Avelynn: The Edge of Faith (34 page)

I thought of Nest. “You killed the girl. Angharad’s chambermaid.”

“There can be no witnesses.”

Sigy’s words sent a violent shiver through me, transporting me back to the shield wall as Demas’s bodyguard plunged his knife into Wulfric’s back.

Sigy leaned back in the chair. “Had Marared not been so foolish as to reveal herself to the girl that messy business needn’t have happened.”

My heart ached for Nest and the poor girl who lay unconscious on the floor. “How is it that Llewelyn has taken up your cause? He saw through your lies.”

“As leader of Dyfed, Gil will appoint Llewelyn to the Bishopric. A prestigious post with a considerable amount of land and holdings. He will be a wealthy man. I suggested his suspicions were misguided and pointed him in your direction. It’s amazing the power of gold to change a lark’s song.” She snapped her fingers at the guards and inclined her head in my direction. “Strip her.”

They would have to remove the chains in order to get my clothes off. There were only two of them. I would not make the task easy. They released my head first and one of the brutes clamped his forearm around my neck. The other fiddled with the shackles around my ankles.

When the iron fell free, I brought my fist straight up. It connected with the nose of the lout behind me. He released his grip, and I squirmed from beneath his hold. I ducked to his side and grabbed his sword, pulling it free of the scabbard. I widened my stance. Ready.

The room wasn’t large, and the space afforded to me would render my escape difficult. There were two exits. One into the hall, the other back outside through the same door the guards had entered. The men seemed to determine my course of action and split up, blocking the doors.

Deciding my best chance of success did not lie through a warrior’s hall filled with hostile men, I lunged at the guard blocking the back entrance. It was a rather quick fight. Because he did not expect me to know what I was doing, it was a simple matter of finding a soft open spot in which to plunge my blade. He fell, and I inched my way closer to the door. The second guard charged, but I was ready. I turned to face my attacker. A flash of pain lashed through my upper arm. Sigy held up a small knife, wet with my blood, and motioned for the guard to back off. I’d removed Sigy as a threat from my mind. That was my biggest mistake.

I blinked twice and swayed, slamming hard into the door. I dropped to my knees, trying to clear my head. The room swam.

She looked at the knife. “An effective poison. A little goes a considerable way to render an enemy impotent. Marared used it on Alrik in the glen. It made him weak, draining his muscles of strength. I suspect, given your slight stature, you’ll notice considerably more.” She bent down. I tried hard to focus on her face. My vision blurred. Her head morphed into two, then three, sneering faces.

“Give my regards to Demas.”

Water sloshed and slapped at wood. The ground swayed beneath me. Blue—endless and bright—stretched above me. Its azure echo roiled dark and deep around me. My head rested against something hard. I tried to move. My hands were locked behind me. The blue darkened and then disappeared.

I woke sometime later. My cheek pressed against something wet and vile. I smelled vomit and retched, trying to struggle upright. My arms were bound around a bole of wood behind my back. I slid up the worn, smooth surface and wiped my mouth against my shoulder. My head pounded. My stomach had been scraped clean. I realized with chagrin, I had been lying in a pool of my own sickness.

“I had them put you on your side so you wouldn’t choke.”

I blinked and stared at Angharad. “Where are we?” My voice was hoarse and raw.

“On a boat bound for Rhodri’s stronghold of Anglesey, the northwestern tip of Wales.”

Everything was a jumble. My stomach heaved as the ship pitched with a large swell.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“I think so.” Though my gut might disagree.

She wiped my face with a cloth. There were six men aboard—each fully armed. The oars lay listless against benches. The sail bowed cheerfully to the wind.

“How did we get here? What’s going on?” I asked.

“How much do you remember?”

One of the men on board barked something, and Angharad snapped back. “They want us to stop talking. I told him to go sit on his oar.”

I looked around in panic, but no one moved. Instead, the crew laughed heartily at the jest.

“Now that Gwgon is dead, I’m to marry Rhodri.” Her voice hung emotionless and cold in the sea air.

