“I’ve missed you so,” he said. Involuntarily she moaned once more. He looked up at her, and his eyes were bright in the silver light. “Oh, El—” His voice was harsh, his breathing as uneven as hers. “You can’t imagine how much I’ve missed you.”
She arched up against him, so that the very tip of him caught in the folds of her flesh. With one
swift thrust, he buried himself inside. He bent his head, catching her mouth with his, and then there was no more space for words, for he caught her up in the driving force of his lovemaking, sweeping her away on a tide of passion so intense she was left breathless in its wake.
From the windows of the bedroom, Eleanor watched the little party disappear down the road. She had waved them out of the courtyard after a breakfast of bread steeped in broth for Richard, and coarse brown bread and ale for the men at arms who were to accompany him on the journey. She sighed, and Ursula, who was pulling the linen off the bed where Richard had lain for so long, raised her head and gazed at her mistress with sympathy. “He’ll come home, child.”
Eleanor smiled sadly. “I wish I could be so sure, Ursula.” She gazed at the western mountains, and a wave of longing swept through her. Where was Hugh? she wondered. Was he warm, well fed? What if Richard failed to keep his promise to speak to the Marshal about the ransom?
She didn’t think he would break this promise to her. And yet—doubt raised its ugly head and danced a maddening jig in her mind. How could any man change so completely? Their lovemaking last night had held an element of tenderness she had never encountered before in Richard’s arms and certainly had never expected to experience. Was it possible he could be truly as changed by the experience as he seemed? She stared out over the countryside where the thickly forested hills rolled all the way to the horizon. Just over the last rise lay the little manor that had been her mother’s.
With a sigh, Eleanor realized it had been nearly two months since she had thought to ride over and see to the men and women who tended the lands. There hadn’t even been a manor court since Richard had been wounded. She should go there, she thought with a twinge of guilt. The people who tended Rhuthlan were as much her responsibility as the ones who tended Barland. And the castellan of the keep was her father’s old captain of the guard, a gizzled old veteran nicknamed John Longshanks for his long limbs and extraordinary reach. He had been her father’s loyal servant for as long as Eleanor could remember, and had guarded her and Hugh with a father’s care, until Richard’s coming had banished him to the smaller manor.
Memories of Longshanks flooded her mind, and as she stared into the distance, an idea occurred to her. Perhaps it wouldn’t be necessary to rely on Richard after all. Perhaps there was another way to rescue Hugh. It was a long shot, but maybe—maybe, she thought, just perhaps.
CHAPTER 11
“You’re cheating,” cried Hugh, as Angharad deftly scooped up his pawn from the chessboard.
“Am I?” she asked with wide-eyed guile. “Perhaps the rules are different in Wales—we know the way the game is supposed to be played.”
Hugh snorted in derision. “I doubt it, lady, I doubt it very much.” He pushed away from the table and rose to his feet. Restlessly he paced the room. The life of a captive was dull and confining. He had never realized how much he’d enjoyed all the endless drills in the practice yard, nor how much he’d relished the freedom to come and go. De Lambert was a devil, but even he never restricted Hugh’s freedom.
Angharad watched him pace back and forth, occasionally pausing to look outside the tiny window. Winter was coming on in the high mountains, and they could ill afford the loss of warmth even the smallest windows allowed. But Llewellis had never been a cruel man, and so the room in which Hugh was confined had a small window set high in the walls, where he could see the outside world if not be a part of it for more than an hour or two at a time.
Angharad cocked her head, considering. She had spent a fair amount of time with Hugh—anything so she didn’t have to listen to Mairedd’s endless twitterings. “De Lambert left Barland this morning.”
“Left?” Hugh spun on his heel and stared at her in astonishment. “You saw him riding out?”
“I didn’t, obviously—my brother’s scouts did.”
“How did he look? What direction did he ride?”
“They took the southern road. De Lambert looked alive, I suppose. He didn’t die of his wounds. He looked uncomfortable in his saddle, though—a ride of more than a few hours might kill him.” Angharad paused to gauge Hugh’s reaction.
