Page 5 of A Lover for Lady Jane (The Welsh Rebels #5)

Chapter Three

“ A re you sure that’s a good idea?” a blond man called Osian asked Geraint, a hand rubbing at his unshaven jaw.

All seven men were getting ready for departure.

Jane had been awoken before dawn, instructed to eat something while she could, and dragged into the bailey none too gently.

As it was bitterly cold, she had decided to wear her shift under her dress to protect herself as best she could from the wind, knowing that once they were on the road, she would spend most of her time wrapped in her cloak anyway.

“Yes.” Geraint answered, barely looking at his friend.

“You really mean to make her ride the stallion Hywel sent Lord Wills?” Osian insisted, gesturing at the magnificent dappled gray horse standing behind him.

Jane had heard two men say earlier that the mysterious Hywel had sent the precious gift to the English lord as a reward for his help.

In exchange for him providing a shelter for the rebels and their captive, this Lord Wills had been given a priceless mount.

“There is no other horse available. He doesn’t mind, as he agrees it is the best solution. We will return the horse in due time, don’t worry.”

The man looked unconvinced. “Even so, stallions can be unpredictable, and Taran is still young. Are you sure she will be able to?—”

Geraint stopped him with a raised hand, his patience finally snapping.

“Taran is the only horse we have. You have seen for yourself that, apart from his own mount, Lord Wills only keeps brooding mares in his stables, and they are all about to foal. I won’t endanger them at this time or buy another horse for a captive who’s already proven more troublesome than anticipated.

The stallion will have to do. In any case, I’m sure it won’t be a problem.

The daughter of a mighty lord, English as he may be, will know how to ride better than most men. ”

As ever, Jane was careful not to betray the fact that she had understood every word of the conversation because another plan was forming in her mind.

Geraint was right. She could ride better than most people, knights included, her father had made sure of it.

But the men weren’t to know that. If she acted all nervous at the sight of the beast and then, at the opportune moment, urged him into a frenzied gallop, surprising her captors by her ability, she might be able to escape.

They would conclude something had spooked the animal and not suspect her of deceit if she didn’t manage to flee. It was worth a try at least.

Besides, pretending she couldn’t ride properly would only annoy the men, who no doubt hoped to reach Castell Esgyrn as quickly as possible. If only for that, she would have pretended not to know what she was doing. She hadn’t forgotten her promise to Griffin to behave like a shrew.

“Now let us go. We’ve lost enough time already.”

When they brought the stallion in front of her, Jane arched her brow in disbelief mingled with an alarm she didn’t feel. Taran, which meant Thunder in Welsh, seemed just as impetuous as Osian had hinted. Had she not been the rider she was, she might well have taken fright.

“I hope you don’t expect me to ride him?” she asked in a whisper.

“It’s a bloody horse,” Geraint replied once Griffin had translated the question, even if in truth there had probably been no need. Her unease had been obvious. “Of course I expect her to ride him. What else would she do with it?”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Griffin told her. As ever, he’d taken it upon himself to soften the tone of the answer—or rather to change it completely. Geraint had not offered any reassurances, far from it. “Taran is as good natured as can be for a stallion.”

“I’m not a good rider at the best of times,” she lied. “With a horse I don’t know, and a stallion, I’m not sure how I will fare.”

“Well, she’ll just have to manage, won’t she?” was the actual answer.

“Worry not, we probably won’t gallop anyway,” was the version she was given.

Despite her situation as hostage, Jane could not deny a flutter of pleasure.

Griffin was being unflinchingly protective and kind.

In her misfortune, she had at least found a reliable ally.

Never had she been more grateful for someone’s presence by her side.

What an inspired idea it had been to pretend she didn’t understand Welsh, because if Geraint had realized she could converse with him without an interpreter, then Griffin would have been sent away.

She wrapped her cloak more tightly around her to protect her other lie from being discovered.

The men had to keep believing she was with child.

“Take the lady to the mounting block,” Geraint ordered. “We’re leaving.”

Taking the order as their cue, the rest of the men vaulted onto their horses.

After holding Taran steady for her, Griffin went to his own mount, a magnificent gray stallion he seemed to cherish.

Jane was surprised. It was an unusual beast for someone of his position to have.

Who was he that he could afford such a mount?

Cynan had called him “the English pup.” Was he English then?

What was certain was that, like her, he spoke both languages with equal ease.

“Let’s ride.”

The retinue set off, her in the middle, the seven men surrounding her. It seemed that despite her claim that she was not a competent rider, they did not trust her not to try to escape. Geraint was leading the group, the giant was bringing up the rear, and Griffin was just behind her.

They traveled all day without them finding the opportunity to have any sort of conversation.

By the time they stopped for the night, Jane was exhausted.

Pretending to be a nervous rider as well as with child and unable to understand what was being said around her had taxed her brain to its limit, but she thought she had done a credible job of it.

That first day had gone without mishap—if one forgot she was a captive under surveillance and not a lady traveling back home of her own accord.

The most difficult part, strangely enough, had been not letting her interest in Griffin shine through and resisting the impulse to look at him at every opportunity.

She should not be drawn to him thus but how could she stop herself?

He was unfailingly attentive to her, protective and kind.

When they had stopped to eat something toward the middle of the day, he had made sure to select the most appetizing cuts of meat for her and fill her cup with ale before she’d even thought to ask for anything.

