Page 10 of A Savior for Branwen (The Welsh Rebels #2)
Chapter Nine
“ Y ou’ll never guess what happened on my last day at Sheridan Manor.”
Matthew paused, knowing the news he had to impart would be a shock to Connor, even if, admittedly, less so than it had been for him. But it would have consequences, consequences he was not sure he was ready to face. Regardless, he could not take the cowardly way out and stay silent. This was too important. All the way from England he had mused on the extraordinary turn of events and pondered on what to do next, without managing to find a satisfactory answer to that question.
With luck, talking about it with Connor would help.
He emptied his cup of ale and sighed, because as serious as it was, the whole affair had not been enough to chase all thoughts of Branwen from his mind. He missed her. A month away from her had failed to achieve what he had hoped it would achieve. Quite the contrary. Though nothing obliged him to go back to Wales, he had been on his horse at dawn on the day he’d assigned for his return. It even crossed his mind, as he thundered through the gate of Sheridan Manor and set off on the west road, that he had only decided on a date to avoid rushing back to Esgyrn Castle as soon as he’d arrived and delivered his message to the people of Sheridan Manor. Yes, all in all, this trip had been a waste of time.
Except that it had yielded an unexpected result.
He afforded a small, mirthless laugh. It seemed that even with hundreds of miles between them, Branwen could have a positive effect on his life. Was it a sign? Was someone trying to tell him something?
“A man came,” he finally said, “asking to see my mother.”
“Your mother?” Connor arched a brow. “But she died more than twenty years ago.”
“I know. The man clearly had no idea what had happened to her, though, and he was devastated to hear of her death because he …” His voice trailed as the tragedy of the situation hit him anew.
“He what?”
“He’d been hoping to be able to finally marry her.”
Thunder striking at that moment would not have stunned Connor more. Matthew knew the feeling. It had been the same for him.
“ Marry her? What the hell?”
“I know. It’s the last thing I ever expected to be told, and if I’m being honest, I don’t quite know what to make of it.”
Matthew sighed and ran a hand through his hair. That was the least he could say. He and Connor had always imagined his father to be a nobleman visiting the manor, seducing, or more probably, raping the young maid called Rose, and then leaving without worrying about the consequences of his actions. He had always hated thinking that he was the product of an assault on his mother, the son of such a dishonorable, selfish, irresponsible man.
And now, aged thirty, he was finding out that, far from raping and then abandoning her, his father had only done what he thought was right by another woman. He was not a nobleman who had taken advantage of his status at all, but a humble carpenter who had been sincerely in love with a woman he had met as a young man. He had not washed his hands of them, but instead had tried to face his responsibilities
It was good news, undoubtedly, but it still required some time to adapt. His whole life had been built on a lie. All the pain, the humiliation, the anger he’d gone through, had been for nothing. He had no reason to hate his father. Rather he should feel sorry for him. And he did.
Dear God, what a mess.
He popped a sugared almond into his mouth before carrying on.
“Once he’d recovered from the shock of learning that the woman he was looking for was dead, he explained it all to me. He met my mother as a young man of barely twenty when he came to a fair in town. He had come to meet a fellow carpenter his father had told him about, and she had gone to help her aunt sell her wool. Between them, the attraction was immediate and they started seeing one another that very night. When he left a week later, they had fallen in love.”
If one was to believe the man’s story, and there was no reason not to, it had been that simple. The cruel irony of it was not lost on Matthew. After years wondering, or rather worrying, about what had happened between his parents, he was told they had just been two people in love.
“My mother had been working at Sheridan Manor for a couple of years then, and was loath to give up your parents’ employ. As you can guess, not many noblemen treat their servants so well. So they agreed he would go back home and settle his affairs. Then he would find a place in the village next to the manor and they would get married.”
“Just like that?” Connor was incredulous, which was little wonder. Matthew, too, had been incredulous at first. This was such a far cry from the story he had imagined all his life that it was difficult to accept. Who fell in love at first sight and decided to get married within the week, anyway?
A niggling feeling prickled at the back of his neck, because something was telling him it might not be so difficult to believe after all. With the right person, it could well happen like that.
