Heart's War (Heart and Soul) (13 page)

His steps echoed against the stone louder than he remembered hearing and he shot a glance over his shoulder. To his surprise
, Montgomery had followed and matched him stride for stride. Brynmor slid to a stop at a loophole that gave him full view of the trail that ended where the drawbridge raised and lowered.

Twelve heavily armed knights
followed one man. Their destriers were some of the finest and best armored Brynmor had ever seen. Brynmor’s eyes widened when he saw a large wagon behind them, completely enclosed with heavy oak and banded metal, only small slits on each side to allow crossbows to be fired from it. Four huge horses pulled the massive carriage that no doubt carried more men. The lead rider, with gold spurs glinting at his heels, hailed the guard again. Even though he wore a large helm, Brynmor recognized him instantly. Owain.

“Pray pardon, m
y lord,” the sentry called from atop the barbican. “A man has been sent to fetch the Prince of Powys.”

Brynmor studied the group closely. “An intimidation force,” he growled.

“Aye, Brynmor,” Montgomery said through clenched teeth. “I fear you have it aright.”

Brynmor cursed, wishing this one time he would be wrong. His fists clenched and he battled to control his temper. “
Until Rose and I are actually wed, I dare not tip my hand.”

“Aye,” Montgomery said and nodded
, but his eyes narrowed as he stared through the loophole. “I fear you have no choice.”

Brynmor snapped a curse and turned on his heel, returning to the bailey. Because of the massive wagon, they could not enter through the sally. Although every instinct within him screamed in defiance, he ordered the gates unbarred. But before the portcullis could be lifted and the drawbridge lowered,
his steward brought him his sword. Brynmor belted it around his waist. “Double the guards, alert them to watch for treachery, especially in regard to my betrothed and my adopted family, but they do nothing without my order.”

Petran
nodded and hurried away.

Brynmor struggled to master the rage growing within him and schooled his features into cool neutrality.

“Brynmor,” Montgomery said softly. “Perhaps it is best if I make myself scarce. It is one thing to be a guest of your household, yet entirely another to stand beside you greeting them.”

Brynmor thought for a long moment. Montgomery was right. If Owain was here because he had heard rumor
s of Brynmor’s pending marriage and alliance, having Montgomery at his side would only confirm it. Then an idea occurred to him and a smile tugged at his lips. “Nay,” he said firmly. “You are the husband of my adopted sister. You have every right to see to the state of her holdings during a time of war.”

Montgomery chuckled. “Damnation, Brynmor, you are far better at this than you give yourself credit.”

The portcullis opened with a hair-raising screech and the massive bar over the gates, set with counterweights, lifted. The gates slowly swung open and the chains of the drawbridge rattled as it descended. Brynmor couldn’t stop his hand as it fell to rest casually on the hilt of his sword. His gaze locked on a man entering his gates . . . a man who had proved himself an enemy several times in the past. Brynmor’s teeth clenched and his hackles lifted.

Chapter Eight

Brynmor had been at the gates far too long. Rose stood, debating on going after him. He had told her to remain, but something about his demeanor unsettled her.

“Rose,” Gwen said softly and shook her head. “I know what you are thinking and I don’t advise it.”

Rose frowned at her mother. “What is it?”

“I’m not sure
 . . . something just doesn’t feel right about this. Brynmor is not the type of man to order you to stay here without good reason.”

“He said he had been at odds with the man.”

“Aye, and after what happened in the bailey, he may fear for your safety.”

Anger
flared within her and her spine straightened. “I will not cower in my own home.”

Gwen smiled gently. “Aye, but I would not place my hu
sband in such a position, and I do not think you should do so with your betrothed. Let them play their politics, Rose. Listen and learn all you can, but remember, your safety comes first . . . both to your father and I . . . and most of all, to Brynmor.”

She sighed and lowered her head. “He would not have to suffer this if he
were not marrying me . . . an Englishwoman.”

Her mother
gave an unladylike snort. “You say that with such certainty, my dear daughter, but remember there was a reason why I did not wish to return to Powys.”

Rose looked at her sharply.

“You are not the cause of this, Rose. This has been brewing since the English kings turned their eyes toward Wales. We are merely players on the stage.”

“I only want to help Brynmor, Mother. What can I do?”

“Before your father told me about you and that you had been taken, I knew he was greatly vexed over something. It weighed heavily upon him, and try as I might, I could not determine the reason. But finally he shared with me the reason for his anguish. I listened and supported him. Many times, his grief and worry over you clouded his thinking and would not allow him to find answers, to address the problem at hand. I was able to offer ideas to help him, and once he saw there was hope—well, you know your father, he was unstoppable.”

Rose’s lips
curved upward. “Indeed.” She thought for a long moment. “I just do not like seeing Brynmor placed in such a difficult position.”

