The Warrior's Reward (7 page)

Thankfully another rider interrupted her thoughts. She recognised him as one of Ieuan’s but couldn’t name him. He was tall, well-built but not as broad as her betrothed. Sandy-coloured hair flowed over his shoulders and he held himself with pride. It was the same posture Ieuan and the few other Welshmen adopted. Mayhap it had something to do with foreigners in a country that was only recently their enemy. The man’s gaze darted over her, taking in her muddy state. She fought the urge to burrow deep against Ieuan and lifted her chin. His eyes sparked in admiration.

Good, she was proving herself already.

“You found her then?”

“Aye, I found her, Phylip.” Ieuan replied, tightening his grip on her waist. Did he think she might try to run again? All she wanted now was a warm bath and clean clothes.

“Shall I take her for you? You can bathe and change while I escort her back to her father.”

Rosamunde swung her gaze between the two men, discussing her as if she wasn’t there. She didn’t want to be handed over to a virtual stranger and she’d certainly say so. But Ieuan shook his head, saving her from protesting. She didn’t want to think on how glad she was to be able to stay in his arms a little longer.

They began their journey back to the castle and she swiped a hand across her dripping nose. She couldn’t be certain as the sound of horse hooves and rattling swords created enough noise but every time she moved, she thought she heard mud cracking. Thank the Lord most of the villagers were out in the fields. Humiliation burned her cheeks when she saw a few men bundling up the swathes of fabric from the tents. It would have been so much worse should all the villagers have been at home.

“Are we ready to depart after the wedding?” Ieuan asked the fair-haired man.

“Aye. I shall see that the horses are properly groomed and fed this night.”

“We are to take the lord’s carriage with several of his men. They shall escort us to the inn on the border and return with it.”

“And the lady shall manage on horseback the rest of the way?” Phylip asked.

“The lady will have no choice.”

She seethed silently for a moment. Speak up or remain quiet? The doting, dutiful daughter might have remained quiet, but the wife to this insufferable Welshman might not.

“I can ride perfectly well,” she declared. “I wager I shall outride you all.”

The men laughed. “You haven’t been to Wales before have you, Lady Rosamunde?” Phylip commented, probably aware she’d never set foot outside of her father’s lands.

“A horse is a horse and land is land. I shall not hold you back,” she replied dismissively.

“There you are wrong, my lady,” Ieuan said softly into her ear. “Wales is the finest land you will ever see. And the harshest. There are no well-travelled roads, no signs, no places to stop where a warm welcome awaits. Our journey is not long but ‘tis hard.”

“I’m not afeared.”

A slight smile creased Phylip’s face as he glanced over at her. “You’ve got a fine bride there, Ieuan. You should keep a closer eye on her.” With one last long look, he dug his heels into the side of his horse and galloped to the gatehouse.

Rosamunde shuddered. She wasn’t sure whether it was from cold or the strange sense of misgiving trickling down her spine. Either way, she couldn’t help but cling tightly to Ieuan and be a little grateful for his warmth.

Sweat pricked his forehead. Ieuan clasped his hands behind his back, resisting the urge to swipe them down his front. He prayed they weren’t clammy. He didn’t wish to repulse his bride. Standing on the steps in front of the church, he eyed the road leading up to it, lined with villeins and noble folk, all of whom wished to catch a glimpse of the bride.

As did he, but all the damned well-wishers were in the way. All he saw was the great veils of the noble ladies, scores of grimly dressed peasants and the odd child dashing across the road—the movement setting his heart to racing.

She better not have tried to run again. He didn’t think she would. Managing to crush the desire to rise on his toes to look over the crowd, he drew in a breath and twisted to stare at the stained glass in the church windows. The bright colours depicted an angel above what he assumed to be plague victims. The church must have been constructed after the sickness ravaged the country. He turned away, unsure whether such a sight was quite the way to start a marriage.

The noise behind him increased and he kept himself stiff even as his feet twitched with impatience. Flowers were flung into the air, marking the arrival of his bride and allowing him to track her movements along the street. When she finally appeared at the lych-gate on her father’s arm, Ieuan felt as though he was waiting for an execution rather than his marriage.

Then her gaze connected with his and he feared he might already be dead. His heart had stopped surely? A great thud in his chest assured him he was indeed alive when his heart decided to restart. He thought he might have cracked a rib, such was the force of the effect of her on him.

In a pale blue gown with long sleeves and a gold girdle hanging on her hips, she glowed under the morning sun. Her hair hung long and loose under a thin veil that was secured around her head with a circlet that matched her girdle. He’d never paid much attention to the frivolities of ladies, but he paid attention now. She was like an angel. Her slightly wavy hair streamed out behind her when the breeze caught it. He would be hard-pressed to recall the muddy, wet, snivelling woman he had held in his arms yesterday.

