by Hale Deborah
Where were her children?
It wasn’t like them to be late to table, especially Davy, who had the ravenous appetite of a fledgling.
“Have you seen my young ones?” Enid whispered to Gaynor as her sister-in-law bustled within earshot.
Gaynor craned her short neck to peer around the hall. “I’ve been so busy, I never noticed. Now that you mention it, I haven’t clapped eyes on any of them since Davy came poking about the kitchen before noon. Shall I go call them?”
“No, I’ll round them up.” Enid passed Gaynor the flagon of mead. “Once everyone’s been poured their drink, you can start serving the food. I’ll only be a moment.”
So she hoped at least.
Catching Lord Macsen’s gaze upon her, Enid flashed him a false, fleeting smile of reassurance. Privately she wondered if Con had anything to do with her children being tardy for supper.
She did not have to wonder for long.
Just beyond the threshold of the hall she found all four of them, sporting identical shamefaced grins and flushed cheeks.
“Where have you been? I was growing worried.” She shot Con a glare to inform him that his absence had not caused her an instant of concern.
“I’m sorry, Mam.” Myfanwy slipped past her mother into the hall. “We didn’t notice how low the sun was getting.”
“Supper smells good.” Davy charged by on his sister’s heels. “I’m hungry!”
“There’s nothing new in that.” Enid caught her youngest son in a quick embrace.
Relief at finding her children none the worse for being a trifle late lightened her spirits…until her hand came in contact with Davy’s damp garments.
“Davyd ap Howell, did you fall into the river?” She touched a suspicious dark patch on Bryn’s tunic and found it wet as well. “What have you been up to?”
“Only a game, Mam.” Bryn gave her a quick peck on the cheek then pulled his little brother into the hall. “Come sit by me, Davy.”
“But you need to change clothes,” Enid called after them.
“It’s only water, cariad.” Con’s garments looked as though they had undergone a similar baptism. “They’ll dry out quick enough. The three of them had a jolly time and they’re no worse than a little wet, so no need to borrow trouble, is there?”
“I suppose…” It would be like him to excuse some dangerous lark on the grounds that no harm had come of it—dismissing the harm that might have come if undeserved luck had not been on his side.
Con shrugged. “Besides, it kept them out from underfoot while you were busy preparing for tonight.”
“I suppose you think that merits my thanks.”
“Perhaps.” He cast her an impudent grin as he stepped into the hall. “I know better than to expect it, though.”
She might have clouted him on the ear if there had not been so many folk watching, including Lord Macsen. Instead, Enid reined in her temper and reminded herself she’d soon be well rid of Con ap Ifan’s troublesome company.
Pity, the thought did not bring her the satisfaction she’d hoped it would.
Con suppressed a rueful sigh.
Would Enid ever come to see that he meant her no harm? If by some unmerited grace he managed to prevail tonight, would she grant that he’d acted out of care for her and their son? For Myfanwy and Davy, too, Con reminded himself. Over the past fortnight, Enid’s younger children had rapidly come to mean as much to him as the one he’d begotten.
“So our harper has arrived at last.” Lord Macsen patted the bench beside him. “Come oil your tongue and loosen your fingers with a drop of mead, Con ap Ifan.”
“It’ll be a pleasure to oblige you.” Con helped himself from the flagon set before Lord Macsen. While pretending to fill his cup, he barely let a trickle wet the bottom of it.
“We’ll expect a fine performance from you tonight.” Lord Macsen drank deeply.
Con made a convincing pretense of guzzling his mead. “I’ll do my best to oblige you in that, as well.”
He refilled Lord Macsen’s cup to the brim, then dribbled a trifling measure into his own.
“Let us drink to the promise of happy news,” said Lord Macsen, looking more relaxed and affable than Con had yet seen him.
The mead must be a potent batch, for the big border chief did not have the look of a man who’d be easily inebriated.
“To happy news.” Con feigned a hearty swig, which in truth scarcely wet his lips.
He wished he dared drink more, for the brew tasted like distilled sunshine, but Con soon had reason to be glad of his clear head.