“Yes, just like that,” he muttered. Connor nodded, as if he’d himself come to the conclusion that it was all too possible. “And they would have honored their promise, I believe. But when he returned home, he found out that a farmer’s daughter he’d been bedding the previous summer was carrying his child. Devastated, he came back to tell my mother that he had no other choice but to marry the woman and give the child the name and protection it deserved.”
Matthew’s throat tightened when he remembered the look of agony in the man’s eyes as he’d told him about it. Thirty years later, he clearly still felt the heart-wrenching pain he’d felt at the time, when he’d had to abandon the love of his life to face his responsibilities.
“Your mother agreed to that?” Connor said slowly. “God forgive me, but I wouldn’t blame her if she had not.”
“Me neither. But yes, she did. She agreed that he had to do the right thing by the woman, and she renounced her claim on him. She argued that she had fallen in love with a good man and she didn’t want him to turn into a dishonorable scoundrel, even for her. And so he went back to his village with a heavy heart and married the farmer’s daughter.” Matthew paused again. What a sacrifice that must have been. “His wife died last month, and so he came back to Sheridan Manor, hoping my mother still worked there, or that someone would know where he could find her, because he meant to finally honor his betrothal to her, made all those years ago.”
Without a word, Connor poured two cups of mead they emptied in unison, eyes locked. There was a wealth of understanding in the green eyes so different to his own brown ones.
“The news of her death must have been quite a blow.”
“That is putting it mildly.”
“But there’s something I don’t understand. If he was so bent on marrying one woman to protect the child she was carrying, he would have been devastated when he found out Rose was also with child. Your mother would have been justified in demanding he looked after you both and he would likely have agreed. Marrying her would have been impossible, but at least they could have?—”
“She never told him about the babe. About me,” Matthew whispered. He’d thought the same thing. They could have drawn some happiness from the fact that they had a child together. “I know because the man told me they had never seen one another again after he’d told her about the farmer’s daughter. It was the only way. He didn’t wish to be unfaithful to his wife, and he knew he would not be able to resist temptation if he ever saw the woman he had never stopped loving.”
“Dear God. What a tragedy.”
Matthew nodded. “It seems we were wrong all along. My parents loved each other, they were good people who were denied the chance of living their love.” What a waste that had been. And how different would his life have turned out to be if his parents had done what they wanted to do and married.
After a long moment, Connor planted himself in front of him. “Tell me … tell me you told the poor man about the babe. About you.”
Matthew stared back at his brother, or rather at the man who had never really been his brother. This might be the last time he got to call him by that name. Now that they knew where he came from, Connor might well send him back to his real family.
“I did not tell him. I could not,” he murmured, not brave enough to look him in the eye. “After so many years hating the man who had sired me for taking advantage of my mother and abandoning her to face the shame of my birth alone, I could not bear to see that he was actually a good, honorable man who’d never stopped loving her and wanted to give her the life they had wanted together. He renounced what he wanted so he could offer his son a chance at a respectable life. I could not tell him it had all been in vain, because he’d left another boy to grow as a bastard.”
He bunched his fists. That half-brother he did not know had had all Matthew should have had. A name, a family, parents who raised him together.
“Matthew, it is not your place to?—”
“I could not do it, Con,” he repeated. “The man was devastated when I told him the woman he’d hoped to be reunited with had been dead for more than twenty years. I didn’t see what good it would do to tell him that he’d not only denied them both happiness, but that he’d done the very thing he’d wanted to avoid. The whole reason he’d broken his and my mother’s hearts was to ensure a little boy didn’t grow up as a bastard. How do you think he would have felt to know he had left me behind?”
“I understand, I do,” Connor said. “It would not have been easy. But he has the right to know he has another son. And knowing he has you might even go some way into easing the pain of losing your mother.”
Matthew started. How had he not thought of that? At least the poor man would know there was something left of the love he and Rose had shared, that someone would remember it. Yes, it might give him some comfort.
“I promise to think about it.” He braced himself for the next sentence, the one that would cost him the most. “I will leave now.”
“Leave? Why? You’ve only just arrived.”
