Authors: The Bride of Rosecliffe
Rexanne Becnel (9 page)
The cloth, elaborately worked with hawks and foxes, squirrels and otter, was a gift for her bridegroom. It was the first project she’d undertaken in anticipation of her eventual marriage, begun when she’d first become a woman—when she’d first experienced her monthly courses. There had been many other such projects. They were supposed to demonstrate to a future husband that she would make a superior wife.
To her mind now, however, the more important question was, what sort of husband would Owain ap Madoc make?
She would know soon, for once the rain relented, she and her uncle, accompanied by a select band of men, would set off for the Lloyd stronghold.
She had thought long and hard about what she should do ever since she’d fled from the Englishman and his unnerving embrace. Before now, her dread of Owain had kept her from making the decision. Perversely, it was her attraction to Randulf Fitz Hugh that now compelled her to agree to her uncle’s plea. She could not stay near the Englishman.
She must wed and take herself off to her husband’s home. Only then would her family’s lands be safe from the threat of the English.
She must wed and take herself off to her husband’s home. Only then would her family’s lands be safe from the threat of the English.
Only then would she be safe from the threat of that one particular Englishman.
“Now you mean only to sign the contract. Isn’t that so?” Aunt Nessie asked her husband for the third time. “You will not wed my niece away from Carreg Du without my presence at her side.” She wrung her hands together and her anxious eyes darted from her husband to Josselyn, then back to Clyde. “She will want another woman with her when she finally weds.”
“I will refuse to marry anyone unless you are there,” Josselyn vowed, sending her aunt a reassuring smile. Inside, however, Josselyn was anything but reassured. She stared around the low-ceilinged hall she’d lived in all her life. What would it be like to be away from this place, from her family and all the people who cared for her?
As always, her uncle’s home teemed with people. Two boys worked the spit, turning a boar for the evening meal. One maid scrubbed the walls while two others stitched by torchlight. Gladys sat near the fire, telling Davit and Cordula a story. Everyone was busy except Rhonwen.
The young girl sat apart from the others. She had not forgiven her mother and did not trust her yet. And though she said she understood why Josselyn must marry one of the Lloyds, it was clear the child felt betrayed. She’d withdrawn from everyone and sat aloof in a corner, staring sullenly at Josselyn when she thought Josselyn did not see, and feigning interest elsewhere whenever Josselyn glanced in her direction.
A world of misery awaited poor Rhonwen, Josselyn fretted. And probably herself as well. But what choices did either of them have?
Josselyn sighed and stared blindly at the neatly rolled bundle of her possessions. With another sigh she tied her apron around it. There was no reason to delay. The rain
had reduced to a drizzle. Dewey brought the horses and, under a heavily laden sky, the small party finally set off.
had reduced to a drizzle. Dewey brought the horses and, under a heavily laden sky, the small party finally set off.
“We’ll be home before Saint Rupert’s feast day,” Clyde told Nesta. “Keep a sharp watch posted,” he instructed Dewey. “I do not trust these English should they discover what we are about.”
Nor did Josselyn, though she kept silent. She’d not told him of her encounter with Randulf Fitz Hugh. It was too humilating. If he wondered at her abrupt change of heart about Owain, he did not mention it.
But as they progressed south, through the forested valley that lined the narrow Gyffin River, along a rocky track barely wide enough to accommodate a cart, her spirits fell further still. She would have to leave this valley and live among her husband’s people. She would be torn from her home and family and thrust among a people she’d never liked or trusted.
A wave of panic rushed suddenly over her. She could not do this. It was impossible!
She reined in her placid mare and, alarmed, the poor creature stamped a tight, nervous circle. Josselyn stared wildly about. Somewhere behind her was home. Somewhere behind her were family and friends and the familiar haunts of her childhood.
But there was also an Englishman come to build his castle and claim their land. He would claim her, too, were she not exceedingly careful.
“Josselyn? What ails you, girl? It canna be that mare.”
In the dense, damp forest, her uncle’s voice was startlingly loud. Yet it gave her an anchor against the sucking panic that tore at her.
“The mare … is fine. It’s just that … I haven’t ridden in a goodly while.” She looked over at him, knowing her fear must show in her face. Their eyes met and held. Then he gestured with his hand.