“Was de Courville with him?”
“Yes, I think so. He’s the big one, right, who’s always by de Lambert’s side?” Hugh nodded and Angharad went on. “As far as they could tell, I believe.”
Hugh sank into his chair. “I wonder where they’ve gone.” He looked at her, brow raised.
“We’ve heard rumors of a gathering at Pembroke Castle,” said Angharad. “De Lambert is the Marshal’s man, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” said Hugh, nodding slowly. “But I can’t believe de Lambert would leave Barland undefended.”
“The garrison is there—and your sister. She would see to the defense of the manor, if she had to, would she not?”
Hugh shrugged. “Eleanor is convent bred. She knows nothing of war, of siege.” He sighed and looked worried. “Do your scouts tell you anything of Fitzwilliam?”
Angharad shook her head. “Do you think it’s likely Fitzwilliam would attack Barland, even with the winter upon us?”
Hugh shook his head. “I wouldn’t put anything past Fitzwilliam. He wants Barland, and I think he won’t hesitate to take it if he thinks he can.”
Angharad nodded, smiling secretly to herself. She would have to be sure to hear the news the men who watched Fitzwilliam’s keep brought home, and alert her brother to Hugh’s fears. It was quite possible the situation could be turned to their advantage very nicely.
“He’s right,” said Llewellis as Angharad listened by the hearth, her arms around her knees. He glanced in her direction and she smiled tentatively. So far he hadn’t ordered her up to the solar when the rest of the women had gone, and she hoped he wouldn’t take notice of her presence until after the war council was done.
Nearly a week had gone by since de Lambert’s departure from Badand, and in that time, the scouts had reported increased activity within Fitzwilliam’s keep. It was more than likely that Fitzwilliam intended to attack Barland in just a few days.
Fleetingly Angharad wondered what would happen to Hugh’s sister, with her convent-bred sensibilities. The plan now was to interrupt Fitzwilliam, to attack him hard on his heels as he faced the defenses of Barland. Timing was everything. She leaned back and listened as Llewellis discussed the battle plan with his men.
From across the room, she saw Hugh slip into the hall. Llewellis allowed him to stay in the hall in the long winter evenings: he knew his captive was bored. Or was there another reason, she wondered, as she saw her brother glance in Hugh’s direction. Llewellis made no attempt to lower his voice as Hugh sidled closer.
“But the keep is well defended, none the less, sire,” Pwyll, Llewellis’s second-in-command, was saying. “There’re more than enough men in residence to not only defend, but to repel an attack by invaders. And with winter coming on—” The big man broke off and shook his head, his dark eyes somber above his dark beard. “Tempting as it may be—” Here he looked around at the men who surrounded them both and glared. “I say the time is not yet to attack the manor.”
Llewellis, his brow knitted in concentration, glanced once more at Hugh. He touched the tips of his fingers together and gazed down, as if considering.
“But what’s a better time?” asked Rhonan, a younger, more impetuous version of Llewellis. He was one of the many bastards their father had sired, and Angharad disliked him intensely. She was tempted to answer him, and bit her tongue hard. If she spoke her mind now, Llewellis was sure to send her away. And away was the last place she wante
d to be, with Hugh moving ever closer as he pretended to study the fire.
“We’d be making a big mistake—with de Lambert on his way back. If his lady got word to him, he could arrive with reinforcements. And then we’d be trapped—between the walls of his keep.” Pwyll wagged his finger at the younger man.
Llewellis glanced once more at Hugh. Angharad followed her brother’s eyes. Hugh leaned over the farthest hearth as close as he dared, his face flushed. She wondered if it was the heat of the fire that brought the color to his face, or if he’d overheard the men talking about Barland and understood enough Welsh to know what they discussed.
Finally her brother sighed. “Enough. The hour grows late.”
“But—but—” Rhonan rose to his feet. “What of the plan?”
In answer, Llewellis stood up. Although Rhonan was as tall, Llewellis’s shoulders were broader. His eyes were narrowed dangerously. “I said ‘enough.’ And I mean it.” He glanced once more at Hugh.
