Elena pictured the line of Edward III's descendants as she had described to Enid. Richmond was only distantly related to the Lancasters through a succession of marriages, his mother being great granddaughter to John of Gaunt, earl of Lancaster. “His claim to the throne is shaky."
"And Richard's is not?"
Elena ran through the English line again. "He can claim relation to Lionel, Edward III's second son, as well as the Yorks."
"Henry Tudor is still Welsh."
"And that's all that matters to you?"
"It is the most important quality of many. He is our mab darogan--our son of prophecy. And he has sent a letter to those who support him here in Wales assuring us that he will right the wrongs Richard has caused the Welsh. My father showed me this letter and it has decided me."
Elena opened her mouth to defend Richard, but quickly shut it again. There were too many arguments against King Richard, not the least of which was the suspicion of his part in his nephew's deaths. "Is that why you only refer to him by his Welsh last name instead of his English title, Earl of Richmond?"
"I suppose so," Gareth answered slowly. Changing the subject he said, "I wasn't aware that Richard had begun tutoring the ladies of his court. I have met few English women who were so interested in politics. How came you to be familiar with the affairs surrounding the crown of England?"
"I'm actually not the least bit interested in any of it. I simply have this annoying ability to remember in detail little bits of history I've picked up since I was a child. I guess my father thought it amusing that his six year old daughter could rattle off the dates of every King of England's reign."
"And you're not the least bit interested, eh?"
Elena smiled in spite of herself. "Well perhaps, just a little interested. But only because it's such a forbidden topic for women to discuss."
Gareth laughed. "And is the forbidden fruit that much sweeter?"
"Not really. As I've discovered, politics can be dreadfully boring. Now planning a new dress, that is interesting."
Gareth laughed again. Suddenly he leaned over and kissed her. For a brief moment she leaned into the kiss and her lips opened softly. The next instant she pulled back abruptly.
"I told you once not to do that to me," she said forcefully.
"Ah yes, I forgot,” he said, his voice brusque with anger. “A mere Welsh knight should not reach so above himself as to kiss the future wife of so threatening a man as the earl of Brackley. Heaven knows who he'd blame or what his punishment would be. Thank you for reminding me." Turning abruptly, he quickly gathered their horses. Elena remained rooted in the same spot, staring at an eagle as it circled the sky. After a few moments, he fetched their horses and lifted her to the saddle.
While the ride up had been accompanied by a comfortable, friendly silence, the trip back down the mountain might have been that of a condemned man's march to his execution.
Elena sat limply in the saddle, once again thinking of her fiancée, though in truth, her fear of her betrothed's fists occupied her thoughts for a short time only. The majority of the return trip, her mind was plagued with thoughts of Gareth. Though she'd pushed him away two times, her lips had burned for his kisses. But how could this be? she asked herself. He was the exact opposite of everything she looked for in a man. She doubted he had not a sheep to his name, much less property or a title. Years before when she had accompanied her mother to Edward IV's court, she had been amazed at the beauty of a formal court. The elegant men and women, the beautiful clothes, the courtly manners. In particular, she was taken with a beautiful woman with rich brown hair and sparkling jewels. Elena never learned who she was, but for two days, she watched as the woman enchanted every man in Edward's court. Elena saw her receive a ruby ring, a handkerchief of fine Venetian linen, a precious crystal bottle of cologne, and more attention than anyone else. Still a child, Elena had decided that she would someday lead that very life. She wanted the prestige, the glamour. An only child, she had never lacked for attention, but doting parents could hardly compare to gallant lords.
Now she was dreadfully confused. Gareth was none of these things, could give her none of these things. Why, then, did her mind constantly replay their kiss of the night they had escaped the mercenaries? Why did she wake up in the morning with her face pressed to a pillow, disappointed that it was not Gareth's warm throat, disappointed that the covers smelled like linen and not leather and sweat, disappointed that a rough blanket had kept her warm instead of his arms? Nothing could come of it. Nothing should come of it, she told herself sharply, but Elena could still not get him out of her mind.
