“It will all be clear soon,” Griffydd muttered in Trystan’s ear as he frog-marched his brother toward the chamber door.
Without a knock or word of warning, Dylan abruptly shoved it open and went inside. All the men crowded in behind, including Trystan and Griffydd.
Then they all stared dumbfounded at the sight that met their eyes.
After a moment of shocked horror, Rosamunde screamed and the captain of the guard scrambled naked from the lady’s bed.
They had been in the throes of passionate lovemaking, and despite her hurried efforts to cover herself, it was all too clear that the lady was as naked as her lover.
Griffydd let go of Trystan, who stood motionless and silent.
Clutching the bedclothes to her rounded breasts, and wild-eyed, Rosamunde stared at them. Then she pointed a trembling hand at Ivor, who was frantically tying his breeches. “He attacked me! He raped me!”
His tunic in his hands, Ivor turned toward her, a horrified expression on his face.
“He did! He came into my room uninvited! He…he threw me on the bed and stripped me and nearly smothered me to death as he took his pleasure of me, although I fought and kicked—”
“Rosamunde!” Ivor cried, letting his tunic fall to the floor unheeded. “That’s a lie! I never forced you! I love you, and you love me. I want to marry you.”
“Marry you?” she screamed as if his declaration filled her with revulsion. “Are you mad? Marry a captain of a guard? A Welshman with no title or noble blood?”
Wrapping the sheet around her, Rosamunde climbed from the bed.
“Cecil, you believe me, don’t you?” she pleaded as she went toward her cousin. “You must believe me! You know I would never allow such a barbarian into my bed!”
“Rosamunde, tell them the truth,” Ivor begged. “As I am an honorable man, tell them I came here at your invitation.”
She glared at him, her teeth bared like a trapped animal. “My invitation? To you, a mere soldier? Every man knows that has to be a lie. I could never love a man like you, never! You attacked me, you base, horrible savage, and you should be executed for your crime!”
“Executed?” Ivor gasped, turning as pale as the white linen that Rosamunde held to her flushed body.
“There will be no execution,” the baron declared from the back of the group of men.
“Indeed, no, there will not,” Sir Cecil confirmed. “I fear, fair cousin, this does not look well for you. Where are your bruises? Your wounds? The door was unlocked. Why did you not flee? And why are your clothes not scattered upon the floor, ripped and ruined?”
With grimly sorrowful eyes, Ivor looked at Trystan, who still had not moved, and then the other DeLanyeas. “My lords, you must believe me. I didn’t attack her. I came here at her behest tonight, and it is not for the first time.”
“Liar!” Rosamunde screamed. She hurried to Trystan and fell on the floor at his feet. “Trystan, he attacked me! As you love me, you must believe me!”
“As your own cousin has pointed out, I see no evidence of an attack, on him or on you,” Trystan replied flatly.
“You have to believe me! You have to marry me!” she pleaded, truly desperate now.
“No, he doesn’t,” Sir Cecil said, disgust in his patrician voice. “You disappoint me, cousin, and you shame our family. If I were you, I would contemplate retirement to a nunnery.”
Rosamunde slowly got to her feet, glaring at him. Then her haughty gaze swept over all of them. “So I am a disgrace, although the man I am to marry has a whore who is going to bear him a bastard?”
“I told you if you called Mair a whore again you would regret it,” Trystan said slowly and deliberately, regarding her steadily. “I will never marry you now.”
“And no man here will hold you at fault for breaking the marriage contract,” Sir Cecil said. “You have disgraced your good name, Rosamunde.”
“That’s not fair! You men can have all sorts of lovers before and after marriage, and yet a woman cannot, or else her reputation is destroyed.”
“No, it isn’t fair,” the baron agreed with some mercy in his deep voice. “But it is the way of the world in which you Normans live. A pity it is, my lady, that you are not Welsh, for we would forgive you the lapse, if not the lie.”
