Lord of Secrets

by Gillgannon, Mary

  As it had the previous day, the irritating weakness and fatigue caused by his injury had started to set in. Some wine and food would go a long way to refreshing him and fortifying him for what he hoped would be a long night of lovemaking with Rhosyn. As wonderful as their tryst the previous day had been, it was also awkward and hurried. He yearned for a chance to love Rhosyn in a real bed and to take his leisure.

  *

  At last. Rhosyn thought Fitzhugh would never leave her alone. While she appreciated his solicitousness and concern for her, it had made it much harder for her to slip away. She felt a little guilty about what she was doing, but this might be her only chance to see Orla.

  Leaving the inn was challenging. She worried William or some of William’s knights would see her. She’d pulled her cloak up to partially obscure her face, and went out the back way. Since she did not feel safe walking in an alleyway, she went around to the front of the tavern. She could hear the buzz of voices from inside, but no one was around and she cautiously made her way along the walkway near the wharves.

  The sky was the deep blue of twilight, with only a few stars visible. She could see the tall masts of several ships in the harbor, rising like a ghostly dark forest. The familiar tang of the sea filled her with a sense of yearning and loss. She felt more at home in this place than she did anywhere else, even at her uncle’s fortress in the highlands. But her life here was over. She must learn to accept the way things were now.

  Her homesickness was a little less when she thought of Lord Fitzhugh, or William, as his men sometimes referred to him. When she was alone with him, he made her feel safe and content. It was now, when she was not near him, that her doubts and worries returned. At times like this, she had the nagging sense she had given in to the enemy.

  And yet, what made someone the enemy? Race and heritage were not enough. They must also do something that threatened or hurt you, and William had done nothing like that. Instead he had been kind and tender. Instead he had…

  Nay, she would not think about their lovemaking. Any thought of their explosive passion made her impossible to think clearly, and she must keep her wits about her. The waterfront was a dangerous place, especially at night. Men from many places came here. Hard, ruthless men who risked their lives regularly and thought little of taking a life.

  It was dark enough that she dared to lower her hood so she could scan her surroundings. She moved quickly, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. In a passageway nearby she heard a woman’s soft laughter and the answering murmur of a man. She passed another tavern and two men spilled out. Knights, not sailors. Rhosyn froze and willed herself to be invisible. Thankfully, the men were drunk and did not see her before they staggered off in the other direction.

  Heart pounding, she continued on. She dreaded encountering any of Bellame’s men. That would probably be worse than sailors. If they recognized her, they might take her to him. If they didn’t, they might still consider her fair game for rape. To save herself, she would have to explain she was under the protection of a visiting English lord. But they might still take her to Bellame. An icicle of dread moved down her spine at the thought of facing that treacherous, unpredictable monster. She had no defense against him.

  To save herself, she would have to say she was Fitzhugh’s leman. That might deter Bellame, or it might not. Either way, it would involve Fitzhugh, and she did not want that. Bellame would spew horrible lies about her and Fitzhugh would either believe them, or be so angered he would confront Bellame. In a fair fight, she had no doubt that Fitzhugh could best Bellame. But Fitzhugh and his men would be outnumbered. If Bellame’s knights prevailed, he would seize Fitzhugh and hold him for ransom. Or he might kill him, perhaps in some horrible way. Her stomach clenched with anguish at the thought. Nay, she dare not mention Fitzhugh, not even to save herself.

  She moved on, nearly breathless with dread as she passed another alehouse. But no one came out and she didn’t encounter anyone else as she moved toward her goal.

  The two high windows of the storehouse were dark and the one door was tightly closed. But Rhosyn knew to go to the back where there was another door. She knocked and a woman answered. Rhosyn gave her name. The door was opened with a shriek and the next moment she and Orla were embracing wildly. Orla pulled her into a cozy area at the back of the warehouse where she and her father lived.

  “Come in. Sit down. Would you like wine? Food? Tell me why you are here. How you have fared.”

