Daughter of Time: A Time Travel Romance (18 page)

“Yes, my lord,” Humphrey said. “Lady Marged
and I managed to reach the bank just over there. He was waiting to
help us out of the water. I accepted his help, assuming he meant
well.”

“He took Marged?” That he had was obvious,
since she wasn’t here, but my mind was struggling to keep up with
the magnitude of what he was saying.

“I thought he meant to help us, but as soon
as Marged came out of the river, he dragged her away from me,
mounted them both on his horse, and raced away. I tried to stop
them, but without a horse of my own . . . it . . . I couldn’t . .
.” Humphrey looked down at his toes. I caught the word
hopeless.

It wasn’t his fault but my anger was making
it difficult for me to see reason. I couldn’t stand to look at him.
Even so, he appeared to be telling the truth. “Where will they go?”
I said to Goronwy.

“They can’t cross the Dysynni River today.
Lady Marged is wet through; she’ll need warm clothes soon if they
expect her to live.”

“Perhaps they’ll head north, then, back to
the manor?” Hywel said.

“Neither of them know this country well,”
Goronwy said. “I wonder if they might, perhaps, head to the
sea?”

Jesus wept.

“Before you reached us, I sent men in pairs
in every direction,” Hywel said. “They’ll find her.”

By now all of my men had arrived at the
clearing, including the man leading Humphrey’s horse. He recognized
it and without a by-your-leave, ran to it, stripping off his shirt
as he did so.

“This is my fault, my lord,” he said, his
teeth chattering as he opened his saddlebags. The leather had
protected his belongings for the most part so he could pull off the
rest of his clothes and redress in ones that were merely damp
instead of soaking. “I must come with you.”

“Keep up, then,” I said. I turned to my men.
“Owain of Powys and my brother, Dafydd, have taken Marged. We don’t
know in what direction, but they travel with twelve horses, one of
which is carrying two. Goronwy suggests they are riding to the sea,
but we can’t assume that.”

“Dane returns, my lord!” Hywel pointed
west.

“My lord!” Dane said, pulling up in front of
me. “Bevyn continues along the trail, but I’ve returned to lead
you. The riders head southwest, following the river. They could be
aiming for where the Dysynni empties into the sea at Tywyn.”

“We go,” I said. “We can’t allow them to put
to sea, if that’s their intent.”

As the crow flies, it was fewer than ten
miles to the sea, but we had many more than that to travel as the
river twisted and turned and the trail that ran beside it twisted
with it. This region of Wales was cut through with dozens of
streams, flowing out of a series of hills that ended abruptly at
the sandy spit that met the sea at the mouth of the Dysinni. I
hoped that we would gain ground, since we didn’t have to follow the
river as precisely as Dafydd and Owain. We all knew where it
emptied, and didn’t need to ride around every twist and turn as
they might to make sure we were traveling in the correct
direction.

In all the years of discord with Dafydd,
through all the accusations that he’d directed at me over the
years—my unfairness, my arrogance, my usurpation of his
birthright—he’d never acknowledged that his familiarity with
all-things Welsh was limited. Although it wasn’t his fault, being a
small child when our father was imprisoned in the Tower of London,
he’d grown up in England. He spoke French more easily than Welsh,
and his playmates, rather than staunch advocates of a free Wales
like Goronwy and Tudur, had been English—even Edward himself, King
Henry’s son.

Growing up, Dafydd and Edward had egged each
other on as to which of them could behave more recklessly. Their
bravado had been celebrated and encouraged by my mother, and King
Henry. Edward, however, under the tutelage of the finest scholars
and warriors in England, had tempered that recklessness into an
adult boldness that was both intelligent and forceful. A careful
planner, he saw openings where others balked. Dafydd, on the other
hand, had only become foolhardy, using his uncommon good looks to
slip through holes that didn’t exist, never disciplining himself to
any one endeavor or any one allegiance—other than to himself.

It was Goronwy who articulated my thoughts.
“What is your brother thinking, Llywelyn? This is reckless in the
extreme. He can’t hope to get away with it.”

“He doesn’t think, Goronwy,” I said. “Or
only about himself, his desires, and his concerns.”

“Yes, but . . .” Goronwy couldn’t find the
words to properly express his outrage.

