Stuart, Elizabeth (16 page)

Across
the room, Elen stood atop a stool she had dragged to the south window. Her back
was toward him, her face turned longingly toward the misty woodlands beyond the
wall. She had managed to tear down the scraped hide covering put up to block
the window in winter, and light and cool, damp air flooded into the smoky
interior of the room.

Richard's
eyes traveled downward. The red fox cloak loosely enveloped the girl's body,
leaving her bare feet and ankles peeking beneath its hem. "I doubt even so
skinny a maid could manage to slip through that hole," he commented dryly.

The
girl swung about with a revealing flash of pale shapely leg beneath the
swinging folds of the cloak. She was obviously naked save for its covering, and
despite her earlier refusal she had bathed and washed her hair.

His
eyes slid over her in admiration. The silky fox fur set off her coloring to
perfection. She held the cloak's edges together loosely at the curve of her
breast, while her shimmering chestnut hair, now unbraided, cascaded over her
shoulders in dark harmony with the primitive richness of the fur.

Richard
caught his breath at the sight. How had he ever convinced himself this lovely,
wild creature was a child? Already a night's sleep and a few good meals had
removed the sunken hollows from beneath her eyes. Soon the rest of her body
would round out just as nicely, he realized.

She
swept him with a haughty glance before turning back to the window. "Skinny
I may be, but I am not a lackwit," she said pointedly. "I but sought
to see the sky."

He
moved toward her. "You will be cold when the wind and rain sweep in."

She
threw back her head with a bitter laugh. "You forget. I've spent all
winter outside, thanks to you."

He
had forgotten. Here was no fragile, swooning female like the ones he knew at
court. She had stayed with her man through the killing winter in the mountains
of Gwynedd, even risking her life to lead their enemies astray when the camp
was discovered. And now he hoped to make her betray that man.

He
stared up at her, noting the long seductive expanse of her pale throat, the
wide, generous curve of her mouth. All at once he wanted to taste the passion
of those full lips, to see her spread naked among the furs as he bedded her, her
long hair tumbling about them in glorious disarray.

The
strength of the urge shook him. Drawing his breath in sharply, he reminded
himself of the reason he had come. "Step down. I would speak with
you."

Elen
jumped lightly down beside him, her eyes wide and wary. "I doubt we have
aught to say to each other."

"Oh,
but we do. We could speak of your friend Rhys," he remarked, watching her
expression closely.

The
girl showed no surprise at his use of the name. "We could—but I do not
choose to. Besides, it's obvious you already have the information you
desire." At that she crossed the room and knelt before the fire to turn
her woolen tunic, which was laid out to dry. "My thanks for the
water," she said changing the subject. "I haven't washed since before
the snows."

Richard
moved to a rough wooden chair positioned beside the fireplace and sat down. He
frowned at her bent head. "You must realize I'm going after him. I know
where he is now," he stated softly.

She
glanced up from the ragged cloth in her hand and sent him a serene smile.
"I think not."

He
leaned toward her, ignoring the bewitching curl of her lips, the hint of creamy
breast he could see as she bent forward again. "Your friends below were
most helpful. With a small amount of persuasion they talked readily
enough."

The
hand clutching the fur to her chest tightened convulsively, but Elen's eyes
held no fear as they met his. Instead they blazed with contempt. "Does it
please you to give pain to others? Does it make you feel a mighty warrior to
hear the screams of your helpless victims? Oh, you are a brave man, Richard of
Kent," she taunted. "Will minstrels now sing of your valor, of your
triumph over a few dozen beaten, starving men and one woman?"

Richard
kept his face expressionless. He had to discover what she knew. "No, it
doesn't please me to force the truth from brave men, Elen, nor do I need the
praise of others to measure my courage. I know exactly who and what I am, and I
take the course that leads most surely to my goal. I fight for my land as you
fight for yours. And I think each of us might respect that in the other."

He
saw her swallow uncertainly then look away. "What would your people do
with me if our situations were reversed?"

"Find
out what they could from you by any method, then kill you when they were
done," she answered honestly.

"So
you see we are alike—alike except for one small detail. I have no plan to put
your people to death. But I will take the Fox, Elen, no matter where he
hides."

"Will
you English take to your feet, then? Will you leave your great war-horses and
follow him into the mountains where your mounts cannot climb?" She stared
up at him triumphantly. "Will you meet him with longbow and sword on his
own terms?"

So
the Fox would move higher into the mountains. There had been no plan then to
raid Beaufort or any of the English keeps in the valleys. "If I have
to," he replied.

Elen
cocked her head slightly to one side and studied him thoughtfully. "You do
not fear death, Richard of Kent?"

"I
wish for death no more than any other, but neither do I flee from it. I will do
the task I am sworn to and nothing will interfere with my duty."

Elen
shrugged her shoulders lightly. "Then go after him with my good
will."

Richard
leaned back in his chair. Obviously the girl did not fear his moving out to
search for her lover. "Perhaps I will let him come to me after all,"
he said easily.

Elen's
eyes were downcast, but he noticed the slightest tightening of the muscles
along her jaw. "He will not come. He is not such a fool."

Richard
was satisfied. He had learned what he wanted to know. "Oh, I think he
will. Your friends below seem to think he is quite fond of you."

She
shook her head, her hair tumbling wildly about her shoulders. "They do not
know. Besides, no man would risk his life so foolishly. I am nothing more to
Rhys than any other woman. He will not be lonely, I assure you."

From
out of nowhere, Richard felt a stab of jealousy, as unexpected as it was
unsettling. Just what did the man mean to her? Suddenly it was of the utmost
importance that he know. Seizing Elen's wrist, he jerked her closer, one small,
rational part of him realizing that he was giving in to the overwhelming urge
to touch her.

