In his mind’s eye he saw her in that shed, talking to that man, her face a mask of confusion and dismay before she realized she had been caught. But he also saw her expression as she hurled herself at David, unmindful of the dagger’s point or edge. He did not doubt that she would have taken the blade into her own body rather than let it find its true mark.
In that instant he had accepted, finally, just what he had in her. Not only Llygad’s daughter, but Llygad’s heir. Not just an ally to a small rebellion, but the hear and soul of it. She had been its cause and its beginning and now she was its lifeblood.
He picked up a handful of rocks and threw then with all his strength, one by one, into the void in front of him. With each thrust his mind shouted a curse Nesta was involved in something bigger than Genith: marriage. He knew it in his soul. And she would never, tell him what it was, would never betray her father‘ cause. Not if he tried to beat it out of her, not if Stratford tortured her. Certainly not for the pleasure and intimacy they had shared in that lodge. She had al ready made that very clear.
The realization of just how clear only added possessive fury to the black turmoil rolling in his head.
The snort of a horse interrupted his heated thoughts David rode up, dismounted, and calmly lounged against a tree.
“I came here to be alone,” Marcus said.
“Nay, you came here to make a decision. An ear that forgets what it hears can be useful at such times.”
Marcus ignored him and resumed pacing along the ridge, debating whether he could only protect Nesta blocking her away.
A chunk of stone, dislodged by his boot, skittered over into the empty space. Moments later, the small thumps of it bouncing down the steep hill penetrated the silence.
“Mark, when we were boys you used to do that or rooftops when you were angry at the world. You would balance on the top edge and dare fate. I was awed by your stupid bravery then, but this edge is not made o tile and we are no longer youths. Step away from that ridge before you go over.”
Marcus grudgingly moved a few paces onto more solid ground.
“Back there at the wainwright’s, we could have stopped him,” David said, getting to the heart of the matter in his irritating, placid way.
Aye, they could have. Either David’s dagger or a shout to Sieg would have done it. But the lord of Anglesmore had stopped them.
“Did you notice the bearing of the man, David? Not a farmer, but a soldier. Did you notice his height? He was almost as big as Sieg.”
“Tall or not, soldier or not, we could have stopped him. If he was one of her father’s men, all the better for your purposes.”
“David, in Welsh the word for ‘tall’ is hir.”
“You think that was Carwyn Hir himself?”
Marcus nodded.
“So, you permitted the leader of those bandits to escape your grasp.”
Marcus resented him laying out the betrayal of his duty so bluntly.
“It is a good thing my ears do not remember what they hear. Still, I understand why you did not want him taken. Knights need their quests, and it would have ended the rebellion in one afternoon. That is no fun.”
The little jest did not fool Marcus. David had guessed the real reason. “It would have also proven Nesta’s complicity beyond all doubt,” Marcus admitted.
“Ah. Well, it appears that you have made a choice, doesn’t it. The woman over your king. I think that you made it long ago. That was why you had Sieg and me assist you today, instead of your own men. Will you go join her father’s bandits in the hills now? The alliance of a marcher lord would give them status and power beyond whatever numbers you bring with them.”
A shock of instant comprehension made Marcus freeze.
David was right. The alliance of a Lord Marcher would immediately turn those bandits into an army. Word of it would make their numbers swell a hundredfold. It would change everything.
That was the marriage Llygad had arranged for Genith. Genith was intended to marry a marcher lord, but not Marcus of Anglesmore, the King’s man. Llygad had planned on a different Lord Marcher, with different ambitions. One who chafed at his duty to the crown, and considered himself sovereign. One who would support an uprising that would cast off England’s hold not only on the Welsh, but on himself. Who exactly, Marcus did not know, but there were many who would be tempted.
It was brilliant, and it could work. Small wonder that Nesta had been so tenacious in seeing her father’s will done.
Exhilaration at his discovery mixed with a deadly pulse in his heart. It was one thing to suspect that Nesta was involved in a dangerous plot. It was another to know for certain.
“I have not made the choice you accuse me of, David. I merely chose to avoid having to hand her to Stratford as a traitor.” And he never would, if he could help it. The question was, could he?
“It sounds as if she is a traitor.”
“Not to her country. Not to her people.”
“An interesting argument. I will have it carved on your grave after the ax falls.”
His new certainty left him restless and furious again. A part of him wanted to smash his fist into David’s face. Anyone’s face. But David’s ruthless probing had also cleared his head, and his options suddenly loomed very sharply.
“You think I am a fool, don’t you. You do not care for her.”
“You are wrong there. I admire her greatly. She would have made a great merchant.” He smiled at the notion. “If you are not going to join her, and you are not going to expose her, what will you do?”
Marcus had come to this ridge to determine the answer to that, and he suddenly realized that he knew what it was.
He gazed down at the crumbling ground two feet from his boot. He would be walking a similar edge for the next few months.
“I am going to stop her.”
