Her dread of Bellame, and of her cousin changing his mind and deciding to cause more trouble, won out. She went to the bed and gently shook him. Half awake, he grasped her arm and pulled her down on top of him.
She sighed as she felt his arousal through her gown and the bedcover. “Cariad,” she murmured. “We must be away.”
His eyes opened and awareness of their circumstances dawned. He gazed at her with pained regret. “You are right.” He drew her down to kiss her. Then he pulled back and gave her a smile that turned her insides liquid with desire. “There will be many other times for me to love you in the morning. Many, many other times.”
She shifted off him and he got up from the bed and began to dress. A short while later, they were in the stables making final preparations for the journey back to Higham. Their horses were already saddled, and the knights armed and ready. Fitzhugh’s squire helped him into his hauberk and the whole party set off.
They’d almost reached the edge of the docks, and were about to turn onto the pathway leading out of the settlement. Fitzhugh put his hand up to call a halt. Rhosyn was puzzled, until she heard horses. The next moment, around the corner of the last warehouse a troupe of knights rode into view and quickly moved into position to block their way. There were at least twenty of them, almost double Fitzhugh’s force. And unlike Cyan’s warriors, these men were well-armed and mounted on warhorses. English knights.
Rhosyn surveyed them, looking for the visage that haunted her nightmares. The knights wore helms that obscured most of their faces, but she still felt certain Bellame was not among them. Yet, these were obviously his men, and they had clearly been sent to make certain she and the rest of her traveling party did not leave Cardiff.
Rhosyn observed several of the knights watching her. She was the prize. Dread gripped her as she unsheathed the dagger on her belt. Fitzhugh had given it to her when they first set out on the journey. He had teased her a bit when he presented it, jibing that he was certain she knew how to wield it. But it was not a subject of jest now. She would fight to the death to keep these men from taking her.
But first the enemy had to get past Fitzhugh and his knights, who had moved into position to the front and sides of her. The battle engaged. Rhosyn watched in horror as Fitzhugh and his men slashed and stabbed. Hemmed in on one side by a grove of trees and a hedgerow on the other, it was difficult for Fizthugh’s knights to maneuver and they ended up moving backwards as they fought.
Rhosyn edged her horse back as well, but as they lost ground, her panic increased. She wanted to cover her eyes, but she could not, lest an enemy knight grab her horse’s bridle when she was unaware. Even if she had, the sounds were as awful as the sights. The thud of swords against leather-covered, wooden shields. The grating sound of metal sliding against metal. Grunts and cries as men were injured.
Two of the enemy had been knocked from their horses and were scrambling to stay away from the deadly hooves of the other destriers as well as seeking another mount. One wild-eyed man spied her horse and slipped through the melee towards her. He grabbed Cinder’s bridle. Even as he did so, Fitzhugh was there. Trueheart reared and crashed down on the hapless knight. The man screamed as the stallion trampled him. The gorge rose in Rose’s throat as she thought of the damage the animal’s huge hooves were doing to the man.
Another knight went down. Rhosyn saw that there was a deep wound in his mount’s flank. Rhosyn thought of all the work it would take to sew up the animal’s wound. It angered her to think of the beautiful beasts being caught up in the conflicts of men and suffering terrible injures in battle.
Her own mount was sidling and whinnying, obviously frightened of the smell of blood and the violence swirling around them. Unlike the battle with Cynan’s men, this one seemed to drag on forever. Rhosyn sought to follow Fitzhugh, his size and the huge chestnut stallion Trueheart marking him out from the other combatants. Then she saw an enemy knight making his way towards her on foot, his sword at the ready, and she had the unnerving realization this man intended to attack and injure her mount.
Cinder seemed to sense the danger and became even more difficult to control. The man’s blade flashed near the mare’s rear. Wild with fear, the mare reared up and Rhosyn slipped sideways, clinging desperately to the saddle by the pommel. Someone grabbed at her skirts, trying to drag her off the horse. She gritted her teeth and held on. Then there was a grunt and her attacker let go. Rhosyn scrambled up onto the mare’s back and regained control.