“Come ride beside me. You will grow more easy as time goes on.” He referred to the riding, of course. Yet as they
proceeded forward, Josselyn wondered if he meant more. And if he did, she prayed he was right.
proceeded forward, Josselyn wondered if he meant more. And if he did, she prayed he was right.
Rand listened to the report from the watch with a rising temper.
“ … six men and one woman, with two packhorses accompanying them. They left shortly after the weather eased.” Osborn paused. “They headed south.”
“To the Lloyds.”
“So it would seem.”
Rand clenched his fists, then forced himself to relax his tensed hands. He’d hoped to avoid outright battle with the Welsh. He’d hoped their well-known distrust of one another would delay a confrontation long enough for him to prove that he did not plan to disrupt their lives.
He was prepared to deal with an occasional skirmish, a hog stolen, a storehouse fired. But he did not want to engage them on the field of combat, for then he’d be obliged to crush them. And the wounds formed from such a battle might never be healed.
Unfortunately, today’s turn of events could mean only one thing: Clyde ap Llewelyn meant to wed his niece to Madoc ap Lloyd’s family—probably to his son. Unified, the two families posed a much greater threat than did either of them alone. And they knew it.
Rand stood and began to pace the length of his newly constructed quarters, which functioned also as the main hall. “Select a party of five men to accompany us—you and I. We ride into Carreg Du.”
“To what end?” Osborn asked.
“To ask a few questions. And receive a few answers,” he tersely added.
“But who’s to translate? The wench hasn’t been here in three days.”
Rand didn’t bother to answer that. He was well aware that Josselyn had been absent these several days—acutely aware—and that was what bothered him. He needed to
know if she was merely frightened by what had passed between them in the forest glade, or if there was something more involved in her absence.
know if she was merely frightened by what had passed between them in the forest glade, or if there was something more involved in her absence.
One woman had accompanied the party heading south. One woman, no doubt Clyde’s niece. But what if that woman were Josselyn? What if she’d deceived him, diverting him with her comely face and alluring body?
What if the orphaned Josselyn ap Carreg Du was in reality Clyde’s niece and heir to the wildwoods of Carreg Du and Rosecliffe?
Once more his fingers curled into fists, and this time he could not shake them out. Had the brazen wench made a fool of him? Had she come into his camp, worked for him, aroused him—and finally kissed him—knowing she would be the one to ally two warring families against him?
“God’s bones!” He kicked over a stool, then flung open the door and stormed out into the blustery afternoon. The bitch had him tied in knots. Was he mad not to have seen the connection sooner? Or was he mad now to imagine a woman could fool him so easily?
He no longer knew what to think. Mayhap she was no virgin at all, but a practiced seducer bent on twisting him for her own purposes.
And now she no doubt meant to seduce this Owain ap Madoc in the same manner. Lure him with her sparkling eyes. Entice him with her pouting lips. Blind him to everything but her sweetly rounded body. She would buy the man’s loyalty with her female lures, then send him and his brethren into war against Rand.
Behind him Osborn cleared his throat. “D’ye think she’s the niece, that Josselyn is Clyde’s niece—and the bait for the Lloyds?”
Rand clenched his jaw reflexively. “There’s only one way to find out for sure.”
T
he Welsh village was nothing like an English one, for it was anchored by neither a castle nor a church. A wide muddy track rambled between a few stone buildings, some with slate roofs, others with thatch. But most of the houses were tucked back behind trees and boulders, spread apart, not clustered together as was the way in England. Here and there borders of stones marked the edges of what must be kitchen gardens. A few were already being worked in preparation for the spring planting.
he Welsh village was nothing like an English one, for it was anchored by neither a castle nor a church. A wide muddy track rambled between a few stone buildings, some with slate roofs, others with thatch. But most of the houses were tucked back behind trees and boulders, spread apart, not clustered together as was the way in England. Here and there borders of stones marked the edges of what must be kitchen gardens. A few were already being worked in preparation for the spring planting.
