Stuart, Elizabeth (50 page)

Edward
leaned down and caught his shoulder in a rare public display of affection.
"I've no need to tell you Eleanor and I will miss your presence at court.
We'll see you at Shrewsbury, though, and visit at Gwenlyn ere long. Go with God
now, Richard, and trust not these Welsh overmuch."

***

Evening
was fast approaching, twilight silver blurring the contrasts of rugged mountain
and placid sea. A gentle breeze rocked the
Falcon
as the ship dropped
anchor at Ruthlin. Elen clutched Richard's cloak about her, watching her
husband ready his men for the landing.

Owain
moved to stand beside her. It was the first moment of privacy they had shared
since her wedding. "Rest you content in your choice? The Englishman who
slew Enion? By Our Lord Savior, your memory is short enough!"

Elen
glanced up in surprise. The attack hurt the more because its bitterness was
unexpected. She thought Owain might understand her predicament. "Choice?
What choice had I? Edward offered me Richard or Hugh de Veasy. That is no
choice!"

"That
kiss at Ambersly bespoke your choice," Owain muttered. "And you
appear pleased enough at the arrangement. You stare at the man as a doting hen
does her only chick. It seems the English conquer with more than the
sword," he added dryly.

A
flush of shame warmed Elen's face. She'd been foolishly open in her newfound
happiness. It had obviously disgusted Owain.

She
gazed at the cliffs above the village. Gwenlyn's towering curtain walls frowned
down at them, a bitter reminder of England's might. "I've not forgotten
Enion, nor any of the rest," she said softly. "I see English castles
of stone on lands held by Welsh families for hundreds of years. I see English
pennons unfurled over lands no Englishman should tread. I see Welshmen reduced
to cowering in the shadows hoping for crumbs to keep their families from
starvation. I know my husband helped bring this about, and it eats at my soul,
Owain, like a sickness that has no cure. But Richard is not like the others. He
has treated us honestly." She glanced back at him. "Can you say
different?"

Owain
shook his head. "He's a warrior I respect, a leader I could serve were he
not the Wolf of Kent. And for now, he's best for Wales. But he'll not rest till
his duty be done." His eyes narrowed and he stared blindly at the far
horizon. "Richard of Gwenlyn will be the one to end all hope for us—for
Dylan and the rest who fight on. And he'll take the Welsh Fox, Elen. Don't ask
how I know, but I do."

Elen
caught his arm, turning him toward her. "No! I won't let him."

"Don't
think to rule him, Elen, for you won't," he warned. "He cares for you
and that is my comfort. Even as it tore my heart to give him what belonged to
Enion, I knew 'twas best for you. But not even you will turn him from his
duty."

"Owain,
you'd not..." Elen faltered, frightened by a thought that chilled her
heart, "You'd not seek his life?"

"No,
Elen. Not even to save my own."

Richard
shouted: "Owain! Fetch your men here to me."

Owain
glanced up at Richard's order. "Think on my words, Elen, and decide who
you are—Elen of Teifi or Elen, Lady Basset? You cannot be both."

"Would
you tear me in two?" she whispered.

"No,
I would save you that." The hard gray of his eyes softened for a moment.
"Decide your loyalties now and you'll be the better for it."

He
moved away and Elen stared across the darkening waters where rose-hued clouds
rode a sea of slate. His words echoed in her mind. Decide your loyalties now.

But
she already had.

"Come,
sweet, are you ready?"

She
glanced up into Richard's smiling face, her whole being quickening at the sight
of him. She couldn't guard against Richard, even if she wanted to. He had
accepted her last night with the partial loyalty that was all she could give.
And if the truth be told, she longed to give him more... not less.

Richard
smiled again, his emerald eyes darkening to smoky jade in the failing light.
"Continue to look at me like that, love, and I'm apt to forget the host of
people waiting to welcome us and spend the night right here."

Richard
and Owain. She loved them both—refused to give up either. Owain was wrong, she
told herself fiercely. She would make it so!

She
placed a hand against Richard's chest, leaning slightly toward him. "But
there's no privacy here," she murmured. "I'd much prefer our chamber
in Gwenlyn."

Richard's
eyes narrowed with a smoldering sensuality that made her whole body tighten in
expectation. "Your wish is my command," he whispered, sweeping her up
in his arms. He kissed her, his lips lingering on hers for several seconds
before he forced himself to break away. "Take care with my lady,
Geoffry," he admonished, easing her over the ship's side into the arms of
a brawny trooper. "If she's wetted, I'll have your head."

The
grinning soldier nodded. "Never ye fear, m'lord. She'll be safe as a
babe."

That
night there was much feasting and drinking in Gwenlyn's great hall. Richard
sent Elen a long look as she left the room, and she knew he would follow as
soon as he could excuse himself from the host of well-wishers.

She
entered the bedchamber she and Richard would share. A maidservant had already
moved her things into a large coffer chest Richard had provided. The girl
helped her out of her clothing and Elen wrapped herself in the luxurious
bedrobe Eleanor had given her.

Dismissing
the servant, Elen walked to the window and stared out. Beyond Gwenlyn's walls
the mountain peaks of Gwynedd glimmered iridescently in the moonlight.

Somewhere
out there Dylan and the others still fought for a Wales ruled by Welshmen. And
it was a dream she still held, despite her marriage to Richard—a dream she
refused to relinquish, even for him.

She
folded her arms on the window ledge, leaning her chin upon smooth stone. In the
distance, the surf beat rhythmically against the cliffs below Gwenlyn. It was a
lonely sound.

Strangely
enough, it was her mother she longed for this night. How good to have another
woman to talk to— someone who would understand her longing to please Richard,
her need to be herself. But her mother lay in a shallow grave on a
mountainside, a grave marked by nothing save a simple cairn of stone.

