The Prince of Powys (4 page)

I am the Princess of—”

“Mercia! This I know.” He dropped his muscular arms to his

side.

“I can help you escape.” She flashed her most beguiling smile.

“Take me with you.”

“Why should I?” His eyes glinted with the sheen of

mischievousness.

“I wil aid you in getting a horse. Al I ask is that you escort

me to Caledonia. My sister Judith is wed to Brude, King of the

Picts. I can stay there until my father comes to his senses. Once

he sees he cannot make me wed Cuthred, he wil let me come

back home.”

Blaise rested his hand on his belt. “Brude?” He widened his

eyes. “You want me to take you to the King of the Picts?”

“Yes, do you know him?” She was filed with new-found

hope.

“I know of him. Apparently, you do not.” He chuckled softly.

She moved closer to Blaise. “Brude wil offer me safe haven.”

“Oh, he wil, wil he?” His smile turned to a thin scowl. “Be

cautious. Cuthred is watching us,” he said beneath his breath.

“He thinks you are the guard. I need give you an order,” she

whispered. She raised her voice and commanded, “Scan, make

sure the King’s horses and those of his men are washed down

and fed. Send mead, and if there be wiling women to comfort

him and his men, send them as wel.”

him and his men, send them as wel.”

“Yes, m’lady, it shal be done.” Blaise feigned a perfect

Mercian accent and bowed his head.

Cuthred strode back to his chamber, eager to await a wiling

woman.

“Go, get me a good horse,” Blaise whispered in a flat voice.

He folowed Branda to the stable and saddled a sleek, yet

muscular, gelding. She ducked into another stal.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“To ready my horse.”

“No, you ride with me.”

“I need get to Caledonia before the King’s men find me. It wil

be faster with two steeds.”

“But we take only one.”

She placed her hand on her hips. “Why?”

“Because, m’lady, I need keep an eye on you.” Blaise vaulted

into the saddle and held a hand down to hoist her up.

She studied him long enough to know charm wouldn’t work

and slid her hand in his. He agreed to take her to Judith and

nothing else mattered, not even whether it was on one horse or

two.

He puled her up, and she straddled the horse’s back so she

sat in front of the Welsh Prince. He smeled of soot and cinders.

She pinched her nose. “You need a bath.”

“Yes, it’s the first thing I wil do.”

She turned her head toward him. “Only after you take me to

Caledonia.”

“Of course. What are hostages for if not to offer their host’s

daughter an escort?” He curled his mouth into a smile, but his

eyes didn’t change. They were unreadable.

It caused her to wonder if trusting him might not be one of her

better ideas, but he was her only means of escape. Surely he

would do as she said. Al the men in Mercia did as she said,

even Ethelbald, until now.

“Caledonia, is it?”

Blaise’s crisp query brought her from her musings. “Yes, to

King Brude.” She gazed forward.

At a slow gait he rode past timber hals, crudely built cattle

corrals and a pigpen ful of squealing porkers. Blaise pressed his

heels into the horse’s flank and rode toward the gate.

heels into the horse’s flank and rode toward the gate.

Branda yeled to two guards leaning on their spears. “Let me

through. Scan and I go on an errand for my sire.” She knew the

guards must have thought she wouldn’t leave the palace unless

the King had ordered it. “It’s good they don’t know me wel,”

she said under her breath as they opened the gate.

“They were fools not to get a closer look at me. Ethelbald wil

have them whipped,” Blaise mumbled as their mount trotted with

ease out of the Mercian stronghold.

“On my account?” She hadn’t thought of that. She realized

she’d given no thought to anything save getting out of the

betrothal to Cuthred.

“You didn’t make them addle-headed.” With a smirk in his

voice, he added, “Unless they were overcome by your beauty.”

“You are rude to speak to me like that.” Her muscles

stiffened, but the heat of his raspy chuckle made the flesh on her neck tingle. She could melt in his arms if she alowed it. She

pushed those sily fancies aside. Soon she would be with Judith

and wouldn’t have to give another thought to Cuthred or Blaise.

