Stuart, Elizabeth (33 page)

Once
again a flash of amusement warmed Richard's eyes. "I'm gratified by the
compliment. She's yours."

It
took a moment for his words to register. Perhaps he meant the mare was hers to
ride. "You would let me ride?" she asked, incredulous.

"If
you give me your word you'll make no effort to escape—at least for the time
outside."

A
feeling of thankfulness surged up inside her. She would be willing to swear to
almost anything to be outside these walls for a few hours!

"But
that isn't what I meant, Elen," Richard added. "The mare is yours to
do with as you will."

Elen
felt a glimmer of doubt. "Why... why would you do this?"

"Because
I promised." Richard hesitated. "And because enough has been taken
from you already."

The
words were surprising, but not nearly so disturbing as the tender look that
went with them. Somehow Elen found her breath. "She is mine? I... I may
take her with me when I go?"

"Yes."
Richard's eyes held hers. "One day, Elen, you will come to believe I mean
what I say."

"Yes,
I know, Richard," she murmured. "Pactum Serva."

"Keep
Troth. I'd forgotten you know Latin," he said lightly. He stepped away.
"I'll tell you something more so you'll not be suspicious of my every
word. You are not the only spring in the desert, Elen. There are other women
who do not find me so lacking as you." He sent her a slanted glance, heavy
golden lashes veiling his expressive eyes. "I doubt we shall trouble each
other further."

It
was impossible to mistake his meaning. She made a pretense of studying the mare
below. No doubt Richard had found some woman at Chepstow and brought her
back—some lovely, half-witted Englishwoman who would defer to his needs and bow
to every whim. Well, if that's what he wanted, she wished him joy of the
creature. She turned with a biting remark, but Richard was gone.

***

It
had rained in the night. Elen walked to the window and gazed at the clearing sky,
feeling a breath of cool, damp air touch her cheek. Layers of mist still
crowned mountain peaks to the east, but the clouds above Gwenlyn had thinned
and the golden warmth of the sun slanted through. It would be a beautiful day
for a ride.

She
glanced down into the bailey, watching Simon bring Saladin and her mare, Ceiri,
to the front stairs. Richard must be ready.

She
caught up the light cloak Giles had found for her, throwing it across her arm.
She had devoted the last week to discussing Welsh justice with Richard. They
had spent hours together. He had established a local court hallmote, allowing
the familiar Welsh law to govern in most instances, but reserving the right to
hand out English justice himself.

They
had argued heatedly on occasion, cursing each other roundly in a mixture of
French, English, and Welsh. But during their time together, Elen had grudgingly
come to admire Richard's determination. What he said he would do, he did, and
nothing would turn him from his goal.

Now,
Richard was waiting for her at the door as she came into the hall. He stood
bareheaded, his hair tousled from the wind outside. He wore no steel hauberk or
surcoat blazing with his coat of arms today, only the heavily padded doublet of
a simple man-at-arms. He looked younger somehow, less the infamous Wolf of
Kent.

"Good,
you brought a cloak. The sun's broken through the mist but it may be cool in
the wood."

Elen
nodded, an inexplicable joy bubbling up inside her, threatening to overflow.
She had a whole morning free of the castle and it was a lovely, high summer's
day. For a few hours, at least, she would forget she was Elen of Teifi. For a
morning, someone else could shoulder the sorrows of Wales. "Where will we
ride today?" she asked eagerly.

"Just
a little way up the coast," Richard replied, smiling. They moved outside
to the horses and Richard helped her into the saddle. "We won't go far.
I've no desire to take a whole troop of men clattering about with us
today."

The
horses crossed the drawbridge, prancing into the open country outside the
gates. After the dimness inside Gwenlyn, the sun-bright day was blinding. Elen
lifted her head, watching bits of wind-driven cloud send shifting patterns of
sunlight and shadow over the patchwork of hills beyond. It was good to be out.