His visage grew stern. “I have known Ivor all his life, and he would no sooner take a woman against her will than he would kill a child, so I know you are giving false witness when you claim he did so.”
She looked pleadingly at Trystan. “Please, Trystan, you must forgive me. I will never betray you after we are married. I give you my solemn vow.”
“I shall forgive you for your weakness, for I have been weak, too.”
She started to smile with relief, until he continued.
“But I cannot forgive your lies, and the way you spoke of the woman I love.”
She started to sob, yet he continued inexorably. “The marriage agreement notwithstanding, I shall not marry you tomorrow, or any other day. Nor shall I ever speak to you again.”
With that, he turned on his heel and marched out of the room, the grave Normans making way for him.
The baron looked at Ivor. “You have betrayed my trust, Ivor. Get your things and leave Craig Fawr at once.”
The man nodded. “I am sorry for the trouble I have brought to your household,” he said quietly, and with dignity. “Farewell, Baron.”
Then, he, too, stoically left the room.
The baron turned and followed him, trailed by his nephew and his eldest son, then the others.
While Rosamunde huddled on the cold stone floor sobbing with genuine sorrow over the ruin of her scheme, and vowing to hate all men for the rest of her life.
“That was the only way to do it, Trys,” Dylan said quietly as he sat in his cousin’s bedchamber later that night.
The two men were alone. The baron had gone with Sir Cecil to explain the situation to Sir Edward. Griffydd had taken it upon himself to tell Lady Roanna and the other DeLanyea wives that there would be no wedding feast tomorrow.
Trystan stood by the window, looking out at the night sky. Dylan couldn’t be sure he was even listening.
“You and her Norman relatives needed proof that she was not a fit wife for you,” Dylan continued.
Trystan’s gaze remained on the view from his window. “How did you find out about Ivor?”
“Angharad.”
“Ah.”
“She told me when they would be together, and I devised the rest.”
“Clever of you, that was.”
“I didn’t want to humiliate you, Trystan, but Norman witnesses were necessary.”
“She’s right, you know. It isn’t fair that a man can dally with so few consequences, but a woman cannot.”
“She’s so proud of her Norman blood, she should not complain if she has to abide by Norman rules of conduct.”
“I suppose not.”
“Definitely not. So you’ll go to Mair tomorrow?”
Trystan glanced at his cousin over his shoulder, his face shadowed. “Why would I go to Mair?”
“To ask her to be your wife, you nit. She’s deep in love with you.”
“No, she’s not.”
“You must be blind, or a fool if you believe that.”
“I’m neither.” Trystan turned and leaned wearily back against the sill. “She told me herself she doesn’t love me enough to marry me.”
“She loves you so much she can’t bear to keep living here.”
Trystan’s brow furrowed as he crossed his arms. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, dolt, she’s that heartbroken over losing you, she’s running away. Anwyl, I never thought I’d see Mair surrender, but she’ll do it for you.”
“She wouldn’t do that for me,” Trystan replied gravely, moving away from the window. “And I’m sure she has another explanation.”
“She claims she wants to be near Arthur.”
“Mair doesn’t lie.”
“I’ve never known her to, but that doesn’t mean she wouldn’t if she thought she had to. God’s wounds, Trys, can’t you see? She never felt a need to leave Craig Fawr when our liaison was over, nor after any other.”
“She’s going to be with Arthur, like she said,” Trystan insisted.
Dylan rose and approached his cousin, his expression as grave as Trystan had ever seen it. “I am going to admit something to you in great confidence, Trystan, because it embarrasses me to say this, even to you. I know now I was the consolation prize. She really wanted you all along.”
Trystan’s eyes narrowed with suspicious disbelief. “Then why didn’t she tell me?”
“When she thought you didn’t care for her? Can you see any woman of pride and spirit doing that? Mair would sooner cut out her tongue!”
“But after we…were together… She might have told me then.”
“You are a nit—as well as the most ambitious DeLanyea since my own late, unlamented father. Do you think a woman who loved you would agree to marry you if she thought she would impede your progress to the rewards she believes you deserve?”
