Heart's Ransom (Heart and Soul) (29 page)

His rage boiled and he suddenly realized how he had been duped.  Damnation, he should have known better than to trust her.  Somehow she had managed to drug him.  The strange taste of the tea should have alerted him, but he had been so weary he hadn’t realized.

A tiny little voice whispered in his head.  He should be grateful he was still alive.  She could have just as easily poisoned him.

His gaze scanned the clearing but he was careful not to move his head.  He became aware of something in his fingers and frowned.  A small flower.  What was this?  A mocking jest?  A good bye?

Motion on his right caught his eye.  Cloud tossed his head and nickered softly.  Brynmor arched an eyebrow in surprise.  She had left him his horse?  Even if she could not ride it, she should not have left him the means to so easily go after her.

The horse lifted his head and flattened his ears.  Brynmor stiffened.  Tiny sounds reached him.  A footstep in the trees.  A soft creak of armor.  The hiss of a sword leaving its scabbard.

Brynmor allowed his hand to move slightly, dropping next to his sword.  He listened intently, noting the sounds and positions of the men trying to surround him.

He
scowled; he could only determine four men.  Where were the others?

Bloody hell!  They must have continued on after Rose.  The thought of those men after a child sent a blaze of fury through him.

Abruptly the men broke from the trees, converging from all directions.  Brynmor exploded to his feet, his sword swinging outward.  The blade slammed into the first man, plowing into his face, killing him instantly.  Brynmor allowed his size and strength to be his advantage, trusting his training. His sword whipped around in a return stroke, slicing open another man’s gut.

The man screamed hideously clutching his stomach and toppled over.  He wasn’t dead, but would be soon.

A third man approached more cautiously, feinting to the right and attacking left.  Steel rang against steel as Brynmor exchanged blows, always aware of the last man circling, waiting for the opportunity to strike.

Brynmor launched an offensive.  He had to hurry.  No doubt the others were close to catching Rose if they hadn’t already.  He drove the man in front of him back.  The man missed a block to his head and Brynmor killed him, bringing his sword around to protect his exposed back.

He was not disappointed when steel rang against steel.  He spun, kicking outward, and striking the man in the face.  He followed it with a series of combinations, opening the man’s guard, and then thrusting his sword forward, through the man’s chest.

Brynmor, fighting to suck air into his lungs, wrenched his weapon free of the body and ran to his horse.  It only took him moments to rid Cloud of the oat bag and put on his bridle.  The horse snorted and stomped impatiently.

“I know, my friend,” Brynmor growled.  “If we find her I don’t know if I will strangle her or take her over my knee.”

The horse nickered again.

Brynmor laughed bitterly.  “You’re right; I’m a soft-hearted fool.  If we find her alive, I probably won’t even scold her.”  He led the horse forward, searching the ground for her trail and sighed heavily.  Just like a wounded bird, she flew straight for her mews, not bothering to hide her trail.  He spotted the flower he had dropped and for some unknown reason picked it up, wrapped it in a cloth, and put it in his pouch.  He mounted up and kicked his horse into a gallop.  At least there was one benefit to her drugging him, he had slept deeply and his weariness had vanished.  Brynmor had the feeling he would need all of his strength shortly.

****

“Fool! Fool! Fool!” Rose snarled to herself as she ran, terror clawing at her mind.  It had taken only an hour for the soldiers to catch up.  Now they pursued her like hounds on a scent.  She choked back her tears fighting to see the trail ahead of her.  Why had she left Brynmor?  What had happened to him?  Was he dead because of her foolishness?

A sob escaped her and she stumbled, falling to her hands and knees.  Pain exploded but she forced herself to get up.

A hand grabbed her tunic.  She screamed and wrenched away, darting down the trail again.

“Damnation,” a soldier growled.  His footsteps pounded ominously behind her.  Pain racked through her side, her lungs battled for air.  They were going to run her until she dropped.

“Oh Brynmor,” she gasped.  “I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.” 

A roar from
beside her made her dive to the ground.  She screamed as a man exploded from the bushes, wielding a gleaming broadsword.  The weapon slashed out, passing over her prone body, and slammed into her pursuer, killing him.

Rose blinked, stunned at the giant form.  Her vision focused as he stepped over her.

Brynmor!

She almost sobbed in relief.  Brynmor attacked the second man pursuing her.  His sword flashed again.  Rose stared in disbelief.  He had a speed and skill that rivaled her father’s. 
Brynmor killed the second man and engaged a third.

