It was true. Glenys and Kieran glanced about as they awkwardly made their way toward the tavern. Many of the formerly sleeping occupants were now standing just outside the front door, gazing at them in amazement. Bostwick, easy to find among the rest, looked especially dumbfounded. Kieran gave a loud snort, which set Glenys off once more. They made their way—with a great deal of help—past the onlookers and back indoors.
“Bostwick!” Jean-Marc shouted as he shoved his large, unhelpful master into the large room. “We want two baths, at once.”
“But I’ve nothing ready!”
“I care not! Rouse some of your strumpets and set them to fetching water. These two will bathe cold, by God, but they’ll bathe.” He shoved Kieran, laughing merrily, into the nearest chair, then stared at him with anger. “Anyone seeing you would think you full drunk,” he told him. “’Twill serve you justly to journey this day in wet clothes…far wetter than they are now, I should say.”
“Nay, I will travel dry,” his master replied with a wide grin.
Jean-Marc shook his head. “You’re filthy with mud. They’ll have to be washed. All of them. And your boots into the bargain.”
“Wash them, please,” Kieran said happily, reaching up to unlace his cloak. “They’ll be dry before we leave. Mistress Glenys will see to that, will you not, mistress?”
He looked to where Dina had seated Glenys, his expression smiling, but cunning. She understood him perfectly. She had little choice but to use her uncle’s powders if she didn’t wish to have him reveal her “sorcery.” Not that she blamed him for such trickery. She certainly didn’t plan on wearing wet clothes throughout the day, and he’d not wish for such discomfort, either. He was her captor, true, and she owed him naught, but for the mere pleasure that he’d just given her—waiting by the window, indeed—she would repay him.
“Aye, Master FitzAllen,” she said with a nod, already savoring the bath to come. “I will see to it.”
Chapter Seven
“’Tis truly a most wondrous magic.”
Kieran rubbed a hand over his sleeve, amazed anew at how dry it was. She’d not wanted to perform her sorcery, but Mistress Glenys had taken his freshly washed clothing into the private chamber she’d shared with Mistress Dina and returned but a few minutes later with those same garments—perfectly dry. All in the tavern had been astounded, and a little afraid, and Kieran had realized with sudden understanding why Glenys had earlier denied her powers and kept them so secret.
“’Tis not magic,” she said even now, shifting restlessly in the saddle before him. “No such thing as magic exists—leastwise, nothing that is considered good, most especially in the eyes of the church. If you believe me not, then you need only ask the archbishop. Or better still, all those who’ve been accused of such evil things and burned at the stake or hanged by the rope.”
“There is nothing evil in the magic you possess,” he replied easily. “This ability to make wet garments dry, and the little glowing stone…surely no one would declare them evil.” He had readily forgotten his own initial dismay at the thought of such sorcery.
She gave a loud, unladylike snort. “You’ve little idea what would be said of them, or of me or my family. You’ve no idea what ’tis like to grow up amongst so many odd relatives, or to try to make others understand that those same relatives are harmless.”
“I see. This is why Mistress Dina spoke as she did about your cousin Helen? Is she not, in truth, a witch?”
Glenys turned her head to give him a brief, speaking look. “Of a certainty she is no witch! By the love of the Holy Mother, how can you speak in such a manner now, when you seemed so clearly to understand the matter earlier? Surely you do not truly believe in such creatures as witches?”
“And surely you do,” he replied just as quickly. “You are the one related to so many strange and magical beings, not me. And you possess such magic yourself, for you dried my garments, and I saw the stone with my own eyes. What does the little witch piece do?”
“Queen piece,” Glenys replied between set teeth. “She is the lone surviving piece to a matching chess set, naught more. She doesn’t do anything.”
Kieran didn’t believe that for a moment. “She must do something, else you’d not have hidden her away so carefully with the stone. I may have been mistaken, but last eve, as I gazed upon both her and the stone, it almost seemed as if her eyes glowed with light.”
