much sooner than either of them liked.
The rain started near dusk.
Hugh wrapped himself in his thick cloak and held Henry underneath it, close to his body as they rode. The boy snuggled against Hugh and allowed himself, finally, to be lulled to sleep.
“Do you suppose there’ll be a cotter’s hut or shelter of some kind where we can wait out this rain?” Siân asked, glancing fearfully at the faint flashes of lightning in the distance.
Hugh nodded and glanced around for landmarks. “We’ll stop soon,” he said as he nudged his horse to a quicker pace. Siân kept up behind him, wishing they’d soon find a place to stop for the night. She was exhausted, and her backside felt miserable from riding. She needed rest, and knew Henry needed it, too.
Soon, the aroma of a fire reached her nose, and before Siân had time to wonder about it, they came upon three ragged men sitting at the side of the road under the branches of several low-hanging trees. A small, smoky fire burned between them as they sat among the rocks and broken logs, eyeing the passersby. Siân held her breath. This would not be a good time for a confrontation, she thought, with Henry sitting on Hugh’s lap and her riding behind, unarmed in any way.
Hugh appeared unconcerned by the soggy vagabonds, though, merely kicking his heels into his mare’s sides and quickly moving out of range. The danger was past before it ever really amounted to anything.
They rode on as darkness fell and the rain increased.
“We must stop soon, Hugh,” Siân said. “I fear I am too…sore to go on.”
“Just over that rise, Siân,” Hugh said, chagrined at having to keep her going. He knew she was uncomfortable, he’d seen her grimace the last time she’d climbed onto the mare, but there hadn’t been any remedy for it. Tonight, at least, they would get a long night’s rest, and tomorrow their journey would be shorter. Windermere was not far.
They veered onto a side path that led to a large manor house that was deserted, and horribly neglected. Hugh picked his way along the overgrown path, and rode up to the stable yard. Siân glanced over at Hugh, who was carefully dismounting with Henry. “Maman?” the boy said as he awoke.
“No, Henry,” Hugh said, sheltering him from the rain as he went to help Siân down.
Her legs would hardly hold her when she stood. “Are you all right?” Hugh asked, frowning. It was unlike Siân to show any weakness at all and Hugh realized she must be more “leather worn” than she wanted to admit.
She nodded. “Just weary. What place is this?” she asked, stretching, shaking out her legs.
“Dryden Hall,” Hugh replied, glancing warily up at the great, rundown house that was his boyhood home. “Come with me to the stable. I don’t want to risk you going into the house without me.”
“Why, Hugh? What do you—”
“It’s been empty for a long time,” he said as he led the horses away. Siân’s legs felt marginally better now, and she was able to walk, so she caught up to him. “I just prefer to be cautious.”
Siân asked no further questions, but followed him as he carried a whining Henry and led the horses to the stable. It felt good to get out of the rain, and the roof of the stable was intact. The old building felt positively cozy after so many hours in the cold and wet weather. She took Henry from Hugh, then walked back to the entranceway of the stable door to look across the yard at the house.
She realized this must be Hugh’s family seat. Once a beautiful home, it was now a wreck and Siân wondered whatever had happened to the rest of the Drydens. Where were Hugh’s parents, his siblings? Why had such an impressive home been left to ruin?
“Look, Parry,” she said, pointing to the house. “There is no light at the house.”
“Where the people gone?” Henry said as he lay his head on Siân’s shoulder and stuck his thumb back in his mouth.
“Mayhap there are none,” Siân replied quietly. “Mayhap we are alone here,” she added as she repressed a wave of anticipation that she knew she should not even acknowledge. This would be her last night alone with Hugh, for he said they would reach Windermere on the morrow. But Siân could not afford to think of intimacies with Hugh, of comfort and affection between them. Hugh was a man betrothed to another. He would never betray Marguerite, nor would Siân want him to.
“Where’s Maman?”
“Maman is at Clairmont,” Siân said, then she changed the subject to divert his attention as well as her own. “Soon we’ll have supper, Parry, and we can play in the house. I’ve got your wooden blocks. And mayhap Hugh will let us explore the house.”
After their arrival at Windermere, Siân did not know what would happen. She assumed Hugh would travel back to Clairmont right away to be with Marguerite. That thought gave her pause, but she did not allow herself to dwell upon it. Hugh’s future was laid out.
As Siân saw it, her own choices were limited. She could either beg a place at Windermere, taking a servile pos
ition in the duke’s household, or she could return to Clairmont herself, and do what she’d intended on the previous morning. Kill Wrexton. She wondered if Hugh would escort her back if he knew what she planned.
She doubted he would allow her to go through with it, even though he said he understood her hatred of the man, her need for vengeance.
Hugh stepped up behind her. “Stay here while I go into the house,” he said.
“But—”
“It looks vacant, but I want to be sure,” he said. “Siân, if anything should happen to me, there’s a village a short distance down this path. Keep follo—”
“No, Hugh!” She startled him by reaching up and hugging him to her tightly, with Henry squeezed between them. The child protested loudly, and Siân merely said in a quiet voice, “Just be careful…and there will be no need for us to go to the village.”
Unable to keep himself from touching her, Hugh smoothed a wisp of hair from her forehead. “I will,” he said, and then he was gone.
Hugh wasted no time in getting a fire going.
The house smelled of must and disuse, but it was empty for the most part—save for a few lucky mice who’d found a safe haven in the walls and under the floorboards. Hugh assumed there were bats upstairs, as well, but he was not inclined to go looking for them in the dark. It was enough to know there were no other, more dangerous, intruders about.
Hugh took no pleasure in meandering through the dark, cavernous hall where he’d spent his early childhood. He’d had his fill of dark, decaying places when he was taken prisoner by Philip Colston, and had avoided all dank and dismal places since then. But it couldn’t be avoided now. He had to provide some kind of shelter for Siân and the boy, and Dryden Hall was the most likely choice. It was their best refuge, where they could stay the night and no one would be the wiser after they left on the morrow.
Henry started sneezing as soon as he came inside, but his reaction to the dust and mildew subsided after a few minutes. Hugh went back to the stable to get their packs, and as soon as he dropped them off, he disappeared again to take care of the horses.
From the look and smell of Dryden Hall, Siân knew it had been left empty for quite some time. It was doubtful that any of the rooms would be habitable, but at least the building seemed a good, sturdy shelter from the rain. Siân was grateful they wouldn’t have to spend the night out of doors.
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