The Prisoner Bride

by Susan Spencer Paul

  “Thank you,” he said, and Daman nodded curtly. “I do have a request of you.”

  “What is it?”

  “My family…those of both my father and mother…I’d not have them know of my fate until ’tis done. I would not have them so distressed.”

  At this, Daman appeared surprised. “I would have thought, instead, that you would wish them to know. They might be able to save you, despite all. Your father and stepfather are far more powerful than I am.”

  “Your opinion of me is a lowly one,” Kieran said, “but I am not so lost to honor that I would include either of them in my shame.”

  “Have you not done so in the past?”

  “Regretfully, I have,” Kieran admitted. “But I will not do so now. There is a compelling reason, which I have already told you. It would kill my sister Elizabet to know that the man whom she entrusted with her love had been the cause of her brother’s death. I’faith, I would not have her know of your part in this at all, if’t can be done.”

  The lamplight was dim, but Kieran could see a flush creep across Daman’s cheeks. “Sit,” he said, sweeping a gauntleted hand at one of the chairs. To one of his serving boys, he commanded, “Bring us wine, and some bread and cheese if you can find any.”

  He removed his gauntlets one after the other, placing them with care upon the table. Then he sat down opposite Kieran and looked him full in the face.

  “I want the truth. You took Glenys because of what happened between Elizabet and me.”

  Kieran nodded. “Aye. I wanted to draw you out and take revenge upon you for the manner in which you had left Elizabet. I had heard that you were a man of honor, but after what you did to my sister, I knew you were not.” Kieran couldn’t contain the bitterness in his tone, all the anger he’d felt at Daman Seymour for so long. “I meant to give you a taste of what it was to have one you love dearly in the power of another, and then beat you senseless in a face-to-face contest.” He glanced at the tent flap as it opened for the serving boy to return, a tray in his hands. “I didn’t consider that I would be caught in a snare of my own making. You will not believe me, but I vowed that I would not seduce your sister.”

  Daman held up a hand to silence him as the youth approached, setting goblets and a decanter of wine on the table. There was a plate of roughly torn bread and a hunk of cheese that Daman himself pulled into smaller chunks and put before Kieran.

  “Leave us,” he told the serving boy. “Both of you, go.”

  Without a word, they bowed and were gone.

  Daman filled Kieran’s goblet with a shaking hand.

  “Eat,” he said. “I’m striving to think of why I should not kill you now. I know what manner of man you are and ever have been. Why should I believe that you didn’t desire to make a whore of my sister, when that is just what you did?”

  “Mayhap I will be the one to kill you,” Kieran said tightly, “if I hear you speak of Glenys in such a lewd manner again. She is neither a whore nor shamed, and I’ll let no one—not even you—name her as such.”

  “Do you forget the manner in which I found you?” Daman demanded. “Will you sit there and tell me to my face that you never shared a bed with her?”

  “You’re a God-cursed fool!” Kieran told him. “Aye, we shared a bed, and I will not deny that we shared pleasure, but Glenys is yet a maiden, as I’m certain she told you. Believe me or not as you will, but before you decide think upon this—would I, a man with so dark a reputation, make such a claim unless it were true? Knowing full well that it could so easily be denied by a physician? Consider that well, Daman Seymour.”

  Daman released a taut breath. “Be quiet for a moment and let me think. Eat in comfort, while you may. I do not know that we will set camp again before we reach London, and you will not be out of the wagon often.”

  Kieran drank some of the wine, grateful for it, and picked up a piece of bread.

  “I would know what has become of my steed, Nimrod, and how he is being cared for. I want him returned to my father, Lord Allen, if’t can be done.”

  Daman set his own wine goblet aside and gave Kieran a confused look. “I have no knowledge of your steed, and confess that I am sorry for it. I remember him well. A great black destrier, is he not? A fine animal.”

  “Aye, and a gift from my father. Surely one of your men has him. He is my most valuable possession, and worth no small measure to any who would take him.”

