The Warlord’s Bride

by Margaret Moore

  “My little sparrow!” Lord James cried as she fell into his embrace.

  “Oh, Father!”

  Madoc glanced at her mother, to see tears on her cheeks and joy in her eyes. Perhaps they had been too ill to come to their daughter’s aid. Yet whatever their reason for not helping Roslynn, he was quite sure that if his child were in the same predicament that Roslynn had been, he would have done everything he could to protect her, even if he had to climb from his grave to do it.

  Roslynn drew back and finally spoke to her husband. “You mustn’t blame my parents for my marriage to Wimarc or what came after, Madoc. I gave them no choice, and Wimarc prevented their letters from reaching me, or I would have known they would help me.”

  She had obviously heard him condemning her father—another terrible blunder that could make her even more upset with him.

  He hurried to try to undo the damage. “Forgive my hasty words, my lord. I hope you can understand I spoke to you as I did because I care about your daughter. I can well believe Wimarc capable of any evil.”

  And perhaps if she’d received those letters, she might not have done as the king commanded and come to Llanpowell, he suddenly realized.

  Before he could say more to show his genuine remorse, Uncle Lloyd came bustling up to the dais. “Well, now, here we are then,” he said, gleefully rubbing his hands together. “Lowri, Bron! Let’s get a table here, and food and drink. You must all be parched and starving and I’ll not have it said the folk of Llanpowell are lacking in hospitality.”

  Determined to impress Lord James and his wife—as Roslynn hoped to impress his noble neighbors at the feast, he realized with another twinge of guilt—he assumed his most charming manner. “Allow me to introduce my uncle, Lloyd ap Iolo. A finer fellow you couldn’t meet, although he did try to steal my bride from me the day she arrived.”

  “I never did!” Lloyd cried, blushing to the roots of his gray hair. “A misunderstanding it was, my lord and lady, that’s all. I forgot to make the proper introductions, you see, so taken was I by her grace and beauty.”

  “As we all are in Llanpowell,” Madoc graciously added, trusting Roslynn understood by his words and manner that he regretted their quarrel.

  Just in case she didn’t, he would make sure of it later, when they were alone.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  AN ANXIOUS ROSLYNN wasn’t sure what to make of her husband’s behavior as the evening meal progressed. He was genial, polite and seemed to be taking great pains to impress her parents.

  Before his angry outburst over the cost of the feast, she would have been delighted and pleased by this behavior, as well as proud. Now, though, she felt more dread than pleasure, fearful that he might be putting on a performance, as Wimarc had so often done, and that she had never really seen the true Madoc until today. Perhaps the whole time they had been together, he had been playing a part, assuming a mask, while the real Madoc had been hidden beneath.

  Maybe she had been duped again, led astray once more by her lustful desires and her wish for a home and children at her knee.

  And if she had been?

  She would not stay at Llanpowell. This time, especially knowing that she still had her parents’ love, she would flee.

  Sick at heart, trying not to be swayed by Madoc’s charm or his handsome face, she smiled when she deemed it necessary and spoke when he addressed her. She, too, could play a part, and she did so now—that of dutiful, even loving, wife.

  Until she could take the strain no longer and said she wished to retire.

  “Of course,” Madoc replied, rising and putting out his hand to help her stand. “I’m exhausted myself, so if your parents will excuse me, I’ll go with you.”

  Her mother voiced no objection and neither did her father, although what excuse could they give to force their host to stay?

  It seemed a very long walk through the hall to the stairs tonight, and Roslynn’s feet felt as heavy as rocks as they went up the steps. What would he say to her when they were alone? What would he do? Would the mask fall from his face and violent anger return, to be unleashed against her once they were alone?

  She could scarcely breathe by the time Madoc opened the door. Breaking away from him, she hurried inside, fighting the tears that threatened to come.

  Yet still, she whirled around to face him, determined to be brave and never again be humiliated by a man.

  To find Madoc kneeling on the floor like the most humble penitent.