The weight on Matthew’s chest became unbearable. He was not announcing his intention of going on a pointless errand, but of leaving forever. But to go where? That was the question. He didn’t have a place here anymore, but he wasn’t sure of the welcome he’d get in his father’s village or even if he wanted to go. He didn’t want to leave here, leave her .
Branwen.
Amidst his trouble, it was all he could think about. If he went back to England, any chance of ever building something with her would be ruined and he wasn’t sure he was ready to accept that, as much as he had wanted to take his distance from her.
He shook his head to chase the disturbing thoughts away. Things were complicated enough as it was.
“We always assumed I was the son of a nobleman, even if of questionable character. Now we know I’m nothing of the sort. Your parents were generous enough to raise me as if I were half-noble, but the bastard son of a maid and a poor carpenter cannot keep posing as Lord Sheridan’s brother. I will therefore?—”
“You will do nothing save get these silly notions out of your head,” Connor snarled, coming to within an inch of his chest. “You are the only brother I’ve ever had, and we didn’t raise you as such because of an elusive connection to a nobleman, but because you and I got on from the moment we started sparring, and you’ve always been there for me. You are not going anywhere.”
“But I?—”
“No but . You are not going anywhere and that’s final.” He grabbed him by the shoulders, the fingers digging into his flesh as if to force the meaning of his words to penetrate deep. “I will not allow it. God on the cross, why would you do that to me? Can you imagine me having to tell Jane and Sian they are never to see their beloved Uncle Matthew again? And Esyllt? I wouldn’t know any peace until I had dragged you back here kicking and screaming. So there will be no more talk of leaving. Are we clear? Forget everyone else, I could not bear it. And if all that is not enough to convince you, remember that you once saved my life, and might do it still. I just can’t afford to let you out of my sight. I don’t want to.”
By now a lump had formed in Matthew’s throat. He’d not dared hope Connor would react that way and he was overwhelmed. “We are clear. Thank you. It means a lot to me.”
“No problem, Brother .” The emphasis on the last word caused him to close his eyes. “It means a lot to me, too, to have a man like you by my side.”
The two men fell in each other’s arms. Matthew thought he might well start crying if the embrace lingered a moment longer. Fortunately for his dignity, it didn’t.
“Oh. And a letter came from the king while I was in Sheridan Manor,” he informed Connor when they finally drew away. It was best to revert to business as usual. “He wanted you to bring your Welsh bride to court so he could meet her and see the success of his plan for himself.”
“I …” His brother made a grimace, as he had anticipated. “I’m not sure I?—”
“It’s all right. I already answered, saying that the birth of little Gwenllian had left Esyllt too weak to travel. The midwife advised her to rest, and there is no telling how long she would need to remain bedridden, unfortunately.”
There was a pause, during which Connor absorbed what had been said. Matthew knew he wouldn’t object to him answering in his stead, as he usually handled all his correspondence, but he might object to the manner in which he’d done it. This was the king they were talking about, not just an unimportant local lord.
“You lied to the king?”
“What else could I do to justify a refusal and protect you from retaliation at the same time?” Matthew shrugged apologetically. “It’s all too plausible that Esyllt should be incapacitated, and no one will tell him any different, will they? The next time he asks, he will be told she is too heavy with child to undertake the journey, the time after that, that she is sadly attending her sick mother, or fell from her horse and is still abed recovering. I haven’t decided which yet. He will soon get tired of asking, don’t worry. He will never set eyes on her as long as I’m here to read the letters.”
“Yet another reason for you to stay.” Connor looked at him a long moment. “Tell me. How did you know I dreaded Edward seeing Esyllt?”
“Why do you think? He is a famous lecher, and your wife is far too lovely to be put under his nose. I thought you’d want her well away from him.”
“I do. But I’m amazed that you of all people should understand how a husband would feel about these things.”
Connor had a point. Only a few months ago Matthew would not have thought anything of the king’s request. Indeed, he would probably have encouraged his brother to comply, in the hope of furthering his prospects. But now … now everything was different. The idea of putting a beautiful woman in contact with a man who would only consider her fair game was unbearable. The king would not heed Esyllt, or indeed Connor’s protests, if the need to have her took him, and that could only end in disaster.