  Rhosyn sat down on a stool by the hearth and let out her breath in a sigh of relief. It felt wonderful to be here with Orla. Someone who knew everything. Someone who truly cared for her.

  Orla’s hair was down and her exuberant curls gleamed ruddy gold in the firelight, bright as fox fur. Orla’s grandfather was an Irish sailor who put into port at Cardiff regularly. He had fathered several children with a local woman, including Orla’s sire, who had decided the unstable, dangerous life of a sailor was not for him. Through hard work Orla’s father had managed to build a business as a merchant, buying goods and storing them until they could be shipped out to other ports.

  He dealt mostly in wool, and the warehouse was packed with all forms of it: bales of wool sorted by grade, raw fleeces, lengths of cloth rolled into els. Some would be dyed brilliant hues and woven into intricate patterns. Others were bleached a snowy white. The products were worth enormous sums in faraway ports like Venice and Flanders. Although some goods were also destined for London, as it was easier to ship things there by sea than to make the overland journey.

  The risk of fire was ever present and many merchants chose to have their homes separate from their warehouses. But Orla’s father—Macsen ap Dermot—had wanted to be close to his business. He dealt with the danger by keeping barrels of water all along the outside of the warehouse. Even in this area, closed off from the main storage area, it smelled strongly of sheep and lanolin and dye. It always made Rhosyn’s eyes water a bit, but she supposed Orla had gotten used to it, much like she herself no longer noted the pungent herbs in her cottage.

  “Where is your father?” she asked after taking a sip of the wine Orla had brought her in a beautiful goblet with silver enamelwork.

  “He’s out with a business associate.” Orla expression grew uncharacteristically sober. “My brother decided he wanted to try the life of a seaman, so Glynnis is no longer here to handle that sort of thing for my father. And I can’t do it, being a woman.” Orla’s mouth twitched with bitterness. Rhosyn knew her fiercely independent friend chafed bitterly at the limitations she faced because her sex. Orla likely knew more about the products her family sold than her father. But she was seldom allowed to use her knowledge, at least not face-to-face with the men who bought and sold the goods.

  “I’m certain you worry for your brother, having him at sea.”

  Orla shrugged, although her expression remained grim. “’Tis what he wants. They say ’tis in the blood, this need to wander. I feel nothing of that. Must be my Cymraes mother I take after.”

  “Or, perhaps you are simply more sensible and shrewd.”

  Orla smiled. “’Tis true. Now, tell me how you have fared. And how you come to be here. I thought never to lay eyes on you again.”

  “I thought I would not ever come back here either. And a part of me is terrified. I would not have come except that…” She braced herself, knowing what her friend would say. “I am here with an English lord. He has a retinue of knights with him and he has come here to buy goods for his household.”

  “Coming here is a great risk. I am surprised you would take it. You’ve always been so cautious.” Orla’s hazel eyes focused on her keenly. “And an English lord… ’Tis hard to imagine you sharing the company of one of them for any longer than necessary, certainly not on the long journey here.”

  “I wanted to see you and he offered me this opportunity. He needed someone who spoke Cymraeg to interpret for him.”

  “I am flattered you wish to see me so much. Although I can’t beli
eve you came all the way here for this.” Orla gestured, her expression arch and dubious.

  Rhosyn didn’t want to lie to her friend, even by omission. And she truly needed Orla’s advice, lest she get in even more over her head. She nodded. “You are right. I had other reasons for coming here. I worried that while here, Lord Fitzhugh would learn the tale of my past and misconstrue it. And, frankly, I worried for his safety. He doesn’t understand the politics between our people and his.”

  “By the saints, you’re trying to protect him! Him, one of the oppressors? A man of the same race as the one who destroyed your life?”

  “I know. ’Tis strange. Unthinkable. But I… I think I am in love with Fitzhugh.”

  Orla stared at her, shocked speechless. “I can’t believe it. You know what the Saesonaeg are like. Indeed, all men, as far as I can see. They take what they wish and then they are finished with you. They may throw you some leavings occasionally to get you in bed, but then they are gone again.”