Though Glenys strove hard not to lean too closely against him upon the saddle, Kieran could feel his captive’s body tighten at his words, and he knew that he was right. The chess piece was magical, too, but it would do him little good to press her on the matter. ’Twas clear that she wished to deny all that was so plain, and he had well learned that women, when pressed, only became more difficult to draw information from. Being a man well versed in getting what he wanted out of the finer sex, Kieran smoothly changed the subject to one that would far more likely make his way with Mistress Glenys both simpler and more pleasant.
“’Tis clear you do not wish to speak of her,” he said, adjusting the hand that was about her waist in a firmer grip. Having her thus distracted, he continued pleasantly, saying, “Tell me of your family, then. Tell me about your cousin, Helen, who is not a witch, even though Mistress Dina says most sincerely that she is.”
It had been an interesting moment in the tavern when, as Glenys had sat down to write the promised missive to her cousin, her maid had muttered that she wished there was some better, less questionable relative to take up the task, instead. There had been no other onlookers present at that moment apart from Kieran and Jean-Marc, the latter being the person to whom the comment was directed, but Glenys had immediately grown tense and wary.
“Hush, Dina!” she’d commanded, the inked quill frozen in her hand. “Say no more.”
“I mean nothing against her,” Dina had disobediently replied, “and I’m glad if she can hurry to London to care for your dear aunts and uncles, but ’tis well known that she’s believed to be a witch, and there’s been naught but the worst kind of trouble when she and Master Aonghus are together.”
“A witch!” This unhelpful and disbelieving utterance had come from Jean-Marc, just before Kieran sharply elbowed him into silence.
“Aye, aye,” Kieran had said calmly in an effort to smooth the ruffled waters. “She’s merely of Mistress Glenys’s family, and must be expected to possess some measure of magic. ’Tis clear that such dearly held skills have been misunderstood, and thus she has been proclaimed a witch. There can be nothing more to it.”
Glenys had lowered the pen and turned to gaze upon him with a look of such gratitude that Kieran had been momentarily stunned—just as he’d been earlier, in the tavern yard when she’d first smiled, then laughed so fully. Her intriguing face was transformed by smiles into something almost beyond beauty. He had been transfixed by it then, and was now, as well.
“Aye, that is closely what has happened,” she said. “You understand the matter perfectly, Master FitzAllen. ’Twas naught but a misunderstanding that saw my cousin labeled thusly. A dreadful misunderstanding.”
He’d been nearly undone by the words, spoken so openly and with such thankfulness and relief. That he’d not believed anything of what he’d said suddenly made no difference. She had believed it, and had been glad of it, and therefore was smiling at him. Smiles from Mistress Glenys Seymour, he was fast discovering, were as rare and precious as gold.
“You said earlier that you understood how it was that she came to be called a witch,” Glenys said now, crossing her arms over her chest.
“And so I do,” he assured her, thinking of just how lush and full that feminine chest had been when pressed against him early in the morn, as they’d tussled in the mud. Kieran couldn’t yet think of how intimately they’d been pressed together, joined hip to hip, without hardening with unaccountable desire. Even now, simply remembering it, he had to adjust more comfortably in the saddle. “But I wish to know how she came to be c
alled such, and why your family has so great a reputation for sorcery.”
Glenys was silent for a long moment, but began to relax by degrees and at last unfolded her arms. Kieran thought that he even felt her leaning—just slightly—against him. She cast a brief glance to where Mistress Dina rode with Jean-Marc, consumed by their own conversation, and then she began to speak.
“My cousin Helen is far more intelligent and witty than most men find acceptable in a female. She is also very comely.” This Glenys said with such open longing that Kieran felt a wave of sorrow. She clearly believed herself to be not merely unattractive, but overwhelmingly so.
“She was born to my father’s cousin in a small village near the Scottish border,” Glenys continued, “which was an unfortunate thing, for if she’d been more properly born in Wales, as most Seymours are, she’d never have been named a witch.” She looked at him over her shoulder, saying in confiding tones, “The Welsh are far more sensible about unusual people than most. Of a certainty, they’d not try to burn a young woman at the stake simply because she likes to go out walking at night without escort.”
