The Beauty Bride (The Jewels of Kinfairlie) (16 page)

Madeline
felt a twinge of irritation. Did nothing astonish the man? Was Rhys never taken
unawares?

“Truly?”
she replied as if she had not discovered the very same fact herself. “It is
uncommon to find a steed so loyal.”

“Indeed
it is. A man can count himself fortunate to have any soul serve him with such
loyalty, be it man or beast.”

Madeline
watched him, curious despite herself. He made yet another reference to
betrayal. What had happened to Rhys? And what was at root of the king’s charge
against him?

She
did not imagine that Rhys would answer her questions. Indeed, he frowned in
concentration as he removed Kerr’s saddlebag. He solemnly sifted through its
contents and ultimately removed only the coins from the dead man’s purse. Rhys
then flung the saddlebag and the rest of its contents across the moor.

Madeline
regarded him with surprise.

“Any
who find his corpse will think he was attacked by bandits,” Rhys said simply,
then swung into the other steed’s saddle. He lifted the reins of his destrier
from Madeline’s numb fingertips. “Shall we go to the ostler, then?”

Madeline
only nodded, and Rhys studied her for a moment before he urged the horse to a
walk. “You look to have need of a tale,” he said. “And I know the very one.”

Madeline
thought she needed many things in this moment, the last of which would have
been a tale, but it seemed rude to say as much. She let him lead the horse and
resigned herself to listen.

She
did not expect to be entertained, no less to be charmed, but she was quickly
proven wrong.

* * *

Rhys
cleared his throat. “There is a place in Wales known as Pen Dinas, a place
where it is said by those who know such things that the fairies hold their high
court. Pen Dinas is a high flat rock near a river and its summit is uncommonly
level. The turf there is a rich green, beyond the hue of any other place, as if
it has been blessed by the feet of many magical dancers.”

Madeline
found the tightness easing in her shoulders. Rhys’ voice was easy to attend and
indeed, the unfamiliar rhythm of his speech was beguiling. This reminded her of
the tales her father would tell the family when she and her siblings had been
very small, and it was reassuring for that.

“So
it was that a boy came there to hide. It is said that his name was Elidorus,
but that is no Welsh name. Let us call him Llewelyn ap Alan.”

Madeline
laughed despite herself. His substitution was so different that it caught her
by surprise, and it was such an uncommon name. “You cannot say that name a
dozen times quickly!”

Rhys
granted her a wry glance and did precisely that, making it sound like music as
he did so. She wondered whether she imagined the mischievous twinkle in his
eye, so abruptly did he sober and resume his tale.

“So
it was that Llewelyn ap Alan decided to flee his tutor, for he did not like to
learn his meter, and he liked less to be chided for his inattention.”

“His
meter?”

“The
meter of poetry. It is what a boy learns from a tutor, how the rhymes must be
made and the repetitions be calculated.”

Madeline
knew nothing of this, but she nodded as if she understood. She was loathe to
interrupt Rhys’ tale, and he thought the matter of meter so obvious that she
did not want him to think her simple.

“So
Llewelyn ap Alan hid himself near this very place, Pen Dinas, so that none
might find him. That very night, when the moon waxed round and bright, he heard
music. As slovenly as Llewelyn ap Alan might have been, he was no fool. He knew
to avoid the music of the fairies and never to join them in their circles, lest
he be lost to the mortal world for a hundred years. He put his fingers in his
ears and he stayed hidden until the morning came and the fairy music ceased.

“Yet
in the early light of dawn, when he might have allowed himself to sleep,
Llewelyn ap Alan was confronted by two small men. They invited him to their
abode, to show him marvels, and after having their pledge that he would be allowed
to leave at his very request, the curious boy accompanied them.

