“Well, say nothing more,” she snapped.
“These men think I work in the stables of a keep. They ask only about how we Welsh care for our horses. Nothing more. And, you know I would tell them nothing about us.”
“You dolt! deSahy seeks information, any information. Say no more. Our lives may depend on it,” Rhianna whispered. “Our brothers must come soon.” She eased herself back onto the furs. “Soon!”
“Back to your place.”
The command sent a shiver through Rhianna and again she jerked into a sitting position. She groaned with the pain of it and stared into the angry face of deShay. Her heart began to beat in triple time.
She watched Arthur trot back to his animal. St. Dafydd, she had wanted to discuss plans to escape with him, prepare to leave this place. But now, her chance had disappeared.
“How go you, wench?”
Rhianna raised her chin and glared at him. For an Englishman, he was a most handsome man. The palms of her hands grew damp and her breathing became ragged. Surely it was because of the hate she felt for this man.
“I asked you a question.” He glowered at her.
“I am as well as can be expected. I appreciate the care you have given me, but I am well enough now to return to our cave.”
“I think not, wench. Did your companion not tell you we travel to Knockin?”
“Nay, we must not leave Wales.”
“You can and you will,” he said, his voice cut through her, bringing its own fear. “I will not have you raising an alarm. I want no more battles before I reach English soil.”
Rhianna clenched her fists against the new ache racing through her. Of course he would not let them go. She knew that. Why had she bothered mentioning it? She sank into the pile of furs and stared at the man on the black charger.
“Begone!” she ordered.
He looked as stunned as she felt. She ground her teeth together. When would she learn to keep
her
mouth shut? Did she and Arthur suffer the same affliction?
She had just commanded him as if it were her right. What would he think? By her actions and her words she might put them in more danger than Arthur’s conversation with his companion. She grimaced and glanced at the dark clouds scudding across the Welsh sky.
He must never know she had every right to command. After all, she had managed her father’s keep for all these years since her mother died birthing her last babe. Rhianna closed her eyes, willing the enemy away, far away.
With a growl, Garrett wheeled his horse around and galloped toward the forward line. How dare a lowly woman tell him what to do?
Begone
!
Who did she think she was? Alwyn or his sons must have allowed her a say in everything.
Cynical humor replaced his disgust. Aye, she probably thought she could order anyone, even an English Lord. He’d be willing to wager several coins the men of Brynn Ffrydd would want her back.
He slowed his horse and pulled up beside Lydon.
“No sign of the sons, my Lord,” Lydon said.
“Good. By the next eventide, we will be away from this place. Fear not. We will fight another day.”
“And, what of the captives, my Lord?”
“They stay with us,” Garrett answered.
A scowl crossed Lydon’s face. “Let Joseph or me take them back to their cave, or better still, release them at the river. They can find their own way back.”
“Nay, my friend.” Garrett gave him a surly look. “I intend to use the woman as a means to draw out those accursed brothers. Until I can decide if the lad is a son of Alwyn, he can work in my stable. If he is a son, he’ll become Edward’s hostage.”
He yanked the reins to the left and wheeled his horse toward the rear column. He had no wish to discuss the captives with Lydon or with Joseph, who trailed behind them also wearing a disapproving frown.
~ * ~
Rhianna watched Garrett ride beside the marching line of men. She fought the most unusual sensations. Something about him heated her blood. It had to be her hate and she did detest this man. He ordered her father killed and taken her and Arthur into captivity. She suspected he longed to put an end to all the lives associated with Brynn Ffrydd. Still, he had not sacked the keep, so her home was safe, at least for the moment.
Yet the sight of him on that black charger sent her blood racing through her veins. She shook her head and wiggled into the furs. Of course her blood rushed through her veins. Nothing about any of this was as it should be.
Was it only the day before that she had run from her home to warn her father that Garrett deShay planned to avoid their ambush by traveling a more difficult road? Now, her home was without protection and she had no idea who cared for Lilybet. Her father had given his life to save his keep and she and Arthur were in the monster’s clutches.
It was no wonder she loathed the English after all they had done to her. She and her friend, Dafydd, son of a neighboring lord had been betrothed when she was sixteen. Oh, what a fine man he had been. She’d loved him, loved him with all her heart. But the English came. All her dreams were destroyed, her heart broken, her love crushed. Nor would she ever love a man again. Nay, all her love went to the small child placed in her care.
Even today all Wales knew the English for what they were, cruel, torturous, barbaric. Hadn’t they been savaging the Welsh countryside, raiding and ravaging at will? And, hadn’t she already paid the full price?
Just then deShay turned the black devil he rode around and started in her direction. She wiped the moisture from her eyes. Never would she allow him to see her tears. Bracing herself against the wooden sides of the cart, she waited for him to stop beside her once more.
“Do you do better?”
His rich, powerful voice sparked more sensations. She gritted her teeth and snarled, “I am not myself. I need to sleep.”
“‘Tis the wound.” He smiled at her and her heart lurched in her chest. “You did lose much blood and the Scotsman says it may take a while to rebuild your strength. Mayhap, on the morrow you will be improved.” He rode off, leaving her confused and disliking herself for that confusion.
She stared after him but refused to admit to the dryness of her throat, to the frantic rhythm of her heart, to the difficulty she had in taking a satisfying amount of air.
“It is naught but hate and fear,” she mumbled watching him ride toward the front of the column. She swallowed the lump in her throat while she wrestled with more strange emotions. Anger, fear of the unknown, concern for those at home, she decided before she snuggled into the furs to sleep. She must not think on the horror deShay and his ilk had wrought. Nay, she had to sleep, regain her strength. Then plan an escape.