When they returned, the small bailey of the keep was full of people. Women were chattering, children were running about screaming and laughing while a motley assortment of hounds chased them, and men were talking animatedly.
"What's going on?" Elena asked, breaking their strained silence for the first time since the mountaintop.
Gareth stood up in his stirrups to get a better view. "'Tis my kinsmen Owain and Rhys! They live on Anglesey. Seems they've come for a visit and brought three large deer with them. There will be fresh venison tonight," he said with a laugh. Quickly dismounting, he waded through the throng of people. Elena leaned sideways to see him heartily embracing his cousins. She was about to try to slide off her horse when she heard Gareth cry "Bronwen!" She sought him out, only to see him enthusiastically kissing a woman with the blackest hair Elena had ever seen. Seething jealousy poured unexpectedly through Elena's veins. Had he called for her so she could see this vulgar display? Twisting in the saddle, she lowered herself ungracefully to the ground and stalked toward the main door.
She had just reached the lower step when someone touched her elbow. Turning Elena looked up into deep blue eyes heavily fringed with thick black lashes that matched the shock of silky hair and trim beard of one of the handsomest men she had ever seen.
"Hello. What have we here, Gareth?" the man said in a deep voice tinged with humor.
Gareth’s good humor seemed to evaporate, as he stiffly obliged with introductions. "Rhys, may I present the Lady Elena de Vignon a visitor from England. Lady Elena, my cousin, Rhys Thomas, and his brother, Owain."
Elena smiled beguilingly when Rhys bent low over her hand and murmured, "I am enchanted, my lady. May I say how fortunate Wales is to have you in its borders." Rhys's older brother, Owain, simply nodded a brief greeting before turning back to his conversation with Morgan. Gareth was aware that Rhys had not relinquished her hand as he turned and pulled the dark‑haired woman forward. "Lady Elena, this is my sister Bronwen."
The black hair and blue eyes that were so striking on Rhys were equally attractive on his sister who was looking at her brother with a look of mock disgust. Turning to Elena she smiled. "Please forgive my brother, Lady Elena, I fear the sun has been too much for him and his brain is a bit addled." Elena appeared to be translating the rapid Welsh in her head. As soon as she did, she realized that Bronwen was joking.
With a laugh, she said, "Would that more Englishmen were as addled!"
Everyone but Gareth laughed. Taking Bronwen's arm, he said, "You're not married yet, are you Bronwen? You've not forgotten you vowed to wed me should I remain single by my twenty-fifth year. As I recall, that should be coming up in a few months, is that not right, father?" Laughing, he and Bronwen entered the main hall behind Morgan.
***
The feast was a merry one, rivaling that of the night of Gareth's return. Musicians played rollicking dances, wine and ale flowed freely, and Elena was reveling in the attention paid by the handsome Rhys. In spite of herself, she also found she truly like Rhys's sister Bronwen. Though they had spent little time talking, Elena felt a kinship for the Welshwoman she had scarce felt for any of her friends in Richard's court.
As she waited for Rhys to bring her a goblet of spiced wine, Elena let her eyes roam around the crowded hall. When she spotted Gareth whispering in Bronwen's ear she frowned. The man was making a fool of himse
lf, she thought. In their few minutes of conversation, Brownen had told her that she was hoping to wed a man from Beaumaris in Anglesey. Now Gareth was undoubtedly annoying the poor woman and acting, Elena felt, most unchivalrously toward a nearly betrothed woman. That she could think of nothing but the "unchivalrous" way he had acted towards her, a legally betrothed woman did not strike her as odd. When Rhys returned and presented the goblet with a flourish, Elena could not help but asking, "Should we rescue your sister? She looks to be tediously bored with Sir Gareth's attention." At Rhys's enigmatic smile, she hurriedly added, "Having been subjected to conversation with him, I can well sympathize."
"Then by all means," he said, and Elena could not but wonder if he weren't silently laughing at her, "let us go and save my dear sister. Although I must warn you, she may not wish to be saved. She's near an accomplished flirt as I am." Taking Elena's arm, he led her towards Gareth and Bronwen.