When Enid ventured near the table, Lord Macsen grabbed her around the waist and pulled her down to the bench beside him. “You’ve been a fine hostess, cariad, but now that the food is coming you should sit and keep me company.”
The sound of his own endearment for Enid on another man’s tongue made Con itch to reach for his dagger. If he’d drunk half as much of the mead as he’d pretended to, he might have landed himself headfirst in a boiling cauldron of trouble. Even sober it took every crumb of self-control to keep his temper in check.
Instead he took out his spite on the meal, biting into his bread and meat with almost savage force. As soon as he dared, Con excused himself from the table on the pretense of needing to tune his harp. After a few purposely tortured notes, he settled down to playing softly while the rest of the company ate, drank and talked among themselves.
At last Lord Macsen swept a commanding glance around the room. In spite of the drink in their bellies, his men immediately heeded it and fell silent. The Glyneira folk were quick to follow their example.
When the hall had fallen so quiet Con fancied he could hear a beetle crawling through the rushes, the border lord ordered, “Play for us, bard.”
“As you bid, my lord.” Con ran a thrill on his harp strings and shot a glance at Enid.
Perched on Lord Macsen’s broad knee with his large hands around her waist, she was making a valiant effort not to appear ill at ease. From what Con could tell, she was also losing a subtle battle of wills with Lord Macsen, who kept trying to ply her with mead.
Though Con knew it would make Enid more receptive to his wooing later, that was not how he wanted to win her.
He began his performance with several rousing battle songs that encouraged the rest of the company to drink. Then he played a few especially favored by the children, knowing Enid would soon send hers off to bed. The lusty singing and boisterous laughter of the adults told Con they would sleep soundly in their brychans tonight.
When the last rousing chorus of “Goat White” ended, Enid pried herself from Lord Macsen’s grasp and beckoned her children. “Time for bed, Myfanwy, Davy.”
“Just one more, Mam?” The children looked to Con for support.
“The hour grows late.” Con shrugged to suggest he was powerless in the matter.
“Stay put and take your ease, Enid.” Gaynor jumped from her place at the end of the high table. “I’ll see the young ones to bed.”
Lord Macsen beamed at Gaynor as he pulled Enid back onto his lap. “A skilled bard like you must know a few love songs,” he called to Con.
“So I do, my lord.” Could he think of one that would not choke him as he watched the big border lord fondle his Enid?
Perhaps he did…
“If she were mine and loved me well,” Con sang, “life would be naught but pleasure.”
Macsen ap Gryffith nodded his approval.
“I would not care for sacks of gold, nor other earthly treasure.”
Liar! The accusation blazed in Enid’s eyes.
Con knew himself guilty, yet an uncanny certainty resonated in his voice as he sang, “Her winning ways, her laughing eyes, throw such a charm about her. She must be mine, yes mine alone. I cannot live without her.”
He gazed into Enid’s eyes, certain that he touched her in a way Macsen ap Gryffith could not with his powerful hands. “If she were mine, my aim would be to make her love me
dearly. That all her heart and all her thoughts belonged to me sincerely.”
The words of the ballad forced Con to look deep into his heart. What he discovered there confounded him.
Remembering why he had chosen his song in the first place, he sang the final words as a warning to Lord Macsen. “But should I find to my dismay, that I had cause to doubt her, then were she mine and loved me not, I’d rather be without her.”
If Macsen ap Gryffith heard and heeded, he gave no sign. The last bittersweet notes of the melody trailed off into silence, followed by a soft refrain of snoring.
Just then Gaynor returned from settling the children. Looking around at the nodding, dozing company, she asked in a giggly whisper, “What did you play, Con ap Ifan? Some enchanted lullaby that puts all who hear it to sleep?”
Con pulled a rueful face. “It’s a poor bard who sets his listeners all snoring.”
Dislodging Lord Macsen’s slack hand from around her waist, Enid rose—a mite unsteadily, or so Con judged. She ignored him altogether, addressing herself to her sister-in-law. “Let’s collect all the cups, then unpack the brychans to bed everyone down for the night.”
