Stormswept (28 page)

“Aye! ” shouted a voice near him. “We have Northcliffe’s puppet! ”

A swell of disgruntled voices filled the room.

“If you pull down his man he will only find another,” Rhys called out, “and you’ll be branded as ‘rough, unschooled Welshmen’ bent on violence. You’ll find yourselves impressed as I was, made to serve the very men you detest—all for nothing but to vent your spleen.”

Some fellow in the crowd cried out, “Why are we listening to this coward? He returned to make Northcliffe’s sister his wife! He has gone over to the enemy! ”

The crowd took up the cry. “The enemy! He’s the enemy! ”

Rhys banked his fury with effort, pounding the floor with the cudgel until he got their attention once more. “I want Northcliffe’s hide as much as you. Perhaps more so, for he kept me from my wife, who is sympathetic to our cause and a Welsh scholar besides.”

No matter why Juliana had rejected their marriage, it hadn’t been hatred of the Welsh. And Northcliffe had been the instrument of her distress, so it wouldn’t hurt Rhys’s case if they saw her as her brother’s victim. Nobody loved a romantic tale of star-crossed lovers more than the Welsh.

“If I’ve learned one thing in America, ’tis that the only way to free Wales is to gain a voice in Parliament. Tonight you are planning to keep one pro-English voice out of Parliament, but all that does is delay the inevitable.”

“Perhaps so,” Ebbrell snapped. “But what else can we do? Trot off like sheep to the slaughter?”

Rhys addressed the crowd. “I have a better idea.” He paused to sweep his gaze over the expectant faces of men who’d long been oppressed by English landholders. “I say put forth your
own
candidate. Tonight. Then you’ll have your voice. And that’s the first step to freedom.”

The crowd fell into a stunned silence so complete, Rhys thought he could hear the collective beating of their hearts.

Then Tom Ebbrell cleared his throat. “ ’Tis impossible. Although I daresay many on the council dislike Northcliffe as much as we do, they’re afraid of him. You are the only fellow to match him in wealth and influence, but you’re not of this borough.”

Rhys shot Morgan a quick glance, relieved when his friend nodded. “That’s why I’m offering to put my resources behind someone who
is
of this borough, and who has considerable consequence both here and in London. Morgan Pennant.”

After a stunned silence, the crowd broke into cheers. Morgan had always been a favorite with the Sons of Wales, and no one begrudged him the money he’d made in the colonies. Morgan was also better educated than them, yet as Welsh as the triple harp and the
eisteddfodau
. No one would question his suitability. Thank God.

“You don’t object, my friend?” Rhys said under his breath to Morgan.

“Nay. I have a score to settle with Northcliffe. And I suspect a beating won’t hurt him as much as this challenge will.”

“Is it agreed?” Rhys cried to the crowd. “Will you lay down your arms and put forth Morgan Pennant as a candidate? If we produce a suitable one, the council will be forced to allow an election and give time for the campaign. So—will you go with me to the meeting to serve the writ for Morgan, then join me in a campaign that will shame Northcliffe forever?”

“Aye! ” Tom Ebbrell clapped his hand on Morgan’s shoulder.

“Aye! ” the crowd echoed.

Tossing the cudgel aside, Rhys raised his fist. “To Morgan! ”

The hall rang with the thunderous noise of weapons being dropped. “To Morgan! ” they cried.

Rhys felt the old zeal swell in him again. “And to Wales! ”

“To Wales! ” they cried.

This time, he’d fight the battle with the Englishmen’s weapons.

Three hours later, Rhys cast Morgan an amused glance as they rode away from Common Hall. “How does it feel to be a candidate for Member of Parliament?”

“Ask me tomorrow. I suspect I’ll have a more sober view in the morning.” Morgan gazed off into the distance. “Tonight was only a skirmish in the battle. ’Tis easy to serve a writ, especially when the council is sorely tired of dealing with pompous noblemen like Northcliffe. But to put a man like me into office is not so easy.”

“ ’Tis still worth a try.”

“Aye. But this plan could wring you dry. Disputed elections for Parliament nearly always devastate the loser financially. And sometimes the winner, as well. There are the banquets to pay for and palms to grease and—”

“I know.” Rhys rubbed his weary neck. “Father considered running once and decided against it when he counted the potential cost. But you and I are not my father. We’re far more responsible. Between us, I think we can pull it off.”

“I hope so. Did you see Northcliffe’s face after you agreed to donate enough money to refurbish Common Hall? I thought his eyes would pop out of his head. He’s no fool; he knows ’tis easy to buy the votes of the burgesses. And when you’re buying them for
me
”—he chuckled—“to have me steal the election from him after I’ve already stolen his mistress is the worst indignity of all.”

“Does this mean Lettice has come to live with you?”

“Aye. We married yesterday by license.” A thread of steel entered Morgan’s voice. “She and Edgar are my family now.”

“I see.” Rhys couldn’t quite hide his envy. He and Juliana could be a family, too. If he let it happen. If he could see his way through to trusting her.

Morgan cast him a look of pity. “From what you said earlier, I thought perhaps you’d changed your mind about the women’s part in our impressment. I take it you and your wife are still at odds.”

Rhys gritted his teeth. “I can’t believe I’m so bedeviled by one small woman. ’Tis enough to make me doubt my own sanity. The night of the engagement party, she threatened to make my life hell if I continued to distrust her. I thought she meant she’d be a shrew or do some petty nonsense like throw tantrums and defy me. I could handle that.” A groan escaped his lips. “But I’ve discovered there are other kinds of hell.”

