The Beauty Bride (The Jewels of Kinfairlie) (28 page)

“It
was the wolves and their appetites I feared, not the darkness.”

Another
one howled, as if to emphasize her argument. Rhys cocked a head to listen.
“They are not coming closer,” he said with a confidence Madeline did not feel.

“All
the same, I will not sleep this night.”

He
spared her a piercing glance. “Have you ever spent a night outside of a
fortress walls?”

“Only
once,” Madeline admitted tightly. “A few nights past.”

She
thought at first that Rhys had not heard her, for he made no acknowledgement of
her words. He methodically impaled the cleaned fish upon sticks that he must
have peeled and sharpened while he waited for the fish to take his lure. He
drove the sticks into the ground so that they made a tripod and ensured that
the fish were angled over the flames.

Only
then did he apparently take note of her. “Will you watch that they do not burn?
You can turn them readily, like this.” Rhys spun one stick to demonstrate and
Madeline nodded grudgingly. He inclined his head so that she could see the
twinkle in his eyes and for a moment she feared that he would mock her.

Instead
Rhys spoke gently. “I vow to return, after I leave word for the wolves to let
my lady to slumber in peace this night.”

He
strode away and Madeline could not at first guess what he would do. She saw his
shadow slide behind one tree and heard the splatter of liquid falling, and then
she guessed.

Rhys
left a message for the wolves in a manner they would understand. He marked the
perimeter of their camp with his urine, as wolves marked their territory.

And
he did so to reassure her. How could she stay angry with a man of such rough
charm? Her brothers would never have done such a deed to reassure her - they
would have simply teased her until she dared not express her fear any longer.

Once
again, Rhys had surprised her.

Madeline
blinked back unexpected tears and paid undue attention to the fish. She heard
the rustle of Rhys’ footsteps as he moved all around the circle of their camp,
pausing to leave a missive for the wolves every few feet.

There
was a pause, then she heard him splashing in the river that she had not noted
earlier. Truly, she was not accustomed to heeding the sounds of the forest, for
the river’s flow was readily discernible now that she listened for it.

And
her heart wrung again with the realization of what Rhys did. This exasperating
man washed afore he shared a meal with her, as if he meant to show his bride
that his manners were not entirely coarse. Madeline would never have expected
him to be so concerned for her fears and expectations.

But
he was. Though he was not accustomed to sharing his every thought, though he
did not always understand or anticipate her concerns, the man had made efforts
to make their match a successful one. She owed him more than sniping better
suited to an alewife. She watched the fish diligently, her empty stomach
beginning to growl in complaint at the tempting smell of the roasting fish.

Rhys
returned with his hair wet and his tabard in his hands, his chemise untucked
and clinging to his damp skin. Madeline could see the outline of his muscled
chest through the wet cloth, and the dark tangle of hair upon his chest. Her
mouth went dry, her appetite kindled for something other than roasted fish.
Rhys shook the water out of his hair as he drew near to the fire, then checked
the fish with an experienced eye.

“They
will go well with that bread,” was all he said but his tone was amiable.
Madeline understood that he wanted their argument behind them.

So
did she, so she offered him a tentative smile. “You should stay near the fire,
until you are dry. Let me fetch the bread.”

He
glanced at her smile, blinked, then frowned at the fish. “I did not mean to
frighten you, but I confess that I think poorly with an empty belly.”

Madeline
nodded at his apology. “I understand that now. I apologize for my anger.”

His
frown deepened. “It was not undeserved. I am not accustomed to riding with
another person, let alone with a noblewoman.”

“Or
a wife?”

He
smiled then, that smile that melted all her reservations. “Or a wife,
anwylaf
.”

Perhaps
they could make a good match out of this poor beginning. Perhaps their marriage
was not fated to be merely endured. A son in her womb would resolve much of
what stood between them.

Madeline
dared to hope.

“It
seems that we slowly come to understand each other, Rhys,” she said, brushing
her fingertips across his arm. He impaled her with a glance that she used his
name, and that dangerous heat within her was coaxed to a flame. She did not
look away as her mouth went dry, nor did he.

Then
the fish began to smoke.

* * *

Rhys
shouted in dismay and Madeline hastened to fetch the bread. She held a slice of
bread while Rhys removed each fish from the stake. He deftly removed its head
and skin, leaving a steaming fillet upon each piece of bread.

“Ah,
for a measure of salt,” he said wistfully as they sat down by the fire, then
granted Madeline an unexpected wink.

She
sat, feeling all a-shiver in his presence, thinking of sons and their
conceptions, and ate her meal. The fish was delicious, the warmth of the fire a
delight. It was not all bad to be alone in the woods like this, night pressing
against them on all sides, not now that Rhys sat beside her. The horses dozed,
their tails swishing, and Gelert kept a keen watch over the camp.

Rhys
cleared his throat. “I owe you a boon, my lady, for it was not my intent to
frighten you.”

Madeline
regarded him with interest. It was unlike Rhys to offer any concession. “No
doubt you will name what manner of boon it must be.”

A
crooked smile touched his lips. “What if I offer you a tale?”

“A
tale of fancy, or one of your own history?”

“What
do you think?”

“I
think you would die before you confessed a morsel of your own history to me,”
Madeline said, much fortified by a warm meal in her belly. “But I shall risk
the asking.”

“God
save me from this fearless woman I have taken to wife,” Rhys muttered, though
his tone was warm.

