Authors: Where Love Dwells
"Ye
betray us like this and speak his name in the same breath. God's truth, ye
Welsh are a treacherous lot and yer worst of them all!" he snarled.
She
tried to ignore the words, tried to ignore the sick feeling intensifying in her
gut. "I'm sorry to do this, Henry, but there's no other way. Now kneel.
And don't try anything. Please, don't try anything."
He
eased slowly to the floor and Elen knelt with him. She released his chin,
holding the knife even more snugly against his throat. If he moved now, there'd
be no way she could stay the blade. Drawing another knife from her girdle, she
fumbled for Dylan's bonds, never taking her eyes from Henry.
"I
knew you'd do it, Elen!" Dylan cried exultantly. "I knew you'd do
something."
He
strained toward her, working the rope against his wrists as she fumbled blindly
with her left hand. Suddenly his bonds gave way. He grabbed the knife, and she
heard him hack at the bindings about his feet.
He
was up in a flash, an ugly laugh ringing out. A sharp blow sent Henry sprawling
in the straw. Dylan swung the knife toward him.
"Don't!
Don't touch him!"
Dylan
glanced up in surprise.
"Bind
and gag him, but I'll not see him hurt," Elen ordered.
Henry
spat contemptuously at her feet. "Welsh slut!"
Dylan
directed a vicious kick to Henry's stomach and the Englishman doubled up with a
groan. "Hold your tongue!" Dylan snarled in a voice laced through
with hatred.
"Dylan,
no!" Elen's hands were shaking. The look on Henry's face spoke volumes,
and all at once she wondered if the rest of Richard's men would feel so
strongly. A loyal wife didn't protect her husband's enemies, and loyalty was
near a religion to these English.
Perhaps
this was a worse crime than even she had anticipated—but there was no turning
back now. "No, Dylan," she repeated in a shaky voice. "I'd have
no harm come to this man."
Dylan's
dark eyes narrowed thoughtfully and he lowered the knife. "As you wish,
Elen. But I fear you grow soft."
Using
the rope that had bound him, Dylan hastily tied the Englishman's hands and
feet, lashing them together, so the man couldn't rise. He ripped a piece of
cloth from his tunic, making it into an effective gag.
Elen
pointed toward her bag. "I've clothing bearing Richard's badge there in
the bottom. The guard at the stair is at supper so your way is clear to the
corridor above. Make your way out the postern door. Most everyone is in the
hall, so this is your best chance."
"I
know the way. I've been here before," Dylan remarked. "Only I left
without Gruffydd."
Elen
sighed, the name and the memory causing an old familiar ache. "Yes, I
remember." But she had a new pain, a new question. "Dylan..."
She hesitated, not certain how to ask. "Did you truly put all at Beaufort
to the sword?"
"I
did. And I plan a like fate for all the English in Wales," he responded
bitterly.
She
stared at him in horror. Until this moment, she hadn't believed the tale.
"But there were children there, Dylan, mothers and babes! I didn't believe
it when they told me."
"They
didn't spare my Enid," he said harshly. "Of all people, I shouldn't
need to remind you, Elen."
Elen
shook her head, the thought of the massacre at Beaufort sending a chill
sweeping through her. "Enid died in childbed, Dylan. She wasn't murdered
in cold blood!"
His
face was hard, contorted with hatred. "She'd not have died if not for
them. And they've murdered women and children before—scores of times. Don't
weep for them, Elen. They're but getting their own justice back again."
Elen
shook her head. "No, Dylan. What you did was wrong. War is bad enough, but
this—"
Dylan
moved toward her. He caught her shoulders, his dark eyes holding hers with a
fanatical intensity. "I've no time to argue, but know this, Elen. Wales
isn't finished yet. There's new hope breathed into our cause, new hope and new
blood." He grinned unexpectedly. " 'Tis the devil's own jest, as the
English will learn to their sorrow."
She
stared at him questioningly. "What?"
He
brushed a kiss against her forehead. "I must go. God keep you, Elen. Lord
Aldwyn would be proud of you this night!"
He
turned, but Elen caught his arm. She stared pointedly at the knife. "One
thing I ask, Dylan. Take no life as you leave here unless it means your
own."
His
eyes narrowed and he sent her a long look. "Very well," he said at
last. "For you, Elen."
She
moved with him through the doorway, watching as he disappeared down the shadowy
corridor. After several minutes, she stepped back inside. Henry lay at her
feet, a seething heap of impotent rage. She dropped to a seat beside him,
taking a cloth and reaching to clean the ugly cut at his throat.
He
jerked away from her hand, but she caught his head, forcing him to lie still.
"I'm going to see to this, Henry, so you might as well stop
struggling," she informed him. "I know you hate me, but that's no
reason to lose your life for want of care."
He
glowered at her over the gag but stopped straining against her hand. She
cleansed the cut, then gently dressed and bound it. He might, indeed, have been
a hairsbreadth from death.
After
her work was done, she sat quietly, trying to keep her mind from the bitter
scene to come. Richard would be in a rage, but he would be hurt too. He had
trusted her and she had betrayed him—again. Suddenly, she was afraid that this
last treachery was worse than all the rest combined.
She
glanced back at Henry. He was staring at her as if she were the lowest creature
he could imagine. And if Henry was reacting this violently, what in God's name
would Richard do? Her stomach knotted uneasily and she felt she truly might be
ill. But she had done what she had to. Dylan was away and Owain needn't confess
to being the Fox. And she had only her own hurt and Richard's to endure.
Henry
was still glowering at her. "I'm sorry, Henry. It was wrong to use your
trust in such a way," she said, softly. "You may never forgive me. I
know that. But this man has long been dear to me. I couldn't let him face the
death Edward planned."
Henry
glared at her, unblinking.
