Daughter of Time: A Time Travel Romance (11 page)

But one thing I did
remember: Dafydd never got punished much for anything he did. He’d
even tried to assassinate Llywelyn once. He’d fled to England
afterwards and the King of England took him in—and then later
forced Llywelyn to take him back. It looked to me like a classic
case of a coddled rich boy who’d gotten as far as he had on some
innate intelligence, good looks, and charm. That’s certainly how
Dafydd had acted with me.

The sun disappeared and
the men lit torches. Rhodri reappeared with Anna, who seemed no
worse for wear. “Look, Mommy,” she said, as she came up to me. “We
collected leaves!”

I bent to admire them,
marveling at how simple life could be if only we could live it.
“They’re pretty sweetheart,” I said.

“
She’s very curious,”
Rhodri said. “I taught her some Welsh and she was able to repeat
them back to me.”

“
Diolch
,” I said.
Thank you.

Llywelyn finally returned
and handed me a wet cloth to wipe my hands. I took it, noticing for
the first time the blood on my clothing. I turned towards him,
shocked. “Llywelyn,” I breathed. “Anna shouldn’t see me like
this.”

He leaned down so his
mouth was only inches from my ear. “She won’t notice if you don’t
call attention to it. She’s only a child and will see what she
expects to see.”

He put his hands around my
waist and boosted me onto my horse. Rhodri then bent to pick up
Anna and handed her to me. I bundled her underneath the cloak,
wincing at the blood again, but Llywelyn was right. It had dried
and blended in with the blackness of my cloak.

Rhodri took the reins from
me and pulled the horse forward, leading us. “Is your horse . . .”
I stopped, afraid to ask anything more.

“
He’s alive,” he said.
“We’ve lost too many, though, and a dead companion rides him
instead of me.”

I nodded and it was a
somber company that traveled the last three miles to Llywelyn’s
manor in the forest.

By the time we reached it,
Anna had fallen asleep and I was numb from head to toe, physically
and mentally. I found myself reliving the fight and its aftermath
over and over again. I didn’t know what Llywelyn would find when he
questioned one of his prisoners, but I know what
I
saw, and would never
forget . . .

I couldn’t imagine living
another day in this world. I wanted to go home.

Chapter Eight

Llywelyn

I
poked my nose into my bedroom. Marged slept on the big bed,
curled around Anna, whose raven locks I could just make out above
the blankets they’d pulled nearly over their heads.
I can appreciate that. A day like today makes me
want to hide too.
I had many questions for
Marged but at least I’d settled the most important one. Whatever
her origins, I would no longer consider the notion that she was a
spy.

Her face, when she looked
at me over the body of Geraint, had been so full of pity and
understanding that I’d come close to weeping. She’d seen that too,
seen the effort to contain it and saved me by speaking to Goronwy
herself to give me a chance to find composure.

We lost, and lost, and
lost again, and I could never find my heart so hard that it didn’t
rip me apart inside with each death. At least Geraint had been an
old man, bent with years of age and care. He died knowing he’d left
his lands and lord—his life’s work—in the capable hands of his son,
Tudur. The others we’d lost had been young, one only sixteen, and
we could only raise our fists and curse at the utter, bloody waste
of it.

The mood of all the men
was dark, taking out the despair at death with anger at the men
who’d done this. But as much as I wanted to start pulling out our
prisoners’ fingernails, I refrained. Now if I had Gruffydd ap
Gwenwynwyn under my nose, Goronwy would be hard pressed to hold me
back. Too bad he hid behind King Henry’s skirts where I couldn’t
touch him.

I closed the door to the
bedroom and turned toward the stairs that led to the kitchens. Even
though it was nearly midnight, servants were still awake, preparing
food and drink for those of my men who couldn’t sleep after the
day’s work. The morning would come all too soon for everyone. I
pushed open the door to the courtyard and strode towards the
stables where Goronwy had put our two surviving
prisoners.

“
One’s no older than my
man-at-arms who’d died,” Goronwy said in an undertone as I walked
in. “Perhaps like him too, this was his first mission for his
lord.”

“
He will be the one you
break first,” I said.

“
His face is white and
he’s near in tears,” Goronwy said. “Third stall from the
right.”

“
Not much longer now, my
lord,” Hywel said.

He leaned back in a
straight-back chair, his giant feet up on a trough. Lanterns blazed
from hooks along the walls, sending light into the darkest corners.
The stables had room for more than fifty horses, as was necessary
given the number of men I often brought with me in my travels or
for a day’s hunting in the forest. The manor house itself barely
deserved the name, however. It had a large hall and rear kitchen,
but only three rooms above stairs. And no dungeons, which is why
Goronwy was using two stalls for our prisoners instead of the usual
horses.

I scuffed at the floor
with my boot, glad to see that attention to detail of the stable
boys, even in my absence. With only fire for light, even protected
within a lantern, they had to be constantly vigilant about loose
hay tracked across the floor.

“
Shall I bring him out, my
lord?” Goronwy said.

“
It’s your decision,
Goronwy,” I said. “I stand by your assessment.”

Goronwy signaled to the
two guards who stood on either side of the boy’s stall. One of the
guards was the man, Bevyn, whose charge it had been to care for
Marged. She told me she’d ordered him to leave her, but I wasn’t
satisfied, even if he’d saved Goronwy’s life. It was my orders that
he needed to obey; neither his nor Marged’s judgment had yet been
proved, even if today’s escapade had ended well for them. It might
not have.

The guards disappeared
inside the stall and came out leading the boy, his hands tied
behind his back. Bevyn pushed him to his knees in front of Goronwy.
The boy was older than Goronwy had implied, nearer to twenty than
fifteen, of middle height and thin, with reddish hair and a pointed
beak of a nose.

