The Prisoner Bride

by Susan Spencer Paul

  “It may seem so to you now, but it will not always be thus,” he countered. “In time, word will spread throughout all of Wales that a true priest has returned to the land, and then one and all will flock to me.”

  “To what purpose?” Glenys asked. “Do you imagine that you will one day gather enough of a following to make another rebellion? Is it Owain Glyndwr you wish to be? Has Wales not seen enough of blood and revenge? Is this why you’ve struck a bargain with Sir Anton? Because he has the money you need to arm yourselves and make ready for war?”

  “Nay, not for that,” Caswallan replied quickly. “Sir Anton is my disciple. He desires to learn all that I know and carry on the old ways, the right ways. And unlike your treacherous family, who have taken lands and wealth for themselves throughout England, he is faithful to Wales alone.”

  “But that is a lie,” Glenys said calmly. “I know Sir Anton well, and he is faithful to no country and no man—save himself. He has sworn to gain the Greth Stone for his own purposes, and this, I believe in all truth, is what he intends to do. I swear it on the name of my family. Ask what you will of me regarding Sir Anton, and I will tell you all I know. Afterward, I pray that we may bargain together regarding the Greth Stone. I have brought with me something which I believe you will gladly exchange for it.”

  “What is it?”

  Glenys shook her head. “First tell me that you believe what I say of Sir Anton, for when I leave this place, I want to know that you are finished with him forever.”

  Caswallan was thoughtful, and Glenys patient, though she knew she must strike the bargain with him quickly. Still, it would do no good to push too hard or too fast. She wanted Caswallan to feel fearless in the coming exchange.

  In Sir Anton’s tent, matters were faring in a far different manner.

  Kieran had surprised Sir Anton in the midst of breaking his fast when he strode into the large pavilion with his sword drawn, shouting loudly for his foe to show himself. Sir Anton, sitting at a small trestle table and being tended by two of his servants, stood so quickly that he overturned the table and all of its contents onto the floor. Upon seeing Kieran, who was bearing down upon him in a fearful manner, he shrieked and ran for cover, while his servants—there must have been half a dozen, at least—scurried in every direction. There were half a dozen fighting men, as well, sitting about their master’s tent, eating and drinking, but these had been taken so much by surprise that they had no time to grab up their weapons and stop Kieran’s progress. Two of them made an attempt at throwing themselves in his path, but he readily dealt with them and tossed them aside. He had but a moment, he knew, before the rest gathered both their wits and their swords, but before then he’d wreak as much mayhem as possible and keep Sir Anton away from Caswallan, at least until Glenys could make the trade. After that, he simply needed confusion to break loose in every corner of Caswallan’s encampment.

  “Dog!” he shouted, chasing Sir Anton from one end of the pavilion to the other. “Knave! Liar! Murderer!”

  “Stop him!” Sir Anton pleaded to his fighting men and servants alike. “Kill him! Quickly!”

  “What, this sorry lot?” Kieran asked, kicking one of the fighting men in the behind and sending him reeling. Another was elbowed in the shoulder and fell to his knees with a shout of pain. “Kill me? I’d sooner be eaten alive by a herd of pigs than let such wretched louts send me to God. Now come and receive what is justly yours, Anton Lagasse.” Kieran advanced upon the cowering man with his sword at the ready. Behind him he heard the remaining fighting men preparing themselves for attack. He’d not be able to hold them off for long, and prayed that Glenys was finishing her business with Caswallan rapidly.

  In the darkness of the chapel, Caswallan stood in awe, staring at the queen piece, which Glenys held in her hand.

  “I’ve heard rumors that she existed, but never let myself hope that I would see her.” He glanced briefly at Glenys, licking his lips. “You lie, girl. You’d never part with anything so valuable, not even for the Greth Stone. This queen piece, centuries old, possesses powers that neither you nor I can dream of.”

  “I would not give her to you, nay,” Glenys admitted, “but ’tis my uncle Culain who has parted with what he holds most dear in order to regain that which belongs—rightly and fully—to my family.”

  Caswallan took a step nearer, holding out a reverent hand toward the queen piece. Her eyes, Glenys saw, had gone black, as they had done only once before that she had seen. She felt it growing warm and tingling within her grip, as if the little chess piece were coming to life. Nothing could be more perfect.

