Heart's War (Heart and Soul) (27 page)

They made themselves comfortable and Gwen entered carrying a tray with wine, ale, and the typical fare for their visitors. Brynmor swallowed hard seeing her, wishing it was Rose who could serve their guests. “How is she?” Brynmor asked softly as Gwen handed him a cup.

“Just fine, Brynmor,” Gwen said with a knowing smile. “She’s sleeping right now.”

He nodded and took a drink, noting Lestrange watching him. Gwen stepped out and Lestrange stared at his cup. “I had heard rumor of what happened,
Powys, that your new wife was grievously injured. It was feared she may not survive.”

“Aye,” Brynmor replied tightly. “But she is recovering, although still a bit weak.”

“That is good to hear. I was also told you made the sod pay for what he did to her in a rather . . . unique way.”

Brynmor gritted his teeth, suddenly wishing Owain was alive so he could kill him all over
again. “Aye, the injuries he caused her became his own. I was forced to slay him when he tried to run me through from behind.”

“Then perhaps you will be relieved to learn you are no longer under threat.”

Brynmor blinked at him, startled. “What mean you? Did Owain’s army not try to join with Llywelyn?”

“Oh they did, but it matters not. Llywelyn is dead. Dafydd is now Prince of Wales.
Those we were not able to capture are in full retreat back to Snowdonia.”

Brynmor’s gut dropped to the floor and he was surprised at the sickening dread that rose within him. “What?” he asked softly.

Montgomery leaned forward, his expression also surprised.

“’Tis difficult to explain,” Lestrange said. “Llywelyn split his forces
, and we are not certain why. He sent part of them south toward Bulith. The rest we thought were going to join with Owain’s troops for his attack on Powys.”

“Aye,” Brynmor said nodding. “That was also the report of my scouts
, and my belief.”

“But Owain attacked too quickly and ruined Llywelyn’s plan. His defeat here and his death sent things into
confusion. Because you retook your castle so quickly, I believe Llywelyn was riding out to find out what was happening on Powys on his own.”

“On his own?”

“My forces had managed to cross a little-known ford and attack Llywelyn’s army by surprise. I was disappointed to learn Llywelyn was not there. His men were in disarray, needing his leadership. Unknown to me at the time, he had left with only a handful of men.”

Brynmor looked to
Montgomery in shock. Llywelyn had always been a savvy military leader. This made no sense.

“Once Llywelyn learned of my attack, he attempted to return with all haste. But he was intercepted and
run through on a lance. No doubt he was not recognized, or else the knight who slew him would have captured him and held him for ransom.”

“Aye,” Brynmor said
, but his voice was barely audible.

“It was only a day later that someone recognized Llywelyn’s body and reported to me.”

“And you’re sure it was Llywelyn?”

“I am certain
.”

Brynmor shook his head and took a drink of wine, trying to absorb the man’s words.

“I am moving my troops north, bringing land back under the crown’s control. But I wanted to check on you, Powys. Even if the bulk of Owain’s army went north, I worried that some might remain behind to give you grief as vengeance for their slain leader. I must say, it does my heart good to see yours and Montgomery’s forces here.”

“Aye,”
Montgomery said. “I mean to remain until the repairs are completed. And of course, I wish to be near my daughter while she recovers.”

Lestrange nodded and rose. “I will also leave the forces you sent to me. It is more important that Powys remain stable.” He paused and drained his cup. “I believe this war is almost over, but if Powys is unstable, it could extend this conflict
, and no one needs that.”

“Aye,” Brynmor said softly. He gripped Lestrange’s forearm again, but it was without thought. He felt numb and shocked from the news. Llywelyn was dead?

Lestrange departed and Montgomery looked at him worriedly. “Brynmor, are you all right?”

He nodded. “I am going upstairs to sit with Rose for a time.”

Montgomery nodded, but his concern didn’t fade.

Brynmor ascended the stairs
, trying to come to terms with all Lestrange had told him. But his emotions tangled into a confusing knot. He entered Rose’s room quietly. As Gwen had said, she slept. He stepped in, closing the door behind him. The room grew darker and Brynmor glanced up at the archer loophole. The sky darkened and rain began to fall, slowly at first, but it rapidly turned into a torrent. He stepped forward and closed the storm shutters so the rain would not make its way into the room. But that strengthened the darkness. He added more wood to the hearth fire but did not wish to make it so bright it disturbed Rose.

