Stuart, Elizabeth (58 page)

"Richard...
no." Was that her voice sounding so strained? "We've come to warn
you. Y-you ride into a trap tomorrow." Elen wavered in the saddle and
Richard leaped forward to catch her. "Hugh de Veasy's men," she
murmured as he eased her to the ground. "They fight with Dylan now."

The
campfires spun and pitched, the faces of Richard, Giles, Owain, swimming in and
out of focus as they bent anxiously over her. Someone was calling out orders.
It sounded like Richard but the voice was coming from a great distance. A wave
of unnatural heat swept Elen's shivering body and she closed her eyes with a
groan, certain she was about to disgrace herself by becoming violently ill.

"Stand
back, my lords. The child needs air to breathe."

Tangwen's
voice? She was dreaming, she must be!

Gentle,
competent hands slid over her. "Bring blankets. She's wet through and
chilled to the bone."

Richard's
voice was frantic with worry. "What is it, woman? Is she ill?"

"Ill?
No." The woman's dry laugh cackled out. "I'll wager 'tis only the
baby grown weary of the ride."

"What?"

Elen
opened her eyes, reaching feebly for her nurse's hand. "Tangwen...
no."

The
twisted old woman was staring at Gwenlyn's lord with a look of amusement.
"Are you so green you know not when you've caught a woman with your babe,
my fine lord? God save us if you're to rule Gwynedd!"

"How
do you feel?"

Elen
glanced up from her comfortable pallet of warm blankets. Richard knelt beside
her on the floor of his tent, his eyes searching hers anxiously. She gave a
tentative stretch, glancing around for Tangwen. The Welshwoman had remained
with her most of the night, coaxing Elen to drink some foul-tasting posset she
had brewed and constantly changing the hot stones she kept against Elen's
aching back. But the woman was gone; Elen and Richard were alone. "Much
better after my sleep," she said softly. "The pain is eased and I've
had no bleeding. Tangwen thinks the child is safe."

It
was obviously still dark outside but the flickering light of a single candle
told Elen her husband was booted and dressed for riding, his hauberk and
surcoat in place. She sat up with a frown. "What is it? Surely we don't
ride yet."

He
shook his head. "Less than an hour till first light. But you're not riding
anywhere for a while." He took her hand, lifting it to his lips to press a
kiss against her fingers. He studied her over their clasped hands. "Why
didn't you tell me of the child? Could you possibly think I'd not be
pleased?"

Elen
hesitated. "I wasn't sure at first. Then, when it began to seem more
likely, I... we... we weren't getting along."

She
broke off, drawing her hand from his, unable to meet his eyes for fear of what
she might read there. But if this marriage were to survive they needed to be
honest about their intentions. She needed to tell him how she felt. "I
know you were angry with me, Richard. God knows you had reason. But there was
cause in what I did as well. I'm sorry you were hurt—I never meant that—but I'm
not sorry for what I did! You should know, I'd do it again if I had to. I'm not
like to be an obedient wife, Richard, so send me away if you feel you must.
I'll not spend my life thinking this child the only reason you keep me with
you!"

Richard
didn't seem disturbed in the least by her torrent of words. His voice was soft,
his eyes holding hers evenly. "We haven't had an easy time of it, Elen,
but you must never think that. There are a hundred good reasons I keep you with
me—not the least of which is the fact that I need you as I need the air I
breathe."

His
eyes were tender. "By English standards, what you did was wrong. But I
understand. Perhaps I even sympathize with your situation. Because of my
loyalties I can't approve, but I honor your loyalties just the same."

A
faint smile replaced his worried expression. "And I'm beginning to see
what being loved by a woman like you can mean. You meant what you said about
sparing no man—Henry and Simon are proof of that. And someday, my lovely
hellion, I'll tell you exactly what I shall do to you if ever you put yourself
or any of my unborn children in this kind of danger again!"

Elen
stared up at him, afraid to believe his words, afraid to hope Richard could
forgive her as easily and unconditionally as this.

