In Debt to the Enemy Lord

by Nicole Locke

  ‘My child, you should have warned me about that pestering woman. I would never have left the peace of Brynmor if I’d known that harridan was waiting here for me. Wanting me out in the garden, standing by her with buckets of spades and eggshells like some squire to a knight. All day long...chatter, chatter, chatter!’

  Anwen laughed. ‘Sister Ffion is not so bad!’

  ‘Sister Ffion? Oh, no. You could not find a gentler soul than her. I am talking of that woman with the fluffy hair, chatters up someone so much you don’t even know you’re being bullied until you’re there, stuck, doing her bidding.’

  ‘Edith?’ she guessed.

  ‘Yes! Everywhere I turn, it’s, “Oh, dear Melun, could you do...?” and “Master Melun, do you have the time...?” I’m tired, I’m telling you!’

  Melun wasn’t tired, he was invigorated. All of Anwen’s worry since she’d sent Melun ahead of her melted away. He found a new purpose, a new life here at Gwalchdu. It seemed Melun did belong here at Gwalchdu.

  Giving the elderly man a hug, she said, ‘It’s simply her way.’

  Melun tried to replace his grin with a cross look. ‘Man of my station doesn’t need to be henpecked. Think I’ll go and give her a talking-to right now.’

  He departed, leaving her alone again. Anwen had no one to talk to. Alinore was gone, so too was Robert and now Melun was slipping away from her. She had thought to make plans to leave with him. But Melun did not need her any more. It was a loss she wasn’t expecting. It seemed she was the only one suffering a loss of home and purpose.

  In the inner bailey, she found Ffion sitting on a bench near the rosemary bushes. Her eyes were half-closed and she feverishly rubbed her rosary beads. Ffion had been like this since the fire.

  ‘Sister?’ Anwen whispered, not wanting to startle her.

  Ffion had worked tirelessly helping the people after the fire, but it appeared to have taken its toll on the older woman. Dark circles hollowed her eyes and the wrinkles on her brow had deepened.

  ‘Child, I have not seen you in prayers all day.’

  ‘There are evening matins, Sister.’

  ‘There is nothing as important as prayer.’ Ffion placed the rosary in the folds of her voluminous gown. ‘Especially in these times.’ Her lips pursed. ‘I don’t think I’ll forget the fire’s destruction. It was so fast...’

  Anwen sat beside her. ‘None of us will.’

  Ffion slid her a glance. ‘No. I suppose you won’t, will you? It is hard to understand God’s will, or what He has planned for us. Some things are out of our control.’ Nodding, she added, ‘I understand you are in the rooms adjacent to Lord Teague’s.’

  ‘It appears those will be my rooms as long as I stay here.’

  Ffion voice drew flat. ‘Those were my sister’s rooms. She died tragically, but Lady Elin was a great lady. I thought Teague understood. He never before allowed anyone in those rooms. Never. There have been too many changes lately. Combined with too many dangers. I believe it is evil portent.’

  Ffion was in a religious fervour. Not wanting to aggravate the Sister, Anwen stood to leave. ‘Gwalchdu and Brynmor have suffered enough danger.’

  ‘There is more to come.’ Ffion grabbed her rosary and pushed the beads through her fingers. ‘It’s not safe here. Lord Teague’s arrogance will cause us harm. If it wasn’t for Rhain’s commanding presence, I don’t know what would happen,’ Ffion whispered. ‘What wickedness to put you in that room! If you knew the past—’

  She didn’t want to hear any more. Bidding the sister good day, Anwen walked away.

  ‘You should not be in that room!’ Ffion called out.

  No, she shouldn’t be in that room; she didn’t want to be in that room. At least Christmas was coming. There would be work to do for winter at least; then she could leave.

  When she passed into the outer bailey Anwen jumped sideways as a pack of dogs chasing two squealing pigs swept by. Then she froze and thrust her arms in the air when shouting children swarmed around her as they chased the whole lot.

  Lowering her arms and gathering her breath, she was overwhelmed by the clanging of metal, the pounding of wood and the flares and sputtering of controlled fires. People building new structures called out, laughed and strode to different work stations. There was a fight at the cordwainer’s and two women were gesturing madly over soiled laundry.