“They
led him to a secret passage, one cleverly concealed behind a trio of stones,
and into a kingdom hidden beneath the hill of Pen Dinas. Although it was cloudy
there, for no sun shone under the hill, the land was beautiful and the people
yet more so. Every one of them was blessed with hair as fair as his own was
dark, every one of them seemed on the verge of laughter. They had wealth beyond
measure - goblets of gold and gems upon every finger. Their horses were swift
and lovely, their hounds were graceful. It was a veritable paradise.

“Llewelyn
ap Alan was greeted by the king himself. The king explained the manners of his
people, and bade Llewelyn ap Alan not to demand a pledge again. The fairies
made few vows, far fewer than men, for they would keep each and every one of
them to the letter. The king told Llewelyn ap Alan that he and his people
despised deception and faithlessness beyond all.”

Madeline
watched her companion, noting again a reference to betrayal. She was beginning
to have a good measure of curiosity about this man, though she suspected it was
a dangerous inquisitiveness.

“Llewelyn
ap Alan professed this to be most admirable and was granted leave to play with
the king’s son. He did not forget himself, as he had feared, and it was not
overlong before he asked permission to leave. His guides showed him a way home
and he quickly made his way to his mother’s abode, half-fearing that time would
have slipped away.

“But
there had been no deception. The fairies had kept their bargain with him and he
had been gone but three days, just as he had expected. Some weeks later, he
sought the secret portal and found it, much to the delight of the king’s son.
So it was that Llewelyn ap Alan became accustomed to spending time in both
worlds and enjoyed the merits of both.”

Rhys
glanced over his shoulder and Madeline did not trouble to hide how enchanted
she was by his tale. She smiled, hoping to urge him to continue, and Rhys
turned away so abruptly that she feared she had somehow insulted him.

But
he merely continued on. “The secret began to itch Llewelyn ap Alan, as secrets
are wont to do, and increasingly it saddened him that no one knew what he knew.
He confided one day in his mother, who seemed as delighted with his adventure
as he. For a while, this confidence sufficed and he told her each time he
returned what new marvels he had seen.

“Now,
the marvels of that kingdom were not finite, and it seemed that each time he
visited, Llewelyn ap Alan saw something yet more wondrous. And in time, as his
tales seemed to grow more fanciful, and as his recounting of the wealth in the
kingdom of the fairies grew more magnificent, his mother became impatient. She
began to think that he played a trick upon her, as young boys will do, and she
demanded some evidence that his journeys occurred in truth.

“So
it was that the next time Llewelyn ap Alan visited the kingdom, he stole the
golden ball with which he and the king’s son played. He made for the portal,
but was pursued with a hue and a cry. He reached the door, but it was closed
fast against him...until he surrendered the ball to the very pair who had led
him to this place. They frowned at him, and turned a deaf ear to his apologies.

“When
Llewelyn ap Alan blinked, he found himself upon the bare turf of Pen Dinas.
Alone. He never did find the entry to the fairy kingdom again, though it was
said that he wandered long and far in search of it. And though he oft heard
their music at a distance, on a night when the moon shone bright, he never
could spy their dancing, nor could he approach their merrymaking.” Rhys paused,
seemingly to draw attention to the end of his tale. “Llewelyn ap Alan had shown
himself faithless and a poor guest, and in that, he lost what he should have
valued in the first place.”

The
moral was a potent one. Madeline wondered if Rhys had chosen this tale
apurpose, but she had no time to ask him before he raised a finger to point to
the horizon.

“There!
See the curl of smoke from the abbey’s chimney? It is not far, my lady. You
will be among women and behind high walls soon enough. I daresay they will have
a hot potage over the fire, as well.”

Madeline
looked, saw the plume of smoke, and was ashamed of her earlier suspicions of
his motives. Rhys was going to take her to an abbey where she would be safe.

No,
she had been safe ever since she left Ravensmuir, safe because Rhys had ridden
close behind her and kept a vigilant eye upon her, despite her own mistake.

And
she had been doubly safe since he had saved her from Kerr.