He stood over the bed, watching her as she slept. He was a Welshman married to an English noblewoman, his allegiance
was to Longshanks.

Llywelyn was dead and the hope for Wales
had died with him.

Grief threatened to choke Brynmor. Dafydd was now Prince of Wales
, but he would not be able to succeed where his brother had failed. Llywelyn had been the better man, the better strategist, the better politician.

All you can do is fight for what you hold dear,
Montgomery had said.

Brynmor had done that. Unable to control the actions of others, he had fought to protect his lands and the people he governed. They had suffered, they had felt the pain and loss of war, but his lands had not been sacked, his people
had not been murdered, and his fields had not been razed. They still had a fighting chance for a future.

But even more, he had fought to protect his home and his beloved wife. If things had been normal, the son of a freeman farmer would never
have had the chance to gain her hand. But things were not normal. He was the Prince of Powys and now led his people forward into a new age. Yet with the death of Llywelyn, he knew Wales as an independent nation was in its death throes, and that knowledge twisted his heart.

Rose stirred in the bed and opened her eyes. “Brynmor?” she asked in surprise. “What’s wrong?”

Despite his melancholy, he felt his lips tug upward. How did she always know when something troubled him?

She reached for him with her good hand and he sat in the chair next to the bed, pulling her hand to his lips. Slowly, he told her about Lestrange’s visit and all he had related.

Rose’s face paled a bit. “Llywelyn . . . dead?”

“Aye,” he said tightly. “I fear what will happen under Dafydd’s leadership.”

Rose shook her head. “Brynmor, I do not think Dafydd will lead Wales for very long.”

Brynmor nodded. “But I grieve for my people,
my nation, our way of life, and what we have lost.”

“I know,” she said softly, pulling him closer. “But Brynmor, your people and
way of life will survive because of men like you. You did all you could to protect them, and because of you they will know change, but they will also have a chance for a future.”

He stared at her a long moment. “
How is it you always know what I need to hear?”

She smiled. “I only speak the truth, Brynmor.”

He reached out and caressed the soft silk of her bruised face. “For a time, I feared believing in what I had been given, that if I relaxed my guard it would all be taken from me, like before.”

“And now?”

“That fear is still strong within me and I think it will always be. But I am no longer afraid of loving you . . . for you never gave me the choice.”

Her blue eyes
gleamed vibrantly and she appeared to fight back a smile. “Well, if you must know, I find it difficult to believe that I actually fell in love with a freeman farmer.”

His lips
curved and a soft chuckle rumbled through him. “Nay, you fell in love with the Earl of Powys, who just happens to know farming quite well.”

She giggled then winced as her ribs pained her.

“Forgive me, little one,” Brynmor said, his humor fading.

“How many times must I remind you, I am not little anymore,” she snapped.

He leaned forward, brushing her hair back. “You will always be my little one.”

She studied him a long moment, her tight expression easing. “Just as you will always be my knight.”

“Aye,” he murmured softly and touched his lips to hers.

Epilogue

Two Years Later

Brynmor walked slowly as his mother leaned heavily on his arm. He escorted her to the garden and a small bench where she loved to sit when the weather was nice. A soft breeze played through the trees
, and although it was summer, the weather was pleasant.

His m
other's health was still poor and her body stooped with age, but her eyes were bright and her smile, although somewhat toothless, was freely given. Brynmor had not been able to return her home, her health being too fragile for the journey, but the holding in which she lived was pleasant, and she loved the extravagant gardens.

“I
am vexed that you only now have come to visit,” his mother said as she sat on the bench.

“Forgive me
, Mother,” he said, sitting next to her and holding her hand. “The war made things terribly difficult. And there were other concerns.”

His mother gazed at him a long moment, her mahogany hair almost completely gray
now. Although her body grew frail, her intellect as well as her eyesight remained as sharp as ever. “My boy has grown into a fine man,” she said softly.

He felt his cheeks grow ruddy and ducked his head.

“But there is more, something has changed within you, Brynmor.”

Damnation, he had never been able to hide anything from her. She could read him as easily as a battle plan.

“I . . . I am married now, Mother.”