“I wish to hasten to Caledonia.” Her voice sounded less steady

than she wished.

She gasped for breath as Blaise kneed the horse into a

hooves-hammering galop.

* * * *

ached from riding for hours. She looked at the direction of the

sun. This did not seem right. “Blaise, is this north?”

“Yes, north to Caledonia.” Blaise gripped Branda tighter as he

kept the horse to a steady trot.

She glanced back and forth at land and sky. “Are you sure

we’re heading north?”

“Yes.” Blaise gave no thought to the lie and had no fear she’d

question him further. Like Scan, she had little experience with life and she’d never been outside Mercia. His father would cal both

Scan and the Princess young and foolish. His sire said the same

of him often enough but now he rode home, returning to his King

of him often enough but now he rode home, returning to his King

with a prize, to prove him wrong at last.

She shrugged and yawned. “I am not good at directions.”

Blaise peered at her to see she’d nodded off again. The long

ride was taking its tol on her. The sleeping Princess pressed her

flaxen heads against his chest and a waft of lavender from her

feathery mane tempted his senses.

Comely, moreover she rides well...for a Saxon
, he thought

as he folowed the curves of the river, its ripples glistened like a hoard of Druid crystals. He crossed into the ancient kingdom of

Powys and headed for Dinas Bran.

Elation bubbled within his chest at anticipation of reaching the

hil fort. His father and King, Elisedd map Gwylog of Powys,

would honor him. The shame he brought to his sire when taken

captive would be transformed into great pride, for he returned

with Ethelbald’s daughter as his hostage.

His flesh tingled from the warmth of her body as she lay

against him. Heat swirled in his chest. So sweet when she slept

and her mouth was shut. No, she was a hostage. He could feel

no fondness for her, though his father would treat her wel, unlike the way he’d been abused in Mercia.

A warm glow flowed though him as he scanned the long grass

and scattered rock, sloping hils and azure sky, the breathtaking

beauty of Powys. A cry of joy broke from his lips, “So good to

be home.”

He shifted his gaze to the Princess’s hair which shimmered like

sunlight on the river. He recaled her dimpled smile.

The horse’s hooves clumped upon bright green grass as the

purr of a waterfal urged him onward. Soon his gaze fel upon

crystal water, cascading down jutting mountain rock. The

Princess said he needed a bath.

He puled the steed to a halt and with one hand steadily on

Branda eased from the saddle. As he lifted her into his arms, she

wriggled and mumbled something incoherent.

“Shush, Princess. Go back to sleep.”

Leaving the horse to graze, Blaise laid Branda under the leafy

canopy of an ancient, gnarled and crooked oak. Free at last—as

free as the gushing fountains, wandering brooks, murmuring

rivers and lakes pouring forth fresh water—he ran, pounding his

feet into the sod of Wales. He puled his hat off and tossed it to

the ground, then unfastened the thin Saxon belt and flung it in the the ground, then unfastened the thin Saxon belt and flung it in the grass. The guard’s tunic now hung to his calves so he tore it off, peeled off the tight-fitting trousers and ran naked into the cool, clear pond, where water tumbled down the rocks. He dived

underwater and surfaced head up at the fals. Water pounded his

flesh, invigorating, cleansing; the roar of the waterfal rejuvenated his soul. As the water poured down, he swept his fingers through

his matted hair, kneading his scalp and washing the English soil

from his flesh.

A shril scream pierced the air, and he turned to see Branda,

eyes wide and face red. A chuckle rumbled deep in his chest.

The Princess saw something she couldn’t talk about. She was a

maid indeed. Branda covered her eyes, turned her head and ran

toward the grazing horse.

“Branda,” he caled between snorts of laughter, “join me.”

“You are bare, every bit of you.” She stood with her back to

him.

He dropped his gaze to the yelow curls cascading past her

waist, and then skimmed the gentle curves of her wilowy waist

and slim hips as he wondered what she looked like nude.

