Heartsong (8 page)

She ignored the few men who moved away from her as she sat. Somehow she had to get to Arthur so they could plan their escape. She gazed at some of the soldiers in the room. None of them would look in her direction. The servants were a different matter. The glares she received should have scared her to death. Her safety in this keep could be in serious doubt if she had to stay for any time. That was out of the question, of course. She had to find a way to leave this place, return to Wales and Lily.

Sick at thoughts of what the child of five summers might be thinking, Rhianna pulled a trencher close and nibbled at the contents, much too upset to taste the food. The sip of ale she swallowed would not pass over the lump lodged in her throat. If she could have fled from the room without drawing more attention to herself, she would have done just that.

“Men,” deShay’s voice sliced through Rhianna. He rose from the table and she trembled, wondering what the mighty lord of Knockin wanted now.

She had her answer immediately.

“Come, we’ve training to see to and mock battles to wage.” He hurried toward the door and she sighed with relief.

As soon as deShay strode from the room, his men rose and followed. Rhianna stood herself
.

I’m back to that chamber
. At least there, she hoped she would find some security.

For the rest of the morning and much of the afternoon, she sat in deShay’s chamber and plied her needle, stitching the garments Mildred brought her to mend while Mildred kept her company.

“Are you not needed in another place?” Rhianna asked once against the clang and clash of metal striking metal which resounded from outside the chamber.

“Nay. Sir Tomlaine insisted I stay with you.”

“For my protection?”

“Well, there is that.” Mildred couldn’t meet her gaze and Rhianna knew she had the right of it. She did need protection.

As she sewed, her hands shook making her stitches uneven and irregular. Thoughts of what would surely happen that night had her shuddering in fear. deShay had already told her he intended to bed her and by carrying to his room, Sir Tomlaine indicated to all what plans deShay had for her.

Mildred brought a tray for their nooning but Rhianna swallowed little over the tightness in her throat. Well into the afternoon, Mildred excused herself and Rhianna put the mending and the sewing needle away. She stood at the window slit in the empty solar and watched as the sun spilled dark mauve and crimson streaks through the sky. Finally, ebony night crept toward Knockin. She had to leave, to escape, but she could not leave without Arthur.

“My Lady,” Mildred finally returned and announced, “your presence is wanted below.”

“Nay.” She had no desire to go into that hostile hall. “You must ask that I be excused. I have an aching head. Too much close work this day.”

After Mildred left to deliver her message, Rhianna paced around the room, her fear a metallic taste in her mouth. He would come tonight. She knew it. He would force himself on her and would destroy her with his lust.

A short time later Mildred returned with a tray of food but Rhianna still found it impossible to eat. At times she shook so badly she knew she’d be unable to even remove her own garments.

As the hours crawled by, it seemed deShay intended to stay below with his men. Some of her tension dissolved. Mayhap he would not come, after all. When the flame of the candle wavered before her eyes, she gave up her fearful vigil and dragged the borrowed garment over her head. She climbed into the feather-soft bed and slipped into an exhausted sleep.

~ * ~

Below in the great hall, Garrett sat staring off into the empty hearth. All of that day, as he trained with his men, Rhianna’s face danced before his eyes. Her pained expression of that morn mocked his well-laid plans. A short time before, Mildred told him how distressed Rhianna had been all day. That too concerned him, although he could not say why.

Though he still could hardly believe it, it was possible she was an innocent. He also had no wish to ravage her. Her distress suggested he would have to force her if he wanted to take her. To be honest he had never compelled a maid to share his bed. They always came willingly.

His confused thoughts swirled through his mind. He hated her, didn’t he? She represented everything that had gone asunder in his life. Yet, he had to admit that he wanted her. She was one of the spoils of war, his to take, but he knew he could not force her.

“My Lord,” Lydon said as he approached the hearth. “‘Tis late. I’m for my bed. What about you?”

“Aye, in time.”

