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CHAPTER SIX

“W hat you heard was wrong, my lord,” Gruffydd said as he stuffed his face with bread. “Llywelyn has never been in possession of Brython.”

Seated in his cushioned traveling chair next to the brazier that was giving off a good deal of heat, Christopher watched the starving man eat.

“We’ve spent a month here trying to gain control,” he said seriously. “We were summoned by English soldiers who had been welcomed here by your father, many years ago. It was a contingent that King John had stationed here, with Gwenwynwyn, and when Henry became king, he kept them here. That was the bargain your father had agreed to—as long as your father kept English soldiers here, the English left Brython alone. It was Welsh held, but as long as you did not cause any trouble…”

Gruffydd was nodding even as Christopher was speaking. “I know, my lord,” he said. “And I was happy to keep them here because it was what my father had agreed to. Let me assure you that I am not your enemy.”

“Then tell me what happened.”

Gruffydd swallowed the bite in his mouth. “I assume you have already spoken to my sister,” he said. “Has she told you anything?”

“She told me a little,” Christopher said. “But I want to hear about this situation from you. This castle belongs to you, does it not? As your father’s heir?”

Gruffydd sighed faintly. “Aye,” he said. “I am his heir. But my sister… She does not think like I do.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that she is convinced I am the enemy,” Gruffydd said. “She thinks that because I honor my father’s word to the English king that it makes me a traitor. I believe as my father believed—that if there is any hope of retaining control of Powys against Llywelyn, that we must ally with the English. Llywelyn is very powerful, my lord. He wants Powys. I refuse to pay homage to him when it is my right to make decisions for my people as my father did.”

Christopher had a cup of wine in one hand, swirling it over the heat of the brazier to warm it. “But your sister does not agree,” he said. “How did you end up in the vault?”

Gruffydd tore off more bread from the meal that had been brought to him. “It is not her fault,” he said sadly. “Elle has been raised by rebels. My father taught me everything he knew, but Elle was left to fend for herself. My father simply had no interest in her. She went to live with my grandmother for a time, but when the old woman died, Elle returned to us, but she spent all of her time with the men. Men who talk. Men who were willing to teach her of Wales and of the struggles against each other and against the English. She listened well.”

Christopher was listening with increasing concern. “Is that the only education she has ever had?” he asked. “From the mouths of ignorant men?”

Gruffydd smiled weakly. “Our grandmother insisted she be educated by the priests at St. Nicholas, near her home,” he said. “Do not misunderstand me, my lord. Elle has a brilliant mind. She can read and write and do sums in her head. She can recite enormous passages of the Bible from memory. She speaks three languages, so she is quite learned. She will always be two steps ahead of you, in anything you do. Even though she was educated by priests and raised by soldiers loyal to her father, it does not mean she is ignorant. Not in the least. It was she who led the siege against you, my lord. She held the castle until it could be held no more.”

Christopher was both puzzled and intrigued by the eldest child of Gwenwynwyn. “But why does she rebel?” he said. “Why did she send the English soldiers from Brython?”

Gruffydd took a bite of the bread in his hand before answering. “Because she is convinced that Wales, or at least part of it, can be united under Llywelyn,” he said. “This is not something she decided last month, or even last year. This is something our grandmother taught her, a woman who is part of Llewelyn’s family. My grandfather married her at the demand of his father, who had hoped for an alliance with the princes of Gwynedd. But instead of an alliance, it only seemed to make the princes of Gwynedd more hostile. They did not want an alliance with Powys—they wanted Powys.”

Christopher was starting to understand. “So your sister went to live with a grandmother, who filled her head with poison,” he said. “And given that your father paid her little attention, she clung to the only person who showed her any affection—your grandmother.”

“Exactly, my lord.”

It was certainly turning into quite a tale. Christopher sipped at his warmed wine, mulling over the warrior woman who had tried to take out his eldest son. The same woman he wanted for said son. Now, he was finding out more about her and was not entirely happy about it.

“How did she manage to get you into the vault?” he asked.