She
tried again. "Would you let Richard face such a death without moving
heaven and earth and risking your own soul to save him?"
Henry's
expression didn't change.
Elen
sighed and gave up, sitting quietly until she judged Dylan had had sufficient
time to escape. Then she removed the gag. Henry began cursing immediately.
She
freed his hands and he tore his ankles loose, leaping to his feet in a burning
rage. "Good Christ, do ye know what ye've done, woman?" he bellowed.
"Yes,
Henry, yes I do. I know far better than you."
He
moved toward the door to raise an alarm.
"As
you love Richard, let me be the one to tell him this," she said, stopping
him. "I owe him that, at least."
He
swung back toward her. "I'll grant ye that, all right. And God have mercy
on ye both."
Richard
stared at Elen incredulously. "You what?"
"I
released him. I released the Welsh Fox. He's gone," she added when Richard
made no response.
A
host of conflicting emotions swept his face. Disbelief... rage... hurt... then
back to disbelief. He glanced from her to Henry and back again.
"It's
true, m'lord," the wounded Henry muttered, "though I feel a fool
admittin' it. I've men scouring the place now on the lookout fer the
devil." He stared uneasily at the floor, unwilling to gaze on the emotions
ravaging his master's face. "Strip me of my post, sir, I deserve it."
Richard
didn't speak. He looked, in that moment, as if speech were truly beyond him.
Elen watched anxiously, her heart aching at the hurt she had caused. The pain
of her betrayal was etched on Richard's face, the look more daunting even than
that she'd seen in the dungeon of Ambersly. "I... I'm sorry, Richard, but
I'd no choice. I couldn't let him be put to death. Not like
that."
Richard's
throat worked convulsively, but no sound came forth. The silence was
unendurable, worse than any harsh words could have been.
Elen
held her breath, preparing for an explosion of rage. She wanted it to come,
prayed for it to come. Anything would be better than this look of stunned hurt.
But
the explosion didn't come. "I'll want... an explanation of this,
Henry," Richard finally got out. He took a deep breath, struggling for
command of himself. "But it's I who should be stripped of my post. I
should have foreseen this. Edward warned me. But I was too blind, too damned
blind!"
He
broke off abruptly and turned away, as if he couldn't stand the sight of his
wife any longer. "See Lady Basset to her chamber, Henry. She's not to
leave it for any reason." He moved toward the door without another glance
in Elen's direction. "I'll be in my audience chamber. Bring me word if
there's any sign of the man, but I've no wish to be disturbed for aught else.
See to it, Henry."
This
icy restraint was terrifying, far more frightening than the rage she had
expected. Elen took a step toward him. "Richard... we must talk."
He
didn't even look up. "Talk? I've nothing to say to you, Madame. Our
talking has all been done." He walked away and Elen sprang after him. She
couldn't let him go. Not like this!
Henry
stepped into her path, a solid wall of simmering English indignation.
"I'll see ye upstairs, Lady Elen. And I hope ye'll give me no
trouble."
Elen
stopped short. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, willing herself to
think rationally. Richard was furious now, but they would talk this out later
and he would understand. She'd make him understand, she promised herself.
"No, I'll give you no trouble, Henry," she responded with a strained
smile. "I've done that already, I fear."
She
moved ahead of him to the bedchamber she and Richard shared. She heard the door
slam behind her, the sound of guards being posted in the corridor outside. The
action shook her. Surely Richard didn't believe she would try to leave!
An
hour crawled by, and then another. The candles burned low and Elen slumped
tiredly in a chair, waiting for Richard. Never had she felt so utterly and
hopelessly alone. She had been forced to hurt the one man she longed to please
above all others, to hurt him in a way he would find difficult to forgive.
Richard's honor and honesty were such he would never have dreamed his wife
would betray him, that she would scorn the trust he had so readily given. But
had there been any other way?
She
must have dozed, for the candles had guttered out and a faint gray light filtered
into the room. Elen glanced around in confusion. It was day—but it couldn't be.
Richard hadn't come.
She
rose to her feet more frightened now than she had been during the night. She
had never dreamed he would stay away. Knowing Richard's temper, she had
expected a terrible argument, had even planned what would be best to say. But
he hadn't come.
The
sound of horses and the jingle of harness drew her to the window. She stared
down. The men of Gwenlyn were making ready to ride and Richard was moving about
among them. She watched as he took his reins from a groom and vaulted into the
saddle.
He
was going to leave without even speaking to her. He was angrier than she had
realized. She leaned over the window ledge, longing to call out to him. But she
didn't dare.
Holy
God, let him look up! Let him at least look up.
But
Richard wheeled his stallion, crossing the bailey without a glance in her
direction.
Elen
swung away from the window, leaning her heated cheek against the cool stone of
the wall. Her throat closed up and a sick feeling swept her more intensely than
it had last night. She'd gone too far this time. Richard couldn't forgive her.
Her
mouth began to tremble and she pressed her hands against it, remembering the
look on Richard's face as he had left her last night, the unrelenting set of
his shoulders as he had ridden out just now. What if he never forgave her, or
worse yet—what if he never came back?
Tears
squeezed from behind her tightly closed lids. She would make it up to him, she
swore. She would make it all up to him—if ever she got the chance.
***
The
men of Gwenlyn didn't return for three days, and then they returned
empty-handed. Dylan was still free.
Elen
waited impatiently for Richard to come to her, but her hope died in tiny,
painful pieces as the minutes dragged into hours, the hours into a day. She
strained her ears for any sound of movement outside, but the only footsteps
that halted were those of her maid, Felice. Not even Giles was willing to
befriend her now.
Simon
dealt the death blow to her hopes. He appeared at her door near sunset, and
with a curt nod, set about packing Richard's things.