Heart's Ransom (Heart and Soul) (14 page)

“And you believe the only way to make the king adhere to the law is to make him answerable to his barons, people below him in rank.”

He nodded, impressed with her rapid understanding.  “But it goes farther than that, Gwen.  While a majority of the barons and earls want the king answerable to them, it needs to be taken all the way in order to have true justice.”

She blinked, thinking for a moment.  “The barons and earls should be held accountable by the people they govern.”

“Exactly,” he said, grinning broadly.

Talon saw the spark in her eyes as understanding dawned.  “By adding a parliament and returning the office of justicar so people may receive judgments by their peers, you bring the monarchy closer to a republic...like the Greeks once had.”

Talon’s jaw went slack.  Good glory, he knew she was intelligent but he never expected this sort of knowledge.

She seemed to recognize his astonishment and a soft blush colored her cheeks.  “My father may not have taken my education seriously but I spent much of my time with Brother Cedric.  He was charged with teaching my brother Latin and French.  Fortunately, Brother Cedric loved an avid student no matter if she was female.  He was frustrated with my brother’s lack of motivation for learning.  I devoured anything he had to teach me and his passion was healing, languages, and history.”

Talon abruptly realized his jaw hung open.  He snapped it shut.  “Amazing.  So you can speak both Latin and French?”

“Fluently.  I learned about the Greeks and the Romans and knowledge of medicants that he gained at Shrewsbury.”

Talon couldn’t help himself as he leaned forward slightly.  “You are a remarkable woman.”

She blinked at his unexpected compliment then surprisingly ducked her head.  “I feared you would think me silly.”

“On the contrary, my solace.  I appreciate anyone who values knowledge.”

She gazed at him through lowered lashes and Talon was abruptly forced to fight back a
sudden blaze of lust.  He turned his attention back to the scroll and read it.

His surprise at Gwen’s education was quickly replaced by a shocking, more urgent revelation.

“God have mercy,” he whispered.  “A French invasion is expected against us.”

“What?” Gwen asked, her voice soft with surprise.

Talon continued to read, his brow furrowing.  “Montfort has sent writs under his own seal, something that probably has Henry spitting in impotent fury.”  He paused, his eyebrows ascending his forehead.  “He’s sent them to bishops, abbots, earls, knights and freemen requesting a people’s army.”

“Amazing,” Gwen said, peering over his shoulder.  “Indeed it appears as if England has its republic.”

“It’s coming very close,” he agreed.

Abruptly, Gwen shook herself.  “Wait a moment,” she said her voice taking a harsh edge.  “A people’s army?  You, sir, are not going.”

Still mired in the revelation of the letter, he looked up at her in confusion.  “I’m not going?”

She pointed at his arm.  “You would not be able to heft a sword.”

He held up his hand, laughing.  “Peace, my lady, peace.  I have no intention of going, my health notwithstanding, although it will be a good excuse to Montfort.  I have other duties I must tend to here.  But I can send men to support Montfort against this plot.”

She gazed at him a moment, as if uncertain if she should believe him, then slowly nodded, placated.

He winked at her.  “After all, lady, I know if I ride out of here, you will pursue me and drag me back by the scruff if necessary.”

She rolled her eyes at him and muttered something under her breath.  “Treacherous rogue.”  With that she rose and left the room.  Talon gave way to the laugh bubbling within him.

That evening Talon gathered Marcus and his knights to his solar to discuss Montfort’s summons.  “Marcus,” he said while waiting for everyone to appear.  “Have you set the servants to cleaning the ladies’ solar?”

“Aye, everything is as you requested.  I had them remove the tapestry and wrap it for storage in the...other...room.  Lady Gwen will have use of the solar by tomorrow.”  He paused, smiling timidly.  “She spent most of the day scouring the keep for a room to store herbals.  And our gardener is a bit distraught over her displeasure at the sorry state of the medicants.

Talon chuckled and nodded.  He looked up as a young page entered and bowed.  “I pray, Sir Marcus, something needs your attention.”

Marcus rose.  “I will only be a moment, my lord.”

Talon dismissed him, staring into the flames of the hearth fire.  With things so questionable at Montgomery he would have to be cautious about how many men he sent to Montfort.  Too many would weaken his defenses.  With the situation regarding Rose and his abduction of Gwen, he could ill afford that.  But not sending enough would risk Montfort’s wrath, and the man was infamous for his temper.  He briefly wondered how Prince Edward was managing as Montfort’s hostage.  When the two were in the same room death’s specter hovered with baited breath in case he was needed.

Marcus reappeared at the door, his face shockingly gray.  “My lord,” he said, his voice an urgent whisper.  “A messenger has just arrived.”

“Another message from Montfort?”

“Nay...’tis the one we’ve been waiting for all this time.”

Talon blinked at him, his mind struggling to grasp his meaning.

Marcus lifted his hand.  Talon noted it shook badly then he saw what Marcus held.

A long lock of pale golden hair, tied with a light blue ribbon dangled from his fingers.

