Stuart, Elizabeth (29 page)

A
heavily cloaked figure stepped out of the mist. Richard moved forward across
the empty courtyard, more curious than worried. By now Giles and Henry would
have men posted at every doorway and arrow slit as well as any number waiting
to rush from the barracks to his assistance. If treachery were planned, he had
only to defend himself a few seconds and the entire courtyard would be swarming
with his men.

As
he drew near the dark figure, the man lifted the frayed hood of his cloak away
from his battered face. "Well, Heffeydd Sele, I thought it must be
you," Richard remarked.

"Aye,
I thought my persistence would bring you. But I'll swear, I know not whether to
be pleased or sorry that you came."

Richard
said nothing. The Welshman chewed his lip a moment, then took a deep breath.
"I've no love of you, Englishman. God knows I'd as soon see yer whole race
perish from the earth. But you've given me a problem I've no easy answer
for." He frowned, then shifted uncertainly on his feet. "You did me a
good turn... and likely saved a host of others as well. That's a thing no
Welshman forgets."

He
glanced up, an arrogant jut to his bruised jaw. "Not that we can be
bought, mind you, but you seem a sight easier to stomach than the last two
vermin what held this cursed keep. Not that you won't forget all yer promises
in the wink of an eye be it convenient," he added sourly.

"I
won't forget," Richard responded. "But I still have no idea why you
brought me out in this cursed wet."

The
Welshman grinned. "Aye, your fine feathers be a bit damp." The
humorous glint in his eye dimmed and he sobered at once. "But tell me
this, Richard Basset, Wolf of Kent. Be you a vindictive man like the rest of
your race?"

"No
more so than you, Welshman."

The
man shrugged, acknowledging Richard's words. "What I mean is... if you
learned of something, something to your displeasure, that is. Would you punish
a whole village? Even people innocent of the plot?"

Richard's
eyes narrowed. The man obviously had news but couldn't make up his mind to
spill it. "I make it a point to punish the guilty, Heffeydd Sele, and I
give little quarter in that respect. The innocent I do my best to protect. I
would think you, of all people, would realize that."

The
man gave a curt nod. "Then hear me out. There's a plot afoot... a plot to
make an end of you and free the prisoners you hold in Gwenlyn."

Richard
didn't move. "Go on."

"I
know little more than that. And by Our Lady, I'd of spent an easier night had I
not heard so much!" The Welshman sent Richard a long look. "It's not
the local folk, but some men what came out of the mountains these last weeks.
And I can give you no time. Only that I've heard they'll move soon. That some
be already within Gwenlyn."

Richard
pursed his lips thoughtfully. Already inside Gwenlyn—he would have to act
quickly. "Is that all?"

Heffeydd
hesitated. "I've a notion there's a woman involved."

A
woman. Richard cursed himself suddenly for ten kinds of a fool. Rhys's men were
already in Gwenlyn and he had played into their hands by allowing Elen out of
her room. Not trusting her completely, he had alerted the men at the gates to
be on watch, but he should have had her followed within Gwenlyn as well. She
had probably already made contact with the rebels. He gazed down at the
Welshman. The man had obviously gone against his better judgment by bringing
word of the plot. "My thanks for the warning."

The
man nodded. "We're even, Englishman."

For
a moment, Richard considered offering a reward, but the proud Welshman might
think the offer an insult. "You owe me nothing nor I you," Richard
agreed. "But you'll still get justice from me, Heffeydd Sele."

The
man sent him a measuring look. "If you live long enough."

Richard
smiled coldly. "Oh, I'll live. But can you tell me how you gained
knowledge of this plot?"

The
man gave an eloquent shrug of his shoulders, his voice dropping to a mysterious
whisper. "News in Wales be spoken on the winds and waters if you've the
skill to hear."

"I
see," Richard commented dryly, realizing he would get nothing more.
"No doubt Englishmen haven't the skill."

The
man drew the hooded cloak up close about him. "I'll be leavin' now. If
anyone be askin' after our talk, you tell 'em I came to beg mercy for a clumsy
village boy what lamed one of Gwenlyn's oxen."