Madeline
chuckled, then licked the last of the fish from her fingers. “One must make the
most of such a rare offer from you,” she teased and Rhys chuckled in his turn.
She liked the twinkle in his eyes, the way he looked when he teased her, and
that alone tempted her to ask what she really desired to know. “Who betrayed
you?”

Rhys
froze then, his gaze rising slowly to meet her own. Madeline did not blink, nor
did she look away. His eyes were dark, his expression unfathomable, but he
hesitated so that she thought he might answer her.

Then
he shook his head and turned his attention back to his meal. “You do not know
that anyone betrayed me.”

“I
would wager it.”

“You
have nothing with which to wager.”

“You
offered me the boon of a tale.”

A
muscle working in his throat and his voice dropped low. “Not that one,
Madeline.”

She
knew him well enough not to push on this matter. “Then tell me of Caerwyn.”

His
quick glance was piercing. “Why?”

“Because
you love it.”

“All
love it. You shall see it when we arrive there.”

Madeline
gathered her rapidly diminishing patience with an effort. “My aunt Rosamunde
seemed to know you.” She wondered whether she imagined that Rhys stiffened at
these words. “Does she?”

“Aye.”
He would not meet her gaze.

“How?”

Rhys
shrugged. “It is a long tale.”

Madeline
grit her teeth. The boon he offered was not one he would fulfill readily, it
was clear! “She said that I should not judge a man by his appearance, or even
by his repute. Thomas said much the same thing of you. What do they know of you
that I do not?”

“Who
can say?” Rhys said. “You should ask them.”

“I
am not likely to have the opportunity to do so for quite some time!”

He
almost smiled. “I doubt you will forget your query, no matter how much time
elapses.” And he helped himself to another piece of bread.

“Is
it your intent to be the most vexing man in Christendom, or do you have an
innate talent for keeping your secrets to yourself? I am certain that I have
never had so strong an urge to injure another living being as I have had since
meeting you!”

Rhys
smiled fully then, the expression driving the shadows from his eyes.
“Evasiveness is learned talent, but one I possess to be sure.” He finished his
own meal and stretched out upon his cloak. He crossed his booted ankles and
leaned his weight upon his elbow as he regarded her warmly. His eyes twinkled
in a most beguiling way. “No more questions?”

“What
would be the merit?”

“Surely
you cannot mean to surrender your boon as readily as that? I thought you a
woman of some persistence.”

Madeline
glanced about herself, not knowing what to ask him that he might deign to
answer. The hound rose, shook itself, then fairly pounced upon the discarded
skins of the fishes. “Why did you name the dog Gelert?”

Rhys
sighed, his gaze landing upon the dog. “It is a name from an old tale, one of
which I am fond.”

“Tell
me of it.” To Madeline’s relief, Rhys did not argue.

He
snapped his fingers and the dog came to his side. He scratched its ears, the
dog’s delight making both man and wife smile. “It is said that long ago, there
was a knight. He had a castle to his name, as well as a village and some land.
Because he had only his steed, his armor and his faithful hound, Gelert, to
keep him company, he decided to find a wife. He met a noblewoman who found him
as pleasing as he found her, and they were wedded. In time, they had a son.”

“Only
the hound has a name in this tale?”

Rhys
smiled fully, even as he scratched his own dog’s ears. “Only the hound is of
import in this tale.” He smiled at her and Madeline had difficulty thinking
clearly. The similarity between this tale and their own was evident, after all.
It was easy enough to recall how Rhys’ flesh had felt against her own, no less
to yearn for his caress again.

They
did not, after all, have a son as yet.

“And
so, what happened next?” she managed to ask.

“They
found a nursemaid to care for the child. When the babe was still in swaddling,
the parents went out to hunt, leaving the nursemaid with the care of the child.
It was perhaps the first time that the mother had left her infant son. The dog
remained beside the child, so diligently did it guard whatsoever its master
held dear.”

“There
is a hound worth the having. It knew the difference between mere possessions
and what a man holds dear.”

Rhys
flicked a glance at Madeline, but continued his tale without further comment.
“While the maid slept that afternoon, an enormous snake slithered into the
nursery. It had a thousand teeth and was a hundred ells long; its scales were
red and black and green, and its eyes were yellow. It was an ancient snake, one
which fed solely upon children, and it made its slithering path directly toward
the knight’s only son.”

Madeline’s
fingers knotted together in her skirt, even as Rhys’ own fingers moved in
Gelert’s fur.

“The
faithful dog attacked the snake, though the wicked beast was far larger and
more vicious than the hound. The two battled over which should claim the child.
The hound was bitten terribly by the snake, and though the dog fought with all
its vigor, the loss of blood weakened it sorely. It sank his teeth into the
snake, in a last bid to save the child, but the snake hit the hound with a
mighty thump of its tail. The hound was dazed long enough for the snake to
achieve its desire. The snake devoured the child whole, who screamed to no
avail as he met his demise.”

“How
horrible a tale,” Madeline whispered.

“It
becomes worse. For the maid was roused from sleep by the screams of the child.
She ran into the chamber, but arrived after the snake had disappeared back to
its hiding place. She saw only the blood of the child upon the linens, and the
blood of the snake upon the jowls of the hound, Gelert. She assumed that all
the blood was from the same small body, and she screamed that the hound had
murdered its master’s son.”

“Oh!”

“The
knight returned from the hunt shortly thereafter, and was told of events. His
wife was devastated, while he was furious. He called his hound, which came to
him willingly for the beast knew that it had done no wrong. And the knight
pulled his sword and killed his own hound with a single stroke. He struck the
head from his loyal dog with his own blade in his own hand, he saw justice
served for the crime he believed his dog had done.”