“You know how I feel about Welsh savages,” Garrett growled. “However, I know who this one is and it serves my purpose to keep her with us.”
“Who is she?” Lydon snorted. “What purpose, other than the usual, could such a frail female have?”
Garrett gazed down at the unconscious woman in his arms. “Exactly the purpose you think. I am certain she is leman to one of those sons. She is from the keep. Even though her servants’ garments are soiled, they are well-made and of excellent quality. Then, there’s the horse she rode. What common village wench would wear such fine wool or ride such a splendid animal? Nay, she served one of the sons or mayhap the father.”
Garrett glanced once more at the woman then at his man. “Lydon, I want those men. If she holds any importance for one of them, she will serve as bait. Besides, you, Joseph, even my men, know we cannot let these two return. They will raise an alarm.”
Lydon started to interrupt but Garrett cut him short, “She is too comely to roam the hills of Wales. Now, see to the scouts and send for the Scotsman. My burden grows heavy.”
In minutes, Garrett’s tent occupied a hidden spot in a grove of trees. The woman rested on his furs and Garrett gave her into the care of his Scottish physician. He roamed the camp, spoke to his men and thanked them for the battle they had waged. Then he spent for a messenger. Edward had to be informed of how unsuccessful this engagement had been. With any luck, Garrett would still find Alwyn’s sons. At least part of Edward’s goal could be met.
He wandered to the edge of the wood and stared at the setting sun. Memories, long dead, threatened to surface but he closed his mind. He needed to stay alert to the danger surrounding them.
At the moment, he was caught in a country with people he hated with all the passion he possessed. He was three days march from Knockin, and now he had saddled himself with two of his enemy.
Two
“She’ll recover,” the Scotsman replied a short time later. “The wound will be painful, but not serious. The blade did not touch a bone, and it is a clean cut. But she will be weak for a time.”
Garrett fought against the swell of relief at the Scotsman’s words. Then he grimaced. Relief should be the last emotion he felt.
“My thanks to you. You’ll see to her again?”
“Aye, my lord.”
Garrett gazed around at the groups of his men huddled together against the chill of the night. He stretched his arms, weary beyond belief. He needed something to distract himself from the woman in his tent.
“Lydon,” he called softly as he approached them.
“Here, my Lord.” Lydon’s bulky figure appeared out of the gloom.
“Have the scouts returned?” Garrett asked.
“Aye, they have. Let us talk yonder, by that oak tree.” He pointed to a grandfather oak, its branches spreading over much of their part of the camp.
Garrett battled a surge of disgust. Lydon’s wish to speak privately meant the enemy had not been found.
“Sorry, my Lord,” Lydon’s gruff voice rasped. “The scouts discovered tracks left by many horses, and followed the trail but it simply vanished.”
Garrett sighed. deVerney’s charge and the resulting massacre that followed had destroyed any plans of a surprise attack. He might as well admit defeat for the moment. With the father gone, the sons would hide, regroup and then make new plans. That would take time. They would stay hidden until they were ready to fight again.
However, as long as he held the woman and mayhap a son, he had some leverage. Nothing more could be done this day, or for that matter, for some time.
“Lydon, give the command. We start for home on the morrow. And, tell Joseph to watch the boy when the order is given.”
“You are giving up the hunt?”
“For now, aye. But, remember, I’m certain I have one of theirs. I also have the woman. When the time is right, I will use her to draw them out.” Garrett smiled and stretched.
Home! Tomorrow they would leave this accursed place and begin the march back to England. He breathed deep and smelled the earthy fragrance of dirt and decaying leaves.
He found a spot beneath the huge oak and rolled into his cloak. Tomorrow they would start for home. Contentment of a sort pulled him into sleep.
~ * ~
Rhianna opened her eyes and gazed at the ceiling of a tent. She tried to sit but a searing pain shot through her shoulder. To keep from screaming, she bit her lip. The events of the last day raced through her mind. She drew in a ragged breath. Once again the English had ruined her life.
Garrett deShay had seen her father killed. Now something told her she was his prisoner. For all she knew Arthur could well have breathed his last with the tortures these English could devise. She had no idea where her other brothers were, nor what they planned. Getting word to them this day was out of the question.
And the keep at Brynn Ffrydd... What had the English done to it?
Fighting waves of nausea, she lifted herself to gaze through a slit in the flap of the tent. A fringe of pale cream hovered above the horizon, announcing the arrival of a new day. In the distance she heard the sounds of male voices, raw, husky, barbaric. If she had not been before, she was certain now, she was a captive of the English.
But, most important, she had to find out what had happened to Arthur. If he still lived, they must escape, somehow get home. She had to get back to Lilybet.
Nor could she spend more time lying abed. She gathered her courage then stumbled from the pallet. Dizziness kept her on her knees. She struggled into a standing position, fighting her weakness. Somehow, she had to find the strength to dress. After several deep breaths and with as much care as possible, she worked her chemise over her bandaged shoulder while trying to ignore the stabbing agony. She sank back to the furs in frustration.
Again she crawled to her feet and after she managed her tunic, her attempt to tie her laces brought more pain. She gave up because she could not use her injured arm. Leaning against the one chest in the tent, she rested gathering her strength.
After the dizziness passed, she took several steps toward the entrance. She fingered the canvas looking for an opening but when she found it, her hand brushed a firm, rigid object.
Startled, she drew back.
The entrance flap flew in her direction. She stared into the angry countenance of a man. No ordinary man this. Tall, handsome, a mighty warrior. Still, he was English. He was the same warrior who appeared at the entrance to their cave. He also had to know what had happened to Arthur.
She didn’t get a chance to ask.