“Aye.” Gaynor yawned deeply. “The sooner the better.” She poked Helydd and a few of the other women who were not fast asleep to help with the task.
As Enid headed for the corner chest where the brychans were stored, Con stole up behind her and whispered in her ear, “When you’re finished here, meet me out in the wash-house.”
She started, then spun around to face him. “The wash-house? Have you gone daft?”
“The washhouse,” he said again, making an effort to mask his uncertainty. “I’ll be waiting.”
Had he gone daft? Con asked himself as he slipped out of the hall to put the final touches on his preparations. Was it too much to hope he might win Enid tonight?
Win her in a way he’d never intended—in a way he probably didn’t deserve?
She didn’t dare delay any longer.
Enid glanced around the great hall, bathed in the soft blush of the fire’s glowing coals. A peaceful chorus of rumbling snores and whistling breath in a slow, steady rhythm enticed her to sleep, though she knew she must resist.
With all her guests and family bedded down for the night at last, she had no more excuses to stay in the hall. She must make her way to the washhouse where Con awaited her. If she did not come, or even if she dallied too long, her subtle-minded opponent might not be above declaring himself the winner of their wager by default.
As she tiptoed past Lord Macsen’s slumbering form, she fought the urge to fetch him a well-placed kick. She settled for a black look that relieved her feelings without waking him.
The way he’d bid her drink from his own cup of mead, made her wonder if the border chief might be in league with Con. Though she’d let only a tiny amount of the potent golden liquor pass her lips, it had still been enough to leave her limbs warm and heavy, her mind dazed and dizzy. Too easy a target for Con ap Ifan’s practiced wiles of seduction. At least, he might imagine so.
Enid knew better.
Even with hogshead of mead inside her, she would never give herself to a man who’d abandoned her twice for the lure of gain and glory. No matter how desperately she’d once loved him. She would not throw away her whole well-mapped future and the unity of her family for one fleeting night in Con’s arms.
Especially not on the dirt floor of some dark, cramped, smelly little shed where she washed and dyed wool!
As she stole out of the house and made her way toward that outbuilding, Enid recited under her breath the long litany of her grievances against Con. Heading the list came his arrogant presumption in setting her this challenge.
The night air cooled her flushed cheeks as she crossed the courtyard. Enid welcomed the chill, for it promised to cool any ardor Con might kindle in her before morning.
Something drew her gaze to the heavens where a swath of stars cast their ghostly glimmer, far beyond mortal reach.
Perhaps the mead she’d sipped with such reluctance was making her fanciful. For she imagined the Fair Folk offering her and Con some magical means to travel into the night sky and harvest a fortune in star jewels.
Con would leap at the chance. Not only for the promised riches and the acclaim that would attach to such a feat, but for the opportunity to venture where no man had ever gone and do something no other man had ever done. And if the Fair Folk demanded a price, as they often did for such a boon, Con would pay it…even in blood.
And Enid? She’d pay an equally high bounty to be spared such a rare “gift” and all the risks that must come with it. She’d ask nothing more than to keep her feet planted on safe, familiar ground with her loved ones held close.
Little wonder she and Con had never been able to forge a lasting bond, in spite of their feelings for one another. A soundless sigh seeped out of Enid to mist in the crisp night air. Ahead in the darkness, the door of the washhouse thrust ajar a little way. A soft, warm light spilled out through the narrow opening.
“Is that you, cariad?” Con’s whisper floated out to wrap around Enid like an enchantment, drawing her toward the shed.
“’Tis I, and a good thing for you.” She tried to keep her tone as crisp and cool as the night air. “Imagine the trouble you’d be in if Lord Macsen or Gaynor had staggered out here instead.”
As she spoke those last words a chuckle ambushed her. Damn that mead! And damn Lord Macsen for making her drink it!
Con held the door open wider. “Come in before you’re chilled to the marrow.”
