“What?” Madoc demanded, quickening his pace until he stood beside the Beak and could see for himself what had brought that expression to the man’s features.
Trefor ap Gruffydd stood in the center of the courtyard of Llanpowell, as bold and arrogant as if he owned it.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
WHAT THE DEVIL was he doing there?
The gall of his brother—for surely, as God made Adam, Roslynn would not have invited Trefor to the feast.
Or would she? Did she think this could be a way to make peace between them?
If so, he thought as he strode toward his brother, skirting the extra tables and benches already set out for the feast, one look at his brother’s haughty, sneering face should tell her, or anyone, how impossible that was.
It had been nearly six years since Madoc had seen his brother up close, but Trefor hadn’t changed, or at least, not much. Although he was a bit more unkempt and leaner in the face, he was still the same handsome fellow who could make every woman between here and the Hebrides swoon with desire with those bright blue eyes, the irises rimmed with black.
His looks wouldn’t help him through the outer gates of Llanpowell, though, so how had he managed it? Madoc silently vowed to find out who was on duty, and when he did, they were going to regret…
There was a white flag of truce tucked in Trefor’s belt. That would explain why he’d been allowed inside, for his men would respect that.
Trefor had not come alone. Rhodri and several other men—thieves and cutthroats by the look of them—were at the side yard near the stables, along with some mangy horses. Several men of Llanpowell, including the guards on the wall, were watching them, clearly ready to attack if Madoc gave the word.
“Greetings, Madoc,” Trefor said with an insolent nod of the head when his brother reached him. “I see you’re expecting plenty of company.”
“Aye, but you weren’t invited.” Or so he hoped.
“Since when does a brother need an invitation to the home of his father and grandfather?” Trefor replied, telling Madoc he had not been invited or, being Trefor, he would have said so.
Trefor came toward him until they stood eye to eye. “What, a man can’t visit his home—the home that should be his—on a feast day when every neighbor should be welcome?”
“The home you lost through your own dishonorable conduct,” Madoc retorted.
“The estate you stole from me, along with Gwendolyn.”
“You lost her when you came drunk and late to the wedding, and fresh from a brothel.”
Trefor shifted his weight from side to side, like a man preparing to fight. “I never said that’s where I’d been.”
“No doubt you were too drunk to remember what you said, but you were sure enough that day,” Madoc replied, rolling his shoulders to loosen the muscles, as he always did before he fought. “No doubt you don’t remember the horror in our mother’s eyes, or the look of shame in our father’s.”
“I know you had your excuse to take what was mine at last,” his brother charged, his hand going to the hilt of his sword. “You’d waited for all your life for that chance, you selfish, scheming mochyn!”
“What are you but a thief and a scoundrel, to come onto my land and steal my sheep and kill my ram?” Madoc countered as he reached for his. “Or will you deny that, too?”
“I killed that ram, all right. Fine animal, that—as fine an animal as that woman John sent you, or so Rhodri tells me. If I’d known John would give his lackeys such rewards, Madoc, I might have sold myself to him, too. Rhodri says she’s the prettiest Norman wench a man could ever hope to fu—”
Madoc’s temper exploded and, with a roar of rage, he tackled his brother. They landed hard on the cobblestones and Madoc hit his brother everywhere and anywhere he could, until Ioan and Hugh pulled him away. Several of his men were around them, swords drawn, and more had surrounded Trefor’s men.
“Flag of truce, Madoc,” Hugh reminded him through clenched teeth. “You’ll dishonor yourself if you kill him here and now.”
“Aye, I hear you,” Madoc muttered, although he was still enraged.
A table was overturned and a bench, but Madoc had no memory of how that had happened.
Rhodri helped Trefor, his nose bleeding, to his feet. “Aye, you would dishonor a flag of truce, wouldn’t you,” his brother sneered, his lip swelling and a bruise forming on his chin.
“Shut your stinking mouth and get out,” Madoc commanded. “Take these rogues and leave Llanpowell and never come back, or so help me God, I will kill you.”
