The Beauty Bride (The Jewels of Kinfairlie) (30 page)

“Rhys!”
she gasped as the tumult claimed her. At the sight of her pleasure, he could
restrain himself no longer. His triumphant shout echoed through the forest and
Rhys did not care who heard him.

It
took him long to even his breathing, even longer to calm the erratic pace of
his heart. His wife’s eyes closed almost immediately, her dark lashes making
crescents against her fair skin. He kissed her temple, affection swelling his
heart to bursting.

“Quite
definitely a son,” Madeline whispered sleepily against his throat and Rhys
smiled. He wrapped her protectively in her cloak, then rose to kick out the
flames. He dressed while he watched her in the ember’s glow, then rejoined her
in their makeshift bed. He evicted the hound, then pulled his own cloak over
himself and Madeline, cradling her against his chest for the night.

Only
then did he sleep, the warmth of his wife curled against him, and truly, he was
content.

* * *

Chapter Twelve

Madeline
awakened to find Rhys’ gloved finger against her lips and his lips against her
ear. Her eyes flew open and she realized that he had braced his weight upon his
elbows over her, shielding her from some threat. He was dressed and wide awake,
his watchful gaze flitting across the camp. Gelert was alert, as well, and a
faint growl escaped the hound’s chest.

Rhys
whispered a single command which must have been in Welsh and the dog fell
silent. The hair still stood on the back of the hound’s neck, though, and the
creature was nigh as watchful as Rhys.

It
was only then that Madeline heard the sound of hoof beats echoing through the
forest. They were distant but drawing closer, the pace of the horses indicating
that they trod the path she and Rhys had followed the day before.

“Destriers,”
she murmured, knowing the sound of heavy warhorses.

Rhys
nodded. “Three.”

Madeline
listened carefully and realized that the steeds came from the direction of
Moffat. It must be their pursuers!

But
if so, they had split forces, for there had been six destriers the day before.
Madeline bit her lip, not wanting to consider what would happen to Rhys if they
were captured. She struggled to recall what she knew of the road to Glasgow
ahead, for her father and uncle had spoken often of such matters.

It
proved to be convenient to have a family so engaged in trade. There were times
when Tynan delivered relics for Rosamunde - though under protest - and other
times when Michael dispatched trained falcons from Inverfyre. All of the men
discussed routes when the family met and Madeline was glad she had listened
even as much as she had.

The
hoof beats grew in volume, coming dangerously close. Rhys lowered himself
further and Madeline buried her face in his shoulder. The horses passed without
halting, then faded in the distance of the direction they meant to go this day.

Rhys
waited long moments before he finally rose. As soon as he did, Madeline leapt
to her feet and dressed with haste, knowing full well what had to be done. She
relieved herself and washed with uncommon speed, then returned to find the
horses saddled.

She
opened one saddlebag and granted Rhys a piece of bread, another chunk of cheese
and an apple. He hesitated, eying the low angle of the sun, clearly estimating
how far they could ride this day.

“We
must eat,” she counseled sternly. “And it will serve little to be fast upon
their heels.”

“I
would seek a fork in the road.” Rhys accepted the food and counsel with
impatience, but at least he ceded to her. “There must be another route, one
that they will not anticipate.”

“I
believe the road does fork, perhaps at Abington.” Madeline tried to recall the
precise location as Rhys watched her with interest. “The east road goes to
Edinburgh, the west to Glasgow.”

“And
there must be links between them, shortcuts for those traveling in the opposite
direction.” Rhys bent and seized a handful of ashes from the dead fire, then
began to rub them over his destrier’s hide. Arian quickly took on a darker hue.

“Once
one has consorted with horse thieves, their cunning is not readily forgotten,”
Madeline said, then took a handful of ash to the horse’s other side.

Rhys’
grin flashed unexpectedly. “The strategy works so long as there is no rain.
Will you pray for that, my lady?”

“If
my husband makes the matter worth my while,” she teased, liking the way his
eyes gleamed. The bite of the wind was suddenly less, the threat offered by the
king’s men more remote. She smiled at her husband, a tingle dancing over her
very flesh.

Rhys
started at some noise in the distance and his merry mood was dispatched.
Madeline shivered, reminded of the sun ducking suddenly behind a cloud, leaving
a chill where its heat had been.

“They
might believe you intent upon begging clemency at the court of the King of
Scotland,” she suggested.

“And
so we could feign that we made a course to Edinburgh,” Rhys mused, then
regarded her steadily. He began to smile. “You guessed all along that we fled
the king’s men.”

Madeline
sniffed. “I would wager that you do not know a single soul in Glasgow.”

Rhys
shook his head. “And I would wager that you will not agree to patiently wait
hidden here while I check the road.”

Madeline
met his bemused gaze. “For better or for worse, husband, we ride together.”

Rhys
nodded, apparently not displeased. “Aye and for better or for worse,
anwylaf
, we come to understand each other.” He offered his
hand. “Into the saddle, my lady. It will be a long day.”

* * *

And
so it was.

For
three days and nights, they gave a merry chase to the party on the black
destriers. They hid in barns and lurked in forests; they raced down roads
making all the noise they could muster, then crept back along shallow creeks.
Rhys dodged and feinted with such abandon that Madeline was oft unsure whether
they made any progress toward Glasgow at all.

They
heard the great horses, of course. Madeline caught only the barest glimpse of
the beasts’ dark rumps, for Rhys always hid her fully from the sight of them.
Their hoof beats thundered past hiding places, the sound of their passing
making Madeline’s heart thump in fear.