He
leaned forward, brushing her lips with his. "Kiss me, love. I dare not
linger. I've an important meeting with some anxious rebels up ahead."

"What?"
She gazed at him incredulously. "You can't mean you're riding on?"

"Yes.
Hugh de Veasy wants an ambush—an ambush he shall have."

"Richard..."
She clutched his shoulders frantically. "But it's a trap! They'll have the
advantage of you in numbers, position—"

"But
we'll have surprise," he interrupted. "Thanks to you and your
Welshmen."

Elen
began to protest but he silenced her with a long kiss. "Someday I'll let
you argue strategy with me, Elen," he said at last. "I'm sure it
would prove interesting. But for now, I must go. We need to march into the pass
just after sunrise."

Elen
clung to him, saying nothing. It would do no good to protest; Richard's mind
was made up. And in her heart she understood his reasoning. If he didn't fight
now, he risked stumbling into some other trap Dylan and de Veasy would lay—some
trap he might not know about. Richard had weighed the risks, calculated the
chances, and decided to face what he knew. But dear God, what if he never came
back? What if Richard rode out like the men of her own family had done, and
what if he never came back?

"All
will be well," he said, sensing her thoughts. "With any luck, I'll be
back with you by midday."

She
swallowed hard, struggling to keep the tremor from her voice. "What will
you do?"

"Divide
my army," he replied, understanding her need to see his plan in her own
mind. "I'll move in leading the first half as unsuspecting as the rebels
could wish. Giles will hold back with the rest of the men in the wood. We'll
break for cover at the first sign of ambush, making the rebels believe their
plan is working." His voice hardened. "But when de Veasy's Gascon
troops march in to finish us off, they'll get a little surprise. Giles will
sweep down with my reserve to take the heat of the fighting, giving us time to
rally. And I'll be much amazed if we don't spark a full-scale rout."

Elen's
fingers tightened against his shoulders. War was no stranger to her; she knew
what he left unsaid. "Not so easy as you make it sound, I fear."

He
smiled. "Well, perhaps not so easy as that. But I've fought both with and
against mercenaries, Elen. They're good troops when the battle is even, but
they're loath to give up their lives for a shilling a day. They'll never hold
if we once begin pushing them back. And the mood my men are in, no foreign
troops can hope to hold them. They're so outraged by de Veasy's treachery,
they'd charge Lucifer himself if I asked it!"

Elen
nodded. The English had often used Gascon troops in Wales. It was the kind of
talk she'd heard all her life. "A good plan," she forced herself to
say. "Only..." It was growing harder to keep her voice steady.
"Only you have to stay alive till Giles relieves you."

"I
will, Elen. I will." Richard held her tightly. "And no worrying.
Spend these next hours planning for our child. I'll want a name both your
people and mine can pronounce."

He
kissed her again, hard and possessive, then eased her back into the blankets.
Rising to his feet, he stared at her thoughtfully. "You've not spoken of
Dylan, so I take it you've made your choice. It would be foolish to tell you
I'd try to spare him—you know I won't. But I promise you this. If we meet in
battle and God favors me, I'll not take him alive to be made sport of by my
people. That much I will grant you."

Elen
nodded. It was all that he could offer and more than she had dared hope.
"Just take care, Richard. Dylan's so twisted with hate, he's scarce
human."

"I'll
take care, Elen." He sent her a long look. "And I'll be back."

Ducking
under the tent flap, Richard hurried across the wet grass toward his horse. The
blackness outside had shaded to pearl-gray. It was light enough to march.

He
took his reins from Simon. "See to my lady," he directed. "And
whatever you do, don't let her talk you into bringing her to the pass." He
flashed the boy a grin. "I'd not put it past her to end up in the middle
of this fight."