Turning the animal, she saw that the man wielding a blade against her mount was now lying on the ground with an arrow in his neck. Another arrow flew by and struck the knight Sir Baldwin was engaged with. Still another whizzed past and pierced one of the nearby oaks. Terrified of being struck by one of the bolts, Rhosyn pressed herself low on her horse’s back.
Another man grabbed her bridle. This one was a helmetless Cymro who had a wild look in his eyes. She was seized from behind and dragged from the horse. The two men hauled her away from the fray and into the trees.
“Stay here,” one man of the men ordered in Cymraeg, then returned to the battle. The other Cymro said nothing, but kept a fierce grip on her arm. As the sounds of battle continued Rhosyn struggled to get away. She was desperate to see what was happening.
Her captor held on fiercely. “You foolish bitch!” he muttered in Cymraeg. “We’re trying to save you.”
Rhosyn could not help thinking about Fitzhugh. If anything should happen to him, she could not bear it. Through the trees, she was only able to see glimpses of the battle. Yet gradually she realized her captor was likely right. She was better off out of it. There was naught that she could do to aid Fitzhugh and her presence there would distract him. But it was agony to wait helplessly. To hear the cries of men as they were wounded and the terrible sounds of clashing weapons and whinnying horses.
Finally, the awful noises ceased. Her guard pointed a dagger at her threateningly and muttered, “Wait here.” He crept forward, out of the trees. Even if Rhosyn had thought to follow him, she was not certain her body would have cooperated. She felt paralyzed with dread.
She sought to shake off her panic. There were wounded men and horses to be tended to and she was a healer. She could not give in to shock and trauma. She must do what was necessary.
Chapter Twenty-Three
William looked around. The enemy had fled and his men were securing the prisoners. But where was Rhosyn? He did not see her among the confusion of men and horses. Had one of the enemy seized her in the last moments of the battle? He’d been so busy fighting he had lost track of her.
Alan appeared at his stirrup. “Gervaise is bleeding heavily. We need the healer. Where is she?”
A wave of anguish swept him. If Rhosyn was gone, then all this fighting and bloodshed was for naught. “Milord?”
“I don’t know where she is,” William growled, then forced himself to focus. “Who else is wounded?”
“Ralf has a deep slash in his arm, but we’ve staunched the wound. But Gilbert is dead.
“Dead?”
“Yea, my lord. I’m not sure how it happened.”
“His mount went down and crushed him.” Someone spoke from his other side. William turned to see Owen ap Rhodri on a sturdy mountain pony. The Welshman’s blue eyes were grim and cold. “You owe us a debt, Fitzhugh. If not for my men, you might well be at heaven’s gates along with this Gilbert fellow.”
“Where’s Rhosyn? William demanded. “Do your men have her?”
Before Owen could answer, a female voice cried, “Fitzhugh!” and William turned to see Rhosyn running from the woods. He wanted to leap from his horse and pull her into his arms. He contented himself with leaning from the saddle to grasp her outstretched hand. “Rhosyn, are you well?”
Her face was flushed and her brown eyes gleamed with emotion. “Aye. And you?”
“Except for a couple of scratches, I am unhurt.”
“Healer Rhosyn, we need you.” Alan who’d moved o
ut of the way to let Rhosyn approach, spoke urgently. “Will you come?”
Rhosyn flashed a rueful smile at William and turned to follow the knight.
*
“We finally got the bleeding stopped but Gervaise has lost a great deal of blood. He can’t travel. ’Twould kill him.” Rhosyn spoke firmly to William, who was standing near the supply cart.
William frowned at her. “Well, we can hardly stay here. Nor can we return to the tavern and risk Bellame setting upon us again.”
“I know a farmstead that is not too far away.” Owen motioned. Her cousin had been deep in conversation with William when she approached. “You could take your wounded there. That is, if you’re still determined to return to Higham.”
“If we’re going to besiege Cardiff castle, we’ll need equipment and a lot more men,” said William.
“If? My men saved your life. You owe me.” Her cousin’s back was up again. While grateful that Owen’s warband had driven off Bellame’s men and rescued her, Rhosyn felt a surge of irritation. Was seizing land and power all her cousin could think of?
