Beauchamp Besieged. Elaine Knighton

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СКАЧАТЬ Sir Raymond agreed to this union?” she demanded.

      Her father stroked his sleek, black moustaches. Chuckling, he winked at Rhys. “He will, sweet. He will.”

      “You like dogs, do you not, Ceri?” Rhys gifted her with a mischievous smile, showing his even, white teeth. “Sir Raymond loves his wolfhound better than he does any woman. Be kind to the creature, and I’ll wager the master will leave you alone.”

      Ceridwen scowled at her brother. “This is more shame than I can bear, to be held in lower esteem than a beast. How will I live with myself?” She covered her face with her hands.

      Impatience flickered in her father’s tone. “You will live with him, and stop thinking of yourself, girl. This is important to me, to the prince, and to the Cymraeg. Raymond is not one to take lightly. When he makes a promise—or a threat—he fulfills it. But once you have charmed him, he may learn sympathy for our cause. Perhaps some of his violence can be used to our ends. Or another solution may become necessary.”

      Morgan’s voice grew smooth, and Ceridwen recognized the cunning, silky inflection. “I have every confidence in you, Ceridwen. After all, you are of my blood, and I am ever victorious. One way or another.” He grinned, flashing the beguiling smile each of his children had inherited. Then he tested his honed dagger on a piece of leather. The blade slid through the skin in effortless silence.

      Ceridwen’s heart wrenched into a familiar knot. You are of my blood. Da had shed a great deal of it, keeping them alive. His own and English, too. She shuddered. The very thought made her feel faint. Peace was the only solution. Vengeance might be sweet, but it had no place in this situation. She paused at the expectant gazes of her young brothers and sisters. In truth she was no substitute for Mam. The best thing she could do for them would be to help keep the Beauchamps at bay, regardless of the personal cost. Ceridwen sat up straight. “Right, Da. If it pleases you and saves even one Welsh life, I will go to him.”

      “They have done what?” Raymond leaped to his feet. The bench crashed to the floor behind him, sending an echo through the cold solar. He leaned over the trestle table and grabbed the front of his lieutenant’s linen surcoat with both fists. He’d spent the third day in a row combing the woods for his wolfhound and was in no mood for Giles’s usual sideways approach to bad news.

      “My lord, be easy. ’Tis a simple matter to get Hamfast back. All you need do is—”

      “A simple matter! These Welshmen hold my dog hostage and you say ’tis simple? What if they don’t feed him properly? What if he bites one of them, and they abuse him for it?”

      Raymond took a deep breath to banish the painful image of his huge, noble hound in the hands of fierce Welshmen. He smoothed the creases he’d made in Giles’s attire, then gave his friend’s broad chest a thump to indicate he’d finished mauling him. “Where exactly do they have him?”

      “At a deserted tower in Trefynwy.” Giles dropped the joint he’d been gnawing, and it fell into his trencher with a sodden plop. He licked his fingers, one by one. For all his knightly virtues, Giles’s table manners were abominable.

      Raymond looked to his empty bed, where Hamfast usually slept. “They seek to draw me in, well beyond the border, and play me some trick. What ransom have they demanded?”

      Giles cleared his throat. “Only you, my lord.”

      “Do not jest. Tell me truly.”

      “But I do. Lord Morgan has a comely daughter, one overripe for marriage. In fact, she was once promised to Parsifal, was she not?” Giles reached for his goblet and took a gulp of wine.

      Raymond closed his eyes briefly at the stab of sorrow his long-dead brother’s name still evoked. Percy, a brave knight of tender years and tender heart. Would that he had come home from the crusade and taken this Welsh maiden. Another marriage, be it to Helen of Troy, was a dread prospect for himself. “Nay. I will simply storm their defenses and retrieve Hamfast.” Ever restless, Raymond fumed and paced, his hands clasped behind his back. Still, for the good of his people, he had to at least consider the idea. “What does Morgan expect to gain? How will Rookhaven benefit?”

      Giles belched and carefully wiped the corners of his mouth with the pad of his thumb. “We are like lame wolves in a herd of wily sheep. Always hungry and never satisfied, worn out with constant moving from uprising to uprising. So, if there is peace between you, both will benefit. And the dowry she brings contains the crossroads of Llanmadog.”

      Raymond paused to consider. He had needed control of that area for years. With it in his possession, his western borders would enjoy security. He could better conserve his strength for the final push against Alonso—if it wasn’t already too late. But there was no room in his life, nor in his heart, for any woman, much less a wife. He glanced at Giles. The handsome knight had tied back his thick, dark hair with a leather thong. He seemed able to accommodate any number of women, and his heart never became entangled with any of them.

      Whereas with himself and Meribel…never had a lady been better loved, or caused more grief. Raymond pinched the bridge of his nose. “What does this overripe girl look like?”

      “She is beautiful, of course.”

      It was as well Giles’s hair was pulled back, for a hint of red crept into the curves of his ears. He was hiding something. Raymond crossed his arms. “Is that so? What good fortune. Tell me the color of her eyes.”

      “I did not get that close.” The knight’s cheeks pinked.

      “Her hair, then?”

      Giles bloomed a vivid, rosy hue and said nothing.

      “You missed that, too?” Raymond’s impatience waxed. “Is she short, tall, plump? Let me guess. You rode up to their gates and conducted the entire farce as a shouting match without ever dismounting. You saw no proof that Hamfast still lives!”

      “I have it on good authority that the maiden resembles nothing so much as an angel, in both form and disposition,” Giles said indignantly. “She is fond of dogs,” he added, “and would never countenance him coming to harm.”

      “Whose authority? A shepherdess on her back with her skirts up to her waist, no doubt.”

      “Well, I…”

      Raymond shook his head. “Giles, you will never change. We both know where your brains reside.”

      “Aye. How long has it been, Raymond? Is that why your temper is so short?” Giles speared a piece of meat and eyed it as though it were a tantalizing morsel of peacock, instead of tough, cold mutton.

      Raymond stared at his friend. From habit his fingers tightened around his dagger hilt. Giles could needle him like no one else. Except perhaps Alonso. “Methinks you know me not at all, sir. Shall I bemoan my sad lack of romantic exploits and accept the offers of your leftovers? Or should we parley with these barbarians and rescue my hound in proper form?”

      “I believe the latter would be for the best, my lord,” Giles said with surprising primness. He actually sniffed, giving Raymond some small satisfaction.

      “There is one other thing….” Giles began.

      “Aye?” Raymond leaned down and set the toppled bench back on its feet with a loud crack.

      “Her СКАЧАТЬ