Gruffydd’s eyebrows lifted. “There is a village to the west of Brython,” he said. “It is a rather large village, and my sister is well known and well liked there. I do not know what pushed her into deciding that the English troops should be removed from Brython at this time, nor do I know what caused her to act, but someone did. She purchased a sleeping potion from the apothecary in Rhayader, put it in my wine, and when I fell unconscious, she had me taken to the vault. She purged the English soldiers from the castle, declared that it was now a Welsh holding for the people of Powys—and it was until you came along and took it back.”

“And that’s all she did to you?”

“That was all she did.”

Christopher scratched his head. “But you said something earlier when you saw her,” he said. “You told me to burn her at the stake because she only wanted our death.”

Gruffydd grunted. “I was angry,” he said with regret. “I did not mean it.”

“Then she does not want to see us all dead?”

Gruffydd shrugged. “More than likely,” he said. “You must understand how convinced she is that every English warlord is the devil. The only person she ever trusted—our grandmother—told her that. She believes it.”

“You are speaking more kindly of her than you did earlier.”

“She has had a difficult life, my lord. I try to remember that.”

“Even when she throws you in the vault?”

“Even then, though I could have done without that experience.”

“Then you do not believe her… wicked?”

Gruffydd shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “Elle is headstrong and bold, and in many ways she is more fearless than any man I know, but I do not think she is wicked. It is simply that she only knows one point of view.”

“And you never tried to change that?”

Gruffydd sighed with some remorse. “She views me as the brother who received all of the attention she never had,” he said. “There is jealousy there. Bitterness, if you will. But in answer to your question—nay, I never tried to change her thinking. She would not listen to me anyway.”

Christopher fell silent for a moment, but it was clear that something was on his mind. Gruffydd kept eating the food in front of him, more food than he’d seen in a month, as Christopher digested their conversation. Mostly, he was digesting what Gruffydd said about Elle. Some of it was encouraging. Some of it wasn’t. But one thing was certain—she was a tempest. But she was a tempest with a mind.

A rebel with intelligence.

That brought him great concern.

“I have orders from Henry to secure Brython,” he finally said. “But I also have orders from Henry to secure it with one of the surest ways of forming an alliance.”

Gruffydd looked up from his trencher. “What is that, my lord?”

Christopher fixed him in the eye. “A marriage.”

Gruffydd nearly choked on the food in his mouth. “It is true that is a sure way of forming an alliance,” he said, sputtering. “But I already… There is a woman I am already fond of, and—”

Christopher waved a hand at him, cutting him off. “Not you,” he said. “Your sister. I intend to marry her to an English knight.”

Gruffydd wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes wide. “Elle?” he repeated, shocked. “Married to an English… knight ?”

Christopher nodded. “It seems no one has been able to tame her,” he said. “A husband will do that. He will settle her. Marriage and children have a tendency to quiet a wild heart.”

Gruffydd was looking at him in genuine horror. “Her heart isn’t wild,” he said. “It bleeds the Brecon Mountains and pumps the blood of our ancestors. It calls to Wales, and Wales answers. We are speaking of a woman who has been taught to hate the English like the church hates Lucifer.”

“I understand,” Christopher said, unwilling to give in to Gruffydd’s fears. “But she is young still. She had only been taught one perspective on life, as you have said. Let someone who is patient and firm teach her another perspective. If she is as intelligent as you say she is, then she will learn and she will understand… and Llewelyn will have lost a devoted follower.”

Gruffydd shook his head slowly. “I am not certain it can be done,” he said. “This has been her entire life, my lord.”

“We are about to change her life.”

“But at what cost? And what risk to this man you shall marry her to?”

Christopher shrugged. “As I see it, we have little choice,” he said. “What am I to do? Simply throw her in the vault and forget about her to rid myself of her trouble? Or do I marry her to a man who can help her see more than the narrow view of the world that she has? You said yourself that she is very intelligent. If she is intelligent, then she can learn there is more to life than Llywelyn and Wales.”

Gruffydd still wasn’t convinced. “I suppose the decision has already been made, my lord?”

“It has.”

There wasn’t much more Gruffydd could add to what he’d already said. He had expressed his fears and concerns, but in his opinion, de Lohr had no idea what he was getting into.

Or what he was asking.

“Then you do not need my approval,” he said after a moment. “But you should know that my father has tried to tame her before.”