William’s words echoed her thoughts. “I owe you a debt, Owen. But I have other responsibilities to see to before I take on a well-defended fortress.”
Owen did not look pleased, but he seemed to see the reason of Fitzhugh’s words. “How are we going to transport this Gervaise?” He glanced dubiously at the wain piled with goods.
Fitzhugh followed his gaze. “I suppose we’ll have unload some of the bigger items. Use the wagon to take him to the farmhouse and return for them when we have Gervaise situated.”
“What about the prisoners?” Owen jerked his head in the direction of the Bellame knights who had been stripped of their weapons and armor and bound. Two of Fitzhugh’s men stood guard over them in the shadows under the trees.
“We’ll have to come back for them.”
“Would it perhaps not be wiser to take them to the farmstead as well?” Owen asked. “Do you really want leave them so close to Cardiff, where Bellame might seek to rescue them?”
“Very well. We’ll take the prisoners and Gervaise and go to this farmstead.”
“I must come as well,” Rhosyn said. “Gervaise will need tending. And I think Ralf should go as well. I looked at the wound in his arm and it should be stitched.”
“I have another idea,” Owen said. “If I can find a wagon in the settlement, we could use it to take your wounded knights and Rhosyn to the farmstead. My men will take charge of the prisoners, and you and the rest of your knights could continue on to Higham.”
“And leave Rhosyn here in Wales? You’ve already sought to use her as a hostage to bend me to your will. How can I trust you?”
“I did save your hide just now. And Rhosyn’s. When I arrived, Bellame’s men were on the verge of seizing her. She’s my kin. I vow nothing will happen to her while you are gone and she will be at the farmstead when you return.”
William glanced at Rhosyn, his expression agonized. ’Twas clear he hated to be parted from her, much as she did him.
She touched his mailed arm. “All will be well. I know you must get back to Higham. ’Tis not safe to remain here. And ’tis your duty. As mine is to tend to the wounded. As for my cousin.” She turned to the Welshman. “I believe I can deal with him.”
Owen snorted. Then he looked at Fitzhugh. “She will be here when you come back, I vow it.”
*
Rhosyn leaned over the bed and tilted the cup of boiled water laced with honey and salt at an angle so Gervaise could drink. This was the second cup she’d made him consume. He needed the liquid to replace all the blood he had lost. As it was, she feared wound fever was inevitable. The gash in his side was deep. He had barely survived the jolting ride in the wagon, with Ralf sitting beside him, using his good arm to keep pressure on the wound to make certain it didn’t start bleeding again.
Gervaise lay on a rope bed in the croft of Merion ap Hywel, a farmer who owed a boon to Owen. Ralf, whose wound she had stitched soon after they arrived here, was seated by the hearth. Nearby, Merion’s wife, Nest, tended a pot of mutton stew and the smallest of her children played on the dirt-packed floor with some carved wooden animals. Rhosyn wondered how Merion and his family felt about sharing their crowded dwelling with three strangers. Especially since two of them were English knights. She feared Gervaise had a long recovery ahead.
But at least he had a chance of surviving. Gilbert had been killed either by the fall to the ground or his horse rolling over him. Guilt swept over her. She had been the focus of the attack by Bellame’s men. If they had not been seeking her, none of this would have happened. She should never have come on this journey. Never yielded to her longing to see her homeland and visit Orla.
She had also been motivated by that desire to spend time with William, even if she would not have admitted it at the time. Some part of her had imagined that on this journey the spark between them would catch fire. So it had, but the blaze, which had nearly consumed them, had complicated everything. Her presence in Cardiff had attracted the attention of both her cousin and Bellame.
Bellame had likely learned she was there from someone in Cardiff who recognized her. But Owen said he had found out she was coming there from a spy he had at Higham. How long had he been plotting this? And who was the spy at Higham? The thought made her wonder if her cousin had been behind the raids that killed Henry and injured Anselm.
She felt worn out by the complexities of her cousin’s plans and being caught in the middle. Once she got back to Higham, she intended to stay there and have nothing to do with Owen or his schemes.