Madeline
smiled at Rhys, smiled genuinely for the first time since they had met. “Thank
you, Rhys. I have done little to deserve your aid and courtesy of this day, but
I grant you my heartfelt thanks.”

Curiously,
the man did not return her smile.

Indeed,
he blinked, as if he had looked into the centre of the sun, then frowned. He
turned away, his entire being apparently focused upon making a course to the
abbey.

“We
had best make haste,” he said gruffly. “A wound heals better when it is tended
sooner.” He whistled to Gelert and the hound trotted at the quickened pace of
the destrier. Rhys did not speak to Madeline again - indeed, his concentration
was so complete that he might have been riding alone.

And
Madeline was surprised by how much Rhys’ silence - and his indifference to her
presence - troubled her.

* * *

Chapter Six

In
fact, Rhys was far from indifferent to the presence of the lady close behind
him.

Rhys
was aware of Madeline’s beauty as he had never been aware of a woman before. It
had been with considerable effort that he had kept himself from reassuring her
with his touch. It had taken a fortitude he had not known he possessed to
restrain himself from kissing her soundly in his relief that she was unscathed.

He
had been afraid when Kerr took to the gorse. He had been terrified that the
wily mercenary would rape Madeline before he could come to the lady’s aid. He
had left too much distance between them in his determination to not be observed
and he had been certain that his lady would pay the price of his
miscalculation.

He
had not overstated his relief that she had attempted to escape.

The
eau-de-vie had not truly settled Rhys’ worries. Indeed, it curdled in his gut.
A resounding kiss would have served him better, no less the lady’s hands
curling in his hair. But Rhys had glimpsed Madeline’s terror and he did not
want to redouble it.

The
lady had endured sufficient insult and trial of late.

Rhys
particularly respected that she blamed herself for making a foolish choice. It
was a rare soul who admitted his or her own part in subsequent misfortunes. To
be sure, it was partly Rhys’ fault as well. Fear of meeting him at the altar
was behind Madeline’s flight and he blamed himself for not doing a better task
of eliminating her uncertainties.

It
was not the lady’s fault that she had been protected from knowledge of
wickedness in the world, especially the kind of wickedness Kerr had shown. He
could well understand why she would trust a man who had been in her father’s
employ.

He
resisted the urge to steal a glimpse of her, for fear that she would smile at
him again and addle his wits completely. The lady had an admirable valor, to be
sure. Most women would have wept by this time, but Madeline sat straight in the
saddle.

Even
disheveled, she possessed a beauty that could make a man forget himself. Her
braid had become unfastened and her dark hair hung loose over her shoulders.
There was a scratch upon her cheek and more upon her hands, none of which Rhys
dared to offer to heal. He did not doubt that the smeared mud hid bruises upon
her flesh. The lady was too soft, too temptingly sweet, and the mere glimpse he
had had of the curve of her breast had nigh been enough to make him forget any chivalrous
intent he possessed.

Yet
he had not been so entangled in his lust that he had not seen the truth of it.
Madeline had been so frightened that his merest touch might have made her bolt
like her palfrey. He would not take advantage of her fear to sate his own
desires.

That
was not the way to earn her trust, to make a match that would endure.

It
was most unlike Rhys to feel such a potent yearning for any woman, and he had
never expected he would feel it for the woman he ultimately took to wife. Rhys was
certain that his response was a result of little sleep, or perhaps of a fear
that Caerwyn could have been lost to him. Both he and Madeline would be
restored by the morrow.

For,
by then, they would be wed in truth, the lady’s future would be secured, and
Caerwyn would be his forevermore.

* * *

When
they reached the walled community, the abbey gates were closed. Rhys seemed
untroubled by this, and Madeline said nothing, guessing that he must prefer her
silence. These were heavy wooden gates, boasting no expensive portcullis or
ornamental details, their sole virtue being their size and weight. Madeline
could see the cross on the roof of the chapel, smell a potage of vegetables,
and discern little else.