Page 47

––––––––

N an did not sleep. No matter what he or her lady said, she could only envision the king’s men arriving in force to drag him away with evil intent. When she whispered as much, he said that if men did come for him, they would not do him violence but only escort him to the king.

It eased her fear enough for now. She turned on her side to let his body cradle hers as she watched the lamp burn through the little oil it held.

His breath was steady, his limbs heavy, and she hoped he slept.

The dagger was still in her hand, her fingers loosely curled around the sheath.

She watched the light play off it, and knew it should not be so difficult to let go.

He would be a common man. Not a prince. It was what he wanted. It would save his life.

She tried to imagine it. Likely he would never see, as she did, all the little things that marked him as better.

She thought of how Aunt Mary had been in awe of the falcon, so beautiful and valuable, and how she had looked at the Welshman when he spoke his fine words.

Then he had fetched water from the well, and repaired a crumbling wall, and slept on the floor, humble as any servant.

Her fingers uncurled and left the dagger lying next to her, inches from her hand.

He was not like other lords. When he had spoken of his home, not knowing she understood, it was his brothers he spoke of – and the hills, the sky, the people and the legends.

No word of a prized castle or manor, nor riches and comforts he sorely missed.

In the falconer’s house, he had said he regretted the dishonor he had done her. Because he would not dishonor her, a servant.

She looked at the dagger beside her as the light changed, dawn beginning to filter in at the edges of the tapestry over the window as the oil lamp stuttered and dimmed. To lie next to him made her feel fragile, exposed. Vulnerable. Which was not the same as weak.

Soon he would not be a prince. And now, next to her, naked in bed, he was her Welshman and nothing else.

She lifted the dagger, carefully and slowly, so as not to wake him if he slept.

At the edge of the bed, just within her reach, was the table where all her defenses were laid.

Dagger in hand, her fist touched the table, cool air on her outstretched arm and his solid warmth all around her.

Then she let it go, setting it among the other blades, and pulled her hand back to rest beneath her cheek.

His arm lifted to gather her in, his lips pressed to her hair. He would be hers. Her Welshman. She turned to him, skin against skin, and clutched him to her with both hands open. There was nothing between them. Nothing but their mingled breath and the new morning light.

“G ruffydd! By God, it is good to see you at last!”

It was all Gryff heard before Will embraced him tightly, pounding his back and laughing.

To his slight surprise, Gryff was every bit as glad to see Will, who had grown tall and handsome and powerful, but seemed just as eager and joyful as he had been as a boy.

When he pulled back, Gryff could see him trying to rein in his emotion and put on a more sober face.

It was unnerving, how quickly and easily he accomplished it.

But it was good to know the old Will was beneath the mature facade, and happy to see him.

“In faith, I thought you had stopped growing,” Gryff smiled up at him. “But that was a vain hope, I see.”

Will’s eyes strayed to Gryff’s scar for only a brief moment before he blinked away his interest in it and smiled warmly again.

They were in the yard outside the hall, standing in the midmorning sun with what felt like a hundred eyes on them.

From the corner of his eye, Gryff could see Robin craning his neck, looking about.

He was likely hunting for Nan, who had left Gryff’s chamber barely an hour before Will’s party was seen riding toward the manor. Finally, just as Gryff had begun to despair, Will had arrived – with nearly a dozen other men, many of them armed knights.

“There is refreshment in the hall, if my lord of Ruardean would have his men take their ease.” Lady Eluned spoke formally, her eyes not missing a thing. “More will be brought to the solar, if my lords will prefer to take their own ease in private.”

“Aye, we would, Mother.”

A few of the men ranged out behind him were greeting Lord Robert, all of them handing their horses to servants.

Will called to one of the men to join them, waving the rest toward the hall.

He must have seen the wariness in Gryff’s face, for he put an arm around his shoulder as they walked to the manor house and leaned in close to say, “There is naught to fear, I swear it. The news I bring is happy. These men are come to protect you should the bastard learn you are here.”