  “I will see if he can be found,” Daman said, “but I fear he may have been left behind in Cardigan. If he is not here, I will send a man back to find him, for I agree he must rightly be returned to Lord Allen. A small comfort for the loss of a son, but I imagine he will not be oversurprised to know what fate befell you.”

  “Nay,” Kieran agreed quietly. “I cannot think he will.”

  They were silent for a time, eating and drinking, until Daman at last cleared his throat and looked up. “You owe me naught,” he said, sounding strangely nervous to Kieran’s ears, “and, indeed, I am the man who is taking you to your certain death, but I would know…if you will tell me…of Elizabet.”

  Kieran sat back and regarded him for a silent moment. “Did you love her?” he asked. “Even a little?”

  “Very much,” Daman replied with feeling. “I have felt as if I were dying since leaving her, but there was no choice. I could not…” He fell silent.

  There would have been a time, not very long ago, when Kieran would have spat in the man’s eye. But now, having discovered for himself just how painful a thing love was, he felt a measure of pity for him.

  “Glenys told me that your life had been ruined because of your family’s peculiar ways. Is that why you left Elizabet without a word? Had you vowed never to marry?”

  “Aye, that was why, but—” he shook his head slightly “—she knew that I was going. I told her how and why it must be. She wept to break my heart, but I knew that we must part. ’Twas all the best for her, for I never could have brought her such shame.”

  Kieran sat forward, blazing with anger. “You’re a liar,” he declared. “You’ve accused me of making a whore of your sister, of taking her maidenhead, but I found it impossible to leave her as you did Elizabet. Knowing how she suffered once you’d gone, so that she nearly died of it—I could not have done that to the woman I loved. Did you even know that you left your babe in her belly? Or did you leave her without caring to discover what had come of your pleasure-taking?”

  Daman’s eyes widened. “A babe?” he repeated faintly. “That cannot be. Elizabet was a maiden when I left her. I told you…I could not leave her in shame. I did not leave her in shame.”

  “God’s mercy,” Kieran said with disgust, “you sound so sincere that I almost believe you. Almost. I was with Elizabet while she grieved for you and for the distress she had brought to our family. She told me that the child was yours.”

  Daman stood, fury on his face. “I tell you that it cannot be! I never lay with her, and never shared more than a few kisses and caresses. I vow by God above that I—” He stopped suddenly and stared at Kieran unseeing, his expression slowly changing. “Holy Mother,” he said, then sat down. “That last night, when we said goodbye…after she left me I drank a great deal to ease my sorrows…and then I sought my bed and dreamed of…oh, God.” He gazed at Kieran with horror. “She must have returned to my chamber, and what I thought were dreams were real. And if it is so, did she think that I was…that I would remember it aright? God’s mercy.” He stood up again, running both hands agitatedly through his black hair. “Did she think that I had taken her innocence and then left her without care? I was gone before she had risen the next morn, thinking it best to go without seeing her once more. But I never would have gone if I’d realized what had passed between us.”

  “Elizabet believed you had deserted her,” Kieran told him. “She became ill with grief at the knowledge that you could leave her in such a manner.”

  “I never would have done so!” Daman insisted. “God’s
truth, I vow it! I would have taken her to wife despite my misgivings, for I could not do otherwise and be an honorable man.” He turned to Kieran and looked at him pleadingly. “You must believe what I say.”

  “Aye,” Kieran said softly. “I believe you, for ’tis clear that you loved Elizabet. You could not have convinced me before I knew Glenys, but now I understand full well. What grieves me is Elizabet. She has suffered dearly for your mistaking the truth for a dream.”

  “Aye, but I must go to her as quickly as I can!” Daman said urgently. “She will be large with child now, if she has not yet brought it to life. We must wed as soon as may be.” He began looking about the tent, picking up his gauntlets and his sword and helmet in a distracted manner. “Tell me where she is,” he asked Kieran. “Please.”

  “She is with my mother and stepfather, mostlike,” Kieran answered, adding gravely, “Lord Randall will kill you before asking why you’ve come. He left you in peace this long only because Elizabet pleaded with him to do so, and because he did not wish to make it known that she was with child. But if you arrive at his door—”

  “Aye, aye,” Daman said impatiently. “I know full well how it will be, but Elizabet will need me now. I’ll deal with Lord Randall’s anger when I see him.”

