The Prisoner Bride

by Susan Spencer Paul

  Just before the sun fully set, they gathered about the fire on the second floor, exhausted and hungry, and shared what food and wine they had. In truth, it wasn’t so poor a meal as they had thought it would be. They had the loaf of bread they’d bought that morn, and the saddles Jean-Marc and Dina had searched had yielded a supply of dried meats and sweetcakes that had been carefully wrapped in cloth to keep them moist and fresh. There had also been two large wine flasks, almost full, and several smaller flasks. By the time they had finished their welcome meal, their spirits had risen considerably.

  “Glenys and I will take the first watch,” Kieran said, rising to his feet and pulling his cloak on. “Try to sleep,” he advised, holding out a hand to help Glenys stand. “We’ll wake you come midnight.”

  The night air was crisp and cool, and Glenys pulled her cloak more tightly about her, holding the edges together at her throat. Above, the stars and moon shone brightly in the sky, only occasionally lost behind the few dark clouds that drifted across the sky.

  “’Twill rain on the morrow,” Kieran said from across the keep, where he stood near the low wall, not keeping watch, as he was supposed to do. Instead, he was leaning against the wall, facing Glenys, holding the carved queen chess piece up for close examination.

  “What does she do?” he asked, turning the little piece about. “Save put forth light from her eyes?”

  “They only appear to glow,” Glenys told him, sighing. “’Tis a trick of some kind.”

  “But not magic, eh?” He gave her a glancing grin. “But ’tis most odd, for the color changes. At times her eyes are golden, but at others green. Just now they’ve nearly turned blue. As pretty as any real woman’s eyes ever were.”

  Glenys had never seen the queen’s eyes turn blue, and her curiosity drew her across the roof to take a look. She stood beside Kieran and peered at the piece he cradled in his grasp, holding the little wooden woman as carefully as if she were made of flesh and bone.

  “I see what it is,” Glenys said with a wry smile. “You’ve simply charmed her, just as you charmed the stone.”

  He pulled the stone out of his tunic with a swift, smooth movement, holding it up in the palm of his other hand, level with the queen piece. The tiny white rock put off a warm, immediate glow.

  “It does seem to like me well enough,” he said with pleasure, bringing the object closer to coo at it. “My sweet little creature. You glow so prettily for me, don’t you, my tiny one?”

  The stone’s glow brightened almost like a maiden’s blushing cheeks.

  “I’ve ne’er seen such a sinful display of vanity in all my life,” Glenys told him with disdain. “I don’t know how you talked me into letting you care for the stone. ’Tis shameful how you treat it.”

  “But she only glows for me now,” he said. “Don’t you, my darling?”

  “’Tis not a she.”

  “Of course she is,” Kieran told her with authority. “Can you doubt my knowledge of such things?”

  Glenys sighed. “Nay, that I would never do. You are doubtless without peer in the knowledge of the fairer sex. No other man on God’s earth can claim that he’s charmed a stone, I vow. And now a chess piece, as well.”

  Kieran lifted the queen a bit higher, turning her first one way, then the other.

  “Nay, she’s not so easily won. Her heart has already been taken…mayhap by your uncle? The one who gave her to you?”

  Glenys uttered a laugh. “You’re crazed. She was dear to my uncle Culain, aye, but she’s naught but a bit of wood. There’s no life in her to love.”

  “Ah,” said Kieran, turning the wooden piece so that Glenys could see it. “Now her eyes have turned gray. Dark gray. Not silver, as yours are. You’ve angered her.”

  Glenys took the piece from him and pushed it back into her inner pocket. “Then she’ll be glad to have some peace in which to consider her revenge. I begin to think my uncle must have been mad to give it to me.”

  “The Greth Stone must be of great import to your family for him to have parted with her.”

  “Aye,” Glenys said. “’Tis difficult to tell you how so. But the queen piece…I cannot imagine my uncle Culain without her.”

  “Then we must be certain to get her back from Caswallan once the Greth Stone has been secured.”

