“Is that why you got the reward from Wynne?” Rhys piped up. “ ’Cause Druce didn’t chase you away?”
Cleve chuckled softly. “It’s often difficult to say why a woman rewards a man with a kiss. Perhaps Wynne can explain it to you.”
The fulminating glare she sent him did not shame him in the least, and Wynne was hard put to suppress her frustration. But Rhys and Madoc were watching her, their innocent faces curious.
“I … I really think six is too young to be discussing such … such things,” she stammered. “Perhaps when you’re older.”
“But Wynne—”
“—we’re big boys now.”
Cleve moved over to the boys and stood behind them with a hand on each of their shoulders. “It’s always best to answer a child honestly,” he said, though his high-minded admonition was completely offset by the cheeky expression on his lean face.
“What would you know of raising children?” Wynne countered. “Have you any?”
“No. But I have not forgotten the lessons of my own youth. One way or another, a child can always deal with the truth. ’Tis lies that linger and continue to cause pain.”
There seemed at that moment to be a whole host of new emotions in the air between them. His gloating and amusement at her expense had fled, to be replaced by a dark and disturbing candor. Her frustration and anger at the awkward position he’d put her in—and the inappropriate feelings he’d roused in her—were overtaken by a reminder of the deeper conflict between them. Cleve wanted at least one of her children to know his father—no doubt that was the “truth” he spoke of. But she wanted what was truly best for all her children, and an English father could not possibly fall into that category. This was one case where the truth would only hurt a child. And she was determined that no one should hurt her children.
She drew herself up and gave him a chilling look. “Rhys, Madoc. ’Tis time we returned to the manor. We shall finish this discussion later,” she added, forestalling the protestations she sensed coming from them. Then, not giving them a chance to object, she grabbed each of them by the hand and. marched stiffly away.
“Wynne, what’s the matter with you?” Rhys complained once they were inside.
“Why are you mad—”
“—at us?”
A sudden wave of complete weariness settled over Wynne, and she stared down at the mutinous pair. “I’m not mad at either of you,” she answered. She leaned forward impulsively, hugging them both close. “I’m not mad at you. I love you both too much ever to be mad at you.”
Rhys pulled a little back so that he could look at her. “You were mad at us when we tried to swing on that vine,” he reminded her.
“Oh, that. That was different, sweetheart. I was afraid for you, so I reacted angrily. But it was only because I love you so much.”
Madoc’s face creased in confusion. “Are you mad at Cleve because you love him too?”
At that ridiculous statement Wynne’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “Love him! Love him? That’s … that’s too silly to imagine. Madoc, I didn’t mean to imply that I love everyone I act angry toward. You and the other children, well, I get worried for you, so sometimes I appear to be mad. But I always—always!—love you. Even when I punish you. But as for Cleve FitzWarin—”
She broke off, not sure how to explain her anger toward the Englishman without revealing too much of his purpose for being in Wales. “Cleve FitzWarin is from England, and England is an enemy to Wales. You know that already.”
When they both nodded, she felt marginally reassured.
At least she was on the right track. “It’s very difficult for me to trust any Englishman. Even though they act like our friends now, I worry that they might turn back into our enemies once more.”
There was a short silence as they digested that.
“Druce doesn’t act mad at them—”
“—at least not anymore.”
“Yes, but I’m sure Druce is still being very careful, just in case.”
“But … but why did you give Cleve the reward?”
“Yes, Wynne, why did you give him the wet kiss that Druce was supposed to get?”
That deflated her all over again. She reached for her amulet and began to rub it nervously. “It wasn’t a reward. And anyway, Druce didn’t want—”
“Is Druce gonna be mad ’cause you gave his reward to Cleve?” Madoc interrupted.
“No!” Wynne exclaimed. Then she bit her lower lip in indecision. “But I don’t want either of you telling him about it either.”
“But why?”
“Well, you see, Druce is very protective about some things, and he might get angry with the English.”
“But why?”
“Because … because he doesn’t want the English spending too much time in Wales.”