She grinned at him. “You think I do not know this?” She laughed and patted his hand. “Your betrothed sent the banns to this holding. I wanted to be there for you, my son, but with my health and the war
 . . .” She paused and winked at him. “You would have had my head if I had returned to Powys.”

He chuckled. “Aye.”

“So marriage agrees with you, my boy. Perchance is it your new wife that has brought such a change in you.”

“What change do you see?”
he asked curiously.

“I see a happiness in your eyes that was not there before. I sense a peace in your heart
 . . . you now embrace your role as earl, no longer denying it. You no longer see yourself as a son of a freeman but as a man deserving of the rank and power he holds.”

He marveled at her. “You see this by just looking at me?”

She laughed again. “Oh, my son, I should say aye and let you believe in my mysterious powers. Son, I am a member of this earldom as well. I may not live under the same roof, but the actions of the earl are not a secret. In the past two years, I have watched you grow into this position with greater confidence and poise than you had the previous ten years.”

He inclined his head, grinning at her.

“Your wife . . . she is Rose of the House Montgomery, is she not?”

“Aye.”

“A good house . . . a strong house . . . and Gwenillian . . . she is Montgomery's wife?”

“Aye.”

Her humor faded and she sighed heavily, staring at the ground.

“Mother? Are you growing weary? Should we go inside?”

“Nay, son, I am fine . . . I just . . .” She drew another deep breath, her eyes misting with tears. “Has your wife accompanied you on your visit?”

“Aye. She is here,
but she wanted to give us a chance to talk first.”

“Ah, a woman of wisdom.”

Brynmor smiled. “Aye, and one I love very much.”

His mother blinked at him in shock. “Sweet Mary be praised, there is a woman on this earth who could pierce the armor my son placed around his heart.”

“Surprised the hell out of me too,” Brynmor muttered.

His mother laughed warmly
, bringing a smile to Brynmor's lips.

Again her humor faded, a look of sadness replacing it. “Brynmor, there is something I should have told you long ago.”

His concern grew. “What is it? What's wrong?”

“Your father,” she began.

“Nay,” he said tightly, fury rising within him. “Speak not of him.”

“I know I promised never to mention him again
, but there is something you must know. I never had the courage to tell you because I feared you would leave me and I would have nothing but loneliness.”

“Mother, I could never abandon you. I could never do what he did to you.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “He was not your father.”

Brynmor's heart dropped to his boots. “What?”

She closed her eyes, a tear trickling down her cheek. “You remember we never had enough money, we struggled to even put food on the table.”

“Aye.”

“When I was young, I was an attractive woman. The man you knew as your father . . . struggled to provide for me even before we were blessed with children. One day I caught the Earl of Powys's eye. He, of course, was much younger then too. He promised me gold if I became his mistress.”

Brynmor's eyes widened in horror. “Mother!”

She flinched. “Please son, do not judge me. For I told my husband of Powys’s proposal . . . and he agreed to it.”

The blood drained from his face, he rose and paced before her, dragging his hand through his hair, trying to come to grips with her words.

“Powys thought himself unable to sire more children, but he was wrong. He bedded me regularly.”

“Mother,” he said his voice suddenly pleading. “I do not need to hear this.”

“Yes, you do,” she said firmly. “For you are his son.”

The air seemed to vibrate around him. He quickly returned to the bench and buried his face in his hands.
“And I slew him,” he whispered. For a moment his thoughts reeled, he had murdered old man Powys, his own father, but truth steeled his resolve. The blackguard had mistreated his mother and ordered Gwen’s death. His actions had been justified.

“Have you not noticed how much you look like Gwenillian?”
his mother asked, bringing him back to the present.

“Aye, many have voiced those same words.”

“You think of her as your adopted sister, but in truth, she is your half sister.”

He lifted his head and stared at her
, incredulous. “Then that means . . .”

“You are a noble by birth.”

“Holy hell,” he muttered. He had no idea how to deal with this revelation.

“Powys paid me well
, but I did not tell him of my breeding. My husband took the money and we bought the land we worked. But he was a shallow man, he bade me go to Powys's bed, accepted his gold, but then hated me for it. He drank heavily and beat me so terribly, at one point I was afraid I would lose you.”

Brynmor thought of Rose and shivered.

