The Warrior's Reward

by Samantha Holt

  Ieuan pressed a hand to his chest when it grew tight. Rosamunde. It had to be. Urging his mount onwards, he began the treacherous journey up the side of the mountain. The castle sat on a natural cliff that led down to a shallow ravine. Wind beat at his face and hindered his progress but Aron moved slowly too.

  Ieuan watched for jutting rocks lest his horse injure herself. His heart thrashed in his chest, urging him to push faster, harder, to take a chance, but as desperate as he was, he would not harm Melfed.

  Soon Aron had found shelter behind the grey walls of the keep. An old tower remained, looking out over the borderlands. The roof had long crumbled as had the top floor by the looks of it. Surrounding the keep stood an old curtain wall. So many gaps and holes riddled the stone that it served as nothing more than a slight obstacle. And the main keep looked to have been scorched by fire once. Piles of crumbled stone spilled down the mountain, leaving a hole in the side. All around it, large boulders and old walls of outbuildings created a maze of paths.

  Ieuan drew the horse to a stop and dismounted. It wouldn’t do to have her catch a hoof and injure herself on the uneven terrain. He tied her to an iron bolt that must have once held a door and gave her a pat. He glanced back to see his father approaching at the base of the hill and his men not far behind. He wouldn’t wait for them, however.

  Sword drawn, he gripped the hilt and silently prayed for victory. He could have prayed for strength and courage but he needed neither. Courage played no part in battle for him. Killing to protect what was his came as second nature to him. As real as the Welsh blood running through his veins, his savage nature when it came to those he cared for would see him through anything.

  It would see him through saving the woman he loved.

  His hand flexed around his blade and his nostrils flared as he thought about her in the arms of a traitor. Aron would pay.

  Stepping over the rubble of the outer wall, he used the jagged remains for cover. Likely Aron had spotted him on the open terrain and would be expecting him. So he darted between the walls in an attempt to keep the man on edge. He might be lying in wait but he wouldn’t give the traitor an easy chance at him.

  Back to the wall of the main tower, Ieuan savoured the cold damp of the stone. Moss clung to the rocks and soaked through to his heated skin. He eyed his steady blade and took a few deep, calming breaths. Where desperation had once burned through his veins, cold certainty replaced it. The hammering of his heart no longer disturbed him but instead urged him forward to victory. Too much lay at stake for him to feel anything else.

  Grip strong on his sword, he stepped into the tower. Gloom swallowed him. Drips of water echoed off the stone but no footsteps or scuffles could be heard. He swung his gaze from side to side and made out features of the castle. Crumbled walls, a set of stone steps leading upwards and there... the glint of steel. He peered past the shadows and lifted his sword in threat.

  “I see you, Aron.”

  On the second level, he spotted the shadowy outline of a man. Most of the upper floor had vanished long ago but a stone ledge allowed Aron to have the advantage of higher ground. The man stepped into a long stream of sunlight and Ieuan had to hold back a snarl.

  “Ieuan!” Rosamunde cried.

  “Fear not,” he told her, his gaze firm on Aron. The man had her tight against him, a hand around her throat and his sword in front of her. “Release her,” he demanded.

  “I think not.”

  Behind him, the light tap of cautious footsteps sounded. Either side of him, two men approached. It seemed Aron was not working alone, and he was now outnumbered. And Aron held the person he treasured most at the point of a blade. He knew what he must do.

  He swung at the nearest man. The sudden movement caught him by surprise. He didn’t even raise his blade in defence. Steel sliced through flesh and the man crumpled. Rosamunde screamed.

  Ieuan whirled to block a slice from the other man and the impact vibrated down his arm.

  “Enough!” Aron shouted from above. “If you want her alive, cease.”

  Ieuan drew back and lowered his weapon. The ragged-looking man in front of him kept his blade ready but made no more attempts to attack.

  “I can kill him easily,” Ieuan warned. “You should know that well enough. Should you harm her, I shall kill you too.”

  “I have no wish to see her dead. The king will see to that. But I will hurt her if I must.”