Trefor smirked as he wiped the blood from his face with the back of his hand. “Temper, little brother, temper—although you never could rein it in, could you?”
“Get out of my castle before I throw you in my dungeon and leave you to the king’s justice.”
Trefor’s eyes gleamed spitefully as he spread his arms wide. “What, you’d bring me before a Norman court? What would Uncle Lloyd say? Where is he, anyway?”
Madoc had no idea where Uncle Lloyd was, and didn’t care.
“Who is this, Madoc?” Roslynn asked as she swept down the steps of the hall.
She was dressed in that beautiful red gown she’d worn on their wedding day. Her hair was uncovered and unbound and falling past her waist.
Pride and triumph surged through Madoc at the sight of her, and he sheathed his sword with a swiftly satisfied motion. “Come, brother, let me introduce you to my wife. Roslynn, this is my older brother, Trefor ap Gruffydd, lord of Pontyrmwr.”
“Greetings and welcome,” she said, her voice as sweet as honey, her manner as charming as a woman’s could be. “You didn’t tell me you look so much alike, Madoc, except that your brother’s eyes are blue.”
He had the delightful experience of seeing Trefor’s blatant envy, until he hid it as he bowed.
“A delight to meet you at last, my lady,” he said, and he had the effrontery to smile at her with the same smile that had endeared him to so many women. “Since I wasn’t invited to the wedding, I thought I’d come along to the wedding feast, late though it is.”
“Many people were not invited to the wedding ceremony,” Roslynn coolly replied. “The king’s escort was in some haste to return to court.” She slid Madoc a smile that made him want to haul her close and kiss her with all the passion she aroused within him. “And my lord and I were in some haste, as well.”
Trefor smirked again as he ran another measuring gaze over Roslynn. “No, you couldn’t make John’s lackey wait, or delay following his orders. Might upset the greedy fool, and we can’t have that, can we?”
“My brother will be leaving now,” Madoc announced.
“Unless the lady would like me to stay?” Trefor asked with that same outrageous impudence.
“I beg your pardon, but I think not,” she replied. “It’s unfortunate you chose this day to visit your brother, for although I’m sure there is much you could say to each other, we’re expecting other company and your brother won’t be able to give you the attention you deserve. Another time, perhaps?”
Another time?
“Never,” Madoc growled. “My brother will never be welcome here.”
“A delight it’s been, if a short-lived one, my lady,” Trefor said with another bow.
“Go!” Madoc ordered. “Before I order the archers to use you for target practice.”
“If they could understand you, Mumble-mouth,” Trefor retorted before going to one of the pathetic horses waiting near the stable.
He threw himself into the saddle and, followed by his men, rode out of the gates.
After they were gone, the guards turned back to watch beyond the walls, the soldiers returned to their duties and the servants, subdued and wary, began to go about the necessary business of preparing for the feast.
His shoulder aching, blood trickling down his neck from a scrape near his ear, Madoc turned to Roslynn. “You didn’t invite him to the feast, did you?”
“
Of course not,” she replied. “But—”
“There are no buts with Trefor! He is never to be allowed in this castle again, ever. I don’t even want to hear his name mentioned!”
She paled a little as she nodded her head. “As you wish, Madoc. Let me look at that cut.”
“It’s nothing,” he growled, wiping the blood away with his hand.
“You’ve torn your tunic. You’ll want to wash and change before you go to fetch Owain.”
“I’m not going to get him.”
That little wrinkle appeared between her eyes. “Surely there’s time enough to—”
“I’ve changed my mind. It will be too much excitement for him and not the best circumstances for you two to meet,” he snapped, before he turned on his heel and left her.
