Akin to Sean’s holding, this one had steps leading to the main tower keep. As he ducked under the portcullis, he noticed that if the bridge was pulled to upright position, it would cover the upper window casements. It was a protection tactic and one he hadn’t seen before.
James followed behind Duff, toward the enclosed entryway, and rounded the stairs which were opposite of what he’d expect. But he suspected it was a defense stratagem as well. There was only one level above, but the lower level appeared spacious.
Llywelyn rose upon their arrival in the great hall. His family stood behind him, his wife, Siwan, called Joan by the English, was a handsome woman. Their children stood beside her, and James looked at each one until his eyes reached and fastened on the water nymph.
She kept her gaze serene and on the back of her father as she stood there for inspection. Llywelyn cleared his throat and turned to address them.
“Welcome, one and all. My family,” he said, and motioned to those standing behind him. Without further introduction, he bid them to leave. They immediately followed his order and vacated the hall.
James kept his gaze on the red-haired lass until she disappeared. He wanted to go after her and introduce himself, and to ask her name, but alas, he could not do so.
The meeting was called to order by the fearless king. He took a seat and motioned for all else to do so.
Grey sat nearest to him, James next to him, and the others filed in along the row of chairs at the table stretched before them. There were enough chairs to fit their entire company and more.
“I’m gladdened you have arrived, Gunn. I received a missive from Alexander that you would be coming. How many men do ye bring?”
“Six-hundred, Lord Iorwerth.”
Llywelyn’s lips twitched. “Aye, a good number, it will add to ours and I vow will be enough to handle Marshall’s paltry attacks. I bid ye to call me Llywelyn.”
“Likewise, call me Grey. I wanted to bring Marshall’s pact. He bid me to set a proposal before you and awaits your response.”
The old lord laughed mockingly. “Ah, so he wants to parlay, does he? I am not in the mood to placate him, but I will hear his offer.”
“I met with him and he was quite serious in his proposal. He deems he will cease all nefarious activity against you and yours if you betroth your daughter to him.”
Llywelyn sat forward. A maniacal grin came to his lips. “Aye? So he covets what he cannot have. Did he name a particular daughter? For I’ve a handful of them, each of marriageable age.”
Grey kept his expression fixed on the lord and said, “The one named Emlyn.”
A flicker of resentment crossed the lord’s eyes. “Emlyn. Of course he would want her. Of all my daughters, she would be most challenging for him. I needs to consider this, Grey. For I know the reason he would name her and I am not sure I’m willing to sacrifice such a prize to that berserker.”
“If you agree, we’re to take her to him as soon as can be arranged. He awaits us at Schrosberie, where we will hand over the lass.”
Llywelyn guffawed in disbelief. “So he offends me by having me send my daughter to a keep I possessed, which he has taken? If I do agree, I will send her when and where I deem to do so.” The man looked at each of them, as if assessing their skill as a warrior. A small grin came to his lips. “In the meantime, we will prepare for war. Lest you know, I trust him not. Even if I did send my daughter, he would continue to thwart me and try to take my lands. I am familiar with his kind.”
“I have his word, my lord,” Grey said.
“His word is shit. I will discuss this with you further, Grey, and would invite you and your men to a welcome celebration. We’ll have it on the morrow in the evening and I’ll have an answer for you. That will give my servants time to prepare. This day, your men will join mine and we’ll see how they fare against my Welsh soldiers.”
Grey smiled with bemusement. “Aye, my lord, I know they’ll fare well.”
“Such admiration in one’s own army is renowned, young Gunn. I like that, indeed I do.”
Chapter Six
Emlyn wasn’t usually fearful of soldiers, for she trained with them daily. But the Scottish warriors who stood in the hall were far brawnier than she would have thought. Try as she might to keep her eyes on her father’s back as instructed by her mother, she couldn’t and peeked at each of the men.
