The Prisoner Bride

by Susan Spencer Paul

  “I have often known what it is to feel ugly,” he said suddenly, as if forcing the words out. Glenys was stunned at such sentiment, and turned to look at him. His head was bowed; his hands clutched the sides of the windowsill. “I have felt ugly much of my life, compared to the rest of my family. If that is how I’ve made you feel, then I…” He made a choking sound and was silent again. Glenys knew better than to speak.

  “I do not know how to tell you how beautiful you are to me, above every other woman. God have pity upon me, for love is like a very curse from hell! I would happily have gone all my days never knowing what it meant, but it was not to be. For here I have told you that I love you—words that I have never spoken to another—and you can only feel ugly at hearing them.”

  “But you cannot mean them!” she cried. “You cannot love me! I am not fit for you! “

  “Nor am I for you,” he said, turning to look at her. “Glenys, I do not know the way to make you know that my words are truth. I thought to make you a gift, to let you know how beautiful you are to me, but it has come to naught, as all else I have set my hand to has done. I love you!” he shouted, growing angry now. “You have never told me the same, even in lie, though I have waited with hope every moment to hear you so much as whisper the words. What else can I say—or do—to convince you that I mean what I say? I would take you for my wife if I could, but I do not even dare to think of that, knowing how fully unmatched we are. And knowing, too, that you would reject me. Handsome as I am,” he said bitterly. He turned away again, his face lined with unhappiness.

  “You would take me for your wife?” Glenys repeated in disbelief.

  “Aye, with full joy,” he told her, “but it matters not. I am no fit husband for you or any woman.”

  Glenys took a step toward him. “Of a certainty you are,” she murmured. “I cannot think of a woman who would not give all she had to be the wife of Kieran FitzAllen.”

  He uttered a laugh. “You do not know what you say. You think me handsome, a pretty fellow with a pretty tongue, and even if this is so, it cannot change what I am. Basely born. The bastard son of a great lord. You say that I cannot love you, but ’tis the other way ’round. You are so far above me in every way, Glenys, that I could never hope to reach you.”

  Glenys moved closer, touching his arm. “I thought you must already know that I love you,” she told him. “Because surely every woman who sets sight upon you must do so. How could I be any different? I have loved you almost from the first.”

  “’Tis not love,” he told her tightly. “’Tis but lust and wanting, because I have taught you pleasure. ’Tis but my form and face, which you will forget the very moment we part. This is the manner of love that I have known with other women. And I do not want it from you.”

  “Oh, Kieran.” She set her arms about his waist and drew near, hugging him from behind, resting her head against his shoulder. “We are a wretched pair. You cannot convince me of your love, and I cannot convince you of mine. And yet I love you so fully that I do not know how to tell you. Aye, your face and form are pretty indeed, and your manner as well, but none of this matters to me. Just as your birth does not, nor your lack of standing or wealth or name. I would gladly be your wife—nay, more than that. I would thank God without ceasing for such a joyful honor.”

  His hands pressed over her own, so tightly that they almost gave pain.

  “Would you, Glenys?” His voice was urgent, husky.

  “I vow it is the truth. If it were not so, would I be so jealous of Mistress Berte and her women? And of every other woman who has lain in your embrace?”

  He abruptly turned about, taking her shoulders in a firm grip and staring at her intently. “I have cared for almost every woman I’ve known, but I have never loved a one of them as I love you. Can you believe that, Glenys? Despite all you know of me…despite all my sins. Will you believe it?”

  “And will you believe that I love you, as well?” she asked. “Despite my own many faults?”

  A slow smile crept over his lips. “Aye,” he murmured, “I will dare to believe it is so.”

  “Then so will I.”

  “Understand,” he said more soberly, “that naught can come of it. There will only be this time for us. Once Daman arrives—”

  Glenys reached up to touch his lips, stopping him. “I understand. But I’ll not think of it yet. Neither of us knows what the future will bring.”

  “Glenys,” he said, his tone worried.

