“Tell me,” he said tersely, and she nodded.
“The prince wrote that as they had discussed, he was certain de Braose would find it very rewarding to join King Richard in battle, for should he be killed, the lands of England, Wales, and Anjou would then come under his jurisdiction as the next king. The matter of Arthur of Brittany could be resolved so there would be papal approval.
“It seemed very dangerous to me that a prince would write that about the king and could be misunderstood by some,” she finished. “And now you know, that if the prince were to think you part of a plot to steal the letter, your life and lands may well be forfeit, too.”
“Where is the letter now?”
“I hid it. It seemed too dangerous a thing to have with me. And besides, I thought if I was taken, I could use it to barter for our lives. A foolish error, I am certain.”
“Quite foolish. Sasha, tell me where you hid the letter.”
“You would be in grave peril,” she began saying, but he put his hands on her shoulders, his voice insistent.
“I must know.”
“Godstow nunnery. I went there to see if they would grant sanctuary to Elspeth, for she is not young, and it is very hard on her these days to travel, and if she was safe there, she at least would not die for my error. She refused to stay. So I hid the letter in the chapel that holds Fair Rosamond before we departed. The prioress thought we were very moved by the memorials left for her.”
For a moment Rhys didn’t speak. Then he began to laugh. That was not at all the reaction she had expected. She frowned. “You do not believe me?”
“Oh aye, sweet flower, I believe you full well. I was just struck by the irony that King Henry’s dead mistress now holds the proof of his son John’s treason.”
Further confusing her, he drew her into his arms, holding her tight against him. “You do not hate me?” she asked, peering up at him. “I have put you in jeopardy.”
“I could never hate you, calon bach. Not even when I thought you fled for indifference of me did I hate you.”
Amazed, she echoed, “Indifference? Are you mad? I love you with every breath I draw, every beat of my heart, to the very marrow of my bones. It matters not to me whether we are in England, Wales, or Byzantium—if I am with you, I will be happy.”
Placing a hand on each side of her face, he looked suddenly intent as he said, “Then wed me, my faerie queen. Pledge to be my wife here and now, and we will seal it in the bed so none can tear us asunder.”
Moved, the events of the day suddenly overwhelming, she nodded. “Yea, my lord, I will take you to husband, for today and tomorrow and ever after. But I must have a bath before we seal it in the bed.”
“This time,” he said huskily as he bent to capture her lips, “I will bathe you . . .”
It was a promise she intended he keep.
PERCHED ON A stool by his bed, Sasha spoon-fed Biagio a thick broth. He grimaced. “It tastes like soap.”
“Enough. That is the poppies.”
“Ah, you drug me?”
“For your own good. Sir Robert says you refuse to rest. Now here. Wine to wash it down.”
Pushing away the bowl of broth, Biagio took a deep draught of wine. He glowers, bella. Make him leave.
Ignoring his silent order, Sasha said, “I thought you would like to hear the latest news. Elspeth is returned to us, found safely on the road. She will visit you as soon as she recovers from the trip, as she had made it near halfway across Gloucestershire before Sir Peter found her. She’s decided she will remain in Wales now that I have settled. So. Lord Rhys has news from the Marshal.”
Biagio looked interested at that, as she had known he would be. “Tell it. I hope his head is not on the block.”
“Hardly,” Rhys said, his tone amused. “Move aside your dog so that I do not have to yell across the chamber, and I will tell you.”
Biagio patted the edge of the bed, and the Alaunt shifted position, leaving room for Rhys to pull another stool next to Sasha.
“It is simple. Sir William told Prince John he had come across a certain letter and has it in his possession. He made it known the letter to de Braose could cause King Richard a great deal of concern that might be expressed in ways the prince would find unpleasant. John understood his meaning.”
“And does the Marshal have the letter?” Biagio asked with a frown.