Why did he feel so strongly about it? Perhaps it was due to Branwen’s story. Perhaps he feared the consequences of such a meeting for Connor, because his brother would hardly stand aside and let anyone, be he the king of England, rape his wife. He would end up being tried and executed for treason when he cut him to shreds.
Whatever the reason, he was not going to risk his sister-in-law meeting the king.
“Well, in any case, worry not. As long as I’m here, Esyllt is safe.”
If only the same could be said of Branwen.
“Guess what I heard. Lord Sheridan is in the village right now. He’s come to inspect the progress of the work being done on the new mill. On his own.”
Something about the way the man said those last three words caused the hairs at the back of Branwen’s neck to rise on end. That morning she had gone to the market in the nearest village for a change. Since Matthew had left, she’d been at a loose end, like someone waiting for her life to resume its normal course after an unwelcome interruption. An excursion to the next village was as good a distraction as any. She was now glad she had come because her interest had been piqued when she’d overheard the three men standing by the vegetable stall. As she was rummaging through the cabbages in the hope of finding an acceptable one, they had started to talk about Connor. They sounded so full of bile that she had shuffled closer, suspecting she might catch something that would be useful to her friend’s husband.
It did not take her long to see that she was right.
The men were not just complaining about their new English lord, they were plotting to get rid of him.
“Here is our chance,” one of them said with a sinister grin. “He won’t know what hit him. We’ll strike as he heads back to the castle he stole from us.”
“Aye. And I know the perfect place for it,” his friend added in a whisper. “Let us leave now, so as not to miss him. Such an opportunity might not present itself soon, or ever again. We’ll go get Rhodri and Siasper on the way.”
With those words, the men headed toward the woods she could see in the distance.
The place of ambush.
Branwen forced herself not to move until they had disappeared from view, so as not to raise their suspicion. She could not let them know they had been overheard by someone sympathetic to their enemy, but she had to go and warn Connor that men were ready to ambush him on the way back to Castell Esgyrn.
Abandoning the cabbage she’d finally found, she rushed to the mill.
The men could not be allowed to put their vile plan to execution. Not only did no one deserve to be killed in such a way, but Connor was married to her friend, and father to her children. Esyllt’s life would be destroyed if anything happened to him. And that was not all. English though he may be, he was a fair, efficient lord and careful administrator who took good care of his tenants.
For the sake of everyone, he needed to live. She could not have his death on her conscience, not when she had the means to prevent it.
At the pace she was walking, it did not take her long to reach the mill. As she approached, she let out a sigh of relief. The villagers had been misinformed. The man standing by his horse, ready to mount, could not be Connor. He was too broad, too blond, too?—
Relief was instantly replaced by intense joy, the likes of which she rarely felt when he turned enough for her to see his face in profile.
“Matthew!” she exclaimed, running up to him. He was back. For too long she had dreaded being told he had decided to stay in England.
“Branwen, what are you doing here?” His hand instantly went to the hilt of his sword and he scanned the horizon. Evidently he’d assumed someone was in hot pursuit of her, and that was the reason she was running to him. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes. Or rather, no.” For a moment, lost to her joy, she had forgotten all about the threat on Connor. “I came to see Lord Sheridan. I was told he would be the one to inspect the mill?” She craned her neck to look behind Matthew. Was he around? Or had he already left? Fear spiked through her. Was she too late after all?
“He was supposed to come, but he couldn’t make it. Gwenllian kept him up these past two nights, and he and Esyllt are barely able to stand.” Branwen knew that, as well as being a loving husband, Connor was an excellent father, involved in the caring and raising of his three daughters. It therefore didn’t surprise her to hear he had been the one soothing his baby at night, rather than send for a maid, as many nobles were wont to. “He sent me to tell the carpenters he would come next week.”
Relief swept through her. If that was the case, he was safe, and the men would be waiting in the forest for naught. A week gave her plenty of time to warn Connor not to go anywhere unescorted in the future.
“Are you going back to Castell Esgyrn now?” she asked Matthew.
He glanced at the horse whose reins he was still holding. “Yes. I was about to leave.”
