The Prisoner Bride

by Susan Spencer Paul

  “And yet,” she whispered, “I would rather be scorned by the world, if scorned we would be, than live out the rest of my life as I have done before. And I do not think you have any choice in the matter, Kieran. I think—knowing what you were named at Pentre Ifan—that we are fated to be together. Despite every argument that may be set before us.”

  At last, Kieran turned to look at her, finding Glenys sitting upon the bed, fully naked, her long sunset hair falling about her shoulders as a covering and her hands twined together in her lap. She was gazing at him with shining eyes, and he found that he wasn’t proof against that—and certainly not against the overwhelming desire of his heart.

  “I…have an estate,” he said stupidly, making his offering in a manner that he could only find foolish and perhaps even insulting. “Small. Very small. My father gave it to me.”

  Glenys, rather than appearing shocked, as he’d imagined, gazed at him with what he thought seemed affectionate amusement.

  “A small estate?” she repeated, smiling. “Where is it?”

  “In Derbyshire,” he said, one of his hands clutching the windowsill for support. “There are sheep—well, mainly sheep. I’ve visited a dozen times, mayhap, not often enough to know much of the place. There are servants caring for the manor house, and vassals who care for the sheep and cattle. My father gave it to me many years past, when I was but eighteen. Greenvale, it is called. But I have never been a true master to it, Glenys. I have left it and the people there to deal as they will, without help from me. I have been as poor a master to them as I have been to my own life.”

  “Aye,” she said thoughtfully, “but that is at an end now, my lord Eneinoig. I will help you to set all right at Greenvale, if you desire it.”

  “Glenys,” he murmured, and said nothing else.

  She smiled again. “’Twill be a simple thing. I’ll not leave you to face the task alone. Or anything else. I’ll stay beside you, Kieran. If that is what you wish.”

  Kieran’s heart was beating like a maddened drum. He hadn’t felt so hopeful since he’d been a child, when he had learned the foolishness of such an emotion.

  “Of course that’s what I wish.”

  “Then that is how it will be,” she said simply.

  He shook his head once more, but took a step toward her. “Glenys, you’re not thinking aright.”

  She held a hand out to him. “For the very first time, I am.”

  She made it sound far too easy. Far too possible.

  “You would lose all that you have. You would become an outcast, the wife of a bastard, and worse, the wife of a thief and knave.”

  “The wife of Kieran FitzAllen,” she said. “That is what I would become. Far more than I have ever dreamed of being. I do not know the words to tell you how proud I should feel to be named your wife.”

  “Glenys.” He crossed the room and set one knee on the bed, taking her outstretched hand in both of his. “Do you mean this?”

  “Aye, with all my heart.”

  He hardly knew whether to laugh or weep.

  “You would wed me,” he said with wonder, “knowing all that I have done? The women…all my crimes…my endless sins?”

  “Yes, Kieran. I will wed you because I love you, and because I need you, and because you need me, as well.”

  “God alone knows how so,” he whispered, then suddenly pulled her up to her knees and into his arms, crushing her in his embrace. He closed his eyes and pressed his face against her neck, into the softness of her hair. “I pray that He will make me a fit husband for you. If you should ever come to know sadness because of me, or a moment of regret—”

  “I’ll not,” she murmured, stroking his hair with a gentle hand. He heard the deep pleasure in her tone, and could scarce believe that he had been the one to give her that. “All will be well. I promise you this.”

  “Aye,” he said, lifting his head to smile into her beloved face. “Aye, we will make it so. I should never have dared such a thing before, but you make me brave, Glenys, as I have only dreamed of being. Bastards possess a certain measure of boldness, but not that which better men are born with. But now I think that mayhap it no longer matters. You do not seem to care.” He searched her gaze intently. “Do you?”

  She shook her head. “No. I never will. You are Kieran FitzAllen, and if you had been born a king or a beggar, it would make no difference to me.”

  He smiled and then kissed her.

  “Magic does exist,” he murmured against her lips. “You have it within your very soul, I vow.”

