With that, he sauntered from the room, while Mavis scrubbed her lips with the cuff of her gown and silently vowed that neither she nor Tamsin would ever be that man’s bride.
* * *
“Well, my lady, your wound has healed even better than I’d hoped,” Gilbert said with a smile as he examined her leg two days after Frida had her baby. “There will, of course, be a scar, but otherwise nothing more to trouble you.”
Except returning to Castle DeLac.
“Thank you for your help,” she said, trying to sound pleased. “I suppose I can begin the journey back to my home today?”
To the home that was no home, to marry a man she would never love, certainly never desire and whom she could easily come to hate.
Gilbert finished tying the clean bandage around her leg. “Yes, my lady. In a wagon, though, not riding.”
“I never ride. My uncle didn’t allow me to learn.”
What he had really said was that it would be a waste of time and a horse.
“I hope to see you again, although not for my medicinal skill. If I do not, I wish you continued good health, my lady,” Gilbert said as he picked up his medicinal chest.
“Thank you, Gilbert, and I wish the same for you, too,” she replied. The physician smiled, nodded a farewell and left the room.
After he was gone, she got to her feet, walked slowly to the window and looked out over the courtyard, now fully repaired. She spotted Hildie and some of the other women gossiping at the well, laughing and smiling in the way only the safe and secure can do. The guards at the gate stood relaxed and easy, too, because they feared no danger.
If she stayed, not only would Mavis be in danger, their lives would be disrupted, their safety and security put at risk. And for what? Her selfish need and longing.
Her love, for a man who could never be hers. Who should never be hers.
There he was now, striding purposefully across the yard to intercept the physician. Tamsin drew back when Rheged glanced at the window. Gilbert would tell him she was well enough to travel, that she could leave Cwm Bron as she had so forcefully, deceitfully declared was her desire.
She looked around Rheged’s chamber, still barren, still Spartan, more like a soldier’s quarters than a lord’s, yet she would miss it nonetheless. Her gaze lit on the little wooden box, now empty. Lifting it down from the shelf, she smiled wistfully, remembering Rheged’s nearly indecipherable notations. How hard it must have been for him to admit his ignorance! How difficult to learn to read and write when he could have been drinking or gambling or wenching with his companions.
If she had been one of those camp followers, she would have tried with all her might to persuade him to leave the ink and quills and parchment and sport with her instead.
But she was not a camp follower. She was a lady, bound by contract and her given word to marry Blane of Dunborough.
She started to put the box back, then hesitated. A small knife for cutting thread rested on the dressing table, near the spool of thread she’d used for mending.
Why not? she asked herself. What harm could it do? He might not even find it. Nor care by the time he did. She did it anyway, cutting a small lock of her hair, tying it with a bit of ribbon, then placing it in the box and putting it back on the shelf before she went below.
To find Sir Algar and Rheged waiting.
Sir Algar approached, his hands outstretched to take hers in his soft lean ones. “My lady,” he said with a smile, while Rheged, grim as death, stood motionless behind him.
Despite the smile on his lips, Sir Algar’s eyes were just as grave. “Gilbert tells us you are fit to travel.”
“Yes, my lord,” she answered, not looking at Rheged, “and since the day is fine, I would ask that I be taken back to Castle DeLac at once, as I was promised.”
“Of course, if that is what you truly wish,” Sir Algar said, gripping her hands more tightly. “If it is not, however, if you would rather not return to marry Blane—”
“I must, my lord,” she interrupted. “I have given my word, and you know even better than I what my uncle might do if I do not.”
Only then did she glance at Rheged, still stone-faced, still motionless. “I won’t bring trouble to you or your liegeman or your people.”
Sir Algar led her to the chair and gestured for her to sit. He sat on the bench beside her and motioned for Rheged to come closer. “I appreciate your concern and your great kindness, as well as the sacrifice you’re prepared to make. I also understand that you’re a woman of honor and duty. But, my dear, Blane is not worthy of such a sacrifice. If you fear for Rheged’s safety if you stay in Cwm Bron, then come with me to my castle. I am prepared to offer you sanctuary and I shall try to persuade your uncle to set you free.”