“How?”

“The same way you are.”

Christopher understood when he meant immediately. “A marriage?”

Gruffydd nodded. “She was extremely young,” he said. “Her husband was extremely old. He died before they had been married a year.”

Christopher wasn’t sure he liked the fact that Elle had been married before. In fact, he wasn’t sure he liked the fact that she had concealed that from him. She knew of his plans of an advantageous marriage and had every opportunity to tell him that she had been married before, yet she hadn’t, and he wondered why.

“How long ago was this?” he asked.

Gruffydd sighed, thinking back to that turbulent episode in his family’s life. “She was betrothed when she was born,” he said. “My father did not live much longer after that. When she had seen thirteen summers, she married a man who was a prince of Gwent, and the hope was that any children from the marriage would secure a permanent alliance between Gwent and Powys, but no children were born. Her husband told everyone that it was because Elle was barren, but I suspect that was not the case. The man had been married four times before he married my sister and only had one daughter out of all of those marriages. It was unfair of him to blame the problem on Elle.”

More information on something Christopher found disturbing. He certainly didn’t want a barren wife for his heir, but Gruffydd seemed to think there was more to it. He believed him, because it wasn’t as if the man was trying to dump his sister on the House of de Lohr. Quite the opposite. Even though he didn’t like that she had been married before, he’d been ordered to make a marriage. It wasn’t as if he had many choices at this point.

For the sake of peace, and an alliance with Powys, he was willing to overlook it.

“She was no more than a child when she married,” he said after a moment. “She is a woman now. A marriage to a man who is not old enough to be her grandfather will be different.”

Gruffydd shrugged. “Mayhap,” he said. “Mayhap not. But I should like to be clear in the fact that I do not think this is a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Because you are trying to tame the wind, my lord. It cannot be done.”

Christopher thought that was a rather lyrical way to put it. “That is possible,” he said. “But the truth is that your sister is Welsh royalty. She and you are all that is left from the ruling house of Powys. You and your sister are quite valuable, as allies, as…”

“Commodities,” Gruffydd finished for him.

Christopher nodded faintly to concede the point. “Your sister cannot be allowed to continue as she has been,” he said. “The decision has been made to marry her to an earl, in fact. The Earl of Leominster.”

That didn’t mean anything to Gruffydd. All of the English warlords and their titles seemed alike to him. “Is he at least a good man with a heavy manner?” he asked.

Christopher chuckled. “He is the best man, and his manner his far heavier than your sister’s,” he said. “Have no fear—she will be in capable hands.”

Gruffydd shook his head. “I do not worry for her,” he said. “I worry for him.”

Christopher continued to snort. “I would not,” he said. “As I said, he is capable.”

Gruffydd thought it was all quite mad, but he didn’t protest. The reality was that his sister would cease to become his problem if she married, so in a sense, he was being rid of her, and that did not trouble him. Let her become some English earl’s problem.

But as for him…

“May I then return to the lady I am fond of and wed her?” he asked. “She is from Welsh nobility on her mother’s side. Her father is English. I can return to my post as garrison commander and maintain Brython as your ally.”

But Christopher shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “Brython will be garrisoned by my heir, Curtis. He is the Earl of Leominster.”

Gruffydd’s eyebrows rose when he realized what de Lohr was telling him. “You mean he will…?”

“Marry your sister, aye,” Christopher said. “You have other properties, do you not?”

Gruffydd was still not over the fact that his sister would be remaining at Brython with her new husband, who happened to be the earl’s son. That bit of news had him reeling, something he struggled not to show.

“I do have other properties,” he said after a moment’s hesitation. “But you would leave Elle here, at Brython? In the shadow of her rebellion? Is that not dangerous?”

Christopher’s gaze lingered on him as he pondered what was an astute question. But it could have been something else, too. “I am attempting to deduce whether or not it is your jealousy speaking and not genuine concern,” he said truthfully. “Brython is a jewel in the crown of the marches. It is very important and strategic. I realize it must be a blow to be told you are no longer the garrison commander, but you had your opportunity and you failed. I would see Brython in more capable hands.”