She
took a deep breath. The sun was hot on her back, the breeze cool and fresh with
the summer scents of vetch and rain-washed bracken. She had a good horse
beneath her and an entertaining companion for a morning's ride. And she
wouldn't let her thoughts wander beyond these simple joys of the moment.

Taking
the coast road, the riders turned off the track onto the narrow beach below.
Richard urged Saladin into a canter along the foaming tidal margin, sending up
sparkling crystal droplets in a rainbow spray behind him. Elen sent her nimble
mare alongside, splashing through the shallows like a graceful black bird
skimming the water's surface.

Richard
broke into a laugh as the cold spray showered them both. Elen joined in, the
sound of their mirth rippling out above the splashing of the horses and the
rhythmic drumming of hooves on wet sand.

Laughter.
It had been months—a lifetime—since she had laughed like that. It felt good.
She couldn't find it in her heart to feel even a moment's guilt for this joy.

They
drew to a halt, dripping and giggling like two impetuous children. Richard
lowered his eyebrows in mock displeasure. "I'm near soaked through! I
should toss you into the sea for wetting me so."

Elen
leaned forward to stroke her mount's glistening neck. "Ah, but could you
catch me on Ceiri? She makes me think the tales of winged horses who fly on the
wind are true. She's wonderful, Richard." Her eyes met his. "Thank
you."

Richard
smiled. "I'm pleased she suits you. And yes, she is fast." His smile
widened. "But to preserve your soul from temptation... you should know
Saladin can catch her. I made certain of that before I brought you outside the
gates."

"Now
why do I have the feeling you've no trust in me?" Elen remarked with an
innocent look.

Richard
grinned. "Let's just call it a healthy respect for your nimble mind."

Elen
began to laugh. "I like that far better, Richard."

Turning
the horses off the beach, they climbed a winding path through a tumble of
scattered boulders and twisted, storm-bent trees. Drawing rein at a rocky
outcropping, they gazed at the view below. From this angle, the narrow ribbon
of beach was hidden by an abundance of tall salt grass. It bent before the wind
in shimmering patterns of silver and green while the ocean beyond glittered in
the morning sun.

"Beautiful,
isn't it?" Richard remarked. "Wales in the sunlight is certainly
different from Wales in the mist."

The
air was moist and cool, fragrant with gorse and the heavy sweetness of
honeysuckle. Elen drew a deep, appreciative breath. "No. They are one and
the same. Living here year round, one learns to appreciate both." She
glanced back at him. "And for all the damp, I couldn't imagine being
anywhere else."

Richard
nodded. "My people say your land is a grim, inhospitable place... a land
of black magic, of demons and spirits and people who thrive in the dark and the
wet." He gazed out over the brilliant green of the birch forest, the
azure-blue of the ocean. "I begin to think that it's a tale some shrewd
Welshman dreamed up to keep Englishmen away. I'm ashamed to admit it, but I
think I'll miss all this once I'm gone."

Elen
smiled. "Take care, Richard. Some of the infamous Welsh magic is at work.
You're falling under our spell."

Richard
gazed at the bewitching girl at his side. He was falling under a spell all
right, but it wasn't Wales he was thinking of.

The
horses climbed higher, breaking out of the silver and green of the birch wood
into a sunlit meadow. A mountain stream widened into a pool where leaf-dappled
water lay deep and still, shadowed by a thick canopy of ash and alder.

"
'Tis an enchanted place," Elen whispered, gazing about in delight.
"The Tylwyth Teg must live here."

Richard
dismounted and sent his horse across the grass to the edge of the pool. He
stepped over to Elen swinging her to the ground beside him. "I doubt the
fairy people will mind if we intrude for an hour. I promised to gift them with
wine and cheese if they'd leave us be today."

Elen
smiled at Richard's whimsy. He seemed different today—like a boy on holiday.
"Oh? And just what's so special about today?"

He
had taken a blanket from the straw hamper Saladin carried and was spreading it
out in the shade near the pool. "Today happens to be my birthday."

