The Beauty Bride (The Jewels of Kinfairlie) (36 page)

Rhys
shook his head. “The posset made you ill. It was supposed to merely make you
sleep.”

“You
bought a potion to make me ill?” Madeline pulled out of his embrace, but Rhys
nodded.

“I
did indeed, though that was never my intent. I erred most gravely in trusting
the skill of a stranger, Madeline, and ask your forgiveness.”

Madeline
stepped out of the circle of his embrace, scarce reassured that he had seen fit
to buy any kind of potion for her.

“Why
would you do such a deed?” She did not expect him to answer her, for Rhys had
proven to be adept in avoiding questions, but he colored and stared at the
floor.

To
her astonishment, he answered her. “I thought it would be simpler if you slept
through the morning.” He sighed. “I knew you would ask many questions, that you
might disagree with me about my chosen course, and that you might not decide to
remain alone in the chamber of the inn, even if I bade you do so.”

“So
you bought me a sleeping potion and deceived me as to its nature.” Madeline did
not hide her annoyance. “You told me it was no more than hot cider!”

The
back of Rhys’ neck flushed scarlet, but he did not look away from her. “I did.
I thought it best. I was mistaken.”

The
chamber heaved again, and Madeline was thrown against one wall so heavily that
she was certain she would be bruised. She did not reach for Rhys this time,
though, so vexed was she with him.

“What
manner of chamber is this?” she demanded irritably. “Where are we that the very
floor roils beneath us?” Before Rhys could answer, Madeline gasped in
understanding. “We are on a ship!” She clutched the wall as the ship rocked
again, then lunged for the portal.

She
had to get out of the hold!

Rhys
stepped in front of the portal. “What ails you? There is nothing to fear.”

“We
are on a ship!” Madeline tried to push him aside, though her efforts were
futile. “That is reason for fear enough.”

“There
is no peril here. Our captain is well experienced and the weather is fair. We
are not far from shore, yet we are far enough to evade rocks and shallows...”

Madeline
snatched at the portal again, as she tried to push Rhys aside. “We are on a
ship and that is peril indeed!”

Rhys
caught her shoulders in his hands. “Have you been on a ship before? Why do you
fear it so much?”

“I
must leave!”

“Why?”
Rhys shook her. “Why, Madeline?”

“Let
me out!”

“Tell
me.”

Madeline
struggled against his grip to no avail. She quickly decided that the easiest
way to pass the formidable obstacle of her husband was to win his agreement.
“My parents were drowned last autumn. Their ship sank and all aboard died.”

“Ah.”
Rhys considered this, taking overlong to do so, to Madeline’s thinking. “So
that was why you protested our boarding.”

“Let
me out!” Madeline’s breath began to come quickly, so great was her terror that
she would share her parents’ fate. “I will not linger in the hold and wait to
die!” She clutched Rhys’ shoulders and tried to shove him out of her way.
“Move, Rhys, or I shall go mad!”

He
moved, but caught her elbow in a fearsome grip so that she was obliged to
remain fast by his side. “Come up to the deck with me and see what a fine day
this is.”

There
was a narrow corridor outside their portal, and a blessed patch of blue sky
could be seen far ahead. Madeline hastened toward it and fairly fell upon the
ladder.

“I
will climb ahead of you,” Rhys said in a tone that brooked no argument. “So
that you do not lose your footing on the wet deck. Follow close behind me.”

“Rhys,
hurry!”

He
paused and caught her in a tight hug. “We are safe, Madeline. You will see as
much shortly.” Then he and his reassuring heat were gone, his shoulders
blocking the sight of the patch of sky that was keeping Madeline from madness.
She scrambled behind him, not caring whether she was graceful or not, and
blinked as she lunged into the bright sunlight of a glorious day.

Rhys
caught her around the waist and pulled her to one side of the ship, out of the way
of the busy sailors. The wind was blustery, and the sails snapped with vigor.

“A
beautiful day,” Rhys said, his very tone calming Madeline. He braced his feet
against the deck and gripped the rail on either side of her, making her feel
within the shelter of his embrace. He pointed to the shore. “See? There is the
isle of Arran, unless I miss my guess. With this wind, we shall be home at
Caerwyn in no time at all.”