Their leader looked as fierce as her father. Next to him stood a tall, muscular warrior and his face held such appeal. She hadn’t meant to look so long, but couldn’t resist, for his face had a strong jaw line, clear of whiskers, and verily had to be hard to the touch. A rich shade of brown hair reached his shoulders and likely hadn’t been cut in sometime. His nose was long and straight and appeared unbroken from any previous brawl. It was his eyes that held her. For she looked straight at him, and his brown eyes stared back.
Never one to back down from a challenge, she had no choice but to concede. For if her mother caught her looking at the man, she’d scold her for a week. That was the last thing she wanted. Her mother’s voice could be grating.
With all their company, her mother and sisters would be kept busy enough, leaving her to her own will. As her mother gave her instructions for the day, Emlyn trailed behind her siblings. Thankfully she’d slackened her step and after her mother’s tirade, she caught the end of her father’s speech. They’d train with his soldiers. An excitement built within her chest for she wouldn’t mind going against them, especially the dark-haired warrior.
Emlyn went to the chamber that she shared with her sisters to change into her training attire. Her mother had insisted she wear a gown for the meeting. She detested the garments, mostly because they were all hand-me-downs from her sister, Suzanna, and itched akin to the devil. One day she’d have her own garments, made for her, which wouldn’t show her ankles and would be soft against her skin. If she cared to wear such attire.
She pulled on the breeches she’d taken from David, and the tunic she’d taken from Griffen. Both her brothers cared not about such things and didn’t remark when they’d seen her wearing their clothes. Everyone had vacated the floor where they slept and Emlyn passed by her parent’s solar, when she heard them talking. Their voices raised in discord.
She hid in the recess of the wall, where the torch was placed, and listened. Oftentimes it was the only way she and her siblings found out about anything, for her parents were oft tightlipped about news.
“Aye and if I agree, she’ll be taken to him immediately.”
Her mother gasped. “Llywelyn, her reputation has reached all the way to England? How is this possible?”
“One of the men told me a traitor was amongst Marshall’s men before he died. I know not who, but the lass was mentioned by name in the betrothal pact. Marshall wants none other than Emlyn. I cannot allow it no matter what threats he makes. Let him come with his entire army. I care not.”
Her mother’s shrill voice rose, “You shan’t jest about this. You would allow one measly daughter to endanger us all? I say let her go.”
Emlyn grew tense at their words and realized what they alluded to. The monster wanted her?
“If I decide to accept his proposal, I will not send Emlyn. We’ll send Suzanna or Anhard. They both would make a more acceptable wife.”
Her mother groaned. “Do you not see? He doesn’t want an acceptable wife. He wants her because of what he’s heard about her. I deem this is your fault. Aye, you’ve allowed her to train at war, allowed her to dress as a lad. You dote on her as if she were a son. She is a woman now and shouldn’t be doing such dreadful things. If anyone goes, it shall be her.”
“I know, my love. It is my fault, but I could not help but encourage her pursuits. She charmed me and I love the lass. It will break my heart to send her away.”
“But you must. I will not allow us to be put in danger because of her. If you deem our marriage will save us, I think not. My uncle, England’s king, will care not for our relations. And ne
ither will Marshall, who verily has his support.”
Emlyn stopped listening. She walked slowly toward the stairs, in shock and dismay at what their discussion alluded to. A grin switched her lips though in hearing her father’s kindly words of her, but then she frowned, realizing her jeopardy. Her father would betroth her to the monster.
Oh God.
In dejection, she kept walking until she reached the back exit of the keep and went toward the stables. Inside, she freed Aled, and the huge hound rose up and put his feet on her shoulders and licked her face.
“Ah, my handsome fellow, you want out.”
In a secret compartment of wood where her hound was kept, she removed her sword and other war instruments. If her mother found her weapons, she’d take them away. It was her father’s suggestion that she hide them in the stable. He’d even given her mail and a small helmet to use. She put on the mail, covering her dark tunic, and then pulled on a helmet, ensuring her hair tucked well up into it so no one would see it.