“I understand
, Rose. But remember, if he is worried over your safety, he will not be able to address the challenges at hand. Remove that, and it will be one less concern for him.”

“Thank you, Mother,” Rose said and took her hand just as the door to the keep opened.

****

“Rose,” Brynmor said as he entered the keep. He extended his hand and Rose smiled, crossing the room. He turned to his
 . . . guests, who had followed him in. Owain led his group of guardsmen, but surprisingly, more had not piled out of the banded wagon. If it did not contain more soldiers, what was its purpose?

Montgomery also strode through the door
into the keep, quickly walking toward Gwen.

Brynmor took Rose’s hand and turned. “Owain,
allow me to present Lady Rose Montgomery. Rose, this is Owain ap Gwenwynwyn, in service to His Highness, Dafydd ap Gruffydd.”

The man was tall
, although he only came to Brynmor’s shoulder, with short, curly brown hair and a well-trimmed beard and mustache. His light-colored eyes glittered with intelligence and cunning. His gaze fell on Rose and Brynmor only just stopped himself from drawing his dagger for the way he looked at her.

Brynmor’s entire body
tensed as Owain took Rose’s hand, but he only bowed over it. “A pleasure, my lady.”

“Likewise,” she said
, giving him a brief curtsy.

“Join us at the table,” Brynmor said tightly. Despite the late hour, the servants hurried to set out refreshment.

Owain nodded curtly and sat where Brynmor’s steward indicated. Brynmor noted gratefully it was well away from Rose and himself. He escorted Rose to her chair then sat beside her.

Owain took a long drink of wine as
two of his men settled at the table next to him. But to Brynmor’s concern, the others took up tactical positions around the great hall, a few of them examining the remaining wounded with critical gazes. He also noted Petran had strengthened the guard. They also assumed positions in relation to Owain’s men.

“Forgive my late arrival, Powys,
” Owain said, “but we have heard disturbing rumors. My lord has sent me to determine their validity.”

“What rumors have you heard?” Brynmor asked casually.

Owain’s gaze again locked on Rose and a warning shiver shuddered down Brynmor’s spine. “That you are to be married and your alliance will not be with your own people but with Longshanks.”

Even though Brynmor would much rather rip the man’s head off, a laugh escaped him. “What tales the populace can devise. I find them quite entertaining.”

He felt Rose stiffen next to him but her expression did not change. He patted her hand and looked at Gwen. “My adopted sister came simply to monitor the state of her holdings during these troublesome times.” He gazed at Gwen and saw her green eyes sparkle mischievously. Montgomery lounged beside her, his hand holding hers. His lips twitched as if to smile, but other than that he gave no outward indication of his emotions.

“Aye,” Gwen said firmly. “My husband and I thought to merely visit, but then the refugees came and so many needed help. I could not turn my back on them.”

Owain frowned as his gaze traveled from Rose to Gwen and back again.

“Do you not recall that Gwen is a fine healer?” Brynmor asked.

Owain’s frown deepened.

“Owain,” Gwen said. “I’m hurt that you do not remember me. I remember you attending my father’s court many times.”

“I remember you,” Owain said softly. His gaze fell on Rose again. “And you? What is your purpose here?”

Rose lifted her chin. “My mother also taught me these healing skills.”

“My lord,” one of Owain’s men said from across the hall. “There are many Welsh but also English here.”

Owain’s expression flattened. “You give our enemy haven?”

Brynmor’s lip curled. “I bear the gold spurs of a knight. I turn away no one in need just as my Christian oath of chivalry demands.”

“You are a farmer,” Owain growled.

Rage tinted Brynmor’s vision red but he clenched his fists and swallowed it—even though it threatened to burn a hole in his gut.

Owain studied him a long moment, his dark eyes glittering
, and Brynmor instinctively braced himself.

“I am truly sorry about this, Powys,” he said softly.

Brynmor blinked, then scowled in confusion.

“I honestly tried to tell Dafydd
that he did not need to send me. You and I may have had our disagreements in the past, but I know you would never be so foolish as to endanger the well-being of a noblewoman by marrying her. You may be a farmer, but even you have better sense than that.”

Brynmor rose, growling a curse under his breath. His hand fell on the hilt of his weapon. “Ye come in my home,” he snarled barely able to form the words, “and dare to insult me at my own table.”

Rose’s hand fell gently on his arm. The fury seething within him, ripping at his control, faded a bit and only then did he realize every man in the great hall was standing, their hands on their weapons. Brynmor heard only his blood thundering through his ears. His men awaited either his move to attack or his order. Owain was coiled only a few paces away, ready to respond to any threat.

Damnation, Owain had almost succeeded
in provoking Brynmor’s fury.