“But why?” the two dark-haired boys chorused.
“Because …” She heaved a sigh of futility. “Just because.” She crouched before the twins and tried her best to appear animated. “It can be our little secret. Our special secret. How about that?”
The boys shared a look. Then they nodded in unison. “Druce will never guess that Cleve got his reward.”
“We’ll never tell him.”
“You can’t tell anyone,” Wynne insisted. Though she wished more than anything that she could correct their childish impression that the kiss had been a reward, she knew it would be impossible. Once the twins had an idea in their heads, nothing could shake it loose. Swearing them to secrecy seemed her only hope. “You can’t tell anyone at all,” she repeated. “Promise?”
“We promise,” they replied.
She sighed again and stood up. “All right, then. Run along now. I think Druce is going to help you make bows and arrows. But remember your promise,” she called after them as they scrambled out the door.
Wynne stood staring after them as they chased each other across the dusty yard. They stopped once to stalk a wary hen caught away from the shelter of the trees and undergrowth, but when she began to squawk in earnest, they quit and turned back to their original direction. Rhys stopped to pick something up from the ground, and it was at that exact moment that Madoc took off running as fast as his six-year-old legs could carry him. Rhys took up the challenge at once, shouting all the way that Madoc was a cheater.
Not until they disappeared beyond the kitchen did Wynne’s fond smile fade and her thoughts return to the problem of Cleve FitzWarin. She reached instinctively for the small leather pouch in the purse at her waist and gave it a reassuring squeeze. More than ever it was essential that she send the English packing.
Cleve was becoming ever bolder.
And she was clearly weakening in her ability to resist him.
It was almost as if he sensed her weakness and grew even stronger because of it.
She jerked the pouch out of her purse and stared at it, feeling as if it were her last resort. Tonight she would somehow dissolve it into the ale. She had no choice. She had no chance fighting him on his own terms. He was clearly too strong. But if she could move the struggle to another battlefield, she might win.
She clutched the precious pouch of powdered yew root tightly in her hand and pressed it to her chest. She had to succeed. She had to! She was battling for her family as surely as any man who’d ever wielded dirk or sword in battle.
And like any warrior, she was prepared to fight her enemy to the bitter end.
9
THE TAUT BIT OF TWINE made a satisfactory twang, and Druce grinned as he handed the completed bow to Arthur. “There you go, lad. Now the three of you can practice to your hearts’ content. Only be careful always to stand your bow in a corner when it’s not in use. Never lay it on the ground, for some clod’s foot is bound to find it.”
“Yes, Druce,” the boy answered dutifully. He stared at the half-sized instrument through serious hazel eyes, and it was obvious some question brewed in his quick mind.
“Does it hurt when the arrow hits th
e rabbit or deer? Or any other animal?”
Druce stared at him for a moment. “Animals don’t have the same feelings people do.”
“Well, they know when they’re hungry,” Arthur reasoned. “And when they’re scared, ’cause they always run away from hunters. So they must know if it hurts them when the arrow hits into their body.”
“Well”—Druce cleared his throat—“I suppose it might hurt a little. But we need them for food and fur and lots of other things. That’s why God gave us animals, so we could use them to survive. Arthur, why don’t you run along with Rhys and Madoc?” Druce finished.
Arthur looked at him with a wise-old-man expression, then obediently turned to comply. But as he made his way toward his brothers, his brow was creased in thought.
“I hit it! I did. I hit it!” Madoc shouted, cavorting around and around the three sheafs of hay that had been propped up as a target for the boys.
“Watch me. I can do it too,” Rhys yelled back at him.
“Wait, Rhys!” Isolde ordered. “Arthur, get out of the way.”
Bronwen looked up from the puppy and kitten she playfully baited with a long stalk of tall grass. “I hate boys,” she muttered, more to herself than to Isolde. “They’re so loud, and they always do such stupid things.” Then she giggled as the kitten pounced on the puppy’s waggling tail.