With the heavy mail against her breasts, she knew none would suspect she was a female. She could’ve laughed, for most of the time her father’s men didn’t know they fought against her. If they had, they would’ve forfeited, and that would have upset her. Only her brothers were aware she trained with them and they never told anyone her secret.
That had ended the day she bested Rhun and her father praised her in front of his men. Since, she hadn’t trained with the men because she’d been distracted with making amends with Branwyn and keeping her mother content.
Emlyn snapped her fingers, and Aled followed her outside. He was the best pet a lass could ask for. He was extremely loyal, and protected her fiercely. The only time she worried for him was when the owl came. Emlyn looked above and as if on cue, the feathered beast came flapping her wings.
“Good morn, Iola. Aye, your friend awaits you.” The owl landed on Aled’s back and he galloped away, through the gate, and toward the hills. “I shall see you this eve,” she called to them.
She would see neither of them the rest of the day. Emlyn wondered how a hound befriended an owl, for their friendship was indeed odd. But she allowed Aled to have his friendship, and went on toward the training fields.
As she approached, she saw the hundreds of Scottish warriors standing about, getting ready to join her father’s thousands. The only way she could tell the difference betwixt the two armies was that her father’s men wore blackened mail and tunics with a large red dragon as embellishment on the front.
The Scotsmen wore many colors of garments, some matching those they stood around, and she learned most northern clans wore alike colors. They didn’t wear any mail.
This day would be exciting, and she hoped to avert her mind from her parent’s discussion. She’d work out her frustration on the field and would verily feel much better. At least the warriors would be good sport. Emlyn hurried to stand with her brothers and gave them a nod.
“You’re late. I would’ve thought you would have been here by now,” David said, laughing and knew well that she wanted to fight with their visitors.
“I’m surprised she wasn’t here at dawn,” Griffen remarked dryly.
“Sorry, I was detained. Who leads the training this day?”
David turned and nodded. “I do. Come, we’ll begin.” He marched off and assembled various leaders to give instruction on the various tactics they’d take to.
Emlyn was put in the same group as her elder brother, Griffen, and was glad because he wasn’t as concerned for her as David. He allowed her to take to combat with any weapon she chose and any partner. David, on the other hand, often chose the weapon and partner for he didn’t have as much faith in her.
She removed her sword, but was directed to the quintains. Let down, she marched forward and sheathed her sword. For she was terrible at using the bow and would verily be bested. That was something that irked her for she wanted to be the best at any and all weapons.
As she stood in line, awaiting her turn, she saw the dark-haired warrior walk by. Oh that she could test her skills against him. Her eyes took in his muscular form, his bared legs, and stealthy gait. He had the confidence of a true warrior. How she wished she had as much self-assurance.
The man in front her finished his round and left the quintain with his arrows in hand. He bumped into her on purpose and muttered something about a lad getting in his way. She turned back to the quintain and ignored him.
Emlyn pulled the five arrows she’d brought and held the bow in her hand. Fortunately everyone’s attention was caught by the Scotsmen who began to train with swords. She heard the shouts of the men, the cheers, and the crowd’s dejection when someone faltered. How she wanted to run off and watch too, but she’d been given her assignment.
She hastily shot her arrows, each missing their target. With a groan, she set off to pick them up and then made her way to the large field where teams of warriors took to their swords. The metal clashes rang in her ears. Excitement buzzed in her heart.
She stood next to her brother, awaiting his instruction.
“Emlyn, go on the field and find a partner. You’ll be going against a Scot. Be careful, lass, and for God’s sake, be alert.” Griffen grinned and watched her walk away.
For the next two hours, Emlyn fought against the men of their visitors. She’d bested two and was bested by one other. Her arms had gotten somewhat of a good workout. Still she had one more to thwart.