  Glenys’s mouth dropped open.

  “Get her back?” she repeated. “From Caswallan?”

  “Aye, for I would not have your uncle deprived of the queen’s company. And I do not think she’ll be happy until she’s with him once more.”

  Glenys was certain she didn’t understand him aright. “Have you decided to take me to Wales? To find Caswallan?” She set her hand upon his arm, almost afraid to hope that it was true. “I’ll pay you whatever you ask. Far more than Sir Anton offered, and—”

  “Glenys.” Kieran laid his fingers lightly over her hand. “You will pay me naught, nor speak of such unless you wish to anger me. I owe you not only my life, but Jean-Marc’s, as well.”

  “In that we are equal,” she told him. “You saved my life—and Dina’s—just as fully. And I owe Jean-Marc even greater thanks, for he placed himself in the path of what would have been certain death for me.”

  “If not for Jean-Marc and me, none of us would have been at this wretched place to put our lives in danger.” Kieran looked down to where their hands touched. “Nay, Glenys, I was wrong to take you prisoner at Sir Anton’s bidding, more wrong to use you to satisfy my desire for confrontation with your brother. You will not repay me. Now I must repay you.”

  “You’re giving up your quest to fight Daman?”

  Kieran lifted his gaze, smiling at her in the charming manner that she was fast becoming used to.

  “Nay,” he said simply, “but even if I were, ’twould be far too late to stop it now. Your brother would come after me even if I took you back to London this very moment. What will come between Daman and me is inevitable.”

  Releasing a taut, angry breath, Glenys slid her hand free. “There is no sense in that. If you would speak of repayment, then do so by making peace with my brother. I will not have you dead at his hands. ’Twould be the start of great enmity between your family and mine, and that I would not have.”

  Kieran laughed. “My family would miss me, I think, but they would scarce begin a war for my sake.”

  “How can I know that?” Glenys charged. “’Tis clear you’ve been recognized in some measure by both of your parents. You told me yourself that this is so.”

  His expression softened. “I am fortunate to be recognized by both sides of my family, but naught can change the manner of my birth. Neither love nor ties of blood can wash that sin away, and much as my family loves me, they would not drag either of their esteemed names through such a public humiliation. And I would neither ask nor let them. If I am alive to do so. Your brother may dispatch me to another realm, despite my best attempts to stop him.” Kieran spoke the words in a light tone and smiled once more, but Glenys could feel no amusement.

  “I cannot believe that your family would desert you, simply because of your manner of birth. Many among those basely born have become both titled and powerful. Only look at our late King Henry and his brothers, the Duke of Exeter among them.”

  “But their father, John of Gaunt, wed his mistress, and petitioned to have all of his bastard children legally recognized by both church and crown. This will never happen to me. My mother is a noblewoman descended from a long and revered family line, married to a great lord, and, except for his one drunken sin in begetting me, my father, Lord Allen, is admirably devoted to his wife and legitimate children.” Glenys saw that Kieran struggled to maintain the smile that was his constant companion.

  “Among all these happy, well-born, assured people,” he murmured, looking away, “I am the lone misstep. The single family mistake.” He shrugged as if it didn’t really matter, but the action did nothing to dispel the pain that Glenys could both hear in his voice and see on his face. �
�They are good and kind people,” he told her. “I’ve been loved and treated well, and have no cause for complaint. I doubt any other baseborn child has ever been so fortunate. I was raised with my mother’s legitimate children from her first marriage and also with those that she later gave my stepfather, and when I was older I was fostered with my own natural father, who trained me alongside his other sons. I have been given far more than I deserved, and have repaid them by living as reckless and fruitless a life as possible.” He let out a tense breath and lifted his gaze to meet her own. “I am not the black stain among my family for naught. They have done enough in saving me from a great many disasters in the past. I would not ask or expect it of them again.”

  Glenys moved before she thought of what she did, reaching up to touch his cheek.

