Stuart, Elizabeth (12 page)

"Hywel
has never deceived us before."

"Hywel?
No, he has his own reasons for hating Llywelyn and his allies. His family lost
lands to Llywelyn's ambition and that makes him trustworthy—as trustworthy as
any Welshman can be." Richard shook his head, rubbing his aching left arm
abstractedly. "God help England if this savage race ever stops fighting
among themselves long enough to unite against us. Without Edward's allies in
South Wales, this whole campaign might have gone differently."

Giles
grinned. "I wouldn't mention that around de Veasy or Mortimer if I were
you, Richard. They think Edward's victory all due to their own skill."

Richard's
weary frown disappeared, his green eyes brightening with mirth. "No,
Giles, I'll be careful around those strutting peacocks, so not a single feather
will be ruffled. I haven't stood so close to Edward this last year to have all
his lessons of diplomacy wasted. The man is a master at playing off the pride
of one lord against another, yet keeping them all to a measure of peace. And
I'm certainly not of the consequence to risk upsetting his hard-won
balance."

Richard
yawned, stretching his body without a trace of self-consciousness. "By the
way, it's damned cold in here without a stitch to put on. I could use my
clothes." He glanced around. "And weapons."

Giles
nodded. "I sent Simon to fetch them when you called out. The girl's things
needed to dry beside the fire, too, and we thought it best to keep your steel
out of reach of the tent." He glanced at Elen, his lips resisting a smile.
"I was afraid your friend here might put the blade to good use if she were
first to awaken."

Richard
dared a glance at Elen, dismayed by the strong flash of desire returning to
quicken his loins. Damn all women! Perhaps he should have taken the girl and gotten
it over with. After all, despite her youth she was nothing but a camp follower,
the mistress of the Fox. She might ease his need as well as his enemy's.

Still,
he had no taste for rape, and she was sure to fight him. It would take time to
bring her around, but the effort might well be worth it. He had discovered long
ago most any woman could be bought if a man had enough patience and the right
trinkets for bait. Some just came at a higher price than others.

Eyeing
the girl critically, he took in the tumultuous fall of hip-length, deep
chestnut hair framing her slender form. She was far darker than the angelically
fair women he usually favored, and though she was certainly lovely in a wild
sort of way, his taste never ran to willful, independent females. He had
learned the kind of damage a bold, conniving woman could wreak firsthand.

But
there would be time enough to decide about the girl when they were out of
danger. Unaware he was frowning again, he turned to Giles, forcing his thoughts
to the problem at hand. "Make sure the men are ready to ride," he
ordered. "We'll leave as soon as I'm dressed. The girl and I can eat as we
ride."

***

The
last rays of the setting sun had long fled, but Elen had no idea how many hours
of darkness had passed. She remembered being lifted from her horse to the damp
ground for a short rest as exhausted men and horses waited for the rising moon
to shed light on the unfamiliar trail to Beaufort. Then she had been helped
back into the saddle where she continued, doggedly erect, willing herself not
to groan aloud with every bone-jarring step of her plodding mount.

The
thought of escape was now beyond her. Sooner or later the party would reach its
destination, and she would find food, rest and warmth. Then she would be able
to come up with a plan, she assured herself. The English soldiers would watch
her closely at first, but her guards would grow lax if she behaved docilely
enough.

The
vision of Richard's powerful frame suddenly intruded upon her thoughts, but she
was so weary and cold that threat scarcely frightened her. Men and women
coupled freely in Wales, and though Enion had reluctantly agreed to take his
rights only after the priest's blessing, Elen wasn't ignorant of what went on
between a man and woman. She was fairly certain by now Richard wouldn't beat
her as some men did their women, and she supposed she would survive the ordeal
as well as the countless other females taken by the conquering English
soldiers.

The
jolting movement of her horse suddenly ceased, and Elen gazed up in surprise.
They had reached the shadowy edge of the dense forest and she could see the
palisaded wall and small, squat bulk of a simple tower fortress standing
several hundred yards away across a moonlit clearing. That inhospitable-looking
place must be Beaufort Keep, she thought.