  She smiled and rose up on her toes, setting her arms about his neck. “I love you,” she said, softly kissing his mouth, “and you love me. If these miracles can occur, then anything can happen.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Berte gave them a private chamber, though not without expressing her complete disbelief that Glenys was Kieran’s preferred choice of companion. She openly scoffed when they returned to the lower great chamber, and eyed Glenys up and down with utter disdain.

  “Kieran, my love,” Berte said, “you jest, striving to make us believe such a silly tale and appear as fools. But I know you too well to be so easily taken in. She is not the kind you would take as your woman, even for a single night.”

  Kieran held Glenys’s hand in his own and squeezed hard, glancing down at her, afraid to find that she’d believe Berte’s words. Much to his relief and great pleasure, he saw that she merely looked amused. Glenys had believed what he’d told her—she had placed her trust in him. No woman had ever made such a gift to him. Glenys looked up and smiled and squeezed his hand reassuringly in turn. Kieran loved her so much in that moment that it was all he could do not to grab her up in his arms and kiss her until she was breathless.

  Berte, seeing the exchange, moved slowly toward them, giving Glenys a particularly unfriendly glare. “I might believe it of Jean-Marc, with this foolish, weeping female of his,” she said, glancing to the corner where Jean-Marc stood with his arms about Dina, who yet looked pale and upset. “But never of you. Now, pay this woman and tell her to go away.” She moved close enough to seductively slide a beautifully long-fingered hand from Kieran’s belly to his chest. “I’ve missed you far too much for such games, and we waste moments that could be spent in a far more pleasant manner.”

  Kieran took her hand in his own and carefully, but firmly, set it aside. “I know you far better than you know me, Berte, which is why Glenys has caught my heart in her delightful snare and you never could. Howbeit,” he continued, ignoring her angry gasp, “as we are friends of many years, I’ll let your insults to Mistress Glenys go for now—so long as I hear no more of them.”

  Berte stepped back, gazing at Kieran with a particularly menacing expression that he knew well. She was but moments from losing her temper and making a scene that the whole of Cardigan would be able to hear. But he knew how to assuage her anger even better than her taunts. Before she could open her mouth he had withdrawn a small leather pouch from an inner pocket and held it before her face.

  “Gold,” he said. The single word worked a miracle on Berte, for though she looked at him with suspicion, her temper calmed.

  “You’ve never had but a few coins to warm your pockets, Kieran FitzAllen.”

  He loosened the leather strings and let her gaze inside the pouch.

  “We will pay you well to house and feed us for a few days, Berte, and to keep quiet about our being here. I was certain, when Jean-Marc and I brought Mistress Glenys and her maid here, that you and your girls would be able to meet our needs perfectly.”

  Her attitude was fully changed; she even managed a slight smile at Glenys.

  “Of course, Kie. Who else should you come to but friends, eh? You’ll have the best chambers, and I’ll send one of the girls out for fresh wine and bread. You must stay as long as you wish and trust that you will be perfectly safe—from whatever or whoever you want to be safe from.”

  Within half an hour Kieran and Glenys were ensconced in a chamber that was much smaller than Berte’s, but far less cluttered or extr
avagantly decorated. Kieran was familiar with the room—he supposed he was familiar with all of the private chambers at Berte’s—and was pleased to think that he and Glenys would be together here for however long it took to find Caswallan. Or at least until Daman discovered them, which Kieran greatly hoped to avoid. Even if they had but a few days, however, it would be worth the risk.

  They were sitting together in one of Berte’s many bathing tubs, most of which she’d had specially made to fit two people, and some to fit three. Kieran had asked that one be set in their chamber and filled at once with whatever warm water was at hand. Fortunately, Berte’s customers enjoyed her special tubs so greatly that she wisely kept water on the fire. He and Glenys had taken turns washing each other’s hair and bodies; he’d been delighted at how quickly she’d mastered the particular pleasures to be had and imparted with the help of mere water and soap. There had been no speaking as they’d stood together, sliding their hands over each other slowly, sometimes lightly, sometimes pressing hard. Only now, when they’d brought each other beyond a pleasure that had left him gasping and her half collapsing, had they settled into the tub to rinse themselves and regain their senses.