  “What about your father, Macsen? He stayed and raised you, even after your mother died. Not many men would do that.”

  “My father is not like other men. I don’t know where that part of him comes from. The part that values home and hearth and family. I haven’t seen those traits in any man I have encountered. Look at my brother, the stupid wretch. He could stay here and live a life of comfort and security. We have the money to build a fine house away from the wharf, if that is what he wished. But he scorns this life. Says Cardiff is boring. He listens to all the seamen who come from other places and wants to go where they have been.” Orla shook her head. “There is no understanding it. But then, most men I know are like him.”

  “But almost all the men you know are seamen, who obviously have the urge to wander, or they would not choose that life. What about the men who come from settlements all over Cymru and England? Knights buying and selling goods for their lord or chieftain?”

  “They aren’t seamen, but they are the same. What have they to offer me? A life as a dutiful lady in waiting? Serving in a fine household? Spending my days sewing and doing embroidery? Now that would be a boring life. And that’s if such a man would have me. Who wants to take a woman like me to wife? I will not grovel and pretend to be stupid. I will not act like a witless, simpering fool to win a man. Or to keep him!”

  Rhosyn thought of Fitzhugh, and the way he seemed to admire her skills and to be impressed with her knowledge of herbs and healing. The way he treated her as if she were his equal and he valued her opinion. Was it all a ruse to get her to allow him sexual favors? Would he change now that they had coupled? If she became his leman, what would he expect? Would he want her to live at the castle? Give up healing?

  She did not think he was that short-sighted. He knew Higham needed a healer. Perhaps he would allow her to stay in her cottage and simply visit her there when he was in the mood for lovemaking. Merely thinking about what they shared already made her dizzy with longing and desire. She dare not imagine a future where they could explore each other’s bodies in comfort and at leisure. It was like a glimpse of paradise, and she knew real life was not like that.

  And what if there was a child? She could do things to prevent conception, although it might be too late. She had felt his seed spill inside her and the way it ran down her legs afterwards. Even now, a babe could be growing within her.

  Another wave of weakness washed over her. Weakness. That was what this man did to her. Made her helpless and vulnerable. Nothing like her usually shrewd, wary self.

  “I see you are reconsidering some of your choices.” Orla’s voice was wry. “I am not surprised.”

  Is that why she had come here? So Orla could talk some sense into her? Make her see she was behaving witlessly? Her mind screamed that it was too late. She was already lost. Already hopelessly enthralled with William. And he was her lord. She could not escape him. The only way out was to run away and she had nowhere to run to.

  She glanced around the small corner of the warehouse where Orla and her father lived. There was no doubt her friend would take her in, but what would she do here? She could not use her healing skills, or Bellame would discover her and that would be the end. She could go to her uncle’s fortress. But her aunt was already serving as healer there. The settlement did not need another. Which meant she would be put to work doing menial, boring tasks. Sewing. Weaving. Caring for animals. Preparing food for the household. Never leaving the fortress or seeing new people, except a few visitors, who would come only to see Rhodri and would have no interest in her.

  Like Orla, she’d known a better life. A life of relative independence and freedom. A life that was challenging and interesting. How could she give that up?

  She would have to go back to Higham. She must be firm with Fitzhugh and make certain he did not take over her life. Mayhaps she could use sex to control him. Some women did. But when she was with Fitzhugh, she turned into a little bit of fluff like one of the tiny seeds from a dandelion, borne hither and yon in the wind. And Fitzhugh was the wind, carrying her away.

  “You could stay here,” Orla said, echoing her thoughts. “If you were careful. Changed your hair, perhaps bleached it with lime paste and wore it tightly braided. Used flour or egg white to lighten your skin. If you never went to the castle, perhaps—”

  “You know it wouldn’t work. Bellame would discover me.”

  Orla sighed. “Aye, you are right. ’Twould not work. Although I wish so much I could keep you here. Then I would never want for company. I would have no reason to wed.”

