The Warlord’s Bride

by Margaret Moore

  Footsteps. Coming from the bedchamber. Madoc was at the bottom of the stairwell in an instant.

  Lady Eloise, as anxious and worried as he, appeared, and his heart seemed to stop beating. He’d seen that look on the midwife’s face when Gwendolyn was dying.

  He had lived with guilt and shame and remorse ever since—and he hadn’t even loved her. Not really. He had admired her and thought her pretty and special because Trefor adored her. But he had never loved her. He knew that now, for certain.

  He loved Roslynn. With all his heart and everything he had. He always would, and if she died…

  “Madoc, she’s calling for you,” Lady Eloise said. “You had best make haste.”

  “Roslynn—she’s not…she’s not…”

  He couldn’t say it. Couldn’t even bring himself to truly think it. Not his wonderful, strong Roslynn. If anybody died…if anybody deserved to die, it was him. Not her.

  Lady Eloise gave him a gentle, sympathetic smile that let his heart beat again. “My daughter is a strong, healthy young woman. I think she’ll come through this, and the child with her. But she wants to see you, and so I think she should.”

  As Madoc went to hurry past her, Lady Eloise put her hand on his arm to detain him. “There is one advantage to an early labor, my lord. The babe will be smaller. Think of that, and don’t show Roslynn your fear. She needs your strength and confidence now.”

  “Of course,” he said firmly, necessity reaching through the fog of dread. This was something he could do for her, and he needed to do something.

  When he entered the chamber, he found Roslynn pale and weak on the pallet, her body still large with child, and the strain of laboring on her face. In spite of that, she managed to smile when she saw him and called out his name.

  Thrilled and relieved by that smile, he quickly knelt beside her and pressed a kiss upon her sweat-beaded brow. “Roslynn, my rose, my sweet, sweet rose.”

  “Madoc, I—” She closed her eyes and a little moan of anguish escaped her compressed lips.

  “Now she’s seen you, you can leave the chamber, my lord,” the midwife commanded.

  Madoc hadn’t noticed the woman hovering nearby.

  He remembered her well from Gwendolyn’s childbed, with her formidable manner, iron-gray hair covered by a plain linen cloth, narrow frame as straight as a spear and a glare like a general’s.

  He had obeyed her without question when Gwendolyn gave birth and he should obey her now. Nevertheless, he hesitated. If things went badly, he must tell Roslynn how he felt. “Roslynn, my rose, I love you. I love you more than my life.”

  He couldn’t tell if she’d heard him as she gripped his hand like a vise. “Madoc,” she gasped while another pain assaulted her. “Don’t go. Stay with me. Please.”

  Whether she had heard his heartfelt avowal or not, if Roslynn wanted him to stay, he was staying, and nothing the midwife, or Roslynn’s mother, or the king or any army could do could make him go. “I’ll be here, Roslynn.”

  The midwife opened her mouth, then shook her head and snapped, “Very well, my lord. Just keep out of my way.”

  “She’s very arrogant, isn’t she?” Roslynn murmured through half-closed eyes. “Nearly as arrogant as the lord of Llanpowell.”

  His heart seemed to fall to the floor, until he saw her lips twitch not with a grimace, but another smile. “The lord who loves me.”

  “I do, Roslynn, by all the angels above, I do.”

  “I’m so glad I’m home.”

  Home. She had called Llanpowell home. Surely that meant—

  Her face twisted with anguish as she gasped and arched.

  Madoc looked desperately at the midwife. “Do something!”

  “I’ve done all I can,” she replied. “It’s between her and the angels now, and the babe to make its way.”

  Lady Eloise crouched on the other side of the pallet, her face as pale as her daughter’s. “It won’t be long,” she said to them both. “Not long now and then a baby to love and cherish and for me to fuss over. Lord James will be sorry he wasn’t here.”

  Roslynn relaxed a little and opened her eyes. “Madoc, I’m so sorry…” Grimacing like a man losing a limb, she twisted and moaned again.

  Gwendolyn had been sorry, too, before she died.

  Oh, God, Roslynn mustn’t die, he prayed as he held her hand. She couldn’t die. Please, God, he would die in her stead, if that were the price to pay for her life.

