Page 35 of A Lover for Lady Jane (The Welsh Rebels #5)
Chapter Eighteen
E arly the next morning, Jane’s uncle left.
Griffin had liked the man immediately. Matthew Hunter was personable; he had treated him as an equal even after being told who he was.
His ability as a warrior was obvious, as was the affection he felt for his nieces.
This alone would have been enough to ensure Griffin’s approval.
Anyone ready to defend Jane was assured his good opinion. If only he could be the one to do it…
The parting was emotional, with Jane promising that she would visit Branwen and little Alys as soon as she could leave Throckmorton safely, and her uncle assuring her they would be waiting for her.
Griffin wished she could go see her newest cousin straight away, but the man was right.
While Cynan was still at large, she was safer here.
After one last hug, Matthew Hunter left in a thunder of hooves, no doubt eager to be reunited with his wife and child.
Griffin could not blame him, or be surprised; his love for her had shone through his every word.
Were all the members of the Hunter family happily married?
He had yet to hear about one who had not made a love match.
Once everyone had gone back inside the hall, he went to the stables on the pretext of seeing to Eryr.
He’d barely finished picking his horse’s hooves that two villagers came to the gate, asking to speak to Lord Ashton.
Christopher, who’d joined him to check on his own stallion, Warrior, gestured to the guards to bring them forward.
Intent on giving him privacy, Griffin made to leave, but he was asked to remain.
“I hardly think this will be an intimate conversation,” Christopher said with his customary side smile, “rather a boring one centering around some recrimination or other. Welcome to the life of a lord, my friend. I will admit I haven’t missed this.
Perhaps you’re right not to want to become a knight. ”
As if on cue, the older of the two men, a grizzled old bear of a man who doffed his cap before addressing himself to him, started to talk.
“My lord, begging your pardon for the inconvenience but a tree fell on the bridge yonder during the night, due to the strong winds. It is stopping us from crossing the river and getting our sheep back. Would you have a strong man or two to lend a hand moving it?” He eyed Griffin none too subtly while he spoke.
Evidently, he had identified him both as a menial and strong, in other words, ideally suited to the task.
“I will come and ascertain the damage now,” Christopher said, every inch the patient, benevolent lord he was supposed to be, even though Griffin knew he could have done without the imposition, as he’d announced his intention to leave Stephen and the late Lady Ashton in charge of Throckmorton Castle.
“You can come, Griff,” he added with a smirk, enjoying himself.
“I daresay you’re strong enough to lift a tree. ”
There was no other choice but to agree. Besides, some exercise would do him good. Lifting trees might help expend some of the powerlessness he’d been feeling for days.
Before following the two villagers, Christopher went to the foot of the keep, where his wife had just appeared, arm in arm with Jane.
“My love, Griffin and I are going to the bridge down below. A tree has fallen in the night and needs to be removed. You ladies can watch us from the postern gate if you want. It should prove an amusing spectacle.”
“We will, as we’re in dire need of distraction,” Sian agreed, before telling Griffin in Welsh. “Christopher is not forcing you to go do the work of a menial, is he? Don’t hesitate to send him to hell if he is.”
“No, he’s not,” he assured her in the same language. He really liked the woman, who was as mischievous as she was kind.
“Very well. Though I daresay you men would fare better by removing your tunics, and mayhap even your undershirts for this endeavor.”
“Sian, please! You’re impossible,” Jane protested, going redder than a ripe berry, and just as tempting.
“What?” Her sister gave a naughty giggle. “Don’t tell me you would object to the sight of two men?—”
“Am I the only one around here who speaks only one language and cannot understand a word of what is being said?” Christopher interrupted, his mock offense highly amusing.
“Yes, you are,” his wife answered, reverting back to English for his benefit. “You had better learn, for fear of not being able to understand what I tell our son when I suckle him later on in the year.”
A growl was all the warning Sian got before she disappeared into her husband’s embrace.
Apparently, the image of her feeding their babe was enough to make him lose his mind.