“We finally agreed that I would never return to Powys. I gave birth to you and he claimed you as his son. For a time, things improved between us. You grew up healthy and strong. I later gave birth to your sisters and your brother. But then, things grew worse. Our harvests were not what they should have been. He still drank too much and gambled away what little money we had. He demanded that I return to Powys in order to get the money we needed.”

Brynmor lifted his head,
his fury levering upward. “And that's when you became pregnant with my sister . . . why you never named her father.”

“Aye,” she said, tears streaming down her face. “Again he took Powys'
s gold, but he was furious with me.” She hesitated and drew a deep breath. “That's why he left, Brynmor. He did not take you because you were not his son. He took your sisters and your brother and all of the gold Powys had given me and vanished.”

Brynmor's fury melted into sorrow. He pulled his mother to his ch
est and held her tightly. “Mother,” he whispered, tears blurring his eyes. “I could never leave you . . . I could never hate you. You did the only thing you could do.”

She clung to him with surprising strength. “When my baby girl died
 . . . when my son dropped in the fields, his hands bloody from the plow, I knew I had to do something. I returned to Powys and told him the truth of your birth. At first he denied me, but as you grew older, I think he saw your heritage within you. That's when he brought us to his castle and married me. Powys wanted to claim you as his son, but he feared no one would believe him. Instead he adopted you, naming you his heir.”

“All this time
 . . . all these years believing I had no right to the title I held . . . Mother, you should have told me.”

“I know
, but one thing stopped me. You needed to believe in yourself. Brynmor, you know by now title has nothing to do with the blood in your veins but the strength of your heart. You rose to the occasion, you learned and you believed.”

His arms tightened around her. “I never wanted to be earl.”

“I know but—”

“Mother, listen to me. I never wanted to be earl
, but I wanted to be a husband and father. I wanted what my father took from me.” He lifted his head. “Rose,” he called softly.

His beautiful wife
, along with a handmaiden, stepped into the gardens.

Brynmor's mother lifted her head. Her breath caught in her throat.

Brynmor's smile grew. “Mother, allow me to present your grandson.”

Rose carried the
ir six-month-old infant in her arms

His mother covered her mouth, her eyes bright with tears. “Oh
, my son,” she whispered and held out her arms.

Rose
gently placed the babe in her arms. He had a thick mat of black hair and crystal-blue eyes. He cooed and blew bubbles at her.

“Look at you,”
his mother whispered. “Just like your father at that age.”

Brynmor's heart twisted as she placed a kiss on the baby's forehead
, but he grinned broadly seeing the joy within her. He looked again to Rose and stood.

“Love,” he said softly. “Sit for
a while, talk with my mother.”

Rose did so
, and Brynmor stepped to the side, watching them. Rose leaned close and whispered something in his mother’s ear. Brynmor scowled, but his mother crowed with delight and kissed Rose's cheek.

He thought over the words his mother had told him
, but as watched them, he realized one important fact.

None of it mattered because he had everything he could ever hope to possess. It didn't matter if he was of noble blood or a son of a freeman. He governed his earldom as best as he saw how
 . . . but he also remembered when he had had nothing, when there had been no food, when he had dropped in the fields. He looked again to his beautiful wife. She had fought to save so many. It did not matter to her if they were Welsh or English, rich or poor, noble or serf, she had fought to save each life with all that was within her. She had fought when she should have given quarter . . . but the flame within her soul ignited the same within his own.

He looked to Rose and saw her smiling at him. He marveled that the fire in her eyes
was the same it had been the day he first met her, then again when he married her, and again when he first made love to her.

“We should go inside,” his mother said, giving the baby to Rose.

Rose handed the baby to him. She stood and helped his mother to her feet. “Lean on me,” she said softly. “I have much to tell you about your grandchild.”

His mother looked at Rose in surprise. “You have strength within you, child.”

Rose grinned broadly and looked up at Brynmor. She winked. “Of course, how else could I be a match for your son?”

Brynmor smiled at her. It was that fire that had been the reason she had recovered fully from her injuries and
had given birth to a healthy baby boy. It was that fire which was the reason why he had fallen in love with her, and it was that fire he needed by his side, today and every day.

And
every day, he thanked God and the saints for such a precious gift.