“Angharad, I’m so sorry. You must believe me. Alrik didn’t do it. His knife, I saw him look for it. It wasn’t him.”

She held up a hand. “I know. It was Gil. I saw him do it. I stood right there. Alrik was on the other side of the room, trying to protect you. Anyone with eyes could see that. But then, no one was interested in the truth, now were they.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, please don’t. This is all my fault. If I hadn’t encouraged you to perform the … If I hadn’t written those things about Marared—” Her voice choked.

I wanted to reach out and console her. “Don’t blame yourself. All of this is Sigy’s doing. We played right into her trap.”

“What do you mean?” She dabbed her nose with the sleeve of her gown.

“Sigy killed Marared, and Gil murdered Gwgon. All in an effort to place Gil on the throne of Dyfed. Sigy earned Rhodri’s support when she offered up Gwgon like a sacrificial lamb. Sigy’s hands came away without a speck of treachery. No one sees the snake in their midst.” I knew that all too well, thanks to Demas and his brutality. “Alrik was a convenient scapegoat.” This time my voice caught. “If he lives.”

“Alrik’s fine. I heard him caterwauling threats before these louts escorted me aboard the ship.”

“He’s well?” For the first time since the ritual, I felt a glimmer of hope.

She squeezed my hand. “Angry as a pricked bear, for sure, but no worse for the wear, other than a lump on his head. They have him bound and under guard.”

My throat burned from being sick and talking. I licked my chapped lips. “Gil will tell Alrik that Hyffaid betrayed Gwgon and that Hyffaid ordered my trial and sentence. Sigy hopes Alrik’s need for revenge will fuel a vendetta, and the Vikings will seize the crown for them without their ever having to get their fingers dirty.”

Angharad said something in Welsh. One of the men stepped forward and tipped his cup. I leaned in and gulped as much as I could. The rest dribbled down my chin. He mumbled something offensive or insulting and retired to his perch.

“Thank you,” I said to Angharad.

Angharad nodded and grew silent. She gazed out at the shoreline.

I envied her her freedom of movement and stretched my legs as wide as I could. “Why aren’t you bound?”

“I’m a political pawn, but an important one.”

I didn’t need her to elaborate on my current position. The ship rounded a tremendous jut into the sea. An island loomed opposite the coast.

“Bardsey Isle,” she said, as if reading my mind.

“How long have I been asleep?”

She glanced at the sun. “At least half the day.”

The gash on my arm burned.

Angharad regarded me. “I thought you were dead.”

“Sigy laced her blade with something. It knocked me out.”

“No.” Tears rimmed her eyes. “I watched as they piled dirt on top of your coffin. I heard your muffled screams. I can still feel the sounds of your nails scratching the wood. I felt it inside, as if you clawed at my very skin.”

It took me a moment to grasp what she was saying.

“I still can’t believe you’re alive,” she whispered.

“It was one of Sigy’s chambermaids. They buried her in my stead.”

“She wore your kirtle.”

I looked down and registered for the first time that I wore only my underdress. “Sigy drugged her.”

“If that’s the case, it lasted only long enough for the first few shovelfuls to hit the roof of the coffin.”

If Sigy’s ruse was that effective, Alrik, too, would believe me dead. He would fight and kill an innocent man. What would I do if anything happened to him? I studied the coast with urgency. I had to find a way to get back.

The closer we got to our destination, the more confident I became that if the weather held, a small craft could be sailed at night, provided it stayed a safe distance from the cliffs that dotted the shoreline.

“What’s that?” I asked, pointing to a wide expanse of water that sluiced the land in two.

“That’s the Menai Strait. There’s a village scattered around the remains of an old Roman fort in Caernarfon. Farther north lies Bangor.”

“Bangor?” I studied the water with interest. Would Sister Frances grant me sanctuary?

“We’re almost there,” Angharad said.

