Romancing the Earl (26 page)

Wade frowned. He took a small step, then paused. Elijah nudged his arm. “Come on, then.”

Out in the main room, the boy indicated they should sit at their dining table, which was situated at the back of the room in a kitchen area with a wide hearth. He brought two cups of ale and set them on the table.

“Thank you,” Elijah said, lifting the glass and offering a smile of appreciation that the boy clearly understood.

He grinned in return and nodded, then said something in Welsh and left.

“What’s he saying?” Wade asked, picking up his ale.

“No idea.” Elijah took a long drink. “Cate said the boy told her that Glendower’s daughter made that tapestry. It’s a bloody Welsh treasure and I let it go.”

Wade swallowed and set his cup down. “You didn’t ‘let’ it do anything.”

“I should’ve gone after them.”

“One against at least five, assuming there actually were more of them than us?” Wade asked.

“Two of them wounded.”

“Did you wound the other one? That’d be three if you count the one I stuck.”

“Well done,” Elijah said. “I only nicked mine, unfortunately. Did you land a good blow?”

Wade nodded. “Got him low between the ribs. He ran off, but he’s hobbling by now.”

They drank in silence a moment.

“Did you call her ‘Cate’?” Wade asked.

Elijah set his cup on the table. “I did.”

“That’s familiar. I thought you a confirmed bachelor.”

Elijah snorted. “I am.”

Cate came out of the room a moment later. “Wade, if you’d like to go in, she’s expecting you.”

Wade was already halfway to the bedroom.

Elijah stood. “How is she?”

“In pain, but the leg should heal. She’ll need to remain here a few days, however.”

“You say that as if you don’t plan to stay with her.” Elijah recognized the set of her jaw.

Her lips curved down. “I don’t know what I plan to do.” She glanced around the room. “Where’s Berwyn?”

“I don’t know. He said something unintelligible and left.”

“I need to speak with his father. He has a story to tell me about the tapestry.”

“You said it was made by Glendower’s daughter. Is that a clue that will help locate the sword?”

“I hope so. I don’t know anything about her. And if he doesn’t either, I’ll need to consult my father’s library.”

Elijah didn’t know if he dared travel with her to her parents in Monmouth, which meant she’d have to stay here and wait for Grey to heal. Would he stay with them? He didn’t know what he ought to do. He only wished he could get his hands around the men who’d taken the tapestry, and not because of the theft, but because he was certain they were behind Matthew’s death.

He flexed his hands as rage spiraled through him.

The door opened and in walked Berwyn with a man. They bore a strong resemblance to each other with their dark, straight hair and slightly hooked noses. The man greeted them in Welsh. Cate responded as the boy rushed to fetch his father a cup of ale. He also refilled the two on the table. He turned to Cate and asked her a question. She answered and the boy obtained a fourth cup, so Elijah surmised he’d offered her ale as well.

The man quaffed his beverage and handed it to the boy for a refill. Then he spoke to Cate in a long string of what sounded like gibberish to Elijah’s non-Welsh-understanding ears.

Cate looked at him. “This is Ifan. He’s lived in the shadow of Harlech his entire life. In fact, his family has lived here for generations. He invites us to sit so that he may tell us a story.”

Elijah fought the urge to scowl. He didn’t want to hear a story. He wanted to find the men who’d killed his brother.

Perhaps Cate read his annoyance, because she cast him a quelling glance. “Sit, Elijah. He’s going to tell us who stole the tapestry.”

Chapter Fourteen

T
hey settled themselves around the table—Cate and Elijah, Berwyn, Ifan, and Rhona. She’d finished tending Grey, who was now resting with Wade at her bedside.

Cate sipped her ale, her body thrumming with anticipation. “I am anxious to hear your tale, Ifan.” She spoke to him in Welsh and then turned to Elijah. “I’ll translate, but please be patient.”

His expression was stoic, his gaze cool. She could practically feel the frustration radiating from him. She touched his hand and registered the shock of desire that seemed ever-present when she looked at him now and which only intensified when they came into contact. She left her hand atop his. He didn’t seem to register it, but neither did he flinch.

Ifan launched his tale, his dark eyes sparkling in the midday sun streaming through the small window next to the table. “I tell you this because you had the tapestry in your possession.” He frowned. “Berwyn says it was stolen from you. I’m sorry for it. What did you plan to do with it?”

“I’m an antiquary,” Cate said. “The discovery and preservation of antiquities is my life’s work. And my life’s dream is to find the sword depicted in the tapestry and share it with the people of Britain.”

Ifan smiled and gave a single nod, appearing satisfied with her answer. “The tapestry belongs here in Harlech. It’s a treasure that belongs to the people of Wales.”

“Because Glendower’s daughter stitched it?” Cate was unsurprised when he nodded in response. “I’m heartbroken it was lost. I’m hopeful we can get it back, and yes, I think it should be kept here in Harlech, perhaps on display in the church.” She leaned forward, anxious, but not wanting to appear too desperate. Desperate, however, described precisely how she felt. “You were going to tell us who took it.”

“Yes, yes, in time.” His dark brows wiggled. In fact, they moved every time he spoke, as if they had a will of their own. It made his face very expressive and earnest. “First, I must start at the beginning. This is a story passed down through my family since the time of Owain Glyndwr.” Some people found the sound of Welsh harsh, but Cate loved the lilt of it and she smiled at hearing him pronounce the Welsh hero’s name. “As I said, we’ve always lived in the shadow of Harlech. Or inside its walls. We supported Glyndwr in the rebellion. My ancestors fought with him before the castle fell to the English.” His lip curled as he said the last, and his eyes darted briefly toward Elijah. Cate gave his hand a squeeze, hoping he wouldn’t take offense. Ifan wouldn’t hold a grudge against Elijah personally, but he was clearly of the mindset that the English had stolen Wales’s independence.

