by Nicole Locke
Would Teague have come for her? She watched his determination in the lists, heard of his legendary exploits in the field. All that she knew and saw of him suggested he spoke the truth. He would have come for her.
But now the man who declared such words was as distant from her as the sea was from Brynmor. She sighed and rolled her shoulders.
They still shared a trencher at evening meals, but he no longer touched her. Yet, it didn’t matter. Each night, she was too aware of how his hands lifted his goblet and how his throat moved when he swallowed his ale. She would watch in helpless fascination as he caressed his spoon handle, his fingers sliding along the round smoothness of the pewter. Occasionally she’d risk looking at him and feel guilt and relief if his gaze was elsewhere.
If you had been mine.
She was too aware of him, too tied to him.
Anwen sunk her fingers deep into the pouch of seeds around her waist. All these seeds needed to be planted to feed the people of Brynmor.
Brynmor was her home, her life.
She didn’t belong to the Traitor of Gwalchdu, even if he said he wanted her. She had no place at Gwalchdu and didn’t want one. Brynmor needed her, not Gwalchdu.
* * *
It was late morning by the time she rested. The day had warmed, but not by much. She interlocked her fingers over her head and stretched.
Villagers were returning the few sheep from the outer fields and stable boys were resting plough horses, but she could also see Teague’s soldiers patrolling. They didn’t lounge about like guests, nor did they lazily pursue the serving wenches. Instead they systematically walked the perimeters of Brynmor’s fields, tower and gates.
They searched and guarded just as they did at Gwalchdu, but why? She wasn’t wrong to think Teague had his own agenda in coming to Brynmor. The proof surrounded her. He had brought her from Gwalchdu, but stayed. His many soldiers scanned the landscape and interfered with Brynmor’s people. She knew Robert wasn’t pleased despite the friendship between the two men.
Anwen worried over Teague’s extended stay, because if Teague was annoying Robert, then Urien was probably furious. And when Urien got angry, he usually abused Alinore.
But for three days Urien stayed his hand. Alinore even joined them for evening meals, a circumstance that had always before provoked Urien. Now, he remained belligerently sullen. For Anwen, his worsening table manners were a welcome change as long as he left Alinore alone.
Yet, her sister was never entirely alone because Robert was often by her side. He never stepped over the bounds of propriety; his manner was gentle, almost tender, and Alinore’s responding smiles tentative and sweet. They shared something together that wasn’t there before Anwen left.
Robert must know an Englishman’s courtship with Alinore would never be sanctioned by Urien. She couldn’t bear it if Robert broke Alinore’s heart.
‘Why are you frowning?’
Anwen jumped at the voice behind her. God’s breath, she must have been too deep in her thoughts to not have heard a full-grown man come up behind her. But she was not surprised that Teague noticed her frowning. For three days, he might have exchanged a handful of words with her, but over those days, he had watched her. When she was doing the laundry or checking winter supplies, she felt a tingling at the back of her neck, a light caressing of awareness. When she looked up, he would be near and his black eyes would pull her into him. Could she never break the creance tying them together?
‘You startled me.’
‘A hundred foot soldiers could have been through this field and you wouldn’t have noticed.’
‘I’m thinking on unpleasant subjects. I am sorry if my frown displeases you, but I thought myself alone and my frowns are for myself only.’ Anwen grabbed her apron and wiped her hands. ‘What do you do here?’
‘You do nothing for yourself.’ Teague pressed his lips together. ‘I want you to show me Brynmor’s land.’
‘You have already seen Brynmor,’ she pointed out.
‘Have you been watching me?’
‘It is a logical conclusion. You have been here three days. What have you been doing other than observing Brynmor?’
Teague stretched his hand out to her. ‘I want you to show me your home.’
Anwen could see the calluses and scars of his warrior’s hands. This was a man of power, of dominance. Even in the light of day, how could she forget he carried darkness within him? How could she show the rolling fields of Brynmor to a man with these hands?
Ignoring his hand, she answered him. ‘I have much work to do. We are not at Gwalchdu. You do not command here.’
Teague dropped his hand to his side. ‘I am not commanding you; I am asking.’
Anwen searched his features, but as usual, she could not tell what he was thinking. There was no reason for his request other than for them to share company. But he had ignored her for days.
‘It is going to rain.’
‘So it rains,’ Teague said. ‘Robert has managed this place and well knows the profits from him. I’ll get my tithes, but I wished to see this place from your point of view. It is apparent there is much to be done here.’
Anwen opened her mouth to decline, then stopped as a thought occurred to her. His words were persuasive, but maybe not for the reason he believed. It was true there was much work to be done at Brynmor. Maybe it would do him good to see the English Wars’ damage to her precious home. ‘I will show you, but I have much work to do still and cannot be expected to spend the rest of the day showing you about. Some of us do not have a multitude of servants to do their work for them.’
‘I hope not to hinder you.’
She refused his suggestion of a horse ride. He would see more if they walked.
She wasn’t about to tell him the real reason why she wouldn’t ride. If they did, she would be cocooned within his arms. She would feel again the hard planes of his body and his thighs would touch hers as they straddled the horse. After the kiss, she didn’t want to be that close to him again. Simply thinking of touching him disturbed her in ways she didn’t understand.
