by Nicole Locke
‘Urien?’
Teague shook his head. ‘Maybe, but not him alone.’ Urien certainly had the most reason to hate him, after Teague went to King Edward. But Urien was nothing but an angry drunken fool and yet... It didn’t mean he couldn’t orchestrate something like this.
Rhain fingered the dagger at his waist. ‘We’ve been taking in stray Welshmen for years. They would be in a good position to leave threatening messages.’
‘But why threaten the very prosperity they enjoy?’ Teague was tired of pondering the reasons.
‘A vow at stake? It could be anything. A reason we cannot even perceive as yet.’
‘Is it of significance that it was found in the nave?’
‘I doubt it. The messages are in unsuspected places.’
Teague rubbed his chin. ‘I keep feeling we are missing some connection to all of this. It is time for us to pay a visit to Brynmor.’
‘Teague, Anwen is not guilty. This kill just occurred and we were both just sharing her company. I think this is proof that she could not have done it.’
It was true. She wasn’t the enemy.
Relief and something more was overtaking him. Desire... Satisfaction... Anticipation. But it wasn’t enough for him to fully trust her. He knew better than to rely on feelings. He’d been taught that lesson quite young. He could not rule out her involvement completely, but perhaps he could trust her enough to pursue why she intrigued him. Why he wanted her in his bed more than any woman he’d ever known.
But he needed answers first. ‘It does not preclude that she had no involvement. I will speak with her.’
Chapter Ten
Anwen paced the large room and stumbled as her foot caught on the deerskin rug. She hitched up her skirts. She was too restless and angry to sit.
She had no idea why she obeyed Teague’s order or why she returned to his room. She’d seen him curt and brusque before, but it was as if he could barely leash in his anger, as if he was on a field pulsing with the battle cry to strike.
But he’d pulled all his emotion in when Ffion and Rhain approached. He’d become cold, precise, which alarmed her more than his anger. Something was happening here which she had no knowledge of. Ffion’s and Rhain’s expressions did not bode well and—
The door swung open. Anwen turned too suddenly, her long skirts catching on a side table, her foot ramming on a chair leg. She tripped.
Teague grabbed her arms to stop her falling. She caught her breath for a moment before she shoved him away and he let her go.
‘Why do you keep me here?’ she demanded.
‘Your presence complicates matters,’ Teague said.
‘That does not answer my question. If it complicates things, then take me home and make it simple.’
His anger was not as it was before, but in his eyes were other emotions that swirled too fast for her to understand. ‘This is not about my desires or what you want.’
‘Then what is it? I am tired of being kept. What is this debt you demand of me?’
‘There are matters...’ Teague stopped. The look in his eyes changed again. He was looking at her as if for the first time. Assessing her for something she wasn’t aware of. She swallowed and his eyes dropped to her throat, bare above the gown she wore. Then lower until he studied her feet she’d exposed with her hiked skirts. She dropped the fabric. Teague’s mouth twitched.
‘Put on your shoes and follow me.’ Teague turned.
‘Why?’ she asked.
He looked over his shoulder, and raised one brow. ‘I give you a boon, Anwen, and maybe some answers. Are you not curious?’
As they walked through the courtyard, it was late afternoon and the winter sun was already weak. It would be dark soon and the faint rays did not reach inside the mews. She was not sure why they entered the large building, but she understood they were alone.
‘Why here, why now? I know you do not need an astringer.’
Teague chuckled and stepped deeper into the shadows.
His laugh sent shivers up her arms and she rubbed them briskly until her eyes adjusted to the dimness of the vast space. As expected, the mews were orderly and precise, but there was more here. The tall ceilings and small windows at the top allowed for fresh air, but still protected the birds from any harsh winds. The fresh hay under feet crunched and smelled sweet and musty.
‘What do you think?’ Teague asked.
‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’ Anwen’s attention was riveted on the perches, her mind and heart in awe at the design.
‘I took some ideas from Edward’s mews, but mostly it was my observation of the birds nesting and the way they perched on a hunter’s gauntlet.’
She didn’t know what surprised her most. That such housing existed for birds or that Teague took the time and the care to build them. Walking further into the mews, she gaped at the system of cross-beams surrounding her. They were built on overlapping diagonals. The design allowed one piece of wood to be utilised as a perch for several birds, but at the same time gave the birds the illusion that they had their own perch.
Anwen tried to ignore Teague, but it was impossible. With each step she took, he also stepped. Each beam she admired simply reminded her of the man behind the design.
Finally, she turned to him. ‘It’s beautiful.’
He tilted his head. ‘It was born more out of necessity than for beauty, but even I admire the efficiency. I had acquired too many birds and did not want to cause them harm.’
Because the design allowed so many more birds in tighter quarters, she didn’t realise how many he had until she truly took note of her surroundings. It was breathtaking. Only the King could have surpassed such wealth.
Pointing to the far wall, she asked, ‘Is that a peregrine?’
He gave a wolfish smile. ‘Yes, and a female, too.’
