by Shari Anton
Rhodri ap Dafydd was one of the most handsome men she’d ever set eyes on. And, God’s truth, she’d discovered she was as weak willed as the lowliest of women whenever she peered too long into his entrancing eyes.
A craving for more than kisses burned low in her belly and made her squirm. He noticed that moment of discomfort and ceased playing.
“Beg pardon, Nicole. I did not mean to wake you.”
“’Tis not all your doing. I was primed for waking. The bell for matins will ring soon. Truth to tell, I rather like waking to the harp over a bell.”
“Ah.”
She rose up on an elbow.
“You play beautifully, Rhodri. Your father would be proud of how you honor his harp.”
He ran a hand along the frame’s curve in both a loving and respectful fashion, much the way he would touch a woman—or so she imagined. Much the way she wanted him to touch her.
“I have another harp at Glenvair, the one awarded me when I finished my training. It has a wondrous voice, and I play it often. However, I seem able to fashion new songs more easily on this one.”
“Is that what you are doing, fashioning a new song?”
“With me the music comes first, then the words. I know of others who insist the music must fit the poetry.” He shrugged a shoulder of indifference. “Neither way is right nor wrong, merely an individual preference.”
Fascinated, Nicole sat upright.
“Have you words to your song as yet?”
He shook his head. “The event has not yet happened that suits this melody. I will know when the event and time is right, then settle on the words.”
Rhys, the bard at Camelen, always wrote his poetry first, then set the melody to fit the words. It had never occurred to her that composing could be done differently. But then, she’d never given thought to how bards did what they did, merely enjoyed the results of their labors.
Rhodri reached for the harp’s soft, protective sack, which now carried several more items than his harp. Her circlet. The rope he’d used to great advantage yester noon as a rabbit snare. A hook and line that hadn’t yet earned its space in the sack but might yet prove useful. Several apples they’d picked yester morn.
The thought of food prodded her stomach to once more protest its lack of regular meals.
“Why not go back to sleep?” he suggested. “There is time yet before daylight.”
Nicole rose from elbow to hand, wishing she could go back to sleep. “I am not an advocate of rising before the sun, but once my eyes are open they stubbornly remain open. What of you? Did you stand guard all night?”
“Not all.”
“But most, I would wager.” She sat up and rearranged the blanket to drape over her shoulders. “’Tis time you sleep, and I will keep watch.”
He looked so horrified she almost laughed aloud.
“Heavens above, Rhodri, if you felt it safe enough to play your harp, then you have already determined we are not in immediate danger from either patrols or bears. The most noteworthy event likely to happen in the next few hours is sunrise.”
He didn’t hide his apprehension over her suggestion. “True, however—”
“I give you my oath I will wake you if a twig snaps or a leaf rustles. I will not be able to go back to sleep in any event, so you may as well do so if you can.”
Which she knew most warriors could do, because they’d been trained to sleep when the opportunity arose when on the march. She and Rhodri might not be headed into battle, but their circumstances warranted similar tactics to survive this journey.
Silently, he reached into the sack, drew out an apple, and tossed it her way.
“Any sound, any movement, you scream,” he ordered.
She couldn’t help smile with delight that he would place this small trust in her.
“I can scream.”
His answering smile was wry. “I remember.”
She felt her cheeks grow warm. The only time he’d heard her scream was as a little girl at Glenvair.
Deciding not to comment, Nicole took a bite of apple while Rhodri stretched out on his back, his feet toward the fire, using one arm on which to rest his head. She would offer him the blanket to use as his pillow but knew he’d refuse, insisting she needed the blanket for warmth.
Not that she was cold. Too often since their kiss in the hunting lodge, she’d been tempted to lie down beside Rhodri and entice him into another kiss and a more intimate embrace. ’Twas wicked of her, but at the moment she had to force herself to remain where she was and not to offer herself as his blanket.
And ’struth, she had to admit she wasn’t sure if he would accept or reject such a bold offer.
He wanted her, had conveyed as much in the hunting lodge. But he also possessed the fortitude to resist the passion she was so curious about and hungered for.
