Lord of Secrets

by Gillgannon, Mary

  William thanked Orla again and left to return to the tavern. There seemed nothing else he could do, and his men would be looking for him. As he walked back, he went over the things Orla had told him. Poor Rhosyn. Her mother’s horrific death must weigh heavily on her. No wonder she was so wary and skittish of men, at least English lords. Would her experiences make it impossible for her to truly care for him?

  He would never know until he discussed these things with her. But first he must find her. Where was she? Had she truly gone off to treat someone who was ill? When would she return? If she was not back by tomorrow, what should he do? Wait for her, or leave Cardiff as planned?

  The thought of going back to Higham without her tore at his being. He still worried Orla was wrong and Rhosyn was in danger. What if Bellame had abducted her? Merely thinking about it sickened him.

  His stomach was roiling with distress when he arrived at the stables outside the tavern, where his men were gathered. “I can’t find Rhosyn.” He bit off the words. “Her friend thinks she has gone off to tend someone who needs her healing skills. But I feel certain she would have left word if she did so.”

  “What do we do now?” Baldwin sounded impatient. William could tell that the knight was fed up with his concern for Rhosyn.

  William spoke firmly. “I had not planned on starting back to Higham until tomorrow. With good fortune, she will be back by then. For now we should rest and prepare for the return journey. But we will need to do so in shifts, so there are several of you guarding our trade goods at all times.” He motioned to Gervaise and Rob. “The two of you, come with me. The rest of you stay here.”

  Gervaise and Rob accompanied him to the tavern. William did not stop in the taproom, but continued up the stairs, hoping Rhosyn had returned. But there was no one in either of the sleeping rooms. Discouraged, he went down to eat.

  He was listlessly spooning fish stew into his mouth when two Welshman entered the tavern. Although no one else took note of them, William put down his spoon and moved his hand to the pommel of his sword. The Welshmen walked directly to him and held out what William immediately recognized as Rhosyn’s pack.

  He stood, hand still on his sword. “Where is she? What have you done to her?”

  “You should come with us.” The older Welshman, whose hair and mustache were etched with gray, motioned toward the door.

  William turned to Ralf and Gervaise, who’d also gotten to their feet.

  “Nay,” the Welshman said. “You must come alone.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  The Welshman shrugged. “Who is to say if you will see Rhosyn the healer ever again.”

  “Don’t go,” said Ralf. “It sounds like a trap.”

  Gervaise nodded.

  “Who do you work for?” William demanded. “Is it Bellame?”

  The Welshman’s eyes grew wide, then he spat into the rushes. “I would never do the bidding of that puling whoreson.”

  The man’s reaction relieved William. At least Rhosyn wasn’t in the clutches of Bellame’s men. “How far away is she?”

  The Welshman shrugged.

  “You can hardly expect me to go with you under these circumstances. You could knife me in the back and dump my body in the alleyway.” William pointed in the direction of the midden at the rear of the tavern.

  “I give you my word you will not be hurt.”

  “Your word?” William gaped at the man. “I don’t know you. Your word might be worthless.”

  “As you wish.” The Welshmen moved to leave.

  “Wait!” William felt panic. “At least give me a hint regarding what this is about.”

  The older Welshman turned back. “It might interest you to know that a Richard Roscales has been seen in Cardiff. At the castle.”

  Roscales. The wretched baron who had made his life at Higham so difficult. He had assumed when Roscales left he had taken his household, and most of the furnishings of Higham, and gone to Suffolk, where his brother held a castle. But what if he had traveled west instead? What if he was seeking allies to attempt to take Higham back? What if he had joined up with Bellame?

  “Very well.” He nodded to the Welshman. “I will come with you… as long as I can keep my sword.”

  Gervaise made a sound of disapproval. William turned to the knight. “If I don’t return in a candlehour, go see Orla, the wool merchant’s daughter, and let her know what has transpired here.”

  What could Orla do? he wondered as he followed the two men out of the tavern. Not much. But he trusted her instincts and knowledge of local politics. If she learned he had left with two Welshman who despised Bellame, she might be able to figure out who they were and where they might have taken him.