The slowing of her cart prodded Rhianna out of her restless dreams. It stopped and despite the dull ache in her shoulder, she pulled herself into a sitting position then stared at a sky, now a sunset rose. The gray sky of that day had become a gold and rose-striped twilight.
She’d slept away the afternoon. Disgust rolled through her.
Seeking her brother, she turned her head left then right. Neither Arthur nor the soldier with whom he’d ridden were behind her. Nor did he ride in front of her. Frantic now, she scooted off the furs and eased to the ground beside the halted cart.
Before she could find her brother, another soldier stepped forward, a stranger, someone she had never seen before. She took a step back, but she was too slow. He swung her into his arms before she could protest starting for a tent just being raised.
In short order, everything was in place and he dropped her to her feet. The jarring pain lanced her shoulder and she groaned in agony. He stepped away from her, brushed his tunic and arms then crossed himself.
“My Lord will see to you soon,” he snarled, obviously unhappy with the task he’d been given.
“Thank you,” she murmured then asked, “My companion?”
“Ask Lord Garrett,” he muttered.
Rhianna closed her lips over a string of curses. Until
they escaped, she’d have to endure these barbarians with their pathetic English manners.
Once inside, Rhianna sank onto a pallet piled with furs. Nay, sitting would never do. She jumped to her feet, but a stab of searing fire in her shoulder nearly sent her to her knees. Nay, she could not give in to the agony. She started to pace.
Again she had to discover Arthur’s whereabouts. They had to make plans, escape while they were still in Wales. There were peasants willing to aid them even here. But first she and Arthur had to get away from deShay.
Thoughts of her adversary must have summoned him, for he threw open the flap of the tent and strode toward her. She cringed, flinging herself back toward the furs.
“Good eventide, wench.”
“Also to you,” she murmured.
What an untruth she had mouthed. She wished him anything but a good eventide.
Before she opened her mouth to rephrase her greeting, a page appeared at the entrance to the tent and asked permission to enter.
“Come,” deShay responded.
The young man slipped through the opening carrying a full wine skin and two goblets. He placed them on a small table she’d failed to notice, bowed to Garrett, also crossed himself and backed out of the tent.
Rhianna stared at the rug on the grass. Her throat closed with anxiety. Why were these English servants crossing themselves? Now she had to worry about what deShay planned. Despite her apprehension, her heart beat faster and her stomach fluttered.
“Join me in a cup of wine.”
It was a command. She had no choice but to accept when he handed her a cup.
“You and your companion are my captives. I would not have you worry about what will happen to you when we reach Knockin.”
She stared at him.
“Your companion will serve in my stables,” he announced as he poured himself a bit. “I understand from one of my men he has a great knowledge of horses and worked in the stables at Brynn Ffrydd. He will do the same for me.”
She bit her lip. deShay knew they were of Brynn Ffrydd. She’d told Arthur to say nothing, but he always wanted to talk about his greatest love, the horses. Now, he would be nothing but a stable boy. The son of a prince a stable boy! How she would like to shout her knowledge of that to this overbearing, arrogant lord.
This time, she had to keep her tongue in her mouth.
“Now, you,” he nodded at her before taking a sip, “you will serve me.”
Not in her lifetime she thought, twirling the cup in her hands, then raised it to her lips. She had responsibilities, Lily being chief among them, but he could never know about that.
“However, I want no curses or incantations muttered around my servants,” he continued.
Rhianna nearly choked on her wine.
“Therefore, you will attend me.” He leered at her. She had seen the look on men’s faces before. She knew what he meant and she could not tamp down her anger, her fury. If her father were still alive, this man would be dead for just his thoughts.
~ * ~
Garrett’s fingers wrapped tightly around the stem of his goblet as he watched her. For an instant, she’d seemed shocked. Then, her dark blue eyes filled with fire. He bit off the grin that threatened. She wasn’t pleased with any of this. But she knew exactly of what he talked. He had been correct in his assumption she was leman to one of the brothers, or the father.
His plan, to use her as an enticement to lure the enemy from their hiding place, might work—mayhap better than he’d imagined.
Her attitude did not sit well with him, however. She had no right to be angry. Didn’t she realize she was a victim of war? And she’d best learn her place.
He slammed the goblet down and marched from his tent. The wench was Welsh. He couldn’t care what she thought, or how she felt, for that matter.
~ * ~
Early the next morning, Rhianna stalked from the tent. Dark, thick clouds colored the sky and obscured the sun. The heavens matched her mood, she decided, after the terrible night she had spent. Nightmares of deShay, of tortures visited on the Welsh by the English, even Colvin’s attempt to rape her as she raced to warn her father, all became part of the dreams taunting her. Even the burning pain in her shoulder had ofttimes interrupted her sleep.
Again she gazed at the sky. A wet miserable day would aid their escape. And escape they must for she had been gone from her home too long now.
Sighing with relief, she saw Arthur standing beside her wagon. She waited until they had stowed the tent, then stumbled onto the pile of furs. “We must away from here and these men,” she whispered. “We cannot wait for our brothers to rescue us. I must get back to our home.”
“Why? What has happened? Did deShay hurt you?”
“Not physically, nay. But, he told me his plans for you and for me. He intends to keep us in England, you to work in his stable and me to serve...” her voice trailed off.
“Surely he would not expect you to share his bed.” Arthur’s face paled.
“Aye. I believe those are his plans. Once we arrive at his estate, we will be at his mercy. He could destroy us both if he wants. We must escape, now, today.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the object of their conversation striding toward them.
In a rush she said, “This afternoon, when the march has taken its toll on the soldiers, we will run. The element of surprise will be ours.” deShay was nearly upon them. “When I say run,” she whispered, “you run!”
“Enough conversation,” deShay bellowed. “Boy, get you on that horse. And, wench, no more conversation. It will do you no good to attempt escape.”