Elena immediately felt foolish. "Oh. Then perhaps we'd best leave them be. Shall we dance?"
"No, no. It will be most entertaining, I assure you, to further annoy Gareth."
Elena was prevented from arguing as they approached the couple and Rhys said, "You're not saying anything that would force me to defend my sister's honor, are you good cousin?"
Gareth's eyes strayed to Elena who quickly lowered her eyes and feigned absorption in pushing back the cuticle of her left thumb. "Not that you're half man enough to take me on," he said with a laugh, "but no, I'm merely trying to convince your sister she'd be miserable married to old Dylan ap Gruffydd. Don't you think she should stay here and marry me?"
"Now wait a moment," Bronwen protested in mock indignation. "Dylan is not old, he's mature. Perhaps if you weren't such a whelp yourself, I'd be inclined to consider your offer. As it is, I'm afraid you're just no match for Dylan." Bronwen shook her head and put on a sickeningly sweet dreamy face. Elena could not help joining in the men's laughter at Bronwen's theatrics.
When he caught his breath, Rhys said to Gareth, "Perhaps I'll have more luck convincing the same of Lady Elena." He cocked an eyebrow at Elena and said, "What say you, my lady? Care for a life of adventure?"
Elena laughed and was about to respond with an equally flirtations answer when Gareth cut her off.
"Sorry, Rhys, you've neither wealth nor a title to woo her with. The Lady Elena is already engaged to a rich English earl."
While Rhys pretended to be crushed, staggering about clutching his heart, Elena glared at Gareth and prayed more fervently than she ever had that he would drop dead on the spot. Gareth returned her scowl
Bronwen watched Elena and Gareth speculatively. "Rhys!" she called trying to distract him from his antics. "Why don't you console your breaking heart by dancing with Elena."
"Oh very well. If that is the most I can--" at the pointed look from his sister, he shut up and gently took Elena's arm.
Chapter 9
When they were gone, Bronwen stared at Gareth, awaiting an explanation. When none was forthcoming, she prodded, "Well, aren't you going to explain that little display of temper?"
Although he and Bronwen had been friends since they were children, the one trait Bronwen had that never ceased to annoy Gareth was her ability to sound like a nosy mother hen. She was doing that exact impression now.
"What display of temper?" Gareth asked, feigning ignorance.
"You're quite taken with her. It's written all over your face."
"What? Oh don't be ridiculous, Bronwen," Gareth started to turn away but Bronwen caught his shoulder.
"You are! You're in love with her, admit it."
Gareth ground his teeth in anger. Lowering his voice he said crudely, "The only thing I'm taken with is her body. I find it quite irresistible. But since I'm sure she would like to go to her marriage bed with her maidenhead intact, I guess I'll just have to--" Bronwen's slap prevented any further words.
Her blue eyes flashing with anger, Bronwen said, "I can still thrash you, Gareth ap Morgan. Don't think I can't. And after what you just said, you soundly deserve it." Bronwen took a deep breath and stared at Gareth's flushed face. "But since I also know that in your heart you didn't mean it, I'll pretend you didn't say it." She turned to leave but paused. "Just don't treat her so again, Gareth. It does you no honor."
Gareth watched Bronwen approach Elena and speak with her for a few moments. The two women then turned and went up the stairs. Gareth took a big swallow of ale.
Where had Bronwen come up with the insane notion that he was in love with Elena? He could barely tolerate her presence; she was always whining about her clothes, the quality of the food, the hardness of her saddle...Gareth paused. Now that he thought of it, he could not recall Elena complaining once since they reached Eyri Keep. And if he was truthful with himself, he had enjoyed her company today until he had tried to kiss her. Gareth cringed inwardly as he relived Elena's outraged rebuffs. Would he never learn? he thought. Taken by her angelic looks and occasional good humor, could he never remember that she was a spiteful, self-centered woman who considered him nothing more than a lackey? That she haunted his dreams nightly; that he could not get her scent out of his mind; that his lips were forever remembering the softness of hers simply meant that he had been too long without a woman--a situation he could and would easily rectify.