“I can’t…I won’t believe it.”
“You had better, because it’s the truth,” Dylan affirmed. Then he started to laugh. “Anwyl, she might not think you the most wonderful man on earth if she could see you now, boy, looking as stunned as if you discovered snow was supposed to be red. The truth is as plain as the mole on Lady Rosamunde’s breast, if you think about it.”
He stopped smiling and regarded his younger cousin sympathetically. “She loves you so much, she tried to act as if she does not, for your sake.”
Then he grinned his irrepressible grin as he strolled to the window and looked at the full moon. “She couldn’t fool a man of my experience, of course. I don’t know what it is about us DeLanyeas, but we never seem to really understand how a woman feels about us until it looks hopeless. Must be modesty, eh, Trystan?” He glanced back over his shoulder. “Trystan?”
But Trystan had already run from the room as if the castle were aflame.
Grinning broadly, Dylan strolled to the door. “I had better tell Lady Roanna she might be having a wedding feast tomorrow, after all.”
“Wake up, Mair!” Trystan pleaded as he shook her gently.
She rolled onto her back and peered up at his face. It seemed to glow in the moonlight that streamed in through the open window and illuminated his anxious expression.
“What’s the matter?” she demanded anxiously as she sat up, thinking the castle must be under attack or somebody dead for Trystan to come and rouse her on the night before his wedding.
The night before his wedding.
“Nothing’s the matter—or everything,” he said softly, “if you will still say you do not love me.”
Dumbfounded, she stared at him incredulously. “Are you drunk?”
He smiled wistfully, and lovingly as he took her hands to pull her out of bed. The cold of the ground was a shock to her, yet nothing compared to the shock of his presence and the words he was saying.
“I assure you, Mair,” he solemnly declared, “I have never been more sober. I love you! I need you! I want to marry you! Please say you will have me, fool that I am for not knowing my own heart sooner.”
Scarcely believing her own ears or even the evidence of her eyes, she grabbed her blanket and wrapped it about her shoulders. “Sssh! You’ll wake Arthur.”
“I don’t care if I do. I don’t care if I wake the whole castle, or village, or all of Wales itself, if you tell me you love me.”
She hastily found her shoes, then pulled him to ward the door. “I never told you I loved you,” she whispered, convinced he was drunk.
“To the brewery?”
“Yes,” she hissed, “to the brewery, and keep your voice down, or you will cause a scandal!”
She pulled him outside and across her yard to the small stone building, thankful the moon was bright and there were no clouds to cover it. Otherwise, in her present confused state and his apparently deranged one, who could say what accident might befall them?
“There is already a terrible scandal in the castle,” Trystan announced as he pushed open the door to the brewery, then gallantly gestured for her to precede him.
“What scandal? That the bridegroom has gotten completely drunk and is making enough noise to wake the dead?” she demanded as she struck flint and steel to light a rush and set it in a holder before facing him.
“No. That the bride has been found in bed with the captain of the guard.”
Mair’s jaw dropped as her eyes widened. “Ivor? And Rosamunde?”
“Exactly. Or Rosamunde and Ivor. Either way, they were making love and we caught them in the act, her fine, insolent cousin, the rest of the Norman wedding guests, Dylan, my father, my brother and me. After that, there is no question of a marriage between us.”
“No question of a marriage?” Mair murmured, still not able to take in all that he was saying, and with such obvious glee.
“Yes. How could I wed her after the humiliation? What Norman would expect me to accept so dishonored a woman? Not a one! I confess it took me some time to realize that I should be thankful for Dylan and Angharad’s interference—”
“Dylan and Angharad?”
Laughing, Trystan caught her by the hands and spun her around. “I fear something is amiss with your delightful ears, my love, my life.”
He came to a halt and pulled her into his strong embrace, his expression suddenly serious. “I hope you can forgive my stupidity, Mair, for putting my ambition above everything else, even you. For trying to deny the feelings I have for you. For not seeing that without you, I could never be happy.”