“
Your name,” Goronwy
said.

The boy squared his
shoulders, raising his chin in a manner that matched the fine cut
of his cloak. “Humphrey de Bohun, Lord of Brecon and the
Marche!”

“
Ho!” Goronwy said. “Not
quite yet, I don’t think.”

“
I grant your family has
held lands in the Marche since your ancestors came to Wales,” I
said, “but Brecon Castle belongs to me, unless you have further
unwelcome news?”

“
No, sir,” Humphrey said.
“I do not.”

I had to admire his
courage and panache. He could have denied his antecedents, but then
he was probably hoping I’d ransom him, as was customary among the
nobility, rather than kill him, as he might have deserved. The boy
didn’t appear as close to breaking as Goronwy and Hywel had
thought, but then, they hadn’t known who he was before
either.

“
Your
grandfather lives?” Goronwy said, keeping to the main point.
Humphrey’s grandfather was also Humphrey de Bohun, the Earl of
Hereford and one of my most formidable opponents in controlling the
Marche. Humphrey’s father had died at Evesham fighting for my ally,
Simon de Montfort,
against
King Henry. The shifting loyalties of the English
nobility were often hard to keep straight.

Humphrey nodded. “He is
well. He will pay for my release.”

“
I bet he will,” Hywel
said.

The boy’s directed a sharp
look at Hywel, who gazed back at him, his face blank.

“
His Welsh is better than
I would have expected,” Goronwy said, in aside to me, “but perhaps
it would be better to speak in French.”

At my nod, Goronwy pointed
his chin at the boy. “
Fran
ç
ais,
then?”

A look of relief passed
through Humphrey’s eyes before he mastered it. “Thank you,” he
said. “I expect you to return me to my grandfather’s house
immediately.”

Hywel snorted. I smiled at
that and shook my head. Goronwy needed to break through Humphrey’s
upright equanimity. However much I distrusted the boy’s grandsire,
I respected him, and could see his training in the
grandson.

“
What in the name of
heaven were you doing at Coedwig Gap, involved in such a cowardly
and ill-favored venture?” I said.

Humphrey’s chin quivered.
Then he visibly steeled himself. The look was one I’d seen before,
most recently in Marged’s eyes. Did he expect a backhand across the
face? I found my temper growing hot at the thought that any man had
hit her. I forced it down. Humphrey was not Marged.

“
For the time being, it
seems you are my guest,” I said, “provided you explain your
participation in the events of today.”

“
May I stand?” Humphrey
asked.

“
I think not,” Goronwy
said. “The quicker you talk, the sooner you can get off your knees.
I’m sure they’ve started to ache on this hard floor.”

No torture indeed.
I smirked, remembering my Latin master forcing me
to recite verbs on my knees over and over again until I got them
right. The pain certainly sharpened
my
mind. We’d see what it did for
Humphrey.

Humphrey swallowed hard.
“It started out as a lark, really. Gruffydd ap Gwenwynwyn’s son,
Owain, proposed venturing into Gwynedd to probe your defenses and
see how far we could penetrate. It was easy; the roads are nearly
deserted this time of year and the snowpack sparse, even in the
mountains. Two days ago, Owain received a message that called him
away. He left me in charge of the men. We had camped at the foot of
Rhobell Fawr when one of the men who’d left with Owain returned to
camp with word that you had left Castell Criccieth.”

“
So you prepared the
ambush?” Goronwy said.

“
Owain left the rider with
instructions as to what to do.”

“
And the village?” Goronwy
said.

I nodded. I’d not
forgotten the odd absence of people there, and our uncertainty as
to their fate.

“
If
they’re dead, it wasn’t our doing!” Humphrey said. “We came upon
the empty village the day before Owain left. In his note, Owain
suggested burning the village as a distraction. We
did
not
kill anyone.”

“
Just my men,” Hywel
said.

“
As to that,” Humphrey
said, “from our end, it was worth the cost if we could take you, my
lord Prince, as a prize. Our intent was not to kill you. Owain said
that you would be a valuable hostage.”

Goronwy glanced at me. I
raised my eyebrows, willing to take the boy at his word, for now.
If the villagers had left of their own accord, we didn’t need to
add their deaths to his list of crimes.

But Goronwy wasn’t done.
“Owain said? Why is that all that I have heard from your mouth?
What Bohun hides behind another man, no matter who he is, unable to
think for himself? I would have expected more from you. So would
your grandfather.”

Humphrey blinked. His face
was impassive still, but a bit of doubt had crept into his
eyes.

“
And where is Owain now?”
I said. “Obviously not here.”

“
No,” Humphrey said, his
voice curt. “He is not.”

“
He found it convenient to
have you do his dirty work,” Hywel said.

“
And how do you feel about
that ignoble fact?” Goronwy said. “To your grandfather, a man is
one who stands up for all his actions, whether for good or ill. It
is why you chose not to lie about who you are, isn’t it. You’ve
learned something from your grandfather anyway.”

And why the boy might
become a formidable enemy for me when he came into his inheritance.
“Does your grandfather know where you are?” I said.

Humphrey didn’t answer at
first. He stared at Goronwy, and then me, his jaw clenched and
stiff. Then the fight went out of him. His shoulders sagged. “No.
You could kill me now and put out that I fell in the battle. None
would be the wiser.”

“
Is that what Owain would
do?” Goronwy said, not willing to make this easy on him.

Humphrey looked down at
the ground, shifting uncomfortably. “I think he would.”

“
One measure of a man,”
Hywel said, “is with whom he associates. You might consider your
choices more closely in future.”

“
Are you going to kill
me?” Humphrey squared his shoulders, aiming for an authority and
manhood he’d just discovered he hadn’t quite achieved.