“She bothers you, doesn’t she?”

Garrett looked up, startled. “Aye, but how did you know?”

“‘Tis plain for all to see that you are troubled. I know of your hatred for the ruling class of Wales, so it was an easy guess.”

“I fear she is related to the Lord of Brynn Ffrydd that Edward wanted as hostage. If she is, he will insist I bring her to him.” Garrett’s frowned deepened. “I don’t want to send her to him.”

“Aye, she is a beauty. And, she has spirit. But, Garrett, she is Welsh.” As Lydon turned away, Garrett caught a glimpse of Edina waiting for his knight. His scowl deepened more. Lydon had the warm willing body of a woman to comfort him. All Garrett had this night were his pain-filled memories, for another maid did not interest him.

He made his way up the curved staircase. It was past time to seek a bed. Unfortunately with her in his bed, he would have to find another.

The chamber he selected was comfortable enough, but Lydon’s last words repeated over and over in his head.
She is Welsh.

Again ugly memories tried to surface. This time he was too tired to stop the onslaught.

Once again it was spring at Knockin and he was a lad of five summers.

Before the window of the solar, his beautiful brown-haired mother stood, the jewels around the neck and hem of her gown glittered in the rays of a warm afternoon sun.

He’d come looking for her, wanting to show her the sword he fashioned from a fallen branch. Instead he found her, with her husky, lilting voice, a voice that sang sweet songs to a frightened little boy, in the arms of a strange man.

Before Garrett made his presence known, his father, William, stumbled into the room. There were sharp words exchanged. William grabbed at his mother. Garrett saw the dagger his father released from its scabbard.

Somehow his mother, Gwendolyn, put herself between the man and William. She tried to say something, but William was furious and tried to push her away. He lunged at the stranger.

Something about William’s white face drew Garrett’s young eyes back to his mother. A deep scarlet liquid spread over the top of her bliaud, down over her breast. She lifted her hand to the spot, her life’s flow seeping between her fingers as she sank slowly to the floor.

A moan of such terrible intensity poured through the room. His father dropped the dagger and staggered to his knees beside Gwendolyn. Garrett started forward knowing something was wrong, terribly wrong.

“Get that child from here.” A sharp masculine voice spoke above the strangled sobs of his father. Garrett had never heard that voice before but terror raced through his young heart.

William glanced up and his harsh voice rang through the chamber.

“Pernith, take the boy away.”

Pernith, Gwendolyn’s maid, grabbed him and pulled his resisting body from the solar. As they left the chamber, they passed Morgana Hubbard, who had come to foster at Knockin.

Garrett never liked Morgana. From the tension between the two women, he knew Pernith never liked her either. Pernith glared at her, then said, “You’ll never have my Lord’s heart. And, when he remembers you sent him to this room with your lies he will hate you.”

“Be quiet, old woman. Now that Gwendolyn is gone, William will be mine, but you will not be here to see it.”

Pernith pushed Garrett past Morgana, down the stairs and into the hall. Garrett didn’t understand the exchange. His mother wasn’t gone. She lay on the floor of the solar as still as death. However, he never saw his mother again. They took her away that day. But he heard the whispers.

Garrett knew, even in his childhood confusion, his father had caused Gwendolyn’s death, that Morgana had sent William to the solar, also that the stranger from Wales had played a role.

He learned from castle gossip the stranger’s name was Brac ap Craig, some noble from Wales. No one knew who he was or why he came to Knockin. Garrett knew only that he had come and taken Gwendolyn away.

Morgana was also Welsh and from that same class. Just before she gave birth to Colvin, she married grief-stricken William. Then, because William no longer seemed to care about anything, Morgana made life at Knockin a living hell. The day in the solar, Garrett lost his mother and his father. Morgana Hubbard was to blame.

As he grew older, he reasoned the ruling class of Wales, people like Brac ap Craig and Morgana, deserved his hate. They had it. Edward had used his hate. Garrett had never minded.

