Stuart, Elizabeth (23 page)

Elen
closed her eyes briefly, her rigid body relaxing with his words. When she
opened her eyes again they shone up at him through a suspicious sheen of tears.
"Thank you. I swear you'll not be sorry." Moving across the floor,
she caught up the fox cloak. "Could someone stay with my uncle until I
return? He may need something."

Richard
nodded grimly. By the look of matters, the only thing the Welshman needed was
the last rites.

Elen
followed Richard from the solar, and in a short time they were outside the
castle palisade in the damp morning air. Away to the east, the sun was just
lifting above the gilded forest roof in a stunning blaze of crimson and gold,
while all about them the meadow grass was decked with dew-bejeweled webs that
looked for all the world like priceless necklaces fit to dower a queen.

She
drew in great lungfuls of the damp, fresh air, reveling in the freedom of wide
gray skies and an unobstructed horizon. And in spite of her worries, her
spirits began to rise. Richard had been obliging, far more so than she had
dared hope. And, praise God, Owain was still breathing. With skill and care he
might live.

She
glanced at the man who walked by her side, the man who had struck Owain down,
then made it possible for her to tend him. She wondered anew at his
forbearance. He had ordered near three dozen men out of their warm beds to
guard her on this ramble. Richard obviously didn't trust her, but she couldn't
blame him. After all she had done, he would be a fool to do so—and Richard of
Kent was certainly no fool.

"You
must think me very fierce," she remarked, glancing back at the heavily
armed men moving behind them.

"I
put some value on my own life, and I've no doubt you've friends out there in
the trees," Richard replied lightly. "I wouldn't put it beyond you to
be leading me into an ambush even now."

Elen
smiled. If only she did have men waiting! "Not that I know of," she
remarked, matching his own wry tone. "But one might always hope, I
suppose."

Richard
grinned. "You've no idea what comfort you give me, Elen, but I think I'll
keep the escort just the same."

"Well,
I promised I would not trick you," she reminded him. "Nothing
more."

"Yes,
and so you promised Giles the night of our raid. And before I knew what was
happening you'd armed your friend and I was like to lose one of my best
knights. I'm fast learning how you Welsh keep a pledge."

Elen
shook her head. Why was it so difficult for these English to understand?
"I swore I would not escape and I kept my word—though I could have done it
easily enough in the confusion that night. I said nothing about not helping the
others." She raised her chin in a haughty gesture. "I keep my word,
Englishman!"

Richard's
grin widened but he said nothing.

"Besides,"
she continued, "your knight was never in danger. The man was naught but a
messenger I used to send word to my uncle and warn him away." Her face
darkened for a moment. "I feared he might do something foolish to save
me."

"As
he did?"

She
glanced up, frowning. "Yes... as he did."

The
party entered the edge of the woodland where lingering night shadows still
darkened the forest floor. Elen slowed her stride, reminding herself why she
was here. There were certain plants that held healing properties and she had
often helped Tangwen seek them out for the folk of Teifi. Focusing her eyes on
the ground, she began to search for the necessary items.

Richard
followed her in silence. He watched as she knelt to pluck some leaves or
scratch up a root, placing them carefully in an earthenware bowl a servant had
fetched from the kitchen.

"How
came you to speak my language so well?"

The
words were unexpected. Elen almost dropped the bowl.

"You
speak both English and French fluently... and not with any coarse mannerisms
either. Almost as one educated at court," Richard added thoughtfully.

Elen
knelt to inspect a plant she knew had no healing properties. "We Welsh are
not such ignorant savages as you believe," she replied, buying time by
studying the leaves. "My father was one of the Prince of Powys's men, so
we were often at Powis Castle where Englishmen came and went. The priest there
discovered in me an eager pupil and delighted in teaching me. My learning
pleased my father and so I continued." That, at least, was true. She rose
to her feet and met Richard's gaze. "There is no mystery in it. I even
read a few phrases in Latin, though not so well as I would like," she
added, taking a chance.

Richard
nodded, still appraising her intently. "You surprise me, Elen. You are not
like other women."

Elen's
arched brows lifted. "Oh? And do you know so many other Welsh women?"

"No,
not Welsh women," Richard admitted with a smile. "But tell me. Do
your countrywomen all read Latin and handle sword and dagger so well as
you?"

Elen
stared down at her hands, hands that were red and work roughened, hands that
reminded her suddenly of all the grief of the year past. Her voice took on an
icy edge. "They do if they must. Need is a stern master and we have few
men left to assist us. You have seen to that."

The
brief truce between them was obviously at an end. "I see," Richard
replied, disappointment sharpening his voice.

They
continued in strained silence, but Richard was thankful when the girl had all
the ingredients she required and they could return to the keep. Giles was
right—he should stay away from her. Somehow Elen's beauty made it difficult to
keep thought of Welsh blood feuds uppermost in mind.

"For
mercy's sake, Elen, cease this foolish scheming!"

Elen
bit off her words and stared at Owain in surprise. He had closed his eyes, and
his pale, weathered face was etched with weariness. And he looked old, far
older than she remembered. Perhaps she had talked too long. After all, his
fever had broken just yesterday, and he was still weak. But after these past
days of worry, she was so buoyant with the knowledge he would live, she had
unwisely prattled on the entire morning.

She
leaned forward over the bed, tenderly stroking the dark, graying hair from
Owain's lined forehead. "I'm sorry, my friend. I fear in my happiness my
tongue runs on wheels. You are still much too weak to plot with me today."

Owain's
gray eyes opened wide, and he lifted a hand above the covers to catch Elen's
wrist. "I'm weak, yes, but my mind is not affected." He brought her
hand into his own, twining his rough, callused fingers around her slender ones.
"We must face the truth, Elen. I've never known you to hide your face from
it before. Even if our enemies don't know I'm the Welsh Fox, my life is
forfeit. I led an attack on an English commander and that fate deserves the
harshest of punishments. The Wolf has simply spared me a few last hours to
spend with you. A boon I thank God for."