“Who knows? He could view this as simply a
lark; the same lark that convinced Humphrey to venture into Wales
with Owain of Powys.”

“He might also think we distrust our young
Humphrey more than we do,” Goronwy said, “and him us. Perhaps he
thinks Humphrey will protect him, or that we will disbelieve him no
matter what Humphrey tells us. As Dafydd has no honor himself, he
may not recognize it in those who do.”

Less than an hour later, we crested a rise
overlooking Tywyn, half a mile away. Four boats hovered near the
beach, two in the water, oarmen already pulling away from the
shore, and two others still on the sand. The long and lean boats
had been built to ride onto beaches with almost no keel, and yet
carry men, horses and cargo.

The few men remaining on the beach spun
around to look at us—and at Bevyn, who had outpaced us and was
coming on fast.

“Go! Go! Go!”

A small figure that might have been Marged
stood up in one of the boats that was already in the water. And
then I was sure it was she because the man beside grabbed her arm
and tugged her back down. I didn’t need to see that smirk on
Dafydd’s face to know it was there. If I never saw it again, it
would be too soon
.

The remaining men threw themselves into the
boats and started rowing fast. Ten heartbeats later, Bevyn was off
his horse, had thrown his boots in the sand, and was in the water.
We spurred our horses, but in my heart, I knew we wouldn’t be able
to stop the boats. We cascaded down the beach anyway and pulled up
just short of the water’s edge. Hywel checked his horse beside me,
breathing hard.

“Shall I have the archers fire upon
them?”

“No, Hywel,” I said. “We don’t want to hit
Marged.”

Then a splash came from one of the boats, at
least a hundred yards off shore, and a chorus of shouts. I strained
to see what was happening but my distance vision was not as sharp
as it once was. Two boats turned in the water, but after more
shouting and splashing, straightened again and continued west, away
from us.

“My lord, look!” Goronwy pointed out to sea.
He still had one arm wrapped firmly around Anna, who stood on the
saddle to see better, her head level with Goronwy’s. And it was
Anna who understood what she was seeing.

“Mommy!”

Bevyn had swum hard to the boats, but now
returned, a small figure struggling beside him.
Meg.
They
rested and swam, rested and swam, and were boosted in the end by
the strong waves that pushed them to the beach.

They were crawling by the time I reached
Marged, thrown onto their knees in the shallow water. I pulled her
into my arms, aware of how light she was and how exhausted. She
wore only her linen shift and her teeth chattered loud enough to
hear. I tried to wrap my cloak around both of us, but Humphrey
hurried up with a spare cloak and laid it over her.

“I’m so sorry, my lord,” he said. “I failed
you.”

I couldn’t speak.

“Events were beyond your control, Humphrey,”
Goronwy said, striding up the beach with him and saving me from
having to answer and losing my temper completely. “If you hadn’t
chosen to ride beside her, and fallen with her, we might have never
have found her at all.”

“Goronwy is right, Humphrey,” Marged said.
Shivering uncontrollably, she’d pressed her face into my chest and
the words came out muffled. “If this was anyone’s fault it’s
Dafydd’s.”

“Or mine,” I said.

“How can you say that, Llywelyn?” She lifted
her face to look into mine.

“Because I allowed him back into my
country,” I said.

“And if you hadn’t, my lord,” Goronwy said,
“King Henry wouldn’t have agreed to the treaty and acknowledged you
Prince of Wales. You had no choice.”

“There’s always a choice,” I said.

Actions have consequences far beyond what we
can ever foresee, and most of the time, we’re just struggling to
stay upright as the surf pounds us to our knees.

* * * * *

“I’m fine, Llywelyn,” Marged said, as I
loaded her onto my horse. “I’m warm enough.”

“You’re not,
cariad
. For Anna’s sake,
if not mine, you will listen to me.”

She might not like it, but for once obeyed.
I’d dressed her in one of my men’s spare clothes—he was only a
little taller than she, though twice as wide—and she’d grinned at
me through blue lips at the sight of the breeches. Now, she hugged
Anna for just a moment before relinquishing her to Goronwy once
again. Anna seemed content with that, but I’d observed enough of
Marged’s mothering to know how few circumstances there were in
which she would ask Anna to sit in another’s arms if hers were
available.