Brynmor drew a deep breath into his lungs and slowly moved his hand away from his weapon. After a heartbeat, his men did the same and visibly relaxed. Brynmor wished he could pull Rose into his arms. Had it not been for her, he would have fallen to Owain’s baiting. Br
ynmor always fought for control and had no desire to allow the man to know he had managed to anger him.

Owain’s body remained taut and his hand had not moved away from his weapon.

Brynmor stiffened again, his warrior instincts warning him, and he almost expected an assassin to leap from a shadow and shove a dagger in his back.

Owain’s gaze flicked to his second in command.

The man stepped forward, seemingly unruffled, where everyone else in the hall had been prepared to shed blood at any moment. He handed a scroll case to Owain and remained close at his side as Owain finally relaxed his fighting stance.

Brynmor swallowed hard, his heart pounding in terror.

Owain opened the case, withdrew the vellum, and tossed the scroll on the table. “Despite my efforts to convince him otherwise, my benefactor is concerned. He does not know where you stand, Powys. Dafydd will be happy to hear that you have not formed an alliance with Longshanks. But to guarantee that you do not, he has ordered the arrest of Lady Rose Montgomery as an enemy of Wales. She is to accompany me and be held as a noble prisoner until this war is decided or until your alliance returns unquestioned to that of your Welsh brethren.”

Fury and fear made Brynmor’s body shake. His gaze turned to Rose.
Her hand tightened on his arm but she lifted her chin defiantly.

God help me! What do I do?

He seized the scroll and broke the seal but could barely read it for the rage clouding his vision. Dafydd had indeed ordered Rose’s arrest as an enemy of Wales. He tossed it to the table, and his hands clenched into fists. With the order of arrest, Brynmor was absolutely
powerless. If he defied it, if he sought to protect Rose, Owain could arrest him as well. And if that happened, Brynmor knew he would certainly lose everything, including Rose. He looked back at her; never had he felt so helpless.

He remembered his prayer at the base of the steps the day of their betro
thal. God had ignored his plea and now Rose would be taken from him. The agony that pierced his heart nearly sent him to his knees.
Nay! Please don’t let him hurt her!

But just like his father had stolen his family away, Owain would take Rose from him and there wasn’t a damned thing Brynmor could do to stop him.

Rose studied him a long moment, her blue eyes did not reveal a hint of fear. He knew the moment she reached the conclusion that his hands were tied. But surprisingly, he did not see her anger directed at him. As he gazed into her beautiful blue eyes, he searched for hatred at his failure, humiliation that he could not keep her safe, but he only saw understanding and compassion in her gaze.

“It will be all right, Brynmor,” she murmured.
She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek, then stepped around him, heading purposefully toward Owain.

One of Owain’s men grabbed her arm.

Brynmor snarled, barely stopping himself from attacking the man.

Rose
glared at the man holding her. “Release me. I will go peaceably.”

“Nay,” Brynmor said
. “You are a guest in my home, not a criminal.”

“Owain,” Montgomery murmured
. His voice sounded low and so calm that Brynmor looked at him in shock. Montgomery held one of his large daggers in his hand and stood protectively before Gwen. He saw only a cool mask of control on Montgomery’s face, the likes of which he had never witnessed before, but his amber eyes glinted with a rage that sent a chill down Brynmor’s spine. “I pray consider carefully the enemy your benefactor would make as a result of your actions.”

Owain looked at Mont
gomery and hesitated. Indeed, Dafydd did this to prevent Powys from allying with Montgomery and Longshanks. But incarcerating Rose would have the opposite result and guarantee Montgomery and Powys allying together.

“I have my orders,
Montgomery.”

Brynmor’s
body shook with the effort required to control himself.

“Peace, Brynmor,” Gwen said gently.

He gazed down at her in surprise—she stood next to him, her hand gentle but reassuring on his arm. How—?

Montgomery had also appeared at his side.

Brynmor could only watch, helpless, as Owain seized Rose’s arm and hauled her out the door.

“Nay, Rose!” His sou
l cried out in agony. He sprinted to the steps of his keep and saw Owain manhandle Rose into the banded wagon, an armed soldier crawling in after her. Terror roared through him. Fear at what they might do to her ripped at his mind, nearly claiming his sanity.

Owain’s
guardsmen, already mounted, surrounded the wagon as he locked the door.

Brynmor’s own guard stood at the ready, weapons in hand, crossbows pointed at their targets. Brynmor opened his mouth
to give the order to slay them, but he snapped his jaw shut. He would not . . . he could not risk Rose’s life.

Owain mounted his own horse
.

“Owain!” Brynmor roared, stopping him in his tracks. “By the blood of
the martyrs, if the slightest harm befalls her, I will gut you like a pig and hang you with your own entrails.”