Nicole took another bite of the apple, which would have benefited from a few more days on the tree, the memory of his darkened eyes and blatant desire refusing to dim.
Oh, she knew he’d done the honorable thing in the lodge by denying them further intimacy, not allowing their lust to overcome them. Unfortunately, on this sixth morning since Rhodri reentered her life, she perversely wanted to know precisely why Sister Amelia so willingly spent nights with a certain visiting bishop, and she wanted Rhodri to satisfy that curiosity.
With a sigh, she tossed the apple core into the fire and looked around the small clearing, eager to find a distraction for wanton musings.
Two shining eyes peered back at her from the edge of the clearing, only a few paces off.
Fear shot through her. Could she have been wrong about the bears? Had the fire burned too low to hold a dangerous creature at bay?
She was about to scream when the fear abated somewhat. Those shining eyes didn’t belong to a large animal. They were too small and too close to the ground for a bear or wolf on the prowl.
A rabbit? Oh, why hadn’t Rhodri put out his snare? But no, this animal was larger.
Confident she and Rhodri were in no immediate danger of being mauled or eaten, Nicole sat statue still, watching their predawn visitor. The animal didn’t move, not even when dim light and the first sounds of birdsong heralded the coming dawn.
When the sunlight was bright enough that the animal’s eyes stopped shining, she continued to sit quietly and stare at the same spot until the sun’s rays finally proclaimed the day.
A pig. Small and white, it couldn’t be more than a few months old, likely out of a sow’s second litter of the year.
Had it wandered off from its mother, and if from a village’s herd of pigs, would a swineherd come looking for it? Or was it wild and therefore free for the taking?
Well, not free. She well knew that lords frowned upon anyone taking game from their forest lands, and most of them employed foresters to catch poachers. Rhodri had already snared a rabbit that some forester might consider his special charge, but still, Nicole’s mouth watered at the thought of roasted pork.
Moving slowly, Nicole slid sideways until she could touch Rhodri’s shoulder. His eyes instantly snapped open.
Oh, sweet mercy, she’d forgotten the captivating effect of those eyes, the amber-flecked brown now all soft and liquid from sleep. ’Struth, she could sit here until dusk staring into those wondrous pools.
“Is aught amiss?” he asked, breaking her all-too-brief trance.
“How fast can you run?”
His eyes narrowed. “Need we?”
“Not we, you.” Nicole pointed to where the pig still stood beside a stout oak. “Tonight’s supper.”
He rubbed a hand over his eyes. “You want me to catch a pig.”
She didn’t sense any enthusiasm for the venture. She glanced at the pig, who twitched an ear, as if waiting to hear her answer. She kept her voice low.
“’Tis small, and I see no tusks, so ’tis likely a sow. It has also been standing there for a long, long while, so I have to wonder if there is aught wrong with its legs.�
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“Or perhaps it smelled the apple you were eating and is waiting for us to leave so it can investigate the possibility of easy food. Nicole, have you ever tried to catch a pig?”
“I cannot say I have ever had reason.”
“They may have short legs, but pigs can be wily and swift, nigh on impossible to catch.”
Nicole warmed to the plan that was beginning to form. “I will entice it with an apple, and while it is looking at me, you can sneak up behind it.”
He arched an eyebrow. “If you can entice the pig, then it is likely accustomed to people, and we will see a swineherd come hunting it soon. Otherwise it is wild, and we have already poached a rabbit. ’Twould not be wise to take two animals from the same lands.”
She glanced longingly at several meals still on the hoof.
“So we let it go?”
He was quiet for a moment before he ordered, “Give me an apple and your dagger.”
Encouraged, Nicole did as bid. Rhodri sat upright, sliced the apple into quarters, and tossed the pieces into the long grass between them and the pig, the last piece landing not far from the fire. He wiped the juice from the blade before, to her surprise, he slid the dagger into his own boot.
“If the pig takes all of the bait,” he said, “and we hear no swineherd calling his charge before we are ready to leave, then we will see what we can do to catch the little bugger.”