As she neared, he saw her smile waver. It was all for show, he realised. Her beaming smile, the radiant appearance. To appease her father or the crowd? He wasn’t sure. It wasn’t for him, that much was certain. She cared little for his opinion.

Ieuan attempted what he hoped was a warm smile. Whatever she thought of him, however he felt toward her, they were to spend the rest of their lives together and he hoped to make their days together as easy as possible. If anything, he couldn’t afford to be sparring with his wife every day. He had a castle to rebuild and a village to tend to.

He held out a hand to her as she came up the steps to join him at his side. The priest came into position in front of them and Rosamunde laid her hand over the top of his. Her soft palm over his battle-roughened knuckles sent a shiver through him. He glanced at their hands and recalled a similar sight the night of his victory. His gut clenched when his thoughts inevitably turned to the kiss—the kiss that had frightened her so.

If a mere kiss frightened her...

Ieuan drew in a breath and turned his attention to the priest. He only hoped he was making the right decision. She did not seem at all suited to life in Wales. How would she—this pampered, beautiful princess—cope with the rough living conditions?

Rosamunde kept her gaze on the priest, her expression steady. Gone was the emotional woman from yesterday or the fiery vixen who spat words at him the night before that. There wasn’t even a hint of the lady who had danced with him beside the bonfire. Cold dread sat in his stomach. He knew how to handle all of those women, but he wasn’t sure about this one.

She spoke her vows with utter calm too, whereas he had to clear his throat several times. By the time the priest had announced them as married, sweat trickled down the back of his neck. This woman was his, wealth and all. And now he would have to live with the consequences of his choice.

Shouts of ‘kiss her’ echoed about the graveyard and he drew back his shoulders. Ieuan ab Owain Glyndŵr never backed down from a challenge. He longed to erase the certainty from his wife’s expression and make her feel as on edge as he. Not to mention satisfy the crowd. He turned to face her, took in the sight of the long length of golden hair that made his fingers twitch with the need to see those locks spread across her bare skin.

Satisfying his need to touch her soft hair, he pressed his fingers into the strands and grasped them gently to tilt her back. This would be a kiss of possession. He would leave her with no doubt she belonged to him. There would be no more games, no more arguments, no escape attempts.

Her hazel eyes widened—the first real crack in her mask—and he heard a sharp intake of breath but couldn’t be sure if it was hers or his. Ieuan lowered his lips to hers, firm and determined. He didn’t bother to swipe his tongue across hers to urge it deeper or to coax her lips open. The kiss remained hard and forceful. Her fingers came up to curl around his arms and for the briefest moment he thought it was in protest but he realised she enjoyed his possession of her.

Hell fire, he wished his wife was at least a little predictable.

Releasing her hair, he drew back and their gazes clashed again. Desire stirred in her gaze—the same desire he’d seen when they had danced. In spite of it all, she wanted him. It should have pleased him but instead it left him with a deep agonising ache low in his body. She was an innocent in every sense of the word and likely had no idea what she did to him. They had a long journey ahead of them and he couldn’t very well take her in the woods or in a traveller’s inn. Their wedding night would have to wait until they arrived at his castle. And when she saw the state of it, he was fairly certain any desire on her part would be long gone.

Ieuan rubbed a hand across his rough jaw before offering Rosamunde his hand to escort her back along the church path and to a waiting carriage. They would return for a quick noon meal then start their journey. The earl’s household would be disappointed to miss out on the wedding night, but he cared not. He wanted out of here and home. He needed Welsh soil under his feet, longed to breathe fresh Welsh air.

The noon supper passed quickly enough. Rosamunde’s belongings had been packed the day prior and they began their journey by mid-afternoon. They would not get far but they would make it to a traveller’s inn he had stopped in on his way to Herefordshire. His wife remained stoic during the meal and suffered the congratulations and toasts with grace. The tension in her posture made Ieuan uneasy. He’d almost rather she spit her annoyance at him than remain this cold, stiff shadow of the woman he still hardly knew.

However, when she climbed into the carriage beside him, his two men-at-arms following on horseback and Bryn on the top with the driver, he saw the break in her composure and his heart stretched. Tears shimmered in her eyes and she sniffed quietly as she waved goodbye to her friends and her father. He had no idea what it was like to have such people around him. His father had wanted little to do with him until the deaths of all his other children, and his mother had died while he had been away training as a knight. Having been gone from her since he was seven, he hardly felt attached to the woman who had given him life.

He supposed he should at least be grateful to his father for ensuring he was fostered to become a knight and that he was granted lands, even if they were now in ruin. At least he had something. What did Rosamunde have now? Her dowry was his and she was leaving her family. She had him. That was it.