“He does. It was recovered in Godstow. It is safe with Sir William, for none would dare accuse him of treachery. Prince John was unhappy, but when it was explained to him that the letter had been recovered in a nunnery, still sealed, and that it had been opened to ascertain it did indeed come from the prince and the royal seal had not been stolen, it removed all inclination to search for the courier, who had mysteriously disappeared.”
“And the prince believed that?”
“Prince John seems to believe de Braose at fault, so it is possible that he does not. But it ends the problem of your involvement. As Sir William also delivered to the prince news of my recent marriage and a rendering of my knights’ fees and rents to the royal coffers, he is satisfied for the moment of my loyalty to England.”
Biagio smiled sleepily. “Then you are safe, bella?”
“We are safe,” she agreed. “It is you who must recover, so rest now. Sir Robert says you are a terrible patient, and he is ready to be shed of you.”
Biagio’s eyes slowly closed, then he opened them again, glaring at her. “You did drug the broth!”
“Nay, I did not. It was in the wine. Sleep now, so Sir Robert isn’t tempted to smother you with a bolster.”
Italian obscenities followed her as she and Rhys left him in the wall chamber used by the barber for his surgeries. The Alaunt settled contentedly on the floor next to his cot, protection and devotion on guard.
Sir Brian met them as they climbed the stairs, stopping. “Owain has returned, my lord.”
“Is he well?”
Brian glanced at Sasha. His thoughts were easy to read, for he recalled the night in the cave and Bowen’s sacrifice to save her. But instead of resentment, the images he had were of her defying Gareth, her warning to him that Gareth meant to attack. While he did not trust her still, he did not regard her as a threat. He now viewed her as his lord’s beloved lady, and that was a beginning.
“He is as well as can be expected of a grieving father,” he replied. “And I personally saw to the instructions you left for Adam.”
“Did you? Was he taken ill?”
“Nay, lord. But he has no notion of romance.”
Rhys laughed. “I do not doubt that you do, good friend.”
“What an odd thing to say,” Sasha murmured as Sir Brian grinned and moved past them, and Rhys agreed.
“He is Irish. They are all romantics. You smell like jasmine, chérie,” Rhys murmured, and she put a hand to her hair.
She had trimmed the charred ends of her hair and washed it earlier with her favorite shampoo. “It grows too slowly. I look as one of the pages.”
He put an arm around her, bringing her close to his side. “You look like an Elf Queen, my love. Exotic and mysterious and beautiful. Will our children be pixies?”
Heat flushed her cheeks at the thought of bearing his children. “Nay, they will be born wearing mail and brandishing swords, no doubt,” she retorted.
“That relieves me.” He bent, nuzzling the hair on her crown. “It is a clear night, chérie. I have a surprise for you.”
He would not reveal it, and she wondered what he planned when he took her up the stairs to the topmost turret and out on the ramparts. To her surprise, a pile of furs was arranged in the shelter of a wall; a lantern glowed, providing light, and beyond the castle the beauty of Wales lay spread before them in the dwindling shades of dusk. The River Wye was a dark, gleaming ribbon bel
ow, and a full moon peered on the horizon, but above lay an endless blanket of stars. Dazzling twinkles as of tiny candles stretched as far as the eye could see, a great, slow wheel curving over the land.
“It is magic,” she breathed softly, and he lowered her to the thick pallet festooned with rose petals and followed.
“You are the magic, calon bach—precious darling. My heart. My love.”
As he leaned over her, his handsome face illuminated by the lantern, she whispered, “Ameli. My hope.”
“Do you recall the name your mother gave you?” he asked after a moment, and she tilted her head to look at him fully.
“I do. Farah. It means happiness. My father called me zahra, flower.”
“Farah. A lovely name.”
She sighed. “Yea, although it no longer suited me. Until now.”
He took her hand, pressed a kiss on her fingers, then her mouth, lingering, and asked softly, “Do you regret that I am not the champion of the prophecy?”
“You are the true answer to the prophecy. You have restored to me all that I lost: love and home and family—and happiness.”