“They get to do all the fun things,” Isolde countered grumpily. “And they think they should always be the boss.”
“You want to shoot a bow and arrow?”
Isolde glared at the rowdy twins. “I bet I could do it even better than they can.”
Bronwen shook her head at such a silly idea. “Well, go get Arthur’s bow. He’ll let you use it.”
Sure enough, Arthur was more intrigued by how the placement of the feathers on the end of the arrow shaft affected its flight than by the actual use of the weapon. He shrugged at Isolde’s request and didn’t even look up when she walked off with the bow and another arrow. Only when a shouting match ensued near the target did he abandon his study of the arrow.
“I can, too, shoot!” Isolde yelled at the twins. They stood shoulder to shoulder in front of the target, and if their scowling faces were any indication, they were just as mad at Isolde as she was at them.
“Girls don’t shoot longbows—”
“—only boys!”
“You’re just afraid I’ll be a better aim.”
“Am not!”
“Are too!”
“Am not!”
“You better shut up, Rhys,” Isolde warned.
“Stupid girl.”
“Ha! Girls are a lot smarter than boys. All boys know how to do is make noise and get dirty and hunt. But girls can do lots of things.”
“Girls are stupid.”
“We are not!” Even Bronwen joined the fray. Arthur drew nearer, but he didn’t say anything. Isolde and the twins were always arguing like this, and no one ever won.
“Girls don’t know anything,” Madoc taunted them. He shot Rhys a conspiratorial look, and in that strange way they had, he seemed to convey to his twin his very thoughts.
Rhys continued. “That’s right. We know something you don’t know. So who’s smartest now?”
“Oh, you don’t know anything,” Isolde accused. “You’re just making it up.”
“Oh, yes we do,” they chorused.
“Okay, then prove it.”
For a moment they didn’t reply, and Isolde pounced on their hesitation. “You see? I told you.” She turned toward Bronwen and Arthur, a superior expression on her face. “I knew they didn’t know anything.”
“We do too!” Rhys shouted at the back of her head. “We saw Wynne give Cleve—”
“—the reward she was supposed to give Druce.”
The two girls looked at them, not comprehending. It was Arthur who spoke. “What reward? For doing what?”
“It was a wet kiss.”
“A real long one too.”
Arthur looked skeptical. “What’s a wet kiss?”
“I think it’s when they open their mouths,” Bronwen answered. “You know, they touch their tongues together.” She smiled at the wonder of it all. “You only do that with someone you love.”
“Or that you like a whole, whole lot,” Isolde added, nodding her head wisely.
Arthur grimaced. “What a lie. Why would anybody want to touch tongues? It sounds stupid.”
“You don’t just stick your tongue out and touch them together,” Rhys scoffed. “At least, that’s not how they did it.”
“Oh? What did they do?” Isolde asked.
“Yes,” Bronwen added breathlessly. “Tell us all about it. Tell us everything.”
Madoc gave them a taunting smile. “We saw the whole thing, didn’t we, Rhys?”
“Uh-huh. And they were hugging and squeezing each other. And Wynne’s hair was all messed up.”
“But what about the wet kiss?” Bronwen interrupted.
“Well, they pressed their mouths together—like a regular kiss, only a lot, lot longer.”
“And you could tell they opened their mouths—”
“—and that’s when their tongues were touching.”
Isolde and Bronwen looked at each other, then abruptly broke into giggles.
Arthur just shook his head. “That doesn’t make any sense. What was she rewarding him for? And what about Druce? Why would she want to give him a wet kiss?” Even after Rhys explained what Barris had said to Druce about Wynne and a wet kiss, Arthur still looked skeptical. But Isolde and Bronwen chattered excitedly.
“Maybe Druce and Cleve both love her.”
“Yes, but she didn’t kiss Druce. She kissed Cleve. So she must love him back.”
“Wynne would never love an Englishman,” Madoc said in an exasperated tone. “She hates the English.”
“Boys are so stupid,” Bronwen retorted with equal exasperation. “Don’t you know? You can’t help who you fall in love with.”