She hoped William would do the same. The turmoil gripping her intensified. She still did not know how things stood between the two of them. William’s blue eyes had shone with tenderness as they said goodbye, but that did not mean he felt for her what she did for him. Men were easily swayed by physical desire, but the desire did not last. And he had appeared dismayed when Owen proposed the two of them wed.
She had been dismayed as well, at least partly because she did not want to see Fitzhugh caught up in an alliance that would lead to bitter warfare. But his reluctance was likely due to his unwillingness to make someone like her his wife. He would want to wed one of his own kind, an elegant and refined lady. One who brought him a rich dowry, rather than entangling him in the morass of Cymry politics.
The thought of it made her burn with jealousy, which was absurd. She did not want to wed Fitzhugh. It would mean giving up her independence and being totally subject to Fitzhugh’s will. It would mean becoming the property of a man, and a Saeson at that. She would have to give up healing, or do it only in a limited way. And that would be a betrayal of her mother and everything her mother had taught her. After the horrible death her mother had endured because of her, she had a duty to carry on the traditions of the women of her line. It was the only way to honor her mother’s memory.
Tears stung her eyes. Would her sense of grief and loss over her mother’s death never ease? Love could be a terrible thing, condemning you to endless suffering when the loved one died. And now she was again bound up in another’s fate. A man. A knight, whose life was one of risk and danger. If Fitzhugh died, she would have to endure this soul-scorching pain all over again.
She gasped at the thought of it, wondering how this had happened. How had she been so foolish as to fall in love? She had fought so hard against it. Tried so hard to despise Fitzhugh—William. To remember what he was—an English knight, an oppressor.
But he defied her expectations and turned out to be much different. He had won her over with his kindness and consideration. Used gentleness to suborn her, to ease his way beneath her barriers and touch her heart. And then he had sealed her doom with his splendid body and the delights of lovemaking. Her desire for him had been her final downfall. She was his hostage, at the mercy of his decisions and his will.
There seemed no escape. But she would not give up entirely. She would fight to have some indep
endence. His reluctance to wed her might turn out to be her salvation. She would use this time away from him to harden her heart against him. And when he took an English bride, she could truly begin to hate him. She would fan the flame of bitter resentment until it burned as bright as her longing for him did now.
Gervaise stirred and Rhosyn forced herself to turn her attentions to the wounded man. She felt his forehead for signs of a fever.
*
The keep of Higham came into view as William and his men rode into the valley. The stonework glowed silver in the hazy light and looked solid and formidable. It was a relief to finally be back, but William could not help thinking about what he’d left behind. Poor Gervaise, so gravely wounded. The always-cheerful Ralf, who hopefully would mend quickly. And of course, his beloved Rhosyn.
Baldwin, riding beside him, also seemed be thinking about who was missing. “Do you think Gervaise will live? He lost so much blood.”
“If anyone can do save him, ’twill be Rhosyn.”
“She is skilled, I’ll give you that. But will she do her best for him?”
“I believe she will. I think she considers it her duty to aid anyone who suffers.”
“That was true here at Higham. But she is in her homeland now.”
“Wales may be her homeland, but she wearies of the constant warring of her countrymen. Although I’m certain she feels a deep pull towards the place she grew up, I believe her loyalties lie here now.”
Even as he said this, he wondered if it was true. What if Rhosyn never returned, but disappeared forever into the wild hills of Wales?
But she’d had the choice to do that months ago and had not taken it. She could have stayed at her uncle’s fortress rather coming to Higham. Rhosyn had sought a different life. A chance to make her own way as healer. To have status in her own right.
Her proud independence fired his admiration, but also made him worry she would not agree to wed him, even if he could find a way to make it possible. Owen’s scheme had aroused a twinge of hope. Perhaps he could use Rhosyn’s relationship to Rhodri as a way to convince King John to allow him to wed her. He would have to go to London and argue his cause directly to the king. Ideally, he should take Rhosyn with him. He imagined her in an elegant court gown, her beautiful dark hair crowned by a jeweled circlet and gauzy silk veil.
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