“So the prophecy has been fulfilled?”
Taking his face between her hands, she kissed him, murmuring, “Yea, my lord. And one day I shall tell you of the Gift my mother left me . . .”
The End
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The Magic Glossary items
In order of use in the book:
Lá Bealtaine – Gaelic: the Beltane night; May 1st
Tylwyth Teg – Welsh: fairies of Welsh folklore
Coelcerth – Welsh: bonfire
Chanson de geste – Old French: song of heroic deeds
Kievan Rus – present day Russia; Kievan is now Kiev, Rus is Russia
Ie – Welsh: Yes
Edwardstowe – present day Stow-on-the-Wold, England
Mi scusi – Italian: Excuse me
Intabih likalāmik – Arabic: Watch your mouth
Capiche – Italian: Understand?
Acre arcre arnem nona aernem – Old English nonsense talisman against charms
Zahrat saghira – Arabic: little flower
Zahra – Arabic: flower
Tollam te artemesia, ne lassus sim in via – Anglo-Saxon: Chant to pick mugwort
Kefāyah – Arabic: That’s enough
Eīh – Arabic: What?
Pintel – English: Medieval slang for penis
Striguil – present day Chepstow, Wales
Pwy dod – Welsh: roughly, “Who comes?”
Fy enw i yw – Welsh: My name is
Porte coleïce – French: Portcullis or iron gate
Shirvan – present day Azerbaijan
Enta mabtesmaʿnīš! – Arabic: You are not listening to me
Kafa ean – Arabic: Stop it
Fy mach I – Welsh: my little one
Beth s’yn bod – Welsh: What’s wrong?
Blodyn bach – Welsh: little flower
Grazia – Italian: Thank you
Sa i’n gwybod – Welsh: I do not know
Mynd trwy – Welsh: Go through
Abn jamal – Arabic: Son of a camel
Tylwyth teg, rydych chi’n tylwyth teg – Welsh: Fairy, you are fairy
Bore da. Wyt ti’n siarad Cymraeg – Welsh: Good morning. Do you speak Welsh
Salfordshire – present day Lancashire
Chi è qui – Italian: Are you here
quelli folli – Italian: foolish ones
Pris ti yn dda, morwyn melys – Welsh: Fare thee well, sweet maid
Mōdor – Old English: Mother
I hast forsorged ðu – Old English; I have grieved you
Haemus Mountains – present day Balkans
Svevi – Italian: Swabia, present day Germany
Ameli – Arabic: my hope; an endearment
Calon bach – Welsh: precious darling; an endearment
Trobairitz – Italian: female troubadour
Routiers – Originally French: mercenaries or hired soldiers
Vintenar – English: Man in charge of twenty soldiers
Cyfran – Welsh: law of inheritance
Amobr – Welsh: fee payable to a woman’s lord for loss of her virginity
Cowyll – Welsh: maiden fee paid to a woman by her husband the morning after
Dynan – Welsh: little man, manikin, insignificant person, wretch; little woman
Cyfraith Hywel – Welsh: Welsh law
Jida – Arabic: grandmother
About the Author
Since her first romance novel came out in 1984, VIRGINIA BROWN has written over 50 novels. Many of her books have been nominated for Romantic Times’s Reviewer’s Choice, Career Achievement Award for Love and Laughter, Career Achievement Award for Adventure, and 2 EPIC eBook nominations for Historical Romance. In addition she received the RT Career Achievement Award for Historical Adventure, as well as the EPIC eBook Award for Mainstream Fiction. Her works have regularly appeared on national bestseller lists.
A native of Memphis, Tennessee, Virginia spent much of her childhood traveling with her parents as a “military brat,” living all over the US and in Japan. This influenced her love of travel and adventure, which she indulges with research trips to England and Scotland as often as possible. While Ms. Brown spent her formative years in Jackson, Mississippi, she now lives near her children in North Mississippi, surrounded by a menagerie of beloved dogs and cats while she writes.
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