Page 4 of Insurrection (Guard of Six #2)

CHAPTER THREE

Penderyn, Wales

The Month of August

S he’d been waiting all morning for this moment.

A little hand, sneaking underneath the fence, grabbing for one of those fat purple berries on the vine.

Snatch!

She had the hand, but the owner of the hand was howling like a banshee. A cute banshee, no doubt, but also with the streak of evil that a banshee possessed. Holding the wrist with one hand, she slapped the little hand that had managed to grab a berry.

“The next time I catch you pilfering berries, I’ll send the dog after you!” she called, standing up to peer over the fence as the small child, in dirty clothing and an old cap, raced away. She grinned, leaning on the top of the wooden slats. “If the dog catches you, then you know what will happen!”

The boy, and evidently his gang as they came out from behind bushes and sheds, continued to run. Laughing softly, she turned back to the garden she kept for her grandfather, tucked back behind his apothecary shop on the main road through Penderyn. It was a big shop, with living quarters overhead and in the back where the kitchen was. But the yard behind it—the fenced yard—was the most valuable thing of all.

A garden like no other.

A garden that was fenced with a stone and wood fence, taller than a man, and a gate that was locked with a heavy iron lock. A thorny vine grew up all over the fence and clustered around the gate so that anyone thinking to break into the garden was deterred by those thorns. It was heavily protected, but there was a gap near the gate where the blackberry vine grew, a gap where the little hoodlum and his friends had stolen blackberries. It had taken her a couple of weeks to figure out they were doing it, and she’d lain in wait for three days before they finally returned to the scene of the crime.

Hopefully, they would think twice before coming again.

Turning back to her magnificent garden, she took a moment to gaze upon the flowers, the herbs, the vines, and, in the middle of it, a small pond her grandfather had dug, which held small fish that kept breeding. There always seemed to be new fish. A butterfly flew past her face and she smiled, watching it land on a small yellow flower.

“Madelaina!”

Madelaina ferch Bryn’s focus came away from the butterfly, and she caught sight of her older sister as the woman stood at the rear of the kitchens and waved a wooden spoon. From Madelaina’s earliest memories, Celyn ferch Bryn always seemed to be waving a spoon at her. Sometimes the spoon was for the pot, but sometimes it was for Madelaina’s backside.

“Where is the rosemary?” Celyn asked. “The bread is ready for the oven!”

Madelaina turned to the prolific growth of rosemary bushes off to her left. She had to move through other bushes to get to it, but she stripped several sprigs off and carried them back over to Celyn. The woman took the offered pieces before pointing to bunches of hyssop.

“And that,” she said. “The hyssop. The Bryn needs them for his compound.”

The Bryn . That was what everyone called the head of their household, including Madelaina and Celyn. An elderly man with strong arms and dark eyebrows that arched dramatically over his piercing eyes, Bryn ap Rhys was a man with a secret. He was a big man, with big hands, and when he first came to Penderyn, he’d appeared sorely out of place. He and his wife, Brigid, had not looked like the usual peasants. There was something cultured about them, educated, and that wasn’t missed by anyone in the village. Whispers flew about the pair, that they were royalty in disguise, which wasn’t far from the truth. But the months and years passed and people stopped whispering about them because they were genuinely good people who did a great deal of good in the village. Bryn had only given his name as Bryn, so people began addressing him as The Bryn.

And it stuck.

Even his daughters often referred to him as The Bryn. Not Papa, not Father. The Bryn.

He was the most famous man in town.

He was also a man with a temper, however, and Madelaina harvested some hyssop and entered the structure through the back. Her big black dog, Arthur, followed along behind. Wherever Madelaina was, Arthur was. He loved her like the other Arthur hadn’t.

The man who, years ago, had broken her heart.

But that wasn’t something she dwelt on these days. She didn’t even think of Arthur ap Gryffudd, but right after he’d left her for another and Celyn brought her the little puppy, she took delight in saying things like “naughty Arthur” and “stupid Arthur.” Silly things that meant something to a girl who had given her heart to a man who’d stepped on it. She’d learned the lesson so well that she’d never given it again.