Simon
nodded glumly, furious Richard had ordered him to stay behind once more.
Richard swung into the saddle, edging his mount away from the campfires toward
the trampled clearing where his men were already gathering. From the shadows
beneath a large, gaunt beech, a flash of movement caught his eye. Owain was
watching the English soldiers, his face heavy with the knowledge of what was to
come.

Richard
drew rein. "I've not yet thanked you for helping to save my life," he
remarked softly.

The
Welshman only shrugged.

"I'm
well aware you could have left camp anytime you wished, that you could be
riding to warn Dylan even now." Richard hesitated a moment, gazing at the
man searchingly. "Might I ask why you're not?"

"I'll
take no sides in this battle," Owain responded. He nodded his head in the
direction of the pass. "My heart is with them. I know why they fight and I
feel the same, yet I've the wit to realize the dream is over. Dylan no longer
thinks on what is best for Wales. He cares only for a personal feud. Were you
to fall there'd be a hundred more to take your place." He looked at
Richard. "And none the man you are."

The
reluctant praise was pleasing. "Better the devil you know, eh?"

Owain
smiled. "Yes... and there's a little matter of the lady we both admire.
Elen's vengeance would put Edward's to shame if she thought I'd lifted steel
against you."

Richard
glanced back at the tent. He was sure of his strategy, confident of his own
abilities. But ofttimes in battle, fate took a hand. "Owain... in the
event things don't go as planned, I count on you to get Simon and Elen away
safely. Take them back to Gwenlyn. Henry could hold the place against de
Veasy's men indefinitely."

He
glanced at the lightening sky, the shadowy mountains of Eryri taking shape with
the dawn. An unexpected feeling swept him—this fierce, proud land was home.
"I'd like my child born in Wales," he added softly. "Tell Elen
that for me if the need should arise."

Owain
was staring at him strangely. "I'll see to it."

Saladin
jerked at the bit, impatient to be gone. Richard held the stallion a moment
more, his eyes meeting those of the Welshman. Elen and Owain, inseparable it
seemed. And she
had
said lives that night... not life.

He
held up a gauntleted hand in tribute. "We were well matched you and I, Owain.
Very well matched, indeed."

***

From
the shadowy concealment of the forest, Richard stared down the misty river
valley, his soldier's eye noting every ridge of stone, every patch of trees
that could hide enemy bowmen. The river curled through the wood below, a murky,
fog-shrouded ghost twisting through the trees.

Dylan
had chosen well. Richard cursed the route that would take him in such proximity
to the water. He had no desire to find himself trapped with his back to the
river— not with the amount of steel he wore.

The
sun had just lifted above the mountain peaks to the east, sending warm, golden
light to bathe the western rim of the valley. The eastern side, the track they
must travel, was still cloaked in shadow. He had timed it perfectly. His men would
make poor targets for Welsh bowmen moving through the deep shadows darkening
the valley floor, but the Welsh would be forced to begin the attack or risk
allowing them through the pass.

He
breathed deeply of the cold, crisp air, watching his breath rise in a warm
cloud about him. Dylan's scouts would have reported their movements at dawn.
The Welsh should be in position by now.

He
wondered who was leading de Veasy's mercenaries. Not the great lord himself,
Richard knew for a certainty, nor even anyone who could be traced back to him.
The Baron of Ravensgate was far too wily to be caught with a charge of treason.
He was probably at court now, passing the time as innocently as possible while
he waited for word of Richard's death.

He
turned back to his men, suddenly eager for the waiting to be over. "Move
out," he ordered, swinging into the saddle. "Let's get this done and
go home."

The
men moved unhurriedly out of the cold, wet woodlands, marching down the rocky
hillside into the valley below. Faces were grim, nerves stretched to the
breaking point as they waited for the attack to begin. Richard thought of Elen,
of his child on the way. Never had he ridden into battle with so much to lose.

He
was actually relieved when the first whine of arrows cut the air. His mind
emptied of all save the will to survive as he swung from his mount, tossing his
reins to one of the squires. "Into the trees with the horses, lad!"
he shouted, ducking behind a rock.