Sharon Schulze - L'eau Clair Chronicles 03 (18 page)

Besides, on this leg of their journey, endurance was more important than speed. Especially since he intended a detour on the way to l’Eau Clair.

There was a small, out-of-the-way village he knew of, a village whose priest owed the Dragon an enormous debt.

Before they finished the journey to L’Eau Clair, he intended to collect.

Toad took up his usual position in the wall near Llywelyn’s chamber, his body fairly quivering with excitement.

He’d learned that some of Llywelyn’s men had returned to Dolwyddelan, and the Viking’s name had been mentioned. Now, perhaps, he’d be able to discover where Siwardson had taken Lily.

He’d overheard little of importance the past few days save that the Dragon evidently hadn’t gone to Lord Rhys’s keep, as he’d been ordered to by the prince himself.

The question was, where had he gone instead?

Toad eased his aching shoulder against the wall. All this skulking about in the passageways took its toll on his poor, broken body. He’d wondered, as he lay near death with his limbs twisted all awry, if it would be worth it to survive. He had been a handsome man once, his body strong and well formed, in the full flower of his manly vigor. It had never been difficult for him to find willing vessels for his passion; women had always fallen into his grasp with a gratifying willingness, eager to satisfy his needs.

All women except one.

That woman he had wanted with a desire that far outstripped the pulling lust he felt for the others. She could have given him power, lands, and a connection to the Norman king—as well as strengthening his ties with his kinsman, Llywelyn. The fact that she was related to him, as well, added a delicious twist to an already perfect situation.

Now the only outlet for his lust was vengeance. He savored his desire for revenge with every bit as much enjoyment as he’d ever found within a woman’s body.

The men who had done this to him would pay indirectly for their crimes, once he regained the power and position he had lost.

Soon, he told himself, his crooked face twisted into a smile.

Soon Lily would be his, and his life would begin anew.

He pressed his ear to the wall as the level of noise in the room beyond increased.

“Sit down and stop babbling,” he muttered. He could hear the sound of a deep, booming voice–Siwardson’s, he hoped—but he couldn’t understand the words.

Then, suddenly, the volume increased. Tamping down his excitement, Toad pressed his ear to the wall and settled down to listen.

Llywelyn stood before the fire in his chamber, a goblet of wine in his hand, and surveyed the motley band he’d sent out in search of the Dragon. They hadn’t brought him back with them; that much was obvious. But he wasn’t surprised. Few men had the courage to stand up to Ian.

However, that did not mean their journey had been a complete loss. Perhaps they knew where he’d gone.

Their leader, Sion, stood tall and met his master’s questioning gaze.

“No, milord. We didn’t see a sign of the Dragon anywhere. We ran across the Viking, though, a day’s ride from here.”

“Did he have the girl with him?” Llywelyn asked.

“Nay, milord. Must have handed her over already.

You’ll not be troubled with her now,” Sion added with a dismissive shrug.

“But here’s what we did to try to find the Dragon …. ” Llywelyn listened as the man outlined in boring detail every place he’d searched for Ian.

“We even went to his sister’s keep at Ashby, milord,” Sion said.

“They hadn’t seen him there.”

“And how do you know that?” Llywelyn asked.

“Did they allow you inside, give you an opportunity to ask questions, search for information?”

“Nay, milord.

“Tis a Norman keep. Lord Talbot spoke with us at the gate, but he wouldn’t let us in. But he said that he hadn’t seen his brother-by-marriage in months, that the Lady Catrin was ready to slay her brother for ignoring her for so long.”

“That I could believe,” another man put in.

“The bitch would do it, too, given half a chance.”

Llywelyn crossed the room in two strides and knocked the man to the floor.

“Lady Catrin is my cousin, and a noble lady. Watch how you speak of your betters.” Fools!

He returned to his chair and flung himself into it.

“Take your friend out of here before I decide to do worse to him,” he told Sion.

“I’ll speak with you later.” He drank deeply of his wine as the men hurried from the room.

Llywelyn slammed the goblet onto the table in frustration, Where was Ian? And why hadn’t Siwardson returned?

