“Misunderstanding is not the word I would use,” Rhiannon replied. “He told me you were a liar and a cheat, and that you were always making trouble among the men.”
“I am surprised that is all he said,” Cynvelin remarked, looking away as if embarrassed.
“Are those not serious enough defects?”
“I was intimidated by your family,” he explained, turning submissive eyes to her. “I thought only to reveal what was going on in the barracks to your father. Men who harbor grudges cannot make an effective garrison. Naturally, those involved claimed that I was lying, and then sought to discredit me by saying I cheated at some harmless gambling. If I had been older and wiser, I would have proceeded with more care. Unfortunately, I was a heedless, impetuous youth determined to do the right thing. Your father did not understand my purpose, nor would he listen to me. He sent me away instead.”
“What of the lies? You told me you had never met my father. You cannot tell me that was not a lie.”
“A harmless ruse, my lady,” he said with a wistful smile. “At first I was afraid to. I didn’t want to talk about my time at Craig Fawr. I...I confess I was pleased when I realized he had not spoken of me, that I was not already a villain in your lovely eyes. I decided not to tell you about what had happened until you knew me better, and then...and then I hoped it would not matter. I hoped you would forgive me whatever indiscretion I was guilty of in my youth.
“And I knew I could never go to Craig Fawr,” he continued fervently. “That is why I brought you here.”
“Whatever their cause, your actions today were not honorable, or welcome,” she said in a more moderate tone.
“My lady!” he beseeched. He reached for her hand and kissed it gently.
She snatched it away from him, then crossed her arms over her breasts. “No harm has been done. I will take the responsibility for your misunderstanding. I am sorry to have misled you, but I have been frightened, taken away from my family and brought here against my will. Now I want to go back to my father.”
“I thought there was no other way to get close to you, my lady.” He pressed his hands together in a pleading gesture. “As I told your father, I only ask one month in your company. After a month, if you wish to leave, I will provide you with an escort.”
“My father agreed to this?” she asked dubiously.
“Yes, my lady,” he replied. “Not without some persuading, I will confess, but at last he conceded and gave me this chance, for which I am very grateful. Surely you won’t deny my request after the pleasant times we shared at Lord Melevoir’s castle.
“And we will not stay here,” he hastened to add. “We will go to my home, Caer Coch. I assure you, the accommodation is much finer.”
“I appreciate the sentiment behind your actions, my lord,” she said, trying to remain patient. “Nevertheless, I must insist that you take me back to my family today.”
“I regret I cannot do that, my lady,” he said, still with his usual smile.
Before she could say more, he rose swiftly and faced her. “A month is not so long, my lady, and little enough after what you led me to believe at Lord Melevoir’s, as you yourself have said. At the end of the month, if you wish to go to Craig Fawr, I will have you escorted there. You have my word.”
Rhiannon’s gaze faltered. He sounded so sincere. Perhaps her father had been wrong about Lord Cynvelin. And she was to blame for his misconception.
Surely she could persuade Cynvelin to take her home before the month was out.
She got to her feet. “Very well, my lord. I see no harm in staying a little while, especially if my father had given his permission. Has my father gone on to Craig Fawr?”
“I hope so.”
She gave him a quizzical look. He smiled. “I believe that was his plan, my lady. I am afraid I was so pleased that he had given his permission, I was not as attentive as I should have been.”
“Oh.” She wished Cynvelin was more knowledgeable, but it was probable that her father would either journey toward Caer Coch, or continue to Craig Fawr. She would rather be sure, though.
“If you would be so good as to have a servant show me to my quarters, I would like to retire, my lord,” she said.
“Very well, my lady. There is a chamber prepared for you in the keep, and you will find some gowns and other garments there. Again, you have my apologies for the less-than-appropriate accommodation, but it is only for tonight. However, I hope you will join us in the hall for the evening meal.”
“No, thank you, my lord,” she said. “I would prefer to eat alone. I am very tired and would not be good company.”
He frowned slightly, then quickly gave her another wistful smile. “If that is what you would prefer, although I shall be desolate without your charming company.”
He again took hold of her hand and pressed a kiss upon the back of it, and this time she did not pull it away.
“Please look upon Annedd Bach as your own for tonight, my sweet lady,” he said. He spotted one of the maidservants near the entrance. “Ula!” he called out “Please show Lady Rhiannon to her quarters.”
The girl nodded, and Rhiannon followed her out of the hall.
Cynvelin watched Rhiannon follow the wench out the door and turn toward the keep.
Then he rubbed his fist into his palm in frustration.
This was not going as he had planned. She was supposed to be happy to see him, grateful for his desire that had made him abduct her, anxious to share his bed. Instead, she dared to say that he had made a mistake.
The little fool! She had certainly acted as if she had fallen in love with him at Lord Melevoir’s, smiling and laughing and dancing, looking at him with adoration. How could he be to blame, especially when he had been at such pains to make it so? Other women would have willingly run to his bed with much less effort on his part.
He wanted Rhiannon DeLanyea to be passionately in love with him. She would be his wife, and she would bear his children. She would be so in love with him, she would turn against her father and believe whatever he, Cynvelin ap Hywell, chose to make her believe.