And
her father? Had the men died unshriven at Builth? Visions of the carnage there
had haunted her for months. She knew coins were scarce; Richard had little
actual money. But somehow she must find enough to buy masses for those she
loved.

Behind
her the chamber door opened, then closed, and Richard's light footsteps sounded
on the floor. His arms slid around her and she closed her eyes as he drew her
back against his chest.

His
hands slipped between the edges of her robe, encircling the warm flesh of her
waist. He nuzzled her ear, then bent to press a kiss against her throat.
"It was a damnably long meal," he breathed, "and knowing you
were here waiting didn't make this last half hour any easier."

Caressing
her, his hands slid slowly along her ribs to feel the fullness of her breasts.
Despite Elen's pensive mood, the sharp contrast of silken fur and the gentle
roughness of his hands sent a shivering pleasure radiating through her.

She
leaned against him, shifting her head, allowing him better access to the
sensitive area at the base of her throat. "You have only to touch me and I
care not what lies between us."

Richard
stiffened. "Are we back to that?"

She
shook her head. "I'm sorry, Richard. I didn't mean to bring it up. It's
just that—"

"What?"

"Forget
my words. 'Tis nothing."

"What
is it, Elen? What troubles you?"

"The
bodies... what happened to the bodies—my father, brother...?"

He
knew at once what she meant. "The savagery wasn't so bad after Builth as
no doubt you heard. Edward gave permission for Christian burial. Llywelyn's
body and that of your father and brother, and others of rank like Enion who
could be identified, were taken to Abbey Cwym Heir. Edward paid for
masses." He turned her gently toward him. "I was there, Elen. It's a
peaceful place, a beautiful valley. I'll take you there if you wish."

Elen
nodded, closing her eyes and leaning into the arms Richard held out to her. His
embrace was comforting, his arms warm with the promise of a friend who shared
her grief. "And I want to go home, Richard," she whispered
desperately, "home to Teifi."

"Yes,
Elen, we'll go. But I must make sure all is stable here first. We'll go in the
spring." He waited a moment. "What else disturbs you, love?"

She
shook her head.

"Come,"
he coaxed. "Tell me. Remember you swore to speak truth."

"My
mother," she whispered, burying her head against his chest. "It's my
fault she's dead. I've blamed you all these months, but it was my fault, only
mine. She wished to flee England for France, but I wouldn't go. I should have
realized she was ailing—she was never strong. But I was so caught up in the
fighting, so caught up in planning the next ambush...."

She
closed her eyes against the pain of her confession, clutching convulsively at
the soft wool of Richard's tunic. "She begged for a priest at the end, but
we didn't have one. S-she died unshriven, Richard." A shudder ran through
her at the memory of that grim burial. "There was scarce time to dig a
proper grave. We scraped a hole in the hillside and covered it with stone. It
was such a lonely place, Richard. I... I can't stand to think of her
there!"

Richard
held her comfortingly, stroking her hair as he would a small child. "The
times were hard. Many died last winter on both sides. But have you thought of
this, Elen? If she were ailing, the Lady Gweneth would never have survived a
voyage to France. It's cold and wet and there are storms that make a man's
blood freeze in his veins. Sea travel in winter is only for the hearty. You
know that."

He
lifted her chin toward him. "As it is, she died in her own country. Come
spring, we'll take her remains to the Abbey so she might rest beside your
father." He brushed a kiss across her forehead. "And we'll buy a
hundred masses for her soul if you wish it, sweetheart."

Elen
took a deep breath. "I wish it above all things."

Richard
drew her away from the window. "Come to bed now, love," he whispered.
"I would have us both forget our worries for a time."

Richard's
embrace was warm, the strokes of his hand comforting. But Elen soon sought more
than comfort. They made love leisurely then, with a tenderness that had been
missing in the fiery passion of the night before.

Long
after Elen lay sleeping in his arms, Richard stared into the darkness. So Elen
had helped to plan the raids against his men. The words had slipped out with
her agonized confession and he doubted she was even aware of what she'd said.

He
closed his eyes, almost wishing he hadn't heard. The idea of a woman involved
in such a task was so farfetched he would have dismissed it had the woman been
anyone but Elen. He had no doubt his wife was entirely capable of such a feat.
But would a Welsh fighting man actually listen to a woman's counsel in matters
of war?

Only
if he had known her since she was a babe, Richard told himself grimly. Only if
he had been trained since then to think of her as his mistress.

Elen
shifted in her sleep, pressing more closely against him. He tightened his arms
around her, hating the seed of suspicion planted at Ambersly, the idea that had
taken firm root in his thoughts last night: that there was no Rhys ap Iwan
after all.

The
busy days of August slid into the hectic ones of September. The hard work of
harvest was upon the land, and every day, Richard rode out with his bailiff to
oversee the day's activities.

While
he was gone, Elen looked to the management of the castle and the efficient
husbanding of the scant remaining stores. She had much to learn regarding the
running of an important English keep and the many manors and granges that
supported it, but many of her mother's long-forgotten instructions came back to
her. Though she had always believed women's work vastly inferior to the
exciting adventures in which the men of her family were involved, she was
grateful now for the knowledge her mother had passed on.

And
in her softened mood, Elen saw her role differently. She had no desire for the
tumult of war or the planning of raids. Richard depended on her to see to his
household, and his satisfaction when he returned to his peaceful, well-managed
keep was ample reward.

Her
heart had even been lightened concerning Owain's danger. After his help in her
rescue, Owain had been granted a pardon. Richard had appointed him village
reeve and the Welshman now lived in Ruthlin, representing the people in all
dealings with the lord. Surely he'd not have been given such position if
Richard had the slightest suspicion of Owain's identity.