  Ieuan eyed the man beside him. He’d already seen that the man’s reactions were slow and Ieuan was certainly stronger and more skilled than he. But if he cut him down, it would give Aron time to harm Rosamunde. It was a price he was unwilling to pay.

  “I offer you a trade.”

  Aron peered down at him. “A trade?”

  “Aye, my life for hers.”

  “You expect me to give up my leverage? You think I am but a fool?”

  “Nay, not a fool. I was the fool for trusting you. But if you are indeed a wise man, you will know that my head will bring you more coin than hers. She is but a pawn and ‘tis likely the king shall care little for her.”

  “Nay, Ieuan.” Rosamunde tried to shake her head against his hold. “You will die for sure. The king shall not kill an Englishwoman.”

  Though Ieuan hoped she might be right, it was too great a risk. He was the prize here, not her and she should never have been involved. However, the tilt of her chin and the steadiness of her voice made his chest swell with pride. To think he had considered her too fragile to survive in his homeland.

  “All shall be well,” he assured her. “Aron, what say you? A trade?”

  The man considered this then nodded slowly. “Aye, a trade. Lay down your weapon and I shall release her.”

  “Unharmed.”

  “Aye, unharmed. You have my word as a Welshman.”

  Ieuan couldn’t be sure the word of a traitorous Welshman was worth much, but he had little choice if he wanted Rosamunde away from that blade. Whatever happened, he had a much better chance of securing her freedom once she was out of Aron’s hold.

  “Lay down your blade.” Aron motioned with his own sword.

  Rosamunde fought against her captor’s hold. “Nay!”

  He couldn’t help but smile at her determination. His sweet Rosamunde willing to lay down her life for his. If this was not love, what was it? He suspected he could almost go to the grave a happy man knowing that. Except he was not ready to give up on a life with her quite yet. If he saw an opportunity to get them both out alive, he would take it.

  With deliberate caution, he lowered his blade to the ground and kicked it aside. It scraped across the stone floor into the shadows. The other man used his point as a deadly escort—the threat of steel piercing his back forcing him up the steps to stand in front of Aron.

  “We should bind his hands,” his escort suggested.

  Ieuan cared little what they did with him. While they had Rosamunde, he would do nothing. After that... he was not so sure. He would certainly welcome any opportunity to kill both men, particularly now he saw tears shimmering in her eyes and creating little trails on her mud-streaked cheeks. Tattered rags now counted for her clothes and bare toes peeked out from under the filthy hem of her gown. He ground his teeth together.

  “Aye, bind his hands.”

  Ieuan refused to offer his hands, forcing the other man to lay down his sword. They knew well he wouldn’t act with the threat of a blade across Rosamunde’s chest.

  “Release her. I am unarmed.”

  His hands were tied together with a thin strip of leather. It wouldn’t take much to break free but it would certainly hinder him.

  “I am a man of my word.” Aron removed the sword that prevented Rosamunde from escaping and pushed her forward. “Take her out of the keep and bind her hands to his horse. Send it in the direction of the village.” He grinned at Ieuan. “She’ll get there safe enough.”

  She stumbled and gripped Ieuan’s arm. “Do not do this, pray do not do this,” she
begged him.

  The other man tried to pry her away from him but she held firm. Ieuan pressed a hasty kiss to her head. “Go now.” He kissed just below her ear and whispered, “My men are not far behind. They shall keep you safe.”

  Rosamunde retained her grip on him, forcing Gareth to pull her fingers off him one by one. Still she fought him, scratching and wriggling against his grip. If his heart hadn’t hurt so much at the image of those shimmering eyes, he’d have grinned at her spirit. He had one courageous English wife.

  Mayhap he should have told her he loved her but the hope he might say it later kept a spark burning in his chest. He needed that hope. That would spark would fire his courage and keep him determined. He had so very much to live for.

  “When you return, Gareth,” Aron called to the man as he hauled a hissing and spitting Rosamunde down the stairs, “we shall away to England with our prize in tow.”