Madeline
took a shaking breath. The hills of the isle seemed especially verdant in this sunlight,
and she could spy goats or sheep grazing. The sea, when she dared to look upon
it, glittered as if its surface was wrought of gems. She did not look down into
its dark depths, but across the sparkle of its surface. The air was crisp and
cleared the last of the fog from her head.

She
turned as the sailors began to sing in unison.

“They
sing to ensure that they pull as one to hoist the sail,” Rhys said,
anticipating her question. Then he raised his voice and joined the song, his
rich voice filling Madeline with an unexpected pleasure. She watched,
fascinated, as the sailors hauled on ropes and pulled a massive sail up the
mast in steady increments. This second sail swelled in the wind, and snapped
alongside the first, and she felt the ship move more quickly.

It
was reassuring to have Rhys so fast behind her. His voice steadied her fears,
just as his talk had eliminated Tarascon’s fear. She found herself leaning
slightly against him and told herself that she seemed to be safe enough.

And
in truth, there was little she could do about being on this ship. She could not
swim and this ship was not directed toward the shore. She took a deep breath.
He had spoken aright - it was better on the deck than in the cabin.

The
song ended and the sailors knotted the ropes, shouting to each other to ensure
the task was done well. “Now our speed will be considerable,” Rhys said.

“You
never sang before,” Madeline said and he shrugged, as if discomfited by her
attention.

“We
have not known each other so long as that,” he said gruffly.

“But
you know I am fond of music.”

He
colored in a most uncharacteristic way. “My voice is a humble one,” was all he
said, then looked across the sea.

Another
detail about their departure from Dumbarton drifted into Madeline’s thoughts.
“I had a curious dream, courtesy of that posset,” she said and knew she did not
imagine that Rhys stiffened.

“Aye?”

Madeline
tipped back her head to regard him, and noted that his eyes had narrowed. Had
there been a vestige of truth in her dream? “I dreamed that those who pursued
us, upon the six black destriers, came to the very wharf while we departed.”

Rhys’
features seemed to set to stone.

“I
dreamed that they were not the king’s men, but that my aunt Rosamunde led the
party. I dreamed that they rode stallions from Ravensmuir.”

Rhys’
lips tightened.

Madeline
dared not fall silent now. She would utter the worst of it, and let him refute
it. “And I dreamed that you knew the truth of it all along.”

He
shook his head with such resolve that she thought he would deny her charge. “I
have only known since Moffat. Before that, I too believed the king’s men to be
fast behind us.”

Madeline
stepped away from him. “You did know!”

“Indeed,
I did.”

Madeline
considered this. Her family gave chase, but why? Rosamunde had been the only
one to endorse Rhys - she must ride in pursuit to rescind her support.

Something
had made Rosamunde change her thinking about Rhys.

In
face of that, Madeline felt new suspicion of Rhys’ motives. His easy confession
was most uncharacteristic. “Why are you admitting to this deed? It is unlike
you to answer my questions so readily.”

Rhys’
smile was almost a grimace. “I resolved that it was time I answered your
queries. I have served you poorly, Madeline, both with the posset - though I
never imagined it would be so potent - and in refusing to tell you what I know.
You asked me for honesty, and I have made a poor task of granting that to you.”
His manner was so sincere, that Madeline’s annoyance with him faltered. “I
would do better, if you would grant me the chance.”

Madeline
turned to face the sea, both hands grasping the rail. “You knew that my family
pursued us, yet still you fled onward.”

Rhys
nodded as he turned, taking a place alongside her.

“Do
you know why they pursued us?”

He
braced his elbows upon the rail and rubbed his chin with one hand. He shot a
quick glance her way and his eyes were bright. She had the definite sense that
he was uneasy. “I can guess.”

“Then,
I would ask you to do so.”

Rhys
pursed his lips, as if seeking the words. “First you should know that I doubt
that they are your family, or your blood kin.”

He
could not have uttered another thing more astonishing to Madeline. “How can
this be?”

Rhys
held up a finger for her silence, then turned to face the sea as he told his tale.
“Once, many years ago, I was witness to a wedding. Dafydd ap Dafydd saw his
sole surviving daughter wed to a knight name of Edward Arundel.” Madeline
watched a smile touch Rhys’ lips in recollection. “They were a most happy pair.
I remember their laughter. She wore a coronet of daisies in her dark, dark
hair.”