“Come, the water is not cold,” he taunted in a hoarse voice.

“Put your clothes on, you cur,” she yeled without turning

around. Even though she seemed shocked and angry, the set of

her shoulders was regal and exuded confidence.

“Ah, there is the Princess I know. For a moment I feared

you’d gone speechless. Oh, I meant for a moment I was blessed

with silence.”

“Are you dressed, you big dolt?”

Stil staring at her, Blaise took a deep gulp of heather-scented

air and got out of the water. He shook his head, spraying

droplets of water on the green grass, and puled on the Saxon

trousers, then the tunic. He belted it to a decent length, plopped the cap back on his head, picked his shoes up in one hand and

waded through the long grass toward her.

She must have heard him approach, as she suddenly shrieked

and wheeled around.

He chuckled. “Did I startle you?”

“You dolt!” She stepped back.

He took pleasure in the baffled expression playing across her

face.

face.

“You shouldn’t go about naked in the presence of a lady.”

“Yes, of course you are right.” He was overcome with a

sudden urge to see her smile as he peered into her large blue

eyes. Not a good idea, he chided himself. He plopped down,

crossing his legs in a seated position in the grass, and gestured

her to join him

She eased down on the ground at his side and cocked her

head. “How old are you?”

“Ten and seven years of age; and you?” He picked up a blade

of grass and twirled it in his mouth.

“Ten and six turns of the year.” Branda raised her hand and

grabbed the hat off his wet head. “Your hair is matted. I can

comb it for you.”

“No.” Reaching out, he clutched the cap and puled it from her

grasp. His scalp felt warm and tingly just from that contact alone, he couldn’t have her caressing it. To resist her charms he

focused his mind on getting the Mercian Princess to Dinas Bran

before she figured out his plan and tried to escape.

He stood and pointed his hand toward the crooked tree. “I

wil gather elderberries yonder so you can eat, then we ride.

Either Ethelbald or Cuthred wil folow our trail.”

She arched her brows. “We are in Caledonia?”

“Yes,. We rode north, remember? Where else could we be?”

Powys is where we are, silly goose, not Caledonia. Why

would I go there?
“Rest. I wil return with this Saxon hat ful of elderberries.”

Clutching the funny woolen cap, Blaise walked off into the

high grass, slowly inhaling the fresh air, sweet with the scent of flowering heather. He plucked plump black berries from the vine.

An eagle soared overhead, emitting a lucid, strong caw which

sounded like, “Home, home.” Was it the eagle that returned each

year to nest in the wooden palisades atop Dinas Bran?

“Fly on,” he caled out to the majestic bird. “Soon I shal soar

up the steep rock to the ancient, iron-age hil fort on top of the

high mountain, amidst the clouds.”

Blaise made his way back to the Princess. Even with tousled

hair, a scowl of hunger on her face, and her usual sparkling eyes

now a bit puffy and pale from exhaustion, she radiated a beauty

and vitality that drew him like a lodestone. “Here, eat.”

Scooping her fingers into the Saxon cap ful of dark berries,

Scooping her fingers into the Saxon cap ful of dark berries,

she shoved a handful into her mouth. She chewed fast, almost

choking. Juice dribbled down her lips, and her palms were

splashed with indigo from the elderberries.

“Slow down. I can get more.”

“I’m starving. I didn’t eat wel last night. I had no wont of

food while I sat next to Cuthred.”

Her every word made him laugh. She distrusted the King of

Wessex, yet she put her trust in a Welsh hostage to take her to

Caledonia. She had much to learn. Life in Mercia had been too

easy for her.

Stil, he couldn’t tear his gaze from her, the glow of her skin

and the sheen of her hair. His palms burned with the urge to

touch her. The sooner he put her into his father’s care the better.

He needed to ride.

“It’s time we were off. We have a long way to go.” He helped

her mount the horse and vaulted up behind her.

As they rode pilion through Wales from the moors to the