Suddenly a hand seized her arm.  A fourth soldier emerged from the bushes next to her.  She screamed, fighting to free herself.

“Rose!” Brynmor roared.

Her fist curled in the ground, grabbing dirt.  Without thinking, she threw it in her attacker’s face.  He howled staggering backwards.  Brynmor leaped forward and decapitated him from behind.

Rose screamed again, rolling away from the gore, fighting down the bile choking her throat.  Another soldier lunged from the trees, his sword slashing for Brynmor’s back.

“Bryn, behind you!”

He spun, bringing up his weapon.  The sword cut downward, slamming into his arm, just below his shoulder.  He snarled a curse and fell, dropping his sword.

“Nay!” she screamed as the soldier lifted his sword for the death blow.  Her fingers closed on a stick and she threw it, striking the man in the face.  He flinched and stepped backward.

“Bitch!” he snarled, reaching to grab her arm with one hand, the other still holding his weapon.

But his distraction allowed Brynmor to regain his sword.  He sat up, his weapon lunging outward and piercing the man’s gut.  The soldier jerked Rose toward him as he fell backward, his eyes wide and terrified.

Brynmor grabbed her and hauled her out of the man’s grasp.  He stood for a moment, his chest heaving, as he glared at the five bodies waiting for one to move.

No one did.

Rose’s sobs broke free and she threw herself into Brynmor’s arms.  “I’m sorry!  I’m sorry!”

To her shock Brynmor dropped to his knees, his strong arms crushing her against his chest.  “It’s all right, little one,” he whispered in her ear.  “It’s all right.”

She sobbed against him, knowing he had to hate her for her foolishness.  But he simply held her and stroked her hair.  “You are safe now.”  Gently he hushed her, waiting for her to calm.

“I’m sorry, Bryn,” she said, her voice muffled against his chest.  She was startled to discover he was shaking as hard as she.  “I thought...you were going...to take me...to Powys,” she gasped through her sobs.  “I didn’t...want to hurt...you.  I...just want...to go home.”

“I know, little one,” he said soothingly.  “You were scared.  I don’t blame you.  I know you want to go home.”  He backed away and cupped her face in his hands, gently drying her tears.  “I may be the adopted son of Powys but I am not your enemy.  I will take you home.  I vow it.”

She blinked at him, stunned he didn’t hate her.  His fingers continued to dry her tears.  “Home?”

“On my soul, little one.  I will get you home.”

She threw her arms around his neck, crying again, and clinging to him with all her strength.  “Thank you, Bryn.  You really are a knight.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and strong.  “No more drugging my tea, all right?”

She pulled away, ducking her head in embarrassment.  “I really am sorry.”  Her gaze stopped on the blood on his arm and she gasped.  “You’re hurt.”

“I’ll be all right; I just need to bind it.”

Rose helped him bind his wound and soon they returned to the trail, Rose huddled in front of him.

“How many were in the original party, little one?”

“Twelve.”

“Only four attacked me, and five were after you.”

She nodded.  “I didn’t see Bird Beak, Rat Nose or Ferret.”

He looked down at her, arched an eyebrow, his lips twitching.  “Who?”

She blushed then explained the reasons for her names.

He surprised her with a laugh.  “Fitting.  But you’re right, they weren’t there.  They are probably the leaders and are gathering more men to continue the chase.  It’s a good thing you made me sleep when you did.”  He grinned and winked at her.  “Because I’ll probably get even less now.”

“Bryn,” she protested softly.

His arms tightened around her as he laughed.

****

Damnation, she had scared the hell out of him.  Brynmor wanted to be angry, but like he had said, he was too soft-hearted.  He couldn’t blame her, he was the adopted son of an enemy, and she had gone through hell, captive of other enemies of her father.

But now she was safe and he had earned her trust.  He doubted she would drug his tea again - but he’d keep his eyes open just in case.

He pushed his horse even harder, not knowing how close Bird Beak and the others were to tracking him down.  They traveled another two days before finally breaking free of the forest permanently.

Rose caught the sight before her and gasped.  In the distance, the massive walls of Castle Montgomery rose before them atop its perch.  The sun bathed the castle in a brilliant glow.  The town around it stirred to life.

“There you are, little one,” he said softly.  “Home.”

She looked up at him, tears streaming down her face.  “Now...now what do we do?”

He pointed to the road before them.  It wound through the town, reaching the base of the motte before ascending straight up to the gates.  “If those who grabbed you still want to get you back, they will have to move on us there.  Now we have only one choice.”

“What?”