Kieran blinked in surprise. “They tried to burn your cousin at the stake?”
Glenys nodded. “And only because she takes such pleasure in walking out of doors in the dead of night. I’faith, I do not find it so difficult a thing to understand, even if I’d never undertake such a foolishness myself. But Helen has ever preferred the night to the day. ’Tis simply her way.”
“A way that is like to bring her harm,” Kieran said, “especially if she is as comely as you declare her to be. A great many men would not hesitate to take their pleasure of such a woman, especially if ’tis her habit to go out walking alone.”
“No man would dare to bring harm to Helen,” Glenys said, turning her gaze forward once more. “No man could, I think.”
“How so?”
She sighed. “I do not know if I can explain why. ’Tis simply the way of so many of my family. There is no magic in it, but they—some of them—ever manage to escape harm and danger.”
“Yet your cousin was almost killed.”
“Aye, but that was because she was taken during the daylight, and also because both her father and mother were away at another of their estates. Helen and the household servants could not fend off the scoundrels who came to take her. She was then but thirteen years of age.”
“God’s pity,” Kieran said in disgust, thinking of how utterly terrified so young a girl must have been, being taken by force by a maddened mob and tied to a stake. “How did she come away alive?”
Glenys hesitated before answering. “She…disappeared,” she said, then added, in an even less convincing tone, “I mean to say that she escaped.”
“Escaped?” Kieran repeated.
“Aye,” Glenys replied weakly. “They had waited to take her, most fortunately, until late in the day. As they prepared the wood for the fire the sun began to sink, and by the time they finally lit the flame the daylight had nearly gone away altogether…and Helen managed to escape. They could not find her.”
A shiver ran the length of Kieran’s spine. “I see. She must not have been very well tied, and those watching must not have watched very closely—even though they had gone to a great deal of trouble to first take hold of her and then tie her to a stake.”
“Yes, exactly so,” Glenys agreed with a nod of her head.
“Aye,” Kieran continued, “I can see how easily she might escape. Indeed, it must have been a very simple thing. And you say that the rest of your family is much like her?”
“You do not believe me!” Glenys charged angrily, and quite rightly. “You think Helen used some manner of magic, then?”
“I think it a fortunate thing that a young woman who favors walking in the dark of night happened to be nearly set aflame at that time,” Kieran replied honestly, “else she might no longer walk the earth at all.”
Glenys straightened, crossed her arms over her chest again and made a huffing sound. “You think Helen a witch, just as Dina does. S’truth, you probably didn’t even send her the missive I wrote out. I doubt that you mean anything of what you say or promise.”
“Of a certainty the missive will reach her.” Kieran laughed, and with the hand that held her, he pulled her arms down and apart, having to tug to accomplish the feat. “If you find it impossible to believe that I’m a man of honor, you may at least believe that Bostwick is. And he watched you write that missive with such confounded awe—for he never saw a woman who could write more than her name before—that he will treat it as carefully as if ’twere made of pure gold. Now come, don’t be angry,” Kieran said soothingly, unable to keep the humor completely out of his voice. “Tell me of your aunts and uncles, and then I must hear of the lady chess piece.”
“There is little to say of my family,” Glenys said. “They are like other families, save that they are very wise and skilled in the old ways.”
“The old ways?”
“The ways of the people who lived in Wales long ago, from whom the Seymours are descended. My uncles know much about the elements of both earth and water, and my aunts are knowledgeable about healing and medicines. There is a full explanation and reasoning for all that they do, but few will understand the truth of it. The glowing stone serves as proof of what I say. You think it magic, just as others would, merely because you do not understand the elements that cause it to glow. Elements from the earth, Master FitzAllen, created by God and having naught to do with any kind of sorcery.”
“You are weary of fighting such misunderstandings.” It wasn’t a question he asked; he could hear the truth of it in her words.