“If you think to toy with us, brother—” Rhonan stalked away and out of the hall.
Pwyll let out a long sigh as the other men dispened. “I don’t like that one, my lord. He’s too rash. I’m afraid someday he’ll act before he thinks.”
Llewellis shrugged. “You may be right, Pwyll. That’s why I trust you to watch my back.” The two men exchanged a grin.
Angharad glanced at Hugh. The boy’s ears were red, and his shoulders were rigid. So he had overheard, and he understood enough to know that the discussion had centered around the possible attack of Barland.
What he did didn’t really surprise her. He was as rash and impetuous as Rhonan in his own way. The only difference was that he posed no threat to her brother. “My lord Llewellis,” he said, his voice shaking with suppressed tension. “I would have a word with you.”
Angharad tried to shrink back. The last thing she wanted now was for her brother to notice her.
Llewellis smiled at Hugh. “Of course, young lord. What can I do for you?”
She saw Hugh swallow. “I couldn’t help but overhear, my lord. Tell me the truth—do you mean to attack my sister in her keep?”
Llewellis raised an eyebrow. “Such things are none of your concern, young lord.”
“My sister is my concern,” Hugh said. He drew himself up. “I may be much younger than you, my lord, and my sister may be the wife of a monster but she is most certainly my concern.”
“Which does you credit, young lord.” There was a lazy lilt in Llewellis’s voice, and Angharad leaned closer to see what Hugh would do next.
“I would not want her to be harmed.”
“It is not my intention to make war upon a woman.”
“But if you attack,” said Hugh, “that is exactly what you will do!”
Llewellis appeared surprised, “And if you were in my position, my young friend? What would you do?”
Hugh spread his hands. “I beg you, spare my sister. She’s endured enough at his hands—”
“As have we all. Don’t you think the blood of my slaughtered people cries out to me for revenge?”
Hugh wet his lips. “My—my lord. Perhaps there is another way.”
“Oh?” Llewellis looked even more surprised. “Well?”
Hugh drew a deep breath. “You know you can never hold Barland. And while you might kill de Lambert, another will come to take his place—you know that. But perhaps there is another way.”
“And what way might that be?”
“You and I—together—we could reach a peace between us. We could make a treaty—like the one my father made with you, one that would hold even in the baronial courts. Even before the king.”
Llewellis glanced around and his gaze swept over Angharad. “What kind of a treaty?”
“In exchange for my help in killing de Lambert, give me your sister’s hand in marriage.”
Angharad gasped. The very audacity of the boy shocked her. How dare he even suggest that she—or her brother—would consider a mariage to a Norman dog?
Llewellis was looking around the hall. “Which sister?”
“The only one yet unmarried, my lord. The only one here. An-Angharad,” Hugh stammered out.
Angharad leaped to her feet, but before she could speak Llewellis took Hugh’s arm and drew him from the hall.
She was left, staring speechless at the two of them as they walked off into the night toward the courtyard where the revelry among her brother’s men was just getting started. There was nothing to do but go back to the women.
“I won’t, I won’t—” Angharad stormed into the solar, where the other women were in the midst of their nighttime preparations. Bronwyn looked up fearfully, and even Mairedd paused in braiding her hair. “You can tell him so, Mairedd, do you hear me?”
“Tell who what?” The older woman yawned.
“Your husband. My brother. I won’t have it. I will have nothing to do with that Norman knave—nothing.”
All the women stared. At last old Nesta spoke. “What’s wrong, my lady? What Norman knave?”
“Young Hugh—that’s who. He’s proposed a marriage—I cannot believe the audacity—I cannot believe he would dare such a thing—as if I—”
Heavy footsteps sounded on the steps and with a little shriek from Bronwyn, Llewellis strode into the room. “Ladies.”
Mairedd rose to her feet, smiling vapidly. “My lord—I didn’t expect—”
“Of course you didn’t, my dear,” he said. “Forgive the intrusion. Angharad, a word if you will.”