He forced himself to ignore the pain that whipped through his heart. When sleep came it was not a restful sleep. He continued to see the blood on Gwendolyn’s bliaud. Once more he felt the hurt and emptiness he suffered at her loss. It also reminded him of the day not long before, when another woman had the top of her gown covered with her own blood.

Long before the dawn, Garrett paced the small room he’d taken for his rest. Memories continued to plague him. This Rhianna of Wales had opened a corner of his mind and he could no longer push his aching loneliness aside.

However, what if he thought of his captive as a guest, instead of his enemy? Could he then shove the caustic memories into the deep recesses of his mind, where they belonged? Another thought occurred. If they did learn that she bore a blood relationship to the dead hostage, treating her as a guest would stand him in good stead with the King.

So be it. He would consider Rhianna of Wales his guest and not his captive. Taking her to his bed was no longer something he’d entertain, unless she came willingly.

He smiled at that. Aye, if he tried, he could probably seduce the little witch. He jerked upright at that thought.

Yesterday, she was a captive slave from Wales. Today

he had decided to name her a guest. Mayhap she did have an ability to cast a spell on him.

Five

Rhianna rose with the dawn and had dressed before Mildred knocked on her door.

“Lord deShay wants you to break your fast in the hall below.”

“Nay,” Rhianna announced. “I’ll stay here in this chamber again today. I’ve no wish to face those in deShay’s hall.”

“Oh, but you must. My Lord is waiting for you.”

“He awaits? Nay, he can wait forever.”

“Oh, nay. You must come. Do not be afraid. If you are with my Lord, no one will say a word.” Mildred grinned. “Besides, you have no choice. He said to tell you he would come for you himself if you refused. He waits at the bottom of the stairs.”

Rhianna gritted her teeth and glared at Mildred. Fear was the last thing she wanted the maid to think affected her. She raised her chin and ignoring Mildred marched to the door.

deShay stood waiting for her just as Mildred had said. In fact, he smiled at her and Rhianna felt her heart miss a beat. She drew herself up stiff and rigid, fighting the catch in her breath. He was her
enemy.

He extended his arm. She had no choice. Either she accepted his assistance or shamed herself. With great care, she placed her fingers on the velvet of his tunic. A streak of fire traveled through her fingers to lodge just below her heart.

She stared up at him in surprise. From the look on his face, he had felt it too.

She jerked her fingers to her side. How could touching this man affect her as it did? Confusion made her shake her head.

However, he seemed intent on escorting her to a seat at table. He snatched her hand, then laid it on his arm. At his touch, her knees weakened.
It’s fear for Lily and Arthur
. Aye, the crazy tingling that rushed through her was nothing more than concern and anxiety.

She tried to swallow, but found it more difficult than taking a deep breath of air.
Concern for Lily and Arthur.
She repeated it over and over like a litany.

“I hope you slept well.” His rich tones poured over her, breaking through her thoughts.

He smiled. Not only was breathing toilsome, she also wondered if her legs would hold her weight.

But he moved quick and sure toward the main table.

“This day you eat next to me.”

Rhianna tried to pull away, away from the searing heat and the strength next to her. She would never be able to eat a bite if she had to sit beside him.

He gave her no choice, guiding her toward the lord’s table. After she sat, he took a place next to her. The tightness in her throat nearly choked her. Eating would be impossible.

With no wish to look at those gathered before her, she lowered her eyes and studied him beneath her long lashes. He was a big man, handsome and carried an arrogance that named him a leader. His features were so pleasing. From his square bronze face and his bright, blue-gray eyes, to his trim golden-brown beard, he looked good. Nay, better than good—wonderful.

She cringed at her thoughts and played with her food, picking at bits of meat and bread. Nor could she swallow with any ease. Even the warm ale stuck in her throat. Heat then cold coursed though her as conversation whirled around her. Was she sickening or had strain of her situation made consuming nourishment impossible?