  Gareth nodded and Ieuan ignored Aron when he came around in front of him, blade pointed at his chest. He needed a last look at Rosamunde—even if she looked as though she’d been dragged through hell and wasn’t one bit pleased with him. The foolish girl would have rather he left her to die no doubt. But he needed to see her as much as he needed his next breath. To take in the sight of her golden hair and sweet face was more than any warrior needed.

  And then she was gone.

  He focused his attention on Aron. And escape. He might not have his blade but he was stronger and faster than the man he’d once trusted. Aron was of low birth and had never been trained in the knightly arts. Any training he’d received had been from Ieuan. That also gave him an advantage. He knew how the man fought.

  Nevertheless, a sword was quite an advantage. No amount of quick movements would save him from the long reach of an arming sword.

  “’Twas you who informed the Englishmen I was involved with Owain, was it not?”

  Aron’s face grew serious. “Mayhap it was but I will not be the only man swayed by coin. Your father dragged this country into the depths of despair. Our children starve and our lands are fallow. He deserves to hang for his crimes.”

  Ieuan couldn’t deny the hardship their country faced. But he also understood how quickly friends became enemies. Those who had wanted freedom as much as his father turned traitor when it was clear they were not going to be victorious. Aron reminded him of those men. They were the ones who wanted personal gain and cared little for Wales itself.

  “I suppose the coin does not hurt either.”

  “The king is generous, to be sure.”

  Ieuan ground his teeth and had to resist the urge to bring his bound hands across the man’s face. Aron merely wished to rile him, to distract him from any attempt at escape. Should he react, he’d either receive a glancing blow from a blade or a crack across his skull to render him senseless. He was valuable, aye, but he was also worth coin dead. He couldn’t afford to act rashly.

  “Aye. I think you care not for the starving children and fallow land. I think you care only for yourself, Aron. Did I not feed you well at my table? Have I not replanted the fields?”

  “All from your position of privilege as Owain’s son,” Aron spat.

  “You know well that I am no more than a bastard.”

  “A bastard who will no doubt give up his father after a few days in the tower, Ieuan ab Owain Glyndŵr. Your lack of loyalty to your father will help the king in breaking you.”

  “He shall not need to be broken,” came his father’s voice.

  They both whirled to see his father escorted in by Gareth. Gareth shrugged. “I came upon him as I tied the lady to the horse. He claims to be the prince.”

  “Aye.” Aron nodded, a grin spreading across his face. “Aye, he is.”

  “I offer to take the place of my son.”

  “Nay—” Ieuan started but received a swipe across the face with a fist for his troubles.

  He dabbed his lip with his bound hands and found blood. Slow, burning anger began to boil through his veins. Where was their honour? Where was their loyalty? Ieuan had spent too long hiding, too long fearing for his safety. Aye, mistakes had been made, but what man did not make mistakes? Did that mean they should forget their duty and pride in the face of hardship? He couldn’t help smile. Mayhap he was more knightly than he’d thought. Rosamunde would be pleased.

  And then she was there. As though he’d summoned her, she slipped in through the entranceway. Rivers of sunlight highlighted her and at the same time as cursing her, he could not help think what an enchanting sight she was.

  She was also a valuable distraction. Between his father and his wife, he had the chance he needed. Head down, body tense, Ieuan ran at Aron. The man fell like the walls of a keep under fire. Heavily and without grace. Ieuan struggled to regain his footing while Aron scrabbled for his blade. When Ieuan bent to snatch it in his bound hands, a knee connected with his face. He reeled back, his vision blurring. Aron snatched at the sword. Ieuan kicked it aside.

  He glanced around to see his father dodging a blow from Gareth. Rosamunde darted into the shadows. He had to finish this quick. Had to get to Rosamunde.

  Aron lunged at him and knocked him back. Air burst from his lungs and pain rocked his body. He responded with a blow across Aron’s face. His knuckles throbbed. With a groan, he shoved the man aside and brought both fists down on his face again. The man went limp.

  Ieuan fought his bonds briefly but a cry from Rosamunde drew his attention. All pain vanished. His focus narrowed. She held his sword aloft while Gareth approached. His father lay prone on the floor. Gareth inched closer to Rosamunde and he knew if he took a swing at her, she wouldn’t be able to defend herself.