Madeline
felt slightly uneasy with this detail, her own ebony braid flicking in the wind
behind her.

Rhys
glanced at her. “The bride was well known as a rare beauty. She had eyes of the
clearest hue of blue, so blue that they were oft compared to sapphires. Her
name was Madeline, Madeline Arundel.”

The
uneasiness within Madeline grew.

“Despite
the couple’s happiness, theirs was a match that suited their families’ desire
for alliance. Dafydd was intent in securing the new Welsh alliance with the
Earl of Northumberland. Edward was the son of a prominent knight in the Earl’s
household.”

“But
that was the alliance that saw Henry Hotspur, the Earl’s son and heir, charged
with treason and killed.”

“Nay,
Hotspur was killed later, in 1403, though all was rooted in the same unrest.”

Madeline
tried to forge a link between Hotspur and the charge against Rhys and failed.
“You were too young to have fought even then.”

“But
not too young to have seen the damage.” Rhys pursed his lips as he stared
across the sea. “Many men died trying to regain the sovereignty of Wales in
those years of warfare and strife. Villages were razed and much damage done in
retaliation for the rebellion. I was raised in a land that echoed with
absences, with the silence of those who should have been there. Last winter,
even Dafydd ap Dafydd passed this earth, his dreams of a sovereign Wales turned
to disappointment.”

Madeline
leaned closer, intrigued despite herself. “But Dafydd ap Dafydd’s death must
have left his daughter’s husband, Edward Arundel, as his heir.”

“It
would have, if that couple had lived longer than the old man himself.”

“They
are dead?”

Rhys
nodded. “I followed them, all these years later, to Northumberland. Madeline
Arundel lived but a year, her husband a few years longer.”

So
that was why Rhys had been so far from home! He had been seeking his family.

“Then
the holding reverts to the crown, does it not?”

“In
England, it would. But in Wales, the blood in a son’s veins is of more import
than the marital state of his parents. A bastard can inherit lands under Welsh
law.”

“You
are talking about Caerwyn,” Madeline guessed. “Caerwyn must have been Dafydd ap
Dafydd’s holding. Are you Dafydd’s bastard son?” She knew Rhys would not answer
such a personal query and was astonished when he did.

“I
am his nephew. My father Henry was Dafydd’s younger brother. He had four
daughters by his wife and one bastard son by his concubine.” Rhys met her gaze
as he tapped his finger upon his own chest.

“But
I would wager that you can inherit Caerwyn only if you are the last of your
kin,” Madeline guessed. “You said that your sisters were dead and that Dafydd
had only one daughter. Did Madeline Arundel have no children?”

Rhys
smiled and regarded her so warmly that Madeline was confused. “She had one.
Madeline Arundel died in childbirth, but the child lived. That child was a
girl.” His gaze was steady. “My cousin bore her babe at Alnwyck and died in so
doing, though the name of her child is not recorded.”

Madeline
gripped the rail even tighter beneath his steady gaze, for she guessed what he
meant to imply. “Alnwyck is near Kinfairlie,” she said. “You think I am that
daughter.”

“Madeline’s
babe was born in 1398.”

“As
was I!” Madeline stared over the water herself, stunned by what Rhys suggested.
What if her kin were not her kin?

He
leaned down and murmured into her ear. “It was writ at Edward Arundel’s funeral
in 1403 that the Lady of Kinfairlie took the deceased’s daughter to raise as
her own.”

Madeline
felt suddenly dizzy. It all made a treacherous sense.

“Why
else would your kin be so ready to be rid of you that they would sell your hand
at auction, as one would sell livestock? It is clear that they meant to save
the expense of a dowry upon one who is not of their lineage.”

Madeline
clutched Rhys’ sleeve as she turned to face him. “Then why did you wed me?”

He
studied her, his expression wary. “You have wits enough to guess.”

“You
wed me because if I am that daughter, then I am the sole other claimant to
Caerwyn. I would be the only person who could keep it from your hand.”

Rhys
inclined his head in agreement and anger roiled within Madeline. His motive was
so cold, so calculated. She would have been more relieved to learn that he had
wedded her out of lust.

“So,
you wed me for Caerwyn, no more and no less.”

“That
is true.”

“Though
you believe me to be your cousin’s child! Surely such a match is sinful!”

