“Did you dally with her?” Glenys asked.
“I brought her no shame, if that is what you mean. I left her pure for marriage to another, at least in body if not in heart, for she said that she loved me, also.”
“And you find it so impossible to believe that Kieran FitzAllen did the same?”
“Fully and completely,” Daman replied. “He is neither a man of honor nor of truth, but a liar and scoundrel of great repute. And his conquests with women are too numerous to speak of. Why should he withhold from taking his pleasure with the sister of a man he wished to spite? He would think far more of just how perfect it would make his revenge, not only to make you love him, but to bring shame to you and all our family.”
“But he did not do so,” Glenys said, sighing. “I cannot make you believe me, yet it is true. I had no care for such things, but I can only now think how right Kieran was.”
“Glenys, I’ve just told you that the man took you for revenge!” Daman protested. “Any sweet words of love that he gave you were lies, meant only to gain your trust.”
“That may have once been his intent,” Glenys admitted. “But somehow it changed. He loves me, Daman. I believe that with all my heart.”
“How so?” Daman demanded angrily. “He’s spent his life weaving lies, caring not who he’s told them to or to what purpose. Why a-God’s name should you believe him now?”
“Because no one else will,” she replied simply. “Because he needs someone—even one person—to believe in him.”
“Then you’re a fool,” Daman told her. “It saddens me, Glenys, to see you come down to this. You were the most sensible among us, the most sane and trustworthy. Now you seem to have forgotten everything—even the safety of our family. Or will you tell me that now you’ve also begun to believe in magic, so that I am left alone to protect our aunts and uncles?”
“I think I have begun to believe,” she murmured. “When we were at Pentre Ifan, a little man wearing a red cap appeared to Kieran, and called him Lord Eneinoig—the promised one.”
Even Daman, for all his naysaying, checked at this, and stared at her.
“Lord Eneinoig? Kieran FitzAllen? That’s impossible. And ’tis naught but a foolish legend, anywise.”
“A family legend,” Glenys reminded him. “One that we have heard all our lives. But Kieran FitzAllen could never have heard of it or found it out to use to his own purpose. I have thought it through from every side, and can only believe that it must be true. And if it is,” she said, standing once more and facing her brother, “then Kieran is acceptable as my husband.”
“Understand me,” Daman said, his voice tight with ill-concealed anger, “you will never see Kieran FitzAllen again. There are no arguments you can make that will sway me to say otherwise. I will have him and his manservant taken to London, tried for kidnapping, and hanged.”
Glenys took one step nearer, gazing into his eyes, unafraid.
“It will not be done. Once we’re in London, I shall tell Uncle Aonghus everything, and he’ll stop you. And if he does not, I’ll go to the king myself and plead for Kieran’s life, and Jean-Marc’s as well. And, Brother, remember who holds the key to our family’s wealth. I’ve been the one to please both church and crown with tributes each year, and know full well which hands to warm with gold in order to obtain their freedom. Your efforts to have them killed will be for naught.”
Daman’s expression was one of sorrow and dismay.
“He’s made you mad,” he murmured. “I cannot trust that you will come to your senses before we’ve reached Metolius, and so I must keep you safe from your own folly. You will not come with us to London, Glenys. Nay, I will hear no arguments, not until you’ve grown sane again. You and Mistress Dina will remain in Wales, at Glain Tarran, until FitzAllen and his manservant have been put to death. My men will take you there now and keep you under guard. I will instruct the servants to listen to nothing that you say, and to keep you locked within the dwelling until I come for you. I am sorry, Glenys, but it must be this way. If I loved you less, I would not take such care. You may hate me for it now, but you’ll thank me one day, once you’ve realized what misery I have saved you from.”
For the next ten minutes, Glenys’s fury raged unabated. She argued, she wept, she threw things at him and made every dire threat she could think of. But he remained unmoved, and, in truth, only grew more convinced that she was ill in her mind for having spent so many days in Kieran FitzAllen’s company.
In the end, Glenys gave way, too exhausted and dispirited to go on. Her face, where Daman had struck her, ached badly, and she sat in the chair by the hearth, rubbing it with care.