On
the first day, they came close enough to Glasgow to enter a warren of entangled
roads around its perimeter, which pleased her spouse mightily. Rhys seemingly
made a random choice at every crossroads, darting this way and that across the
countryside. The hoof beats were fast behind them the first day, through she
heard them less frequently with every passing day.

It
was only on the third day that Madeline realized they had steadily eased to the
northwest, circumnavigating Glasgow on the north side. On that day, too, she
heard the party pursuing them less and less frequently. Perhaps their pursuers
truly had believed that they had made for Edinburgh. There was no hint of them
when she awakened on the fourth morning to the patter of rain.

All
was grey around her, many of the trees just beginning to come into leaf. The
sky was an endless spread of pewter-hued clouds and the rain already began to
make mud of the road. Rhys huddled in his cloak, watchful and silent as he had
been for days.

“There
will be a new moon this night,” he said gruffly, as if such news was of great
import.

“And
what of it?”

“It
is time we made haste.” He stood then and shook the rain out of his cloak,
saddling the horses with quick purpose.

Madeline
knew she should be coming accustomed to her husband’s manner, but such
enigmatic statements still had the power to annoy her. Yet she knew that if she
asked him for an explanation, he would not grant her one.

“How
old are you, Rhys?” she asked while assembling the last of their fare. Three
apples were the sum of it. She hoped his scheme to make haste included a good
meal later this day.

“I
have seen thirty summers. Why do you ask?”

“And
do you oft consort with women?”

“I
have, on occasion.” He regarded her with suspicion. “Why?”

“But
never for more than a night or two, I would wager.”

Rhys
nodded, but said no more.

“That
answers my question, then.”

“What
question?”

“How
so vexing a man could survive so long, of course. Had you been wed before, you
would have been found dead in your own bed years ago! There is not a woman
alive who can endure such a meager measure of information as you will
surrender.” Madeline bit into her apple. “And even that must be coaxed from
your lips morsel by morsel.”

“Yet
every time I have very nearly been found dead in my bed, as you say, it has
been because I confessed too much to some soul I should not have trusted.” He
tightened the harness around the palfrey’s belly, unrepentant. “I think you
have the wrong end of the tale, my lady.”

Madeline
stopped eating to regard him in astonishment. “Do you mean that you tell me so
little because you still do not trust me? What cause have you to distrust me?”

“What
cause have I to trust you?” he answered and held her gaze unswervingly.

“But
we meet abed each night in pleasure!”

“That
and trust are two different matters.”

“I
should be insulted.”

“You
are too clever not to see that I speak the truth. Come, my lady, time it is to
ride.”

Madeline
let him aid her to mount, uncertain what to do about his skepticism. What she
could do to encourage his trust? Madeline could imagine no worse fate than
spending her life beside a man who did not - or would not - trust her.

She
had aided his flight. She had shared what she knew of the countryside. She had
wed him, she had bedded him, she had agreed to his demand for sons, she had
tried to make their marriage meet her expectations. What else could she do?

Or
had she only to continue on her present course to slowly win him to her side?
Was Rhys so terse because he softened toward her, and he feared the import of
that?

Madeline
had plenty of time to consider the puzzle, for Rhys was disinclined to talk on
this day. Each time she tried to speak, he raised an imperious finger,
silencing her as he listened intently for any hint of pursuit.

And
the weather was not an aid to conversation. Within moments of their riding out
of their camp, the gentle patter ended and it began to rain as if the deluge
had come again. The rain fell in sheets, it fell relentlessly, steadily,
endlessly. They were sodden to their very bones within moments, and the soot
was washed away quickly from Arian’s hide.

Fortunately,
there did not seem to be anyone interested in identifying the horse or two
riders fool enough to be out in such weather. The road was so quiet that Rhys
began to ride openly, his pace relentless.

Rhys
took a course due west, without explanation, and Madeline watched the plumes of
smoke that must be rising from Glasgow slide past them to the south. It was clear
he did not make for Glasgow at all. She wondered at his destination, for only
the highlands and islands lay ahead of them.

And
the sea, of course. She smell its salt in the wind and taste it in the rain.
She strained her ears and thought she could discern its rhythm on a close
shore. That was welcome, at least, for she had missed the sound and sight of
the ocean.

She
might not know where she was going, or what her husband desired of her beyond
those sons, but she would take the lesson from his tales. She would savor
whatever small gifts came to her. She would look forward to seeing the sea in
all its silver majesty again.

And
that, for the moment, would have to suffice.

* * *

In
contrast, far to the south at Caerwyn keep, the sun shone merrily. The sea
glistened beyond the high white walls for which the keep was named, the
pennants snapped in the wind from the sea, birds cried overhead and the widow
of Henry ap Dafydd was annoyed beyond belief.

Nelwyna
supposed that she should have become accustomed to matters not proceeding in
her favor, for she had faced obstacle after obstacle since arriving as a new
bride at this holding. Nonetheless, each new challenge seemed an insult, an
abnegation of all she had suffered and endured in the hope of ultimately achieving
her ambition. Thus, each cursed time that something went awry, she was
infuriated.

All
she had ever desired, all she had ever deserved, was to be the lady of a fief.
She did not even care which one, and even Caerwyn, at this point, would
suffice. Nelwyna had wed Henry ap Dafydd, believing that she would be his lady
upon her marriage, but she had been deceived. Henry had held title to nothing.
All the family wealth had passed to his elder brother, Dafydd ap Dafydd. Even
when Dafydd had captured Caerwyn, she had hoped he might grant it to Henry, but
Dafydd had kept all.