“The legend of the flaming sword is my duty to preserve. It is known amongst the people of Harlech, but we hold the tale dear as our treasure. The tapestry is the manifestation of it. It shows in picture what we share in word.”

Cate nodded and asked him to pause while she translated what he said to Elijah. She turned back to Ifan. “Please, continue.”

“The sword belonged to a young man. What he lacked in experience, he made up for in courage. He rushed into battle, his sword bursting with white flame. It scared the English at first and he took many lives, but they rebounded and he was soon overcome. The English lifted the sword in victory, but it didn’t flame. The fire only sparks for the worthy.” Ifan grinned, sending another glance—this one tinged with superiority—toward Elijah. “They were not worthy.”

Cate shared this with Elijah who suppressed a frown. “Please don’t take offense,” she said softly.

Elijah arched a brow. “This man clearly holds the English in low regard. And I’m an Englishman.”

She gave him a pleading look and squeezed his hand again before returning her attention to Ifan. “This sword was Dyrnwyn?”

He nodded, his eyes gleaming with admiration. “Yes. The Sword of Rhydderch Hael. One of the thirteen treasures. Glyndwr refused to allow the English to take it. He attacked and regained the blade. And it burst into flames once more.”

“Because Glendower was worthy,” Cate said with more than a touch of awe. “What happened to the sword?”

“It disappeared with him. After the castle fell, Glyndwr fled.”

Cate’s stomach caved in. That couldn’t be all. The sword couldn’t be lost. “How did his daughter know to make this tapestry? Was she here?”

Ifan shook his head, a small smile curving his slender lips. “We don’t know for certain, but she married Sir John Scudamore and lived with him at Kentchurch, where she made that tapestry. What’s more, Glyndwr lived there with them.”

Cate looked at Elijah, expecting to see the excitement unfurling in her chest reflected in his eyes, until she remembered that he didn’t understand a word of what Ifan said. “The sword is at Kentchurch. It’s where Glyndwr went after the battle.”

Elijah’s hand tensed and his eyes shone with enthusiasm. “He knows this for certain?”

He hadn’t said it exactly. Cate turned back to Ifan. “Is the sword there?”

Ifan leaned back in his chair with a slight shrug. “It isn’t here.”

What did that mean? She let go of Elijah’s hand and crossed her arms.

“What is it?” Elijah asked.

“He doesn’t definitively say where the sword is located, just that it isn’t here. Glendower took the sword and he went to Kentchurch with his daughter. It therefore follows that the sword ought to be in Kentchurch, no?”

He looked at her with an edge of skepticism. “I’m not sure I believe anything is that straightforward. Not after the chase this has become.”

Cate worried he was right. She looked at their host intently. “Where do I look at Kentchurch?”

“That I cannot tell you because I don’t know.” He sounded regretful and Cate believed him.

“What of the men who stole the tapestry?” Cate asked.

Ifan’s eyes gleamed with something akin to malice. “The Order of the Round Table. They seek to control the thirteen treasures.”

Cate’s neck pricked. “What is the Order?”

“What?” Elijah asked, leaning toward her. “You look concerned.”

Cate uncrossed her arms and pressed her palms flat on the table. “Give me a moment.”

Ifan finished his second cup of ale. “The Order was founded by the descendants of the Knights of the Round Table. At first, their mission was noble—to protect the treasures from theft and misuse. Over time, they accepted members who were not descendants and some of them became corrupt. I am not surprised they stole the tapestry from you—they will stop at nothing to get what they want.”

Those words chilled her to the bone.
They will stop at nothing.

She glanced at Elijah and worried about his reaction. “Ifan, do you know who is in the Order?” She was afraid of the answer because she suspected she already knew. All of Andy’s suspicions flooded Cate’s brain.

“Not by name. As I said, they are mostly descendants of the knights, though I have heard that one of their current highest-ranking officials is not a descendant. They invite scholars to join their numbers—this is what perverted the organization.”

Scholars.

Septon.

He had to be a member. His knowledge of Arthurian legend and the thirteen treasures was unparalleled. Cate’s muscles tensed. Was her father also a member? She thought of the secret poem she’d found in his library and felt queasy.

“Cate, what’s wrong?” Elijah touched her shoulder.
 

She looked at him, glad for his presence. “There is an organization—the Order of the Round Table—which seeks to protect the thirteen treasures, including the sword.”

His gaze hardened. “This is who stole the tapestry and killed my brother?”

Cate swallowed. “Ifan said they’ll stop at nothing to obtain the treasures.”

Elijah withdrew his hand from her shoulder and his jaw tightened. “How do we find them?”

She looked at Ifan. “Is there a way to find the Order? To contact them?”

He shook his head. “Not that I know of. The best way to gain their attention is to pursue one of the treasures, which you are already doing.”

Cate exhaled, her pulse beat a staccato rhythm through her veins. She turned in her seat to face Elijah. “He doesn’t know where to find them, but I think I do.”

His eyes widened then narrowed. “How?”

“I suspect Septon might be a member.”

The flesh around Elijah’s mouth turned white, and again, she felt his fury as if it might combust into flame like the sword. “He said he didn’t know the men who visited Matthew. If they’re all part of this Order, he lied.”