As they made their way up the stairs he explained that he had taken time to assemble these trusted men in secret, to consult most closely with the king, and to find a distraction to put in Rhodri’s path.

It was not safe to send a message; the court was filled with prying eyes.

It pleased Will, this kind of intrigue and maneuvering.

It was plain to see that he thrived on it.

When they reached the solar, he introduced the other man as a royal clerk of the chancery, a word that sent an icy wind down Gryff’s spine. He thought he managed to hide his alarm but Will, like his mother, missed nothing.

“I have told you there is no need to fear,” he said again as they sat. “I will tell you all, but first I would learn where you have hidden yourself these many years, my lord prince.”

“Nay, Will, never call me prince.” Gryff said it firmly, leaving no doubt he meant it. “The people of Aderinyth are Edward’s subjects, not mine. So too am I his subject, and I would never be called prince again.”

At this, Will’s brows went up in surprise. His lips curved in an admiring smile and he glanced toward the royal clerk, exchanging a pleased look. “It will gratify Edward to know it,” he said. “I will not fail to tell him these were the first words from you, even before you heard his offer.”

All the air seemed to have left the room. This was not a word he had expected at all.

“Offer?”

At that moment, Lady Eluned came in with servants who carried refreshment. She bade them put it down and then depart. She remained to open her own offering – a bottle of mead, the finest and famed, from her own Welsh family’s estate. While she busied herself, Will answered.

“Edward would give you much in return for serving him well in Aderinyth. Do you agree to his conditions, you will rule there as your father intended, and none of your lands sacrificed.”

Gryff only blinked at him as Lady Eluned placed a cup in his hand.

He concentrated on holding it, forcing his numb fingers to function as he tried to take in everything Will had said with so few words.

He finally shook his head in confusion, and spoke to the part of it he was most sure of, only to gain time to absorb the rest.

“As my father intended?” he asked skeptically, almost laughing at the idea.

He could not recall if he had ever told Will of it, how often his father had praised Gryff’s brothers for being so truly Welsh, so like the princes of old.

Gryff himself had not been told outright that he was less admired, but he did not have to be.

“There is naught he could have wanted less. He gave me as hostage so his eldest son and heir need never be corrupted by Norman ways.”

Will gave him such a look that he began to doubt everything he had ever known of his life.

“Nay, Gryff. He was made to give over his heir, and he gave you.” He shook his head, as though it were the most obvious of facts. “How else do you think Edward would have been content with you and not your brother, may God assoil him?”

He was so utterly sure that Gryff could only stare, frowning. His father had declared that he would follow Norman ways of inheritance, and that Aiden would be the sole heir. Everyone in Aderinyth knew it. Yet it was not Aiden who was given as hostage, as he should have been.

Gryff looked down into the amber liquid in his cup.

The scent that rose from it was indelibly linked to his childhood, the rich fragrance of the same mead that had been served at his father’s table.

He was transported, a boy again as his father commanded him to learn the ways of the Normans.

But also to never forget that he was Welsh.

They cannot take that from you without you permit it .

Lady Eluned had handed a cup to Will and was now setting the bottle on the table between them. She had known his father, at least a little. She would understand. She would tell Will it could not be true.

“My father,” he said to her, and then was caught in her piercing gray gaze. “Aiden was eldest. Always was Aiden meant to be heir.”

She stayed still, looking at him as she took a slow and careful breath. She clasped her hands before her, her face a careful blank.

“Your father played a deep game,” she said.

“Is true he meant always to follow Norman ways in allowing only one son to inherit, and by custom it should be his eldest. But he knew well that the Welsh were not likely to win against Edward, and that in victory the king would give land and grant power as it pleased him.” She glanced at her son, and then at the clerk who only seemed bored by this conversation.

“Did the Welsh prevail, your father meant Aiden to inherit. But did they lose, he would have a son with a Welsh heart who might yet rule as a Norman.”

It could not be true. He stared hard at her, trying to discern if this was a convenient lie, or conjecture, or a truth his father had given her directly. But she was an unyielding wall. She gave nothing away, and in the silence he began to see how it was possible.