  The Welshmen took him the back way along the wharf. Over the warehouse roofs, William could see the tall masts of the ships in the bay. To the west, the sun was a fierce glowing orb over the hills, surrounded by streaks of deep rose and gold. William imagined the dazzling light glittering and glistening on the waves of the sea. He wondered if Rhosyn missed such sights since she’d come to Higham. Or was it the wild hills of her homeland that she yearned for? Would she ever be content at Higham?

  But he was getting ahead of himself. First, he must find Rhosyn and make certain she was safe. He didn’t feel nearly as anxious now that he knew she was with her countrymen. As a healer and the niece of a chieftain, she had status. These men were using Rhosyn as bait. But what did they want with him?

  He wondered if he’d made a mistake in agreeing to go with them. Everyone knew the Welsh were treacherous and cunning and didn’t always follow the rules of honor. He might very well be walking into a deadly trap. He fingered the pommel of his sword. At least he had his weapon. If he was attacked, he would not give in easily, but make certain he took several men to their deaths along with him.

  They reached a warehouse. William tried to figure out whether it was one of those he had visited when he made his purchases earlier in the day. The grizzled Welshman knocked on a door and it opened. The man gestured for William to go ahead of him. William tightened his grip on his sword pommel and stepped inside.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Rhosyn was seated on a chair in the center of the cavernous warehouse. A dozen Welsh warriors were arrayed around her. A young, sharp-eyed warrior stood next to her, his hand on the back of the chair. His proximity to Rhosyn immediately aroused William’s jealousy. And his anxiety. He had the devastating thought that Rhosyn might be a part of whatever scheme was afoot. The next moment, he rejected the idea. After what they had shared, he could not believe she would betray him.

  “Lord Fitzhugh.” The warrior next to Rhosyn nodded to him. There was something in the gesture that reminded William of Rhosyn. The Welshman had the same wary, feral grace. William wondered if they shared a blood connection, rather than something more sinister.

  The man continued. “My name is Owen ap Rhodri. Rhosyn and I share the same grandsire.” He paused to let this sink a moment. Then he continued, “I have a proposition for you. You may have noticed yon castle.” He motioned. “’Tis held by a man named Bellame, who recently joined forces with another English cur named Roscales.”

  Owen paused, his cunning expression making it clear he knew exactly the effect his words would have on William. “’Tis my thought that Bellame should be relieved of his prize. But I need some aid in accomplishing this. Of course, I would not expect you to join your resources with mine simply for a share of the plunder we would gain from the endeavor. I would like there to be something else between us. A bond between your house and mine.” Owen touched Rhosyn’s shoulder possessively.

  Why was Rhosyn tolerating this? She’d always been so fiercely independent. This man might be her cousin, but that hardly gave him the right to treat her like a piece of property.

  He met the Welshman’s gaze defiantly. “Rhosyn is the healer at Higham. She has a place there, which she has made for herself. You have no right to offer her to me as if she were a prize
mare you are exchanging for gold. I would know what she thinks about this proposal.”

  Owen’s brows shot up. Clearly, this was not the response he expected. He looked at Rhosyn and some of his arrogance seemed to fall away.

  William seized upon his hesitation. “Regardless of how Rhosyn regards this scheme of joining our two houses, the person who has the final say is King John. I can’t marry without his consent, at least not while I hold Higham. What will he gain in this circumstance? I presume Bellame is his loyal vassal, as am I. Why should John support me against him?”

  Owen looked even more unsettled, which did not reassure William. It struck him that Owen was too young and callow to have the judgment necessary to carry out this daring scheme.

  “I’ll admit that the idea of crushing Bellame is appealing,” he continued. “Doing so would thwart Roscales, as well as avenge Rhosyn’s mother’s awful death.” He met Rhosyn’s gaze, to show her he knew the story and was sympathetic to her pain. “But it also means I would be risking everything I already possess. Along with my men’s lives. I cannot act heedlessly.”

