Mary Reed McCall (17 page)

“Let me go, Aidan, I beg of you,” she whispered.

“Please, you have to let me go.”

“I cannot,” he growled softly, holding her closer. “God help me, Gwynne, but I want you with me. When I first saw you tonight, standing there in the doorway, it was as if the past twelve years hadn’t happened, like you’d never been taken from me. But it was also something more…something I cannot explain—” he broke off, cupping her face in his hands, so sweetly, so tenderly, that she thought her heart would break.

She struggled, trying to maintain any trace of self-control, to stem the shaking in her hands as she eased out of his embrace. “If you will not allow me to leave this gathering freely, then I must call in your debt. Weeks ago, when you tricked me into learning to dance with you, I told you that I would let you know later how and when you could repay me for your deception. It is now.”

She swallowed, praying that she had enough fortitude to finish the rest. “Honor demands that you release me from the remainder of tonight’s celebration, since that is
what I wish for repayment. You owe me that, at least.”

He looked more stricken, if that were possible, than he had when she’d first made her entrance into the hall. “Ah Gwynne,” he murmured huskily. “If only you remembered. In truth, I owe you far more…”

He shook his head and swallowed, his face shadowed with resignation and pain before he nodded once and stepped back, allowing her to pass. “But I cannot deny you. Go then if you must,” he added, clasping his hands behind his back as if he too doubted his ability to stop them from reaching out, from reclaiming her. “I will not try to prevent you further.”

She stood still before him for a moment, all her need for him rising up to twisting, throbbing life. But then the specter of Duty reared its head above the rest, strangling her heart once more into submission.

“Good night, Aidan,” she finally whispered, her voice like a disembodied soul’s as it crossed the gulf of time and circumstance separating them.

He didn’t respond, but only stood there as before, gazing at her with the same intensity, his entire body rigid with repressed emotion, his eyes glittering with anguish, longing…and something more.

Before she could falter in what she knew she needed to do, Gwynne turned away from him, her heart pounding and her throat aching, as she forced herself to walk toward the stairs that led to the upper floor. She mounted the steps, choking with the need to go back to him. But somehow she kept going; when she finally reached the landing, absolute silence surrounded her, dark and empty. As barren as the solitary life it was her destiny to lead until the day death took her. ’Twas the only way it could be, damn it.

The only way
.

Her legs felt weak by the time she entered her bed
chamber and pulled the door shut behind her. Unable to support her own weight on them any longer, she slid slowly to the floor, her borrowed finery pooling around her in waves of blue and silver. After a long moment, she reached up and removed the delicate circlet from her brow, placing it carefully next to her on the floor of the chamber…

And then she bent over and buried her face in her hands, rocking silently in the yawning shadows of her room, and aching for the release of tears that she knew would never come.

D
iana crouched behind the massive wooden table in the darkened corridor outside the great hall, all alone, and for the first time in her life, not caring that the fabric of her best gown would surely be ruined by the dust and dirt in this unwashed corner. Just moments ago, Gwynne had fled upstairs. Shortly after, Aidan had turned and walked stiffly back into the great hall. But Diana couldn’t seem to move for the thoughts whirling through her head.

When she’d sneaked out here and hidden after Gwynne had run from the celebration, it had been with no further thought in mind than to view the fruits of her labors; the humiliating scene she’d arranged in the hall had gone perfectly, with Gwynne, hot-tempered as always, reacting to Haslowe’s advances just as Diana had hoped. But her desire to gloat over Gwynne’s certain anguish—to watch the arrogant creature at last reduced to tears—had been
crushed within moments of Aidan rushing from the hall to comfort her.

But it wasn’t the fact that her brother had come out to comfort Gwynne that had made Diana feel woozy. It was what they had said to each other…the information she’d just learned…that made this entire situation seem suddenly so much more dangerous that she’d ever dreamed.

God help me, Gwynne, but when I first saw you tonight, standing there in the doorway, it was as if the past twelve years hadn’t happened, as if you’d never been taken from me.

Aidan’s impassioned statement rang through Diana’s mind again, just as shocking as it had been when she’d heard him say it a few moments ago. Her brother knew Gwynne—had known her for years, from the sound of it. Closing her eyes, Diana did the calculations in her mind. Twelve years…that would have been when she was six and Aidan fifteen.

When Aidan was fifteen. Sweet Mother Mary
…

Diana’s eyes snapped open, and she gasped aloud in the quiet of the corridor. That was the summer he’d almost died at the hands of the Welsh rebels! Though she’d been only a child, she remembered how frightened everyone was, and how angry Father had been—angry because Aidan had been out in the dangerous border woods without protection, sneaking off to meet a girl. A commoner. Alana had found Aidan that afternoon on Dunston lands, where he’d managed to drag himself after the attack, wounded and babbling incoherently about devils with blue faces who’d killed the girl he loved and stolen her body away.