  “She’s so beautiful,” Caswallan murmured, his gaze riveted upon the piece. “If I possessed her my power would be endless. She would whisper all her secrets in my ear and give me guidance. There would be naught to stop me from…”

  Glenys stepped back, holding the piece away.

  “Do you agree?” she demanded. “I would have your promise that you will sever all ties with Sir Anton Lagasse forever, as well as return the Greth Stone.”

  “Aye,” he said, his hand yet held out. “You have my vow. I will send Sir Anton away at once. Give her to me. Only let me hold her.”

  “The ring,” Glenys reminded him. “Remove it first, and then you will have her.”

  Back in Sir Anton’s pavilion, Kieran had been chased into a corner, but not without the satisfaction of felling two servants and another of Sir Anton’s fighting men. As to Sir Anton, Kieran had not only left him bruised and battered, but had received the knight’s promise never to show his feckless face again, lest Kieran exact a more lasting revenge for Sir Anton’s dishonorable behavior. From his corner, Kieran could see Sir Anton at the other end of the pavilion, curled up and weeping like a babe. That was enough for now, he decided. It was past time that he made certain Glenys was well.

  The exchange had been made. Glenys wore the Greth Stone safely upon her finger, and Caswallan held the queen piece in his hand.

  “Beautiful,” he said, as if he’d just been granted the greatest boon on earth. “Beautiful.” He looked up at Glenys. “She feels hot to the touch. Almost as if she might burn my fingers. Is this how she always is?”

  “Did you not know?” Glenys asked, lifting innocent eyes to his gaze. “She burns when she is at her happiest and most pleased, as she must be now to at last be in the hands of a true believer. Howbeit, you must set her in some pocket until the moment when you wish to reveal her to your followers—then she will be ready to do your bidding. You must take her out to them now, for she would wish to be admired at once, and as I am taking the Greth Stone away, your followers will desire reassurance.”

  “Oh, aye,” Caswallan agreed happily. “I will make the presentation now, and you must stay. ’Twill lend credence to have a member of the Seymour family here, and to know that this gift was made by them.”

  Glenys bit her tongue to keep from telling him that the Seymours would never make a gift of anything so precious to a man who’d stoop to outright thieving. Instead, seeing that he had already carefully pocketed the queen piece within the folds of his white robes, she said with all graciousness, “I would be pleased.”

  Kieran waited until the right moment to lift his sword high and slice an opening in the silken roof above his head. Just as two of Sir Anton’s fighting men charged at him, he leaped through the slit, causing them to stumble over each other rather than him. Quickly, while confusion reigned within, he circled the pavilion, bringing his sword down upon the ropes that held it in place, watching with satisfaction as the silk began to sag on those remaining within. Sir Anton’s increasing shrieks brought a smile to his face.

  “Fool,” he muttered, looking about the encampment. He saw that Glenys and Caswallan had just left the chapel and that they, along with the crowd surrounding them, were gazing at Kieran and the fallen pavilion with bewilderment.

  Perfect.

  “They’ve gone mad!” Kieran shouted, striving to sound as frightened as he could
. He began to run toward the crowd. “They’re coming to get us! They’ve all become crazed! Ahh! Get your children! Run for your lives! Ahh!”

  He realized that he made a foolish—and rather bizarre—figure, but it didn’t help when Glenys covered her mouth with both hands in order to control her laughter. Jean-Marc, fortunately, played his own part to perfection. Dressed in white robes that Kieran suspected he’d stolen, and standing in the midst of the gathered, he began to shout, too. “They’ve got their swords! They’ll kill us all! Run! Run!”

  They’d filled an unwitting crowd with groundless terror many a time, and Kieran never failed to be amused at how simple and helpful a thing it could be. Within moments utter confusion had taken hold, panic had filled the air, people were running in all directions and shouts had turned to deafening screams. Glenys and Caswallan stood in the midst of it, swarmed by Caswallan’s frightened minions. Caswallan turned in circles, shouting, “Calm yourselves!” while Glenys merely waited for Kieran to force his way through the crowd to her.