  *

  Watching William and her cousin negotiate, Rhosyn was most impressed by William. He was calm and measured and reasonable. He’d already thought of a half dozen details Owen didn’t appear to have an answer for. And he seemed willing to consider her feelings, while her cousin obviously didn’t care what she wanted.

  Owen stood rigid beside her, radiating irritation and the beginnings of panic as he saw all his brilliant plans slipping away. She almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

  William’s blue eyes gleamed with intensity as he fired questions at Owen. How many swordsmen could he bring to the charge? How many archers? What resources were there for building siege engines? What about the merchants and craftsmen of the port? Were they loyal to Bellame? And what did Owen intend if they won the keep?

  Owen answered each query, his responses growing more and more grudging. He didn’t like being reminded of all the unpleasant obstacles to his dream. And a dream it appeared to be. Rhosyn was surprised to find how much this realization upset her. When Owen broached his plan with her, she’d been completely against it. But she could not deny that there would have been a great deal of satisfaction in her cousin seizing Cardiff and making Bellame suffer at least a portion of the pain and loss she’d experienced at his hands.

  But William was right, they must consider the costs if the venture failed. She could well lose another person she cared about. Either her cousin, or, heaven forfend, Fitzhugh. Or both. Owen, she would grieve. But the thought of Fitzhugh dying was like a knife blade to her gut. How he had become so important to her?

  She was jerked from her thoughts as Owen seized her arm and snarled, “I can see you mean to refuse the alliance, Fitzhugh. So be it. I’ll find another English lord who isn’t such a coward.” He stood, dragging Rhosyn up with him.

  Fitzhugh’s eyes widened and he grabbed his sword hilt. “’Tis your choice who you ally yourself with, but Rhosyn will not be part of your scheme. She is a free woman and can make her own decisions about who she will wed.”

  Fitzhugh’s words made Rhosyn realize it was time to act. She’d been meek and compliant far too long. She tugged at Owen’s arm, seeking to free herself. His hold was like iron and she could not get loose.

  “Let go of her!” Fitzhugh started forward, sword at the ready. As Owen’s men drew their weapons, he halted and glanced around. He met the gaze of each of his potential attackers. “Do you truly want to do this? In the end you will win, but I vow I will kill several of you and wound the rest. Is your leader’s pride worth that?” Fitzhugh’s vivid blue eye fixed on one very young warrior.

  With a shock, she realized it was Ioworth, Owen’s younger brother. He’d grown lanky and long-limbed over the past year and his face had thinned and acquired the beginnings of a mustache. But he could not be more than fourteen. Far too young to fully understand the risks of doing battle with a well-trained and well-armed English knight.

  Her thoughts scrabbled for purchase, struggling for a way to make peace between Owen and Fitzhugh. She opened her mouth to say she would be willing to wed whomever Owen chose, anything to prevent violence.

  With a frustrated growl, Owen thrust her at Fitzhugh. “Take the stubborn, defiant wench, then! She’s not worth getting killed over!”

  Fitzhugh grabbed Rhosyn with his left arm and pulled her against his chest. She instantly relaxed. The sensation of nestling against his broad, tree-trunk-like torso felt wonderful.

  Fitzhugh’s voice was a comforting rumble against her. “I’m glad you are willing to listen to reason. I haven’t entirely dismissed your plan. But I need to discern our odds of succeeding before I commit, I won’t act rashly and risk what I already possess.”

  Of course he would not do something like that. Fitzhugh was a thoughtful, careful man. Not a wild hothead like her cousin.

  Fitzhugh continued, “Two things that worry me are Roscales and Cynan ap Ifan. If Roscales and Bellame are working together, that would make for a formidable alliance. As for Cynan, we encountered a group of his men on the way to Cardiff. They sought to seize me.”

  “Aye, I had heard that.” Owen grimaced.

