Sharon Schulze - L'eau Clair Chronicles 03 (25 page)

Ian had heard it said that the Dragon had no heart, that he could carry out Llywelyn’s vengeance because he felt nothing.

Once, Ian might have believed that, too.

But no longer.

Lily had found the Dragon’s heart, and taught it to feel again.

Joy, love, hurt, pain.

So many emotions, so vivid, so real, after being locked away for years.

She could not teach him to feel again, and then leave him to experience those feelings alone.

The next afternoon, Ian headed for the practice field, intending to work off his frustration with life in general, and his wife in particular, by taking on anyone who wished to fight. His blood was up, and he knew he’d be of no use to anyone, including himself, unless he wore himself out with battle.

Evidently dueling with Lily wasn’t enough to cool the fire in his blood–-or perhaps ‘twas what made it run so hot. He didn’t know. But whatever the reason, if he didn’t do something about it soon, he’d go mad.

As he had suspected, Swell was eager to oblige. He and Rannulf joined Ian in the bailey, stripped down for hard fighting. In no time at all, a crowd had gathered, intent on watching the entertainment.

The Viking knew some moves Rannulf hadn’t seen before, so he took him on first. Ian watched with interest as Swen, sword in hand, swiftly laid out their host in the straw-covered mud, much to the amusement of the audience.

Rannulf was good, but it appeared Swen was better–or his style was very different, at any rate. Siwardson could give Ian just what he sought. Swell accepted the cheers of the crowd with his usual good humor, then urged Ian into the fray.

Ian didn’t care what type of weapon Swen wanted to use he was quite willing to fight him bare-handed, if need be. Actually, he thought as he and Swen circled each other, each armed with a sword, that might be best of all.

He tossed his blade aside.

“We don’t need them,” he said in answer to Swen’s questioning look. With a nod, the Viking handed his weapon to Rannulf and stripped off his tunic, throwing it to a comely wench.

“Are you looking to draw blood, Dragon?” he taunted.

He stepped forward, fists raised, balancing on the balls of his feet.

Ian feinted with his left fist, then drove the right into Swen’s gut. The other man didn’t even flinch.

“I’m looking for a challenge,” Ian replied.

“Can you give me one?”

“Aye,” Swen said, grinning.

“You’ve come to the right man.”

Ian smiled grimly in return. Swell had no idea what he’d gotten himself into.

Gillian invited Lily to her chamber, ostensibly to find suitable clothing for her sister to wear. However, Lily knew there was more to it than that. Ever since they’d arrived at l’Eau Clair, Ian hadn’t seemed willing to leave the women alone together. While she knew his interference was well-intentioned, she felt stifled by it. She and Gillian needed to become acquainted—without a nursemaid, Gillian had given Rannulf strict orders to keep Ian busy–-elsewhere–for the afternoon, at least. Lily had to laugh at the way Rannulf teased his wife, calling her his “dread overlord,” before he left the two women together.

Lily sat on the bed while Gillian dug through the contents of several coffers. The chests were huge—and heavy, judging by the groans of the two men who had carded them up the spiral staircase and into the chamber.

The sweet scents of roses and lavender wafted through the room as Gillian laid several garments upon the bed.

She stroked her hand lovingly over the soft wool of a dark green bliaut.

“I wore this for Rannulf when first we met,” she said, her voice soft with remembrance.

“The embroidery design comes from a circlet he gave me years before, when we were naught but children.” She looked up at Lily.

“It would go well with your coloring. The fabric matches your eyes. Here, try it on.”

“I couldn’t, Gillian. It obviously brings back wonderful memories. You cannot give it away—it wouldn’t be right.”

Gillian chuckled.

“I could not fit into the bodice of that tunic unless I were trussed up like a Christmas goose!

Since Katherine’s birth, I’ve become much more–” she wriggled her eyebrows “—motherly. Unfortunately, no amount of lacing will make this—” she gestured toward her ample bosom “—fit into that gown. You must try it on. It would please me to see you wear it.”

It would be churlish to protest further, and the gown was beautiful. Lily stood and, with Gillian’s assistance, removed her bliaut and underdress.

They went through the clothing in the chests slowly, taking their time, for they had many lost years to make up for.