He had hoped the message he’d received from Saint Winifred’s was a mistake, that the Viking and the messenger from Sister Maud had simply missed each other.

Now, however, Siwardson’s absence took on a more ominous tone.

After all the time the Viking had spent at Dolwyddelan, waiting for a decision regarding those damned trade negotiations, he should have returned to the keep by now.

Unless he lay dead somewhere. Given the man’s size and strength, that seemed unlikely.

Had the bastard reneged on their bargain, perhaps traded the girl to someone? The Vikings were known for trafficking in women, and Lily was a beauty.

Or had he sold her to the Dragon?

By Christ, he couldn’t trust anyone.

Not even the Dragon.

Ian had spoiled him. The Dragon had been the most dependable man ever to serve him. At least until Lily arrived at Dolwyddelan.

He poured more wine. He would never have guessed that a woman would prove to be Ian’s downfall.

But sooner or later, his men would run the Dragon to ground.

And when they did, Llywelyn would show him who was master.

Toad bit at his hand to keep from screaming his rage.

He still didn’t know where the girl was! Evidently Si-ward son had not returned. But Sion might know where the Viking had been taking her. Damnation, why couldn’t Llywelyn keep his temper long enough so that he could learn what he needed to know?

He could go to Sion and ask, but that would likely solve nothing. The days when Llywelyn’s men-at-arms had given Toad what he sought were long past. Sion would probably kick him down the stairs or knock him across the room for dating to approach him. Everyone else did.

His only options seemed to be more eavesdropping outside Llywelyn’s chamber, or finding the Viking and following him about in the hope that he’d lead him to her.

Or perhaps he should head for l’Eau Clair. He had the feeling that the Dragon—and Lily—would find their way to Gillian’s keep eventually.

He’d do it, he decided.

What did he have to lose?

It took a day’s hard riding to reach the village of Llanrhys.

Lily remained virtually silent on this leg of the journey.

Ian welcomed it, for he wasn’t in the mood to discuss his plans–despite the fact that they involved her. The less she knew at this point, the better; he was already amazed that her acquiescence had lasted this long.

He had plenty of opportunity to ponder the course he would take. He’d never thought to marry, but for some reason, the thought of marrying Lily did not bother him—much.

His reservations all centered around the feeling that he was about to do her an enormous disservice. He would gain a lover, a wife, while she stood to lose what she had so recently gained–her freedom.

He only hoped she did not come to regret her decision.

But she didn’t seem hesitant, just quiet. Since it served his purpose, he let her be.

They didn’t arrive in Llanrhys until well after dark. Ian tethered the horse in the trees a distance from the tiny church and led Lily by the hand through the shadowy town.

They entered the church and crossed the sacristy to a door beyond the altar, Ian tapped upon the panels, then waited impatiently until he heard the sound of shuffling feet. The door opened a crack.

“Who is there?”

“Take a look, old man,” Ian said, pushing the door open wide.

The short, scrawny priest hitched up his robes and snatched a candle from the wall pricket. Holding it high, he stepped from the room.

“Good eventide to you, Father,” Ian said, his voice polite. He smiled, the Dragon’s smile, all teeth and vengeance.

He could tell the exact moment when recognition dawned. The priest made the sign of the cross, his eyes wide.

“Lord Ian.” He bobbed his head and, reaching behind him, tugged the door closed.

“Why are you here, milord? The prince hasn’t…” He shook his head. It was more of a twitch really.

“No, he couldn’t know about that.” He looked up at Ian, eyes pleading.

“Could he?”

Ian snorted; he actually wanted to laugh, but that was hardly likely to further their ends. He would rely on intimidation alone to get what he wanted. No sense in frightening the worm to death, at least not till he’d done the deed.

“Nay, Father. He doesn’t know.” He took a step toward the door.

“However, that could change—very quickly, as I’m sure you know.”

The priest bobbed his head again.

“Thank you, milord, thank you. What brings you to Llanrhys, then, if not the prince’s business?”

Ian drew Lily forward.

“Marry us.”

