Heart's War (Heart and Soul) (14 page)

Owain glared at him and curled his lip.
“Unlike the farmer who plays at being noble, I am a knight and I will uphold my oath of chivalry. But if you follow us, she dies.” He spun his horse around and led the party out the gates.

Brynmor once again lunged forward
. “Rose!” His bellow echoed through the bailey. Dear God, nay! What would they do to her? What would she suffer? Owain would not hesitate to bring harm upon Rose and lay a brand on Brynmor’s heart so grievous he would never survive it. The rage gripping him so tightly faded and he sagged, grateful for Montgomery’s hand on his arm, keeping him from pitching face forward into the dirt.

“Nay,” Brynmor whispered. This could not be happening, but the same
desolation he had known when he had awakened that terrible morn to discover his family gone returned to strike at the deepest part of his being. It was at that moment he knew, a tiny part of him had begun to hope again, to trust in Rose and the strengthening bond between them. Now she had been ripped away from him and that hope, that trust, had been torn asunder.

My knight
 . . .
Rose’s voice whispered through his thoughts.

Brynmor lifted his head, his muscles trembling.
Sweet merciful saints, he could not live like this. He had to get her back. Rose was not dead and Dafydd was not a fool. He would not abide the abuse of a woman; he would not permit Owain to hurt her. Brynmor’s spine straightened as his mind started to function again. Brynmor believed Owain’s threat, that he would kill rose if Brynmor himself attempted to follow him. But there was one man who could stop this. One man whose own experience would make him sympathetic to Brynmor’s position.

I will always be your knight, Rose
. He drew back his shoulders and straightened to his full height. “Petran,” he growled. “My personal guard, have them make ready along with my horse. Upon the dawn, we ride.”

At dawn, Brynmor strode from his solar, armed to the teeth. He glanced out a loophole and into the bailey. As he had requested, ten of his finest guardsmen and their mounts awaited him. His own horse, Storm, pawed at the ground impatiently.

He entered the great hall and turned for the door.

“Brynmor,” Montgomery’s voice froze him in his tracks. He saw the earl striding toward him, dressed in a similar fashion. “I am going with you.” His amber eyes flashed in determination.

Brynmor understood Montgomery’s desire
. He knew Montgomery relived the horror of Rose’s abduction so long ago, but Brynmor also knew he had to remain resolute in this. “Nay,” he said firmly.

Montgo
mery looked at him in surprise, and then his rage burned even brighter. “She is my daughter.”

“She is my betrothed,” Brynmor snapped then took a breath to rein in his temper. He gripped Montgomery’s shoulder. “Talon,” he said softly. “I pray, hear me out.”

Montgomery’s eyebrows raised at the unusual familiarity, but Brynmor had to reach through the father’s rage and find the wisdom of the earl he admired.

“What say you?” Montgomery growled.

“I am going alone.” He held up his hand, forestalling Montgomery’s argument. “Talon, I need you here. My enemies will no doubt rise against me as soon as my horse clears the gate. I need someone managing Powys in my absence. The only man I can trust is you.”

A muscle ticked violently in Montgomery’s jaw.
“Where will you go?”

“Straight to Llywelyn with an offer to ransom her back.”

Montgomery’s eyes widened. “Straight to the lion’s den, you mean.”

“Aye
, but this is not without thought, Talon.” He held up the scroll Owain had left behind. “Dafydd ordered her arrested. I have no idea if Llywelyn knows Dafydd has done this, but considering his own history with his wife being kept from him, I would think he would react strongly to this situation.”

“You are taking quite a gamble, Brynmor.
If you claim your betrothal, Llywelyn will know you plan to ally with Longshanks. He may decide to throw you in the dungeon right next to Rose.”

“I do no
t think he would be so foolish. Now if we were speaking of Dafydd, aye, he might do exactly that. But I know Llywelyn well enough that there is a good chance he may seek to try to repair the damage his brother has done, just as he tried to repair it with me when Dafydd originally moved to attack Hawarden.” Brynmor paused and shook his head. “Perhaps you should send word to Longshanks. Since I am not yet married to Rose, I do not wish for him to learn of my visit to Llywelyn through spies. He may not understand my purpose there.”

“Aye,” Montgomery said, nodding. “I shall send word to him immediately.”

Brynmor hesitated. “I brought her home once,” he said, his voice firm with conviction. “I shall do so again. You have my word on that, Talon.”

