Rhys turned away before she could protest and methodically tied Tarascon’s reins to the back of the saddle. He whispered to his steed then strode away, with nary a word of explanation. Gelert sat beside her, as bidden. Puzzled, Madeline watched Rhys disappear into the gorse.
Was he leaving her here?
Did he prepare for whatever reward he would demand of her? She knew he desired her, she had tasted as much in his kisses. In his absence, Madeline’s suspicions seemed to feed upon themselves and multiply. Though Rhys had been kind, Kerr had been kind until he thought she had no hope of summoning aid.
Had she leapt from the fat to the fire?
Had she only delayed her rape? What would compel a man of such dangerous repute as Rhys to treat her with honor, now that they were alone upon the moors?
This might well be her sole chance to escape! Madeline dug her heels into the destrier’s sides, urging it onward.
The beast did not so much as flinch, let alone move. It nibbled at a wildflower, supremely indifferent to Madeline’s attempt to flee. The dog spared her a glance, as if chiding her, then returned to its vigil.
Madeline panicked. Had Rhys himself not advised her to choose her companions with care? She whispered to the horse, commanded it, patted its flank, pulled the reins. She did everything she could think of doing to persuade it to take a step.
All to no avail. The feet of the beast might have taken root. She might have tried to encourage a stone to move with better results. She made to dismount and run, just as Rhys’ voice carried to her ears.
“Arian heeds none but me, my lady.” He was striding from the gorse toward her, leading Kerr’s destrier. Again, he seemed amused but unsurprised.
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.
Rhys dismounted, then seized the rope beside the gate and pulled it. A sonorous pealing echoed behind the walls, the sound prompting Madeline to smile. It was a merry sequence of notes, a glorious ringing that made her heart soar. The music was sufficient that she almost forgot what she had endured this day.
“How delightful!” she whispered. Tears clouded her vision, for she recalled all too keenly how music had bound her and James together. She remembered him bent over his lute, composing a ballad. She recalled the play of light on his fair hair, and grief caught her by the throat.
Surely he could not be dead?
Surely she would have known if the man she loved with all her heart and soul had died?
Yet if were James alive, surely he would have sent word to her in ten long months? Madeline brushed aside her tears, wishing she were bold enough to ask for more of the eau-de-vie.
Rhys was watching her, and his expression had become wary once again.
Madeline did not care what he thought of her in this moment. “Could you ring it once more?” she asked, her words uneven. “It is so joyous a sound, as if angels themselves announce our arrival.”
Rhys said nothing. He pulled the cord again, his expression impassive.
Madeline listened, eyes closed, hands clasped together as the healing balm of the pealing bells rolled over her. The sound was so beautiful that the ache of her loss diminished slightly. She felt the fullness of her lost love while the bells sounded and it shook her to realize how much her life had changed.
Only when the bells fell silent did Madeline become aware that Rhys had watched her, trans
fixed, all the while.
“It is a community of women,” he said roughly, pivoting to stare at the wooden gate. “Although there are several priests who live separately and offer the sacraments, as well as an excellent ostler.”
Madeline was surprised by his manner. Perhaps she had offended him, taking pleasure from something so inconsequential when he had granted her more considerable aid. She leaned forward and touched Rhys’ arm, knowing she owed him a heartfelt thanks. He jumped at her touch but did not look at her.
He was irked, then.
Before Madeline could try again to ease his mood with gratitude, a small portal in the gate was opened. She glimpsed a face peering through the grill. “Who comes to our gate?”
Gelert barked joyously and leapt at the gate, apparently recognizing the monk’s voice and anxious to make his acquaintance again.
“Brother Thomas, it is Rhys FitzHenry.” Rhys straightened and took a step closer to the gate that he might be seen. “I regret that I must beg your hospitality yet again.”
“Rhys! You old dog!” The portal was flung open with a creak of its ancient hinges. Thomas proved to be a burly monk whose girth was too great for his robe. The garment was tight around his ample belly and thus rode short in the front, revealing his hairy shins and sturdy sandals. “And you, Gelert!” He bent to pat the dog, which leapt with happiness and licked his ears. “I wager I can find a soup bone for you.”
“No wonder the beast loves you more than life itself,” Rhys grumbled amiably.
“You could feed the creature once in a while, and you might earn such affection for yourself,” Thomas retorted, and the two men grinned at each other.
The monk’s joy at seeing Rhys was unmistakable, for he caught the reluctant warrior in a tight hug of welcome. Madeline was surprised, both at the warmth of the monk’s greeting and the fact that Rhys endured it.
Five Unforgettable Knights (5 Medieval Romance Novels) Page 93