Sanctuary, not marriage. But even so, she could not accept. “I thank you with all my heart, my lord, but I won’t put you or anyone else in jeopardy, and I have given my word.”
Only then did Rheged come forward, regarding her steadily with his piercing dark eyes. “Your cousin,” he said, the words calm but firm. “Your uncle will give her to Blane if you don’t return.”
As Tamsin stared at him, Rheged knew he’d found the true reason she would marry Blane, along with the explanation for the desperation that came to her eyes every time he gave her reasons she should not. Yes, she had given her word and honor demanded she adhere to it, but he had always sensed there was more to her reasoning than that.
Now he knew it was love, and now he knew love’s power, as he never had before. He also knew Tamsin’s determination and the strength of her resolve. She would do what she felt right, even at the sacrifice of her own happiness. She would not be Tamsin otherwise. Nor would she ever be content.
“Is that true, my dear?” Sir Algar asked quietly. “He would give even his own daughter to that villain?”
“A marriage must be made,” Tamsin replied, “and if my marriage will prevent a host of suffering, how can I refuse? I cannot and will not be so heartless and so selfish.”
She waited for Rheged or Algar to protest. To explain again that Blane was evil and would make her life a misery. But they did not.
Instead, Sir Algar sighed and took her hand in his. “As much as I wish it could be otherwise, I can’t, in good conscience, deny what you say, or refuse you the chance to do what you so clearly wish to do, regardless of the price you’ll pay. I admired and respected your mother, and I was glad when she escaped the prison her father and brother made for her. I admire and respect you all the more, my dear, for walking into the prison your uncle has created.” He looked at Rheged, standing stiffly in front of them. “You must take her back, Rheged.”
The knight she loved said nothing, revealed nothing, except to nod his acquiescence. But she knew he could not do less. If she could be so strong, he must be, too, and accept what had to be.
“It will take a little time to pack your things and prepare the wagon,” Sir Algar said.
“I have nothing to pack.”
“You must keep the clothes and comb I gave you,” he insisted. “They are gifts.”
She didn’t have the heart to refuse again. “Thank you, my lord.”
Sir Algar rose. “Hildie and I shall see to that,” he said. “In the meantime, Rheged, perhaps the lady could give you her opinion of the site of your new castle.”
Tamsin could not resist what seemed to her a final gift, the chance to have a little more time with Rheged, however painful it made their parting. And yet... “I’d be happy to, but I can’t ride,” she said, for the first time truly regretting that she couldn’t.
“You can see it from the wall walk,” Sir Algar said. “Rheged?”
“I would be delighted to hear the lady’s opinions,” he said, his expression still revealing nothing as he held out his arm to escort her from the hall.
Tamsin placed her hand on his arm and let him lead her out into the yard. If only she could stay! If only Mavis, Rheged, Sir Algar and so many others weren�
��t at risk! If only she were free!
They reached the bottom of the stone stairs leading to the wall walk, and again she hesitated.
“If your leg is too sore to climb the stairs...” Rheged began.
“No, it isn’t that. I’m afraid to be up high,” she admitted. “I’m always afraid I may fall, even if there is a railing.”
He smiled then, not in mockery or derision, but the comforting smile of one who knows, and understands. “I’ll take the outside,” he said, moving so that she was on the inside of the steps, nearest the solid wall.
She found it easy to start up the stairs then.
“The very thought of venturing out across open water in a boat fills me with terror,” he confessed as they walked up the steps together.
“Yet you went to France.”
“I was paid to fight in France, so it was cross the water or starve.”
“If you hadn’t sailed for France, you might not be a knight. Sir Algar told me how you earned your title. I think I would have died of fright.”
“It’s easier when you have nothing to lose.”
“Except your life.”