Wait until he got a taste of her response to his wooing. As she stepped over the threshold of the washhouse, Enid put the garrison of her resolve on alert to repulse Con’s amorous assault. She’d show him a chill to the marrow!
Her every thought bent on resisting Con, Enid scarcely noticed her surroundings at first.
When she finally wakened to them, it was more like slipping into a dream.
“Merciful Mother, Con,” she breathed, “you’ve bewitched the place.” Or bewitched her, perhaps. How else could the mean little shed where she washed and dyed wool have been transformed into such a cozy, fragrant bower?
A bed of glowing coals warmed the place, coaxing wisps of steam from the water-filled cauldron above it. Petals of apple and cherry blossoms floated on the surface of the water, perfuming the air with their wholesome sweetness. A carpet of brushed fleeces covered the bare earth floor and a single tallow candle cast its flickering golden light over garlands of lush spring greenery.
“Do you like it?” A mellow note of hard-won satisfaction warmed Con’s words. “It’s not as opulent as some bathing chambers I’ve seen in the East, but it was the best I could do in a pinch.”
He shut the door behind her, then strode to the cauldron. There he dipped a finger into the water, nodding his approval of its temperature.
When she saw Con’s bare chest, Enid’s body grew far too hot for her liking. The first breathless delight in her surroundings ebbed as she realized its purpose.
“So this was the game you and the children were playing before supper?”
“Aye. They helped me. So did Helydd.” Con gestured toward the fleeces. “And Idwal.” He nodded toward the greenery.
Had her whole household allied with Con against her—even the familiar countryside she loved?
“Come on.” Con held out his hands to her as he flashed his most inviting smile. “Let’s shift you out of those clothes. I’ll be your bath attendant for tonight and pamper you the way a princess ought to be.”
Shift her out of her clothes, indeed! Enid wrapped her arms around herself, digging her nails into the sleeves of her kirtle. “You must be clean mad if you think I’m going to strip naked so you can have your way with me.”
“It won’t be like that, I swear.” Though his stance and the look in his eye proclaimed a desire to approach her, Con kept his distance. “I’ll concede victory to you in our wager if I touch you
anywhere and any way but as you direct me.”
Enid cast him a wary glance, but her firm grip on the fabric of her sleeves eased.
“Upon my life,” Con vowed, sweeping her a deep bow. “You may think of me as your humble eunuch bath attendant.”
“Eunuch?” Enid cast a pointed stare at the lap of his breeches where his manly desire flaunted itself. “I fear my imagination has its limits.”
Con’s cheeks blazed and he began to laugh.
Hard as she tried to resist, Enid found herself laughing, too. Some tightly clenched bud inside her began to unfurl its petals.
The blossom-strewn water in the tub called to her.
“I suppose it would be a shame to have all this work of yours go to waste.” She wriggled out of her kirtle, resisting Con’s offer to help her. “Since we must spend this night together, one of us might as well get some pleasure out of it.”
Why not both of us? The twinkle in Con’s eyes seemed to ask.
“Purge that thought from your mind straightaway.” Enid peeled off her undergown. “I mean to be the only one taking any enjoyment tonight, and not the kind you intend, either.”
As she loosened the necktie of her thin linen smock, Enid reminded herself she had no need to feel bashful of baring her body before Con. After all, he had made that rash promise not to touch her except where and how she bid him. If he grew too bold, he would forfeit their wager.
Arming herself with that thought, she removed her final undergarment with deliberate care.
“Ah, cariad.” Con swept an admiring gaze over her, making Enid’s naked flesh quiver as if he had touched it. “Whatever else does or doesn’t happen between us tonight, I will take pleasure from feasting my eyes upon you.”
The flatterer! Enid steeled herself against Con’s powerful weapons. No doubt he’d cozened his way into more than one noblewoman’s bed with such charming words. Or perhaps their opulent bathing chambers, of which he appeared to have such intimate knowledge.
She tested the water with her forefinger, then eased herself into its hot, wet embrace. “Mmm. This is one foreign indulgence I might learn to like.”