A knife cut through Talon’s soul as he bounded to his feet.  He would recognize that lock of hair anywhere - the exact same color as her mother’s.  Quivering, Talon took it, feeling its silky strands.

“Where is the messenger?” Talon choked.

“In the bailey.  He wishes to meet with you alone.”

“Do we know him?” Talon asked, suddenly galvanized into action.  He threw on his cloak.

“He is a simple crofter from our village, my lord.  He is terrified and told me he only delivered this because he was forced.”

Still clutching the lock of hair, Talon descended the stairs, his shaking legs barely able to support him.  “Make sure we are left alone, Marcus.”

Talon strode from the keep, spotting a large man, fidgeting at the base of the stairs in the bailey.  His clothing was simple, stained and patched.  Talon clearly saw terror in his eyes. 

“What is the meaning of this?” Talon growled, lifting the lock of hair.

The man flinched violently then dropped to his knees.  “Forgive me, lord, do not slay me.  I had nothing to do with the abduction of your daughter.”

Talon seized his arm and dragged him toward the blackness of the gardens.  They were empty and he could speak privately.

“Explain yourself.”

“Please, my lord.  I am a simple man; I seek only to provide for my family.  I had no choice but to bring their message to you.”

“Whose message?” Talon almost screamed.  “Who has my daughter?”

“I know not,” the crofter cried.  “I pray forgiveness but my vices are gambling and strong drink.  I wagered more than I possessed to these men.  Because of my debt they force me to do this.”

Damnation, the fool was being used so Talon could not get close to the abductors.  “What is the message?”

The man pulled a crumpled parchment from his belt pouch.  Talon was forced to move to the gate where a torch burned on a stanchion in order to read it.  His heart shriveled into ash.  The note was written in poor English, so poorly that he struggled to make sense of it.

But soon its meaning became clear.

Obey Montfort’s request to send men and your daughter will meet a dreadful fate.  She is alive and well cared for, but that will change if you do not heed this dispatch.  Speak of this to anyone and we will send you her finger.  Have the messenger followed or try to search for us and we will send you her hand.  Obey us not by supplying Montfort with men and we will send you her head.  We have eyes everywhere and know your moves, even your thoughts.  Tread lightly or your precious Rose will die.

Talon bowed his head and squeezed his eyes shut, tears burning.  The earth seemed to shift under his feet.  He had his answer, Rose was alive, but if he made a single mistake she would die.  He would have to betray his word and his alliance to keep her alive.

“Who...who gave you this note?”

“I know not his name, my lord,” the crofter said.  “The men I gambled with were mercenaries.  I have never seen them before.”

“Welshmen?”

“Nay, their speech and accents are English.”

“Hired then,” he muttered, trying to think through his rage and pain.

“Forgive me, my lord.  If I did not do as they demanded they would have slaughtered my family too.  My youngest daughter...she is the same age as yours.”

Talon’s shoulders slumped, an invisible weight driving him into the ground.  “I do not blame you.”  Indeed, if it had been the crofter who abducted Rose, he most likely would have demanded a ransom.  By this note, Talon suspected they were enemies of Montfort.  A Welshman such as Powys would have ordered the return of his own daughter or that Talon send all of his men to Montfort so that Montgomery would have been vulnerable.  Hell, Powys would have demanded Talon open his gates without a fight.  And for his daughter, Talon would have done it.

“Did you see her?” Talon asked with desperate hope.  “Do you know for certain she is alive?”

“Nay, my lord,” the crofter said sadly.  “When I lost the gambling they dragged me behind the tavern and beat me.  After which I was given the note, the lock of hair with instructions.  I am to return to the tavern with your written reply acceding to their wishes.  If you have me followed, they will slay not only your daughter but me and my family as well.”

Talon quickly recognized the tidy little trap they had set for the luckless crofter.  They had probably cheated him out of everything.  “Wait here.  I will write the letter.”  He trudged upstairs, passing Marcus on the way and instructing him to make sure the crofter did not leave.  Scrawling the note with a shaking hand, awkward because of his right still in a sling, he placed his seal to it then returned to the crofter.

“Return this to your grievous masters, crofter.  And take this gold piece.”

The man blinked at him in shock.  “My...my lord?”

“Feed your family as you should have done rather than lose your money to treacherous men.  If the mercenaries demand this service of you a second time take note of any detail you can.  But God help me, crofter, if I hear of you falling to your gambling vice again I will confiscate your lands, cast your family from your home, force your children into servitude, and cut out your tripes to roast over my fire.”

The man blanched the fell to his knees.  “I will obey, my lord, I thank you for your mercy.”

“Be off with you.  Deliver the message.  I will not have you followed.”  Talon turned away and trudged back to the keep.  Marcus trailed after him, awaiting his orders, but Talon dismissed him.  “I cannot speak of it Marcus, so please do not ask.  Tell the knights no one is leaving for the army.  I must pen a letter to Montfort.  We cannot continue any searches for my daughter.”