  “Daman,” Kieran said, standing. “There is something else you must know. About the child.”

  Daman stopped pulling his gauntlets on to look at him. “It has not already been born?” he asked worriedly. “Nay, tell me it is not so. My own child, born out of wedlock? But that cannot be, for we have been parted not fully nine months.” He took a step toward Kieran. “Has it come early, then? ’Tis a sickly child? By the rood, I must hurry—”

  “No.” Kieran set a hand on Daman’s forearm, stopping him. “It has not been born.” He didn’t know how to tell him, save to simply do so. “Elizabet was very ill. It was a difficult time, especially the first three months and…she lost the child.”

  Daman’s face drained of color. He stared at Kieran in stunned silence for a long moment, then abruptly turned away and lowered his head into his hands. Kieran moved back to the table, uncomfortably aware of how much sorrow he felt for the man. He remembered Elizabet’s grief so clearly, and could not doubt that Daman Seymour was touched by that same inconsolable pain.

  Daman spoke, his voice harsh and uneven. “’Tis because of my sin. My foolishness. God has visited a just punishment upon me. I only wish Elizabet and the child had been spared.”

  “Aye, you are a fool, just as I have been,” Kieran said. “You threw away a sweet and true love because you lacked faith in Elizabet and in your own family. And,” he added more softly, to himself, “I nearly did the same with Glenys.”

  “She must hate me now,” Daman murmured. “Yet she must wed me. I will go to her at once and plead with her—nay, I will tell her how it must be. In time, she may come to forgive me, and if God is merciful, we will have another child together—mayhap many children.” He turned and looked at Kieran. “I will no longer strive to have you hanged for taking Glenys, now that we are to be related by marriage. But you must still stand trial for the crime, and you may yet be condemned to death. You understand this.”

  Kieran made a slight bow. “Fully and completely. I’m relieved, howbeit, that you will not distress Elizabet with your revenge. I’faith, let her think that another captured and brought me to London. It will be better.”

  “Thank you,” Daman said. “I begin to think that I may have misjudged you, Kieran FitzAllen. I wish, in all truth, that matters stood otherwise between us.”

  Kieran smiled at him. “I would not be so quick to forbear just yet, my lord. Do you hear the commotion that has started up outside of your tent? I believe that my manservant has just made good his plan to escape.”

  Daman’s eyebrows rose. “What?”

  “Aye, and if I am not mistaken, one of your men should be coming soon to tell you that he is gone and nowhere to be found.” Kieran sat and picked up his wine goblet. “A difficult fellow to catch, is Jean-Marc. I would advise that you not bid any of your men to waste their time in the attempt, but you will doubtless do as you please.”

  “He could not have escaped!” Daman declared with disbelief. “’Twould be impossible with all my men guarding him.”

  “Oh, Jean-Marc’s talents are boundless,” Kieran said happily. “He would find it but a simple manner to slip away, I assure you.” He began refilling his goblet with an easy motion. “But there is more. If I understand his intentions aright, he has gone to lend Glenys and Mistress Dina his aid in some scheme they have developed, with the intent of setting me free.”

  Daman gave a bark of laughter. “Then he is a fool! My sister and her maid are safe at Glain Tarran, guarded by a dozen of my finest knights. He’ll not be able to get to them, and they’ll assuredly not be able to get out to meet him.”

  Kieran sighed and sipped his wine. A voice outside the tent begged for admittance. Daman, gazing at Kieran with a frown, bade the man enter.

  It was Hubert, casting a glance from Kieran to his master, looking very uncomfortable.

  “My lord, I fear I bear bad news. The other prisoner—the manservant—has disappeared. We’ve searched the camp, but he is not to be found.”

  Daman scowled at Kieran, who merely nodded and smiled.

  “How did he escape?” he demanded.

  “My lord, I do not know,” Hubert said sorrowfully. “No one knows. We’ve questioned every man who had the watch of him, but they all claim that the lad simply…disappeared.”