A great weight seemed to settle on his shoulders, greater even than the one before that had pushed him to seek out the lady to marry. He was not at all sure he could bear the burden of her unhappiness. Wasn’t sure he was even suited to being a husband. He had much to keep him busy and he certainly didn’t need a miserable wife who was clearly incapable of looking after herself.

Still, her little sniffles made his stomach twist and he had to do something. He would try conversation first. The carriage wheels creaked and they rocked back briefly before jerking forward and they were on their way, the jostling motion combining with the noise of the wheels on the rough ground and the steady beat of hooves. It all seemed intended to make their start as difficult as possible as he fought for some comforting words to say.

“We shall travel by carriage for as much of the journey as possible,” he said.

Another sniffle.

“I wish not for you to be uncomfortable.”

More sniffles, but quieter this time.

“My lands are not far from the border but ‘tis mountainous territory. We shall leave the carriage at an inn I know of in Shropshire. Your father’s people will return it while we continue on horseback.”

Rosamunde nodded slowly, her head still dipped. “I remember,” she said so quietly he had to strain to hear it.

One tear dripped onto her lap, darkening the pale green wool of her travelling gown. He fisted a hand at his side, then opened it to ease it over her lap and clasp her hand. She jerked her head up in surprise and those wet cheeks did something uncomfortable to his chest.

“Should you need anything on the journey, you must say. I will not scold you.”

She offered him a weak smile. “And if you did, would it matter? You are my husband now. You can do as you wish.”

He tensed his jaw. She really did see him as nothing more than a Welsh barbarian, did she not? “I told you I would never hurt you.”

“Yet you have dragged me away from my friends and family. Does that not hurt?”

“You know very well what I mean,” he said through clenched teeth. Hell fire, did she need to make him feel any guiltier about this? “You shall like Wales.” He threw the words out as if they could somehow make up for the circumstances.

“I liked my home.”

“Yet you were willing to leave it rather than marry me?”

Colour filled her pale cheeks. He longed to dash his fingers over her soft skin. So innocent was she that it almost seemed if he touched her, he might absorb some of it. Then the blood of Englishmen would be washed away and any sins of his past, all the experiences that made him the man he was today might be cleansed from his mind. Then he too could revel in simple enjoyments as she had her entire life.

“I was not thinking with a clear head.”

“And what of your adventures? Sneaking out of the castle like a thief. Would you have done so had you been so content with your life?”

“I had never sneaked out before.”

“So you spent your entire life in your father’s castle?”

“Aye, with the exception of the tournaments.”

He almost groaned. What had he taken on? Innocent, naive, foolish... and far too beautiful for her own good. He would likely destroy her with his rough Welsh ways. His harsh lands would sap the life from her and frighten her to death. Still, he supposed if she was used to being behind castle walls, she might not complain when he kept her tucked away behind his own walls.

“What is...” Rosamunde drew in a breath. “What is your home like?”

He peered out of the window at the scenery. They were out in the open now, travelling through the valley that would take them closer to the border. What could he say? Cold, wet, crumbling. His home was not suited to any noblewoman, let alone one like Rosamunde. Instead he thought of the lush, steep hills and the great grey rocks that jutted out of the scenery as though carved by giants.

“’Tis beautiful. A different landscape to England, to be sure. ‘Tis more... rugged, I suppose. But when you reach the land of the Welsh, the air is different.” Her lips curved in amusement. “You will see what I mean when you get there. You English have not the same sense of heritage as we do. Celtic blood runs through our veins and binds us to our land.”

“And what will your people think of you having married an Englishwoman?”

“They shall think me wise for marrying you,” he said with a grin.

“Because I am rich?”

“Nay, because you are beautiful. Welshmen can never resist beauty. It has always been our downfall.”

“So Welshman are weak-natured, is that what you are saying?” She clasped her hands in her lap and turned her gaze fully on him. The tears were but a glimmer in her eyes now and Ieuan was tempted to congratulate himself on managing her mood.

He chuckled. “No more than any other man. Besides which, we are wise enough to acknowledge the power a woman holds.”

“’Tis easy for a man to speak of power,” she said with a sigh before turning back to the window and gazing out. “I have never had any.”

“All of Herefordshire spoke of your power over men.”

“Aye,” she said, bitterness tingeing her tone. “The Treasure.” A snort came from her before she tried to stop it and cut the noise short.

Ieuan failed to come up with a response to that. He should never have told her about that but he found it hard to believe she was in ignorance. His wife was as sheltered as they come and he would probably end up spending the rest of his marriage paying for her father’s treatment of her. He tried not to sigh. For the hundredth time that day, he wondered what he’d let himself in for.