  Chaos. At Gwalchdu.

  Anwen’s heart skipped and skipped again. With the sudden arrival of people, Gwalchdu couldn’t remain precise, controlled or orderly. Brynmor was not quite lost after all. Lifting her skirts, she charged forward. Gwalchdu might be a temporary home, but for now, she’d see where she was needed.

  Chapter Eighteen

  It had been too long since he’d held Anwen. For weeks, Teague had watched her with a type of hunger he didn’t know was possible. He worked to erase the craving, but it was still there. It didn’t help that she was always nearby. If he was directing how many crofter huts should go up, she was there directing how they were to be built. If he was ordering supplies, she was there with an exact count of how many pots to provide. It wasn’t just her presence, it was the glimpses of her bared skin. Her wrist as she reached for a cauldron or the back of her neck as she bent to talk to a child. He suffered from those glimpses and his ache deepened.

  Teague stretched, his eyes scanning the winding narrow road between the houses. Anwen was talking with Rhain and the tanner, Bleddyn, both men dwarfing her. She was resilient, but she’d lost weight and there were shadows under her eyes. She had not slowed since they returned from Brynmor. He had purposefully avoided her, but he noticed her anyway and she’d collapse if he didn’t do something. It was past time she took a reprieve.

  * * *

  ‘The roof looks well repaired. I can hardly wait to tell Sarah.’ Bleddyn patted her on her shoulder before turning to leave.

  ‘Oh, Teague will hardly notice the additional labour and supplies to build a thicker thatch,’ Rhain added.

  Rhain’s tone wasn’t lost on Anwen; she rounded on him. ‘If these houses are to last, then they need to be thick. It will keep more people warm, using less firewood and not deplete Dameg Forest. Teague needs the forest for the animals that feed his belly.’

  Rhain put his hands up. ‘I have no argument with you and I’m sure Teague will not resist, given his motive.’

  ‘Yes! He shouldn’t argue. If it wasn’t for him—’ She stopped. ‘What do you mean, “given his motive”?’

  A slight flush mottled Rhain’s finely sculpted cheekbones. ‘It is not my place to say.’

  Anwen poked the man’s chest. ‘It is your place to say. You owe it to me for not telling me of Teague’s enemy. All those times we talked you never warned me and look at the consequences. I lost my home and my sister.’

  Rhain visibly winced. ‘I believe I no longer envy my brother for your attention. Your words are worse than any sword cut. Deserved, no doubt, but painful.’

  ‘Rhain...’

  ‘Very well, but in truth, I’m surprised I have to tell you what drives Teague to work.’

  Over the last month, she had tried not to notice Teague working, or the way exhaustion and determination furrowed his brow. She shook her thoughts away.

  ‘It is guilt over Brynmor’s loss. He should be guilty,’ she answered. ‘Although I’m surprised he should feel such an emotion given the sins he’s committed in his life.’

  ‘No man lives without some sin on his soul.’

  Anwen rarely heard Rhain so reflective. She’d seen him use his charm and wit as weapons and she wondered, not for the first time, what depths he hid behind his golden handsomeness.

  ‘No woman, as well.’ Rhain’s fingers flitted over the small dagger at his waist. ‘But it is true guilt plays some motive with my brother. He repairs to mak
e amends for what he’s inadvertently done to your home. But what do you believe drives him to give to Brynmor’s families, who have no need of his gifts?’

  She didn’t know and didn’t want to know.

  ‘He does it for you.’

  Never. ‘You are mistaken. All my life, Teague has preyed upon Brynmor’s vulnerabilities and made it weaker. The sole reason I am here is to see Brynmor’s people settled this winter.’

  ‘They are settled. I’ve heard you talk of Christmas. That isn’t merely settling.’

  ‘Christmas is a time for joy. You’d deny my people that?’

  ‘I see it makes you happy, as does staying here. I think you stay for another reason.’

  ‘No! That is twice you’ve wrongly judged my motivations. You are as overbearing as Teague. I cannot wait to leave the lot of you.’