While his friend whispered a heated declaration into his wife’s ear, Griffin’s blue gaze crossed Jane’s green one.
There was a gleam in hers that he could not account for.
Then he saw that she had placed her right hand over her stomach, and her fingers were holding the velvet of her dress in a tight grip. His heart started to beat twice as fast as usual. What the?—
“Come,” Christopher said when he finally released Sian, who looked rather flushed and disorientated.
Griffin sympathized. He felt rather odd himself.
“Let’s go and see what we can do about this tree before I decide I would rather spend the day in bed with my wife, learning all the parts of the body in Welsh. ”
The two men made their way down the slope without a word.
Christopher seemed in very high spirits but as soon as they drew neare the bridge, his smile disappeared, and Griffin instantly understood why.
The tree hadn’t fallen down because of the wind, unlike what they had been told.
Rather it had been felled. The axe cuts at the base of the trunk were obvious, even from here.
Christopher turned to the villagers, a frown on his face. “What’s the meaning of this? The wind is not responsible for the falling of the tree, any fool can see that. Someone hacked at it.”
The old man, who still had not put his hat back on his head, started to stammer. “D-di they? We didn’t realize…”
“No? It’s rather obvious, I should say, even from here.”
Christopher led the men to the stump, and crouched down, gesturing at it. Griffin waited where he was. It was not his place to argue with the men, but his friend was right. Being a lord was not something to be envied.
Suddenly there was a rustle in the undergrowth behind him, then a woman’s scream in the distance.
Had it come from the castle? Griffin turned around, only to find himself face to face with Cynan.
His whole body lurched. What the devil was the man doing here?
Wasn’t he supposed to have ridden to the north?
Was he alone? Why hadn’t anyone heard his approach?
There was no time to face all the questions bursting through his mind.
The big man bunched his fist—and a heartbeat later, stars exploded into Griffin’s skull.
From their place outside the postern gate, Jane and Sian watched the progress of the four men.
Christopher was leading the way, Griffin by his side, while the two villagers followed at a respectable distance.
Walking with long, fluid strides, they soon reached the bridge, which was only about a hundred yards from the lists, at the bottom of the slope.
Before they could reach the tree, they stopped and turned to look at the villagers.
After a brief exchange, Griffin was left a few feet behind while the three others went to examine the stump.
It all happened in the blink of an eye.
A dark shape emerged from the bushes behind Griffin, and crept forward, shoulders slumped. Even from this distance, Jane recognized Cynan’s wavy hair and imposing bulk. Dear God, what was the rebel doing here? None of the four men, with their attention focused on the tree, had seen his approach.
Before she could think, she shouted a warning and started to run.
By the time she’d reached the group of men, Cynan had sent Griffin to the ground with a punch to the head and five more rebels had come out from the undergrowth.
Four of them held Christopher off while the older villager who, Jane now understood, had to be an accomplice, bound a barely conscious Griffin’s hands together with ropes he had extracted from his pockets.
His son then helped him lift Griffin’s limp body off the ground.
“I told Geraint you’d betray us, English, and help the lady escape! But did he listen to me?” she heard Cynan growl. Then a sinister laugh escaped his lips. “You’ll pay for it, never fear. I’ll enjoy showing you where your loyalty should lie, you cur.”
“No! Leave him!” she shouted, only to be stopped by the fifth rebel, a blond man who’d taken her by the wrist. Tomos. His eyes lit up in recognition when she turned to him and he saw who she was.
“Well, well, if it isn’t the lady herself,” he hissed in her ear, before shouting to Cynan. “Hey, I’ve got Lady Jane here! Let’s take her along too. We never had the chance to get between her milk white thighs. Methinks ’tis the perfect opportu?—”
“No!” Griffin roared. He was being hoisted up a horse the youngest villager had retrieved from the undergrowth, but he had heard the vile declaration and found the strength to rear up.
“Christopher, for the love of God, take her away! Make sure she’s not hurt in any way. It’s me they want. I can’t?—”
A blow to the head silenced him.