  Her arms began to slide about his shoulders, but a loud knocking at the door made her stop and pull away.

  “Who would disturb us at this hour?” she asked.

  “Jean-Marc,” Kieran replied with a sigh, pulling her chemise from beneath the covers and untangling it. “Come to ask for Dina’s hand in marriage, mostlike. Here, cover yourself quickly before he grows too impatient.” He put the thin garment over her head and helped her to slide her arms into their places. “Where is your robe? And my leggings. Ah, here, on the floor.”

  More knocking sounded, far more furious this time.

  “A moment, Jean-Marc!” Kieran shouted, as he thrust a foot into his leggings. “We’re not yet dressed to—”

  He lifted his head, realizing too late who was at the door. In later years, he would think with a measure of understanding how he, who was so accomplished a knave, could have been so slow to recognize imminent danger, but at the moment he could scarce believe that love had made him so lack-witted.

  He had but a moment to shout a warning to Glenys and pull his leggings up to cover himself before the door came crashing open and Sir Daman Seymour and his men rushed into the chamber, their swords at the ready.

  Glenys, who stood on the other side of the bed, tying the strings to her robe, let out a cry of both surprise and fear. Her fingers had fallen still and her face, upon seeing her furious brother, had gone white.

  “Daman!” she cried. “How did you—?”

  But it was all she could say before Sir Daman’s outrage erupted.

  “Bitch!” he shouted wrathfully. “Slut! I will kill you both!”

  In a blur of motion, Kieran leaped across the mattress and set Glenys behind him. He was weaponless, nearly defenseless, and knew full well that he’d have been in a rage to equal Daman’s if he’d found his own sister in such a circumstance.

  “’Tis not as it seems, Seymour,” he said loudly, firmly, though it seemed ridiculous even to his own ears. He stood before the man half-naked, having obviously shared a bed with that same man’s sister. “You must hear us out before acting rashly. Glenys is innocent.”

  “She’s a whore!” Daman shouted, his voice filled with pained emotion, as if he might begin to weep at finding his sister in such a state. He advanced upon them with his sword held high, a maddened look in his eyes. “And a traitor! Lying with a baseborn knave without care for our family’s name.”

  Kieran could both hear and see the crazed emotion that pushed Daman onward, truly ready to commit murder. He lunged forward, gripping Daman’s sword arm with both hands, desperate to buy enough time to bring him to some sense. They struggled furiously, equal in strength.

  “Stop!” Glenys pleaded. “Daman, no!”

  “Only listen to us,” Kieran growled beneath the punishing force of Daman’s fury. “For Elizabet’s sake, for Glenys’s sake, listen.”

  The words checked Daman. He pulled his gaze from where his sister stood to look at Kieran.

  “Why do you speak of Elizabet now? How can you speak of her?”

  “You fool!” Kieran said bitterly. “If you kill me you might as well kill Elizabet. If you ever cared for her at all—”

  “Don’t speak of her!” With a violent thrust, Daman knocked Kieran to the ground.

  Glenys cried out his name and ran to him, but Daman’s gauntleted hand flew up, striking her full across the face, a sickening blow that sent her reeling into the wall. She s
lid to the floor, unconscious, and both Kieran and Daman moved toward her at once.

  “Leave her be!” Kieran shouted furiously, gripping Daman by the collar of his chain mail and hauling him upward. He didn’t think what he did, only knew that he must keep Glenys safe from her brutish brother, and sent his fist into the other man’s face with all the strength he possessed.

  Daman fell back, his eyes wide with shock, but Kieran had no time to think of him. He turned back to where Glenys lay, kneeling beside her.

  “Glenys,” he murmured. She was fully unconscious. Her cheek, where Daman had struck her, was already bright red and swelling. “Oh, God, Glenys.” He reached out a hand to touch her, only to find himself jerked nearly off his feet by a fist in his hair.