“Run the gauntlet.  We ride as fast as we can for the castle and hope no one catches us.”

“But Cloud is so tired.”

Brynmor nodded.  The horse wasn’t the only one exhausted.  If they did get into a fight, Brynmor doubted he could lift his sword.  His muscles trembled and he was barely able to maintain his seat.

“’Tis our only choice.  I just hope your father doesn’t slay me on sight.”

“He won’t,” Rose said, lifting her chin.  “I won’t let him.”

He smiled and nodded.  From its place on his horse’s battle harness, Brynmor pulled out a short javelin lance.  This weapon could be used as a charging lance but its preferred use was one thrown from horseback.  From his pouch he pulled out a cloth with his colors, green and black, and tied it securely to the tip.

“What is that?” Rose asked.

“My attempt at a parlay banner.  I don’t know if it will work, but
it’s better than nothing.  Ready?”

She stunned him with a kiss on his cheek.  “For luck.”

Brynmor grinned and winked at her.  “Hold on, little one.”  He released his pull on the reins.  “Go, Cloud!”  The animal lowered his head and lunged down the road, his hooves kicking up a ribbon of dust behind them.

Gwen fretted when the herald delivered Talon’s message to her and Marcus.  Dear God, what was Edward forcing him to do?

“So the second messenger did not catch up with you?” Marcus asked.

“Nay, my lord, or at least not in time.  I met him as I returned and told him where to find the earl.  I hope my lord has received the good news, I know he certainly needed it.”

Marcus nodded.  “I will send another messenger just to be certain.  Knowing the earl grieves unnecessarily vexes me more than anything.  You are dismissed herald, thank you for your service and get some food and rest.”

“My gratitude, Sir Marcus,” the herald said and bowed, then quickly left the great hall.

Gwen placed her hand on Marcus’ arm.  “Aye, we will send another messenger but this time the letter will be written in my own hand.”

“That is most wise,” Marcus said with a smile.  “I know word directly from you will undoubtedly lift Talon’s spirits.”

The baby chose that moment to kick hard and Gwen flinched.  She was now entering her seventh month and was sorely tired of housing the growing child under her battered ribcage.

Marcus gazed at her in sympathy.  “Are you all right?”

“I am,” she said and smiled.  She could no longer hide her state but most realized the truth and she was grateful she did not hear any mutterings of disapproval.  Most seemed well pleased Talon would once again be a father, trusting the earl to do what was right as soon as he returned.

A bitter pang swept through her.  But how could he marry her if she was still betrothed?  She could only pray Fitzalans would no longer want her now that she had been with another man and carried that man’s child.  But she feared Fitzalans would know how to devastate Talon, insisting on the betrothal and not allowing Talon to claim the child.  He would probably kill it when it was born just to spite Talon but Gwen would give her life to make sure that never happened.

The door to the great hall opened and Lucais strode in, his armor rustling.  Gwen gazed at him in
surprise; she had seen little of him the past few days.  He told her they had been close to discovering more information, he could almost smell it.

Lucais bowed before Gwen’s chair then dropped to one knee.  Marcus, standing beside her instinctively gripped her shoulder.

“Lady Gwen, Sir Marcus, I pray forgive me.  But there is something urgent that you must see.”

Gwen’s heart rattled her rib cage.  “What is it, Lucais?  What’s wrong?”

Lucais straightened and motioned for them to follow.  He left the keep and entered the bailey.  Gwen could hardly keep up with him, grateful for Marcus’ steadying hand on her arm.  Shouts of alarm rose from the men on watch in the bailey.  Several pointed to the open gates.

The thunder of hooves echoed ominously over the wooden drawbridge.  A giant gray Iberian destrier galloped through the barbican, its heavy mane flying over its powerfully arched neck, but its hide was lathered and its sides heaved.  It snorted then screamed its challenge, rearing violently and pawing the air with its fore-hooves.  But the knight astride it rode easily.  The fine stallion settled on all fours and the knight’s gaze snapped from person to person.  Weighing, measuring, judging.

Gwen hesitated in shock.  The man wore heavy chainmail and plate, a green surcoat covering his armor.  His head was bare, with long black hair streaming around his powerful shoulders to his waist.  Icy green-blue eyes took in everything at once.  He wore a large sword on his belt and in his right hand carried not a true jousting lance, but a type of javelin. 

A blurred memory intruded across her vision, a memory of a young knight stopping her horse when blood streamed into her eyes.  The fog from that time cleared slightly.  This was the man who had taken her to the Templars.