“You can have a word right here,” she snapped. “Hell can freeze before you’ll wed me to Norman scum. I’ll have nothing to do with him—nothing, do you hear?” She stamped her foot for emphasis.
“Yes,” answered Llewellis. “I imagine the whole keep has heard. However, I would like a word with you. If you can keep from interrupting me long enough?”
Angharad gave her brother a smoldering stare. With rigid shoulders, she swept out of the room. On the landing just outside the door, she paused. “Well?”
He took her arm and guided her down the steps to the room he shared with Mairedd. “I understand you are upset. I understand you want nothing to do with him—”
“Less than nothing!” she spat. “Just because I’ve played chess with him—been civil with him—doesn’t mean I want anything more to do with him. How dare he presume—”
“He’s in love with you.” Llewellis was grinning.
Angharad stared at her brother in horror. “That can’t be true.”
“I assure you, my dear little sister, it is. And I also assure you I have no intentions of selling your hand to a landless Norman bastard—so rest easy and stop your squawking. But I do need your help.”
“To do what?” Angharad scowled at her brother. At the look on her face, he laughed outright. “Spare me and save that for your lovelorn suitor, Angharad. I need your help to encourage the young Hugh. I think we can turn this to our advantage—as long as he thinks I’m willing to help him rid himself of de Lambert, he’s willing to help me. And there’s too much he can tell me—too much he can tell us all. He knows the lay of the land, the manor defenses like the back of his hand—and he’s right, of course. There will be another who takes de Lambert’s place. But if it happens on the off chance to be him, what does it hurt if he’s well disposed toward us?”
“There’s a world of difference between being well disposed to you, and wanting to marry me.”
Llewellis shrugged. “I want you to play along. There’s more at risk here than you seem willing to understand, little sister. And if young Hugh is so distasteful to you, perhaps you’d prefer the privacy of the cloister. He’s willing to take you dowerless—how’s that for love?”
“Is he a complete fool?”
“He’s in love.” Llewellis grinned again. “And men—even young ones—in love will do almost anything, anything at all, for their ladies. Just remember that, will you? And play along.”
Angharad straightened
her shoulders and sniffed. “As you will, brother.” The thought of the cloister frightened her not at all. She was quite sure she could arrange to be sent home in less than a week. But in the meantime…“And what do I get if I go along with all this? What’s in this for me?”
Llewellis laughed. “I’ll send you to a cloister that allows the nuns meat and wine, how’s that?”
Without dignifying that answer with a response, Angharad stormed back up the stairs to the solar.
CHAPTER 12
“Of course it’s possible, my lady.” Old John Longshanks leaned back in the chair and sipped his wine reflectively. His long legs were sprawled out before him, and his hose bagged at his ankles. His gray beard spilled over his chest, but in the light of the leaping fre, Eleanor could see that the old man’s eyes were bright as ever. “They will not be expecting an attack—especially so late in the year.”
She nodded. “But?”
He met her eyes evenly. “What you propose is a risk, my lady. What if we fail? What will Lord Richard’s reaction to that be?”
Eleanor stiffened. She preferred not to think about what Lord Richard’s reaction to failure would be. “I think you and I both know what that would be, Sir. John. But if we think of nothing but failure, surely we are doomed to fail.”
Sir John sighed. He placed his goblet carefully on the table beside him and stared into the fire. “It would be better to wait for Lord Richard, my lady.”
“But who’s to say when he’ll come home, Sir John? You know yourself—the roads are well nigh impassable by this time of year—it was a dangerous, foolhardy thing he did. If there’s a snowfall in the next month, he could be delayed till after Christmas. And if he doesn’t come home at all—” Eleanor broke off as her gut twisted. Somehow, she no longer wished that Richard would never return. The memory of their last night together was seared into her flesh and every thought roused a memory of those hours. “And if he doesn’t come home…” Her voice trailed off. “Sir John, you know as well as I that the Welshman asked the ransom of a prince for Hugh. We have no way to raise such a sum. If we want Hugh back, we’re going to have to take him, even if Lord Richard retums well and healthy, even if we wait for spring.”
[1997] Once and Future Love Page 10
