The Warrior's Reward (19 page)

She stumbled and gripped Ieuan’s arm. “Do not do this, pray do not do this,” she begged him.

The other man tried to pry her away from him but she held firm. Ieuan pressed a hasty kiss to her head. “Go now.” He kissed just below her ear and whispered, “My men are not far behind. They shall keep you safe.”

Rosamunde retained her grip on him, forcing Gareth to pull her fingers off him one by one. Still she fought him, scratching and wriggling against his grip. If his heart hadn’t hurt so much at the image of those shimmering eyes, he’d have grinned at her spirit. He had one courageous English wife.

Mayhap he should have told her he loved her but the hope he might say it later kept a spark burning in his chest. He needed that hope. That would spark would fire his courage and keep him determined. He had so very much to live for.

“When you return, Gareth,” Aron called to the man as he hauled a hissing and spitting Rosamunde down the stairs, “we shall away to England with our prize in tow.”

Gareth nodded and Ieuan ignored Aron when he came around in front of him, blade pointed at his chest. He needed a last look at Rosamunde—even if she looked as though she’d been dragged through hell and wasn’t one bit pleased with him. The foolish girl would have rather he left her to die no doubt. But he needed to see her as much as he needed his next breath. To take in the sight of her golden hair and sweet face was more than any warrior needed.

And then she was gone.

He focused his attention on Aron. And escape. He might not have his blade but he was stronger and faster than the man he’d once trusted. Aron was of low birth and had never been trained in the knightly arts. Any training he’d received had been from Ieuan. That also gave him an advantage. He knew how the man fought.

Nevertheless, a sword was quite an advantage. No amount of quick movements would save him from the long reach of an arming sword.

“’Twas you who informed the Englishmen I was involved with Owain, was it not?”

Aron’s face grew serious. “Mayhap it was but I will not be the only man swayed by coin. Your father dragged this country into the depths of despair. Our children starve and our lands are fallow. He deserves to hang for his crimes.”

Ieuan couldn’t deny the hardship their country faced. But he also understood how quickly friends became enemies. Those who had wanted freedom as much as his father turned traitor when it was clear they were not going to be victorious. Aron reminded him of those men. They were the ones who wanted personal gain and cared little for Wales itself.

“I suppose the coin does not hurt either.”

“The king is generous, to be sure.”

Ieuan ground his teeth and had to resist the urge to bring his bound hands across the man’s face. Aron merely wished to rile him, to distract him from any attempt at escape. Should he react, he’d either receive a glancing blow from a blade or a crack across his skull to render him senseless. He was valuable, aye, but he was also worth coin dead. He couldn’t afford to act rashly.

“Aye. I think you care not for the starving children and fallow land. I think you care only for yourself, Aron. Did I not feed you well at my table? Have I not replanted the fields?”

“All from your position of privilege as Owain’s son,” Aron spat.

“You know well that I am no more than a bastard.”

“A bastard who will no doubt give up his father after a few days in the tower, Ieuan ab Owain Glyndŵr. Your lack of loyalty to your father will help the king in breaking you.”

“He shall not need to be broken,” came his father’s voice.

They both whirled to see his father escorted in by Gareth. Gareth shrugged. “I came upon him as I tied the lady to the horse. He claims to be the prince.”

“Aye.” Aron nodded, a grin spreading across his face. “Aye, he is.”

“I offer to take the place of my son.”

“Nay—” Ieuan started but received a swipe across the face with a fist for his troubles.

He dabbed his lip with his bound hands and found blood. Slow, burning anger began to boil through his veins. Where was their honour? Where was their loyalty? Ieuan had spent too long hiding, too long fearing for his safety. Aye, mistakes had been made, but what man did not make mistakes? Did that mean they should forget their duty and pride in the face of hardship? He couldn’t help smile. Mayhap he was more knightly than he’d thought. Rosamunde would be pleased.

And then she was there. As though he’d summoned her, she slipped in through the entranceway. Rivers of sunlight highlighted her and at the same time as cursing her, he could not help think what an enchanting sight she was.

She was also a valuable distraction. Between his father and his wife, he had the chance he needed. Head down, body tense, Ieuan ran at Aron. The man fell like the walls of a keep under fire. Heavily and without grace. Ieuan struggled to regain his footing while Aron scrabbled for his blade. When Ieuan bent to snatch it in his bound hands, a knee connected with his face. He reeled back, his vision blurring. Aron snatched at the sword. Ieuan kicked it aside.

He glanced around to see his father dodging a blow from Gareth. Rosamunde darted into the shadows. He had to finish this quick. Had to get to Rosamunde.

Aron lunged at him and knocked him back. Air burst from his lungs and pain rocked his body. He responded with a blow across Aron’s face. His knuckles throbbed. With a groan, he shoved the man aside and brought both fists down on his face again. The man went limp.

Ieuan fought his bonds briefly but a cry from Rosamunde drew his attention. All pain vanished. His focus narrowed. She held his sword aloft while Gareth approached. His father lay prone on the floor. Gareth inched closer to Rosamunde and he knew if he took a swing at her, she wouldn’t be able to defend herself.

Coming to his feet, Ieuan scanned the ground for Aron’s blade but it had dropped off the side somewhere. Ieuan spied a long, splintered piece of wood and snatched it up. He stormed down the steps and came upon Gareth as he swung upwards. He ran, thinking only of Rosamunde and the shaking sword in her hand. The sharp wood pierced the man’s side and he froze, his body stiffening in pain. Gareth released the sword, began to turn then fell to his knees.

Ieuan cared little to view the man’s death throes. Rosamunde’s horror-stricken expression stole his attention. He was but a beast again in her eyes, he knew it. Any ground he had gained with her had vanished with his barbaric act. But he knew with certainly that if he had to do it again, he would.