A part of Gwen’s mind also noticed he had tied a banner to the tip of the javelin, as if to signal a parlay.  He was a large man.  His handsome face was proud, angry, and defiant.  He glared at the men around them, as if daring them to attack.

But all eyes fell on a small form riding in front of him and none dared move.

Gwen gasped, her hand covering her mouth.  A tiny girl, dirty, disheveled, and obviously underweight, clung to the saddle-bow in fear.  Her hair was filthy, a matted and tangled dingy brown.  Her blue eyes were wide, too large for her gaunt face.

“Rose,” Marcus breathed, his voice barely audible, confirming Gwen’s fears.

She was so terribly gaunt and obviously frightened.  “Where’s Papa?” she cried in a warbling voice.  “I want my papa!”

The knight’s horse continued to cavort, tossing its head and snorting.  But the warrior, his visage threatening death, remained calm and defiant.  “I seek the Earl of Montgomery,” his deep voice boomed.

Gwen sucked in her breath and lifted her chin.  She stepped forward just as Marcus tried to pull her back.

“Lady, nay,” he whispered harshly.

“The Earl is away on king’s business.”

“I want Papa!” Rose screamed bursting into tears.

“Rose,” Gwen called.  “Rose, dear heart is that you?”

The little girl snuffled, rubbing the tears from her eyes.  “Who are you?” she asked tremulously.

“My name is Gwen.  I am your father’s lady.” She met the knight’s defiant gaze equally, even though her legs threatened to buckle.  She was dimly aware of both Lucais and Marcus flanking her, their hands on their weapons.  “And I remember you.”

The knight’s gaze raked over her, lingering pointedly on her belly.  Surprisingly his expression eased as he studied her and he inclined his head.  “Gwenillian,” he said softly.  “’Tis good to see you well again.  I told you my name was Brynmor.  In truth it is Brynmor ap Powys, I am the son your father adopted.”

Furious mutterings resounded through the bailey, along with the sound of weapons being drawn.

“Hold!” Gwen cried, and stepped forward a bit more.  Everyone froze.

Brynmor’s gaze continued to snap from person to person, his fist clenching and unclenching around the haft of his javelin.

Gwen drew a deep breath.  “Sir Brynmor, I see the banner of parlay on your weapon.  Do you come in peace?”

He glared at her again and Gwen fought not to recoil under his icy gaze.  She shivered at the ruthlessness she sensed within him which vied with her memory of his kindness.  As she studied him, she realized he was younger than she first thought, perhaps not even a score of years yet.  Instinctively, she knew life had dealt this youth harshly, molding his perceptions and his body into adulthood long before his years.

“I come in peace,” he said slowly, gazing at her intently again.  “And to prove my intentions, I bear a gift to the Earl of Montgomery.  His daughter, alive and well.”

Gwen’s heart pounded in hope.  “Will you release her?”

He glanced around him again, eying the men at arms and their weapons.  “And will you slay me the moment I do?”

“Nay,” she said firmly.

“Gwen,” Marcus growled in warning.  “Do not trust him.  He may be the one who abducted Rose.”

Gwen ignored Marcus, knowing this young man had nothing to do with Rose’s abduction.  “I give you my word, you will not be harmed.”  She eyed the guards pointedly.  “This man helped me and now he brings Rose home.”

Brynmor again studied her,
and then looked down at Rose.  Gwen was shocked to see the change that came over him.  His expression gentled, his green eyes lost their ruthless glare, and his lips tugged upward ever so slightly.  “What say you?” he asked softly.  “Will my life end violently if I release you?”

“If my papa were here, no one would defy his word.”

“But your father is not here, little one.”

Rose gazed at Gwen uncertainly, her eyes wide.  “Don’t hurt him, please.  He saved me.”

Gwen blinked, tears burning her eyes and her throat tight.  “No one will hurt anyone, Rose, I promise.”

Rose gazed at her a long moment, taking special note of Gwen’s giant belly.  “Is...is that my brother?” she asked softly.

Gwen smiled.  “Or your sister, we don’t know which yet.”

Rose looked up at Brynmor who gave her an encouraging smile and easily hefted her from the saddle.  The moment her feet hit the ground, she took two steps toward Marcus then suddenly stopped, her gaze going from Brynmor to Marcus to Gwen and back gazing at her with wide blue eyes and a hint of mistrust.

Gwen gave her an encouraging smile.  “’Tis all right, Rose.”

Nan hurried forward, bawling Rose’s name.  She moved to throw her arms around the girl but Rose skittered back to Brynmor. 