Rand paused at one end of the village and the rest of his men did the same. He didn’t see a single villager—neither man, woman, nor child. A cat preened on a windowsill, then disappeared on silent feet. A dog snuffled at a door. When it saw the riders, its hackles raised and it began to bark. But when Rand urged his horse forward, the skinny hound backed away, then slunk behind a lean-to shed. It kept barking though, and Rand had no doubt every Welsh villager was well aware of the English presence in their midst.
He rode toward the largest structure in the village. It was a fine two-story house, plastered on the lower story and whitewashed as well. Elaborately knotted motifs decorated the lintels above the window openings, and a lenten rose bloomed on either side of the carved entry door.
A curtain moved in one of the upper windows, but Rand did not flinch. He came in peace—at least for now. He dismounted and signaled his men to do the same. Then he handed his horse’s reins to one of his men and approached the door.
Before he reached that portal, it opened and the man named Dewey stepped over the threshold. The Welshman spread his legs and crossed his arms. Though a full head shorter than Rand, he did not appear likely to give ground even were a bull charging him.
Rand halted and met the man’s suspicious stare. At least with Dewey there would be no language difficulties.
“I bid you a good day.”
“Good day,” came the clipped response.
Rand kept his gaze steady. “I understand Clyde ap Llewelyn has departed for the south.” The man’s eyes flickered a faint surprise, but otherwise he did not respond. Rand continued. “I would speak with Josselyn.”
“She is not here.”
“Is she the woman who rides with your master?”
“We have no masters in Wales,” Dewey countered in a superior tone.
“Is she his niece?”
This time the man gave a small smug smile. “She is.”
The sly bitch! Though it made no sense, Rand felt an undeniable sense of betrayal. He struggled to tamp down his fury. “Does this mean she will no longer teach me your language?”
“I wouldn’t know about that.”
“Perhaps you will take over that task,” Rand said, just to annoy him.
As he’d expected, Dewey bristled. “I’ve more important duties than to waste my time trying to teach an Englishman to speak as a Welshman.”
Rand’s eyes narrowed. “Important duties or foolish ones? For if you and Clyde and the Lloyds think to raise
an army against me, ’tis a foolish task you undertake. Foolish and deadly.”
an army against me, ’tis a foolish task you undertake. Foolish and deadly.”
Dewey stiffened and a mulish light glittered in his eyes. But he did not respond, and after a long tense moment Rand gave a curt nod and took his leave. This time as the English riders made their way through the village, faces appeared in the window openings. Heads peeped around doors.
They saw the English departing, so they did not fear, Rand supposed. But the English were not departing. Not hardly. Nor would Josselyn’s marriage to Owain ap Lloyd change anything, save that he needed to find some other halfway comely wench to ease the lust Josselyn had roused in him. Some other wench to pant erotic Welsh words in his ear.
He kicked his horse and leaned over the animal’s thick neck when it surged forward. But he couldn’t outrun his thoughts. For while he found some other woman to ease his lusts upon, this Owain would be easing his lusts upon Josselyn. Josselyn, who was still a virgin—or was she?
Virgin or no, however, Rand had thought to claim the wench for himself.
“Damn her!” he swore as he urged the gallant animal on to a reckless speed. Stones scattered behind him. Osborn’s call was but a faint echo. The bitch had played him for a fool.
None of her people would do so again.
Josselyn hunched into her sodden cloak. It had rained the last two hours and the heavy sky had brought an early dusk upon them. It was nearly dark when they finally rode into Afon Bryn. She was cold and wet and hungry—as were they all. She did not think, however, that the others were frightened. Though she tried not to show it, she was as frightened as she’d ever been.
Torches flickered in the drizzle, marking their route through the dreary village. The few houses circled a larger building, and it was that well-lighted structure to which
they made their way. As they progressed, they gathered a crowd of curious onlookers, mostly women and children, for the men had already gathered outside the main hall.
they made their way. As they progressed, they gathered a crowd of curious onlookers, mostly women and children, for the men had already gathered outside the main hall.
Josselyn and the others dismounted and the door to the hall swung wide. A tall, muscular man with graying hair stepped outside—Madoc ap Lloyd, Josselyn assumed, for he was an older version of the man who trailed him, Owain.