A Welsh girl
…

Diana lurched to her feet. Images from those long ago days merged with memories of the past few weeks—of her brother’s eyes, filled with suffering and pain. With love and longing and anguish…

Oh, nay! Was he planning to break off his betrothal with Helene because of Gwynne? He couldn’t! But if he was planning such a foolhardy action, then why did he and Gwynne continue to lie about her identity and her past with him?

The questions raced through Diana’s mind, stunning her with their ferocity. She had to find out what was going on here. Her head swiveled to the door of the great hall, and through the sliver of opening, she saw the bustling of activity and merriment that had resumed within minutes of Gwynne’s embarrassing scene. Her brother would be engaged, most likely, in soothing any remaining discord among the guests; she couldn’t approach him and demand answers in front of everyone—and she wasn’t willing to wait until they all departed for their own estates to talk to him.

That left Gwynne. She’d disappeared above stairs to lick her wounds after her humiliation, no doubt. ’Twas a good time to confront her in the privacy of her chamber and make her tell what she and Aidan were up to.

But before she could make the move toward the stairs, someone emerged from the darkened opening there and headed down the corridor that led outside. Diana’s eyes narrowed. It looked like a young man, though ’twas difficult to tell, since he wore his hood up. It wasn’t one of the servants, of that she was fairly certain—and it couldn’t be one of the guests; this person’s garments, though well made, weren’t of the quality anyone would wear to a gathering of nobles.

Suddenly, she remembered the glimpse she’d caught of Gwynne that one time, when she’d been spying into the Welshmen’s chamber; Gwynne had been wearing boy’s clothes that night—why, Diana had never discovered—but it appeared she was doing it again. Squaring her shoulders, Diana followed the retreating figure, determined to
persist, whatever her destination. It mattered little to her whether Gwynne wore a dress, breeches, or nothing at all; she planned to get some answers to the secrecy surrounding her connection to Aidan, and she wanted to get them tonight.

As expected, Gwynne led her toward the outbuildings; but instead of entering her countrymen’s chamber, Gwynne kept walking, past the men’s darkened lodgings to the abandoned stable building. There she slipped through the door and shut it behind her.

What in blazes was she doing?

Frowning, Diana took a few steps closer. She considered the idea of simply charging in to see what Gwynne was up to, but something stopped her. Instead, she approached the door quietly, carefully, nudging it open a crack.

The place looked deserted, the light of one torch at the far end of the building flickering over the whole gloomy expanse. ’Twas set up like a training ground, Diana realized, empty to the walls, with a hard-packed floor of dirt. And in the circle of light thrown off by that solitary torch, Gwynne stood still as a statue, her back to the door where Diana was hiding.

Of a sudden, Gwynne moved, shrugging out of the cloak and tossing it to the side. Diana stifled a gasp; it wasn’t only boy’s clothes Gwynne wore, but the garments of a warrior, complete with sword belt and leather hauberk. But when she reached down and gripped the hilt of her sword, drawing it out and raising it so that the blade glinted in the torchlight, Diana felt so shocked that she couldn’t have moved from her position even if Gwynne had turned around and charged at her with it. She watched mesmerized as Gwynne began to work through a series of motions with the weapon, swinging it with a precision and strength to rival the best of the warriors Diana had ever known, including Aidan.

Sensation returned to Diana’s legs and arms with sharp jolts, and she finally managed to stumble back, away from the door; she stood in the cool night air, motionless, trying to grasp the meaning of what she’d just seen. It had been upsetting enough to realize that Gwynne was almost certainly Aidan’s long lost love, but that she favored dressing as a man and could wield a sword like this as well was just too much.

What in God’s name did it all mean? Diana squeezed her fingers together, trying to gather her thoughts as she leaned in and took another peek inside the old building. Gwynne continued to work through her movements, only now she’d added lunges and thrusts to the mix. Diana shuddered, imagining herself at the point of that wicked tip. She knew that Gwynne would relish such a thing, too, if their previous interactions were any indication.

Backing up again, she let the door creak shut and prepared to return to the castle as quickly as she could. One thing was certain: knowing Gwynne’s temper, she wasn’t going to confront her right now—not with that deadly three-foot blade locked in her grip.

“You there—what are you doing?”

The deep masculine voice echoed in Diana’s ear an instant before she felt its owner’s iron-muscled hand clamp down on her arm. Gasping, she tried to jerk away and run, but she might as well have been a butterfly pinned to a board, for all the good it did her.

Gritting her teeth to keep them from chattering, Diana swung to face the man who restrained her, half-hidden in night shadows as he was—up his bulging arm and shoulder to a chiseled chin, full, sensuous lips, tightened into a scowl, and onto piercing black eyes. Eyes that were focused directly on her.

Her heart quivered at the look in those eyes, and instinctively, she did what always came to mind whenever
she was caught doing something she shouldn’t by someone of the masculine gender: she lowered her chin and tilted one shoulder forward a little, presenting him with an enticing view of her cleavage even as she gazed up at him through her lashes.

“My goodness, Owin,” she breathed, shifting the tiniest bit into his grip, so that her breasts brushed lightly against his arm. “You startled me.”