“That, I can well imagine,” Morgan said with a laugh. “So you still distrust her?”

“I don’t know what to think anymore.”

“Lettice says Juliana was Northcliffe’s victim. She’s convinced the girl would never have done what Northcliffe claims. She told Northcliffe that to his face, too.”

Five days ago, Rhys had argued vehemently with Morgan over the absurd idea that Juliana might be innocent. Now the idea seemed much less absurd. “And what did he say?”

Morgan sighed. “He kept insisting he hadn’t lied. Unfortunately, there seems to be no way of knowing the truth if the innkeeper and the St. Albans brothers stick to their story. Even Lettice has no real proof of her innocence.”

“So Lettice admits that it’s possible Juliana betrayed us.”

“Nay. I think Lady Juliana would have to confess it under oath before Lettice would believe ill of her.”

Rhys suppressed a curse. No one believed ill of Juliana. The women at Llynwydd deferred to her wishes no matter what he said. They looked on him as a wolf preying on the poor lamb.

Hah! That poor lamb was rapidly twisting everyone in the household about her little finger. Before long, he’d find even his own valet taking her side.

“One thing you should know, however,” Morgan went on. “Northcliffe did admit to keeping my letter from Lettice, which means it’s likely he did the same with yours to Lady Juliana.”

“Yes. And it’s even likely that Northcliffe lied. But how do you explain the fact that someone told him where to find us? And why did Juliana hide her marriage from everyone from the very beginning?”

“What reason does she give?”

“Youth . . . fear . . . weakness—”

“All valid reasons.”

“And all reasons for her backing out of the marriage. Can’t you see? She must have kept it hidden because she didn’t want it. And if she didn’t want it, then she betrayed me.”

“Perhaps it’s not as simple as that.”

“I don’t know. I can’t even think straight anymore. I want to trust her, even though I know she must be lying.”

“Perhaps you’re thinking straight when you want to trust her.” Morgan remained silent several moments before
venturing, “Has it occurred to you that you may be choosing not to trust her for reasons other than evidence?”

“What in God’s name do you mean by that?”

Morgan shrugged. “If you accept that she didn’t betray you, then you can’t force her to stay with you. You’d have to let her choose between marriage to you or separation. You’d have to take the chance of losing her—as I took the chance of losing Lettice to Darcy. And you won’t risk that, will you?”

Rhys fisted his hands on his reins. There was too much truth in Morgan’s words.

If Juliana were innocent, he’d been unfair and callous. To think of how he’d treated her this afternoon, walking away and not trusting her with something she couldn’t have altered anyway . . .

He resisted the thought. “She can’t possibly be innocent.”

“Only you can know, I suppose.”

Rhys chafed at Morgan’s veiled reproof. Thankfully, they were approaching the road to Llynwydd, where he could escape his companion.

As he turned that direction, Morgan halted his horse. “You’re not staying at your town house tonight? ’Tis near midnight, and with the moon setting early, you may not have much light to ride by.”

Rhys thought of Juliana lying awake in bed. She’d said she wouldn’t be waiting for him, but he couldn’t take the chance. This afternoon’s encounter had sharpened the keen edge of his hunger for her, and he wouldn’t be able to sleep until he’d satisfied it.

“I’m going home. I’ll come to town in a few days so we can plan the campaign.”

“Fine. Good luck with your wife.”

Aye. He would need plenty of that tonight.

Juliana jerked up straight in her bed, cocking her head to listen. There it was again—someone was trying to open the latch on her door. She groaned. Only one person would be attempting to enter her bedchamber in the middle of the night. The male curse that followed confirmed it.

Hadn’t he heard a word she said before he left? Had he really expected her to be waiting in his bed, warm and willing? Of course he had. He was a
man
, and a randy one at that.

The crack of a fist against the door sent her shrinking against the headboard. “Go away! ” she called out.

“Open this door,” he commanded. “I must talk to you.”

“Is that the new term for seduction?” she asked sweetly.

“I want to tell you where I was tonight,” he said at last. “Please, Juliana.”

The “please” nearly shattered her resolve. She moved to the door, then paused, her hand on the latch. Was this simply another trick? After this afternoon, he was bound to know that all he had to do was kiss her and she turned into wax in his hands. “You can tell me from where you are.”

There was a long silence, then a heavy sigh. “I was at a Sons of Wales meeting. The men were threatening to riot at the council meeting, and Morgan asked me to come stop them.”

Her heart lurched in her chest. Not again. She couldn’t bear to lose him a second time. “And you went? Without telling me why? Without stopping to think about how dangerous and stupid and—”

“Damn it, Juliana, open up so I can explain.”

She slumped against the door. What he meant was,
Open up so I can take you in my arms and make you forget that I don’t trust you with anything.

“You can explain just as well from out there.”

“I’ve told you what you wanted to know.” Irritation crept into his voice. “Isn’t that enough?”

“Why didn’t you tell me before you left?”

Another long pause ensued. “Because . . . your brother was going to be there at the council meeting and . . . well . . .”

When he trailed off awkwardly, everything fell into place. Darcy had mentioned he would be putting forth his candidate at the upcoming council meeting. Apparently the Sons of Wales hadn’t wanted that, and Rhys had been only too happy to help them thwart his enemy. Even when it meant leaving her side to rush off to Carmarthen.

“You thought I might warn him, didn’t you?” she whispered.

“I didn’t want you to worry—”

“Don’t lie to me. You went off without a word because you didn’t want me to warn Darcy.” She snorted. “As if I could, when you won’t even let me saddle a horse from my own stables or call for the carriage! ”