Late afternoon had come and soon, supper would be served. Her mother was going to lecture her on being gone all day, but it was worth it.
David stepped into the center of the field. He announced it was the last round and the winners would pick their opponents. Emlyn couldn’t contain her excitement, for she’d won two of her three rounds and was slated to be able to pick her next opponent. She knew exactly who she wanted to fight.
Emlyn walked the field and searched for him. As she strolled through the mass of giant warriors, she couldn’t help grinning. They were handsome, but akin to what Delyth and Branwyn had described … much like their soldiers, unkempt and uncaring of their appearance. Still, they were strong and muscular, and worthy opponents.
When she neared the end of the row of soldiers, she spotted her adversary. He stood watching her and when she stepped in front of him, she held out her sword, and pointed to him. His comrades, around him, laughed, and slapped his back.
The warrior grinned, stepped out of line, and followed her to the open field where four other groups were in the thorough of a good fight. No sooner had she turned, her sword met with his and rang with the effort. She continued to meet him, and even caused him to step back twice in her attack.
The battle became exhausting for her, because he continued his attack, and she had a little trouble meeting his sword in time. He didn’t appear the least bit winded from their exercise. His skill was much beyond hers, mayhap exceptional, and he easily kept her at bay. For several minutes, he kept her busy, attacking from the side, the front, and from above. Emlyn grew tired and her exertion came in harsh breaths. Then she got a burst of energy and swung her sword from side to side. She caught him unawares when he tripped on a rock that stuck up from the field. He fell backward, and she quickly settled her body over his, pinning him to the ground.
He rolled her over easily, now pinning her to the ground. The warrior’s hold tightened, and she couldn’t get out of his grip. Emlyn huffed, and considered there was only one way out of the predicament. She kneed him between his legs. The warrior groaned, and she quickly jumped atop him and held him down with her body.
His eyes narrowed.
Emlyn’s chest heaved from the exertion and with her breasts pressed against his chest, she watched his expression. His hands moved along her body and he caressed her arse. She drew in a gasp, knowing he suspected that she was female.
A slow grin came to him.
Emlyn tried to roll off him, but he held her in place with his burly hands. “Do you give?” she asked, hop
ing he would submit and release her.
But he didn’t. He shook his head. “I submit to no one.”
His voice was deep and utterly wonderful. How arrogant the warrior was. Emlyn wanted to tease him and mayhap laugh at his boast, but she would never.
They continued to try to overtake each other, and Emlyn held him firmly on the ground. Her hips moved in a way that caused her groin to press against his. She felt the effects of it too, and her suspicion that he suspected she was a woman came to fruition.
He knows.
A devilish grin came and his eyes crinkled in merriment. “Lass, if you wanted to roll around with me, we could’ve forgone our swords.” He reached up and fingered the lock of her hair that had fallen from beneath her helmet.
She gasped, punched his shoulder, and rose. “You’re a knave.”
“Only when it’s necessary. You bested me. I am humbled.”
“Aye? I shall meet you another day, warrior, and will best you again. Next time I will not let you get in as many strikes.” Damn him for being fair to look upon. His beautiful lips smirked. Were that they alone, she might have reached out to touch him to feel for herself if he was as hard as he appeared. If he were any other man, she might have made him beg for mercy.
She turned to leave the field, but he stopped her when he gained his feet. Emlyn liked that she didn’t have to look up at him as she stood as tall as his shoulders.
“Wait, what is your name?” His eyes watched her with an intent gaze.
She should’ve kept walking, but turned and said over her shoulder, “Emlyn.”
His face fell and a frown came to his brow. His sword dropped to the ground and he fisted his hands at his sides. “Nay, say another, speak any other name but that one.”
“I cannot for that is my name. Goodbye, handsome warrior.”
Chapter Seven
James felt as though his heart had been ripped from his chest.
In Love With A Warrior (Gunn Guardsman (Book 4)) Page 6