Nesta followed the steward up the stairs to the manor’s second level. The formal way that Marcus had summoned her to his solar did not bode well for her.
She instinctively touched her bodice near her heart, and felt the little bulge there. Upon arriving back from the disaster at the wainwright’s, she had found her father’s ring and hidden it in her clothing as a talisman against more weakness.
For hours she had been numb, living in a daze as she accepted what she had done, and had refused to do. Her delay in agreeing to join Carwyn had almost gotten him captured. In the light of that, other delays and betrayals had suddenly grown in significance.
She had let Marcus seduce her into complacency, and at the most crucial moment in her father’s plans. Worse, she had let him get too close and know her too well, so that slowly, bit by bit, he was anticipating her every move and then blocking it.
She touched the ring again, and squared her shoulders. She tried to swallow the alarm that had risen in her when the steward came for her. Marcus had not returned to the manor until late, and had been cool and indifferent at the evening meal. Perhaps he had captured Carwyn after all. Maybe, on reflection, he had realized just what he had seen in that shed, and surmised just whom she had met.
She half expected to find a manor court waiting for her in the solar. Instead only Marcus was there.
Nay, not Marcus. Not the young man who had held her in his arms. The person sitting in the large chair near the hearth wore little warmth in his expression. He was all nobility and power and sternness.
She had been summoned to face the King’s man.
The steward departed. Alarcus coolly examined her He appeared calm enough. His arms rested on the side of the chair in a relaxed pose. He did not speak, am seemed to be waiting for something.
It entered her mind that, considering the formality of this audience, perhaps he expected her to kneel. Shi would not. He was not her lord.
“Who was the man you met at the wainwright’s? His voice was quiet, but firm.
She had done much thinking in the last hours, and already knew what she would reveal. “One of my father’s men.”
“He came to give me information about Genith Dylan betrayed me. He did not take my sister to them They have received word that Dylan and Genith fled to Eire.”
“That must be a great disappointment to you. I read the letter that Genith wrote to me before she left. In it she told me that your father had arranged a different marriage for her and that she felt obliged to fulfill his wishes.”
“Aye.”
“Who was this other man?”
“Since it will not happen, it no longer matters.”
“I suppose it does not. Genith surprises me. I think there was more to her than I saw. I would not have said she had it in her to defy you so boldly.”
His words touched a quiet anguish that existed below the bleak shame she had faced these last hours. Genith had surprised her, too. She had not fully known her sister. With Genith gone for good, now she would never have the chance to.
She had been hiding from the sadness of that, but now it deluged her. She remembered their parting on that snowy hillside, and Genith’s tears and Dylan’s patience. Dylan had known what he intended to do, and Genith’s soul had suspected. Only she herself had been ignorant. She had been so distracted by the grand design that she could not see what was right in front of her.
She would never see her sister again. Genith’s betrayal of duty suddenly seemed insignificant compared to that.
She dropped her gaze so that Marcus would not see the trembling she felt in her lips. At least this conversation had taken the path that she wanted. She forced composure on herself, and walked through the door he had opened.
“She is truly gone for good this time, Marcus. Even Carwyn Hir cannot hand her back to you. The marriage the King offered to you will not happen. Cannot happen.”
“So it would appear.”
He sounded far too calm. That chilled her more than harsh anger. “Any responsibilities you had regarding my father’s men are also ended, since they were attached to this marriage.”
“You make a good point.”
“Needless to say, there is also no reason for me to stay here. Edward’s request about that was also tied to the marriage.”
“The clarity of your reasoning is impressive, Nesta. It would seem that Edward and Stratford’s simple strategy for appeasing your father’s men and returning Llygad’s home to his family has completely fallen apart.”
“I am sure they will find some other plan. However, as you say, this one has fallen apart. Therefore, I think it would be best all around if I returned to the convent in Scotland as soon as—”
“Of course, if one looks at it another way, the strategy can still work.”
“It cannot. My sister has all but died. The prize has slipped both your grasp and mine.”
“I was told to marry the daughter of Llygad ap Madoc. That is still possible. There is another daughter available.”
She looked up at him in confusion. It took a five count for her to realize that he meant her.
“You are mad.”
“I think I am very clever.” His sly, triumphant smile showed just how clever.
That smile piqued her annoyance, and her worry. It was far too confident.
She strode toward him. “Think, Marcus. There were reasons why it was Genith you were to marry and not me.”
“You refer to the King. Once it is done, he will accept it. Stratford will reason with him when he returns from Flanders. Even if Edward still wants you, he will see that this is the best solution. It will also please his queen to have you married, and to a man who has no fondness for dallying at court.”
“You are wrong. There are some things that kings do not accept with grace, or subject to political convenience. You may pay for this with everything.”
“I think the risk is small. Edward is very practical.”
A little panic began beating inside her. She could feel the bulge of her father’s ring next to her heart, weighing heavily with all of her renewed resolve. She could not permit Marcus to pursue this.
“That was not the only reason,” Marcus said. “You were not given to me as a bride because your reputation would make the gift an insult.”