“Now, milord? In the middle of the night?”

“I know of no better time to make her my bride,” he said, allowing his gaze to travel in a slow, purely sensual foray over her body.

“Indeed.” The priest stared at her more closely, until he caught sight of Ian’s glare.

“I understand, milord.”

Ian ignored the frowning look Lily sent his way and drew her toward the crude altar.

“A tree wedding, Father, binding before God and man.”

“Aye.” The priest bustled about behind the altar.

“We’ll need a witness, milord,” he added nervously.

“Perhaps ‘twould be best to wait till morning.”

“I’m certain whomever you have warming your bed will do nicely,” Ian remarked, grinning when Lily gave a shocked gasp.

The old man hurried into his chamber, emerging a few moments later with a young woman of incredible endowment.

She finished tugging her gown up over her breasts, then looked at them and smiled.

“Is it your wish to wed this man?” the priest asked Lily. She nodded.

“He isn’t forcing you?” he added sternly, surprising Ian. He hadn’t thought the licentious fool would care.

“No, Father,” Lily replied, sounding shocked.

“Of course not.” “Then let’s get on with it,” he said, moving behind the altar.

In a matter of moments, the ceremony was over. They were wed, Lily thought, shoving aside a feeling of disappointment over the circumstances. What difference did it make that they’d been married in a tumbledown church by a lecherous old priest who evidently owed Ian a favor?

She certainly didn’t expect romance.

Until yesterday afternoon, she’d never expected to marry at all.

The deed was done. She’d bound herself to the Dragon, casting aside all her dreams of freedom in a moment.

But she couldn’t find it within herself to mourn their loss.

“Thank you, Father.” Ian took the piece of parchment containing their marriage lines, then placed something in the priest’s hand—surprising him, to judge by his startled look. The old man smiled and moved his hand, making the coins jingle merrily.

Ian took her by the hand.

“Come along, wife. Time to go.”

She let him lead her through the town in silence, but when they reached the trees, she jerked her hand free.

“I

don’t suppose you’d care to tell me what that was about back there?”

He untied the horse and turned to lift her into the sad-die.

“No.”

“No, what?” She took a step back, intent on eluding his grasp until she got an answer.

“No, I’m not going to tell you,” he replied in an even voice. ““Tis old business, and nothing to do with you.

Wife.” He backed her toward a tree.

She spun away, careful of her footing in the faint moonlight.

But he caught her anyway, and held her close.

“If I promise to tell you, will you get on the horse?” he asked, his voice husky with laughter.

“Twas more than she’d expected.

Lily nodded and allowed him to assist her into the saddle.

Once they picked up the trail again, however, she nudged him with her elbow

“What?” He twitched away from her arm, but she knew she hadn’t hurt him.

“You promised you would explain,” she reminded him. Another thought occurred to her.

“And why were you laughing back there?”

He grinned and shook his head.

“It seemed ironic.

Newly wed, and already making demands.”

“I wasn’t…” She thought back over what she’d said—and how she’d said it.

“I was,” she admitted.

“But you tell me next to nothing. I’ve never liked to be ordered about and expected to blindly obey.”

He nodded.

“And I’m not used to explaining myself to anyone. Not even Llywelyn himself.”

Ian was a true storyteller, reminding her of a hard she’d heard once at the abbey. She found his grasp of human nature remarkable. He kept her entertained with a variety of tales as they traveled through the night.

For the first time, the darkness didn’t seem like her enemy, but rather like a comforting cloak, binding them together—alone.

Perhaps their marriage would work out better than she’d thought. He seemed at ease in her company, far more than she had ever noticed before. In truth, they scarcely knew each other.

Although there had been times when Lily felt she’d always known him.

“I know so little of the world, Ian. Will you answer my questions, even if they seem foolish?” she asked.

“I

won’t expect you to tell me things all the time.”

He sighed.

“I will try, Lily. It could take some time for me to grow accustomed to not being alone any longer.

But I will try.”

It was more than she’d expected. Lily vowed she would take what he offered, and not press for more.

She tried not to notice the way the greedy little voice inside her head laughed.