  Now, with Glenys’s fully relaxed body nestled in the curve of his own, her head resting on his shoulder and her eyes closed, Kieran said, “I’m sorry for all Berte said. She must ever have things as she wishes them to be, and if they are not, she makes them so by force. Or attempts to, anywise.”

  “You need not make apology,” Glenys murmured sleepily, moving slightly to make herself more comfortable. Kieran’s hands slid up the silky skin of her thighs to rest upon her hips. “She doesn’t know you as she thought she did. You spoke truly about that. She should have realized that you are too honorable to lie about love.”

  Kieran kissed the top of her head. He wondered if he had ever felt such contentment.

  “You know me far better,” he told her, “even after only a few days. I have waited all my life to find such a woman. I was beginning to think she did not exist.”

  “She doesn’t.” Glenys chuckled with gentle amusement. “I do not think ’tis possible to ever fully understand such a man as you are, Kieran FitzAllen, but I will love you regardless of that.”

  Kieran stroked his hands lazily over the curve of her hips, her flat stomach, and upward to her breasts, to impart pleasure and affection, but not to arouse. She was too weary to be loved yet again, so soon. But he greatly enjoyed touching her wonderful body, and the soapy water made the sensation even more pleasurable.

  As to loving her again, he could be patient for a little while longer. His thoughts wandered to what lay before them. A good dinner, the warmth and comfort of the large bed that stood in the center of the chamber, and a very late morn.

  “On the morrow, we must begin to look for Caswallan in earnest,” he said.

  “Aye.”

  “Nay, I mean what I say, Glenys. I would like nothing better than to keep you here in this comfortable chamber for many days—weeks, i’faith. But your brother is like to find us if we linger too long, and I must have you safe before that. We will journey to the mountains tomorrow, where you think Caswallan resides.”

  “Nay, not tomorrow,” she said, yawning. “Tomorrow we must go to Pentre Ifan, in the Presili hills. ’Twill be a full day’s journey there and back, but we will know of a certainty where Caswallan is afterward.”

  “Then we will go to the sacred burial chamber,” he agreed, rather amused at the idea.

  “I must go alone into the hills once we’re there,” she murmured. “Otherwise, I will not know.”

  Kieran’s amusement fled. “Nay, you’ll go nowhere alone, even a short distance. How can I know where Sir Anton may be, or if he will have men hidden and watching us, as he did before? Whatever you must discover in the Presili hills you will discover with me at your side.”

  Slowly, Glenys pushed up, sloshing water and turning to look at him.

  “But I must be alone else the answer will not come to me.”

  “Is this more of your family’s magic, then?”

  She frowned. “There is no magic,” she said firmly. “It is just that…certain things can be sensed in the sacred places, not only in Presili, but elsewhere…if one knows how to listen.”

  Kieran’s eyebrows rose. “And do you possess this gift of listening?”

  Glenys looked away. “I suppose that I do. Since I was a child, whenever my family went to any of the sacred places in Wales, I have heard things that others have not. ’Tis but a trick of the wind, I believe, but my family—some of them—would have it that the spirits who abide in such places speak to me.” She flushed. “’Tis all foolishness, but I would yet go to the Presili hills and see what good comes of it. I believe Caswallan will be near, but there is more to be learned, as well.”

  Kieran smiled, running a wet finger down her cheek. “You know more of magic than you would have anyone think,” he said. “I wish I knew why you are so determined not to believe in it.”

  She lifted her gaze to meet his own. “Because magic—and having a family that embraces it—sets me apart from the rest of the world. My brother and me both. But you will understand this more than another.”