“Did you ever miss our mother?” Lily asked curiously.

Cdllian shook her head.

“I missed having a mother, but I don’t remember her. When she left, I was but an infant.

What was she like?”

“She was very beautiful—like you. But petite. Other than that, you resemble her closely. But her sorrow weighted her down.

“Twas the terrible lies Llywelyn told her, no doubt, that buried her in grief. She was as lost to me as she was to you,” Lily said, fighting tears.

Gillian clasped her hand for a moment as they shared their loss.

“Our cousin has much to answer for,” she said.

“I don’t know that I can ever forgive him for taking her away.” She squeezed Lily’s hand.

“Or for keeping us apart.”

She looked so sad. Lily set about bringing back her sister’s smile. “Ian said you were raised like a boy until you were nearly a woman grown. That cannot be.”

Gillian chuckled and wiped her damp eyes.

“I was one of the roughest lads here,” she agreed.

“I could fight, spit, curse and ride with the best of Father’s pages. The first time I met Rannulf, I nearly bested him at swordplay—in front of Lord William Marshall himself.”

“You’re jesting,” Lily protested. Gazing at her sister, the epitome of all that was womanly, she found such a scene near impossible to imagine.

“I’m afraid not. I was twelve at the time, and looked quite like a boy in my tunic and hose, with my hair tucked up under my favorite cap.

“Twas great fun, though by then I’d begun to long for more. Fortunately for me, Lord William-he’s my godfather, you know–convinced Father that I was desperately in need of a woman’s teachings, and left Lady Allyce to help me.” Sadness tinged her voice.

“She was very much like a mother to me. I miss her still. She died shortly after Father did.”

She rose and took a turn about the room.

“But despite Lady Allyce’s affection, I did miss our mother, or rather, I missed having a mother.”

Lily joined her by the window.

“She never forgot you, or our father, either. She called for you—spoke to you until the day she died.” She made the sign of the cross.

“But in all those years, I never knew you were real. When she’d call out to Simon, or Gilly, the sisters told me she :!

saw people in her mind, people who didn’t exist. Mostly she just sat staring at the wall. I believe she grieved for you both, always.”

Gillian laid her hand upon Lily’s arm.

“And did she know you were real?” she asked, her voice kind.

“Did she know you were there?”

Lily swallowed the lump of sadness that rose, choking, in her throat. It was an old pain, one that shouldn’t have had the power to hurt her any longer.

Yet it still did.

“Sometimes she knew. And sometimes she’d remember me.” She blinked away her tears as she recalled how lonely her life had been.

“But, mostly, she didn’t.”

Gillian wrapped her arms about Lily and held her.

“Poor child,” she murmured.

“Damn Llywelyn!”

All the tears Lily had never cried sought their release now. Her sister held her as she sobbed, washing away the years of resentment and sorrow.

“You are alone no longer, Lily,” Gillian told her.

“You have a family now, people who care for you. We—and Ian—will keep you safe.”

Finally Lily lifted her head from Gillian’s shoulder, spent. There had been such comfort in Gillian’s touch, in her understanding. And she felt as though her sister, her family, had accepted her already. She had gained what she’d always wanted.

But Lily hadn’t realized, before, the price she might have to pay. She’d wanted a family, a place to belong, people to care about her. However, she was trapped within that web of caring in return.

She would do whatever she must to keep them safe.

There was a comfort in belonging, a sense of peace she’d never known. It made it possible to forgive her mother’s neglect; she had not understood what it was to care so deeply. But now she knew.

“We both lost when Llywelyn put his scheme into motion,” Gillian said.

“Although you got the worst of the bargain. At least I had Father.” She reached over and wiped at Lily’s wet face with her sleeve.

“But that is in the past. We have each other now, and you have Ian. He won’t permit Llywelyn to harm you again.”

“But what if Ian cannot stop him?” Lily cried.

“I fear Llywelyn will continue to send men after him. Eventually one of them will succeed in killing him–or taking him back to Dolwyddelan as a captive.”

“Do you truly believe that our noble cousin wishes Ian dead? I do not. I think, rather, that he seeks to punish him for his disobedience.” Gillian poured spiced wine into two goblets and handed one to Lily.