Anwen walked through the field and away from the man she agreed to spend time with. She was pleased to be in one of her own woollen gowns again. The hem was greatly shortened and her ankles, which showed, were cold when she moved, but she was able to move more easily through the deep rutted fields and her cloak was adequate for the cold.
Teague walked alongside her. She showed him the soil that had rested too long because there was no one to till it. She explained that if there were people to care for it, the supply of food would almost double.
Then they walked along the road that led to the village. Mixed with the occupied cottages were empty cottages and buildings. Most of the good wood had already been used and the empty buildings were no more than frames of planks barely holding together. When the snows came, even the decaying wood would be used.
When they reached the end of the village, they were the furthest from Brynmor’s keep and close to the river. By then the sun was fading, and the sky darkening with mist and rain; it was time to return.
She turned to him. ‘As you saw, Brynmor pales in comparison to Gwalchdu. There are too many needs and too little resources to fulfil them.’
‘Yes, Robert told me much the same, but it was informative to see it from your standpoint. I appreciated your introducing me to the villagers. They respect you.’
Respect was not what she needed. She cared for these people and intended to look after them as long as she drew breath. ‘Respect won’t feed them or provide a roof over their heads.’
‘No, but the potential is here. The untilled fields are rested; the soil is rich. The abundance of resources here is remarkable.’
Bitter pain sliced through her heart.
She’d shown him Brynmor’s weaknesses and poverty. Sho
wn the Traitor the hardship and destitution since the English War. He’d interrupted occasionally with questions. He wasn’t rude, argumentative or even arrogant. He didn’t act at all the way she expected him to and it left her confused and troubled. Now it seemed he saw beyond what Brynmor was, to the hope of what it could be. Nobody else had ever expressed how she felt about Brynmor. Not even Robert, who worked hard to make this place viable.
But Brynmor would never be prosperous again. It needed money that Urien didn’t have and that Gwalchdu surely wouldn’t loan. All Brynmor’s potential was wasted because there weren’t enough people to harvest the food and no market days to sell it. Many made the trip to Gwalchdu to sell the food, but it was never enough. It was as if all their efforts were in vain. Familiar anger coursed through her sorrow. It hadn’t always been this way. Not until they were betrayed by the man who stood before her.
She must have been silent too long, because Teague spoke again, his voice low. ‘It is too far for Gwalchdu’s protection, Anwen, or I’d offer the help.’
Anwen wiped her cheeks in haste. When had she started crying?
‘Ever the English greed,’ she scoffed.
‘In a way.’
Teague kept his distance from her. He wore a heavy woollen cream-coloured tunic with brown breeches and a heavy leather vest trimmed with fur. His sword belt hung at a slight angle and his hair was loosely tied back. It was a simple outfit that covered a complicated man and she was too tired for complications.
Waving her hand as if to dismiss him, Anwen walked to the river’s bank. It would be mostly empty this time of day. The darkening clouds turned the blue water almost black, but there was still beauty here.
She heard his footsteps behind her. Intending to ignore him, she increased her pace. He continued to follow her and was just as silent as she was. Her frustration mounted. Why wouldn’t he leave her?
For every step she took, he matched it and she found that even the crunching of his boots on the gravel was grating. She whirled on him. ‘Why won’t you leave me be?’
Teague stopped, his eyes scanning the riverside. ‘There could be danger.’
‘I’ve been out here many times without your benevolent supervision.’
‘But I am here now.’
‘We’re not at your precious Gwalchdu any more. I can take care of myself.’ She wanted to be alone, not followed by this man who disturbed her thoughts. ‘Just leave me be!’
His lips curved at the corner. ‘No, not now.’
Anwen ignored the tightening in her stomach. Why did she have to find hidden meaning in his words? She hugged her arms around herself, suddenly feeling the cold.
‘This place has upset you,’ he observed. ‘Why don’t you walk away, let it all go? So many people from Brynmor have left and have sought Gwalchdu’s protection.’
‘As long as I am welcome here, I’ll stay.’
‘But what is Brynmor to you? I understand that you do not care for the English, but this is all English soil now. Robert may have the title of Governor, but even you know he is more than that here and could be legally so if he requested it. King Edward has been most unusual in his treatment of Brynmor. Even you must be aware of that.’
Leave her home? She might not have much at Brynmor, but she had some control over her life. She was needed here. Anywhere else, she would be vulnerable to the whims of those who had more power. She would never put herself in that position. Worse, she wouldn’t put herself in the position of the very man who made Brynmor weak and vulnerable during the war. ‘Why would I seek protection from the Traitor of Gwalchdu?’
‘Yes, why would you? But everything is not as it would seem.’
‘I see and know nothing else to the contrary.’
Teague tilted his head. ‘What did you see that day in the forest with me under the tree? Why did you fall to me?’
So he knew about her betrayal. For weeks she reasoned with herself about the choices she made. She’d had no choice that day, but that hadn’t stopped her feeling of trust. When she fell to him, she trusted him.