  “I would make them,” she said angrily, immediately embarrassed at the declaration. She lowered her hand, but he caught it in his own and gazed at her with disturbing intensity.

  “Would you, Glenys?”

  “Aye,” she whispered, tugging her hand free and turning away, her cheeks hot. What would he think of her for speaking in such a manner? But she already knew. He would think that she had fallen in love with him, just as every other woman surely did. She walked a few paces along the length of the wall and gazed out over the bailey, relieved that he didn’t follow. There was silence for a few long moments; Glenys’s heartbeat was loud in her ears as she waited for him to speak, to say anything, even to tease her for her foolishness. But when he did speak, it was as if he instead answered her unasked questions.

  “My mother was married to her first husband when she was but thirteen years of age. She had been betrothed to the man since she was a newborn babe, and had no say in the union. He was a great lord, much older than she, but a good and generous man, or so she has ever told me. He took in many boys for fostering, and among these was my stepfather and his cousin…who is my father.”

  Glenys’s embarrassment was instantly forgotten. Wide-eyed, she turned to stare at Kieran, who was standing near the wall some steps away. His arms were folded over his well-muscled chest in defense of the cold night wind, which whipped the folds of his heavy cloak hither and yon. The smile was gone from his beautiful face, and he spoke in a manner so solemn that it was almost as if he was making a dark, painful confession.

  “They are cousins,” Glenys murmured, blinking away her astonishment. “But how can this be?”

  “’Tis not often done that relatives are fostered together in homes apart from their own,” Kieran admitted, “but they were not close save in age and birth, and acted more as friends than relations. My mother was younger than both, and very beautiful. My father befriended her, but my stepfather fell deeply in love with her. Many years passed. My mother dutifully bore her husband three children, my eldest brother and two elder sisters. My father and stepfather completed their training and left the care of their foster lord. My father returned to his home and wed the lady to whom he had been betrothed since his childhood, but my stepfather refused to marry even at his family’s pleading, for the love he bore toward his foster lord’s wife made it impossible for him to give his affections to another. He took up his duties at his father’s estate, which would soon become his own, and then, some years later, being restless, gathered an army and went to France to serve the king. My father, having produced three sons in as many years, soon thereafter followed with his own army.”

  “And your mother?” Glenys asked, drawing her own cloak more tightly about her as a gust of wind sent her unbraided hair flying. The fire crackled and leaped.

  “She spent the six years following my stepfather’s departure nursing her husband, who had grown very ill, and in caring for his estate and their children. She was twenty-four years of age when he died, leaving her a young, wealthy and still very beautiful widow. He was hardly cold in the ground, may God assoil him, before she was beset by suitors begging for her hand. And threatening, as well.”

  “Threatening,” Glenys repeated, thinking on all that implied. She had heard of women being forced into marriage by men powerful and rich enough to buy the king’s favor in the matter. She shivered at the thought of what Kieran’s mother must have gone through.

  “Aye, and though my mother is a strong woman, she felt in need of support. She tried to send for my stepfather, only to discover that he was yet in France, and so instead she sent a missive to my father, begging him to come and lend her his aid.

  “My father had returned from France the year before, having been wounded in battle. He had fully healed and taken on his estate duties once more, and had gotten his wife with child again. As strange as this has ever seemed to me, the child was born—and died—on the very same day that my mother’s husband passed away. My father, grieved by the loss of both his only daughter and his former master, was not in the most stable temper as he journeyed to fulfill my mother’s bidding. He could not have denied her request, even if he had wished to do so, for she was the wife of his foster lord, to whom he owed a great debt for so many years of training.”

  Glenys could almost have said herself what had happened. A woman and man both sick with grief…seeking comfort where they would not have sought it before.

  Kieran drew in a deep breath and released it slowly, turning his gaze outward, past Glenys and down toward the bailey.