Montgomery blew out his breath and his shoulders slumped. In a heartbeat
, he appeared to have aged a decade. “Were you any other man, I would doubt your word.” He hesitated then locked Brynmor in his gaze. “Bring my little girl home, Brynmor.” He extended his hand.

Brynmor accepted his outstretched forearm with a powerful grip. Straightening his shoulders, he strode from the keep and into the bailey.

****

Rose huddled in the banded wagon as it lurched and bumped violently over the rough road. They had traveled a few miles away from Powys and stopped briefly to allow the soldier in the wagon with her to get out. Rose had been grateful to see him go. He had made no further move against her, but she trusted no one. Tears leaked from her eyes no matter her effort. She worried terribly over Brynmor. She remembered so clearly his words to her when he was on his sick bed.

I don't want them to take you from me, Rose . . . I could not bear it if I lost my wife . . . my family.

She also remembered her promise to him, that if anyone tried to take her from him, she’d lop off the offending hand.

Her tears fell faster. She had not done that. She had broken her promise and walked out of Powys willingly. But what else could she have done? The arrest warrant was legal. If Brynmor had fought, he would have been arrested as well—or worse.

“Forgive me,” she whispered. She should have done something
; she should have determined a solution. But no matter how many times she turned the situation over in her mind, she could not see any other answer than going peaceably with Owain.

Brynmor bellowing her name echoed in her ears.

“I am so sorry, Brynmor, please, please forgive me.”

The wagon bumped and lurched down the trail, sending her back to the floor each time she tried to sit on the small benches. She finally gave up and stayed on the floor, her legs curled under her. The old terror she had experienced as a child tried to rise again but she battled it back. It was the fear of the unknown that was the worst. Where were they taking her? Would Owain truly keep her as a noble prisoner or throw her into a dungeon to rot? Rose gritted her teeth. She refused to fall to her fear. As she had done when she was a child, she would keep her eyes and ears open, watching for any opportunity to escape.

Brynmor had rescued her once. She had no choice but to believe he would do so again. He was her knight and she had faith in him. Her faith did not waver, but her concern grew. She knew Brynmor would be beside himself, as would her father. But as long as they worked together on this, they would be unstoppable. She just hoped their volatile tempers did not get in the way.

She heard the thud of hooves on wood and the wagon trundled over what sounded like a drawbridge. She looked through the archer openings in the wagon but could see very little
, although it appeared as if the night sky had taken on a faint glow. Sunrise? Already?

The wagon stopped, throwing her back to the floor
again. She gritted her teeth and gathered her legs under her.

A k
ey turned in the lock. The moment the door opened, Rose flew through it. Her feet hit the ground and she staggered, but before she could regain her balance, Owain seized her left arm, his grip tightening painfully.

“Release me!”

Owain hauled her around to face him and curled his lip. “Cease struggling.”

Fury ignited within her and she spat in his face.

He lifted his hand as if to strike her but hesitated. Instead, he wiped the spittle from his cheek. “I caution you, my lady. A noblewoman as beautiful as you may cause a man to forget his oath of chivalry.”

“Chivalry?” she growled. “You have barely demonstrated any. Remove your hand from my arm.”

“And have you try to escape? Lady, I am not a fool.”

“Fool enough to hold me hostage.”

His jaw tightened and his eyes blazed furiously. “Mind your tongue,” he snapped. “I’d advise you not to provoke me. You do not know what the future holds.”

“Your death,” she said and curbed her anger enough to smile sweetly at him. “By Brynmor’s hand.”

His rage faded as quickly as it had appeared and he laughed heartily. “My death at the hand of a farmer? Nay, lady, you believe too much in fanciful tales and legends. Your farmer would not dare slay me. But that is neither here nor there, lady. You see, when this is over, Dafydd has promised Powys to me. You shall become my wife instead of marrying the pretender.”

Rose blinked at him. “Your wife?”

“You deserve a husband of noble blood. It is folly that a holding as massive as Powys be allowed to remain under the control of a farmer. I mean to right that wrong, and my benefactor agrees.”

“I
 . . . I don’t understand.”

He smiled wolfishly. “There are those who Fortune seems to smile upon, whether they deserve it or not. The farmer should have never found himself in control of such a holding.  I do not know why the Fates smiled upon him and not me. But Dafydd has promised Powys to me for my faithful service.”

For the first time, true terror snaked through her heart. She understood all too well there was only one way that could happen . . . with Brynmor’s death.