Rhys
shook his head. “Not where I was raised.”

“Barbarian!”
Madeline cried.

Rhys
turned to appeal to her, his very manner so guilty that she knew he did not
even find himself so innocent as he would have her believe.

That
infuriated her as little else could have done. “You bought me, to ensure your
claim to the keep you so love. And you would plant your seed in my belly solely
to ensure that your legacy passes through your lineage.”

Rhys
sighed. “Madeline, not solely for that...”

She
had no desire to hear his excuses. “You need not try to soften the truth with
pretty words, Rhys FitzHenry!” she might have stepped away, but Rhys claimed
her hand.

“Nay,
I mean that this is not the worst of it.”

Madeline
clutched the rail, uncertain what else he might confess. “Tell me.”

“I
saw the party in pursuit of us in Moffat. Four people I recognize travel with
Rosamunde, and one other whom I do not.”

Madeline
caught her breath.

Rhys
counted on his fingers. “There is Rosamunde, there is Alexander, there is
Vivienne, there is your youngest sister who sees fairies...”

“Elizabeth.”

“There
is another man I spied in Ravensmuir’s hall, a swarthy man who wears a gold
earring.”

“Padraig.
He sails with Rosamunde.”

“And
there is another man.” Rhys’ expression turned somber, his gaze piercing.
Madeline feared what he would say. “He is fair, his hair an uncommon blond, and
he carries a lute upon his back.”

Madeline
raised her hands to her lips in astonishment. She could never have prepared
herself for that revelation! “Do you know his name?”

“I
could guess.” Rhys’ tone was rueful. “Indeed, the return of your betrothed
might explain why they pursue you with such haste.”

James.
James gave chase.

James!

Madeline
raised a fist to her chest, shocked by what Rhys had told her and even more by
his deception. “But you knew, you knew this and said nothing. You guessed that
James gave chase since Moffat,” she said, not hiding her dismay.

Rhys
inclined his head in acknowledgement.

The
wretch had lied to her! She had trusted him, she had surrendered to him, she
had done all she could to ensure that their match had a chance, and Rhys had
lied to her.

No
less, he had lied to her about the one thing that might have changed her regard
for him.

“You
guessed as much, and yet you continued to flee their pursuit,” she said,
needing to hear the indictment from his own lips. “You kept me from my one true
love, and you did it by choice.”

Rhys
nodded. “I did not say that I was proud of what I had done.”

“You
faithless knave!” Madeline stepped away from her husband, fury consuming her
and choking the angry words that rose in her throat. Tears glazed her vision.
She had wed the wrong man, and had lost her true love by but a day!

“Madeline,
I am sorry. I know that I erred...”

“Do
not try to explain your crime!”

“In
truth, I am not certain of the identity of the lutenist. We but guess,
Madeline. Remember as much.”

“It
could be no other lutenist,” she insisted. “There would be no other reason for
Rosamunde and the others to give chase.”

Rhys
grimaced at the truth of that. “I am sorry...”

“No!”
Madeline took a deep breath and spoke with a calm that surprised even herself.
“An apology will not make this come aright. Words will not suffice.”

“Then
what would you have me do? Though it is belated, I grant you the honesty you
desire. ”

“I
believe there is but one thing you can do. You had best make haste in finding
yourself a mistress,” Madeline straightened and held her husband’s gaze. “You
will never be between my thighs again and I understand that you have need of a
son.”

“But...”

Madeline
interrupted him, her words as sharp as a well-honed blade. “I was prepared to wager
with you, Rhys. I was prepared to make an arrangement that we could both find
amenable. But you have lied to me and you have deceived me, and you even admit
to all the wrongs that you have committed. You have ensured that an amiable
marriage is no longer possible between us.”

“But
we are wed, and our match is consummated...”

“And
if I am your cousin’s daughter, then we are too closely related to be wed by
the laws of the church. Our marriage can be annulled for cause of
consanguinity.”

Rhys
looked so shocked that Madeline’s conviction wavered for a heartbeat. Could she
do Rhys such injury?

But
surely he only deceived her anew. Surely he only meant to change her will to
suit his own? Surely he had anticipated this protest from her?

Surely
he fought only for precious Caerwyn?