  Rhosyn went to Orla and hugged her, feeling the warm solidity of her dear friend, who had once risked everything to save her. “I wish that also. But ’tis not to be.”

  They drew apart, hearts breaking. She did not want to take leave of Orla, but she must. “I should go. Lord Fitzhugh may come to the room see how I fare.” Or to make love to me. “He will wonder where I have gone.”

  “And he will be angry if he discovers you have left. You know how men are.”

  Perhaps he will not be angry. Perhaps if I tell him I went to visit a friend, a woman, he will understand.

  Chapter Nineteen

  William paused before the door of the bedchamber and fought back the almost unbearable arousal he felt. He was determined to pace himself, take his time in making love to Rhosyn. Their first coupling, though thrillingly intense, could not have been comfortable for her, perched on a hard table. A whore in London had told him that women seldom enjoyed lovemaking the first time. She said a woman often felt pain when she lost her maidenhead, no matter how aroused she might be. And Rhosyn was small. Exquisitely so. It had been a kind of torture to be inside her.

  He thought with regret about how he had thrust into her, giving in to the fierce rhythms of his body and his unbearable desire. At that moment, he had not thought of her. He had lost control and likely caused her pain. That would not happen again.

  Filled with determination, he knocked on the door. There was no answer. He called out her name. Again, nothing. He lifted the latch, wondering if she was sleeping. But once inside, he saw that she was not there.

  A dozen thoughts whirled through his mind as he stared at the empty bedchamber. Her pack was on the floor, which meant she had not left for good. He had promised to bring her food, so she should not have left because she was hungry. And she knew how dangerous it was for her to go out alone. She had lived in Cardiff. She must understand a seaport brought together men from all over the world, many who were hardened and dangerous. Yet, she had seen fit to slip away.

  She must be meeting with someone. That could be her only reason for leaving the safety of this room. Who was it? Did she have a lover here in Cardiff? If so, she had never consummated the relationship. He took some comfort in the fact that he was the first man to love her.

  And yet, there were plenty of things that a man and woman could do without actual penetration. He and Rhosyn had already done much of that. Loveplay. Kissing. Caressing. Fondling. Pleasurin
g each other with fingers and mouth. Thinking of Rhosyn doing that with any other man made him almost blind with jealousy. She was his! No other man should ever touch her!

  But that was witless. He didn’t own her. Had no true claim upon her. He might say she was under his authority because she lived at Higham. But she was not a villein, bound to the land. She was free to come and go as she pleased. The only true hold he had upon her was the incredible passion they had shared. The ecstasy their bodies had known together.

  Was it enough to reach her heart and make her love him? He didn’t know. Could not read her well enough to be certain she felt anything for him. And now she was gone, on an errand secret and private.

  He dropped the pack containing the food and wine on the on the table. Somehow he had to find her and make certain she was safe, if naught else. But where was he to search? She could be anywhere along the waterfront. Or, she could have gone to the castle, which was up the river, away from the coast. But she appeared to be terrified of the lord of Cardiff, so why would she go there? There could be many reasons. And none of it changed the fact that it would be foolish to go searching the whole area for her. Especially at night when he did not know this place.

  He sat down on edge of the bed. Without Rhosyn here, he could admit his weariness. But he knew he would not be able to sleep. His worry for Rhosyn would make certain of that. But he could rest. Then, when she returned, he would have more strength for lovemaking.

  Unless she was too tired. He had not considered that, yet it was a possibility. She might wish only to sleep. But even then, he could hold her in his arms while she slumbered. There would be great pleasure in cuddling her close. That is, if she returned. She might not come back until morning.

  He stood and retrieved her pack from the floor, yearning to go through it, to see if there was anything in it that would help him better understand this woman who had stolen his heart. But he doubted there would be anything inside that would truly enlighten him. He thought of his own pack and the things it held, the usual possessions of a traveling knight. Her pack was probably the same. She would have likely left anything of value, anything truly meaningful behind at Higham.