Authors: Where Love Dwells
He
grinned and shook his head, wondering at the men's expressions if he had simply
told them the truth, that he was on his way to bed his wife and couldn't tarry
to discuss such nonsense. Actually, having seen Elen, they'd probably
understand. Pregnancy hadn't dimmed her allure, had only heightened her beauty.
He
opened the door and moved through the outer chamber. "Elen," he
called softly. "Elen, I'm—"
He
broke off, his breath catching at sight of a man bending over Elen—a man
holding a sword. Then his own steel was out and he was hurtling toward the
crouching figure.
"Not
a step closer if you wish her to live!"
Richard
stumbled to a halt. Dylan! He swallowed hard, struggling to get command of
himself.
"Drop
your sword," the Welshman hissed. "Drop it!" he repeated sharply
as Richard still hesitated. "Don't think I'd spare her because she once
saved my life. I know 'twas she warned you of our ambush. I've no mercy for
traitors!"
Richard's
fingers clenched against his sword hilt, his rage almost choking him. Could the
Welshman be bluffing?
Dylan's
sword shifted against Elen's throat. "Your English lover puts little value
on your life. A pity, Elen."
"Wait!"
Richard pitched his sword to the floor. It was a chance he dare not take.
"That's
better. Now kick it there... under the bed."
Richard
did as he was told. Fear and fury settled into a cold, tight knot in the pit of
his stomach. Elen lay very still, and for one agonized moment, he feared the
Welshman had already made good his threat. Then he caught sight of the rapid
rise and fall of her chest and he steadied himself. "Your quarrel is with
me," he said curtly. "Let her go."
Dylan
smiled. "In good time. But first there's a little matter of making you pay
for your crimes." He gave a bitter laugh. "The Welsh Fox outwits the
English Wolf in his own den. I want a moment to savor the victory, a moment to
watch you sweat."
Richard
studied the Welshman warily. The man's rage blazed in his eyes, simmering
beneath the surface, barely controlled. But a man who hated so deeply was
seldom wise, seldom patient. "I thought you more cunning than the
rest," he began scornfully, "but it pleases me to find you no different
than any other Welsh fool. Do you really think to escape here once you've done
with me?"
Dylan
grinned. "I do." He prodded Elen with his foot. "Your wife and
unborn child will insure my safe passage. None will touch me so long as I hold
Elen."
Richard
forced himself to laugh. "The joke is on you if you think my men will
worry for the safety of another Welsh slut, more or less. Christ Jesus, we've
killed enough in the last year. I'd certainly not have made this one my wife
had she not brought a generous piece of Wales as dower. Your women mean little
to us and I've brats to spare scattered throughout Gwynedd."
"Hold
your tongue," Dylan bit out furiously. He took a step toward Richard.
"Hold your tongue or I'll pleasure myself by cutting it out!"
"Can
you now? I doubt you've the stomach for it," Richard goaded. "You'd
not the backbone to meet me on the field. I doubt you can best me even at
this."
Dylan
moved closer, his face white with fury. "I'm going to enjoy this," he
snarled, raising his sword. "I'm going to—"
The
noise of crashing furniture and splintering pottery filled the room. Dylan
swung about instinctively and Richard dove for his enemy.
Elen
rolled away from the table she had kicked over, cutting her arm and staining
her gown in the wreckage of broken cups and crumbling, wine-soaked wafers. She
stared breathlessly at the struggling men. Richard's attack had knocked the
sword from Dylan's hand and the two now fought furiously for a dagger.
Help...
she had to get help!
Rocking
herself up on one elbow she braced her shoulder against the wall, then pushed
herself to her feet. She swayed there a moment, her eyes never leaving the
fight. The men's ragged breathing filled the chamber, punctuated by grunts and
snarls as knees and elbows connected viciously with soft, unprotected flesh.
She
glanced at the door. She had to get round them to reach it. She hobbled toward
the bed and rolled across it, easing herself to the floor on the other side.