He peered back at his father and saw him climbing to his feet. Confident his father could look after himself, he held up his hands in a placating movement, hoping to draw her attention away from the now dead man.

When her gaze finally landed on him, he let his hands relax. He saw fear, aye, but not of him, simply
for
him. She dashed forward and flung her arms around his neck.

“I love you,” she sobbed into his shoulder.

The words broke through any lingering fear. To Rosamunde he wasn’t a barbarian. He might not be the knight she’d hoped for but she loved him for who he was.

“I love you too.” He eased her back so he could lift his bound hands over her head and hold her properly against him. “I have no flowery words but I swear I love you more than I thought possible. You are a brave, daft woman and I cannot help fearing you shall put me in an early grave but I care not.”

She sniffed and drew back enough to view him. “I was trying to save you from an early grave.”

“And a fine job you did.” He kissed her forehead. “Now leave the swordplay to the trained knight from now on.”

“Aye, I shall.” She lifted her gaze to the rafters. “Where is Aron?”

“Out cold. He shall be punished by the local court, never fear.”

“You did not kill him?”

He grinned. “
Anwylyd
, I am a fine warrior but even I am at a disadvantage with bound hands and no weapon.”

“Aye, you overestimate your husband.” His father laughed and winced, clutching his side. As he straightened, several men stepped into the darkened ruins and he motioned to the upper level. “Up there. Bind his hands.”

Ieuan ignored them as they traipsed up the steps to take custody of Aron. His wife held his full attention. His blessings were great indeed.

A soft smile graced her lips. “Your father is wrong. I do not believe I overestimate you, Ieuan. You are the very best of men.”

He wasn’t sure about that. Flaws were ingrained deeply in him but, for Rosamunde, he would be the best man he could be. “Tell me again.”

Her mouth dropped open for a brief moment. She shook her head with a grin. “You are an arrogant man, my lord. But you are the very best of men.”

He held her tight. “I cannot deny I like hearing that. But I meant tell me again that you love me.”

Hands to either side of his face, she smoothed her palms over his cheeks and looked deep into his eyes. “I love you, Ieuan ab Owain Glyndŵr.”

Ieuan stared into her eyes. He saw so much in hers. Hope, love, passion. He saw his future. And for the first time in his life, he knew with certainty it would be one filled with all of those things.

Ieuan knew it was foolish to be annoyed at the way Rosamunde leaned in and gave his father a kiss on the cheek. He knew it but annoyance still made him tighten his jaw. Never mind that his father was leaving and Rosamunde had more than demonstrated her love for him these past sennights.

A half-smile forced its way across his tense mouth. If she wasn’t with child already, she would be soon. And he could not wait to see his fair wife with her belly rounded with child. He only hoped the castle would be completed by then. They had done well to finish the wall and paint the hall. Before long, he would have the castle fit for a princess—or at least Rosamunde. His very own princess.

Making his way down to the bottom of the mound, he acknowledged his father with a wave of his hand. Owain approached and gave him a slap on the shoulder. Rosamunde came to his side and he took the chance to curl a proprietary hand around her waist.

“You are ready then?” Ieuan asked.

“Aye.”

“And where are you going?”

“I have thought on it and I will make for Scotland.”

“You will not be asking the English borderlords for aid then?”

Owain gave him a reluctant smile. “I have bowed to your wisdom, son. I am too old for wars and ‘tis up to the next generation to decide what is best for them. I am sad I shall never see freedom for my country but I am pleased to see you prosper.” His gaze softened.

Ieuan shoved aside the knot tightening his throat and nodded. “My thanks, Father.”

There would be no strong bond between them or great affection. There were too many years of distance between them. But a sense of peace settled over him, knowing his father would live out his days in safety in Scotland.

“You look after this woman. She is a fine treasure.”

He waited for her to stiffen at the word but instead she snuggled into his side. “That she is,” he agreed.

His father bid them farewell with one stern nod and mounted his horse to join his men. With his wife in his arms, Ieuan watched his father leave the village and head out onto the mountains. He couldn’t help feeling a new era of peace was in store for Wales. Like any Welshman, pride for his country was instilled in him but he would never expect the people of Wales to sacrifice their dignity and safety for the sake of pride. Instead they would have to work to make their country great again. Maybe one day, a long time in the future, they would gain their freedom.

In the meantime, he could not regret that his father’s plotting had given him a reward far sweeter than freedom. He twisted her in his hold and gazed down at her, drawing in her beauty and the way she looked at him as though there was no other man in the world. What he had done to deserve such a prize, he could never be sure but he’d work the rest of his years to be worthy of her.

“My father calls you a treasure and I cannot deny I think of you as such.” She lifted a brow and opened her mouth but he pressed a finger over her lips. “I sought you for riches but your love is worth far more than coin or gold or even beauty.
That
is why you are a treasure to me.”

Both her brows lifted now. “And these are the words of a warrior?”

“Aye, well do not repeat them.”

“I shall not.” She rose on her toes to press her lips to his. “But I shall treasure them,” she murmured against his mouth.

Just as he would treasure her. He kissed her firmly. Always.

THE END

If you enjoyed this title, please consider leaving a review.

Sign up to Samantha’s
newsletter
for updates on new release, free books and giveaways.

Other titles by Samantha Holt

Tempting His Mistress

Once Upon a Rake

To Steal a Highlander’s Heart (Book 1 of the Highland Fae Chronicles)

To Dream of a Highlander (Book 2 of the Highland Fae Chronicles)

To Avenge Her Highland Warrior (Book 3 of The Highland Fae Chronicles)

Contemporary Romance

Not Another Soldier

Too Much to Lose

Find Samantha on
Facebook

Copyright 2015 ©Samantha Holt

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organisations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.