Making ready to leave wouldn’t take much time at all. To Nicole’s delight, by the time they’d both risen to their feet, the pig was already munching the first apple slice, giving her hope.
Since the day promised to be a fine one, Nicole folded up her blanket to carry over her arm while Rhodri began to scatter the last embers of the fire.
And the pig trotted over to devour the second apple slice.
The pig was taking the bait. All it needed was time to sniff out all the pieces.
Pleased, and most willing to give the pig a leisurely last meal, Nicole put the blanket atop the harp’s sack and ambled off into the brush behind them for her morning bodily relief, taking care to remain within hailing distance and not taking overlong, so Rhodri wouldn’t become concerned and come looking for her. Still, she didn’t hurry the task, either.
By the time she came out of the thicket, Rhodri had stomped out the last of the campfire’s embers. Nicole halted, watching Rhodri bend down to retrieve the dagger as the dear little porker strolled toward the fourth piece of apple.
With graceful, sidelong strides, he took up a position he must consider advantageous—behind and to the right of the pig. Nicole crossed her arms tight against her midriff, her heart beating wildly in anticipation of the chase.
Rhodri took one long, slow step, then another, then broke into a run. The pig sensed the danger and sped off, nigh on flying on those little legs. Had the pig run straight, Rhodri might have made short work of the hunt, but the pig circled back, speeding toward the oak tree whence Nicole had first spotted it.
Rhodri spun in pursuit, gaining ground on his prey, not slowing even when the pig shot into the woodland. Several rapid heartbeats after she lost sight of hunter and prey, she heard a mighty warrior’s cry, then winced at the alarming crash that followed.
Then there was silence. And the silence became ominous. Her excitement fading to concern, Nicole hiked up her skirts and ran to the spot where Rhodri had entered the woods.
Praying the silence meant he was merely slaughtering the pig, she called Rhodri’s name.
His disgruntled “Here” didn’t reassure her.
The trail of broken branches and trampled grass was easily followed.
Nicole found Rhodri sitting next to a log, his mouth and brow tight with a mix of anger and pain, his hands wrapped around his still-booted ankle.
Oh, this wasn’t good. Not good at all.
Chapter Nine
The messenger’s news was both astonishing and distressing, and Alberic, lord of Camelen, wished the earl of Oxford hadn’t felt obligated to inform Gwendolyn and Emma of the details of Nicole’s disappearance.
Alberic was worried about Nicole, but he was more concerned with the distress the news caused his wife.
Huge with their third child, and as beautiful as the day they’d met eight years past, Gwendolyn sat on a bench near the great hall’s hearth with her elder sister, Emma. The two held hands, drawing comfort from each other.
Darian, Emma’s husband, didn’t like the misery on his wife’s pale face, either. Of a height and warrior’s build as Alberic, the former mercenary stood with his feet spread and arms crossed, frowning into the flames.
Likely the dire possibilities, both for Nicole’s safety and the political repercussions, were flickering through Darian’s mind, too.
Gwendolyn looked up at him with pleading, liquid doe-brown eyes. “What are we to do, Alberic? We cannot stand by and allow Rhodri to whisk Nicole off to Wales!”
He placed a hand on her shoulder, hoping his touch offered a measure of comfort.
“’Tis possible the earl’s patrols have already captured them and Nicole is even now on her way back to Oxford.”
Gwendolyn wiped away a tear and grunted indelicately. “Aubrey de Vere has much to answer for! Had he not taken Nicole and Rhodri into his custody and forced them to go to Oxford, this would not have happened!”
Emma squeezed Gwendolyn’s hand. “Had Uncle Connor not sent Rhodri to Bledloe Abbey, the earl would not have had reason for his actions. Endeavoring to assign blame for Nicole’s plight, beyond Rhodri’s despicable use of her to escape Oxford, is a waste.”
“Agreed,” Alberic stated, glad to see Gwendolyn’s emotions shift from devastated to angry. Her tears wrenched out his heart, but her anger he could deal with—mostly.