“Wench,” he said. “I want to be on the road before the sun is full in the sky. Break your fast and prepare to leave.” He yanked the canvas aside allowing a young man, even younger than Arthur, to enter the tent. The youth held a tray with a cup and half a loaf of bread.
She had no intention of letting him walk from the tent without telling her about her brother. She grabbed his arm.
“My companion. Where is he?” she demanded.
The English warrior glared at her hand and then at her.
“Arthur, what have you done with him?”
“He awaits you. Eat. We leave in minutes.”
Before she could shout that she would go nowhere with him, he was gone.
The young man who carried the tray dropped it on the furs and ran after him. She watched their departure and realized she had been holding her breath.
After they disappeared, she dragged air into starving lungs. Was this Englishman in service to deShay? Oh, nay, please St. Dafydd, nay.
She worked her fingers through her hair wondering what she could use to cover the tousled locks. Before she could decide on what to use, her stomach growled. When had she last eaten? She couldn’t remember. It mattered not that this was English food. She needed to eat. While she considered the Englishman’s word, she tore a piece of bread from the loaf and started for the canvas opening.
At least Arthur was alive. Relief coursed through her. They could escape, return home. But had he been tortured, forced to confess their identity? If he could still talk, if he’d told them nothing, then she had to warn him to keep quiet. He must talk to no one but her.
She rushed through the opening, then stopped in amazement. Arthur stood beside a wooden cart, appearing hail and hearty as he waited for her. He helped her into the fur-laden cart and she lay back exhausted with the energy she had spent.
“I’m to stay beside you this morn,” he said settling her into the furs.
“Oh, Arthur.” She managed a smile. “I am so glad to see you. I had no notion what had happened to you.”
“Can you forgive me?” When she looked confused, he pointed to her shoulder. “I meant to harm deShay.”
“Of course I forgive you. But what do you mean, you meant to harm deShay? The man in the cave...oh, nay. Do not tell me that is deShay?”
“Not so loud.” Arthur paled.
She fought a sudden dizziness.
“The keep. Did he sack the keep?” she whispered.
He glanced at the milling troops, then murmured, “Nay.”
“How is it that you are so certain? The English always lay waste to what is left.”
“Not this time,” he replied. “I heard the soldiers grumbled about returning home with no plunder and some complained they had not even seen the keep. But, we have other worries. deShay is taking us to England and there is more. Do you remember when you threatened a curse upon deShay?”
She nodded.
“That black devil who tried to take you on the road, the one I felled? The knight whose horse I took?”
Again she nodded. “Aye, how could I not! He told me he intended to have his way with me, then slit my throat.”
“That one is called Colvin, Lord Sanford. He is deShay’s half brother.”
“But what has this to do with us. Oh, nay. You are to be punished for taking his horse.”
“Quiet! That is not a concern. However, last night, deShay sent one of his men after the devil. deShay told his man to question Lord Sanford about where he was during the battle. deShay’s man returned a short time ago. This Lord Sanford named you a witch. He said that you cast a spell on him and felled him on the road to the battle.”
She gasped.
“But, you hit him on the head. He had no knowledge you had come up behind him. And he was riding away from the battle.”
“Quiet! We do not want them to know I hit him.”
“Well, I don’t want them thinking I cast spells.”
Arthur sighed. “It is too late for that. You are the talk of the camp. A goodly number of the soldiers here remember your curse and are naming you a witch.”
“The church demands witches burn,” Rhianna whispered.
“It won’t come to that. Our brothers will rescue us.”
She jerked forward and groaned at the pain.
“Have you seen any sign of them?”
“Nay, nothing.”
“Arthur, if they don’t come, we have to escape. We cannot be taken to England. It is unthinkable. But not today. I fear I am too weak to make good an escape.”
She spoke the truth. She was so tired. Even as concerned as she was with all he had told her, sleep claimed her before the troops began their march.
Rhianna’s eyes popped open. For a full moment, she stared at the gray sky, wondering where she was and why
she was riding in a pony cart. Then reality returned.
deShay had come to Wales, their father was dead and against their will, deShay had taken Arthur and her with him, away from home, toward England. Trembling, she dragged herself into a sitting position, gritting her teeth against the agony in her shoulder. She had to get home to their keep, to Lilybet.
At the moment, however, she was alone! Jerking against the pain, she glanced around the cart. Arthur was no longer beside her. Where was he?
Panic stricken, she glanced at the marching men. He was not among those in front of her. Ignoring her shoulder, she swung herself around and sighed with relief. He sat astride a black packhorse behind the cart.
She sank against her temporary bed, his closeness giving her some ease. Of course, he appeared deep in conversation with the English soldier who held the reins to Arthur’s mount. Yanking herself into a sitting position, she twisted around, ignoring the agony her movement caused.
Aye, her brother conversed with the enemy!
She signaled him with her hand, but he ignored her. What if he let something slide from his mouth? What if he mentioned something that would name them of Brynn Ffrydd? Anxiety and anger raced through her. deShay would have their heads because Arthur could not keep his mouth closed.
“Arthur!” she called.
The big man next to Arthur pointed. Her brother said something to the soldier, then jumped from the horse and hurried to her side.
“What is wrong, sister? Does your shoulder bother you?”
She hissed, “The only thing that bothers me is you. Speak! What have you told him?”
“Nothing,” Arthur looked incensed. “We talk about horses and how to care for them.”
“Arthur, these men are English. They serve that monster, deShay. I don’t care how much you like horses, do not talk to these men.”
He drew himself up to stand before her, his shoulders square, his unsmiling lips drawn in a straight line. “I am not a child.”
Rhianna bit her lower lip to keep from arguing with him. He had just begun to grow hair on his face. Still, his older brothers considered him a child, even if he did not.