Every time he talked to her, he did his best to sound cheerful even if it was obvious the situation weighed on him.

She was grateful for his efforts, as it helped keep her own fears at bay.

After two days on the road, she was thoroughly convinced he was a good man at heart.

What he was doing with a band of ruffians was a mystery.

The problem was, she couldn’t see any way of contriving a conversation with him to find out and besides, as she kept reminding herself, she was not supposed to want to have anything to do with any of the men responsible for keeping her captive, even the ones going out of their way to make her comfortable.

Due to her feigned inability to gallop or even canter unless they were in a flat, open field, their progress was much slower than Geraint had wished. Still, on the morning of the fourth day, they arrived within sight of the border.

“It won’t be long before we cross into Wales,” Cynan said with satisfaction. “I will admit I cannot wait. England really is a foul country, inhabited by foul people.”

It was just as well Jane was not required to answer, because such a remark did not deserve any comment.

Later that afternoon, she saw the opening she had been waiting for.

Up until then, Geraint had led them along a different route than the one she and her family usually took when going to Sheridan Manor, so she had not been able to get her bearings but now she knew exactly where she was.

On the other side of that hill was a village where the Hunters stopped every time they traveled that way.

If she could launch Taran into a gallop while the men had dismounted to water the horses and reach the woods a short distance ahead, then she would be hidden from view.

There, she would turn at a sharp angle, and head for the village down below.

Once there, she would ride straight to Mistress Blodwen, who always made them welcome.

No ride from Castell Esgyrn to Sheridan Manor was complete without a halt in her cottage, where they would invariably be met with refreshing ale and the most delicious bread.

Jane was certain the kind woman would hide her and the stallion until the men had gone past.

It would be as if she had vanished into thin air.

Yes, it was as good a plan as any she was going to come up with.

There would never be a better opportunity to escape her captors.

She could not afford to wait because she did need a place to hide.

She would never outrun six men; the most she could do was give herself a head start to reach a place of safety.

Griffin could help with that, even unwittingly, and ensure they stopped now instead of when Geraint decided to.

“I’m tired,” she said, bringing her horse next to his. “We’ve been on the road for days. Could you ask for a halt? We need to water the horses soon anyway so it will make no difference.”

He nodded and called out to the head of the group. “Let us stop a moment, please. I think Eryr has gone lame. I’ll check him while the horses have a drink.”

Jane’s chest squeezed. Once again, he’d made sure not to expose her to Geraint’s ill temper by pretending he was the one requesting the halt.

He had no idea she could understand what he was saying, so he was not doing it to earn her favor, but simply out of personal kindness.

She would miss him, she realized with a pang of anguish.

But she could not stay a captive just to be near him.

It was not only her safety and comfort that were at stake, but her father’s life as well.

Because, contrary to what she had told the Welsh rebels, there wasn’t any problem between them.

He loved her and would agree to the men’s terms, whatever they were, just to get her out of their clutches, and be handed to Hywel. And then what would happen?

The idea of him ending up at the mercy of a man she imagined intent on killing him strengthened her resolve.

This was not about her. She had to save her father.

If that meant being taken away from Griffin, then so be it.

Perhaps once this was over, he would visit her at Castell Esgyrn?

He knew he would be able to find her there or at Sheridan Manor, so it was not impossible.

She shook her head. No. She was getting painful ideas into her head. Why would he bother to see her once he was finally free of the trouble she’d caused him? He would be relieved to be able to carry on with his life unencumbered by pregnant English ladies who needed constant supervision.

“A halt is an excellent idea,” said the giant whose name she still hadn’t been able to establish. “I need a shit.”

Jane reminded herself too late she wasn’t supposed to understand and wrinkled her nose at his crudeness.

Griffin saw her reaction and frowned. Drat, it wasn’t the first time he’d looked at her that way.

Evidently she wasn’t doing as good a job as she thought at hiding the fact that she understood what was being said.

At least he hadn’t spoken about his suspicions to the others—that she knew of.

Well, if all went according to plan, in a moment, she wouldn’t have to worry about betraying herself to the rebels. She would be out of their reach.

“All right, let’s stop.”

Geraint was the first to dismount, quickly followed by the giant, who instantly headed for the nearest bush.

Excellent. If he was busy relieving his bowels he would not be able to rush out in pursuit when she launched her mount into a gallop.

Neither would the other two men who had headed the same way to relieve themselves, even if they’d had the delicacy not to announce out loud their intentions.

Griffin, she suspected, would do nothing to stop her flight.

That meant if she left now, only Geraint and the two smallest, slowest of the men would be able to mount and come after her. It was unhoped for.

Before she could lose this advantage, she kicked Taran into action.

The stallion, only too happy to comply after days of near inactivity, tore through the field stretching in front of them.

Shouts were heard in the distance, but Jane focused on the woods ahead, which were getting closer with each powerful stride of her mount.

A little bit more and she would be under cover, able to veer off the obvious course and lose the pursuers.

Her heart lifted. She could already taste freedom on the tip of her tongue. It tasted like Blodwen’s bread.

It all happened in a heartbeat.

One moment she was thundering through the clearing, the next she was rolling on the ground, wondering if the horse would not crush her under his hooves.

Realization settled in her chest, as heavy as a boulder.

Taran had tripped, sending her to the ground.

The men were hard on her heels, ready to capture her.

She had failed. It was over.