  “Can you not see how that complicates things? I would have to bring men and supplies through Cynan’s territory. Meanwhile, Roscales has his own bitter grudge against me, and he has his own knights.” Fitzhugh shook his head. “I would dearly like to see Bellame pay for the cruel things he’s done, but I am not so rash a man as to put my need for vengeance above reason. I also must consider how my decision affects others: my knights and tenants. The good folk of Higham. Those of Cardiff.” He gestured. “The merchants and seamen of the port. Their lives would all be disrupted. Those directly involved in the conflict might be killed or maimed. And for what? I have no compelling need to control Cardiff. Or any territory this far west. I am content with Higham.”

  “But what if Cynan’s men continue to raid Higham?” Owen asked. “Will it not then be your duty to get involved in this fight?”

  “If that happens, then I will defend my lands. But that has little to do with bringing my knights and resources all the way to Cardiff to do battle with Bellame.”

  Stubborn Owen would not give up. He turned his attention to Rhosyn. “Cousin, are you willing to let what happened to your mother—and to you—go unpunished? If this man cares for you, should he not seek justice on your behalf?”

  “That would be the Cymry way. But it is not mine. Nothing can bring my mother back. I would not risk the lives of those I care for in order to seek revenge.”

  Owen exhaled in disgust. “You’ve clearly dwelt with the wretched Saesoneg too long. You’ve forgotten your heritage as a Cymraes.”

  Owen’s insult stung. But she had a ready answer for him. “And look what the traditions of our people have wrought. Brother against brother. Prince against prince. And in the meantime, the English whittle away at our lands and move deeper and deeper into Cymru. I vow, the only way we will ever prevail against them is if we forget old grievances and work together. But that would be the way of reason, something which oftentimes is foreign to our people!”

  Owen made another scornful sound. But she knew he had no ready answer for her. Because what she said was true.

  Fitzhugh pressed her closer. “If you let us leave, Owen ap Rhodri, I promise I will consider your offer. No matter what I decide to do, I must return to Higham first.”

  Owen gave a curt nod and then a dismissing gesture. Fitzhugh released her and they started for the door. He did not resheathe his sword and the tension in his body did not ease until they were through it and out on the dark wharf.

  Even then, they walked swiftly and she knew Fitzhugh was scanning the deep shadows around them for potential threats. The warehouse and storerooms loomed on one side of them, while on the other, the masts of ships docked in the harbor rose tall and eerie. Thankfully, a waning crescent moon afforded them a little light.r />
  As they neared the tavern, Fitzhugh turned to her. “Although I wish we could leave now, ’tis far too late to set out for Higham. We’ll have to remain overnight, although we will have to be on our guard every moment. Owen could change his mind. And there is always the worry of Bellame finding out you are here. There are threats everywhere. When we get to the tavern, we will go to the stables first and find my men. I’ll have two of them guard you while you sleep.”

  “What of you? You need to sleep as well.”

  “I will come when I have taken my turn as guard.”

  She wanted so much to have him lie next to her so she could feel the security and safety of having his big body near. But she knew she would not sway him.

  *

  A hint of light peeped around the edges of the shuttered window when she woke. Fitzhugh was beside her, deeply asleep. She was surprised she had not woken when he came to bed. The strain of the events of the day before must have caught up with her, for she had no memory of anything beyond climbing into bed.

  She got up and stretched, then went to the window and opened the shutters so she would have light to dress. As she returned to the bed, she studied the man lying there. Her love. The core of her heart. He looked young and vulnerable, with his tousled gold hair and his chiseled, masculine features softened in repose. But his body was still formidable, pure muscle and bone. He reminded her of Trueheart, his chestnut stallion, with his sleek hide and elegant blend of grace and power. White scars marred his lightly tanned skin. One on his neck and several on his arms. Remnants of battles already fought.

  She felt fear clutch her stomach as she thought of him having to face more combat. Yet, he was a knight and that was part of his life. She could not change who he was. Nor did she want to. No other man could ever stir her as this one did.

  Trying not to wake him, she quietly donned her bliaut and her shoes, washed her face in the water on the coffer by the window and sat on the stool to brush her hair and replait the front. Finished, she tried to decide whether to wake him. She knew he needed his rest, but she also knew he was anxious to leave Cardiff as soon as possible. As was she.