Which would torture Emryss DeLanyea for the rest of his life, a fitting vengeance for being turned out of Craig Fawr like a common thief.
Not only that, Cynvelin reflected with a scowl, but as the baron’s son-in-law he could use DeLanyea’s power as leverage for his own schemes, even without the man’s knowledge or agreement.
Not to mention the prospect of Rhiannon herself for his wife, a beautiful, accomplished lady who would make a fine chatelaine, as well as most beddable spouse, at least while she still had novelty to add to her charms.
Aroused, he contemplated what he would do this night, for frustrated urges made a man liable to foolish mistakes.
That serving wench again? He thought not. She had lain on the bed like a dead fish.
If memory served, there was a village an hour’s ride away with an inn, and the serving wenches there were pleased to earn some extra money. He would go there tonight.
Cynvelin smiled slowly. A whore tonight, out of necessity, but soon enough, one way or another, Rhiannon DeLanyea would be in his bed.
Glaring at the old female servant, Bryce stamped his foot in frustration and pointed again at the pile of bedding in the storeroom. “I want you to take those to the bedchamber in the keep,” he told her.
The servant gazed at him with all the apparent intelligence of a somnambulant cow as he thrust his finger toward the keep, which was across the cobbled courtyard from this virtually empty building.
Ermin had told him that there was no bedding for the lady. Disgruntled, Bryce had found one of the female servants and come to the storeroom himself to find that there was linen right in plain sight. Now if he could only make the hag understand what she was to do with it.
It seemed he had been trying to make her understand for an eternity.
Or perhaps it seemed so long because of his unconquerable curiosity to know what was passing between
Lady Rhiannon and her betrothed.
Not that it was any of his business. He had done what Cynvelin had asked, and obeyed as he had been ordered.
As if he were the lowliest servant in the castle.
He may be a hireling, but he was most certainly more than a servant, and he deeply resented the manner in which Cynvelin had addressed him.
In front of Lady Rhiannon, too.
“I want those taken to the lady’s chamber,” he repeated slowly and loudly, pointing at the blankets on the dusty wooden shelf. He knew the problem was not the servant’s ability to hear but to understand a foreign tongue. Still, he felt better for raising his voice.
“Pa beth?” the crone queried.
“I want these taken to the keep bedchamber,” he said.
The hag gave him a blank look and shrugged her scrawny shoulders.
“Oh, never mind!” Bryce snarled.
He gestured for the woman to go and, after another shrug of her stick-thin shoulders, she did, tottering off toward the kitchen where she would likely eat whatever she could lay her claws on.
Bryce picked up the first blanket. It was riddled with small holes.
“Oh, sweet Savior!” Bryce muttered as he grabbed one of the others. It was in the same condition. And the next.
He discovered that the blankets also smelled. Who could say when these had last seen the light of day, or fresh air?
“Excellent,” he murmured sarcastically, tossing the blankets back onto the shelf in a heap. “Lord Cynvelin might have let me prepare before this little game commenced. Now I’ll have to try to make somebody understand that the blankets need to be mended and aired.”
He could ask Lord Cynvelin for guidance in this matter, but that would mean interrupting his conversation with his almost-betrothed. Worse, it might look as if Bryce were incapable of handling even a small domestic problem, and that might lead Lord Cynvelin to question his competence to oversee an estate.
In the meantime, however, Lady Rhiannon had to have some kind of covering. In the night. In her bed.
He closed his eyes. He simply had to ignore his burning desire. She belonged to Lord Cynvelin, and she was going to marry him. Soon enough she would be gone, while he would remain, doing his best to revive this estate and train the garrison so that he would once again be a titled man. That was what he needed to remember.
At the very least he should be able to control his growing jealousy, especially in view of her apparently immodest behavior.
Apparently? She had to be a shameless hussy, or else why would she tempt him when she was as good as betrothed to another? Why else would she let Lord Cynvelin kiss her like that? Why else would Lord Cynvelin imply that tonight they would be sharing the same bed?
What good was all this thinking doing him?
He would take his own bedding to the keep bedchamber. It was not luxurious, but better than nothing, and no matter how uncomfortable he might be without it, that was the simplest solution.
A sudden vision of Lady Rhiannon under his blanket, her waist-length hair loose about her, her eyes and lips smiling, nearly took his breath away.
“God’s wounds,” Bryce growled as he left the storehouse to go to the barracks for his bedding, “I will be glad to see them gone!”
Rhiannon stood in the small round room in the upper level of the keep of Annedd Bach and looked around the chamber. It was sparsely furnished with a narrow rope bed and a feather mattress naked of coverings, as well as a table sporting a basin and ewer. There was a stool in one corner and a mediumsized leather-clad chest in the other.
At least everything seemed relatively clean.
She glanced at the thin, pinched-faced serving wench who had shown her here.
“Is that ewer filled?” she asked, thinking she would feel more herself when she was clean of mud and better able to think what to do next.
“No, my lady.” The servant hurried forward and snatched up the ewer, obviously intending to fill it at once.