“Not
in Wales!” he insisted with rare anger. “We acknowledge no such injunction
against consanguinity! A man cannot wed his sister or his mother, but his
cousin is well enough, if the match suits.”

Madeline
stepped away, for if he touched her, she knew she would be lost. She was too
susceptible to his potent caress. “We were not wed in Wales, Rhys. We were wed
by the priest in your aunt’s convent, a priest who answers to the Archbishop of
Canterbury.”

Rhys
seemed to be stunned by this prospect, but Madeline warned herself to not trust
whatever appearance he gave. “But that cannot matter...” he said, doubt in his
tone for the first time since Madeline had met him. He spun and considered the
horizon, his brow furrowed. “But you would not annul our match,” he insisted,
his gaze searching hers. “You could not do so.”

Madeline
smiled tightly. “Why would I remain? What reason have you granted to me, Rhys
FitzHenry, to find myself gladdened to be your wife?”

His
mouth worked for a moment, and she feared that he truly was surprised. “We meet
well abed.”

“Marriage
must be more than that, especially as you already vowed to me that I could not
rely upon you to be faithful to me alone. You may have need of sons, but I am
not certain that I have need of a spouse. Find yourself a whore, Rhys, and she
may keep you content.”

Leaving
her husband staring at her in annoyance and astonishment - and fuming more than
a good bit herself - Madeline marched away from him. Her fears of the ship were
forgotten for the moment, so severe was her anger.

How
could Rhys have so betrayed her trust?

* * *

Madeline
made her way back to the cabin, her tears only spilling when Gelert welcomed
her with such enthusiasm. She sat with the dog and tried to summon her memory
of James’ beloved face.

To
her horror, Madeline could not remember what James looked like. Indeed, another
man’s grim visage filled her thoughts. Madeline tried to recall the sweet magic
of James’ voice.

She
could not hear him, not in her memory. Instead, she heard the lilt of a deeper
voice, one that recounted a tale with humor and passion.

Madeline
desperately sought some recollection of her beloved James, her fear easing only
when she envisioned his slender fingers upon the strings of his lute. She
smiled and closed her eyes, knowing all would come aright. James would come to
her at Caerwyn, for Rosamunde knew Rhys’ destination. Rhys himself had supplied
the detail Madeline needed to have their marriage annulled.

Something
twisted deep within her, for Madeline knew she had become fond of Rhys. But he
himself had sworn that he had no intent to love his spouse. He desired Caerwyn
and sons, no more and no less. His wife would be a vessel, no more and no less.

James
was the man for her, Madeline knew it well.

They
would be united soon, and they would be together for all eternity. Rhys, she
suspected, would not even miss her. Against all odds, Madeline’s sole desire
would be her own.

How
curious then that her heart did not sing in anticipation. Madeline remembered
the gift from her mother, then, and her fingers shook as she unfastened the
velvet pouch around her neck. She poured the Tear into her hand and was
reassured by the sight of the gem.

A
fierce light burned deep within the stone, brighter than the glimmer she had
seen before. It was a golden light, a vigorous glow that told her that all
finally came aright.

Her
tears must be tears of joy, and only fell with such enthusiasm because of her
hunger. Madeline told herself as much, time and again, and stared at the bright
star in the stone.

But
she could not believe it and she did not know why.

* * *

Chapter Fifteen

Rhys
had little to lose. At this point, he told himself, his marriage with Madeline
could only improve.

Unless,
of course, it ended.

Rhys
was not quite prepared to face that prospect, not without fighting for the
lady’s favor. In his view, he had the duration of this journey to win her
heart, and he had no intent of losing a moment granted to him.

How
could he have forgotten the differences in consanguinity laws between the Welsh
church and the Roman one? How could he have erred so soundly? How could he have
wed Madeline within a chapel that answered to Canterbury and never seen the
flaw in his choice?

He
was losing his wits in the presence of this woman.

And
worse, he did not want to be without her, at any price.

Rhys
fetched two bowls of the stew the sailors had made with salted cod, two
tankards of ale and a loaf of bread. When a man tried to take issue with Rhys’
portion of bread - of which there would be no more before they reached another
port - Rhys gave him such a glare that the man slunk away like a whipped hound.

Rhys
marched down the lurching corridor, carefully balancing his burden, and
acknowledged that he was more fearful of what he might face in the small cabin
ahead than any battle he had faced in all his days.