Nan’s eyes widened in horror.  “Rose, my dear, why are you frightened of me?”

Gwen snagged the woman’s arm.  “Easy, Nan, she’s been through a lot.  Slow down.”

Brynmor started to dismount but men at arms lunged forward at the same instant. 

“Hold!” Gwyn cried, stepping beside Brynmor’s horse.  “You will not touch him.”

“Lady, get away!”

She had purposefully put herself within reach of the young man, in case her word was ignored and he had need of another hostage.

But the men did not attack nor did Brynmor grab her. Rose latched onto Brynmor her eyes wide with fear.

“Easy little one,” he murmured gently. “This is your home. You are safe now.” 

Gwen blew out her breath and turned to face the young knight.

He lifted an eyebrow.  “Your word is backed by courage,” he said softly.  “But I would not have taken you hostage, lady, in fear of harming your unborn babe.”

“Sir Brynmor, I pray you forgive us.  Rose’s abduction has put all of us on edge.”

“Understandable.”

“I want my papa,” Rose said again, tears spilling down her cheeks.

Brynmor's free hand fell over her shoulders. He looked at her as if his heart would break. “I am so sorry, little one, I have no desire to see you terrified. You were so brave on the trail.”

“Marcus!” Rose wailed, crying in earnest. “Make...them...stop. Bryn...saved...me.”

Gwen glared at Marcus, praying he would heed the child.

“Put away your weapons,” Marcus growled. “Can't you see Rose trusts him?”

Gwen breathed a sigh of relief as the orders were finally obeyed. She turned to Brynmor. “Will you refresh yourself at our table and tell us how this miracle came to pass?”

He again studied the men around him.

“Please, Bryn,” Rose said, her voice tremulous.  She gazed up at Marcus.  “He is my friend.”

“If he is your friend, Rose,” Gwen said firmly.  “Then he is most welcome.”

Brynmor bowed gracefully to Gwen.  “Your hospitality is gratefully accepted.”  He offered his arm.

She sighed in relief and accepted the escort, staggering slightly.

Brynmor steadied her, watching her worriedly.  “My lady, are you all right?”

“I am, thank you.”  But spots clouded her vision.

They entered the keep, the guards still hovering worriedly.  The servants scrambled to put food and wine on the table.  Gwen marveled at the young man next to her.

Brynmor escorted her to her chair.  She sat heavily, her hands braced against her belly as the child squirmed and kicked, displeased with her activity.

“Lady,” Brynmor said gently.  “Forgive me if I caused you and your child undue stress.”

She gestured for him to take the chair on her right.  “’Tis all right, Sir Brynmor,” she said and smiled.

The servants brought wine and cheese with bread and salted meat.  Brynmor sat next to her and took a long drink.  “Truly, I thought I was dead this day.”  He sighed and studied her thoughtfully.  “I might still be once I tell you my news.”

“What tidings could be so grievous?  You helped me and returned the Earl’s daughter.  No doubt he will wish to reward you greatly.”

“Lady, I regret to inform you your father is dead.”  He sucked in a deep breath.  “By my hand.”

The blood drained from her face.  Lucais and Marcus stiffened, reaching for their weapons.

“Nay!” Gwen snapped, holding up her hand.  “My father disowned me and ordered my death, I grieve not.”

“That, lady,” Brynmor said.  “Is exactly why I killed him.”

Gwen blinked at him, stunned.

“After you disappeared on your way to your wedding.  Your father married my mother and adopted me, naming me is heir.  He told us you were dead, slain by Montgomery.”  He paused and shook his head, his raven hair streaming around him.  “Had I known the truth, I would have hied my mother and myself out of there before he could marry her.  Upon living in his household, I discovered your father paid men to kill you.  I was furious.”

“But...but why would you care?  I stand between you and a huge inheritance.”

Brynmor lowered his head, his cheeks darkening.  “When I discovered you were actually alive....”  He gazed at her, his green eyes vibrant.  “I realized I had a sister.”

“A sister?”

He nodded, again staring at his cup.  His jaw tightened reflecting a hidden pain.  Just like she had seen so often in Talon before he told her of Rose.  “You see, eight years ago, my mother had another baby...a little girl.”  He paused, gazing at Rose, and then faced Gwen again.  “But she had the child out of wedlock and refused to name the father lest he be shamed.  I didn’t care...I loved my mother.  My father died before I was born.  I was ten when she gave birth to my sister.”  He paused and smiled ruefully.  “I was a mere boy with delusions of manhood but I swore I would take care of them, I would not abandon them for any reason.”