She studied Owain closely. He was as handsome as ever, she supposed, with smooth skin and even features. But the cruelty of his soul outweighed any comeliness he might possess. Even now his eyes moved over her as if he saw past her cloak and gown, to the pale, shivering skin beneath her damp clothes. She shuddered and knew it was not on account of the cold.
“Welcome, Clyde ap Llewelyn. Come,” the older man said. “Warm yourself at the fire. Share our food and wine. We have much to speak of.”
Clyde met this affable welcome with an equal cordiality, and the two men entered the building together. Then it was Josselyn’s turn to advance to where Owain awaited her.
“You have grown up. And filled out,” he murmured, running hard but appreciative eyes over her.
Josselyn raised her chin a notch. “I am not the frightened little girl you tormented so many years ago.”
He grinned, plainly unperturbed by her accusation. His eyes focused on her breasts. “No. I see you are not.” He met her gaze and extended an arm to her. “May I escort you?”
“That will not be necessary,” she snapped. When she tried to sidle past him, however, he caught her by the arm and tightened his hold until she knew she would bruise.
“I insist.”
Behind her Josselyn heard Bower mutter and step forward. In response one of Owain’s men did the same. “’Tis all right,” she interjected into the tense silence. She looked up into Owain’s smug face. “You’re hurting me,” she stated, slowly and clearly.
He waited one long moment before releasing her arm. “My pardon, Josselyn. I sometimes forget my own strength.”
Josselyn said nothing. What would be the point? But as she swept past him she felt a cold dread like nothing she’d ever before known. For an instant Randulf Fitz Hugh’s image rose in her mind’s eye. He was her enemy and Owain her ally. Yet could she but choose between them, it was the enemy she would run to, the enemy whom she feared less.
But her wishes didn’t matter, she reminded herself as she entered the smoky, torchlit hall. Her future was of lesser import than that of her Welsh people, her Welsh lands. It was Owain she must wed if she were to save her lands from the English. Owain she must give her body to. Owain she must provide sons for. Sweet Mary, but it would take all her strength and prayers to go through with her wifely duties to him when the time came!
She slept badly, in a small room opposite the one given her uncle. Bower slept on the floor outside her door—a symbolic gesture, her uncle had said. But Josselyn had wondered. Her uncle had watched Owain all evening, and though he’d said little, Josselyn knew his moods well. He was not pleased with Owain. He was not pleased with this situation.
The menfolk were still abed when she rose. In the main hall three servants worked to prepare the morning meal. They were supervised by an older woman, Madoc’s widowed cousin Meriel, who ran the man’s household. Though last night Meriel had said nothing in the men’s presence, this morning she welcomed Josselyn with a thin smile. “Take a seat near to the fire. I’ll bring ye somethin’ to warm yer bones.”
“Thank you, but you needn’t wait upon me.”
The other woman tilted her head and gave her a shrewd look. “I’d be a fool not to give you good welcome. I’m in
sore need of another woman’s company in this household. A house of widows and widowers,” she continued, as if last night’s silence was now finally being relieved. “We’ve been that too long, the three of us. One of us needs to marry again, and Owain is the likeliest. Have you met his boy yet?”
sore need of another woman’s company in this household. A house of widows and widowers,” she continued, as if last night’s silence was now finally being relieved. “We’ve been that too long, the three of us. One of us needs to marry again, and Owain is the likeliest. Have you met his boy yet?”
“His boy? No, but—”
“No need to fret over that one. He’ll come around.”
“Come around? Does that mean—”
“He don’t want his da to wed again,” Meriel interrupted. She lowered her voice to a confidential whisper. “Not that Owain cares what the boy thinks. Mostly Rhys is off in the hills by hisself. He’s a solitary lad, he is. But already a wonder with his little bow, and an amazing fisherman.”
“How old is he?” Josselyn asked when the woman paused for breath.
“How old? How old. Well, let’s see. ’Twas that cold winter. That terrible one when the ice storm broke the branches off all the trees.” She counted on her fingers. “The ice storm. The year Meghan died—that’s Owain’s wife. The year Toff took sick. The year of the fever. The year Gaenor lost her baby. The next year she died too—she was Madoc’s daughter.” Meriel paused. “He’s seven years old, or thereabouts.”
“Seven? And off in the hills alone? Where does he sleep?”