  He took her hand and they easily slipped away, and even before Sir Anton and his men could cut themselves free of their silken confines, they’d disappeared into the trees.

  Dina greeted them with obvious relief. “I thought you would never return, mistress,” she said, gladly handing the horses’ reins to Kieran. “And when all that noise began…”

  “’Tis all right now, Dina,” Glenys assured her. “Look, I have the ring.” She raised her right hand to show it to her.

  “Oh, mistress! Your good relatives will be so glad! May God be praised. But where is Jean-Marc? Why has he not come with you?”

  “I’m here, sweeting,” came a voice from the other side of the small clearing in which they stood. Jean-Marc appeared the next moment, strolling toward them with a smile upon his handsome face. He was in the midst of removing the white covering he had worn in the encampment, and readily tossed it aside. “Here’s what you’re wanting,” he told Kieran, pulling the queen piece out of a pocket and holding it on his open palm. “She was hot as fire when I took her, but has cooled enough to hold now. Caswallan never knew a thing,” he added with a wicked grin. “He was carried off by his people much against his desire, for they wanted to keep him safe.” Jean-Marc laughed. “I wish you had stayed to see it,” he said. “I vow I’ve never seen the like, with the old man shrieking like a girl.”

  They all laughed, a mixture of jollity and relief.

  “Jean-Marc, I owe you every thanks,” Glenys said, looking at the queen’s eyes as Jean-Marc passed her to Kieran’s waiting hand. They were golden once more, for which she was thankful. “And my uncle Culain will as well, once he knows that you have regained what was most precious to him.”

  Jean-Marc made her a sweeping bow. “I am glad to have been of service, mistress. But if you are of a mind to grant me a boon, I’d not hold back from asking it of you.”

  “Anything,” she declared. “You must only tell me what it is.”

  He cast a glance at Dina. “There is not time now,” he said, “but if you will allow it, Dina and I would speak with you this night, when we are safe at Berte’s.”

  Glenys, knowing full well what he meant to ask of her, opened her mouth to say, “Anything but that,” but Kieran’s arm came about her waist, squeezing so hard that naught but a squeaky breath came out.

  “Mistress Glenys will gladly receive you there and hear you out, Jean-Marc. For now, let us away, before Sir Anton, stupid as he is, decides that he must make the attempt of regaining either the Greth Stone or her ladyship, the queen.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “They’re coming to get us!” Glenys cried, laughing as Kieran chased her about the bed. “Run! Ahh!”

  “Most…ouch!” He stubbed his toe and began hopping on one foot. She lunged for the bed and Kieran leaped after her, catching Glenys about the waist and tumbling her to her back. “Most amusing,” he repeated dryly.

  Glenys was yet laughing, and Kieran couldn’t help but grin, too.

  “It was!” she insisted, wiping tears from her eyes. “If only you had seen yourself running about like a lunatic. By the rood, I shall never forget it.”

  “Just as I shall never forget your terrible behavior,” he said chidingly. “Laughing at me as if ’twere all a merry jest. You made it most difficult to be convincing in my effort to terrify.”

  “Oh, but you were convincing,” she assured him, smiling. “I was quaking with fear as you shouted for us to run. Never have I been so afraid.” This was followed by a telling snort.

  Kieran pulled her beneath him, setting his fingers to her sides. “You are the cruelest female I’ve e’er known,” he told her, tickling her until she writhed with laughter. “Aye, cruel—making jest of me after all I’ve done to regain your precious ring and the queen piece.”

  “Peace!” Glenys begged, grabbing his hands to still them, chuckling with merriment. “Peace, I beg you. I make truce.”

  “Very well,” Kieran said, moving even closer. “But now you have hurt my feelings, laughing at me so, and must make reparation.”

  “Gladly,” she replied at once. “I shall rub your back. Will that do?”

  He shook his head. “Nay.”

  “Hmm,” Glenys said more thoughtfully. “Shall I buy you a new cloak, made of the finest wool and dyed scarlet?”

  Now he snorted. “Nay, mistress. You must think of something better.”

  “Better?” She wiggled her eyebrows lecherously. “Shall I tie you to this bed for a day and a night and do all that I please to you?”