"Oh."
She hesitated, not sure what to say. "I wish you joy of the day."

Richard
moved across the clearing, tethering the horses where they could crop the lush
grass. He returned with wine and food, kneeling to spread it out on the blanket
with a flourish. "Not a great feast, I'm afraid, but enough for a
celebration. As I recall you've had a birthday too."

Elen's
eyes met his. Yes, she'd had a birthday—her seventeenth. And it should have
been her wedding day. But she didn't wish to think of Enion now. Today would be
her holiday as well—from a host of painful memories.

Richard
poured two cups of wine. Holding one up, he invited her to sit. "This
isn't much of a birthday for you," Elen remarked, searching for a neutral
subject. Taking the wine, she settled herself on the blanket with a smile.
"I fear I've no gift."

"I've
no need of gifts," Richard said easily. "I learned early not to
expect them." He reached for a leg of roast fowl, and with a deft
movement, slit the meat from the bone, offering it to Elen.

They
ate and drank in companionable silence, listening to the birds and the rushing
water. Finishing her third cup of wine, Elen lay on her back and closed her
eyes. Bees droned busily in the tangle of grass and flowers, and the heady
fragrance of mountain gorse was almost overpowering. "I wonder if heaven's
like this," she murmured dreamily.

"Churchmen
say it's golden cities with gates of pearl."

"Hmmm...
this would be better."

Richard
rolled nearer, pouring himself more wine. "Heresy... but I agree."

Elen
glanced at him thoughtfully, then closed her eyes. "What were birthdays
like when you were a boy?" she asked softly.

"Oh,
wonderful when I was very young. My father was seldom about, but Mother would
make honeyed fruits and allow me to eat my fill for once. And she always had a
toy she'd had a tenant make. Often there was even a fine new suit of
clothing."

Elen
smiled at thought of the child Richard must have been—a small towheaded
youngster with dancing green eyes. "Does she still make you honeyed
fruits?"

"She's
dead," he said bluntly, "of a fever when I was seven. My father
remarried within the year and his new wife didn't wish me about. I was packed
off out of the way."

Elen
turned to study Richard's profile. He was frowning up at the interlacing
branches above them. "Why?"

"I
suppose she hated the thought that she was second in the house. That her child
would never be my father's heir," he replied thoughtfully. "When she
bore a son a few months later, she made my life such hell Father sent me away
to achieve some peace. She and my half-brother have spent the years since praying
to all the saints for my death." He laughed harshly. "I've yet to
oblige them!"

Elen
leaned up on one elbow. "Your father should have beaten her within an inch
of her life!" she snapped, the wine and the comfortable intimacy of the
moment making her temper flare in Richard's defense.

"He
was besotted with the woman and it made him a fool," Richard said
bitterly. Taking a deep breath, he glanced away. "But he did what he could
for me, I suppose. His Norman overlord owed him a favor and he convinced the man
to take me as a page. And when I came of age, he mortgaged part of our lands to
purchase a decent horse and armor for me." A look of pain swept his face.
"Yes, I suppose he did what he could."

Elen
touched Richard's arm. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "And I wish
I had a gift for you this day."

Richard
turned, his eyes meeting hers. "It doesn't matter," he murmured.
"It all happened long ago." He lifted her hand from his arm, brushing
her fingers against his lips. "And this is the best birthday I can recall
in my lifetime."

The
words lingered in the air between them. His eyes held hers. Elen found herself
wondering if he were going to kiss her—wanting it long before his mouth lowered
to cover her own. Their lips joined, then parted, then melded again in a long,
slow, deeply satisfying kiss.

Richard
eased back on the blanket, drawing her down to rest in the curve of his
shoulder. One slight tug of his fingers unloosed her thick braid. His hand
raked through her hair, caressing her with slow, mesmerizing strokes.

Elen
drew a deep, shuddering breath, willing herself not to think, not to move as
she savored the feel of Richard's arms around her, the radiating warmth of his
body against hers.