  “It’s me that’s sorry,” he said fervently. “Sorry for being a stubborn fool. Sorry I frightened you and made you run away.”

  Her eyes fluttered open and her grip tightened as she spoke, “The baby is yours, Madoc. I swear to you on my life, the baby is yours.”

  “I never doubted it,” he said, even more upset to think she would believe he had harbored such suspicions.

  He stroked her pale cheek, her damp hair. “Why, look you, my lady, how you shied away from my slightest touch at first, and you liked me,” he said, trying to make her smile again, as well as believe he trusted her. “Those jack-a-dandies at the king’s court didn’t stand a chance getting in your bed.”

  “Not the slightest chance,” she agreed in a weak whisper before another pain took her. She cried out and her grip seemed about to break his hand, but he didn’t move. Let her break it if she must.

  The midwife was at her feet. She pushed Roslynn’s legs so that the bottoms of her soles touched and her knees fell open.

  “Let her hold you,” she ordered both Madoc and his mother-in-law, although there was no need. “Now, my lady,” she commanded Roslynn. “Push. Push hard!”

  “LLOYD?”

  Lloyd raised his head and blinked, trying to focus on Ioan and not recall the heartrending scream that had shattered the silence a moment ago.

  He didn’t want to know that Roslynn was dead. He didn’t want to see Madoc looking like he’d died, too, although his body didn’t know it yet.

  Not again.

  “Go away,” he muttered, before laying his head down again.

  Ioan shook him by the shoulder. “Lloyd, that Norman’s come back.”

  “What Norman? That pike Alfred?”

  “No, Lady Roslynn’s father.”

  His hand to his aching head, Lloyd sat up. “What? Here? Now?”

  Another cry, somewhat muffled, pierced the air and Lloyd wanted to groan himself, especially when Lord James sauntered into the hall as if he’d just come over the hill for a visit.

  Until he stopped dead as another scream came from above. Then he blanched and his worried gaze searched the hall. “Where’s my daughter?”

  “Above in her chamber, having the baby,” Lloyd answered.

  Lord James stood as still as a tree on a windless day. “Now?”

  Aching head forgotten, Lloyd jumped to his feet. “Aye. What else do you think? That we’re torturing her?”

  “I don’t…” The Norman closed his mouth and wordlessly shook his head.

  Lloyd grabbed the nearly empty wineskin and took it to him. “Have a drink of this and sit down. It could be hours yet.”

  Lord James mutely obeyed, finishing the wine in one long gulp, which was a pity. Lloyd could have used another drink himself.

  Lord James sat on the edge of the nearest bench. “My wife is with her?”

  “Of course.”

  “How long?”

  “Since yesterday.”

  “Sweet Jesu!” Lord James ran his hand over his beard. “And a midwife’s there? A good one?”

  “Best for miles. And Madoc, too.”

  “Her husband is in the room?”

  “We’ve had no word that she’s in danger,” Lloyd hurried to assure Lord James, and himself, as well as Ioan and Bron and anybody else lingering in the hall. “Bron, bring us another wineskin. And some bread. And cheese. Pasties and sweetmeats, too. And get the tables set up. It’s almost time for the evening—”

  A cry like nothing Lloyd had ever heard ripped through the air
.

  “I must go to my daughter!” Lord James shouted, starting for the stairs.

  Not sure what to do, Lloyd hurried after him. If the poor girl was dying…

  The two men reached the stairs at the same time and there was a moment’s struggle as both tried to go up first, until Lloyd came to his senses and let Roslynn’s father precede him.

  They had no sooner gotten to the chamber when the door swung open and Madoc appeared. Although he was obviously exhausted, he smiled when he saw the two men, one behind the other and jostling to see inside the room.

  “She’s well, God be praised,” he said with joy and pride. “It was a trial, but she’s come through it at last and we have a son. A fine and healthy boy.”

  As if to confirm it, a babe’s lusty cry filled the air and Lady Eloise came up behind him with a precious, squalling bundle in her arms.

  “Here he is, James,” Lady Eloise said with tears of happiness and relief in her eyes. “Doesn’t he look like Roslynn?”