Rebuked, Gruffydd struggled with his humiliation. “It was genuine concern, my lord,” he said. “Yet you seem convinced that your son can manage my sister, so I will not say another word about it. But consider yourself warned.”

Christopher was pleased he’d managed to shut down Gruffydd’s protests, for they were becoming tiresome, even if they were understandable. He was confident that Curtis could handle anything Elle decided to throw at him, so there was nothing left to discuss on the subject as far as he was concerned. He simply wanted to get past it and move forward.

“Where else will you go?” he asked, changing the focus slightly. “What other properties do you have that would be suitable?”

Gruffydd realized he hadn’t finished his meal. He’d been so busy discussing his sister that the food was cooling before him. He reached for his wine.

“Tywyl Castle is about ten miles to the east, in the heart of my lands,” he said, then took a long swallow before continuing. “I was born there. It is the traditional home of my family.”

“Good,” Christopher said. “That is a better place for you, as the ruler of these lands. Brython is on the marches, on the edge, so let me keep it strong for you. Henry will be pleased that I have garrisoned it, and that will keep him peaceful when it comes to you and your properties.”

Gruffydd could see what he was driving at. “And a pleased Henry will not cause me any trouble.”

Christopher lifted his eyebrows to concede the point. “You understand the nature of kings.”

“I know that I am one, yet I do not command the thousands that Henry does,” he said before tipping more wine into his mouth. “I do not command the numbers that Llywelyn does. He wants my lands, you know. He is not finished, no matter how you convince Elle that siding with Llywelyn is not a victory for the Welsh.”

Christopher sipped the last of his warmed wine. “I know that any onslaught by Llywelyn will be met by your English allies,” he said. “And I have more men than he does. Is that not enough?”

Gruffydd nodded, though there was defeat in his slumped shoulders. “It means a great deal, my lord,” he said. “That is why I am pleased to retire to Tywyl while your son controls Brython. He will serve it well, I am certain.”

The situation was working out just the way Christopher had hoped. He stood up, stiffly, with the intent of finding more wine, and the flap to his tent flew open. His senior sergeant, an older man with a bushy beard named Becker, was in the doorway.

“My lord,” Becker said. “We have a prisoner you should see.”

Christopher frowned. “Who is it?”

“She says that Gwenwynwyn was her uncle.”

Christopher looked straight at Gruffydd, who was on his feet at the news. “It must be Melusine, my lord,” he said. “She is my cousin, the only cousin I have. She has been living at Brython too, but I have not seen her since I was put in the vault.”

Christopher’s features took on an incredulous expression. “Another woman warrior?”

Gruffydd shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “She is… Well, she is—”

Screaming interrupted them as the woman in question appeared at the entry. She was on her hands and knees, crying and carrying on, but neither Christopher nor Gruffydd could see anything around her that should terrify her so. No one was harming her. She had no marks that they could see, no blood. She was clad in the clothing of a servant, a rough and dirty woolen tunic and hose that had seen better days. On her feet were shoes that were too large for her. On her hands and knees, she wept hysterically.

Gruffydd was the first one to move toward her, reaching down to pick her up. “Get up, Melusine,” he said quietly. “No one is going to harm you.”

Melusine threw herself at him, clinging to him. “Gruffydd,” she sobbed. “Are you well?”

He peeled her away from him. “I am well,” he said. “Are you?”

She nodded unsteadily. “I am unharmed.”

Gruffydd frowned. “Then stop weeping,” he said. “You are making a fool of yourself in front of Lord Hereford.”

Like a magic pill, that request caused her to instantly quiet. She looked at Gruffydd with big, watery eyes, wiping at her face with the back of her dirty hand and smearing dirt down her cheek. Then she looked at Christopher as if the man were going to eat her, but he simply indicated a chair next to the remains of Gruffydd’s meal.

“Sit, my lady,” he said politely. “You are safe here, I promise.”

Melusine didn’t seem capable of releasing Gruffydd, so he had to walk her over to the chair and force her into it. Still, she clung to him, looking like a hunted animal.

“They found me,” she told Gruffydd. “I tried to hide, but they found me.”

Gruffydd ended up sitting next to her because she refused to release him. “Calm yourself,” he told her, trying to unwind her fingers from his arm. “Get control of yourself, Melusine. There is no need to be so frightened. You have not even greeted Lord Hereford, who is our ally. Do not be rude.”