She already knew that. As Carwyn had said, that was the same reason why her father had planned his great marriage alliance around Genith and not her.
“You should heed that reason, Marcus. It will besmirch your honor if you marry the King’s whore.”
“I told you that I do not think of these things as most men do. Fulfilling my duty is worth a little talk. You are certainly worth it.”
“The King’s man should not be swayed by a night’s pleasure.”
“The King’s man sees a simple solution to many problems, that is all. That I will enjoy having you in my bed is, as you once said, merely a savory added to a full banquet.”
“When Edward returns, all will assume that the King cuckolds you, with your permission.”
“So long as he does not try it, I do not care what is assumed.”
“And if he does try it?”
“You will deny him.”
“Do not be so certain of that.” She snapped it in frustration and anger.
“I am sure of it, Nesta.”
She should have been flattered, but his cool certainty only infuriated her.
She was the daughter of Llygad ap Madoc, and this English lord must be made to accept that this plan of his was unacceptable.
“This will not happen.” She put all of her will and strength into her tone, and enunciated each word clearly, one by one.
He rose, unimpressed. “If I decide on this solution, it will happen, Nesta. You can be sure of that.”
He strolled toward her. She found herself backing up, as she had that day in the cottage. “I will deny you, just as Genith did.”
That seemed to impress him even less. He came toward her too confidently, too deliberately. Her caution rose to a chaotic pitch. She did not want him near her. She wanted him back in that chair, being the lord, not approaching her like this.
Her reaction raised her ire again. The real danger came not from him, but from the corner of her heart that had been weak to him too often. She stopped moving and dug in her heels. She would let him see what the daughter of Llygad was made of. Not silly, womanish stuff.
He came too close. So close that she had to look up at him. She did so, and let him see that she was not impressed either.
He touched her cheek. It was an enemy’s touch. The Marcher Lord’s examination of his future property. “It will happen, Nesta,” he repeated.
She pushed his hand away. “You would force this marriage on me? You did not with Genith.”
“It was never forcing the vows that stayed my hand with your sister, but forcing her to my bed. I do not think that will be necessary with you.”
He spoke with that cool certainty again. Her head almost split with fury. How dare he be so confident in his power to subvert her?
“I will not be willing. If you do this, you will have a cold, childless marriage.”
“You are so sure of your resolve? I am not. After all, I am the man you begged for.”
He touched her face again. He laid his palm on it, possessively. The rough warmth of that touch made her heart rise in a distressing, frightening way. His deep gaze summoned too many memories, dangerous in their allure. The armor of her anger began cracking. With one touch he had proven just how weak he could make her.
“If you force this, it will not be a true marriage. My heart will not be willing.”
“I will have a lifetime to win your heart, Nesta.”
The daughter of Llygad itched to scratch his face and pummel his chest. But another woman, the one who had looked in his eyes during the heights of passion, was incapable of ignoring what he was saying. Her heart lurched hungrily, hopelessly, at the notion that this man welcomed a lifetime with the King’s whore.
Her f
urious denial died, and a desperate plea took its place. “Do not do this. I will be torn in two, and forced into betrayal no matter which half wins.”
“If I have my way, there will be no need for betrayal. No chance for it. If I do not have my way—I have no illusions, Nesta. I know what I have in you.” His head dipped, and his lips brushed hers.
Too late it occurred to her distraught mind to refuse the kiss, and the brief connection flushed her whole body, increasing her dismay.
Horrified, she ran for the door, anxious to be away from him so that she could once more rebuild her resolve.
Chapter 13
Nesta rose the next morning and girded herself for battle. Armed with several new arguments against Marcus’s ridiculous idea of marriage, she sallied forth to challenge him.
When she did not find him in the hall or the yard, she concluded he must be in his chambers. She asked a servant to see if he would meet with her.
A while later, Paul sought her out. “I am sorry, but my lord has secluded himself in his chamber and will not be available today. He has given word that no one is to enter, not even the servants.”
“Is he ill?”
“I do not think so. He said that he has an important decision to make and needs time alone. I believe—I could be wrong, of course—but I believe that he is praying for divine guidance.”
“Praying? All day?”
“You do not approve?”
“Nay… I mean, aye… it is just he never seemed overly devout to me.”
“He is a great lord, with many burdens. If he seeks God’s counsel, we should all be grateful,” Paul said solemnly.
Nesta decided that was true. If Marcus was conversing with God, and the decision he pondered was marrying Nesta verch Llygad, she would not need the arguments she had spent half the night constructing. God would never approve of abusing a sacrament by forcing a woman into marriage.
She retreated to her chamber to work on her parchments. As she passed the second level of the castle, she noticed the silence coming from Marcus’s chamber. A monastery’s cell could not be more quiet.
She paused and cocked her head, searching to hear the low mumble of prayer through the stones. Her ears finally caught the vague buzz, but it came in fits and starts, as if Marcus provided two sides of a conversation.
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