  “Aye, a little, I grant you,” Lloyd said, peering at the baby’s red face over Lord James’s shoulder. “But that’s Madoc’s nose. And his hair. And chin. The ears are like his father’s. And that little mouth could be my own.”

  “Madoc, tell them Mascen is himself,” Roslynn called out wearily.

  “Daughter!” Lord James cried, starting forward, until the midwife blocked his way.

  “No other visitors yet, especially menfolk,” she commanded, holding up her work-worn hand. “The lady needs her rest, and the baby, too. Off you go and do what men do at such times. You can see them in the morning.

  “You, too, my lord,” she said to Madoc, pushing him out of the room.

  “Bring the child here, my lady, and yes, I know he has twenty fine fingers and toes. By the saints, you’d think nobody had ever had a baby,” the midwife concluded as she steered Lady Eloise back inside the room and slammed the door behind them.

  Lloyd rubbed his hands together with glee. “Another boy! Celebrations to come and lasting all night, I’m thinking. Thank God we’ve got plenty of ale and wine.”

  Madoc shook his head as he started down the stairs. “You’ll have to celebrate without me,” he said as Lloyd trotted after him, followed by Lord James. “I’ve got a promise to keep.”

  HUGH THE BEAK LOOKED at Ioan as they rode beside each other in the small group of men. It was well past the noon, but instead of being comfortably seated in the hall of Llanpowell, drinking toasts to the lord’s newborn son, they were riding south with Madoc, over a road little used, and they had no idea where they were going, or why.

  “Are you going to ask him what we’re doing?” Hugh quietly asked his companion.

  Ioan’s frown deepened. “Not wanting to get knocked from my horse, me,” he muttered, eyeing their overlord warily. “The man’s beyond weary, so it must be something important to send him from Llanpowell today of all days.”

  “Aye,” Hugh agreed. “Thank God he’s kept the pace to a walk, or he’d tumble from the saddle before we could get to wherever we’re going. But by the saints, how long are we to be riding? And what will we do for food? We left in such a hurry, we didn’t bring a morsel or a drop to drink.”

  Ioan heaved a sigh and nodded. “All right, then, I’ll ask—and I hope you appreciate the sacrifice.”

  He didn’t wait for Hugh’s response before nudging his horse from the line, up closer to Madoc. “So, my lord,” he said, feigning good humor. “Where might we be off to, then?”

  “I was wondering how long it would be before you asked,” Madoc replied. “We’re going to—”

  An arrow whizzed past them, nearly hitting Madoc in the head. Crying out in alarm, both men reined in as more arrows flew about them, one striking Ioan in his right arm. With a groan, his hand around the shaft, Ioan fell to the ground.

  “Dismount, dismount!” Madoc shouted as he flung himself from his horse. The moment he was on the ground, he drew his sword, slapped his horse’s flank to send the animal galloping from the ambush and, keeping low to the ground, ran to the moaning, writhing Ioan.

  “God, not my arm!” his friend muttered through clenched teeth as he clutched the shaft of the arrow protruding from his flesh. “How’ll I ever be able to hoist an ale?”

  If Ioan could joke, he couldn’t be too badly hurt, or so Madoc fervently hoped as he swiftly assessed the situation. The attackers were in the stand of trees to the right, which gave them good cover. The trees were sparser on the other side of the road, but there were some large stones, big enough to protect them from arrows and give his men time to regroup.

  “To the rocks!” he shouted.

  Grabbing Ioan by his uninjured arm, Madoc dragged his friend toward the nearest boulder sizable enough to hide them.

  “Damn, are you trying to pull it off?” Ioan growled, even as he helped by pushing with his feet.

  “Don’t tempt me. You’re too heavy as it is,” Madoc replied, panting, as he finally got them both behind the boulder.

  “Thank God their aim is terrible,” Ioan said as he lay on the ground, his face pale, his lips blue, his hand still holding the shaft while a red stain grew on the sleeve of his shirt.

  “Hugh!” Madoc called out, trying to find out where his men were without making himself a target.

  “Here, Madoc. And the rest of us, too. Only Ioan was fool enough to get hit.”

  “There’s friendship for you,” Ioan grumbled through clenched teeth.