  “It is as I told you,” Kieran noted proudly. “He’s a thief of great repute, held in the highest regard amongst his fellows. Weaned to it, you see, from his birth. That’s how the best thieves come about.”

  Daman glared at him. “I need none of your rattle now.”

  “My lord, there is worse news, I fear,” said Hubert in quaking tones.

  Daman turned slowly to stare at him. “My sister and her maid have escaped from Glain Tarran?”

  Hubert nodded. “I fear, my lord, that it is so. A rider has just arrived from the estate, bearing those very tidings. I’m sorry, my lord.”

  “How did they escape?” Daman asked in a deadly voice.

  Hubert shook his head. “’Tis only known that they rode away on a great black destrier—”

  “Ah,” Kieran nodded. “Nimrod.”

  “—and a smaller gray mare.”

  “That would be Strumpet.” Kieran picked up a piece of bread. “I’m glad to know where they are.”

  Hubert gave Kieran a look of much aggravation before returning his attention to his master.

  “Chase was given at once, my lord, but a thick fog quickly covered the area, and they could not be found. Indeed,” Hubert added with a measure of embarrassment, “the men became lost themselves, and could not find Glain Tarran for some hours. That is what delayed them in sending word to you, Sir Daman.”

  There was a deafening silence as Daman gazed at the man, his fists clenching and unclenching.

  “A problem, is it not?” Kieran said intemperately. “Whether to chase Glenys or go to Elizabet.” He sighed aloud. “I would not wish to be the one to choose.”

  “As you will be in prison,” Daman reminded him tautly, “which is, I vow, the only safe place for such a knave, you will not have the trouble of having to decide.”

  “Nay, but I do have an idea where you might find both women at once,” Kieran said.

  Daman sent Hubert away. When they were alone, he cautioned, “’Twill make no difference to you if you should tell me what you know. You will yet go to prison.”

  “I am full aware of that. ’Tis Glenys I care for now. I’d not have her harmed in any manner.”

  Daman’s face reddened, and then, suddenly, he swore long and loudly, impressing Kieran with the breadth of his knowledge. At last he fell silent, breathing harshly, gazing at Kieran as if he’d like to kill him then and there.

  “You love Glenys?” he
demanded.

  “I do,” Kieran replied calmly.

  “God curse you, then,” Daman said. “For you can never have her.”

  Kieran nodded and looked away. “I know that full well. You may wed my own sister safely, matched in family and name. But I will not be allowed the same privilege, for I was not born to it. But I will tell you this, Daman Seymour. If I were free to marry Glenys, I would do so, not caring what you or your family, or even the church or crown, might say of it. You see how wicked a man I am.”

  “Aye, as wicked as any man I ever knew,” Daman agreed angrily, “and yet my sister says that she loves you, and swears that she will have you without any more care for what is right than you have. God curse you!”

  “I know,” Kieran said with every sympathy. “Love seems not to care for those things that the law and church hold so dear. I can only tell you how sorry I am. There’s naught else to be done.”

  “Then tell me where I may find her,” Daman said, “so that at least I can make certain of her safety.”

  Kieran set his wine goblet aside and sat forward.

  “You would do well,” he began, “to seek out my sister, Lady Eunice of Hammersgate. Glenys will have gone to her for help, and together, I believe, they will go to my mother.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Being imprisoned in Newgate wasn’t quite so bad as Kieran had thought it would be. A number of his former acquaintances were prisoners, as well, and he spent his first two days pleasantly occupied in discovering how each of them fared, though this was accomplished only during those few hours when he was allowed into the prisoners’ common area. Otherwise, he was kept alone in a small chamber, considered far too dangerous a knave to be placed in one of the larger rooms with other lesser thieves and criminals. And so it was that he spent most of his time either pacing or sitting in his bleak cell, left alone to think upon his own thoughts and regrets.

  Although not entirely alone. He’d reached into his inner pocket during the first hour of his imprisonment and found, to his complete surprise, that the small glowing stone had company. The queen piece, which he was certain he’d not had upon him in Cardigan or at any time during his journey to London, was suddenly there.