Stuart, Elizabeth (39 page)

With
each hissing bite of the lash Richard's rage ebbed, a weary hopelessness rising
to replace it. Philip would never forgive him this, but had he had another
choice? His people had asked for justice—a justice he had promised. And it was
little enough he could give.

Eighteen...
nineteen... twenty.
Silence.
Richard moved forward into the sudden quiet, motioning Henry to follow. Drawing
his dagger, he cut the thongs holding Philip upright. "Take him back to
Gwenlyn, Henry. See his back's cared for properly."

Philip
closed his eyes. "I don't... want... your help."

"Don't
fret, m'lord. I'll see to the boy."

Richard
nodded and turned away, overcome with an exhaustion that had little to do with
the past hour of physical struggle. Philip would never forgive him this and his
father might not either. But there was naught to be done now, and he told
himself he didn't care.

Ignoring
the scores of hostile eyes, Richard moved toward the horses. Taking his reins,
he swung into the saddle, moving off slowly through the still-smoldering
street.

***

The
noise of returning men brought Elen to the window. It was dark below and she
couldn't see if Richard was among them. Certainly he would be safe, she assured
herself. Simon and Giles would have seen he came to no harm.

She
glanced at the girl sleeping quietly in the great bed. She had bathed her and
tended her wounds, soothing her into rest with the aid of wine laced with
poppy. But the experience had had a strange effect on Elen.

Such
could easily have happened to her. If Richard had been another kind of man, if
she had been taken by beasts such as those who had used this girl, it might
have been her. And it still might, depending on the husband Edward chose for
her.

She
closed her mind to the thought, focusing instead on the memory of Richard's
tenderness. She had never valued him highly enough, had never really
appreciated all that he was. And now she needed his reassurance, needed it as
she did the air to breathe.

She
moved to the door, persuading her guard to accompany her downstairs to the
hall. But angry voices reached her long before she entered the room.

"You'd
no right! Those were my men."

Elen
peeked through the doorway. Richard stood beside the fireplace with his father
while Hugh de Veasy faced them furiously from several paces away. "I'd all
the right I needed," Richard said tiredly. "For God's sake, man, they
started a riot with the Welsh and burned half the town! Twenty lashes is little
enough for the offense."

"Baugh!
They enjoyed a Welsh slut and torched a few miserable huts," de Veasy
scoffed. "Nothing of value was lost. You've gone too far in your
foolishness this time."

Elen
stiffened, but she wasn't prepared for the cold fury that possessed Richard.
"Those people are under my protection!" he bit out. "And I
remind you, de Veasy. You and your men are guests here. You're welcome to stay
if you like, but your men will follow my rules or suffer the consequences. As
will you."

There
was a moment of stunned silence and Elen held her breath. "I suppose I
might expect any audacity from a man who'd put his brother to the lash for
minor foolishness," de Veasy said finally. "But let me warn you, my
friend—do not meddle with me. You'll find me less easy to cow than
Philip."

"Let
me warn you," Richard repeated. "Don't meddle with me or mine."

De
Veasy smiled darkly. "Your warning is well taken. But I wonder how men of
honor will look on your dealings with a belted knight. You took much on
yourself, Richard."

Sir
John put a hand on Richard's shoulder. "My youngest son did wrong. Perhaps
he has an explanation, but Richard only did what he thought needful."

Richard
shrugged off the hand. "I was within my rights, as you both know. If
you'll excuse me now, it's been a long night." He motioned to Simon and
the boy sprang from his seat in the shadows, following Richard toward the
stair.

Elen
shrank back from the doorway. Philip! It was difficult to believe he had been
part of such a thing.

Richard
saw her as he came through the door. He paused. "How is the girl?"

"Sleeping."
Elen studied him anxiously. Richard looked weary unto death, and he had several
burns that needed tending. He looked nigh overcome in spirit as well. The night
had taken its toll.

"I
didn't know what to do save send her to you," Richard remarked. He took a
deep breath, shoving a hand through his hair. "I'd have you go above now.
De Veasy's in an ugly temper and it's not safe for you here." He hesitated
as if he wished to say more. "Let me know if you need aught else," he
added. With another glance, he brushed by her and started up the stair.

Elen
caught Simon's arm. "Your master needs tending. I'll get my things and
come."

Simon
nodded. Turning, he, too, dragged wearily up the stair.

A
short time later, Elen paused outside the entrance to Richard's chamber. The
door was ajar but she hesitated on the threshold. Richard sat on a low stool in
the center of the room. He was stripped to the waist, and Simon was cleansing
several angry scrapes across his back.

Elen
moved forward and both men glanced up. Taking the cloth from the boy, she
sponged it gently across Richard's bare shoulder. "I will see to
him," she said softly. "Go now." Richard's eyes lifted to hers
and neither noticed as Simon slipped quietly out, closing the door behind him
as he dismissed the surprised guard.

It
was Richard who first found his tongue. "You shouldn't be here."

"Hush."
Elen dipped the cloth into the basin of water, easing it once more across
Richard's back. He sighed with contentment as the soothing water did its work.
She traced the rippling contours of his back, watching in fascination as the
muscles flexed and smoothed beneath her hand. It had been a long time since she
had seen Richard unclothed.

As
the burns and scratches were cleansed, she worked a small amount of mutton fat
mixed with herbs into the wounds. She smiled as Richard closed his eyes. He was
so weary, he would be asleep where he sat in a few moments.

Dipping
the cloth in fresh water, she dropped to a kneeling position before him. She
drew the cloth gently down his arms, bending her head close to search for any
bits of wood imbedded beneath the skin. Such tiny pieces could fester and
poison a man's whole system, she had learned.