“Could you take me there? That way I could help with little Gwenllian, or at least allow the poor parents some respite. I am her godmother, after all.”
Matthew gave her a strange look. “I’m sure they’d be grateful for the help, but you would do that, when being with children is painful for you?”
She reddened, touched that he would be concerned for her. He hadn’t changed while he’d been away, he was still as solicitous as ever. “It’s painful, but it’s also a great pleasure, and if I am never to have any children of my own, then I might as well make the most of others.”
“That’s very brave of you.” He sounded so proud of her that she felt warm all over.
“I’m not sure that can be called bravery.”
For a moment he looked as if he wanted to comment, then he nodded. “Come then, I’ll take you to the castle.”
Without further ado, he hoisted her up the mighty stallion’s back, then climbed on behind her. The heat of his body against her caused Branwen’s eyelids to flutter in delight. He was really back. She could start living again.
“Here. Are you comfortable? Fortunately, Raven is just like Midnight, strong enough to carry us both.”
“You named your horse Raven?” she asked, turning to look at him over her shoulder. She’d heard from Esyllt that Connor had bought a pair of matching grays the other week, but she hadn’t known one of them would be for Matthew. She should have guessed. “But … he’s white as snow!”
“He is, isn’t he?” The smile he gave her reduced her insides to gruel, and she had to face forward again for fear of betraying the fact by the color blooming on her cheeks. “But I thought you of all people would not object to the choice of name. White ravens do exist, you know, though I would have bet my life on the contrary only a few weeks ago. I saw one outside your cottage, in fact.”
“I know the one you mean. How odd that he should choose to live here.”
“Yes. It’s almost as if nature had taken it upon itself to teach me a lesson.” There was laughter in his voice. “It seems that Welsh people know what they’re doing after all, and your parents made a good choice when they decided to name you after such a creature, as rare and beautiful as you are.”
My, the man did nothing by half. Matthew’s compliments were as wonderful as his insults had been painful.
“What did Connor name his horse?” she asked, instead of commenting in any way.
He gave a chuckle that once again put her in mind of the little boy he had once been. “He called him Snowball, if you’ll believe it. It’s so … uninspiring, don’t you think?”
“Yes. Though I suspect Jane and Sian had a hand in the choosing of the name, for whoever heard of a knight giving such a name to his destrier?”
This time he barked a rich, masculine laugh. Her insides rippled. “You’re most probably right, I never thought of that. It will be the girls’ doing and he was unable to refuse them, the fool. Well, fortunately, they didn’t help me choose Raven’s name.”
Branwen was confused. Was he saying that he had named his horse after her? He had to—only someone who knew what her name meant would have thought of a name like Raven for a white animal. So what did that mean?
“Shall we?” she asked. They still hadn’t moved an inch. What was Matthew waiting for?
They set off at a brisk walk, and it didn’t take her long to see that she would have to lean back against Matthew’s chest if she wanted to be comfortable. They had sat on the same horse when he had taken her home after Gwenllian’s christening, but she didn’t remember being so affected by their proximity then. Usually when she was in a man’s arms it was to give him pleasure. It was nice to be able to enjoy the moment without worrying. It was more than nice, it was a revelation, because she trusted this man absolutely. There was nothing to fear from him, she could relax, safe in the knowledge he wouldn’t make her do anything she didn’t want to do.
She could make the most of the wonderful warmth and scent of him.
“You didn’t bring Silver with you?” Matthew asked after a while.
“No. Unfortunately, the poor beast hurt his paw yesterday, walking on a thorn. I left him with Mam and Eirwen when I decided to go to the next village. He will be well looked after. They dote on him, as do I.” She swallowed. “I cannot thank you enough for the gift of him.”
She heard a growl and felt a rumble against her back. “You mean, that you had cause to be grateful he was with you while I was away?” Matthew’s voice had never sounded more dangerous.
Should she tell him about the encounter with the Englishman in the clearing? He sounded aggrieved enough already. But she could not lie to him, not after all he had done for her. Besides, it might ease his mind to see that his plan had worked. He had given her the dog in the hope that the animal would provide her with the protection she needed, he would be relieved to see it was the case.