“But the English are our enemies,” Madoc exclaimed.
“So? Cleve likes us and we like him,” Isolde replied.
“And Wynne really likes him.” Bronwen giggled.
“He could marry her,” Arthur mused, more to himself than to the other children. “And if he did, well, then he’d be our father.” He was quiet a moment, still mulling over that idea. Then his thin face broke into a huge smile, and his serious eyes glowed with excitement. “He’d be our father!”
Rhys and Madoc looked a little disconcerted by that possibility. Even Bronwen and Isolde appeared taken aback, despite their previous rapture over the idea of Wynne and Cleve being in love. But Arthur was thrilled with the idea.
“He’d be our father, and … and we’d be like a real family.”
“We are a real family,” Madoc stated. “Wynne says so all the time.”
“But real families have fathers.”
Rhys and Madoc shared a look, then they both shrugged. “He is nice to us—”
“—almost as nice as Druce.”
“But Wynne doesn’t love Druce,” Bronwen interrupted. “She loves Sir Cleve.”
Rhys looked at Madoc. “She did give Cleve the reward she was supposed to give Druce.”
It was that indisputable fact that finally convinced the others. Wynne loved Sir Cleve, and he loved her. They would get married and then they would all be a real family. Arthur kept that happy thought uppermost in his mind as he clambered up onto his thinking boulder. In the field beyond him Rhys, Madoc, and Isolde continued their target practice amid much good-humored rowdiness. Bronwen made a little cottage on one side of his boulder and tried to get her kitten and puppy children to sleep in the straw beds she fashioned for them all. But like all children, her two didn’t wish to go to bed precisely when their mother ordered.
Arthur heard her gentle scolding only vaguely, however, and was equally unaffected by the noisy play of the other three. His quick mind turned over and over this new turn of events.
Wynne certainly hadn’t acted as if she liked Cleve FitzWarin up to now. Isolde and Bronwen had told him earlier that Wynne had caused Sir Cleve’s hands to get all itchy. Surely she wouldn’t do that to someone she liked. But then, there was that kiss. She wouldn’t give a big wet kiss to someone she didn’t like an awful lot.
He sighed, and stared up at the sky, watching the high, circling movements of a falcon of some variety or other. Some things were just so confusing. There were times when he thought he’d never figure the world out. But he was determined to try. He wanted to know everything about everything—even though some things were very puzzling. But that only made figuring them out even more fun. He didn’t understand how Wynne could want to hurt Cleve and then want to kiss him—but then, he didn’t understand anything about why men and women fell in love. Maybe that was how they were supposed to act.
He frowned in concentration. That must be it. Wynne had never acted so strangely before. But she’d never kissed anybody before either. At least not that the children knew about. Yes, it must be the kiss that did it. She was in love with Cleve, only she just wasn’t used to it yet.
He sighed and smiled in contentment. A father. Not until he’d met Sir Cleve in the forest and he’d helped him down from that tree, then given him a ride on his big horse, Ceta, had Arthur even thought about having a father. But now it seemed the most important thing in the whole world. He wanted a father, and he wanted it to be Cleve.
Wynne peered at Arthur suspiciously from across the well-lit hall. He’d been watching her like a hawk the entire evening. So had all the children. Could it be they suspected what she planned to do? But surely they couldn’t.
She bit her lip in uncertainty and fiddled with the stem of her plain pewter goblet. Arthur was possessed of an almost uncanny intelligence, it was true. But he’d never evidenced any particular interest in her herbal remedies. He was too busy trying to determine how birds could fly, where the sun went every night, and why the ocean didn’t drain off the edges of the world.
In the warm, golden light cast from the several torches that rimmed the hall, she saw Isolde whisper to Bronwen, and then both girls giggled. Perhaps Isolde suspected. Yes, it must be her, for she already showed an intense curiosity about the healing arts. Wynne was certain she would eventually show signs of possessing the Radnor vision.
Rexanne Becnel Page 10