A
strangled cry rang from one of the two men, sending a shiver of dread down her
spine. She pulled herself up to look at them.
"Richard?"
The
combatants lay in a tangled heap. Neither moved. Panic swept her.
"Richard?" Her voice rose, hysteria threatened.
"Richard!"
"Hush,
Elen. It's all right." The words were English, blessed English.
Another
groan sounded and Richard finally moved. He shoved away from Dylan, clasping
the bloodied dagger as he struggled to catch his breath. He rose to his feet,
crossing the floor and cutting her free. "It's all right, love," he
murmured, taking her in his arms, clinging to her as if he needed the
reassurance as much as she.
"Oh,
Richard, I was so afraid. So afraid he'd killed you!"
"Elen..."
She
stiffened. The sound was half word, half gasp. "Elen... please."
Richard
released her and they gazed back at the crumpled figure on the rush-strewn
floor.
Elen
began to tremble, a host of conflicting emotions flooding through her: regret,
pain, relief—but anger most of all.
Why, Dylan? Why did you do it?
"Go
on," Richard said, understanding her far better than she did herself. He
gave her a gentle push. "Make your peace if you can."
She
moved hesitantly away from Richard, sinking to the floor beside the dying
Welshman. Blood welled from the ragged wound in his chest. His eyes were
closed, his complexion rapidly graying.
"Dylan."
She touched his cheek. His eyes fluttered open.
"Elen."
He stared up at her. "I... I'd not have hurt you. I want you to know
that."
She
took his hand, cradling it against her chest. "I think I knew that,
Dylan," she said softly. "I feared for Richard, not myself."
His
throat worked convulsively as he tried to speak. She leaned closer to hear.
"Enid," he whispered. "Tell my daughter... about me. The good
things."
Elen's
throat closed up. Her eyes burned with unshed tears. There were good things—but
Dylan was a young man—there could have been so much more. "Yes. Yes, I
will."
"Tell
her..."
Elen
was vaguely aware of the sound of hurrying footsteps, of a babble of voices
filling the room. Giles, Simon, Will— Richard's men had been summoned.
Dylan's
dark eyes were glazing rapidly. Each breath was a struggle. She squeezed his
fingers encouragingly. "Tell her what, Dylan?"
"How
much... how much I loved her mother."
Grief
cut through her then, wiping out all that remained of her own fear and anger.
How had it ever come down to this? How could love beget such hate? "I'll
tell her, Dylan," she whispered around the ache in her throat. "I
swear it."
His
fingers contracted briefly against hers. A harsh sigh escaped his lips and she
breathed a prayer as his soul slipped the confinement of his body.
Releasing
his limp hand, she rose to her feet, stumbling blindly into a solid, familiar
form. Owain. Richard had summoned Owain, the one person who would understand.
"Why, Owain? Why did he do it?" she choked out. "I thought he
was gone... to France like we planned."
"He'd
hated too long. 'Twas his reason for living," Owain said softly. "But
Dylan was a good man before the bitterness sickened him. Remember that,
Elen."
She
nodded miserably, watching as two men bent to spread a blanket over the
Welshman's body before they carried him out.
"Leave
us... everyone," Richard demanded.
Elen
turned to discover her husband watching her, a troubled frown on his handsome
face. He gestured toward his men. "Giles, tell our guests what has
happened but keep them below. And order the men to keep their gloating to
themselves. I'll have no baiting of our Welsh guests."
Giles
nodded and the men filed slowly from the room. Owain squeezed Elen's hand and
turned to follow. "Not you," Richard said softly. "I would speak
with you two."
He
waited until the last man had departed and the chamber door was closed.
"The Welsh Fox is dead," he began, "the rebellion ended. I'll
send word to Edward as soon as the weather breaks."
Owain
met his eyes evenly. "My lord, why not end this game between us, why
not—"
"Peace!"