Melusine’s gaze moved from Gruffydd to Christopher, who was pouring himself more wine. “Hereford,” she repeated, her voice trembling. “That is de Lohr.”

“It is, indeed,” Christopher said. “Have you eaten, my lady? There is still food on the table if you are hungry.”

Melusine’s hysteria was fading, but now she seemed dazed. She looked at the food as if unsure she needed or wanted it.

“It was your army,” she said. “Your army attacked us.”

Gruffydd cleared his throat. “That is none of your concern,” he said. “We have peace now, and that is all that matters.”

Melusine looked at him, studying her dark-eyed cousin who looked much thinner than the last time she saw him.

She knew why.

She knew what Elle had done to him. She knew it had been at her urging. Melusine was a woman of many secrets, all of which were unknown to Gruffydd but most of which were known to Elle. They were a pair, the two of them. Poor Gruffydd had taken the brunt of the ambitious women in his family.

But she could never let him know.

“Elle,” she said quietly, trying to whisper in his ear. “What happened to her?”

“She survived,” Gruffydd said, making sure Christopher heard him. “She is in the encampment, in fact, but I do not know where.”

“She is being well tended,” Christopher said, looking at the lady. “You needn’t worry.”

Melusine eyed him with uncertainty. “What is going to happen to her?” she asked. “What is going to happen to me?”

She was starting to get agitated again, so soon after she had recently calmed, and Christopher went to her, handing her his cup of wine.

“Drink,” he said quietly. “Nothing is going to happen to anyone tonight, so drink this. Eat something. You’ll feel better.”

With quivering hands, Melusine reached for the cup and took a long drink, almost draining it. She was a woman who liked her drink, even though she pretended otherwise.

“May I see Elle, please?” she asked, licking her lips of the wine.

Christopher seemed to consider that. “In time,” he said. “But first, you will tell me what your participation in the battle was.”

Gruffydd started to answer for her, but Christopher held up a hand, silencing him. When Melusine saw this, she drained the remainder of her wine before speaking.

“I live with Elle and Gruffydd,” she said. “Brython is my home.”

“Are you a warrior like your cousins?”

She shook her head with horror. “Nay, my lord,” she said. “Weapons and battle frighten me. I tend to the meals. If a man is wounded, then I care for him.”

“Then you are a chatelaine.”

She nodded. “Mostly,” she said. “May I see Elle now?”

Christopher looked to Gruffydd, who nodded faintly. “It might make things easier with my sister,” he said quietly. “Melusine may calm her down.”

Christopher pondered that request for a moment before going to the tent opening and sending a man for Curtis. As he lingered over by the tent flap, waiting for his son to appear, Melusine picked up a piece of stale bread and shoved it in her mouth.

“What is he going to do with us?” she hissed at Gruffydd.

He eyed her as she continued to shove crumbs in her mouth. “Nothing,” he said in a normal tone so Christopher wouldn’t think they were conspiring. “I am returning to Tywyl, and I am going to marry Hawise. Elle is going to marry the Earl of Leominster and they will live here, at Brython, because it will become a castle garrisoned by Hereford. And you… I do not know. Mayhap he will allow you to remain here with Elle.”

Melusine was looking at him in complete shock. “Married?” she repeated. “Elle is to be married ?”

Gruffydd nodded, fully aware that Christopher was listening. “It is time for her to grow up and find her place in the world,” he said steadily. “She will have a husband and children and a title as the Countess of Leominster. Quite suitable for a daughter of Gwenwynwyn.”

But Melusine wasn’t having any of it. She wasn’t aware Christopher was listening simply because she wasn’t that smart. Or that aware. More than that, she had her back to him. She was focused on Gruffydd in utter horror.

“Are you mad?” she said. “She killed Cadwalader! Why do you think she would not kill an English husband? She will do it, and we will be in more trouble than before!”

Gruffydd hadn’t expected her to spout that very revealing bit of information. “Cadwalader was an old man who died in his sleep,” he said, loudly and firmly. “Elle had no hand in it. Stop perpetuating those vile rumors.”

“But she did!”

