Heart's War (Heart and Soul) (12 page)

But his blue-green eyes gazed at her with heated passion. “I will survive this,” he whispered. “We shall have our family.”

Brynmor regained his feet, although he was moving slowly and not without pain. His side developed a terrible bruise larger than both of his outstretched hands, and he had two black eyes that made him appear as if he had been in a tavern brawl. He hoped the bruises would fade quickly; Rose had already delayed their wedding over a month because of his injuries.

The priest read the banns thrice daily on the steps of the church in the bailey. Rose sent copies of the banns to Brynmor's barons and he knew they would come in droves. Gwen took over managing the wounded in order to free Rose to plan the wedding feast and revel. Brynmor did not begrudge her the challenges she faced. With their supplies strained for so long, no doubt she would find it quite difficult. Brynmor also knew she worked to free up the great hall from wounded. They needed to return the high table to its place and would need all available space for the revel.

One morning, Brynmor sat in his study with Rose carefully going over the ledger tallies for their supplies and what would be required for the revel. Brynmor had adapted easily to this portion of his duties as Prince of Powys. A farmer needed to manage his fields, know which ones needed to lay fallow for the season, know how much seed would be required for planting, and be able to predict tallies for the harvest. Brynmor found maintaining the ledgers for his holdings very similar, only on a larger scale. Because money had been in short supply in his youth, he had learned quickly how to manage and budget his finances for farming. He was grateful for that experience now. The wealth of Powys was unquestioned, but his holdings felt the strain of this war in all areas. Just like farming, there was never enough money to cover all expenses. He sighed heavily and dragged his hand through his hair. He winced as the action pulled at his injured side.

“Damnation,” he muttered, wishing he had tied his hair back
, but he had not been able to for the same reason. Holding his arms up pulled at his injury too much.

“What's wrong
, Brynmor?” Rose asked.

“I still
feel as weak as a babe in swaddling. I had hoped these bruises would fade by our wedding day, but that is only five days away now.”

Her fingers lightly touched his jaw and his breath caught at the energy that shot through his skin. She tugged slightly so he looked directly at her. That was a mistake
, he belatedly realized as his body instantly reacted. Since his recovery, the vibrant spark in her eyes had returned and near drove him mad with desire. He fought not to fidget under her intense regard.

“I believe the bruises on your face will fade substantially in the next couple of days. Although I'm sorry about your nose.”

“Why?”

“I tried to straighten it when you were unconscious
, but I fear it will now have a permanent dent.”

He shrugged. “You are the one who will gaze upon it daily. As long as you do not mind it, neither
do I.”

She laughed softly and the gentle sound made his pulse pound. The desire to kiss her suddenly roared through him. He leaned forward, his lips only inches from hers. She did not retreat. Her lids lowered slightly and her gaze focused on his mouth. A deep tremor passed through him and he slowly lowered his head.

A knock sounded on the door.

Rose instantly retreated, red staining her cheeks. Brynmor growled one of his finer epithets under his
breath. “What is it?” he snapped.

“My lord,” a servant said from the other side of the door. “Two wagons bearing Montgomery's colors approach the gate.”

Brynmor frowned and looked at Rose. “Two?”

Rose lifted her hands. “I have no idea. Perhaps my father is plotting again.”

“We will be out in a moment,” Brynmor said.

“As you will, my lord.”

Brynmor sighed and rubbed his eyes, careful to avoid his broken nose.

“What's wrong, Bryn?” Rose asked as she la
id a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“When you first arrived
, you asked me to allow you to get to know me. I have been trying to accede to your request, but how can that ever happen with these constant interruptions? If it's not one thing, it's another.”

“Believe me,” she said as she stood
, “I share your frustration.” Instead of walking away, she cupped his cheek in her hand and gently lifted his face until he looked up at her. To his astonishment, she leaned over and touched her lips to his. The heat that roared through him made him groan. He could not help himself as he returned her kiss. She opened her mouth and he swept his tongue across hers.

The
low rumble of the wagons crossing the wooden drawbridge reached them.

Rose pulled away, her cheeks turning crimson.

He stood and held out his hand. “Nay, my lady, do not persecute yourself.”

She accepted his hand and gave him a shy smile.

He chuckled, pulling her into the curve of his arm against his good side. He lowered his head enough to whisper in her ear. “If I had my way, I'd lock you in the solar and begin working on our vows right now.”

She looked up at him
, surprised, and he laughed.

“Since we are to be married
, it would not be a sin,” he said and winked at her.

“You are a wicked man, Brynmor ap Powys.”

“Aye. But come, let us see what scheme your father has developed now.”

****

Rose stared up at the man beside her in shock. Who was he? For he certainly was not the Brynmor she had come to know since arriving at Powys. His manner seemed much more relaxed and his smile more freely given. Something had changed within him, but she wasn't sure what it was. She wondered if he remembered telling her of his past, but he had made no further mention of it. The medicants had loosened his tongue, but they would have also fogged his memory. So what had caused this change?

She had no time to ponder it as they descended the stairs from the keep. Two wagons heavily burdened with foodstuffs entered. Rose's eyes widened. There was enough for three wedding revels. The wagons stopped before them
; the drovers bid hail to Brynmor. She glanced up at him and noted his expression was as shocked as hers.

Her gaze then traveled to the second wagon. Tied to the back was a large horse. A light blanket covered him from ears to tail. All she could see of the beast was its gray head.

“Good glory,” Brynmor whispered. She looked up at him but his attention was locked on the gates. Rose's father rode through leading a large gaggle of men. Brynmor's forester rode beside him. Her father grinned broadly and waved. Then she spotted the giant dead boar. Four servants shouldered two long poles to which the boar's legs were tied, and it dangled upside down between them.