  “Aye, I understand what it means to be set apart,” he agreed softly, leaning forward to kiss her warm, damp mouth. “But possessing magic is a fine and good thing, far unlike being basely born. And i’faith, I can’t imagine anything making Sir Daman Seymour feel rejected in any manner. He is well received by the crown, the church and his fellow man. But come.” Kieran kissed her again. “I can see that you would argue the matter, but both the water and air begin to grow cold.” Taking her hand, he rose from the tub. “We’ll lie in bed until we’ve warmed ourselves, and after you’ve slept awhile, we’ll speak more about Caswallan and our journey to this sacred place you speak of. I can’t truly let you go into the hills alone, you know.”

  “But you must,” she protested as he pulled her out of the water and wrapped her in a large sheet of fine linen. “I’ll hear nothing if another is with me.”

  He smiled, swung her up from the floor and cradled her in his arms.

  “I must simply find the way to charm the spirits, then,” he said as he carried her toward the bed. “Are any of them, perchance, female?”

  Pentre Ifan, the ancient Celtic burial chamber in the Presili hills, was an eerie place, but Glenys had never been afraid of it. As a child, she had always enjoyed the days when her family made their yearly visits to the sacred places is Wales, but she had especially liked going to Pentre Ifan. It had always felt very familiar and welcoming, as if it were part of her home. And it was here, in this very place, that she’d first heard the whispering voices. They had been indistinct and she’d not understood what the words were, but she had heard them. When she’d told her aunts and uncles, they’d seemed very pleased, as had her father, but Daman and her mother had been far less so. Her mother had forbidden her to tell anyone outside the family of what she’d heard; Daman had insisted that it had only been a mixture of the ever present wind at the burial mound and her imagination. Nothing else.

  Glenys had been six years of age, and had then believed in magic. But from that time she began to be wary of it, even to question whether it was real or whether her father and aunts and uncles just pretended it was. But one thing she understood from her mother’s and brother’s behavior was that magic, whether real or not, was dangerous.

  Knowing this, she’d quickly learned not to speak of the voices she heard in the sacred places, or the words they said that she could increasingly understand. The trouble was that they often foretold the future, which was difficult to ignore. That her mother would increase with child was one such prophesy, but not that she would die from childbirth. That her father would be taken from her was another, although Glenys hadn’t understood that the voices had meant forever. And here at Pentre Ifan Glenys had stood only months ago, with the winter’s snow cold beneath her feet, and been told that the
Greth Stone had been stolen from them—by Caswallan.

  For once, Glenys had broken her imposed silence and told her aunts and uncles what she’d heard. Their dismay had made her wish she hadn’t, but at the same time she’d felt greatly relieved. They had readily believed her, just as they’d done when she was a child, and hadn’t questioned the truth of what she’d said at all.

  Now Glenys stood beside the sacred place once more, the afternoon windy and cool, with the smell of the sea in the air. Above, clouds raced across the sky, growing increasingly darker as yet another spring storm approached.

  The burial chamber was truly no longer what it had once been, for the earth had shifted and been blown away, leaving naught but giant stones standing alone, much like Stonehenge. The Celts had placed them here hundreds of years ago, and they still stood, as important to people like Glenys’s family as they had been then.

  “Is it not beautiful?” Glenys murmured, turning all about, feeling the cold wind on her face with full pleasure.

  “Aye,” Kieran replied absently from where he sat not far away, the queen piece in his hand. “Most beautiful. And cold. Boadicea seems pleased,” he added, his gaze fixed upon the small wooden piece. “Her eyes burn as with fire. Do you see?”

  Glenys moved to stand beside him, looking at the delicately carved lady. “Aye, they do,” she agreed. “’Tis strange to see you sitting here, with her in your hand. My uncle Culain was ever given to bringing her up to Pentre Ifan in his pocket, as you have done, and would sit in this very spot, as you are, holding her out in the open air. He said it was good for the faeries to see her.” She glanced at Kieran and smiled. “’Tis very foolish, I know, but it did give him such pleasure.”

  Kieran looked all about him. “Faeries?” he repeated. “Living here? I thought they had better sense than to choose a cold, windswept hillside.”

  Glenys laughed. “Oh, aye, I’m certain they do—if they exist. ’Tis said that they come together at Pentre Ifan in the depth of night, though I have never seen sign of them.”