“I don’t know why you feel the need to
pretend otherwise. Any one of my men would be unwell if they’d
experienced the day you’ve had. We need to get you warm and into a
bed, but we’ve at least an hour’s ride before we’ll reach Castell y
Bere.”

Marged pushed her hair out of her face with
one hand. The careful style had long since come down and lay a
sopping mass around her shoulders. “Yes, Llywelyn,” she said.

“I’ve sent men ahead to warn the castellan
that we’re coming, and in what condition,” Hywel said.

“We’re short a horse,” Humphrey said. “Yours
shouldn’t carry two that distance. I’ll walk. It’s no matter to
me.”

“You will do no such thing!” Goronwy said.
“Although you were far too arrogant before, contrite doesn’t suit
you either. We won’t allow the grandson of the Earl of Hereford to
walk ten miles home!”

“Yes, sir,” Humphrey said, still looking
sheepish.

“Come to think of it,” I said, “you may ride
Glewdra behind Marged. She’s strong enough to carry you both. I’ll
ride your horse. That way, none must be left behind.”

“As you wish, my lord,” Hywel said.

Though I didn’t think much of Humphrey’s
arms around Marged, either in principle or fact, I wasn’t concerned
about some upstart English youth usurping me
.
She’d thrown
herself out of Dafydd’s boat, risking death, rather than sail off
with him. Dafydd, who’d never failed to charm any woman he wanted,
when he wanted, and none ever seemed to regret the experience.
Except Marged.

“Can you tell me what happened, Marged?”
Half a dozen men had donated their blankets and she was so bundled
up that all I could see of her was her white face, poking out from
the blankets. Her cheeks had turned pink, a much a healthier color,
and from the cold outside, not within.

“Humphrey must have told you what happened
at the river, right?” Marged said. She twisted in her seat to look
at him.

“Some,” I said.

“Dafydd was there to pull us out of the
water,” Humphrey said. “I have no idea why. But I suppose after our
days at your hunting lodge, it would have been easy enough to get
here ahead of us. He must have known where we were headed.”

“He knew,” I said.

“So your brother leagues with Powys,”
Humphrey said.

“Not for the first time, either.”

“Nor the last,” Marged said under her
breath. I gave her a sharp glance, but Humphrey didn’t indicate
he’d heard her.

“Go on,” I said. “Tell me the rest.”

“Dafydd picked Marged out of the water,
threw her onto his horse, and off they went,” Humphrey said.
“That’s all I know.”

Marged picked up the story. “We rode to the
sea shore with its waiting boats.”

“What luck that you were so easy to take,” I
said. “I would have thought they’d come to rescue Humphrey.”

“I guess not,” Marged said. “From the little
Dafydd said it was you, my lord, that he wanted, not me.”

“Me? Are you sure?”

“So he said.”

“But he settled for you because you’re my
woman.”

“Apparently.”

“Because he’s concocted yet another
nefarious plot that we don’t really want to know about,” Goronwy
said. “That Owain went along with it is astonishing. I thought he’d
have better sense.”

“Dafydd hasn’t any,” Humphrey said. “He
should have taken me with him or killed me in the clearing.”

“And why didn’t he?” Marged asked.

Humphrey had the answer. “Because he thinks
I’m still on his side, on Owain’s side. They left me to be a spy in
your camp.”

I deliberately didn’t look at Humphrey. I
wasn’t sure he realized what he’d just admitted.

“And now that we that we know of his
perfidy, what do we do about it?” Goronwy said, smoothing over the
sudden silence. “Dafydd has sailed away, free and unhindered, as
usual. The next time we see him, no doubt he’ll try to brazen it
out, either denying or laughing off his actions.”

“We could run him out of Wales,” Hywel said,
his voice almost a growl. “He’s no soldier.”

“Right into Henry’s arms again,” I said.
“Not a plan that I would favor, all things considered.”

“My grandfather would support you,” Humphrey
said. “He and I would tell the truth to the king.”

“And I appreciate that,” I said. “At the
same time, as a future lord of the Marche, you should appreciate my
desire to keep the events of Wales, within Wales, without
disturbing the King of England with them.”

Humphrey snorted. “Disturbing is right.”