  “Roslynn, forgive me,” he said. “I shouldn’t have gotten angry about the money for the feast, especially since I’d told you that you could have whatever you would. I was a fool to get so angry—but please know that even in my hottest temper, I will never hurt you. I’d sooner cut off my sword arm than strike you.”

  She could only stare in shocked disbelief as he got to his feet.

  “I apologize for frightening you,” he continued. “I’m sorry if I upset you and especially if I made you fear me.”

  She didn’t know what to say, how to feel—whether relief, or joy or suspicion that this, too, was a trick.

  “I mean it, Roslynn, with all my heart,” he said softly, a longing in his eyes that seemed too sincere to be feigned. “I was a stupid fool, and I regret it deeply. Can you forgive me and forget I was such a lout?”

  “You did frighten me,” she admitted. “I was afraid you weren’t the man I believed you to be.” And that I’d been duped again, led astray by my lust.

  “And now?” he asked warily, taking a single step toward her, apparently humbled.

  How she longed to believe him sincerely penitent! How much she wished she could forgive and forget his anger and her fear.

  “I was in the wrong, too, Madoc,” she said instead, because it was true. “I should have ensured that Ivor kept me informed of the total amount we were spending and asked you if there was a limit. I promise you, I’ll do so in the future, and be less extravagant.”

  “I don’t care if you leave me a pauper, as long as you forgive me and believe I’ll never hurt you,” he said fervently, his gaze intense, as if he were trying to will her to forgive him by the power of his mind alone.

  “I will, Madoc, I will,” she said, telling herself she must try, or live in fear forever.

  Had he not most humbly, sincerely apologized? Could she not see the genuine contrition in his dark eyes, so different from Wimarc’s false expressions?

  He leaned down as if to kiss her, then paused, a look of even graver concern creasing his brow. “Was it my selfish anger that made you ill?”

  “No,” she assured him, for that was true, too. “I think I’m with child, although it’s early yet.”

  His eyes widened as he regarded her with delighted amazement. “A child! And so soon!”

  Did he think… “The child is yours, Madoc, on my honor,” she said firmly, pulling away from him abruptly.

  “I don’t doubt that,” he said at once, gently tugging her back into his arms and embracing her. “God save me, I’m making a mess of everything today! I’m happy, truly. It’s just that childbirth is fraught with danger, Roslynn.”

  “I’m young and quite well, except for a little dizziness,” she assured him, and herself. “I should be fine, and so should our child, although we should pray for health and a safe delivery.”

  “Aye,” he whispered, holding her close. “Aye.”

  She clung to him tightly, ardently wishing she still didn’t feel this skein of dread wrapped around her heart, slowly strangling the happiness she’d had with Madoc. She wished she wasn’t afraid she might never again know that same untainted joy.

  Surely she could. She must—or she would be imprisoned in fear and misery for the rest of her life.

  “Please don’t say anything to your uncle or anyone else just yet,” she said softly. “It’s still early and I would be completely certain first.”

  “I’ll keep it to myself—as best I can,” he added, smiling down at her. “I’m not known for
my ability to keep secrets, but I’ll try because you want it so. I want to do all in power to make you happy, fy rhosyn.”

  How could she not trust him when he looked at her thus? How could she not believe his contrition heartfelt and his words true?

  “I want to make you happy, too,” she whispered, reaching up to kiss him.

  IT WAS NIGHT, and Madoc stood in a chamber like the one he shared with Roslynn…but it was different, too. The bed was gone, although it had always been there since Madoc was a boy. The walls were in shadow, so it was as if they didn’t exist at all. There was no window, no door, the only light a single flickering candle…somewhere.

  He heard a sob at his feet and looked down.

  There, on a straw pallet, lay Gwendolyn, tears running down her sickly white face. Her hair was loose about her, damp with perspiration, and there was blood.

  So much blood.

  “Promise me, Madoc,” she whispered weakly as a babe wailed nearby. “Promise me…”

  “I promise,” he murmured, kneeling beside her and taking her limp hand in his, feeling the life ebb out of her with the blood that could not be stopped.