And when his father left for Aberystwyth the following week to meet with Henry's supporters, he would take a short detour to drop Elena at the abbey at Dinas Mawddwy and then rejoin his father at the meeting of Welsh lords. She would be safe there and he would be able to get her out of his mind once and for all!
As he reviewed his plan with a self-satisfied smirk, a small voice niggled the back of his brain. Though he tried to ignore it, he could not help but hear its cry that though Elena might not always act a lady, his own actions were not above reproach. Gareth shook his head in confusion as he remembered cruel taunts and boorish behavior. Never had he acted so towards a lady of rank. Toward any lady, for that matter. He had always extended his knightly vows of chivalry and courtesy to all women, servant and noble alike. Why now was he treating Elena so rudely? Could his cousin Bronwen be right? Was he in love with the Englishwoman? If so, how could that be?
“Now that is a face of a man with an empty ale pot!”
Gareth looked up and smiled as his father joined him at the table. Glancing in his mug, he realized it was indeed empty. Thankful for the excuse, he waggled the mug at his father. “Two years I’ve been gone and I can’t get another pint?”
“Well if we’re celebrating your being home, we shouldn’t drink this swill,” Morgan said, pushing his own mug away. Gesturing for a servant, he asked for something Gareth couldn’t quite hear before turning back to his son.
“What think you of the new fields we’ve plowed? I’m thinking the drainage will be better for the barley.”
Gareth grinned. There was nothing more important to his father than the land and even with a possible war on the horizon; his crops would always take precedence in Morgan’s life. “They look well thought out. I’d wager you can’t wait for colder weather to plant.”
Morgan chuckled. “All in good time, all in good time.”
The servant arrived with a bottle of golden liquid and two clean mugs.
“Don’t say you’re going to share your mead with me. You only ever save that important guests.”
“And who’s more important than my prodigal son, I say?” his father asked as he carefully peeled the wax from the cork and opened the bottle. The fragrant scent of honey reached Gareth’s nose as his father poured a generous mugful. He had only ever had his father’s rather famous mead twice before—and those on momentous occasions such as funerals or grand assemblies. He let the fumes fill his nose before taking a sip. The mead was smooth and rich, slipping past his tongue sensuously. The bite of liquor came after he swallowed, letting him know that if he drank more than a cup or two, he might find himself waking up under a table or in some maid’s bed. He took another sip a
nd considered the second option would not be so bad, especially as it would help distract his mind from Elena.
His father spent several minutes inspecting the color of his wine, assessing it’s bouquet and rolling it about on his tongue before declaring, “Not a bad batch, if I do say so myself.”
Morgan went on to bring Gareth up to date on the changes he’d make to the breeding stock, the walls he’d had repaired around the fields and any number of other grounds keeping details he could remember (and he remembered them all). Gareth knew it was pointless to remind his father that he had chosen his path as a knight, not a land steward. Morgan believed that once Gareth had exorcised his obsession with “swordplay and jousts,” he would return to his birthright as a minor Welsh lord. In truth, Gareth knew he could not spend all of his days as another man’s knight—the body could only withstand so many years of that abuse. He just anticipated that his permanent return to Eyri Keep would be much further off than Morgan was counting on.
By the time Gareth reached the bottom of his mug, his head was pleasantly fuzzy and his father was just finishing his description of the last quarter’s Rent Day.
“How did you and Mother meet?” Gareth had no idea where the question had come from. The last sip of mead, he suspected.
Morgan stopped speaking abruptly, glancing at his son in surprise. “Where on God’s earth did that question come from?”
Gareth felt his neck warm. He affected a nonchalant shrug. “Just curious. I don’t think I ever heard you say.”
Morgan took a deep pull of his mead and stared off into the distance, a wry grin on his face. “We knew each other since we were young. She lived just the other side of yon hill,” he said with a jerk of his chin to the north.
Gareth nodded his head. Of course they’d known each other for years. Probably grew up loving each other and knowing what their future held.
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