She
stumbled against him, catching herself against his thigh. "What is he to
you?" he bit out. "Tell me!"

She
stared at him defiantly. "Nothing!"

He
caught her shoulders, pulling her closer across his knees. "Nothing? You
risk your life, risk capture by your enemies for a man who means nothing?"
He leaned forward, eyes searching hers, overwhelmingly aware of her full,
half-parted lips only inches from his. "Now why do I find that so
difficult to believe?"

Elen's
heart thudded so wildly she could scarcely think. She sought to gather the wits
Richard's abrupt move had scattered. What did this man want of her and what in
God's name should she say? "I... I couldn't know I'd be thrown," she
stammered, "didn't realize the risk I was taking with that trick."

One
side of Owain's cloak slipped from her hand and she sought to draw the edges
together over her chest. But Richard's grip on her shoulders tightened
painfully. His gaze shifted slowly over her, his nostrils flaring, his pulse
beating visibly in the hollow of his throat. Her bewilderment changed to fear.
"Y-you're hurting me," she cried.

For
a moment Richard continued to hold her in the awkward position. Suddenly, he
seemed to come to himself. His grip on her shoulders eased and she slipped from
his lap, drawing the folds of the fox cloak protectively around her.

"Richard?"

They
both jerked self-consciously toward the door. Giles was standing just inside
the room, his dark face inscrutable. "Simon said you wished to speak with
me."

Richard
felt a flush warm his cheek. Rising to his feet, he moved across the room,
ashamed of the lack of control he had just exhibited. "Yes. I wanted to discuss
my plans for taking this Rhys ap Iwan," he said, shifting hastily into
English so that Elen wouldn't understand. "I knew no other place to speak
without fear of curious ears."

Elen
stiffened as Richard's words effectively drove all thought of his unsettling
behavior from her mind. Keeping her eyes downcast, she moved to the window
pretending no comprehension of what the men discussed. But the pretense grew
more and more difficult as Richard unfolded his plan.

First,
it would be put about that she was an ill-used prisoner. That would be easy
enough, as Sir Thomas suspected the local Welsh servants were spies. He seldom
allowed them into the keep, forcing them to the roughest work outside the
walls. But this time he would be sure they had duties about the stable. They
would easily hear the talk bandied about concerning the pretty leman of the
Welsh Fox.

In
another day or two, the news would leak out that Richard was making up a supply
train of ox carts to head for Gwenlyn, and that he was taking the girl for his
amusement. The tale would be readily believed, Elen knew. The Wolf of Kent had
come into this region on his way to garrison the great stone fortress farther
west. She and Owain had discussed the fact at length.

She
leaned against the wall for support, the whole hideous plan playing out in her
mind's eye. Owain would be quick to avenge any hurt to her, but instead of bags
of grain and supplies beneath the oiled cloth covers of the carts, the
attacking Welshmen would find soldiers. Instead of easily dispersing the
helpless serfs walking alongside the supply train, they would meet armed
knights carrying weapons concealed in their loose peasant dress. Richard would
strip the entire garrison from Beaufort to take part in the charade, and when
Owain swept down to rescue her, Richard's trap would be sprung.

"There's
one weakness in your plan, Richard," Giles was saying. Elen turned,
straining desperately to hear. "What if this Rhys doesn't follow you? With
most of the men gone, Beaufort will be defenseless against attack. You must
make sure the bait is strong enough to draw the Fox."

"It's
a gamble," Richard agreed, "but I believe he'll come for her."
He turned to study Elen. "She told me as much before you came in."

Feeling
Richard's eyes upon her, Elen forced herself to move casually to the fire.
Kneeling, she made a great pretense of checking her drying clothing.

"She
showed no fear when I told her we would go after Rhys, so she must know we have
no notion where to look," Richard continued. "But she was frightened
when I said I might wait here. She obviously believes he will come for her—and
so do I. In a week's time, we'll have the Welsh Fox, Giles. And we can all go
home to England."

Elen
stared into the dancing, orange flames, seeing instead the massacre of what was
left of her people. She counted each breath, concentrating on breathing deeply
and evenly to manage her panic as Rhodri and Enion had taught her when she was
a child.

The
dreadful plan would be successful, but not for the reasons Richard believed. He
had no idea of her identity, or of why Owain would willingly give up his life
for her. But the results would be the same in any case. If she didn't find a
way to warn her old friend, Owain would die.

Closing
her eyes, she bit down hard on her lip. There had to be some way to stop
Richard. Sweet Mary, Mother of God, there had to be!

Suddenly
her eyes snapped open. That was it! She could stop Richard. Certainly with his
leader dead, Giles wouldn't go on with the planned ambush. Why, the whole
garrison would be thrown into confusion.

Her
eyes narrowed now with a determination stronger than any she had ever known.
She must find a way to kill Richard before he could put his plan into action.

She
glanced at her enemy from beneath lowered lashes. He sat on the fur-covered
bed, talking easily with Giles. She noted with interest that he had removed
neither the great sword at his side nor the dagger that rode at his belt. He
always wore them when he came into the room. If she could just get her hands on
one of those weapons....

Her
thoughts returned to his earlier behavior. He wanted her. Despite his feigned
indifference in front of his squire, Richard had made it quite obvious that he
desired her.

The
two men were concluding their conversation. She rose to her feet along with
them. "Richard?"

He
turned to her in surprise.

She
moved toward him, halting a few inches from where he stood. "Y-your
tunic," she began nervously. "The cloth is rent and has been poorly
mended. Here," she added, lifting her hand to caress the frayed brown
cloth at his shoulder. Raising wide innocent eyes, she forced herself to smile.
"I could mend it if you desire."