Page 173

*

“You may never have this chance again!”

*

H e’d said something about Mynydd Tywyll.

Dark Mountain . Madeline could recall that Evon once spoke of Dark Mountain and the swamps beneath it, spongy and wet areas that were heavily wooded.

When he came to visit, he always smelled of compost, a scent so well suited to the swamps.

It was a perfect place to hide in, truly, especially for rebels who were trying to stay clear of the English armies moving to and from Four Crosses.

Mynydd Tywyll was a few miles to the southwest of Four Crosses and that was where Madeline was heading.

It was growing dark and the mists were rolling in from the east, but the mist was scattered, like patches of clouds, so every so often, the moon would peek out and illuminate the landscape so she could see where she was going.

Madeline was on foot but that didn’t matter to her.

With her slender build, she had always been able to run faster and farther than anyone else.

She had stamina. The heavy cloak that Amaline had brought her slowed her down a little but she was warm in it.

Moreover, it helped keep her concealed from the two patrols she had seen from Four Crosses, men with torches who had been looking for her.

But she’d hidden away from them, camouflaged in the trees, and sticking to the myriad of small steams that ran in this area so her trail couldn’t be followed.

Fortunately, she knew the land, having been raised here, so she knew how to make her way to Dark Mountain.

In fact, she could smell it before she actually saw it, that heavy moist smell of compost. She followed her nose.

Once she reached the swamps, she wasn’t exactly sure where to look.

The Welsh rebels were here, somewhere. She would find them.

It was night and, surely, the cooking fires were going, which would provide her a trail to follow because the canopy was so heavy that it was difficult to see.

It was eerie, too, with shadows lurking in the night, creatures waiting to jump out and eat her.

Madeline wasn’t normally the spooky type but this was different. She was traipsing through a swamp in the dead of night, listening to the sounds of the darkness, hunting for people who may or may not be here. There was really no way of knowing.

She could only pray.

An hour passed. Then two. She lost track of time as she went.

The night was deepening and, in spite of the heavy cloak and clothing she wore, she was growing cold because her feet were wet from slogging through freezing water.

She was hungry, too, having not eaten since the morning.

But she pushed aside her hunger, desperate to find the men she hoped were somewhere near, men whom Evon had fought with.

Men determined to free Wales from English rule.

Evon. The man’s spirit drove her onward, feeding her sense of determination.

It also fed her sense of vengeance against Jamison Munro.

Killing Evon had ruined the life she’d hoped to have with the man she loved.

Her loyalty had always been to Evon more than it had ever been to her sisters and her father.

With Roald mad and unable to command, Madeline was convinced that Four Crosses needed a man at the helm.

Evon was to be that man and she was to be at his side.

They had planned it that way. It was what she had wanted.

Not strangely, Madeline didn’t consider her sisters’ fate in all of this, nor even her father’s. She assumed that the Welsh would simply let them walk free, as they were of no value to them. Only the castle was. That was what they wanted so very badly.

And that was what she had intended to deliver.

She still intended to deliver it. Jamison Munro …

that was how she would deliver the fortress to rebels who had been trying to claim it for quite some time.

Evon’s death would feed their frenzy against the English and, in particular, against Jamison for the murder of one of their own.

She would personally lead the charge, bringing down the only home she had ever known and seeing the man who had murdered Evon punished for his deeds.

She would point the Welsh right at the redheaded Highlander to ensure the man was targeted.

For Evon, she would help them destroy Jamison Munro.

But in order for any of that to happen, she had to find the Welsh first. She prayed that Evon’s clue had been correct and that the rebels, for the most part, were really in the swamps of the Dark Mountain.

Even if she just found a few here, it would be enough for her to tell her story and to rally them around Evon’s death.

Three hours after entering the swamps, of struggling through the darkness, she made it around to the east side of the mountain base.

She was tired of looking in the darkness and without any cooking smells to follow, she wasn’t even entirely sure anybody was here.

Therefore, she began to call out, softly at first but then with increasing volume.

She was fairly certain she was too deep in the swamps for any Four Crosses patrols to hear her.

More than that, she was also certain that she was lost in the swamps until morning came and she had some light to see by.

There wasn’t much more she could do than start calling for help, hoping the Welsh were nearby as Evon had suggested.

She could only go on that faith.

“Cyfarchion?” she called out. Hello? Knowing the Welsh language, since she had been born in the country, she called out again, in Welsh. “Is anyone there?”

She was met by silence. Not that she believed they would suddenly jump forth at her first cry, but she had hoped. Cold and admittedly frightened, she found a rotted stump to sit on and she sat there, crying out into the darkness, calling for anyone who might be able to hear.

Her calls went on into the night. Madeline truly had no idea how long she had been sitting there, calling out into the inky blackness, seeing only brief moments of light as the moon emerged from the spotty mists.

Somewhere, she heard a bird cry, a night bird looking for prey, and the trees were alive overhead with things moving about in them.

She kept her hood on, praying something wouldn’t fall down on top of her or, worse, mistake her for something to eat.

Discouraged, she eventually stopped calling out, thinking that she either wasn’t close enough for anyone to hear her or there simply weren’t any Welsh in earshot.

So, she sat there, knowing it would be foolish to try to find her way out of the swamps in the dead of the night.

She resigned herself to finding a place to sleep for a few hours.

At least until the sun came up. After that, she would have to rethink her strategy.

But, at the moment, she was too tired to do that.

Tired and disheartened, she was just standing up from the stump to go in search of a dry patch of ground when someone grabbed her from behind.

A hand went across her face, covering her nose and mouth, as another arm went across her torso and began to drag her off.

Terrified, Madeline began to fight back, as that was her instinct.

She kicked and swung her fists, managing to dislodge the hand that was covering her face. Then she began to scream.

“Evon!” she yelled, hoping that the name might mean something to whomever was attacking her. “I am here because of Evon!”

More dragging and more fighting went on until she began to hear voices around her.

She kept repeating Evon’s name, over and over, hoping that would be the key to her release.

Much to her relief, her hopes were soon realized as whoever had been dragging her suddenly dropped her to the ground.

As she fell forward, someone grabbed her wrist and yanked her upward, so she was on her knees, facing a myriad of dark forms in the blackness.

There were many of them. Frightened, Madeline spoke Evon’s name again.

“I am here because of Evon!” she said in Welsh. “Do you know Evon?”

Someone crouched down in front of her, getting right in her face. Madeline found herself looking at a pair of glittering eyes in the darkness.

“Who are you?” he asked in the Welsh language.

Madeline wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to tell them right away. “I have come because of Evon Preece,” she said. “Do you know him?”

The man’s gaze lingered on her. “Where is he?”

Madeline felt a glimmer of hope. At least they were acknowledging that they knew him. “Please,” she said. “It is very important that I speak with his brother. My name is Madeline de Llion.”

That brought a reaction from nearly everyone standing about.

The man who had been interrogating her suddenly yanked off her hood, trying to see her in the darkness in a more complete picture.

But there was very little light, so all he could really see was an outline of her features.

Soon afterward, he pulled off his own hood.

Dark, dirty hair stood on end, silhouetted in the very weak light.

“’Tis Madeline, is it?” the man said, growing agitated. “ Where is Evon?”

Madeline was coming to suspect that she had found Evon’s cell of rebels. She looked around, wanting very badly to speak further but fearful to do so until relationships were established. She didn’t want to give the information to the wrong person.

“Where is Morys?” she asked. “I will only speak with his brother.”

The man who had been questioning her was in her face again, aggressively, trying to see her clearly in the darkness. “How do I know you are really Madeline?” he demanded.