And she didn’t intend to.

“Here’s the hyssop,” she said, entering a small chamber that The Bryn used to make his compounds. “Do you require more?”

The Bryn was bent over his table, lit by two big tapers. A thick piece of glass, very precious, magnified the work on the table because his eyes weren’t like they used to be. It was difficult for him to see things close up.

“Nay,” he grunted, looking closely at the purple flowers that resembled lavender. “This is sufficient.”

Madelaina stood behind him, her hands on his shoulders as she watched him carefully cut the flowers off the stalk. “What are you making?”

The Bryn was focused on his delicate work. “The smithy’s wife is feeling poorly after delivering her child,” he said. “This will help her regain her strength.”

“Would you like me to deliver it to her?”

He paused and turned to look at her. “Nay,” he said flatly. “I told you that you are not to stray from home. As long as the English are at The Narth, you are to remain inside and hidden. I’ll not have the Saesneg soldiers leer at you, or worse. ’Tis not safe, fy merch .”

My girl. That was what he always called Madelaina. But that wasn’t the answer she wanted. “You let me go where I pleased when Ivor and his men were there,” she said unhappily. “They were always in the village, calling to me and demanding I go to the tavern with them. You know this.”

The Bryn grunted. “At least they were good Welsh boys.”

Madelaina rolled her eyes. “And that makes a difference when they try to grab me?”

Of course, he couldn’t give her a straight answer. “The English are dogs,” he said. “Why did you have to give your dog a Welsh name? You should have named it Henry. That way, you can order the English king around. Tell it that it’s a stinking bastard and kick it!”

He was deflecting, as he usually did when a conversation didn’t go his way. Pushing one of her father’s many cats aside, Madelaina sat on the edge of a cluttered table.

“I will not say such things to my dog, nor will I kick him,” she said. “You must face facts, Papa. The English occupy The Narth and I am not going to remain confined to this cottage for the rest of my life because of it. Nor is Celyn.”

As if on cue, Arthur, who had wandered in after his mistress, had now found comfort and companionship on The Bryn’s leg and was quite happily trying to mate with it. Feeling the motion, he looked down at the dog and shook his head in resignation.

“Maddie,” he said, pointing, “find this dog a wife.”

Madelaina could see what her dog was doing and swiftly chased him off. “Dogs do not have wives,” she said. “And do not try to change the subject.”

The Bryn wasn’t too tolerant of her demands. “Then find that dog another leg to jump on,” he said, waving her off. “I am far too busy to let that dog woo me. He tries every day.”

Madelaina was having a difficult time keeping a straight face, mostly because her father was right. Arthur loved his legs and took every opportunity to mate with them.

“Simply chase him away,” she said. “It is not that difficult. But what is difficult is the fact that you want me to become a hermit as long as the English are occupying The Narth. It is no different than when the Welsh princeling was occupying the castle. Soldiers are the same in their behavior, no matter where they are from.”

The Bryn couldn’t really disagree with her on that point, but rather than butt heads with her, he motioned for her to sit on a nearby stool. Butting heads never worked with Madelaina, anyway, so he had to try another tactic.

The subject matter was far too serious for her not to understand it.

“I want you to listen to me,” he said as she sat down on a sturdy three-legged stool. “Maddie, I am not trying to be cruel or difficult with you. I hope you understand that.”

Madelaina faltered a little. “I do know that,” she said. “But you cannot expect me to remain hidden for as long as the English occupy the castle. Surely you cannot.”

The Bryn sighed heavily, reaching out to take one of her hands. “If you will not stay hidden, then you at least must be prudent,” he said. “Do not go out unnecessarily. If you see English soldiers, hide from them. Do not make yourself a target.”

“I will not, I promise.”

“We’ve had experience with English soldiers and it was not pleasant. You know what happened to…”

He trailed off, unable to voice the experience their family had suffered at the hands of an English knight. Celyn . It was something The Bryn couldn’t bring himself to speak of, not even after all of these years. Usually, Madelaina was very quick to go head to head with her father, but even she knew how much this subject affected him, and the understanding of it subdued her.