“My lord?” he asked, aghast.

“I have no choice.”  He staggered against the wall.  Marcus reached to assist him but Talon shrugged him away.  Marcus was an intelligent man; he would understand that Rose’s life hung in the balance.

Blood of Saints and Martyrs, he needed his daughter back.  He needed to know she was alive.  Horrors sprang from the dark corners of his mind.  What was his sweet Rose suffering?  Was she locked away in blackness, cold, terrified, and abused?  Would she be able to survive this or would it destroy her?  Was she stronger than her mother?  His blood coursed through her veins.  She had to be stronger, she just had to be.

Talon’s gut curled into a sickening knot.  It seemed as if he could hear her tiny voice crying in terror, begging for her father to save her, wondering why he did not.  Perhaps she thought he hated her, that he had forgotten her and left her to the wolves, that he had turned his back on her.

Somehow Talon managed to reach his room.  He locked the door behind him and sank into a chair.  He stared at the lock of hair clutched in his fingers.  Slowly he brought it to his lips, feeling its silken strands against his skin.  Faintly he smelled sunshine and flowers, he heard her childish laugh, a squeal of delight when he surprised her with a toy, the clap of her hands as she bounded with excitement.  The warmth of her cry when he rode through the gates after being gone a long time.  “Papa!  You’re home!”

His tears escaped, scorching paths down his cheeks.  “My precious, Rose,” he whispered, sobs suddenly choking his voice.  “Come back to me.”

****

From her vantage point in the great hall, Gwen saw a sudden, disturbing change come over the Earl of Montgomery.  She did not know the cause but when he returned to his solar, his pallid features made her worry that he had fallen ill.

She debated if she should check on him but suddenly even Marcus and his knights avoided him, abruptly canceling the meeting.  She heard Marcus mention Montgomery would not be sending men to Montfort.  And that was a complete reversal from Talon’s earlier position.

Something had happened but Gwen had no idea what it was.  The evening grew late and Talon refused any food from the kitchens, calling several times for a servant to bring him wine.  He was drinking far more than normal.

The keep settled for the night and Gwen returned to her room.  She paused, wondering if she should disturb him.  Normally she prepared his sleeping draught for him every evening.

She decided against it and went to bed but ended up tossing for a few hours, unable to find sleep.  Tired of listening to Alys’s snores, she donned a robe over her shift and opened the door.

Her room was not far from Talon’s solar.  She peered into the corridor, seeing light streaming from the small crack under his door.  Uncertain of the wisdom of disturbing him, she slowly approached and rapped lightly.

“Who is it?” he growled.

“Gwen.”

Silence greeted her.  Deciding he did not wish her company she turned and started to leave when the door abruptly opened.

Talon stood before her, again only half clothed.  Her heart lurched in a strange response to the sight of his well sculpted body.

“Lady, is something amiss that you are awake at this hour?”

“Aye,” she said, ducking her head in sudden embarrassment. “I can’t sleep.”

“What’s wrong?”

She fidgeted nervously.  “I...I am worried about you, my lord.”

“Me?” he asked as if the very thought startled him.  He sighed, dragging his hand through his hair.  Then he abruptly opened the door and gestured for her to come inside.

He closed the door behind her then poured her a cup of wine, refilling his own.  “And why, pray tell, are you concerned over the welfare of your abductor?”

Her ire pricked.  “I have no idea.”

He snorted sardonically and saluted her with his cup, downing the contents and refilling it.

She took a small sip from hers.  “You are not feeling ill are you?”

“Aye.  I am ill to the core of my
soul; a plague of the blackest evil has befouled my heart.”

Gwen arched an eyebrow, once again seeing the pain so obvious in his eyes.  “Do you care to speak of it?”

“I cannot,” he whispered, his foul mood fading suddenly and anguish replacing it.  “’Tis not by choice, I assure you of that.”

All right, that made no sense.  He wanted to talk about it but couldn’t.  Was it simply male pride that would not allow him or was it something else?

She sipped her drink again, trying to think of something to say.

Talon sank into his chair and covered his face with his hands, his elbows braced on his knees.

Gwen’s heart twisted and she moved quickly to his side, gripping his shoulder.  His skin was warm and smooth, the corded muscle under her hand contracted with vibrant power, feeling as solid as the stone walls around her.

He moved slightly, reaching up with his hand and gently covering hers, as if silently telling her he appreciated her gesture.  He stared at the ground, his shoulders bowed.  Only the pop and crackle of the fire in the hearth disturbed the silence.

Gwen knelt beside him, gazing up at his face, surprised to see his eyes liquid with unshed tears.  “Talon,” she whispered, her fingertips stroking the hair from his temple.  “I only want to help.”

He stared at her a long moment, as if he could see straight into her soul.  “I know,” he replied, his voice hoarse.  “I treasure that about you, my solace.”

Gwen’s throat tightened at his endearment for her.  Imagine, a Welsh captive woman becoming his solace.  “What can I do?”