‘How is that possible?’
‘Edward asks the same question, but he is the one who gave her to me.’
Fascinated, she walked among the birds. She was grateful that they were secured to their perches. The sheer force of just one of the predator’s talons could shred a man’s arm to ribbons.
The peregrine was poised like a statute against the sun’s beams breaking through the ceiling’s rafters. Up close she could see why its size and hunting abilities were unsurpassed. It was the reason owning a female peregrine was an honour only bestowed to kings and she was so close she could almost touch it.
Teague stood beside her. ‘I have something to show you.’
She knew what it was even before he said it. If she admitted it to herself, she had known since they opened the doors. ‘You have Gully.’
He did not look apologetic as he gave a brief nod. ‘Since the first day we brought you here. It did not take long to bring him to the gauntlet. You had trained him well. He was following on quite well.’
Anwen frowned. When a bird ‘followed on’, it usually meant that a hawk followed a falconer by flying from tree to tree. It was a technique to help flush out quarry.
Even with this large room full of birds it was relatively easy to spot him. There on the end by the far left wall was Gully, rapidly cleaning his beak on the perch. She never realised how tiny he was, but after seeing the peregrine, she could not help the comparison. The difference was Gully was hers and she still felt pride in that.
She approached his perch that was no taller than she and gently blew across his face. Her relief at seeing the bird equalled her growing anger and frustration that he was safe.
‘Why did you not see fit to tell me?’
‘I could neither trust nor believe you.’
‘I told you I needed to search for a bird. I am sure you suspected that this was the one.’
‘I more than suspected, but it was not verified until now.’
* * *
Teague watched her walk to her bird. Her body moved with a rhythm he wanted to match. He didn’t think she could be any more beautiful than when he saw her in the forest. But now, here in the dark of the mews, she was transformed. He desired to run his hands through her hair, to see if the curls would wrap around his fingers, like silk caresses. His body burned with need and he averted his head to see what she was seeing.
She was stroking her bird. He noticed that the bird rubbed his head against her fingers as if in welcoming. Her touch was gentle yet firm and all too experienced.
Teague walked towards Anwen and he saw what the darkness could not completely obscure: tears flowing down her face. He reached to capture a droplet, but caught himself and stepped back. ‘Do you cry because of this bird?’
‘Yes.’ Anwen shook her head. ‘No.’ She rubbed both her cheeks in an impatient manner. ‘The bird is important to Brynmor, and what he catches will continue to provide for the people there, but the bird is not the only reason I cry.’
Anwen took steadying breaths and he could feel her reluctance to speak to him. So he waited.
‘There are people at Brynmor who need me,’ she continued. ‘The falconer, Melun, is old and his sight is not what it used to be. I have been helping Melun with the birds, but now I am not there and I fear Lord Urien will cast him out or worse.’
‘But Robert is there. Surely he would be reasonable.’
‘Sir Robert is usually reasonable,’ she began, then stopped. ‘What did I say?’
‘You gave a compliment to an Englishman.’
Anwen did not return Teague’s smile. ‘I am no fool to think that all men are the same. Yet, I cannot depend on Robert to save Melun...it has always been my task. I must return Gully to Urien.’
‘Did you think Melun would pay the penalty for a lost bird? Was it his life you feared at stake?’ he asked.
‘Yes, and...’
‘And?’ he enquired. There was someone else at Brynmor she wanted to save. Someone important to her.
‘There is a woman there and I fear for her, as well.’
Teague watched her for the veracity of her confession. It was vague and he still had questions, but he believed her. It was the way she spoke...it revealed her loyalty for these people.
She was not the danger. In the time she had spent at Gwalchdu, he had found her too direct for any duplicity. Still, he could sense she withheld some facet of herself. He did not believe her to be solely a falconer’s assistant and he didn’t know her relationship to this woman she spoke of.
But whoever Anwen was, she was not, nor did she assist, his enemy.
She was innocent.
He had kept her here against her will, deceived her and perhaps even endangered her. She deserved to know, but still...how much?
Simply because Anwen was not the enemy he sought didn’t mean there was no longer an enemy. Caution was still required, but maybe not so much when it came to her. As the idea took root, his blood grew heavy, hot, pooling lower.
Maybe there was time to explore what they shared—
‘Will you let me go now?’
Her eyes and attention had returned to the bird she handled. That was just as well, or she might have seen his response to her. She inspired too many feelings and they came too fast to be trusted. The hope she gave him must be controlled. But he need not have so much caution when it came to the other feeling coursing freely through him now.
‘I would have been disappointed had you not asked again.’
She turned to him, her eyes meeting his.
‘Will you?’
‘No.’
She turned back to Gully, beginning to hum an intricate five-note call to him.
‘No arguments?’
‘When I told you the truth, you wouldn’t believe me. I know now I cannot change your mind with words.’ She paused. ‘Will you at least tell me the reasons you keep me here?’
‘Were you this direct before you were hit on the head?’