“When you’re poor and a peasant, that doesn’t seem like such a risk.”
Once they were on the walk, she stood in the shadow of the tower with the rough stone wall behind her.
“There,” Rheged said, pointing to the western edge of the ridge where the ground had fallen away to make a cliff. “We’ll have to cut down more of the wood, but a fortress there will overlook the entire valley and the road.”
“In clear weather like today,” she replied, trying to concentrate on the site and not the man beside her whom she might never see again after today. “Since part of the ridge has fallen away, I trust you’ve looked for caves or fissures that could cause problems with the foundations.”
“I haven’t yet hired a mason to do such things.”
“What about the fox you hunted and killed? If foxes or wolves have dens there, that could mean the rock is prone to cracking.”
“We caught the fox miles from here.”
“It could have been leading you away from its den.” She thought of something else vital to a fortress. “What about a source for water? High ground is always drier. If the castle is besieged and water becomes scarce, the inhabitants won’t be able to hold out for very long. You could dig a well, I suppose, but that will take time and more money.” She paused, then added, “You might have to find an extremely wealthy bride.”
“If I marry.”
“You should marry. You should have a wife who loves you and cares for you. You should have children, Rheged. Strong boys, like you, and daughters—”
“Who look like you,” he said, turning to her quickly, his deep voice low and fierce, his eyes full of fire. “I would have my children look like you. Be like you, as strong and clever and honorable as you. As loving and caring, willing to sacrifice all for those they love. I would have you as the mother of my children, Tamsin, or I’ll have no one!”
She could only stare at him, hearing the truth in his words and seeing the need and yearning burning in his eyes—a need and yearning that matched what was in her own heart.
He took hold of her shoulders and looked down at her. “There is only one woman I want for my wife, and she’s promised to another. Only one woman I want in my life and in my bed, and she has given her word to marry someone else.”
“And I must keep it!” she cried, the tears starting as she fought to be strong and remember who would suffer if she was weak and took what she wanted more than anything in this world or the next.
“I know,” he said, his hold relaxing. “You would not be the Tamsin I love otherwise.” Again his grip tightened. “One kiss, Tamsin,” he pleaded, pulling her closer. “One kiss, to remember when we’re alone and lonely in all the years to come. One. Only one.”
How could she deny him that? Or herself?
She couldn’t, and she yielded, for she, too, wanted something to remember when she was alone and lonely, when another man made her his wife. When another man took her to his bed.
Their kiss was all that and more as his lips moved gently, tenderly over hers.
She held him close, this powerful, passionate warrior who loved her, wanting him to take her, wishing that he could, her whole body urging her to pull him deeper into the shadow of the tower where they could not be seen. To let him claim her and make her his, as she would claim him in body, if not in law.
“Riders!” a guard shouted from the gates. “Armed and clad in mail and carrying the banner of DeLac!”
Chapter Fourteen
Rheged rushed to the edge of the walk and looked out at the road leading to the fortress. Tamsin stayed farther back, but she could see the road well enough to realize the guard was right. That was her uncle’s banner, and the large man leading the party with an armored knight beside him had to be her uncle.
“Why has my uncle come—and why now?” she asked with anguish.
“No doubt we’ll find out soon enough,” Rheged replied as he took her hand and led her to the stairs leading down from the wall. Again he took the outer edge to ward off her fear, although that dread was gone, overwhelmed by a greater terror. When they reached the yard, the gates were closed and Gareth was waiting for them, a few of the men with him.
“Let DeLac and his men enter,” Rheged said, “but first I want every soldier assembled in the yard, in armor and with weapons.”
As Gareth started shouting orders and more men appeared, Rheged turned to Tamsin. “They’ll be here very soon. Go to the upper chamber. You’ll be safe there.”
She shook her head. “No. He’s my uncle. I’ll stay and hear what he has to say.”
“As will I,” Sir Algar declared, trotting down the steps from the keep, his expression grave. “I’m as responsible for this as you, Rheged.”