Elen
shook her head stubbornly, unable to believe the resignation in her old
friend's voice. In all their years together, she had never known Owain to give
up. He was as persistent as a battering ram, her father had always said, and
nearly as single-minded in purpose. "You're alive and we must work to keep
you so. I'm not so certain Richard will have you put to death, but if that is
his intention we'll simply escape before he can do so." Her fingers
tightened about his. "We can do it, Owain. We'll make it to France. You
know, together we've always been able to do anything we set our minds to!"

Owain
shook his head. "Not this time, Elen. I'm sorry to fail you, but I've not
the strength of a lamb. Even if we could overcome the guards with one of your
tricks, I doubt I could make it down the stairs, much less find a way over the
wall to safety. For once an impossible thing you ask of me is truly beyond both
my body and will."

He
took a deep breath as if gathering strength. "I'm not afraid to die, Elen.
'Tis a thing a fighting man learns early to face. My only regret—my only real
fear is in leaving you without protection. I've failed in my pledge to your
lord father. I've not taken such care of you as I should have liked."

He
gazed up at her, one hand lifting to touch her cheek. "You were the
daughter I never had, you know. Since you were old enough to toddle about your
father's keep, I've looked on you as my own. And it's a bitter thing to leave
you in the hands of our enemies." His arm fell helplessly to his side.
"Christ, I'd rather see you dead by my own hand than in Richard Basset's
power!"

Elen
clasped his hand between both of hers, searching for words of comfort.
"It's not as you think, Owain. Richard of Kent is not as the tales of him
have led us to believe. He... he seems an honorable man."

She
hesitated a moment, trying to put the conflicting images of their enemy into
words. "Oh, he's a powerful soldier, true enough. And he can be
harsh," she added thoughtfully. "I've seen him so. But he doesn't
kill for the joy of killing as so many of the English do. And after a battle,
I've seen him show mercy. He can even be gentle at times. I thought him only
foolish at first, but that is far from the truth."

She
frowned and bit her lip, conjuring up the tall English knight in all his recent
moods. "And he hasn't harmed me though I've goaded him beyond what most
men would bear. I've tricked him at every opportunity and twice tried to kill
him. Any other man would have put me to death for such treachery."

Owain
snorted. "No man in his right mind would put a woman such as you to death,
Elen. I find little reassurance in such mercy as that. You're right, Richard
Basset is no fool!"

"Very
well, then," she responded, meeting his cynical gaze coolly. "Though
I know he desires me, he has not forced me into his bed. He has treated me
honorably even though he thinks me naught but a camp follower and the leman of
this imaginary Rhys."

"You
think highly enough of the man," Owain accused. "Are you forgetting
the misery he's caused? Merciful Father, I've seen him at work. He lays waste
our people like a veritable fiend!"

"No,
I don't forget what he's done. How could I?" Elen snapped, stung. "I don't
defend him and I will never forgive him Enion's death. Never!" She drew a
deep breath, seeking to compose her unsettled feelings. "I'm only saying
he's given me reason to hope he might spare your life. He doesn't seek to wipe
us off the earth like some plague to be destroyed. And I'll not let him put you
to death. I won't!" she added vehemently.

"Elen,
don't be a—"

The
sound of footsteps outside the door halted Owain's words. The door swung open
and a serving woman entered with a tray of food. Richard's golden head ducked
through the low doorway behind her. He walked toward them, halting as the woman
placed the tray on the bedside table. With a quick glance at the impassive
knight, the woman curtsied from the room.

"I
see your attentions have been rewarded, Elen. Giles told me your uncle was much
recovered." Richard hesitated. "I don't know that it will please you,
but the men you tended below are also doing well. Sir William sends his thanks
for easing the pain of his shoulder so quickly."

Elen
nodded. For some inexplicable reason her earlier defense of Richard had made
her uncomfortable. "I kept my part of the bargain," she said stiffly.

Richard
shifted to study the man on the bed. "Does your kinsman speak
English?"

"Owain
speaks French and some limited English, though not so well as I."

Richard
sent her a hard look, one tawny eyebrow quirking upward questioningly.
"And is that the truth?"

She
blushed angrily. "Yes, it's the truth! What profit a lie in this?"

"I
haven't the slightest idea. You seem to make up the rules as you go
along." Without another word to her, Richard addressed himself to Owain in
French. "I am Richard Basset, knight of your sovereign lord, Edward of
England, and commander of the English force in Gwynedd. You have committed a
grievous crime in taking arms against England, and for this act I now hold you
prisoner. You are obviously a leader in this rebellion, and it is within my
rights to put you to death. What say you now?"

Elen
began to protest, but Owain silenced her with a single sharp word. Richard
waited, arms crossed, as the Welshman slowly raised himself against the
bolster.

"I
am Owain ap Cynan, man of Ald—" He glanced at Elen. "Man of the late
Lord of Powys. I yield myself as your prisoner and recognize your right to take
my life—as I would take yours if the fates had ruled differently." His
hard gray eyes held Richard's unwaveringly. "But I will never recognize
Edward of England as my king. No true Welshman would do so. Now do as you will
with me for I am grown old in service to my lord and have already lived to see
things I've no wish to. I request only the mercy of a priest before my
end."

Elen's
hand crept out, clasping Owain's fingers nervously. Her eyes lifted to
Richard's. "What will you do with him?"

Richard's
green eyes narrowed, but whether in anger or thought, she couldn't determine.
"To be truthful, I haven't decided," he replied slowly. "It will
depend on a great many things. If your uncle continues in this vein, however, I
will have little choice."