  A man appeared in the shadows across from him—Trefor, dressed for battle in mail and black surcoat, with a sneer upon his face. “You broke your promise, Madoc, even though it took the last of her life to ask it.”

  Trefor hadn’t been there the day Owain was born and Gwendolyn had died.

  His brother raised his sword and pointed it at Madoc. “You broke your promise to a dying woman. You don’t deserve to live.”

  Madoc dropped Gwendolyn’s lifeless hand and started to stand.

  Uncle Lloyd, a goblet in his hand, walked out of the gloom and came to stand beside Trefor. “A fine nephew you are, breaking a promise,” he jeered. “And here I thought you were better than that.”

  Madoc turned, ready to flee from their accusations—but where? And how? There was no door, no window, only darkness.

  Then Roslynn appeared as if by magic, a bloody lamb in her arms and disgust in her eyes. “You broke your promise,” she said, her voice hollow and lifeless, as if she were dying, too. “You broke the promise you made to a woman you claimed to love.”

  “You don’t understand,” he cried desperately. “I—”

  “You broke your word,” Roslynn intoned as she backed into the shadows and the babe’s cries grew louder and louder. “You said you loved her and you broke your word. You said you loved her and you broke your—”

  With a gasp, Madoc sat up. Panting, he looked around wildly. This was his chamber, the very room where Gwendolyn had died, and he had made his promise.

  But he was in the bed and—thank God!—Roslynn slept peacefully beside him.

  Leaning forward, he cradled his head in his hands and tried to calm his racing heart.

  A dream. It had been a dream. One born of memory and dismay and guilt, but a dream just the same.

  He took a few more deep breaths, then eased himself out of bed, stepping gingerly on the floor so he wouldn’t wake Roslynn. He welcomed the chill of the cold air against his naked skin, for it confirmed he was awake, and that had been a nightmare.

  He put his hand on the bedpost and took another gulp of air as he remembered the dream-Roslynn regarding him with disgust, holding that bloody lamb in her arms. An honorable woman, she would surely look at him with just that expression if she ever found out the truth, and about the promise made and broken.

  “Madoc?”

  He turned toward the bed. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. It’s early yet. Go back to sleep.”

  Instead of doing as he suggested, Roslynn raised herself on her elbow and looked toward the window. “Can you tell if the day will be fair?”

  Seeing no clouds hiding the stars, he was able to give her a smile. “No rain today, I think. A fine day for a feast.”

  “Good,” she said, sinking back down into the feather bed. “Are you coming back to bed?”

  “No,” he replied. He’d never be able to fall asleep now. “I think I’ll take a stroll on the wall walk and make sure the sentries are awake.”

  “Not like that, I hope,” she replied, a hint of a smile on her face as she ran her gaze over his naked body. “You’ll catch a chill.”

  “Might give the lads a turn, too,” he noted with a laugh as he went to the chest and pulled out some dark, woolen breeches.

  He hesitated. Since the shearing had been completed yesterday, he might as well dress for the feast later today. Guests could begin arriving at any time during the morning.

  “Are you going to wear that?”

  Madoc glanced down at the leather tunic he now held in his hands. It was his better one, not the one he wore most days. “What’s wrong with it?”

  “Your other black tunic would be better, the one you wore when we married.”

  “It doesn’t fit properly.”

  “It’s very fine wool.”

  “It’s too uncomfortable.”

  “You look more like the nobleman you are in that tunic,” she coaxed.

  “No doubt I’d smell more like a nobleman if I dabbed myself with perfume like the king’s courtiers,” he muttered, disgruntled by her implication that he didn’t look noble in his regular clothes.

  Then he cursed himself for a fool. What did it matter what he wore? This was a day to make her proud, not cause more difficulties between them. “You’re right. I’ll change later.”

  “Thank you, Madoc.”

  She sounded so relieved, he didn’t begrudge his acquiescence and went to kiss her soft cheek. “Now you rest, my lady. I’m sure everything’s well prepared and the feast will be the best there’s ever been in Llanpowell.”