“Wait a moment,” Rhiannon said. “What is your name?”
“Ula, my lady.”
“Have you been a servant here long?”
Ula nodded. “I’ve lived at Annedd Bach all my life.”
“Is Lord Cynvelin a good master?”
The girl’s face betrayed no answer. “I’ll fetch you the water now, my lady,” she muttered, turning to leave.
Rhiannon hurried after her and grabbed Ula’s arm to make her halt. The girl looked down at Rhiannon’s hand and she let go at once.
“Ula, please listen,” she urged. “This has all been a terrible misunderstanding. Lord Cynvelin thinks I care for him a great deal more than I do. There will be no repercussions if I return to my father, and perhaps even a reward if someone were to carry a message asking him to come for me,” she finished hopefully.
Ula’s only answer was a frown.
Then they both heard footsteps on the stairs leading to the upper chamber. A frightened look crossed Ula’s face before she darted out the door, while Rhiannon moved back quickly.
Scowling, Bryce Frechette appeared on the threshold, carrying a bundle of cloth.
For a moment, Rhiannon felt a strange combination of dread and excitement. She could not have said if she was afraid he would try to kiss her again, or afraid that he wouldn’t.
He strode into the room, halted and bowed toward Rhiannon, who acknowledged his presence with an inclination of her head. He glanced at the naked feather bed, and her heart seemed to stop, only to begin to beat wildly.
What kind of power did this man have to make her even consider sharing a bed with him after what he had done?
He held out the bundle in his hand. “I brought you some bedding, my lady.”
She blushed, feeling as if he could read her shameless thoughts.
“Thank you,” she replied haughtily, determined to maintain what dignity she still possessed. “I am surprised that you would do a servant’s task.”
“I regret there is no place finer for you,” he said, ignoring her comment, the words apparently yanked out of him against his will.
“I regret I must be here at all,” she snapped as she stepped forward to take the bedding from his hands. “I was wondering if I would have to sleep on the floor. Now you may go.”
His brow furrowed in puzzlement, but only for an instant. “I’m sure Lord Cynvelin wouldn’t have allowed that to happen,” he replied with an equally defiant expression. “He likes his comforts, too, I’m sure.”
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What are you implying?”
“Me?” he asked with mock innocence, for she saw the implication in his eyes. “Nothing at all.”
“I am no wanton wench!” she declared.
“No, of course not. The stores here are meagre at present,” he continued before she could respond. “However, we have what Lord Cynvelin has brought. Fortunately, the cook here makes better bread than one might expect, and I’m sure good wine has been brought. Will you join us for the evening meal, or would you prefer that I send a servant here with some light refreshment?”
She was impressed by his realization that she might not care for company, something that seemed beyond Lord Cynvelin’s powers of discernment. However, she wasn’t about to forget his previous insulting implication.
“As I said to Lord Cynvelin, I am tired and would rather not join the company this evening. I would be grateful for whatever food you can provide.”
“Very well, my lady.” His face expressionless, Bryce Frechette bowed and swiveled on his heel as if to leave.
“Frechette!” She stepped forward and almost held out her hands beseechingly, but the realization that she might appear to be begging made her clasp her hands together tightly instead.
“Frechette,” she said firmly, “I want to go back to my father.”
“I told you, I am ignorant of your ways, my lady.”
She took another step closer. “You don’t understand. I have asked Lord Cynvelin to take
me back and he has refused. He insists I stay with him a month.”
Bryce cocked his head as he regarded her. To be sure, she sounded desperate to be away from here, but he had seen her with Lord Cynvelin at the feast, and kissing him, too. Besides, he had no idea what else might be involved in these strange Welsh marriage rituals and perhaps these protestations were part of the game. “If Lord Cynvelin wishes you to stay, then I think you should stay,” he replied noncommittally.
Her large green eyes flashed and her face flushed, bringing a pink glow to her cheeks. “I tell you, I want to go home!” she cried like a spoiled child.
“And I tell you, my lady, if Lord Cynvelin thinks you should stay, I will not go against his orders.”
“What kind of man are you, Bryce Frechette?” she demanded. “Are you just a sword to be hired out? A warrior to be bought, like an ox or a horse?”
His jaw clenched at her words. Custom or no custom, game or no game, he would not be insulted. “I am in the service of Lord Cynvelin ap Hywell. my lady, and it is my duty to do as he commands.”
Her lip curled disdainfully as she turned away. “Ah, your duty and your honor are available for purchase, then. Perhaps I should have said my father will pay you well if you convince Lord Cynvelin to let me go back to him.”
Bryce abruptly reached out and grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. “I don’t know what kind of pleasant diversion you and your lover are enjoying here, but that is between the pair of you. Not me.”
“Lover? He is not my lover!”
“Call him what you will, as long as you understand, my lady, that I hold whatever honor I have left very dear, even if I lack a title. And you should know that such things can change. They will change. I will make it so, and Lord Cynvelin is offering me a way to begin again. Therefore, I am beholden to him, and it is my duty to obey his orders.”
A Warrior's Honor Page 9