“Only once.”
“That’s once too many.”
Yes. But it had also been the first time in more than ten years she’d been able to escape a man’s assault. It gave her hope for the future. “It’s a start. My reputation as a willing woman, if we can call it that, started slowly. Why should the reverse not be true? Bit by bit word will spread that anyone who tries to approach me will be torn to shreds. This, combined with my new determination to make my opinion known, will eventually ensure I am free of hassle.”
“Yes. By the time you’re ninety, men might have stopped assuming you’ll welcome them with open arms,” Matthew grumbled. “Forgive me, but I don’t think you should have to wait another day, never mind another decade to live the life you deserve.”
“No. Me neither.”
But there was no other choice.
For a moment they traveled in silence, Branwen relishing the feel of Matthew’s arms around her. As soon as they entered the forest, however, she could not help but tense up. Were the men still here, hidden in readiness, or had they heard that Connor had not come after all and abandoned their ambush?
“Are you uncomfortable with our proximity?” Matthew asked, picking up on her sudden stiffness. “Forgive me, I should have thought. Would you rather I?—”
“No. I will never be uncomfortable with you,” she assured him. Not after what they had shared, physically and emotionally. She knew he was not about to pounce on her, or hurt her in anyway. “But you see, the reason I came to the mill was to?—”
It happened in the blink of an eye.
Three men jumped in front of Raven, causing him to rear up in fright. Only Matthew’s skill and strength prevented them both from toppling off the horse’s back. When he finally brought the stallion under control, two more men came from behind, blocking their retreat.
Not a man to be so easily daunted, even when outnumbered five to one, Matthew drew his sword, then ordered his mount to attack. The beast, trained as a warhorse for just such a precise purpose, felled one of the men with a neat kick to the head. Another assailant was cut when Matthew swung his arm in a great arc. But in spite of his bravery, he was soon pulled down from his horse and brought to his knees.
“You English bastard! You’re going to wish you’d stayed where you belong.”
“Castell Esgyrn and the land around it is ours! Your king had no right to give it to you.”
It took Branwen a moment to realize they were convinced they had captured Connor, as planned. But of course, why would they think any different?
“Wait! This is not Lord Sheridan!” she told the men, doing her best not to fall from the stallion who was fighting the hold one of the attackers had on his reins. In vain. The man, for all his villainy, knew how to handle horses, even nervous ones. “You’re making a mistake, he’s not who you think he is.”
Matthew didn’t speak more than a few words of Welsh, and understood very little, so it was up to her to speak in his name. Why had she not explained to him why she had come to the mill! He might have guessed what this was about then, and somehow tried to prove his identity. As it was, he had no idea why the men had ambushed them. He clearly thought them intent on hurting her . She could see the way he kept glancing at her that he was worried about the men’s intentions regarding her.
But for once she was not the target.
“Yes, this is Lord Sheridan,” the tallest of the men answered. “I don’t know what tales he’s told you to get between your legs, but he is. I was there last year when he and his retinue of accursed Englishmen arrived. It’s him, there’s no doubting it. I served at the banquet that night and I saw him sitting on the dais next to that traitor, Esyllt ferch Llewelyn.”
Dear God, this was worse than she had supposed. The men not only hated Connor and wanted him dead, but because against all odds, Esyllt had found happiness in the marriage she had been forced into, they considered her a traitor. Branwen’s chest tightened in dread. What fate did they have in store for her friend?
She brought her mind back to the present, because there would be time enough to warn the people at Castell Esgyrn of the villagers’ ill will. For now, she had a more pressing problem on her hands. Unfortunately, if one of them had been present at Esyllt’s welcoming banquet to the English a year ago, there would be no convincing the men Matthew was not Lord Sheridan. She knew all about how the two brothers had swapped places that night and how Matthew, not Connor, had been introduced as the groom. The tall man was right. Matthew had spent the evening on the dais next to Esyllt, while Connor had sat with the rest of the guests in the hall.
The mistake had been rectified amongst the people at the castle since then, of course, but the villagers might not have heard about the misunderstanding in the first place, or that it had been sorted out. In any case, even if they had, the fact remained. Matthew was English, and therefore a target in the men’s mind. Who he really was, was of no import in the end, only his nationality.