Her father
pushed his horse into a trot and stopped before them. He jumped from his mount, grinning like a little boy. Rose could not help the giggle that escaped her. It was rare to see her father in such a mood.

“Brynmor
,” he said, gesturing to the wagons. “Allow me to present our wedding gift to you.”

Brynmor's eyes widened even more. “
My lord?” he asked, uncertainly.

“Forgive me, Brynmor,”
Montgomery said, “but you have been terribly burdened with this war and your holdings sorely taxed. It is not fair that two young people begin their lives together thusly. So the gift from myself and Gwen is food for the feast. I hope you do not mind that I absconded with your forester for a hunt this morning. I would have told you, but you are not yet recovered from your injuries, and my daughter would have had my head if I took you on a boar hunt.”

“Absolutely,” Rose said.

Her father winked at her.

Brynmor stared at the wagons and the boar in wonder. “
Montgomery,” he said softly. “What can I say? Thank you seems so inadequate.”

He
chuckled and gripped Brynmor's shoulder. “You have done well managing your lands through this trying time, Brynmor. No one could be expected to do more than you have. But there is one more thing. John,” he called to one of the servants. “Bring him here.”

The servant moved to the horse tied to the back of the wagon. He led the animal to them
and removed the blanket. A giant Iberian destrier stood before them. He was beautiful, his dapple gray coat gleaming in the sunshine. He had a powerful neck with a thick white mane and a long flowing tail.

Rose felt tears burn in her eyes and she covered her mouth as a startled gasp escaped her. “He looks like Cloud.”

The horse that had lent its strength and heart to her escape when Brynmor freed her from her captors had died many years ago.

Brynmor looked down at her and Rose was shocked to see his eyes mist. “Aye,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. The muscles in his throat worked as he swallowed hard. “I have not yet been able to find a mount
truly worthy of replacing him.” Brynmor released Rose and took a tentative step toward the stallion.

“Worry not, Brynmor, for I trained him myself. He is docile to those handling him
, but you will not find a better war mount.”

Unlike most earls of rank,
Montgomery did not give the training of his horses over to anyone else. He was an accomplished horseman and enjoyed training them himself. He was damned good at it too.

Brynmor firmly patted the stallion's neck. The horse tossed its head and nickered.

Rose's eyes narrowed as she stared at the horse. “Papa, is this Storm?”

He winked at her. “Aye.”

“You bought him as a weanling. He was almost black then.”

“Aye, five years ago, and now you know why I chased you from the stables so often. I always intended to give him to Brynmor.” He turned back to Brynmor. “I did allow Rose to name him though.”

“Storm is perfect,” Brynmor said and smiled. Rose's heart nearly stalled in her chest. His smile rivaled the brightness of the sun at that moment. “Montgomery, I can't thank you enough.”

“No thanks are necessary, Brynmor,”
Montgomery said. “Although I have a couple of mares I'd love to breed him to.”

“Absolutely,” Brynmor replied, continuing to pet the animal. “He's beautiful.”

“I had him imported directly from Spain as soon as he was weaned. Cloud was indeed a fine mount, and I was sorry to hear when you lost him.”

“
Montgomery, I . . .” Brynmor shook his head and clamped his jaw shut as words failed him.

Her father
laughed again. “Peace, Brynmor, the look on your face tells me all I need to know.” He hesitated. “Rose, I am remiss in hunting without the lord of the house. Perhaps Brynmor can do something simple, like falconry? The forester told me there is a good meadow nearby.”

“I fear he would find riding, even for a short amount of time, quite painful.”

“Aye, Montgomery,” Brynmor said. “Rose is correct, I cannot even lift my arm over my head without paining the injury. But my barons will be arriving for the wedding in the next couple of days. No doubt they will wish a hunt. Perhaps I will be recovered enough for falconry then?” He looked to Rose.

“Aye,” she said nodding. “I think that is a wonderful idea.”

“Well then, perhaps we should see to these items and get the boar prepared,” her father said.

“Aye,” Brynmor replied. He took the horse's lead rope from the servant but hesitated and turned back to Rose. His blue
-green eyes seemed to turn a darker emerald.

One thing she
had discovered was that when words failed Brynmor, his expression told her everything. She smiled at him, then stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Perhaps,” she whispered in his ear, “my father should continue scheming.”

A chuckle rumbled through him and turned into a full
-blown laugh. He winced as it pained his injury, but the mirth in his eyes did not dim. “Aye, little one.”

“I will see to the wagons. You take care of the horse and the boar.”

****

Three days later, t
he cry of the sentries echoed across the bailey and through the keep. Brynmor looked up from his place at the high table. The wounded had decreased enough that they had been able to move it back into place. But there were still people occupying a quarter of the floor.

His steward opened the door of the keep. “My lord, a group of twelve heavily armed men approach. They bear the heraldry of Owain ap Gwenwynwyn. Indeed, the rider in the lead appears to be him.”

Brynmor growled a curse. He had been expecting the arrival of his lords for the wedding, not this sod.

“What’s wrong?” Rose asked.

“Owain and I have long been at odds,” he muttered. “Stay here, Rose.”

Since the marriage had been decided on, Brynmor kept his gates barred at night, only opening them for refugees in the morning.
He sprinted through the door of the keep and across the bailey, gritting his teeth as his healing injury complained, but he didn’t allow it to slow him down. He lunged up the stairs of the barbican, grateful the men arriving could not directly witness such undignified behavior. But he had to see what presented itself with his own eyes. Was this a parlay, coercion, or worse?