If Gruffydd could have throttled her in front of Christopher and gotten away with it, he would have. But all he could do was snap at her and pray Christopher wasn’t going to change his mind about everything.

“You will keep your lips shut ,” he hissed angrily. “Shut your mouth and live longer, Melusine. You are a stupid and foolish girl. That is why none of your relatives want you to live with them. That is why you have no husband!”

Melusine turned red in the face, suddenly realizing she shouldn’t have said what she did in front of Hereford. But that was typical for her—speaking first, thinking later. She further realized she could make a fragile situation worse, and from the look on Gruffydd’s face, he was ready to kill her. Quickly, she struggled to make amends.

“You are correct,” she said. “I… I am sorry. I do not know what I am saying. Elle did not deliberately do anything to Cadwalader, I know that. But the men said that she killed him because she was so young and he was so old, and she wanted him to bed her nightly, so it killed him. That is all I meant.”

Gruffydd rolled his eyes. “For the love of God,” he muttered. “Just stop talking .”

Melusine did. Feeling rebuked and ashamed for running off at the mouth, she lowered her head and pulled scraps of food off the table, eating anything she could get her hands on simply to keep from talking. Gruffydd had his hand on his head in disbelief of what Melusine had just done, of the horrible things she’d said. He dared to glance at Christopher, who was still standing at the tent opening, gazing out at the night beyond.

But Gruffydd knew he’d heard everything.

As Melusine kept her head down, Gruffydd stood up and stretched his weary body. He was hoping that Hereford would let him go into the keep and retrieve his personal possessions, if they were even still there. Elle might have given them away, for all he knew. As he made his way to the brazier to warm his hands, Curtis suddenly appeared in front of his father.

“You summoned me, Papa?” he asked.

Christopher nodded, stepping back to indicate the small, dark-haired woman seated with her back to the tent opening. “We have found another Gwenwynwyn female,” he said. “This is Lady Melusine, a cousin to Gruffydd and Lady Elle. She has been most concerned for Lady Elle’s health, so I thought you could tell her how the lady fares.”

Curtis looked at his father in puzzlement, and then frustration, before looking to the lady, who had turned to look at him by this time. He found himself looking at a dirty, pale young woman who in no way resembled her cousin.

“You summoned me for this?” he muttered to his father. “Papa, I should be back—”

“Tell the lady her cousin is well,” Christopher said, interrupting him. “In fact, you can take her with you. It might help Lady Elle to have her cousin with her. It might ease her anxiousness, if you understand my meaning.”

Christopher was trying to help Curtis with Elle’s rebellious demeanor. Curtis began to understand that. Surely it would calm her to have her cousin with her. But he shook his head.

“She is sleeping now,” he said. “Most peacefully, I might add. Bringing this woman—her cousin—to her now would not only awaken her, but would more than likely agitate her again, because she’d have to deal with her cousin’s emotions now. Truly, she has enough of her own.”

Christopher didn’t want to be unkind. “Curt…”

But Curtis shook his head firmly. “Nay,” he said. “She is asleep and she is calm, and that is what I wish for my own evening—calm and sleep. I do not need to watch over two hysterical women tonight. Please, Papa.”

Christopher gave in, though reluctantly. “Very well,” he said. “I will have Myles watch over Lady Melusine tonight. But tomorrow, they are to be reunited.”

Curtis waved him off. “As you wish,” he said. “I must return. Westley is watching over the lady, and if she wakes up and finds me gone, and a squire as her guard, she might give Westley a struggle.”

He didn’t even wait for Christopher to reply. He was heading back the way he’d come, out into the night. Christopher didn’t give his abrupt behavior too much thought because the man was exhausted, as they all were.

Curtis wasn’t the only one who wanted calm and sleep.

After that, Christopher summoned Roi and Myles and had them both tend to Gruffydd and Melusine. Christopher would trust his sons to tend to the Welsh prisoners, and tomorrow would dawn a better, brighter day. But for tonight, Christopher simply wanted to be alone in his own tent. It was yet another victory in a long line of victories for the mighty Earl of Hereford and Worcester, and he’d done enough today. He’d earned his solitude.

When sleep finally came for him, it was filled with dreams of home.