She glowered. ‘I have no patience for people who hide or mince their words. I only want to know why you keep me here.’
He lifted his mouth. Of course. She was so open, loyal, so very here.
* * *
Anwen could feel Teague’s manner change. It was a subtle shift, like a hawk whose weight had changed on her gauntlet. Yet, she did not feel like the astringer with him. She felt like the prey.
‘Why do I keep you here?’ he asked. ‘I believe you know why, Anwen.’
Teague stepped into the light streaming through the windows. It illuminated the right side of his face and body, leaving the other side in darkness. So like the man. Half-revealed, half-hidden from her. His feet hit the clean hay underneath, soft and heavy. The smell in the air was sharp, pungent. It was dark now; the moonlight from outside barely seeped through the cracks in the wood walls. He filled the room and she lifted her chin to meet his eyes.
‘No,’ she whispered.
‘You deny it now? You know it’s there because you feel it like I do.’
‘Desire? Lust? Your needs are no different than any man’s,’ she scoffed.
He slowly shook his head. ‘It’s more. It’s the way I saw you in the tree; it’s the way I see you now. The way your breasts curve against your frame as if they do not fit, as if they need a man’s hands to support them, caress them.’
He took another step towards her so that they stood a mere breath away from each other. ‘And your hips, curved to fit my hands as I lift you to me. Your fleece is so fair and soft looking that I want to rest my cheek upon it.’
Anwen wanted to step back, to distance herself, but she couldn’t. He was right. She did desire him. Had felt the insidious snare of connection since she watched him in the lists. Now, so easily his words wove around her, conjuring images which she knew nothing about, but still her body was responding to them.
He stood before her, so large his body blocked out the dim light outside. But she did not need any light. Although they did not touch, she could feel him: his heat, his smell, his strength and power. She knew what he wanted, could feel the force of it, but he did not take. He waited.
Anwen stared at his large scarred and calloused hands held at his sides. The hands of a hardened warrior. She had watched those hands while he trained in the lists and she had felt those hands when they had held hers. She knew those hands well. Perhaps that was why she could almost feel his hands on her breasts cupping and lifting them to his mouth. Her breasts became full, the peaks tightening for a touch he only spoke of.
‘I already told you I do not want this.’ She meant her words to have force, but they sounded whispery, soft.
His eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t believe you. Our connection is too strong.’
Anwen’s eyes snapped back to his. ‘I feel only animosity.’
‘Why do you deny it? Even now I can see your eyes darken, your breath hitch. You may not want to, but you desire me as I do you.’
She turned from him, hating that her movement revealed more than it concealed. He was right. She did want him. Her body, unlike her mind, refused to separate the Traitor from the man who’d rescued her. It bonded her to him in a way she didn’t understand.
‘I only want Brynmor,’ she answered. ‘You have lied to me and I know you want me to become your whore, but I won’t do it. Return me to my home.’
He shook his head. ‘And you state you cannot tolerate those who hide and mince words, but remember, you did not let go of my hand at night. You held it tighter.’
She owed him no answer.
Cursing, he stepped roughly back from her. ‘This is madness. But whatever you may think, I will not force this. There is more between us than lust, yet you are as obstinate as a goshawk.’
‘I
speak only the truth. I have seen and heard Urien’s and his men’s crudeness to women before. I’ve watched the debauchery in the Hall after a great feast. There is never more between a man and woman. There is just more of man’s greed and power over her.’
There was a stunned stillness from him, an intake of breath before his eyes narrowed.
‘I will take you to your precious Brynmor.’
Surprise. Happiness.
The torrent of emotion was so sudden it almost made her dizzy. ‘Truly?’
A savage curl crossed his lips. ‘Do not test me. I owe you nothing and do nothing against my own self-preservation. You have been shown a poor example of men and clearly I have to remedy it. I’ll let you return, but only on my terms.’ He pivoted and walked towards the door. ‘You had best remember that.’
Anwen’s sudden lightness of heart was broken by his words. She had forgotten the man, half-light, half-darkness. She would be better remembering that darkness and staying away from him.
Teague stopped before the door. Without turning, he asked her, ‘Do these people at Brynmor mean so much to you?’
Anwen contemplated the broadness of his back, the curve of his shoulders, the flexing of his hand against the latch. She came close to feeling his hands on her. Too close to feeling the heat and strength of all his body. Too close, and yet, she wanted more. She had to get away from him.
‘If I do not return, I will have betrayed trusts I hold too dear to hurt. They are all I have.’
‘We leave on the morrow.’
When the mews door closed, Anwen immediately felt alone. While Teague was with her she was as wound as a tightened creance around a swivel. Now he was gone, she felt as the birds must do, at rest, but knowing their master would be back.
It would take her a lifetime to understand the changes in the man who had given her this boon. She was thankful she would not have to stay around to find out why.
* * *
Less than an hour later, Teague ordered another flagon of wine. He had watched Anwen return from the mews, watched as she ascended the stairs, but he had not followed her.