Richard
shifted uncomfortably, the powerful muscles of his forearms tensing beneath her
hands. She leaned against his thigh, reaching up to wash his chest. He suffered
her ministrations for several seconds, then caught her hand, holding it firmly
away. "You shouldn't be here," he repeated.

She
kept her eyes even with his chest, not daring to look up. She was overwhelmingly
aware of his closeness, of the warmth of his body next to hers. She wanted him
to hold her, wanted to be in his arms. Suddenly she wanted it more than
anything else on this earth. "But I wish to be," she said softly.

Richard
said nothing and she held her breath. His chest rose and fell unsteadily. All
at once, his arms curled around her, drawing her tightly against him.
"Elen," he groaned. "Oh, my God, Elen..."

She
pressed her face against his chest, her own arms sliding up to clasp him close.
He sagged tiredly against her. "My brother... my own brother," he
whispered, pressing his face against her hair. "Everything I've worked
for, everything I've tried to do... gone. Up in smoke in a couple of hours.
They'll never trust me now."

"That's
not true, Richard." Elen pushed back and gazed up at him earnestly. She
had never seen this weary hopelessness in his face, had never seen him other
than confident and controlled. "After this night the people of Ruthlin
will trust you more than ever. They'll see you didn't even spare your own
brother."

He
closed his eyes. "And Edward will have me recalled," he muttered
darkly, as if he hadn't heard. "I'm in disgrace enough and de Veasy will
see he hears the worst."

Elen
stood up, dragging him to his feet with her. "That's nonsense! Come to
bed, Richard. You're three parts asleep already. Things will look different in
the morning."

She
drew back the bed covers, smiling as Richard collapsed onto the mattress with a
weary groan. Easing to a seat beside him, she brushed the tangle of hair back
from his forehead. At that moment, the Wolf of Kent looked more like a small
boy in need of mothering than King Edward's mightiest warrior.

Richard
opened his eyes. "Don't go."

"No,"
she whispered. "I won't go, Richard. I'll be right here. Now sleep."

He
closed his eyes and she rose and put out the candles. Stepping around the
weapons he had dropped beside the bed, she slipped into a chair, tucking her
feet comfortably beneath her.

For
a long while she sat in the darkness, listening to the deep regular intake of
Richard's breathing. She stared across the room. The window was a rectangular
slash of gray in the wall. In another hour it would be dawn.

Strange,
she thought, three months ago she would have given anything for this chance at
Richard's unprotected throat—Richard Basset, the Wolf of Kent. He had destroyed
her family and was sworn to take Owain as well. And he had shattered her peace
in a way she had never expected.

All
at once Elen closed her eyes, facing the bitter truth at last. She was in love
with Richard of Kent. She had been for some time.

Elen
shifted her head sleepily and slowly opened her eyes. A shaft of sunlight
streamed through a high rectangular window across the room. From far away came
the steady, rhythmic wash of the sea. This wasn't her room.

Flexing
her stiff muscles, she twisted to gaze at the man sleeping in the great bed
beside her. Now she remembered. She had stayed with Richard last night, stayed
because he had asked...

And
for another reason as well. She hadn't wanted to leave him.

Easing
her cold, cramped legs from the chair, she watched Richard's slumber. He had so
many sides, this Englishman from Kent. If only she could have seen that from
the beginning instead of hating so blindly.

But
if Richard were an honorable man, there were certainly Englishmen who weren't.
She frowned as she considered her future. If Richard were to be believed, she
would soon be wed to some man of Edward's choosing. She already knew a number
of the border lords, by reputation at least. And she would rather be dead.

A
familiar angry rebellion rose up inside her. She wouldn't do it! Edward
couldn't make her. And he wouldn't have to—not if she came up with an
acceptable alternative.

She
thought of the convent her father had endowed not far from Teifi. Perhaps, just
perhaps, Edward would let her take the veil. It was the only future that seemed
even remotely bearable now.

She
glanced at Richard, then quickly away, refusing to give in to the overwhelming
desire to touch him. Yes, a nunnery it would have to be. Nothing else was
acceptable. And she'd better leave here now before Richard awoke.

Returning
to her bedchamber, Elen found her guard waiting outside the door. Obviously the
man hadn't known what to do when she'd stayed all night with Richard. Since her
patient was still sleeping off the effects of the drugged wine, Elen quietly
checked her medicines, noting several were almost gone. She needed to fetch
more mutton fat and thought it best to get it before the girl woke up.

A
short time later Elen entered the hall. It was early yet and most of the men
were still abed after their exhausting night. To her surprise, Owain sat alone
at a trestle table, nursing a tankard of mead and a slab of dark bread.

She
sent a manservant to the kitchens to fetch what she needed, then made her way
to her friend. "What news of the girl you tend?" Owain asked by way
of a greeting.

So
he'd heard of that already. Elen seated herself beside him, frowning at her
hands. "I suppose most would say she was lucky. She took no lasting
hurt." Elen raised her eyes to his. "I doubt the girl would agree,
though."

Owain's
fingers clenched white against the tankard he held. "And we must sit
helplessly by, wondering who and what will be next!" he ground out. He
glanced narrowly at her. "The men mirror the master and de Veasy's lot are
foul as they come. You must be careful, Elen. I'd thought your rank protection
enough, but after last night I'm not willing to gamble."

He
slid his hand into his tunic, coming out with a tiny gleaming dagger. He held
it cupped in his hand, shielding it from three soldiers who lounged over their
ale several tables away.

"Merciful
God, Owain! Are you a fool?" Elen shot a frightened glance over his
shoulder. Owain wasn't under strict guard within Gwenlyn, but wherever he went
a couple of soldiers lingered nearby. Her own guard had joined the men across
the room and was having a breakfast ale. "If you're caught with a weapon,
you'll be slain on the spot!" she whispered. "Richard would never
grant me your life a second time."