She felt a flare of disappointment when the stony set of his face didn’t change—though the unmistakable flicker of interest that burst to life in his eyes mollified her a bit. Another delicious shiver traveled up her spine; challenges were always more exciting than men who simply fell at her feet.

“I asked you what you were doing here,” he said, his tone as firm and as wonderfully gruff as before. “Why were you spying?”

“Spying?” Diana echoed, her free hand fluttering up to rest at the base of her throat. Her mind raced ahead, trying to decide how she should play this out. The leashed power emanating from this virile Welshman made it clear that she had better be convincing, whatever she did. She called up her most innocent expression. “I wasn’t
spying
, Owin. I was just checking on Gwynne to make sure that she was all right.”

“Why—is something amiss?” He frowned, and Diana’s heart leaped again.

“There was a bit of…unpleasantness at the gathering of nobles a little while ago,” Diana said, shrugging and looking away as if wounded by his accusing tone. “She was obviously embarrassed, and I wanted to see if she needed some comfort.” She glanced at the Welshman sideways, deciding that she might as well just leap in the rest of the way with her pretended knowledge and see what happened. “I’d forgotten that she likes to work
through her troubles this way, easing her mind with these exercises.”

“Aye,” Owin nodded, still frowning as he released Diana’s arm and moved to glance in at Gwynne himself. Apparently satisfied that nothing was out of place, he turned back to take her arm again and as if to lead her toward the castle. “Come, I’ll see you returned safely to the main keep.”

The swell of triumph Diana had felt at her success thus far withered under his declaration. She couldn’t leave yet; she hadn’t learned enough about all this to abandon the unexpected opportunity to speak to Gwynne’s kinsman.

Taking a few steps along with Owin, she suddenly uttered a cry, acting as if she’d turned her ankle on the rough ground of the yard. For a moment she thought he might allow her to slump all the way to the dirt, but at the last instant he pulled up on her arm. Gasping, she used the momentum to propel herself into his chest, clutching little handfuls of his tunic as she did to keep herself pressed as close as possible to his entire muscular form.

With a breathy moan that wasn’t entirely feigned this time, she looked up at him through her lashes again, gratified to see that his frown had shifted to wide-eyed shock and then blatant hunger before he managed to shutter his expression again.

“Oh, thank goodness you were here, Owin,” she murmured, shifting as if to regain her balance, though her movement ensured that her breasts rubbed with tingling friction against him. She heard him choke back a groan. Biting her bottom lip to smother a smile, Diana realized that for the first time in ages she was enjoying this little flirtation—far more than the cruel and fruitless teasing that she usually inflicted on others of Owin’s gender.

“Are you hurt?” he muttered, keeping himself rigid, as
though he was afraid to move and cause more of the delicious sensations to burgeon between them.

“I—I think I’m all right. If you could just help me over to the side of the pathway, to sit for a moment, perhaps…” Diana answered breathlessly, easing herself away from him in apparent shyness.

Soon she was settled on an old crate that had been left near the wall; Owin stood in front of her, looking down. His expression seemed more gentle now, she thought, though she couldn’t be sure in the dark, with the shadows playing over his face.

An awkward silence settled over them, their breathing and the chirping of a few crickets the only sounds to disturb the quiet. Astonished to feel herself blushing at the unexpected intimacy of the moment, Diana leaned over and made a show of rubbing one of her ankles.

Owin cleared his throat, and she glanced up at him from beneath her lashes, almost certain that she wasn’t imagining the reddish hue creeping across his cheeks. “Shall I go to the castle and get your brother or some of his men to assist you?”

“Nay. I think I am able to walk,” she answered, tilting her face up to meet his gaze fully now, and giving him a soft look. “If you will agree to escort me to the keep, I am sure that I will be fine. Just give me a moment more.”

He looked as if he might return her smile, but then cleared his throat again and looked away. Diana took a deep breath and pushed herself to stand; it seemed that if she was going to find out more about Gwynne’s reason for being at Dunston, she needed to do it before her maddening reaction to this handsome Welshman got the best of her.

“So,” she began, taking his proffered arm as they started slowly back toward the castle. “Do you find living
in England to be terribly different from your life in Wales?”

“Aye.”

At first she thought he would say nothing more, but then his brow furrowed, and he added, “Though in truth some of the people in England are more…friendly to us than I had believed they would be.”

Diana couldn’t stop the bubble of laughter that escaped her then. “What—did you think the land populated by ogres, to be so wary of your welcome?”

Owin stiffened and ceased walking. “Considering the years of war between our countries, lady, I did not quite know what to expect.”

Feeling somehow chastised by the dignity of his response, Diana blushed again. What could she say now to draw him into a more revealing conversation? The main keep loomed ever closer; ’twas best, she decided, to try to get back to the topic that had made this conversation necessary in the first place.

“With all that Aidan has told me about Gwynne and her reasons for being here,” she lied, “he didn’t mention your connection to her. Are you related, perhaps?”

Owin looked askance at her. “Nay. She is my leader.”