"Is
one of the beasts injured?"

"No."
The Welshman grinned. "But I can make it so if need be."

***

Elen
lifted the spoon to her lips, forcing herself to swallow another mouthful of
the thick pottage Simon had ladled into her cup. What was happening outside the
hall? She'd seen no sign of Dylan or Gruffydd since breakfast was served. Had
they been taken? Had they somehow lured Richard outside into a trap?

She
was surprised to find both ideas upsetting. Richard was her enemy and she
wished him gone from Wales with all her heart. But the idea of him walking
unsuspecting into a trap out in the mists somehow sickened her.

By
carrying on an absentminded exchange with Giles, Elen forced herself to
continue the appearance of real conversation. And she was quick to note Giles
made a pretense as well. His voice was light, his motions well controlled, but
his eyes turned frequently toward the door with a wariness she couldn't
mistake.

It
was with great relief that Elen watched the lord of Gwenlyn return to the hall.
Richard smiled down at her as he seated himself. "It was as I suspected,
only a small problem in the village. One of the oxen I loaned the men has
turned up lame. They fear I'm like to flay them alive simply because the beast
can't work for a few days."

Elen
tried to settle her unsteady breathing. Surely Richard wouldn't appear so
relaxed if he'd just seized two Welsh rebels in his own keep. "What will
you do?" she asked.

"I
told the man to bring the creature here to be tended. That I would send
another."

The
meal continued and Elen toyed with her food, glancing covertly about the hall
in search of her two friends. Richard lingered over his ale talking amiably
with Giles and Sir William. Finished with their repast, the soldiers on the
floor below rose and Richard dismissed them to the bailiff for a change in
duties.

From
the back of the room, servants began moving forward to remove the tables.
Elen's eyes nervously searched for her two friends. They were wisely remaining
on the other side of the hall, far from the chance notice of anyone at the high
table.

Without
warning, Richard rose and sauntered across the floor, pausing to speak to each
of the diligently working servants. Elen caught her breath. What had induced
the master of Gwenlyn to take notice of his servants on this of all days?

Richard's
zigzag path took him alongside the laboring Welshmen. Dylan turned his back,
ducking his head and working with pretended zeal, but Gruffydd glanced at
Richard, then across the hall to where the last of the soldiers were
disappearing through the doorway.

The
temptation to destroy the most hated man in Gwynedd was suddenly too great. At
once, a length of glittering steel appeared in Gruffydd's hand and he swung the
dagger at Richard's unprotected back with all his strength.

Gruffydd...
Gruffydd, no!
Elen
opened her mouth to scream, but Richard had already wheeled sideways. The
arching blade swept past Richard's shoulder with a force that put the Welshman
squarely in front of him. Richard's own weapon flashed out, and he dealt the
astonished man a crushing blow to the wrist with the flat of his sword, sending
the dagger skittering harmlessly away across the floor. The Welshman turned to
flee, but the point of Richard's blade caught him in the throat, bringing him
up short.

Dylan
didn't hesitate. Catching up one of the table boards, he swung it broadside
into a half-dozen heavily armed men who had suddenly sprung from behind the
pantry screen. The first two went down in a tangled heap, thrashing limbs and weapons
effectively blocking the others. With his path cleared, Dylan darted through a
rear doorway and out of the hall.

The
entire episode had lasted only a few seconds. Somehow Elen was on her feet and
staring at the confused scene in horror. She took a step away from the table,
but Giles caught her arm. "I doubt you're needed, Elen," he said in
an icy voice. "Richard has the matter in hand."

Elen
glanced up into a pair of dark accusing eyes. Giles's grip cut painfully into
her arm and she stared at him in amazement. "Surely you don't think I had
aught to do with this!"

"Bring
her here!"

Giles
glanced up at Richard's order. He spun Elen about, shoving her unceremoniously
toward the crowd of soldiers.

Richard
lifted his sword, pointing it toward the Welshman. "Do you know this man,
Elen?" he snapped. "You had better tell me true."