“At least let me send a note to him,” she said, closing her eyes wearily. “A farewell note.”
Daman knelt beside her once more. “If it would soothe you, then write it out now and I’ll give it to him. Does it hurt badly, Glenys? I wish to God that I had cut my hand off before ever striking you.”
Glenys moaned and pressed her hand against her swollen cheek. “The pain is terrible. I can scarce bear it. I would have Dina deliver the note, so that she can tell me how Kieran and Jean-Marc fare.”
“Nay,” Daman said firmly. “I will take it.”
“Ohh!” Glenys cried, pressing both hands on her face now. “It aches so badly! And knowing that you could do such a thing to me is even more painful. I would be so greatly eased if only Dina could tell me that she had seen them with her own eyes. And spoken to them—at least to Jean-Marc. She needn’t even go near Kieran. Please, Daman,” she pleaded when he said nothing. “’Twould mean so much to me.”
He sighed and stood; Glenys waited.
“Very well,” he said at last. “But I must read the note you write, and Dina can spend no more than five minutes in the wagon with them. Guards will stand at the door the while.”
“It will be as you say,” she said at once, dropping her hand and opening her eyes. “Thank you, Daman. If you will find me paper and ink somewhere within this brothel, I shall write the note. And if you would send Dina in to me first, I would be even more grateful.”
The note contained only one word: Godspeed. Glenys’s name wasn’t even signed to it, though Dina had thrust it into his hands, saying that it was from her mistress. Kieran supposed, gazing at the tiny scrap of parchment, that Daman would not let Glenys say more. In truth, he was surprised that she’d been allowed to write him anything at all.
Kieran lay back down in the straw, shackled both hand and foot, and with the small measure of freedom he possessed tucked the one-word missive into his tunic. His fingers, able to creep only partly into his inner pocket, touched the smooth surface of the little glowing stone. It was warm and comforting, something familiar to carry with him to prison and bear him company. Something to remind him of Glenys before he died.
In the far corner of the small, dark wagon in which they were confined, he could hear snatches of the fervent conversation taking place between Dina and Jean-Marc. She seemed to be trying to convince him to escape, and he apparently believed that he could not abandon Kieran. But Kieran would make certain that Jean-Marc was gone before they reached London. ’Twould be an easy thing for him to manage—they’d both escaped numerous imprisonments before now—and Daman wouldn’t bother to search for a mere manservant. So long as he held the master, Daman would let Jean-Marc go without giving chase.
“You must come,” Dina whispered urgently, casting a glance at the guard who watched through the single barred window. “We need your help. And ’tis the only way you can save your master.”
“I can’t leave him, Dina.”
“Yes, you can,” Kieran said wearily from where he lay, his head throbbing from the blow Daman had dealt him. “Never fear, Dina. Jean-Marc will meet you wherever you wish it.”
“Quiet!” Jean-Marc set a finger to his lips. “He’s listening.” He jerked his head toward the guard, who did, indeed, seem to be trying to hear what they were saying.
“Ti
me, mistress!” he shouted in at them. “Finish up.”
“Jean-Marc!” Dina pleaded, grasping his hands.
“Dina, I love you, but I can’t—”
“Oh, be quiet and kiss her,” Kieran said irately. “You’re making my head ache. He’ll meet you, Dina. Tell Glenys it will be so.”
Jean-Marc moved to sit beside him once Dina had gone, looking down at him with disapproval. “I’ll not leave you alone,” he stated. “I’ll not leave at all, unless you come, too.”
“You know I can’t,” Kieran told him, feeling both weary and sick. “Daman would chase us forever, and Glenys’s name would be cast into scandal, and her family’s as well. At every word of our whereabouts the rumors would start anew, never leaving her in peace. I couldn’t do that to her. Never that, when she’s spent so much of her life striving to keep her family safe from prying eyes. It’s over, Jean-Marc. We’ve had many good years together, and I’m more thankful than I can say that you’ve been with me. But it’s time for you to go on your own. And time for me to face a fitting punishment for all my sins.”