  Coming to his feet, Ieuan scanned the ground for Aron’s blade but it had dropped off the side somewhere. Ieuan spied a long, splintered piece of wood and snatched it up. He stormed down the steps and came upon Gareth as he swung upwards. He ran, thinking only of Rosamunde and the shaking sword in her hand. The sharp wood pierced the man’s side and he froze, his body stiffening in pain. Gareth released the sword, began to turn then fell to his knees.

  Ieuan cared little to view the man’s death throes. Rosamunde’s horror-stricken expression stole his attention. He was but a beast again in her eyes, he knew it. Any ground he had gained with her had vanished with his barbaric act. But he knew with certainly that if he had to do it again, he would.

  He peered back at his father and saw him climbing to his feet. Confident his father could look after himself, he held up his hands in a placating movement, hoping to draw her attention away from the now dead man.

  When her gaze finally landed on him, he let his hands relax. He saw fear, aye, but not of him, simply for him. She dashed forward and flung her arms around his neck.

  “I love you,” she sobbed into his shoulder.

  The words broke through any lingering fear. To Rosamunde he wasn’t a barbarian. He might not be the knight she’d hoped for but she loved him for who he was.

  “I love you too.” He eased her back so he could lift his bound hands over her head and hold her properly against him. “I have no flowery words but I swear I love you more than I thought possible. You are a brave, daft woman and I cannot help fearing you shall put me in an early grave but I care not.”

  She sniffed and drew back enough to view him. “I was trying to save you from an early grave.”

  “And a fine job you did.” He kissed her forehead. “Now leave the swordplay to the trained knight from now on.”

  “Aye, I shall.” She lifted her gaze to the rafters. “Where is Aron?”

  “Out cold. He shall be punished by the local court, never fear.”

  “You did not kill him?”

  He grinned. “Anwylyd, I am a fine warrior but even I am at a disadvantage with bound hands and no weapon.”

  “Aye, you overestimate your husband.” His father laughed and winced, clutching his side. As he straightened, several men stepped into the darkened ruins and he motioned to the upper
level. “Up there. Bind his hands.”

  Ieuan ignored them as they traipsed up the steps to take custody of Aron. His wife held his full attention. His blessings were great indeed.

  A soft smile graced her lips. “Your father is wrong. I do not believe I overestimate you, Ieuan. You are the very best of men.”

  He wasn’t sure about that. Flaws were ingrained deeply in him but, for Rosamunde, he would be the best man he could be. “Tell me again.”

  Her mouth dropped open for a brief moment. She shook her head with a grin. “You are an arrogant man, my lord. But you are the very best of men.”

  He held her tight. “I cannot deny I like hearing that. But I meant tell me again that you love me.”

  Hands to either side of his face, she smoothed her palms over his cheeks and looked deep into his eyes. “I love you, Ieuan ab Owain Glyndŵr.”

  Ieuan stared into her eyes. He saw so much in hers. Hope, love, passion. He saw his future. And for the first time in his life, he knew with certainty it would be one filled with all of those things.

  Epilogue

  Ieuan knew it was foolish to be annoyed at the way Rosamunde leaned in and gave his father a kiss on the cheek. He knew it but annoyance still made him tighten his jaw. Never mind that his father was leaving and Rosamunde had more than demonstrated her love for him these past sennights.

  A half-smile forced its way across his tense mouth. If she wasn’t with child already, she would be soon. And he could not wait to see his fair wife with her belly rounded with child. He only hoped the castle would be completed by then. They had done well to finish the wall and paint the hall. Before long, he would have the castle fit for a princess—or at least Rosamunde. His very own princess.

  Making his way down to the bottom of the mound, he acknowledged his father with a wave of his hand. Owain approached and gave him a slap on the shoulder. Rosamunde came to his side and he took the chance to curl a proprietary hand around her waist.

  “You are ready then?” Ieuan asked.

  “Aye.”

  “And where are you going?”