Meriel shrugged. “Sometimes here, next to the fire. Other times in the stable with the horses.” She shook her head. “Don’t be worryin’ about that one. ’Tis the father you’d best concern yourself with.”
A shiver ran unbidden down Josselyn’s spine. “Yes,” she murmured. “Owain is the reason I’m here.” She studied the other woman. Could she trust her? She picked her words carefully. “Have you any advice for me that will make marriage to him … easier?”
The woman drew back, and she took an uncharacteristically long time to respond. “I’ll not be deceiving you.
Marriage to Owain will never be easy. Nay, that’s not true. He’s not a bad sort. But he can be a bully. His first wife was too meek, you see. He’s a man like his father and his grandfather before him, a man who needs a strong woman to stand up to his temper. A woman with a nature as lusty as his own,” she added with a sly look in her eyes.
Marriage to Owain will never be easy. Nay, that’s not true. He’s not a bad sort. But he can be a bully. His first wife was too meek, you see. He’s a man like his father and his grandfather before him, a man who needs a strong woman to stand up to his temper. A woman with a nature as lusty as his own,” she added with a sly look in her eyes.
Another shudder, this time of revulsion, coursed through Josselyn. She knew, with unshakable certainty, that she would never feel lust for Owain ap Madoc. Never.
Meriel must have read Josselyn’s emotions, for her lined face grew stern. “A wife’s lot comes easier if she resigns herself to the rigors of the marriage bed. After a while you will learn to like it, at least somewhat. There are even those women who lust after their men,” she added with a sly look. “Every bride feels as you presently feel. But in time—”
Meriel broke off at the measured tread of booted feet upon the narrow stairs. When Madoc ap Lloyd entered the room she hurried to pull out his chair, then carried a steaming cup of heated ale to him.
He thanked her with a nod and a grunt, then fixed his piercing brown eyes on Josselyn. “’Tis a good thing for a woman to rise early.”
Josselyn decided to be blunt. “That is not why your son will wed me, because I rise early or late.”
He chuckled in amusement. “No, ’tis not. He wants a comely wench in his bed, one who will give him many sons.”
“And in return he will help us fight the English who threaten our land.”
“We
will help fight them,” Madoc amended. “I am the leader of this family, not my son. But understand this, Josselyn: we will fight the English with or without this marriage between our families. Eventually every Welshman must fight them, for they will spread like a plague upon our land if we do not. When you wed Owain, you ensure a peaceable bond between our families, one that will help
us work together with more trust than in the past, one that will endure and bring peace and prosperity to us all.”
will help fight them,” Madoc amended. “I am the leader of this family, not my son. But understand this, Josselyn: we will fight the English with or without this marriage between our families. Eventually every Welshman must fight them, for they will spread like a plague upon our land if we do not. When you wed Owain, you ensure a peaceable bond between our families, one that will help
us work together with more trust than in the past, one that will endure and bring peace and prosperity to us all.”
Josselyn’s brows drew together in a frown. It was no more than she already knew, yet it made her decision to wed Owain harder still. “I do not anticipate my marriage to your son with much joy,” she admitted.
He speared her with his sharp gaze. “Have you another lover?”
“No!” But she knew that was not entirely true. Still, Englishmen did not count, especially an Englishman who did not offer anything more than a brief, lusty encounter. And he’d not truly become her lover.
Madoc studied her. “I will keep my son under control. Though he has a temper, he never hurt Meghan. He will not hurt you.”
That was little enough reassurance, yet it was clear to Josselyn that it was the most reassurance she would get. Clyde descended into the main hall and Madoc turned to greet him. Slowly the room filled with people—men who broke their fast, and women and servants who waited upon them.
Other books
Rising Sun: A Novel by Michael Crichton
James and Dolley Madison by Bruce Chadwick
White Trash Zombie Gone Wild by Diana Rowland
Gently Sinking by Alan Hunter
King of Spades by Cheyenne McCray
A Kiss of Revenge (Entangled Ignite) by Damschroder, Natalie
Darkfire Kiss by Deborah Cooke
Blackfin Sky by Kat Ellis
The Egyptian Royals Collection by Michelle Moran
Second Chances by Kathy Ivan