After all of these years, The Bryn still felt guilt.

“I know what happened,” she said softly. “But it was not your fault. Celyn’s assault had nothing to do with you and she has never blamed you for it. The blame lies with the English knight who woke up that morning with hatred in his heart and a need for violence. It just happened to be Celyn. It could have been anyone, but it happened to be her.”

The Bryn shook his head as he looked away. “Say what you will, but I should have protected her,” he said. “It is my duty to protect her, but I failed. Madelaina, I do not want to fail with you, so please… do as I ask and stay away from the English at The Narth. It would destroy me if something happened to you.”

She couldn’t very well dispute that. After a moment’s hesitation, she simply nodded her head. “As you wish,” she said quietly. “But there are still things I must do during the day, business I must conduct.”

“I know. But be discreet.”

“I will,” she said. “But do not worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

He looked at her sharply. “Can you?” he said, his voice lifting. Then he jabbed a finger in the direction of the enormous castle on the hill. “Do you know who has taken control of The Narth?”

“The English, of course. What have we been talking about?”

“Aye, the English,” he said, growing angry. “But not just any English. De Russe from Clearwell. Do you know anything about them?”

Madelaina shook her head. “Nay,” she said. “What should I know?”

His eyes narrowed. “They’re beastly,” he hissed. “Nasty and aggressive and beastly. They attacked The Narth, a castle that is, by all accounts, extremely difficult to breach, but they purged the princeling and his men in little more than a day. As Ivor retreated to Pentwyn Castle, his mother’s home, de Russe raised their red dragon over the castle. Not the dragon of Wales, but the de Russe dragon. It is an abomination, my girl, so do not think you can easily handle these men. If Ivor ap Yestin could not, you certainly cannot. Do you understand me?”

He was deadly serious. Madelaina wouldn’t be so arrogant as to announce that she could easily handle such men. The truth was that she’d never had to. She’d led a relatively idyllic life in Penderyn. Ivor ap Yestin’s men blended in with the village, found wives there, and Ivor had even come around to The Bryn’s apothecary shop on occasion, perhaps lingering and trying to start a conversation with her, but she’d turned her nose up at him. She had no interest in the warlord whose family ruled the eastern end of Brecon Beacons, where the mountains were as dark as Ivor’s eyes. Perhaps he had interest in her, but he spent all of his time at The Narth, trying to keep the English on their side of the border, so there wasn’t any time for him to genuinely try to court her.

And she was glad.

But the reality of the situation was this—there was no longer a friendly Welsh contingent at The Narth. Now, the enemy was there, and given what happened to her sister those years ago, an attack that brought her such shame that no decent man would marry her, perhaps Madelaina was the least bit agreeable with her father.

She didn’t want to end up like Celyn.

“I understand,” she said quietly. “I will stay away from them, I promise.”

The Bryn still had her by the hand. Any talk of the English riled him, so he had to force himself to calm. He forced himself to smile at a daughter who should have been married years ago. He’d long accepted that his lot in life would be to have two spinster daughters, both of them quite beauteous, but both of them somehow without good fortune when it came to husbands.

The Bryn didn’t want Madelaina to end up like her sister, either.

“Good girl,” he said after a moment, letting go of her fingers. “Now, go about your business.”

He’d got what he wanted. He had her promise to stay away from the English, so he was content. For the moment, anyway. Madelaina stood up, her thoughts lingering on the Welsh that had been chased away from The Narth, the English that now inhabited it, and the fact that the world had changed for them all. There was uncertainty in the future and The Bryn was reacting to that. He had a business to protect and two daughters who depended on him, after all.

And a world of secrets he was sitting on.

Secrets that not even Madelaina knew.

With her thoughts on her vow to her father, she headed back out into the garden, where plants needed to be weeded and watered. It was her job to tend it, after all, and she took pride in it. She did an excellent job. As Madelaina entered the garden once again, she turned to look at the castle in the distance, the one with the gray walls and towering, cylindrical keep.

A Welsh castle now occupied by the English.

And a father who was afraid of what the future would bring.