“By the rood!” Jean-Marc swore violently, reaching down to grasp the front of Kieran’s tunic and drag him upright, his chains clattering at the abrupt motion. “They’ll kill you if they get you to London. You’ll have no chance of escaping Newgate, and they will hang you. You must come with me when I go.”
“I knew what risks I took with both our lives when I gave way to desire and lingered too long. Every sense and skill warned me. My only comfort is that you can so easily escape. I want you to live, Jean-Marc, and be happy with Dina. I want you to build her a beautiful manor house and have a dozen children and live like a king and queen. And, mayhap, from time to time, make certain that Glenys is well and happy. For the sake of our friendship, I would ask that of you.”
“I won’t let them hang you,” Jean-Marc told him stubbornly, giving him a shake.
Kieran sighed and gently pushed free of Jean-Marc’s grip. “If I die, then Glenys will have a chance to live in peace. There will be rumors for a time, but they will soon fade. Daman will see to that.”
“Kieran,” Jean-Marc said with disbelief. “You don’t know what you say. You won’t be so foolish as to die for the sake of a mere woman, no matter what you may feel for her. I’ve known you too long to believe such a thing.”
Kieran smiled and spoke to him gently. “Love is a frightening force, my friend. Ever remember that when you have taken your beloved Dina to wife.” He reached out with his manacled hands and touched Jean-Marc’s arm. “You must take every care. Set your mind on keeping Dina and Glenys safe, once you’ve escaped. Don’t let yourself think of me.”
Jean-Marc made a sound of disgust and pushed away. “If you think I’d go off and leave you after all these years, just to save my own skin, then you’re far wrong.” His voice was filled with insult and not a little hurt. “Oh, I’ll escape, just as you wish, but only to help Dina and Mistress Glenys save your sorry neck. And because I can’t bear to be in the company of a fool.”
Kieran chuckled. “As you prefer it. I never was able to make you do what I wished. You’re a terrible manservant. But,” he added more seriously, “an excellent friend.”
Jean-Marc crossed his arms and looked away, grunting as if he didn’t care at all about this. But Kieran knew better.
“I’ll ask one last thing of you,” he said. “Daman will have told Glenys about Elizabet, and she’ll think that I took her only for that purpose, and that I lied to her about…everything. Tell her…tell her that I meant every word I said, and that I love her as I have never loved another, and that she gave me such happiness as I never thought to have. And a pleasant dream to carry with me into prison, knowing that she would have accepted me as her husband. Tell her that, will you?”
“Hah,” Jean-Marc said gruffly, still not looking at him. “Tell her yourself,” he advised, “when you see her in London, after we have you free. She’d rather hear it from you, anywise, and I couldn’t speak such sap and nonsense without becoming ill, I vow.”
Chapter Eighteen
“Up, you!”
A sharp poke with the blunt end of a long spear brought Kieran awake. Another poke encouraged him into an upright position, though he struggled against his chains.
It was dark and foggy outside. Kieran’s head yet ached and his stomach rumbled from hunger. Neither he nor Jean-Marc had been given so much as a sip of water since they’d left Cardigan. Kieran’s body was cramped from being in such close confines, and the manacles on his hands had badly chafed his wrists. The ones on his ankles weren’t quite so bad; Daman had been thoughtful enough to allow Kieran to pull on his boots before the iron cuffs had been placed upon him.
“Come along!” Another ill-aimed poke. “Out!”
Kieran’s mind came blearily to life as he gazed at the small opening of the door, where the man stood. Jean-Marc was nowhere in sight. Had he somehow managed to escape while the wagon was in motion? Without even bothering to tell Kieran farewell? But that was not to be wondered at. Jean-Marc had often been angry with him, but never so much as now. Kieran could scarce blame him. They’d been together so many years, as close as brothers all that time, and for Kieran to so suddenly send him off alone must have felt very much like abandonment.
He dragged himself forward on hands and knees, sliding bit by bit across the straw that had been placed down for a small measure of comfort and warmth, pulling his heavy chains behind him.