“He needs the Dragon, Lily, for his plans to succeed. I would imagine he has plots in motion that make this one seem like child’s play in comparison.”

“But he still believes I’m free to bring back under his dominion,” Lily protested.

“And what if something were to happen to Ian? Life is uncertain.”

“Drink your wine and listen to me,” Gillian said, urging her to sit on the bed. She sat beside her and lowered her voice.

“Rannulf has heard rumors of an attempt to bring our king under control—my overlord, King John.

Perhaps if Ian were to volunteer to go to London with the others, to represent Llywelyn…”

Toad eased open the door and peered into Gillian’s chamber. He could not believe his good fortune. Gillian and Lily in the same chamber! They sat together on the bed, their backs to the door.

He had made it into l’Eau Clair so easily last night, slipping in with a band of wandering peddlers, that he expected the rest to be simple. It had turned out to be very difficult to find them together, without the damned men in attendance. Nearly impossible, in fact. By Christ’s balls, didn’t they have anything more important to do than follow the women about like damned French courtiers?

He patted his waist, reassured by the feel of his dagger belted there. He would get no better opportunity than this.

No one had come down the corridor since the two servants had carted up those chests.

Taking a quick look over his shoulder once more, he darted into the room, carefully closing the door behind him, He wasn’t as fortunate when he turned the key in the lock.

“Who’s there?” Gillian called sharply.

Damned faithless bitch!

A tide of anger, red and hazy, flowed over Toad’s mind.

He couldn’t think clearly, but that didn’t matter.

He knew what he’d come here to do.

Find Lily.

Take her with him.

Make her his wife.

Gillian turned and spied him standing on the opposite side of the bed.

“Mary save us!” she gasped, clapping her hand to her breast.

“You startled me!” She stood and began to walk around the bed, but Lily reached out a hand to stop her.

“Stay, sister,” she said quietly.

“I fear he means you harm.”

“Do you know him?” Gillian asked, never taking her gaze off him.

Toad smiled.

“Aye, that she does. So do you, though I don’t believe you’ll recognize me now.” He laughed at the confusion on her face.

“You should listen to her, madame—but then, you were never very good at that, were you? As it happens, however, I don’t intend to harm you—as long as you do as I tell you.”

He drew the knife from its scabbard, the blade gleaming with beauty in the sunlight pouring through the window slit.

It had been many years since he’d been inside this keep, but it looked much the same. He’d coveted l’Eau Clair, desired it—and its mistress—with a white-hot passion that the passage of time had done little to quench.

But now his desire was for her sister, for through her, l’Eau Clair could be his. He’d make Llywelyn see the beauty in his plan—not so different from the prince’s, after all—and he would finally attain his heart’s desire.

“Come here, Lily,” he said, motioning with the knife.

Lily stood, but remained rooted to the spot.

He glided closer to Gillian, the dagger held threateningly toward her, then lunged and grabbed her by the arm.

“I suggest you do as I say, Lily.” He brought the tip of the knife up and held it firm against Gillian’s throat.

“Else your sister, so newly discovered, will not remain long of this world.” He pressed harder, until a trickle of blood oozed from beneath the blade. Whipping a length of cord from his belt, he wrapped it around Gillian’s wrists and bound them together behind her.

Ah, the pleasure in this! He had wanted Gillian within his grasp for so long. Toad drew the tip of the blade along Gillian’s skin, marking a crimson trail along her alabaster cheek. The hatred in her eyes… He permitted himself to revel in her beauty for a brief moment more, then motioned again with the knife.

“Come along, milady,” he said to Lily.

Lily moved slowly around the end of the bed, then stood there, waiting.

“Very good,” he murmured.

“Now, madame—” he nudged Gillian with his foot “—you’ll help me leave this keep with your sister. Don’t think I won’t use this knife on you—on your face, perhaps.” He raised the blade to her cheek again, then lowered it to her throat.

“I’ve dreamed of this for a very long time, you faithless bitch. I wonder how Fitz Clifford will like that?”

Gillian closed her eyes briefly, then opened them to stare into his eyes.

“Steffan,” she hissed.