  “You’ll not touch her!” Daman shouted, swinging Kieran about. The hilt of his sword was in his other fist, and it was the last that Kieran saw or knew as Daman brought it down on his head.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Glenys, won’t you even speak to me? I’ve already told you how sorry I am that I struck you. I was maddened—full out of my wits. You know that I’d never have done such a thing otherwise. I’ve never struck you before, even when we were children. Please, only look at me.”

  Glenys kept her gaze upon the blazing hearth in Berte’s main chamber. She had come awake to find herself lying on the bed, with Daman bending anxiously over her, tearful apologies on his lips. Kieran and Jean-Marc had been taken away and confined in a wagon outside of Berte’s, and everyone else within had been sent out into the street, as well, despite Berte’s shrill protests, leaving the two of them alone in the entire dwelling.

  “Will you let me see Kieran?” she asked.

  Daman gripped the back of her chair, behind which he had been standing for the last half hour, pleading with her to forgive him for striking her.

  “Nay,” he said harshly. “Never. He has shamed you and—”

  “You have shamed me,” she said bitterly, speaking to him in Welsh. “Before all your men and half the women in this dwelling. Before the townspeople of Aberteifi. You have accused me of that which I have not done—not because I did not wish it, by the rood, but because Kieran refused to subject me to such as this. I am yet a maiden, Daman. You see fit to name me both a whore and a liar, but you’re wrong.”

  “I know Kieran FitzAllen too well to believe that it is so, Glenys,” Daman said, striving for gentleness. “He is far too famed for his many conquests for it to be otherwise. But I attach no blame to you,” he added quickly. “I know I was maddened at first, but now I realize that you are too innocent to have seen FitzAllen for what he is. And too…inexperienced with men.”

  “Daman, I swear to you upon my soul, I do not lie! I am yet a maiden. Only fetch a physician to examine me and let him tell you that I speak the truth.”

  “I should never put you through such a spectacle,” he said, affronted. “Nay, listen to me, my dearest. I understand fully how it is. He told you sweet lies, of a certainty, mayhap even that he loved you, and you would not know that they were false. Indeed, I’m sure you found them very sweet, as you have never heard anything like them before. But as you were never thought to wed, mayhap there is no need for lasting shame, unless,” he added more dismally, “by some evil chance he has got you with child. If that is so, there is naught to be done but hide you away until the child has come, and then find a place for it somewhere.”

  Glenys didn’t think she’d ever been so angry in all of her life. She loved her brother, but at the moment she would have gladly disowned him for a fool.

  “Go away,” she said tightly. “Leave me in peace.”

  “Glenys,” he pleaded, “I can’t. Not until you’ve forgiven me for striking you as I did. Even so, I will never forgive myself. I might have killed you in such a temper, may God have mercy on me.”

  Glenys folded her arms over her breasts and said nothing.

  Daman knelt beside her, so tall that their heads were of an equal height.

  “Glenys, I beg of you, forgive me. I vow that I will never touch you in anger again.”

  “I cannot forgive you if you will not believe me, Daman. You have never held me in such contempt as this before. If you believe that I lie to you, then you must surely do as you think best. Drag me to the nearest church. Stand upon the steps and disown me for a whore.”

  “How can you think I would do such a thing to you? Glenys, you’re my sister, and I love you as dearly as my own life. But can you not understand how it was for me? To see you with Kieran FitzAllen, in such a manner? Do you mean to say that you never shared a bed with him?”

  She unfolded her arms and looked him full in the face.

  “I shared a bed with him, aye, and of my own free accord. But we did not…” She stopped at the look on his face and said, more calmly, “He left me a maiden. I’m certain, Daman, that I need not explain to you how such as that is accomplished. You’ve bedded any number of women, I have no doubt, and must know something of what a man and woman may do together apart from consummation.”

  His cheeks flushed hotly, and he rose to his feet, angered anew. “The bastard! I’ll wring his neck for teaching you such lewd things!”

  “You’ll not,” Glenys told him tautly. “For I mean to marry him, and then he will be your brother by marriage. ’Twould be the foulest manner of murder. And such a hypocrite you are, Daman Seymour, for you’ve done just as he has, and behave as if you’d the right to resent it in another man.”