  “My mother and father were but dear friends, but ’twas a grave misstep for them to be together at such a time. My mother was distressed by all that had occurred, and deeply thankful when my father dispatched all of her unwanted suitors. And my father, missing his wife and grieving for his lost child, foolishly spent his nights drinking to assuage his miseries. On one such night, they came together seeking mutual comfort. I know none of the whys and wherefores, save that on the following morn they were both filled with utter dismay and remorse. I’faith, I do not think they ever would have set sight upon each other again if my mother had not taken with child. As it was, my father left as quickly as he could, returning to his wife and home, and only later, upon receiving word from my mother, discovered the awful fact of my existence.”

  “Do not speak of it so!” Glenys cried, unable to stop the tears that filled her eyes. “’Twas not awful! I will not hear you—or anyone—say such a thing.”

  “Oh, but it was, Glenys,” he said somberly, still not looking at her. “So much so. You cannot know how. Only think upon the matter and you will know what my mother faced in having committed such grave adultery. ’Tis true, she might have claimed the child to be that of her late lord’s, but one and all would have thought it most unlikely that a man so ill could have fathered a child.”

  “Your father was truly honorable to recognize you as his own,” Glenys said. “He might have lost a great deal in doing so.”

  Kieran sighed and nodded. “Aye, he might have, most especially the devotion of his wife, for they were, and are, lovers in every sense. She’s an unusually kind and understanding woman, my stepmother.” He glanced at Glenys with a wry smile. “I am surrounded by goodness and understanding in my family. There are times when it nearly makes me crazed.”

  Glenys knew what it was that he said. She, too, was the odd one among her relatives, but they were all too wonderful and loving for her to set her grievances at their feet.

  “What did your father do when he had the missive from your mother?”

  “In truth, he was not allowed to do much for her. My stepfather had by then heard of his former master’s death and returned to England with the hope of winning my mother’s hand.”

  “Was he very unhappy to find her with child?”

  Kieran gave a mirthless laugh. “He was ready to murder his cousin, my father. But as to my mother, no, he loved her far too deeply to be angered. He pleaded with her to wed him at once, and even offered to give me his name and let the world think me his natural child. But my mother is a proud and stubborn woman. Much like you, I think.”

  Glenys stared at him. “How so?”


  “She would not give her heart easily to any man, just as you would not. Would you, Glenys?”

  “Nay, I do not think I would,” she murmured, though she knew it wasn’t true. She had already given her heart. So foolishly. So recklessly. And so hopelessly.

  Kieran sighed and let his arms fall to his sides.

  “My mother did not then love my stepfather as he loved her, and ’twas no simple thing for him to convince her to wed him for my sake alone. She was willing to face the wrath of both church and crown, knowing that my father would not let her face that wrath alone. And this was so. My father had assured her that he would recognize me and give me his name. But even so, she might have faced great shame, mayhap even punishment, for conceiving a bastard child so shortly following her husband’s death if my stepfather had not at last convinced her to wed him and therefore place herself beneath his protection.”

  “Did she ever come to love him? Your stepfather?”

  “God save us, yes,” Kieran replied emphatically. “She had not loved before—truly loved—though she had been fond of her first husband. But once she did love, ’twas wholly and fully. But it did not happen quickly. I was perhaps five years of age before I realized that the change had taken place. I think—nay, I know—that my stepfather would say that all his efforts and patience and waiting were not wasted. ’Tis no small thing to gain the love of such a woman as my mother is. Or as you are.”

  Glenys’s cheeks flushed hotly once more, and she was thankful for the darkness that hid them. But Kieran was not looking at her. His gaze was fastened beyond her, toward the bailey.

  “I am not so fine as your mother must be,” Glenys said in a low, trembling voice. Kieran’s gaze moved slowly back, fixing upon her.

  “Far more than you know, Glenys,” he said. “And there is proof of it, for I have never told anyone what I have just told you now. Not even Jean-Marc.”

  Pushing himself from the wall, he began to move toward her. Glenys tried to move away, but found the stone hard against her back. He stopped just in front of her, not touching, but so close that she could feel the heat of his body and the sides of his cloak as the wind flapped them against her.