  “Stay here,” Madoc ordered as he started to crawl toward Hugh and the others, who were about ten feet away.

  “Not likely to go anywhere, am I?”

  “THEY’VE GOT the high ground,” Madoc said to Hugh as they huddled behind a pile of rocks. “That stream we crossed a ways back makes a valley behind the rise. We can go back and follow the stream and come up behind them. It’s got a rocky bed, too, so they shouldn’t hear us.”

  “If they’re still there by then,” Hugh said doubtfully. “Might be they’ll move.

  “Or even go,” he added hopefully.

  “I think they’re going to wait us out like a siege,” Madoc said. “They’ve got us trapped and they know it.”

  “We’ve got nothing for them to steal except our clothes and weapons now that the horses are gone.”

  “I’m thinking robbery wasn’t their plan,” Madoc grimly replied, wishing he’d brought more men. That arrow had flown too close to his head to be a warning, or simply make them stop.

  “What, murder?” Hugh gasped.

  “Aye.”

  “Trefor, do you think?”

  “Maybe, but I hope not.” Not now, when he was ready to tell Trefor everything.

  As he’d held his newborn son in his arms, he’d realized the time had come for the truth to be known, whatever the cost.

  Even if it meant he could lose Roslynn forever.

  “So you think they’ll just wait us out?” Gwillym asked breathlessly, doing his best to be brave.

  “Not if we attack them, as I intend to do.”

  “What about Ioan?” Hugh asked. “We can’t leave him here.”

  Madoc had little choice, and said so. “We’ll come back for him as soon as we can,” he promised.

  “I’ll stay here with him. I’ll show myself now and again, so they think we’re all still here,” Gwillym offered, although that would mean he’d be a target, or the last man left to face certain death if they failed.

  “Very well,” Madoc said, admiring his courage. “No need to reveal your presence often and don’t take any foolish chances or try to play the hero.” He gave the young man an encouraging grin. “That’s for the lord to do.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  MADOC HELD UP his hand to halt his men at the bottom of the narrow valley made by the swift-running stream. Ignoring the smell of damp, mossy earth as best he could, he pointed up the slope. Just barely visible through the bracken, trees and holly bushes, a rough-looking fellow in a motley assortment of leathe
r and woolen clothing nocked an arrow. His hair was long, greasy and unkempt, his beard likewise and he was more poorly dressed than any of Trefor’s men had been.

  Maybe these men were thieves, not assassins, and desperate enough to attack any travelers, even armed soldiers.

  Madoc gestured for Hugh to join him. “See any others?” he whispered as a breeze rustled the leaves overheard.

  Hugh shook his head.

  “Wait here. The other men, too,” Madoc ordered. He went forward on his own, creeping along the streambed, keeping one eye on the wet, slippery ground beneath him while also searching for the rest of the attackers.

  At last he came upon a group of them gathered in one spot, their backs to him. Not a wise move, to be so close together.

  They probably weren’t professional soldiers or killers, and so not likely hired to attack him specifically, Madoc thought with relief as he made his way back to Hugh and his men.

  He pointed at Hugh, then the archer above and silently gestured an order. His expression grimly resolute, Hugh slid through the bracken as if part snake, creeping up behind the man. He threw his arm around the archer’s neck, dragged him backward and down to the soft ground before the rogue could utter a sound.

  When Hugh returned, Madoc led his men toward the main body of the attackers and signaled for his men to fan out, so that there would be no escape when they attacked.

  Meanwhile, oblivious to the danger below, the men above continued to shoot. Given the abundance of arrows in the quivers at their belts, they could have kept it up for hours—or until Madoc and his men finally tried to flee.

  “Damn them, what kind of women are they, hiding behind a rock?” a rough voice demanded from the center of the group. “Never liked Madoc, but I never thought he was a coward.”

  Rhodri.

  Madoc recognized the voice, and so did his men. And if Rhodri was here, that meant Trefor—

  “Madoc’s gone soft, that’s what. Besotted by that woman, like I said.”

  Ivor. That was Ivor Purse Strings.

  Madoc stifled a gasp and his men looked equally shocked.

  What were Ivor and Rhodri doing here together and attacking them?