‘This is a useless conversation.’ She took a step away. ‘What else was I to do? Die? You act as if I had a choice.’
Teague pressed his lips together and stepped towards her. ‘Then later? When you were recovering? Why did you seek me through your pain?’
‘I didn’t seek you.’ She took a larger step backward. ‘You were already there. Again, what choice did I have? I should be asking you why you were there!’
He ignored her question and took another silent, predatory step towards her. ‘But you responded to me in the mews and again when we dined. And how about now? Your heightened colour, the intake of breath?’
‘I am simply frustrated at this ridiculous talk.’ She couldn’t take another step back. The river was soaking the back of her leather shoes. The mist was turning heavy, colder, soaking them both.
‘You are more than that. There is something more here. It is confusing, yes, but I, unlike you, am not avoiding it.’ He took the final step towards her. ‘I don’t think I can avoid it any more.’
He stood so close she could see the thickness of his eyelashes framing dark eyes, the arch of his eyebrows, the curve of his cheekbones and fullness of his lips. All these features somehow softened him. Or was it her softening to him?
She trusted him in the forest and again when she sought his care when her pain was bad. She had the excuse of exhaustion and pain, but they were only excuses. She had wanted him by her bedside.
That day when he’d shown her his birds, they shared their common interest. Was she bonding to this man? Was her trust of him not some temporary madness brought about because of the circumstances, but because he earned her trust?
No. He betrayed his own country and kin. He was still a powerful lord, and she knew all too well how powerful men treated those weaker than themselves. There could be no trust with him. ‘You speak of things that do not exist. There is rain coming and we need to return.’
Teague did not move and she watched as he slowly perused her face and his gaze rested on her lips. The look was so tangible, she could almost feel his black eyes tracing the curved outline of her bottom lip and her body started an odd humming vibration of anticipation. She waited, knowing he intended to kiss her.
‘Soon.’ He turned and walked, without waiting to see if she followed. She did.
Peter, his captain, intercepted them at Brynmor’s gate and Teague took his leave. When his back was turned to her, she finally let go of her held breath.
He was a relentless man; even when he wasn’t talking to her, she could feel his will. While he was close it was difficult to determine her own feelings.
He wanted her. She had felt that in the mews. No, before that, when he comforted her in the night. So, too, at Brynmor as he watched her. It was in the turn of his lips, the way his gaze turned from watchful to calculated, then became closed again before she could dismiss him. But did she want him? How could she when he betrayed his own people? She could never trust him. She wouldn’t bend to his will.
Seeking a distraction to her thoughts, she scanned the courtyard until she saw Alinore and Robert standing near the stables. Alinore was laughing at Robert, who was talking quite animatedly.
‘Anwen!’ Alinore’s light blue eyes twinkled with merriment. ‘Robert was telling me about his difficulty the first time he went on a warhorse.’
Robert’s expertise with horses was legendary. His knowledge of their care was relied upon here even with Brynmor’s meagre stables.
‘Difficulty?’ she said. ‘I could hardly imagine.’
Robert addressed Anwen, but quickly glanced at Alinore, their eyes sharing their secret. ‘Oh, horses haven’t always liked me.’
Alinore laughed. ‘I suspect he is telling me this simply to get me on one of t
hese beastly creatures.’
‘On a horse?’ Anwen blurted. ‘You’ve never wanted to ride before!’
Alinore nodded. ‘Oh, I know you’ve been trying to get me to ride, but they are big and have these hooves and teeth. Yet Robert promises me that he will be there and I think I might do it...since he’s making me.’
‘I’m not making you.’ Robert chuckled. ‘And think how grand you’ll look at the Martinmas parade!’
‘Ah, you would bring up Christmas,’ Alinore said.
‘Only because I know it’s your weakness.’
Anwen watched in astonishment as Alinore pretended umbrage at Robert’s words. In all the years she had lived at Brynmor, she never saw such a change in Alinore.
In the mere weeks she’d been away, her sister had become a stranger who didn’t need her; who had distractions of her own. She doubted Alinore or Robert even noticed her departure.
* * *
Feeling at odds, Anwen took time to prepare for the evening meal. A thin silver circlet bound back her hair and although the veil she wore was transparent, she hoped it covered most of her scar.
Her gown was a fine light blue wool, with a bright yellow surcoat. The sleeves required lacing from the purple ribbon that went from wrist to elbow. The gown was not as short as her day gowns, but swirled about her ankles when she walked. She might be late for the meal, but she felt better by the time she descended the stairs.
Taking care not to trip, she fisted her hands into her skirt. As she approached the dais, she noticed that everyone, except Alinore, was sitting at the high table. ‘Where is Alinore?’
Robert’s face darkened with anger. Teague leaned over and whispered into the man’s ear.
Nodding at whatever it was that Teague whispered, Robert addressed Anwen. ‘Resting in her room.’
Having seen Alinore an hour before, Anwen was alarmed. ‘Resting? Nothing happened to her with the horses?’
‘No, her time with the horses fared well.’
Anwen uncurled her hands from her skirts. ‘But something happened. I can see from your face.’