“But Rosamunde—?”
“Was a prize to prove I was better than my brother and my cousin, and only that, I came to see—not a woman I loved. I could never have loved her as I love you. As I have always loved you.”
“You have always loved me?”
“Aye, although I tried to subdue it with passionate yearnings for women who were as unlike you as it was possible to be. Dylan’s wife, at first, and then Rosamunde.”
“You did a very good job, I must say. I certainly believed you loved them.”
“Too good, for I was able to fool myself much of the time. God’s wounds, if you hadn’t grabbed me that night, I might have gone on fooling myself and been miserable because of it.”
Her expression was still worried. “I know you enjoyed making love to me, and I you, but making love is not the same as loving enough to marry.”
His face fell. “I know that. Are you saying you really do not love me enough to marry me?”
His grip on her hands tightened as his gaze grew more intense. “The truth, Mair,” he begged.
She didn’t meet his gaze. “You should marry a highborn lady, Trystan, who can help you in your quest, not an alewife who will make you the laughingstock of the Normans.”
“I do not want to marry a highborn lady. I want to marry you.”
“An alewife.”
“Yes, an alewife—a fine, bold, honest alewife, who smiles and laughs and makes me feel that life is a wonderful gift when I am with her.”
“But I cannot help you achieve what you should. I will…I will impede you.”
He drew back as if mightily offended. “Do you doubt my ability to succeed without the assistance of a wife’s money or connections?”
“I know you can succeed with or without a wife’s assistance. It is a wife’s hindrance of which I speak.”
He smiled tenderly. “The greatest hindrance I could ever face would be to lose you, Mair. I know that now. Please say you will marry me, and then together we will see how far we can go.”
Her intense gaze searched his face. “Are you certain, Trystan? What will your parents say?”
His eyes shone. “I give you my word as a knight and a DeLanyea, I have never been more certain of anything than I am that they will give us their bl
essing. They like you very much. Indeed, I think my father would give his approval in an instant.”
Her glorious smile thrilled him as joy filled her. “Then I must confess I love you, Trystan. For years I have done so.”
“And hidden it as well, or better, than I hid my feelings,” he noted, grinning as he pulled her into his arms again.
“Better,” she said ruefully. “And since we are making confessions, I will admit I behaved with such anger after I first heard of Angharad’s prediction about us because I feared somebody had guessed my secret, despite all my efforts.”
“Indeed, I was convinced the very notion nauseated you.”
“I thought the idea horrified you.”
Trystan sighed and shook his head. “I should have realized sooner that your response wouldn’t have upset me so much if I didn’t really want you to like me.”
“Anwyl, with the way I teased you, you should have hated me.”
“Mair, that was the past. Will you make a new beginning with me?” he pleaded softly. “Will you marry me?”
“Trystan…?”
“Say you will, Mair, and then kiss me, or I shall die.”
“Oh, Trystan,” she whispered through happy tears as he bent down to kiss her tenderly.
As her blanket slipped to the floor, his lips left hers to wend their way along her cheek. “Yes, Trystan,” she murmured. “Yes, I will. Please God, I will!”
Then his mouth covered hers in a more torrid kiss and she surrendered herself to him, giving herself up to her joy.
“Do you know you taste better than braggot?” he whispered as he ran his hands through her thick, unbound hair.
“Do you know you smell better than honey?”
“Do you know you are the boldest, prettiest woman in Wales?”
“Do you know you are the finest man?”
The questions ceased as their lips met again.
“Mam?”
They both sprang apart to stare in surprise at a sleepy Arthur standing in the door, rubbing his eyes and peering at them. “What’s he doing here?”
Chapter Fifteen
“Arthur, please go back to bed,” Mair said.
She tried to maintain some parental dignity as she hastily retrieved the blanket and wrapped it around herself, but it was too late. Arthur was wide awake now.
A Warrior's Kiss Page 18