IN MANY WAYS, the shearing feast at Llanpowell was all that a celebratory feast should be. The food was excellent, plentiful and, for the nobles, exotic. Many of them had never before had eels cooked in ale, or mutton prepared in such a fashion, or leek soup with that particular combination of herbs and vegetables. There was roasted beef, boar and quail, expertly done, as well as savory stews and several kinds of bread, including some woven into intricate patterns. In addition to puddings and sweetmeats, baked fruit and pies added to the fare, and there was so much wine and ale, it was a wonder everyone in the hall wasn’t drunk before the tables were cleared.
The entertainment was also varied, exciting and amusing, from the jugglers Roslynn had hired, to the bards and dancers, and especially the magician who astonished them all by pulling live birds from his beard.
Roslynn should have been happy, proud and satisfied, and pleased by the results.
Instead, she sat miserably beside Madoc, who was still simmering with rage, barely saying a word. Although she knew his encounter with his brother was responsible, she couldn’t subdue the dread that he was going to find fault with something, or someone, and fly into a fit of temper again.
She was disappointed in other ways, too.
She had been anticipating meeting his son and hopefully establishing a friendship with him before her child was born, until Madoc had abruptly changed his mind.
And judging by the way several of the men of the garrison kept looking at her and smiling as if they shared a confidence, she could well believe Madoc had told them about her condition, regardless of his promise that he would keep that a secret between them.
So in spite of all her hopes and careful planning, all the time and trouble and worry, the feast was ruined for her before it had even started.
After the last of the food was finally cleared away, her grim and silent husband left the high table to join Ivor and some lesser Welsh nobles in another part of the hall.
She shifted restlessly in her chair, tempted to retire until Uncle Lloyd slid into Madoc’s vacated chair. “A fine business this! I’m that ashamed of my nephew, I could spit!”
“It’s unfortunate Madoc and his brother came to blows,” Roslynn replied, “and that Madoc is still so angry about it.”
“Madoc’s done nothing wrong,” his uncle retorted, clearly taken aback that she thought he’d referred to her husband. “He should have beaten Trefor to a pulp, the way he’s been carrying on. No, it’s Trefor I’m ashamed of. I wish I’d spanked the lad more often, that I do. Aye, and with a thick leather belt! Spoiled he is, and spoiled he was!”
“Family squabbles are a bad business,” her father, who had been seated at a place of honor to the right of Madoc, agreed. “It often ends in misery for all concerned.”
Whatever her misgivings, Roslynn didn’t want her parents to worry about her, not after all she’d already put them through. “I’m sure Madoc and I will be quite all right.”
“Trefor’s never done anything worse than kill that ram before the wedding,” Lloyd confirmed. “Still, coming here as bold as a king’s whore—What the devil’s the matter with him?” He shook his head again. “Madoc’s going to have to kill him, I think, before there’ll be peace.”
“Surely not!” Lady Eloise cried, echoing her daughter’s thoughts from her place beside her husband. “Whatever has happened between them, they are still brothers. For one to kill the other…it would be a terrible sin.”
“Aye, but Trefor’s giving poor Madoc little choice. As for brother against brother, look you at John and his,” Lloyd replied, reaching for Madoc’s half-full goblet and draining it. “There’s an example for you. Each one out for all they can get. But I never thought to see such conflict within my own family. A pity it is, and Trefor’s to blame.”
On the other side of the hall, and without even a glance in her direction, Madoc continued to converse with his friends.
Roslynn put her hand to her forehead. “If you’ll excuse me, my head is aching. Too much excitement and fine food, no doubt.”
Her mother was beside her in an instant.
“I’m quite all right,” Roslynn said in answer to her mother’s silent query. “It’s been a long day, that’s all. I’m sure I’ll be fine in the morning. Please, stay and enjoy the rest of the entertainment.”
Mercifully, or perhaps seeing that it was no use, her mother didn’t protest or insist upon accompanying her.
As Roslynn left the hall, she paused to say good-night to the most important guests from neighboring estates. She did not look to see if Madoc noticed she was retiring and she would be relieved if he didn’t. She didn’t want to be alone with him until he had calmed down.