“But what are we to do?” his wife still wanted to know. “Nicole is not accustomed to being out in the wild, and the change of season is upon us. She could be cold, and hungry, and—sweet mercy, I cannot believe this of Rhodri! How dare he!”
The message from de Vere had been long and thorough, and Alberic wasn’t sure what to believe. Had Connor ap Maelgwn sent Rhodri ap Dafydd to Bledloe Abbey merely to inquire of Nicole’s health and contentment? Or had Connor planned for Rhodri to entice or kidnap Nicole from the abbey all along, as the earl believed?
If the former, the pair might well be headed for Camelen and not Wales. The journey from Oxford would take them several days afoot, especially if they stayed off the roads to avoid capture. If they were bound for Wales, the journey would take longer, and thus his wife would worry all the more.
Alberic rubbed at his chin, trying not to believe ill of his wife’s Welsh uncle but not succeeding.
“The first thing I must do is send a messenger to Connor. I want to know precisely why he sent Rhodri to see Nicole.” Not that the wily Connor wasn’t above lying, but the attempt to learn the truth needs be made. “We must also send out our own patrols on the possibility the pair is headed here. If I send men Nicole might recognize, wearing Camelen’s livery, she will know they can be approached without fear of harm.”
Darian nodded in agreement. “’Twould be good for Rhodri to realize that, too. ’Struth, were I locked in a castle tower, I would employ whatever means I must to escape. Rhodri’s misuse of Nicole may have been part of a ploy to gain freedom for them both, so he may not be deserving of punishment, at least not by us.”
Emma arched an eyebrow. “You think Rhodri holding Nicole by the throat was part of a ploy, that she may have known what he was about?”
“’Tis possible.”
Gwendolyn shook her head. “Then how do you explain her actions at Little Gate? The messenger said she ran to the guards and begged them for protection from Rhodri!”
“A diversion. Nicole may have sent most of the guards off to chase Rhodri, leaving him only two men at the gate to get past. Nicely done, if that was the case.”
Alberic saw the sense in Darian’s reasoning but couldn’t approve of Rhodri’s using a w
oman in such fashion. “Damn devious and dishonorable.”
Darian smiled hugely. “Aye, astute and cunning, and the scheme worked. They might not have been able to pass through the gate otherwise.”
One of the oddities of having a brother-by-marriage who had once been a renowned mercenary was their sometimes differing attitudes toward what was acceptable behavior and what was not, with Darian being more lenient. Overly lenient, to Alberic’s way of thinking.
Still, it wasn’t Darian’s character in question, but Rhodri ap Dafydd’s.
He addressed Gwen and Emma. “What do you know of Rhodri? Whether he forced her out of Oxford or no, can he be trusted not to harm her?”
The sisters glanced at each other before Gwendolyn answered. “Neither of us had seen Rhodri for an age. What I know of him in recent years comes from Connor’s letters, and Connor always mentioned Rhodri with pride in his accomplishments, first with a sword and bow, then with the harp.”
Emma nodded. “Connor had reason for pride. Not every man who plays a harp and writes poetry becomes an honored bard. A man must have talent, but the study also takes years of hard work and perseverance.”
“Which only speaks well of his skills and ambition,” Alberic countered, “not of the man’s honor.”
Gwendolyn sighed heavily and put a hand on her huge stomach—which moved with the squirming of the babe—and Alberic once more berated Fate for sending upsetting news at such a time.
“I must believe Rhodri will take care of Nicole or worry myself into an agitation not good for the babe.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Emma leaned toward Gwendolyn and whispered, “Should I look?”
Alberic inwardly shivered.
He’d long ago accepted the existence of magic. The ring that wouldn’t budge from his finger, binding him to Gwendolyn as joint guardians of an ancient spell, was a visible reminder of magic’s existence. But he and Gwendolyn might never be called upon to recall King Arthur from the Isle of Avalon to come to Britain’s aid—at least he hoped not—so Alberic tried not to dwell on magic’s use, and for long periods of time he could put it out of mind.