Elen
exchanged a look with Gruffydd, then glanced at the circle of murderous English
faces. "Yes, I know him," she said evenly. "He's a good man and
a fine warrior, and I have long called him friend." She sent Richard a
look of entreaty. "And in spite of what he's done, he doesn't deserve to
die like a dog, Richard."

"Oh?
And just how do I deserve to die, Elen?" Richard bit out. "Perhaps
you can tell me. Perhaps you can even tell me what little surprises I might
next expect from your friends. An unexpected ambush... a knife in the back...
poison perhaps. By Our Lady, I wish I'd the stomach to force the truth from
you," he ended disgustedly.

"You
think I knew of this?" Elen asked in amazement. "I recognized the man
this morning, yes. But I swear, before God, I knew naught before that. I've not
even spoken to him yet. How could I?"

"Perhaps
not to him, but I've just learned Father Dilwen begged jobs for him and the
other one who ran from my steward." Richard stared at her coldly.
"And you did speak to the priest, I'm told."

So
Richard hadn't trusted her after all. "You should speak to your spies.
Their information is faulty!" she snapped. "I did go in search of
Father Dilwen but he wasn't here. He'd returned to the village to see a sick
child."

"That's
true, Richard," Giles said quickly. "Elen came to me seeking the man.
By the time she was downstairs, the priest was already gone."

Slowly
Richard's anger began to fade. Perhaps Elen wasn't a part of this plot. He drew
a deep breath and sheathed his sword, surprised at the intensity of relief that
swept him. "Giles, see this fellow lodged below with our usual
hospitality. And his companion should be along soon to join him if Henry and his
men didn't get carried away."

Giles
nodded and stepped forward to lead the prisoner away. But before the soldiers
could move, Gruffydd had slipped a second knife from his tunic and was lunging
toward Richard.

It
all happened so quickly, Elen scarcely realized what was going on. Richard
dodged and reached for his sword, but Giles's blade was already up and swinging
in a deadly arc that caught the desperate Welshman full across the midsection.
Cloth and flesh connected with naked steel and an agonized groan tore through
the room. Gruffydd stumbled back, then crumpled to the floor.

For
one second of frozen horror, Elen didn't move. Gruffydd
.
.. Dear
God,
no!

She
sprang toward him, but Richard caught her against his chest, swinging away to
shield her from the sight. She struggled in his arms. "Let me go, Richard.
For pity's sake, let me go!"

"No,
Elen. Elen, stop it!" he commanded as she continued to flail at him. His
arms stilled her fight. "Think a moment, Elen. Think!" He waited
until she quieted, until her eyes met his. "He's beyond all human aid
now," he added softly.

Slowly
the words sank in. Elen ceased her struggle, burying her face against Richard's
chest, closing her eyes as the image of Giles's powerful stroke played through
her mind. "Merciful God," she whispered, clutching the soft wool of
Richard's tunic convulsively. "Sweet, Merciful God..."

As
Richard continued to hold her—his embrace a welcome sanctuary now from the
grisly scene in the hall—she clung to him, finding strange comfort in his arms.

After
a moment, Richard moved away. "Simon, take her upstairs and fetch her some
wine. Then return to me at once."

The
boy stepped forward and Richard handed Elen into his squire's arms. She went
quietly, without looking back, and Richard watched, frowning, as Simon led her
toward the stairs.

"The
Welshman's dead, Richard," Giles said unnecessarily. "I'm sorry we
can't make him talk."

Richard
glanced down at his friend. Giles knelt among the fouled rushes, his bloody
sword in hand. "Considering the circumstances, I'm glad you didn't
hesitate," he responded dryly.

"Do
you believe the priest is involved?"

"Before
God, I don't know." Richard ran his fingers through his hair and sighed
heavily. "I like the man, even our own soldiers like him. And he seems a
man of God. But that's just the trouble—the Welsh can seem to be anything they
choose if it fits their purpose. I've sent Henry to fetch him. I'll have to
question him."