The
party halted and a rider set off toward the gates, prodding his mount into a
tired gallop as he hastened to inform the garrison fellow Englishmen
approached. After a few moments of confusion, the red flare of torches began to
blaze along the wall and the great, creaking gates were unbolted and pushed
ajar.

Richard
eased his bay stallion out in front of the column and the entire band swung
into motion. Elen's cold-numbed fingers clutched the warm fox cloak
comfortingly about her as her horse moved eagerly toward the stable. No matter
what awaited her at Beaufort, she could soon rest, Elen reminded herself as
they trotted through the gates. And she could think no further at the moment.

In
the smoky, hissing torchlight inside the castle bailey, servants and
men-at-arms milled about, anxiously calling to comrades and carefully leading
hard-used horses toward the stable lean-tos against the inner wall. Elen slid
wearily from the saddle, her bound hands clutching the saddle for support as
the flickering torches and shouting men began to waver and spin about her. She
closed her eyes, hating herself for her weakness.
Holy Mary, Mother of God,
not now. Don't let me faint now!

A
strong
hand unexpectedly caught her elbow. "Take a deep breath and lean on
me," a voice said in Welsh. "It will pass."

Too
weak to do aught else, Elen did as she was bid, praying desperately not to
humiliate herself by swooning before these haughty Englishmen. To her relief,
the whirling ceased and she opened her eyes to find the dark-featured knight
called Giles holding her erect.

Taking
another deep breath, she straightened away from the man. "My thanks,"
she said stiffly.

He
nodded toward the narrow door high in the wooden wall of the keep. "Do you
think you can climb those stairs or must I carry you?"

Elen
raised her chin, fixing him with a deadly glare. "I can walk."

"I
meant no insult," Giles said softly. "You've already won my respect.
God's truth, the only thing keeping some of us in the saddle was the fear of
being shamed by falling out before a woman. This was a killing ride, even for a
man. Richard doubted you'd last the distance."

Elen
glanced across the bailey at the tall, golden-haired commander. He stood
surrounded by his knights, giving orders for the bestowing of men, horses and
prisoners. "You may tell your Richard I appreciate his concern," she
said bitterly. "But if he thinks to break me, it will take more than a
pleasant afternoon's ride."

"I
will remind him of that," Giles replied gravely. "Now, shall we go
inside and get out of this cursed cold?"

Despite
her brave words, Elen's knees almost buckled as she climbed the steep wooden
stairs and passed into the smoky interior of the hall. A fire burned fitfully
in a raised stone fireplace in the room's center, and Giles guided her toward
its welcoming warmth. She held out her numbed hands toward its radiating heat,
wincing at the pain of returning circulation. Nothing seemed important to her
at the moment save driving the damp chill from her bones.

A
short time later Richard entered the room, walking beside a slender,
dark-haired man of medium height and knightly dress. Elen watched the two walk
toward the fireplace, instinctively readying herself for battle.

At
sight of the two men, hovering servants sprang forward, and the unknown knight
began giving orders in the clipped voice of authority. "Hugh, bring food
and wine for Sir Richard and his knights. And see you help Stephen get the
bread and ale down to the barracks. Move now, do!"

A
female servant stepped forward, hastily unclasping Richard's muddy cloak, then
holding out a laver for him to wash his hands. She performed the same service
for Giles, but pointedly ignored Elen, moving away to minister to the other
knights who were beginning to enter the hall.

Elen
kept her gaze proudly on the leaping flames. The woman had seen her bound hands
and had immediately put her down as a person of no import. Noble prisoners were
watched but usually left unfettered at their pledge to conduct themselves
honorably until a ransom could be arranged. Elen might have won her freedom in
the same way, but she swore never to give Richard of Kent such a pledge. In
fact, she would plan her escape as soon as she was rested.

"What
quarters do you have inside the keep here, Sir Thomas?" she heard Richard
asking.