His fingers tightened on her arm
as he hauled her into the keep. He opened a door to a tower and dragged her up the stairs. No matter how hard she battled him, she could not break his grip. Oh, Mother Mary protect her! What was he going to do?

Owain unlocked a door on the top floor of the tower. Inside she saw dusty room filled with broken furniture covered in cobwebs. Her gaze landed on a large bed in the
center of the room that seemed to be a new addition as it was not covered in dust. Fear turned into terror and clamped her soul in its grip.

“Nay!” she screeched and battled him with all of her might. She succeeded in gouging his cheek
, but the injury did not seem to affect him and he tossed her into the room like a doll. She collided with the bed and spun, expecting to see him only a pace behind her. Instead Owain laughed, the sound mocking, and stepped out, slamming the door behind him. Rose heard the key turn in the lock with brutal finality.

Rose searched the room, ignoring the dust and the cobwebs
, but could find nothing to use for a weapon. The rotted wood of the broken furniture would not stand against an armored knight. Finally she sighed and sat on the bed. She was terrified to fall asleep but knew she should rest; she had to keep her wits about her and be ready for anything. Her stomach rumbled as the morning aged. She lay down on the bed but only dozed lightly, unable to truly sleep. Every little noise brought her bolting awake but she noticed the keep seemed to have very little activity. It was much quieter than Powys, but that made sense. Owain would not want to hide her in a keep with people about.

The key rattled in the lock and Rose came bolting awake again, shocked to see it was now dark in the room. The door opened and Rose lunged off the bed and as far away from the door as she could get. But it was not Owain who entered.

A soldier carried a tray containing a small burning candle, a bowl, and a cup. He sat the tray on the floor then placed a bucket beside it. “Eat quickly,” he muttered, his Welsh accent so thick she could barely understand him. “We leave in an hour.” He closed the door and Rose heard the key turn in the lock.

She stared at the bucket, knowing what it was for
, and rolled her eyes.

****

This time, Brynmor entered Llywelyn’s great hall with
his
guardsmen flanking him instead of Llywelyn’s. He gritted his teeth as fury pounded through his body and he walked with a determined stride. It was time all learned the price of angering Powys. For Rose, he would bring every ounce of influence and power the massive holding granted him, but he knew he still had to tread carefully, Rose’s life hung in the balance.

He strode past the herald, not bothering to wait for the man to announce his arrival. As Brynmor walked into the great hall, his
guardsmen in fine form with him, he heard the surprised murmurs of those in attendance. Llywelyn looked up at him, startled. Brynmor took note that his face seemed rather pale and drawn.

“What is the meaning of this, Powys?” Llywelyn snapped.

Red hazed across Brynmor’s vision. “My betrothed,” he said, his voice possessing an aloof calm he did not feel. “I want her back. Now.”

Llywelyn’s
face lost even more color. “Betrothed? So you have allied against me.”

Brynmor knew he walked dangerous ground. Llywelyn had to be handled carefully. “You know of my unusual relationship with the Montgomery family, that I rescued Rose. I have found a true affection for her
. Surely, Your Highness, you can understand this.”

Llywelyn studied him a long moment.
He swallowed hard. “Aye.”

“But your brother’s actions once again
drive me to Longshanks.” He tossed the scroll with Dafydd’s seal to Llywelyn’s steward.

The man
caught it and frowned as he studied the seal then opened the scroll. His face lost all color. “Powys speaks truly,” the steward said and handed the scroll to Llywelyn. “Your brother took matters into his own hands and ordered the lady’s arrest.”

Llywelyn also read the scroll, his expression mirroring that of his steward. “Damnation,” he growled and handed the scroll back.

“Aye,” Brynmor snapped. “As long as he holds my lady, I will fight him and you with all that I possess.”

“Powys,” Llywelyn began, his voice almost patronizing. “Surely, we can come to terms here.”

“I had hoped we could,” Brynmor snarled, his tone brooked no argument. “My terms are simple. My betrothed returned to me with all haste.”

“Powys—”

Brynmor stepped forward, his fists clenched, straining the seams of his gloves. “Owain ap Gwynwynwyn took my betrothed from my very citadel. With your brother’s blessing. Dafydd has turned against you in the past and does so again now. By taking my betrothed, he guarantees to make an enemy of Powys and the powerful English earldom of Montgomery.”

Llywelyn blinked at him then lifted his hand. “Out
, you fools! All of you. I would speak to Powys alone.”