“My lord—”
“Do not argue with me,” Sir Algar commanded, and Rheged said no more.
As they waited, Tamsin clasped her hands, while Rheged stood with his arms crossed, his feet planted, still as a statue. Sir Algar shifted from foot to foot, his gaze darting from the gates to the men on the walls to the soldiers mustering below.
It seemed as if an age passed before Gareth, now above on the walk near the gates, responded to a hale. After answering, he called to the men below to open the gates, and Simon DeLac, arrayed in a long, thick black cloak over the armor he’d only ever worn for show, rode into the yard of Cwm Bron. Beside him came the unknown knight, and he was followed by a force of twenty men, one of whom carried DeLac’s banner.
There were not enough men to give battle, thank God. Not today.
Then Tamsin looked more closely at her uncle. Despite the billowing folds of his ermine-collared cloak, he had obviously grown thinner. His face was pale, too, and there were dark circles under his eyes, as if he hadn’t slept in days.
The cloaked and helmeted knight riding beside him wore a gray surcoat bearing a coat of arms featuring a boar and snake. This man’s armor, while expensive, was also clearly made for use. Drawing his mount to a halt, he raised his visor to reveal brown eyes hooded by heavy dark eyebrows that loomed over his hawklike nose. Otherwise, his face was fleshy, his lips thick, and his clean-shaven chin thrust forward with pride and arrogance. He regarded her, and all about him, with a sneering, scornful gaze.
Rheged put his hand on the hilt of his sword while Sir Algar muttered an oath.
“What is it?” Tamsin demanded under her breath. “Who’s the man beside my uncle?”
“Whoever he is, he wears the crest of Sir Blane’s family,” Sir Algar replied.
“That is Sir Broderick of Dunborough,” Rheged said grimly. “Sir Blane’s son and heir.”
Tamsin felt sick. Obviously Rheged had been wrong and Blane hadn’t tarried on his way to Castle DeLac.
And yet... “Where is Sir Blane?”
No one answered as her uncle slowly dismounted and walked toward
her, completely ignoring Rheged and Sir Algar, too.
“Ah, Thomasina, my dear, there you are,” he said, smiling like he was truly pleased to see her and she was at Cwm Bron for a friendly visit. “And quite well, I see.” He gestured at the man still mounted. “Thomasina, this is Sir Broderick of Dunborough, Sir Blane’s eldest son.”
“My lady,” Broderick said with a nod of his helmeted head, likewise ignoring Rheged and Sir Algar.
“Greetings, Sir Broderick,” she replied, glancing warily at Rheged before she came forward. The master of Cwm Bron hadn’t moved, nor had his stony expression changed. “May I present Sir Rheged and his overlord, Sir Algar.”
“My father spoke well of you, Algar,” Broderick said before regarding Rheged with disgust. “As for this Welshman, we’re already acquainted.”
Tamsin tried to hide her shock. Rheged had said the family were like vipers and he’d recognized Broderick, but she hadn’t considered exactly how he’d come by that knowledge. No doubt she should have asked.
“Neither you nor Lord DeLac is welcome here, Broderick,” Rheged growled.
“Nor have I any wish to be within ten miles of you,” the knight replied, dismounting. “But you’ve stolen something that belongs to me and I’ve come to get it back.” Broderick turned his unwelcome attention back to Tamsin. “A betrothal agreement was made and signed, and I intend to hold your uncle—and you—to it.” His lips curved up, more smirk than smile. “Although there must be a slight change, given that my father is dead.”
“Dead?” Tamsin mouthed, staring at the man with the cold eyes and thick lips so like a toad’s.
“If Blane’s dead, there’s no more betrothal,” Sir Algar said, moving closer and speaking with relieved confidence. “The agreement is null and void.”
Broderick’s beady dark eyes seemed to glow with satisfaction as he dismounted and smiled the most ugly smile Tamsin had ever seen. “We’ve made a new agreement, DeLac and I. He has agreed that this lady will now be my wife.”
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