Once inside their bedchamber, she closed the door and leaned back against it for a moment before heaving a weary sigh and going to her dressing table. She sat heavily on the stool and drew off her expensive silk veil.
“Are you ill?”
She started at the sound of Madoc’s voice. Shifting on the stool, she discovered him standing on the threshold, regarding her with worried eyes.
“Only tired,” she said, wishing he would go, even if it seemed he was no longer enraged. She really was exhausted and wanted to sleep. Or at least not deal with her husband right now.
“Are you sure?” he persisted.
“I know how I feel, Madoc,” she replied impatiently. “Please go back to the hall and celebrate with your friends. I’m sure they’ll all want to congratulate you on our coming child.”
Her breath caught when she realized what she’d said and how peevish she must have sounded. She shouldn’t be chastising him after he’d been so angry earlier, lest he lose his temper again, and with her.
“Only a few know,” Madoc muttered under his breath, although there was guilty confirmation in his eyes as he came into the room and closed the door. “I didn’t come right out and say. Ioan guessed. Those that know have been ordered not to tell anyone else.”
She rose and went to the window. “Nothing is ever your fault, is it, Madoc?” she demanded as she turned to face him. “You have an excuse for everything.”
His eyes narrowed. “I have an explanation—or do you think Trefor is speaking the truth and I have only an excuse for holding Llanpowell?”
“I don’t know what to think,” she replied, trying to contain her frustration and failing. “You claim you’re justified, yet when he steals from you, you act as if you feel guilty.”
“You don’t understand.”
“No, you’re right, I don’t,” she replied, her emotions spilling out in spite of her attempt to suppress them. “I don’t understand what’s happened between you and your brother. I don’t understand why you play games with each other, stealing sheep and taking them back. I don’t understand why you sent your son away, even if you loved his mother who died giving him life.”
Regarding her, Madoc’s visage was as still and stern as the effigy of a martyred saint. Only his eyes seemed alive, and they burned—but not with desire. With rage. “If you think I do these things because I enjoy them, or because I have a choice, you don’t understand. And you don’t know me.”
Her heart racing, the panic returning, Roslynn backed
away from him. She had never really known Wimarc before he revealed his true nature after they were wed and she was tied to him for life. Obviously she hadn’t known Madoc ap Gruffydd at all, either.
“By the saints, Roslynn, why do you look at me like that?” he demanded. “How many times must I tell you I won’t hurt you?”
“How can I be sure?” she asked in a whisper, her hands clasped before her, wanting to trust him, but terrified that would be another disastrous mistake. “If, as you say, I don’t know you, how can I ever be sure that you won’t hurt me when you’re angry?”
Suddenly it was as if his temper had been a candle, snuffed out in an instant. His eyes full of remorse, he held out his hands in supplication. “Because…” A different expression dawned on his face—both surprise and certainty. “Because I love you, fy rhosyn.”
She closed her eyes. To think she had yearned to hear him say those words.
But now she had seen the way he’d attacked his brother, the rage and the explosive violence he was capable of. She’d witnessed the sullen, brooding aftermath.
She could never again feel safe here.
“Wimarc claimed to love me, too,” she said quietly. “And he beat me until I was black and blue.”
“But he didn’t mean those words,” Madoc protested. “I’ve been as angry as I’ve ever gotten today, and I didn’t strike you. I never will.”
It was true that he hadn’t laid a finger on her. He hadn’t hit her, or thrown her down or done anything to physically harm her. He hadn’t called her terrible names.
But the damage had been done. After what had transpired today, she could never be sure that he wouldn’t lash out at her. That he wouldn’t one day lose his temper and hurt her, either with his fists or his words.
It would be like walking along a perilous path, with unseen dangers lying in wait, every single day.
She had already lived that life as Wimarc’s wife, and she had vowed not to do so ever again.
“Leave me, Madoc,” she said. “I cannot be near you now.”
He stared at her as if she’d struck him. “Roslynn—”
The Warlord’s Bride Page 16