I surveyed the shoreline, committing the shape and height of the cliffs to memory. If I could somehow make it back to that river …

We arrived in Aberffraw, one of Rhodri’s royal seats of power, that evening. I lost sight of Angharad as men led her away. My new companions, armed to the hilt, ushered me into the hall, a prisoner on display. They dumped me unceremoniously onto the floor near the back wall. Several men cast jeers and ribald remarks my way, but none attempted anything untoward, perhaps because four guards hovered nearby.

The hall erupted, and cheers and greetings rang through the space. It wasn’t long before I discovered the reason for all the excitement. Rhodri ap Merfyn, a broad, barreled oak of a man with meaty hands the size of fig leaves, sauntered toward me.

Despite my degraded status, he received me warmly.

“Avelynn of Wedmore, welcome to my court.” He waved a hand, and the guards released my bonds.

“Give me your cloak.” He clicked his fingers, and one of the Welsh sailors unclasped his broach. He handed me the thick weaved garment. “I will get you something more suitable, but this will maintain your modesty for the moment.”

“Thank you.” I wrapped the wool tight around me.

He led me to a bench near the head table. “Please.” He motioned to a servant who appeared with a horn of mead. I took his charity gratefully.

Angharad emerged from a room adjoining the hall and sat down.

Rhodri raised Angharad’s hand to his lips. “I am sorry about your brother. I would have preferred to meet him face to face on the battlefield.”

“Your greed and ambition killed my brother.” Angharad’s gaze was steady, though her face flushed with color.

Rhodri wiped the mead from his lips with the back of his hand. “I am not the one to take your vehemence, little flower. I did not betray Gwgon. We would have met in battle, and he would have fallen. Even with Hyffaid ap Bleddri’s assistance, my men outnumbered your peasant army five to one. In the end, you would still have become my wife. Your brother’s death saved hundreds of lives. Our wedding, aligning our great kingdoms, will save thousands more. I hope in time you will see that I am a fair and generous man.”

“Yet you mean to fight alongside the witch of Dyfed and help her seize Hyffaid’s throne. How is that fair?” she asked.

He stood. “I assure you, lady. I have no intention of helping that feral cat assume control over any kingdom. Her wishes aligned with my desire to see our great countries united. I have no interest in her petty politics.”

Rhodri motioned to the trenchers streaming in from the kitchens. “Take your leisure, sit and enjoy my hospitality. You have both had a long day.” He ambled off to the head table.

“Mistress?” A young girl curtsied beside me.

“Yes?”

“The Lord. He would like you to … your dress.” She held up a pale yellow kirtle.

Two guards lifted me from the bench, each a death grip on my arms.

Angharad stood, clasped me by the hand, and said something in Welsh.

One of the guards shrugged, and Angharad led the way.

After a few more exchanges back and forth, the guards stood to either side of the door, and the rest of us walked through it.

“There are no locks.” Angharad pointed to the door. “And no other means of escape. Not that there’s anywhere for you to go, but at least I can keep you comfortable while you’re here.”

The young girl helped me out of my foul underdress. I stood, wrapping my arms around my chest as she laved cold water from a wash bowl and scrubbed me down from the tip of my forehead to the grime between my toes. I shivered. Gooseflesh pricked as water droplets clung to my skin. Body addressed, she tackled my hair. Brushing out the tangles and filth.

I remembered the bath Alrik had drawn for me and stared at the ceiling, counting my breaths to keep my emotions under control.

While water sluiced through my hair and into the rushes underfoot, Angharad paced. When I was washed and watered sufficiently, the maid helped me dry off and step into my new clothes. She held out a clay jar and cloth, and I brushed the foul stench from my mouth. Once she deemed me presentable, she curtsied and left with my old garments, presumably to burn them.

“You don’t have much time,” Angharad said.

“What do you mean?”

“The English. The price on your head.”

“Yes.” I waited.

She gripped my arms. “You don’t understand. Sigy must have known your capture was assured. Rhodri struck the deal a week ago. Your uncle and his retinue are on their way here. I overheard Rhodri speak of it to one of his men. They are preparing a great feast to receive them.”