  “I hope so, Madoc,” she said, smiling up at him, her hair sleep tousled and spread upon the pillow, her blue eyes shining, her body naked beneath the coverlet.

  Suddenly, checking to see if his sentries were awake at their posts didn’t seem important at all….

  THE SUN WAS WELL UP by the time Madoc strolled into the barracks, his nightmare all but forgotten in the pleasant aftermath of lovemaking.

  Some of his men were sitting on their cots in the large room, others were lying on theirs, heads cushioned in their hands. A round hearth was in the middle of the room, unlit at this time of year. Pegs beside the cots held cloaks and swordbelts and bits of clothing, and basins and ewers rested upon a long table at the far end of the room, where more pegs held drying linen.

  Every man sat up abruptly or leaped to attention as their overlord, tugging the damn black tunic down, closed the thick oaken door and turned to address them.

  “Sit,” he said, planting his feet, his hands clasped behind his back, “or stand as you prefer. I’ve just come to remind you to be on your best behavior today. My wife’s put a lot of work into this feast, and I’ve spent a lot of money, so you better damn well behave like decent, God-fearing Welshmen. No drunkenness and no rowdy songs about mermaids or anything else, all right?”

  “You like the mermaid song,” Ioan protested, his voice grave but his blue-green eyes twinkling with merriment.

  “How would it look to the Normans if my men are no better behaved than louts in a tavern?” Madoc replied. “Look you, I’m serious about this. I want today to go well, for my wife’s sake, especially since she’s—” He caught himself just in time. “Well, it’s important to her, that’s all.”

  Ioan’s eyes widened and so did his grin. “I win the wager!” he cried, surveying his companions with triumph. “Pay up, and the next time I tell you a woman’s with child because she’s looking a little weary and a little plumper in the face, maybe you’ll believe me. And now we’ve another reason to celebrate, eh, Madoc?”

  Hugh the Beak, standing by the door, called out, “Here’s hoping for another son for Llanpowell!”

  “Aye, aye!” cried the men, fists pumping and grins all around.

  Madoc cringed inwardly and cursed himself for a dolt. Yet despite his slip, he still
should try to keep Roslynn’s secret for as long as possible, as she’d asked.

  “Did I say she was with child?” he demanded. “No, I did not, and you’d better not be making any more such wagers. It’s insolent, and if it weren’t the shearing feast today, I’d seriously consider having you all run from here to the top of the mountain and back again.”

  Most of the men flushed or looked sorry, but not Ioan. “Nothing wrong with a bit of wishful thinking, is there, my lord?”

  Madoc hated feeling like he was lying to the men who would give their lives to protect him and his family. “I’m not saying she’s not—but no more speculation and wagering, lads. I’ll tell you the moment Lady Roslynn gives me leave. I don’t want to be upsetting her now, or have her thinking I can’t keep a confidence.”

  “While women can, eh?” Hugh the Beak asked skeptically.

  “Well, that’s how she wants it until she’s sure,” Madoc said.

  “Then I’ll just offer congratulations for some possible future eventuality,” Ioan said as if he were a seer, peering into a magic glass.

  “Ioan,” Madoc warned, “one of these days, you’re going to go too far and say too much. Now, all of you, mind you don’t let it slip.”

  The way he had.

  “We’ll be careful, won’t we, boys?” Ioan said. “It’ll be sleeping in the barracks for Madoc if his wife finds out and how he snores!”

  “I do not!”

  “Well, and we don’t want you to have any trouble with the wife. That’s women for you—bane and blessing.”

  “Aye!” young Gwillym enthusiastically agreed. “You can never please them, can you?”

  “Some of us men can,” Hugh returned. “Remains to be seen if you ever will.”

  A shout came from the inner gate.

  “Seems some of your guests are keen to get here,” Ioan noted.

  “Aye, so it seems,” Madoc said, turning to leave and giving his tunic another tug. “Remember what I said, men—best behavior. Let’s make the lady proud.”

  Hugh suddenly turned to look at Madoc with stunned horror on his face.