“Get down, wench, we are going to give him what he deserves.”
Branwen steeled herself. Matthew was still on his knees, surrounded by four irate men, and he had no idea what was going on. It would be down to her to save him. Unfortunately, she could not fight her countrymen off, but there might be a way to stop them all the same. Pretend to agree with them and force them to “kill” Matthew in a manner that guaranteed his survival.
It was a risky option, but the only one available to her.
She jumped down from the saddle and threw him a glance she hoped conveyed all she could not say. He was to trust her, even if it appeared as if she was turning against him. It was the only thing she could do. She could not warn him, as she could not be sure the men didn’t understand English. More and more Welsh people made sure to at least have a knowledge of the invaders’ language, and she needed them to believe she was on their side for the trick to work. Though she would gladly have seen her countrymen flogged for what they were doing, she had to act the part of the patriot Welsh woman.
Matthew’s survival depended on her.
“You cannot kill him outright,” she told the men, eyeing up the weapons in their hands. The tallest one was carrying an axe, and the others were armed with pitchforks. Though not conventional, the weapons were deadly enough. Matthew would be skewered before he had time to blink if one of them gave the signal to strike.
“Why not? It’s no more than he deserves.” The man who’d spoken bared his yellowed teeth in a grimace. Branwen repressed a shudder. She couldn’t betray any disgust toward them, not until Matthew was safe.
“Because if you do, his death will be avenged by his English friends and more innocent Welsh people will suffer as a consequence. You need to make it look as if it were an accident.” She looked at the lake down below meaningfully. By a stroke of luck, they were not far from a ledge that overlooked it, and an idea had popped into her head. “I happen to know he doesn’t know how to swim, because when you stopped us, he was telling me he’d always been afraid of water, ever since he almost drowned as a child. Perhaps he could really drown as a grown man, and see how he likes it.”
The notion of Matthew being afraid of anything, much less water when she had seen him swim like a fish, was ridiculous. But the more ridiculous she made him appear, the better. In her experience, prejudiced fools were quick to believe the worst of their victims. It was their weakness. You could rely on them being condescending.
And the men seemed to take the bait. The one who had come from behind Raven, and been cut by Matthew’s sword, nodded.
“The wench is right. A drowning would serve just as well and would guarantee no one comes after us in retribution.”
The tall one grunted. “I suppose she has a point. I have no desire to die for doing what’s right.”
Hope surged within Branwen. Perhaps this mad plan would work. She pointed at the pitchforks, pressing her advantage. “If they found him with more holes in his body than a sieve, questions will be asked, and the culprits will be searched, and found. You will never get away with it, and escape retribution. Do you wish to be hanged, or worse, for doing what every Welshman would do in your place?” She purposefully used the word man , to distance herself from such villainy. There was only so far she was prepared to go. “You don’t want to have to go in hiding after today, and live the life of an outcast. Think of your families.”
This was supposing they had families they cared about, of course, and people who loved them in turn. One could not be certain with weasels only brave enough to attack a man five to one. But to her relief, two of them nodded and looked at the others, as if to persuade them.
“My wife’s just had a babe,” Yellow Teeth declared. This time Branwen couldn’t help but to shudder at the thought of the poor woman enduring his attentions. It wasn’t hard to guess he would be no gentle lover. “Our sixth. I cannot place them in such a situation for an English maggot whose life is not worth a rat’s fart. It will be as the girl says, an accidental fall into the lake, followed by a drowning. What say you?”
“Aye. A fall and a drowning.”
With those words, the four men took hold of Matthew and lifted him up, two by the arms, two by the legs.
Branwen stiffened. A fall? She hadn’t mentioned a fall. What did the men intend to do? She took a step forward but no one was paying her any attention. Holding Matthew as they would a sack of flour, they were heading toward the edge of the cliff. Understanding dawned. They were about to drop him into the water from where they were.
That hadn’t been the plan at all.
“Wait! You can’t?—”
Too late. Under her horrified gaze, they threw Matthew over the ledge.