Richard snapped. "Dylan confessed ere he died. Knowing the penalty for
treason, only a fool or a madman would admit to being the Fox." He was
studying the floor intently. His frown deepened into a scowl. "Now I wish
to hear no more of this. In so far as I am concerned the Welsh Fox is
dead."
Elen
drew one deep, shuddering breath. Richard knew. He knew the truth, but for once
in his life he was turning a blind eye to duty. "Richard, you will
probably never know," she said softly, "how very much I do love
you."
His
eyes lifted to hers, his grave expression softening. "Owain, take my wife
from here. I will join you as soon as I've had someone restore the room."
***
The
last rays of the sun had broken through the thinning layer of clouds by the
time Richard went in search of Elen. One of the guards had reported seeing her
on the battlements. But that had been near an hour ago.
Richard
climbed the steep stone stairs in growing concern. Elen must be hurting more
than he had guessed. God grant him the words to ease her pain. There was enough
between them already for a lifetime.
Stepping
out into the glow of a wintry sunset, he searched the shadows along the wall.
He saw her at once. A cold wind, blowing in from the sea, stirred the powdery
snow from the ramparts, swirling it over her dark cloak and unbound hair.
He
moved toward her. "You'll catch your death up here in the cold."
Elen
didn't answer, didn't even turn around. She was watching a half-dozen eagles
circling and diving for fish in the darkening waters beneath Gwenlyn's gray
stone walls.
"Do
you wish to speak of it?" he asked softly.
"No."
Richard
took a deep breath. "Not with anyone, or just not with me?"
She
swung around at that, her eyes searching his. "You can't possibly think
I'd have it any other way, Richard. I've been up here thanking God, the Holy
Virgin, and all the saints for your life. And yet..."
Her
voice grew suddenly shaky. "And yet a part of me is sad, Richard, so sad.
As if it died too. I can't explain. The old ways are gone. Everything has
changed. I... I don't even know who I am, what I want anymore."
"We've
both changed," he said thoughtfully. "For the better, I think.
Compromise takes a strength, a wisdom, simple winning doesn't require."
A
long silence stretched between them. The shrill cry of an eagle echoed
overhead, and Richard watched the birds wheel gracefully over the castle, the
fierce creatures lending him sudden inspiration. "Eagles don't survive in
captivity," he said softly. "They've not the ability to adapt that
their cousin the falcon has. They can't be trained to do the bidding of a
keeper."
He
studied his wife. "Dylan couldn't compromise. He'd never have reconciled
himself to living with English rule. He'd have forced his own end sooner or
later. If not this time with us, it would have been another."
"But
why us, Richard? Why did he force us to do it?" Elen glanced up. "I
feel as if I put that blade in him myself. Someday I'll have to tell young Enid
we took her father's life."
"A
far kinder fate than the other he faced," Richard said stiffly.
"Don't punish yourself, Elen. Dylan chose his own end."
Elen
turned and leaned against the battlements, gazing at the snow-covered mountains
lifting beyond Gwenlyn. "Eryri," she whispered, "haunt of
eagles." Her eyes filled with tears. "It's really the end for us this
time, Richard... a twilight of eagles. There will be no more Llywelyns, no more
Dylans to lead us. There will never by another Welsh prince of Wales."
Richard
remained silent for several long moments. He had no words to comfort her, for
she faced the truth at last. He slid both arms around her, drawing her into the
warmth beneath his cloak. "The ending of these bloody wars between England
and Wales has to be a blessing, Elen. So many have suffered and died so
pointlessly over these few square miles of ground. And the end of one things
may be the beginning of something better."
"But
it will be so... so difficult," she said, stumbling a little with her
effort for control. "We Welsh don't take easily to change."
"Yes,
but it will come, Elen. In time it will come. And I'll be here to help."
Richard
forced her to look up at him. "Things of value are seldom easily achieved.
Just look at us. We've been to hell and back again, Elen. Perhaps it took that
to learn the value of what we have."