  He uttered a laugh. “God’s toes! From cloaks to wickedness with scarce a breath between. You have a wonderful mind, Glenys. I’ll choose the latter.”

  He lowered his mouth to kiss her, and soon all manner of playfulness fled as they became intent upon each other. Kieran’s hands found their way beneath the thin, gauzy chemise that Glenys wore, while hers wandered boldly over his bare chest and shoulders, sliding down his back to tunnel beneath the leggings he had donned but an hour earlier when they had risen from bed to partake of their evening meal.

  Despite their mood of happiness at both the success and the humor of their earlier undertaking, there was a measure of desperation to their lovemaking, especially for Kieran. They had no sooner returned to Berte’s than he’d stolen Glenys away to their private chamber, possessed with an overwhelming urge to spend every possible moment alone with her.

  This would be their last night, now that the Greth Stone and the queen piece were safe. He could no longer pretend that they had time, pleasant as that dream was to him. Already Glenys had been parted from her family for too long, and Daman would soon be upon them.

  Kieran had decided what must be. In the morn, whether she wished it or not, he would take her to Glain Tarran and there they would part ways. Forever.

  The chemise had disappeared, as had his leggings. Kieran touched her everywhere, stroking, kissing, giving her every pleasure he could think of, taking all that she gave him in turn.

  “Come inside of me,” she whispered, her fingers in his hair as he kissed her breasts. “Please, Kieran.”

  “Nay,” he murmured. “God’s mercy, don’t tempt me, Glenys.”

  “Please,” she said once more. “Just once. I want to be one with you. I want to feel you inside of me.”

  With a groan Kieran moved up to silence her with his mouth, kissing her both long and hard.

  “There is nothing I want more,” he said, his voice harsh with the effort to keep from doing as she asked. “But I will not take your maidenhead from you. I love you, Glenys,” he said, kissing her again and stroking a hand through her hair. “Do not ask me to bring such ruin upon you.”

  She reached up to touch his cheek with her finger-tips. “Then will you marry me, instead, and take me to wife?” she asked. “Just as I would take you as my husband? Then we could come together without fear.”

  Kieran stared down at her, searching her eyes. His heart felt as if
it had just been clutched in a tight, squeezing grip, and he wasn’t certain that he could speak without revealing how painful her words were to him. He opened his mouth—but nothing came out. With a harsh breath, he rolled away and off the bed, standing up. He went to stand by the chamber’s small window, setting his hands on the sill and closing his eyes, striving to calm his senses. Behind him, he could hear Glenys sitting up in the bed.

  “You no longer wish to wed me?” she asked softly, hesitation in her voice.

  “I have already told you that I would take you for my wife if I could, but ’tis impossible. It is a torment to me even to speak of it, knowing that I must leave you on the morrow and never set eyes on you again.”

  “I did think it impossible,” she admitted, “before yesterday. But now I know that ’tis not. We can be married, if we both wish it.”

  “Your family would never allow you to marry a man such as I,” he told her, shaking his head. “How can you even begin to think any such miracle could happen?”

  “I’m not certain that you will understand,” she murmured. “It was what that…that little man at Pentre Ifan called you. Lord Eneinoig. That changes everything.”

  Kieran uttered a hollow laugh. “It changes naught, Glenys. A strange little man with a quick temper and sharp teeth may call me whatever he pleases, but nothing can change what I am—and what I have been since I was born. If you do not believe that your elderly aunts and uncles would be dismayed at the thought of such a union, you have only to think of how your brother, Daman, would greet such news. I vow he would rather see you dead by his own hand than wed to a man like me.”

  Her voice trembled when she spoke again.

  “That may be so, Kieran, but I would take the chance of it. I never thought…nay, I knew that I would never wed. That no man could ever love me. And I—”

  “Glenys,” he pleaded hoarsely. “Speak no more, I beg you. Kill me, instead. You know that I love you. I would give all I possess to wed you—aye, even just to keep you, wicked as that is. Don’t make me weep for the foolishness you’ve known, for I vow I cannot bear it. How could I bring you such ruin by grasping at my own happiness? You do not know what it is to be set apart as I have been—as you would be should you wed me.”