“Aye,” she answered with a sigh. “Most weary. I’ve been doing so since I was a child. For almost as long as I can remember, but more so since my father died.”
“He was nephew to your aunts and uncles?”
“Nay, he was their half brother, but much younger, being born of my grandfather’s second wife. Among all my grandfather’s children, my father was the only one to wed. And a good thing it was that he did, else my brother Daman and I would not have been born, and there would have been no one to care for my aunts and uncles.”
“As you do,” Kieran murmured. He gently pulled her more closely against him and felt, gladly, that she gave no resistance. “What happened to your mother and father?”
“Mother died in childbirth when I was but eight years of age, and the child with her. My father followed them four years later, felled by a chill that even my aunts couldn’t save him from. ’Twas a time of great darkness in my family.”
Kieran had ever striven to keep from speaking so intimately, and of such sorrowful things, with most of the women he knew. It made him uncomfortable and, worse, guilty, for not only could he do nothing to ease such sorrows, he seldom felt any desire to do so. But it was not so with Mistress Glenys. Kieran felt a disturbing desire to comfort her—though he hardly knew how, at least not in any manner that would be welcome to her.
“Aye,” he murmured, “I can see that it must have been so. And this is when you began to care for your aunts and uncles, because your father and mother were no longer there to do so?”
“Yes. And Daman could not help, for he was away from home, being fostered in Wales. But you must not think that my aunts and uncles are a heavy burden to me, for ’tis not so. ’Tis merely the rumors—and the many falsehoods that others believe of them—that makes the task difficult. I’ll not see any in my family named evil, or called sorcerer or conjurer. Assuredly I will not have them brought before a court of inquiry, or seized by a maddened mob, as my cousin was.”
“Your brother, Sir Daman…does he feel as you do? That there is no such thing as magic, and that your family must be kept safe from being tainted by rumors of it?”
“Of course they must be kept safe,” she said tautly. “Daman knows that, just as any sane man would. As to the magic…” She lowered her head. “I wish he did not believe in it,” she said sadly
. “The foolishness has ruined his life.”
Kieran gave a snort. “Has it, i’faith? This is not the Daman Seymour I know.”
Her head snapped toward him, though her keen gaze didn’t meet his own.
“How is it that you know my brother? And why do you seek to gain his wrath? There must be some enmity between you, yet I cannot remember that he has ever spoken your name to me.”
“Nay, he would not,” Kieran said with disdain. “’Twould not be the way for a noble knight of the realm to mention a lowly bastard thief. Why should he do so?”
“Because you bear a certain hatred for him?” she suggested, so guilelessly that Kieran was instantly on his guard. Glenys Seymour might have warmed to him a small measure, and unbent enough to speak openly of her family, but she was far too intelligent and cunning a female to take lightly.
“Mayhap ’tis only because he has given me some manner of insult, and even one basely born may take such as that without pleasure.”
“But to plan revenge, and to throw in your lot with a fool the likes of Sir Anton,” she said, “is to act without care. Indeed, ’tis full reckless.”
“’Twould be reckless to let such a chance slide by,” he countered. “Who can say when I might again have the opportunity to draw Sir Daman Seymour into my net. And how better than to take that man’s sister as prisoner? He will come for you, if he would come for no other.”
She gave a single shake of her head. “And what of it? Daman will kill you, though you sound so pleased. My brother is counted among the most skilled fighters in England. No man has ever bested him with a sword.”
Kieran knew that perfectly well, but he wasn’t distressed by the knowledge. “I am not a knight,” he said lightly, “yet neither am I a helpless babe. My own skill with the sword has been well matched…and, like your brother, never bested.”
“Daman will best it,” she promised. “You will find your death should you face him. But if this is your wish, I will not strive to sway you. I am far more concerned with the pact that you have made with Sir Anton. To go against Daman is one matter…but how could you have bargained with a man who has but used you to his own purpose?”
The Prisoner Bride Page 8