“Time to give the prisoners a breath of air, eh?” he said as he slid his legs through the door. “You’ll have to help me stand, I fear, because I—oof!” The soldier pulled Kieran out of the small door opening with an abrupt tug, letting him fall on the ground, chains and all.
“Thank you,” Kieran said dryly, picking himself up with no small difficulty—though he preferred that to being helped by Daman Seymour’s men. “I’m most grateful for your kindness.”
He was surrounded by soldiers, one of whom held Jean-Marc, who smiled grimly as Kieran looked at him. Kieran had known the younger man long enough to know what that particular look meant. The escape was coming soon. Silently, Kieran wished him well and saw that Jean-Marc understood. The slightest nod of his head returned the sentiment.
“Come along,” the soldier who’d prodded him said, roughly shoving Kieran forward. “Sir Daman wishes to speak to you.”
“What a happy coincidence,” Kieran said pleasantly as he received another shove in the same direction. “I wished to speak to him, as well. I can only pray he has some wine for his guest. I’m parched after such a long, pleasant journey.”
“Quiet!” his escort demanded. “None of your chattering, by Sir Daman’s command.”
What? Kieran thought with dim amusement. Did Daman think he’d try to charm his way free? Not that he hadn’t done it before, but only when a pretty maid was present to let him go. Women were much easier to sway than hardened fighting men, he’d long ago discovered. And Sir Daman’s were among the hardest soldiers to be found in England, a justly famed army, commanded by a justly admired knight of the realm. Kieran had always known it, even when he’d so foolishly dallied with that same man’s sister. But Glenys…he couldn’t have stopped himself even if her brother had been the all-powerful king.
There was only one tent in the encampment, hastily raised and still being tethered to stakes in the ground.
Kieran could hear Daman’s voice within, and the murmuring of others. The soldier beside him raised his voice and announced, “The prisoner is here, my lord.”
There was an immediate, telling silence in the tent, so that Kieran almost laughed aloud.
The tent flap opened and three fighting men walked out, all of them eyeing Kieran as they went. He nodded and smiled at each of them, and then, at their expressions, did laugh.
“Bring him in, Hubert,” Daman Seymour commanded from within.
A nudge sent Kieran into the lamplit enclosure, which was being readied for Daman’s use
by two serving boys, who were rolling out a pallet and carpets and setting up a table and chairs.
Daman himself sat in one of those chairs, gazing at a map and a number of other documents. He was yet wearing his chain mail and gauntlets, but his helmet had been removed. Kieran saw the face that had stayed in his memory for so many months, since he’d seen his sister Elizabet. He had met Daman Seymour only twice, but the dark, aristocratic face was fixed in Kieran’s mind. He was a handsome brute; Kieran had certainly never blamed Elizabet on that particular point. His hair was straight and very black, and his eyes were gray, like Glenys’s, set beneath dark eyebrows that tilted upward at the outer edges, giving him a constantly thoughtful expression. Save for the eyes, Kieran could see none of Glenys in the man.
He looked up from the map, met Kieran’s gaze, then instructed the soldier, “Release him and wait outside with the chains. He will have them on again before he is returned to the wagon.”
Kieran gladly submitted to being unshackled and, relieved of his burden, stood at full height and took a moment to stretch his muscles before murmuring his thanks. Hubert, the soldier, gave him an even-eyed look before picking up the chains and tossing them over his shoulder.
“I’ll be just outside if you should need me, my lord, along with the guards.” He bowed and departed.
Daman chuckled and tossed the map aside, standing to face Kieran. “My soldiers fear for my life because of you,” he said, clearly much amused. “They would do better to fear for you, methinks.”
“You are the one with all of the might on his side,” Kieran confessed. “Apart from that, I have already decided that I would do naught to bring any further shame to Glenys. Is she well?” he asked. “Where is she?”
Daman’s mouth thinned. “I’ll not speak of her to you, save to say that she is safe and beyond your reach. And that you will never set sight on her again. I will keep her out of London until you’ve received just punishment.”
Kieran’s heart lurched painfully at the words, yet he was glad to think that she’d not see him being hanged.
The Prisoner Bride Page 21