"I
fear this miserable Welsh fort was built more for defense than comfort,"
the older man replied apologetically, "but I've made the upstairs solar as
civilized as possible since Edward sent me here. It's been ready and waiting
for you since I learned you'd be stopping." A rueful smile lit his narrow,
weather-lined face. "I don't think you'll find it too uncomfortable, and
your men may sleep here in the hall with the rest of us. The place is so small
there are no other private chambers available, I'm afraid."

Richard
put a hand on his host's shoulder. "I'm not worried about myself or my
men, Thomas. God knows we're so weary we could take our rest in the bailey and
be comfortable. But I need a place secure enough to keep the girl from
escaping." He nodded toward Elen. "At the moment she's the only link
we have with the Welsh Fox."

Sir
Thomas shrugged his shoulders. "You watched the prisoners put below. I'll
warrant no man can escape that hole, not to mention a—"

"It's
not suitable for her," Richard interrupted.

Sir
Thomas frowned, his narrow black eyes moving thoughtfully over Elen's lovely
countenance. "I suppose we could make a place for her in the first-floor
storage area. It's cold and damp there, but I'll see what can be done to make
her comfortable if that's what you wish. The area in the stable where the
servants sleep is not secure enough."

"What
of your solar? If she were put inside with a man to guard the door, would there
be any possibility of her getting out?"

Sir
Thomas shook his head, a knowing grin suddenly dawning. "Of course not, my
lord. Even the master's chambers here are built like a fortress. My solar would
be the best place to hold the girl. You'll find it snug as you could wish with
a large hearth and anything else you might desire." He sent Richard a
broad wink. "Including a stout bed frame and a comfortable straw mattress
for your pleasure."

Richard
ignored the wink, reaching for a wine cup a servant held out to him. He took
two deep swallows, then stared coolly at his host. "I want the bolt inside
the door removed, the shutters closed, and I'll have a man... no, two men guard
the entrance at all times. Make it very clear to them, Thomas, if this prisoner
escapes by any wile, no matter how cunning, they'll wish they'd never been
born."

Sir
Thomas frowned at the insult. He had been successfully taking keeps and holding
prisoners for near fifteen years. "My men will have no difficulty holding
the girl," he replied stiffly. Turning away, he snapped out the order for
a guard.

Richard
finished his wine, then placed the empty cup on a nearby table. Drawing his
knife, he moved to Elen's side and quickly cut the thongs binding her wrists.
She tried to jerk away, but he kept his hold on one arm, studying the raw
places she had rubbed in her efforts to work free. "I told you, Elen, I
would not allow you to escape, but I do not wish that you suffer unduly,"
he explained in French. His eyes lifted to her heart-shaped face, wary and
defiant even in exhaustion. "Giles will take you upstairs and I'll have
food and wine sent up for your refreshment. And if you behave yourself, that is
the worst that will happen."

The
girl glared back at him, an angry fire smoldering in the crystal depths of her
luminous blue eyes. Where in God's name had she gotten eyes that shade of blue
in this land of dark-eyed women?

Releasing
her arm, he stepped back. "Have a tray of food and wine sent upstairs for
her, Thomas, along with some mutton fat for her wrists," he added,
returning to his native English. "And Giles, get her upstairs now before
she drops."

Nearly
an hour later, Richard made the weary climb up the steep, narrow stairs to Sir
Thomas's third-floor solar. He would just check to be sure all had been done as
he had ordered, then return to the hall to sleep with the rest of his men.
Before he retired for what was left of the night, he wanted to make certain
there was no chance of the girl escaping.

With
a low word to the two guards stationed outside the chamber entrance, Richard
swung open the heavy oak door and stepped inside. The room was warm and dimly
lit by the dancing blaze of a fire in the stone hearth. He moved farther into
the room. The large bed was empty, but Elen had dragged a fur from its covering
and lay huddled on the floor before the fire, the red fox cloak clasped tightly
in her arms as if it were a talisman protecting her from harm.