  “When my own sister is the one ruined, aye!” he shouted.

  She stood at last, facing him with all the fury she felt. “Aye, your own sister, who went to him with all her heart and consent! I love Kieran FitzAllen, and I have chosen him for my husband, whether you will it or not, whether our family wills it or not and, aye,” she said more daringly, moving to stand in front of him, “whether you beat me again and again! Do so, Daman,” she dared, offering him her already swollen face. “Go on! Beat me into submission, if you think you can.”

  “Cease!” he begged. “You know that I will not strike you. Never again, please God! But I cannot let you continue in such foolishness. Kieran FitzAllen doesn’t love you, Glenys. He took and seduced you only to gain revenge upon me.”

  Glenys shook her head. “You’re wrong. I realize there’s some enmity between you, but Kieran took me because Sir Anton Lagasse paid him to get me out of his way while he went in search of the Greth Stone. His desire to anger you was second to that.”

  “Nay, Glenys,” Daman said gently, “’twas not. Kieran FitzAllen had no need to take Sir Anton’s money. He’s wealthy, as rich as a great lord.”

  Glenys’s eyes widened. “Wealthy?”

  Daman nodded. “’Tis well known among his kind that he only accepts the tasks that please him, for he has no need of earning gold. His years of thieving and knavery have served him and his manservant full well.”

  Glenys stared at her brother, striving to contain her surprise. She supposed it made sense that Kieran should have gained a measure of wealth over the years, but why had he said nothing of this to her?

  “It doesn’t really matter,” she said, more to convince herself than Daman. “I’faith, if it is true, this should make him more acceptable to you. At least you’ll not think he wished to wed me for my wealth, as God above knows that my face and form would drive away all but the most ardent fortune seekers.”

  “You don’t look as you did in London,” Daman said gruffly. “S’truth, I did not recognize you at first, for you appear almost fetching, and…changed. Though this is but some manner of evil, clearly wrought by Kieran FitzAllen’s foul wickedness,” he added bitterly. “But it has now come to an end, and you will soon be yourself once more.”

  “Daman—”

  He struck a fist in the palm of his other hand. “Naught could make him acceptable! Do you not understand, Glenys, that he decided to take you only for his own purpose? Because he knew that I would come after you and give him a chance
to confront me.”

  “He has admitted that he cherished this hope,” she told him, “but he would not tell me why. What have you done, Daman, to cause such purpose in him?”

  Daman had ever been bold as a boy, and had grown bolder as a man, but now he looked as Glenys had never seen him before—discomfited and ashamed and wretched, all at once.

  “I fell in love with his sister.”

  “His—?” Glenys had to find the nearest chair and sit down. “His sister? You?”

  Daman nodded. “We met at a tournament, and I fell in love with her from the moment I set sight on her, for her beauty and sweet manner are beyond all words. Her name is Elizabet.” He said it softly, reverently. “You heard him speak of her earlier. He must have known that nothing else could have brought me to my senses, save to hear her name. I loved her—love her—so deeply, Glenys. You cannot begin to know what a torment it has been to me, or how I have longed for her these months since we’ve been parted.”

  “I can scarce believe this,” Glenys murmured, surprised. “You’ve said nothing, not a word. Oh, Daman,” she cried with sudden understanding, setting a hand to her head and gaping at him. “You left her because of the Seymour name. Because of the magic.”

  He lowered his head. “Aye. I could not ask her, or any woman, to be my wife. You know that I determined that before. The madness must stop with us, Glenys, for how could we gift our children with the same curse that has plagued us every day of our lives? And how could I ever have explained it to Elizabet? She would have despised me, or, worse, become afraid of me. I could not bear to see that in her eyes. And so I…I left her. ’Twas best for her, for she will find another to love and wed, but I vow I have longed for her every moment, until I sometimes think I must go mad from the lack of her. I can only pray that she has put thoughts of me aside and set her purpose to finding another.”