  ‘That is unfortunate since I have need of your company, Anwen,’ Teague said from behind her. ‘If you’ll follow me?’

  Anwen turned to round on him as well, but he strode away before she could make a response. He was always doing that; this time she wouldn’t let him get away with it. Fisting her skirts, she ran after him.

  * * *

  ‘I’m not getting on that,’ she said a few minutes later when she could see his horse saddled. ‘I have too much work to do.’

  Teague was familiar with that mutinous expression on her face. ‘You have done nothing but work since—’

  ‘Since the fire,’ she interrupted. ‘But since it was not but a month ago, there’s still much to do. The rains have delayed setting foundations and there are homes to thatch before it snows.’

  ‘It’ll soon rain again. The day turns dark from clouds and a few hours’ reprieve will not make much difference.’ Teague offered her his hand. ‘I am not making a command, but a request.’

  Anwen inspected her dry, cracked hands. Even as busy as she was at Brynmor, she had used oils and brushed her hair. Now she hadn’t bothered to look at her image since the day she fell from the tree.

  The day she almost died.

  She took his hand and he swung her up on the horse. The dark clouds were rolling in fast, and a cold wind was increasing. He was right. A couple of hours would not make much difference.

  Teague took her south alongside Dameg Forest and away from the sea and Gwalchdu. She hadn’t been so close to him since they rode from Brynmor. She remembered the intensity of the heat between them. She expected the same again, but it was not so. Instead, the warmth of his body, the smell that was distinctly him was soothing almost and she fought the need to rest against him. She would do best to remember she was not safe with the Traitor.

  Despite the dark clouds, the sun caused the rolling meadow to be covered with shadows and shards of brilliant light. It was as if they were steadily leaving one world and entering another. No longer did she hear the pounding of hammers and shouting, but instead the song of birds and the soft creak of the saddle. No longer did she need to weave and run around the many obstacles in Gwalchdu’s baileys, but she rested, feeling the gentle sway of the horse’s gait. Then, all too soon for her, they dismounted and Anwen walked to the river’s edge.

  It was colder here and she wrapped her arms around her cloak. But the sun still shone, so she closed her eyes, lifted her face to it and let the river’s sounds and smells surround her.

  When she opened them, Teague was watching her with a mound of rocks in his hand for skipping over the water. Over the last month she’d seen just that look on his face. It didn’t bother her today. Maybe it was the tranquillity of the river, but her heart felt lighter.

  ‘So you take me to the river again and I find some peace. If I was at all superstitious, I would want to leave to make sure Gwalchdu was not burning down.’ Anwen raised a brow. ‘But I supposed you’re not worried about it.’

  ‘No. I am not.’ Teague fluidly skipped a rock, then another. His breath curled visibly in front of him with every powerful throw.

  ‘Do you want to try?’ he asked, holding out a stone.

  Some day she would try, when she was far away from here. ‘Did you bring food?’

  Teague nodded to the pack on the horse as he tossed another rock. Eagerly she lifted the satchel, spied the insides and grabbed a loaf of bread.

  ‘Do you regret coming?’ he asked.

  Tearing a bite to eat, she shook her head. ‘No.’

  She did not regret coming here. What she wondered was why he was able to compel her to come. She was like a falcon to his lure, or more like prey to his talons.

  She took the last bite of bread. Her enthusiasm for the food was waning. Since the fire, her eating had been sporadic and she’d been sick more than once. At first, she thought it was the worry making her ill, but now she missed her monthly flow. It was startling evidence that she was pregnant.

  ‘You look tired,’ he said.

  ‘I am not sleeping,’ she confessed. It wasn’t morning sickness she suffered from, but all the time. She took another bite of bread.

  ‘Is it Alinore?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t wish to speak of my sister with you.’ Anger and grief coursed through her again. Emotions more welcomed than the bewildering peace she felt with him, or the ramifications of carrying the Traitor’s child.

  ‘You grieve, and have thrown yourself too far into work.’ Teague looked away and seemed to gather himself before he spoke again. ‘Would it help to know that Brynmor’s loss was not my intention? I thought my enemy only wanted Gwalchdu.’

  She looked sharply at him, but he kept his gaze resolutely away from her as he swiped more rocks from the ground to skip across the river.

  What was she doing alone with this man? Why did he compel her to his side? He had betrayed her people and left them vulnerable during the Welsh Wars. So, too, he confessed he caused the fire that killed her sister. Yet, he cared for her when she could have died and now made sturdy homes for Brynmor’s people. How could he both give and take away?

  ‘Would you have not gone to Brynmor?’ she asked.

  His mouth thinned. ‘I would have taken precautions.’

  She remembered his soldiers walking Brynmor; he had taken precautions. ‘The results would have been the same. I am still without a home.’

  Teague’s eyes flashed disappointment before he answered, ‘You have a home.’

  ‘I have no home or weren’t you there?’ Anwen’s agitation increased. ‘It is nothing but ashes.’ This was good; this anger was right and familiar. She did not want any feelings of giving or any acceptance from Teague.

  ‘Gwalchdu is your home now,’ he said.

  Home. With Teague. A myriad of images flashed before her. Him standing under the tree defying the branches to hurt her, him holding her hand at night taking the pain away, him fighting through the fire to help others. Yet, he was the Traitor with little regard for the consequences of his actions. Could she have a home with the Traitor of Gwalchdu? Never.

  ‘A temporary home,’ she said. ‘I’ll stay and help for the winter, then go.’

  He stepped away with a sound, a huff of breath, as if what she said hurt him.

  She knew it was a lie. She knew who she was and who he would always be: powerful. Controlling. Despite his recent generosity, she couldn’t forget. They would die enemies. Him siding with the English had left Brynmor and Wales vulnerable. Urien’s hatred had turned towards her sister then.

  No, she couldn’t forget.

  ‘Is it because of the fire?’

  She nodded. ‘And your past.’

  Frustration flashed in his eyes before he started to pace. His movements were long paces, but somehow short, like a warhorse wanting the reins. It was then she noticed how he was dressed.

  Under his cloak, he wore a thick leather jerkin and his breeches were soft leather. His sword h
it against his leg as he moved and she could see a dagger in his boots, its silver handle flashing. There would only be one reason a man would dress as he did: for protection. It must be a madman who threatened him.

  ‘It is probably best you leave after winter.’ He turned to her. ‘But until then...could we not have some accord?’

  ‘For what purpose?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Because you need to spend your lust?’

  ‘Ah, yes. Now you snarl and snap at me.’

  Snarl and snap? Anger crawled up her spine and boiled in her heart. ‘What else did you expect? You came to Brynmor and it suffered from an enemy who pursued you! It burned to the ground because of you!’

  ‘I accepted the responsibility.’

  ‘And the other time?’

  Teague tilted his head. ‘You speak of my siding with the English King Edward during the Welsh Wars.’

  ‘It’s as if you can’t harm Brynmor enough, yet you speak of it so calmly.’

  ‘It is the past. It is done.’

  She released all her hurt and frustrations in a sigh. ‘It’s never been done. After the wars, Brynmor’s homes leaked, livestock diminished. People lost families because they moved away. Then the work doubled because there were no people.’ She pushed her hair from her face. ‘Tools broke, but we couldn’t replace them. All of Brynmor’s skilled workers left. I have seen good friends get into fights over stale bread, people become sick and children went hungry because of what you did!’

  She was releasing the venom, but it wasn’t helping. The talking merely built her rage until it was hot, rolling.

  ‘And what of Alinore?’ she continued. ‘My sister, who played with flower petals, wore the worst of it. Her face bruised, her arms scarred from burns. Urien would not leave her alone; his fist hit like a mace and I could do nothing to stop it!’ Anwen hit her chest to free some of the pain constricting her heart. ‘I tried. I used my own body like some of your precious Spanish steel, but he swatted me away. Why her? Why not me? I was the bastard-born.’

  Teague’s silence incensed her more, for she wanted a response from him. Something. Anything! ‘And for what?’ she questioned. ‘What! Just so you can have your stone walls, thick tapestries and your precious beeswax candles.’