Sharon Schulze - L'eau Clair Chronicles 03 (23 page)

“Aye,” Ian agreed.

“Thus far, I’ve only told you the happy news. Unfortunately, there is much more, and little of it good.”

Gillian drew a chair nearer to Lily’s and sat beside her, glancing over at her as though to reassure herself that Lily was real.

“We have much to talk about, you and I,” Gillian said.

“There are many years to make up for.” She gave Lily’s hand a squeeze.

Ian took another turn about the room, paused to poke at the fire.

“The information I’ve learned gives an entirely new meaning to several things that have happened to members of our family these past few years. I believe that Llywelyn, despite his protestations of familial loyalty, and his professed outrage over Steffan’s despicable actions, has instead been doing his best all these years to gain possession or control of l’Eau Clair.” He laughed, but it was a mirthless sound, and his face was cold, bitter over this betrayal.

“If he were the force behind it, much begins to make sense,” Rannulf said.

“When Simon died, Llywelyn never came to Clian’s aid, despite her pleas—but Steffan did arrive here and try to gain access to the keep. And the times Steffan abducted our women–he escaped punishment for that, as well, until we meted out justice.”

Ian nodded.

“I’m so suspicious now that I could even believe Llywelyn set events in motion for Simon to find Lowri wandering, injured and confused, in the forest near here. The fact that they married has certainly served him well. He’s had a direct connection to a powerful marcher lord and his keep.”

Gillian shuddered, and Lily noticed that her face had gone pale.

“I always wondered how Steffan, that slimy worm, managed to avoid paying for his sins. Llywelyn never could give me an answer to that.” Her eyes flashed angrily.

“Now I know why. Damn him!”

Rannulf’s handsome face was set in stern lines.

“And I can just imagine how this all goes together. Quite an elaborate scheme, I’ve no doubt. Tell me this, Ian–-are Gillian and I, and our daughter, meant to survive?” Lily heard Gillian gasp.

“Or do you think some disaster will befall us, leaving the way clear for Simon’s other legitimate heir to step in and take up the reins of l’Eau Clair?”

“With Llywelyn’s blessing,” Ian said evenly. Then he smiled, a dangerous dragon’s smile.

“But we have beat him at his own game, I trust. A plan such as that depends upon Lily being wed to someone Llywelyn can control.

It’s too late for that now,” he said, voice rich with satisfaction.

“She’s my wife. I have absolutely no intention of leaving her a widow.” He stared into Lily’s eyes as he said the words, words that had the sound of a vow.

Lily felt her heartbeat quicken at the promises he made with his intent gaze.

“And that’s why you wed Lily?” Gillian asked. Lily thought she heard disappointment in the question.

She awaited Ian’s answer even more eagerly than Gillian appeared to.

Ian drew his finger over Lily’s cheek. ““Tis one of the reasons. One of many.”

She felt a flush creep over her face and neck at his caressing tone. It made her remember this morning at the pool, and the things they’d done together.

Her face burned even hotter.

Gillian glanced from one to the other, her expression one of amusement—and understanding. She stood, garnering their attention.

“I’m certain the remainder of this discussion can wait until everyone has had a chance to bathe and refresh themselves.” She turned to Swen, who sat observing everyone throughout the conversation.

“I’ll call a maid to assist you, sir,” she told him.

Lily nearly laughed at the way his eyes lit up. Swen Siwardson was a rogue, she thought to herself.

“Twas a good thing he’d never tried to work his wiles on her, for she doubted Ian would stand for it. Of course, Swen was an intelligent man. He likely knew who he could safely flirt with, and who he’d do better to avoid.

And Ian had made it very clear that he trusted Swen now, since the Viking was now privy to all their secrets.

The maid who came to lead Swen away was a comely young lass. She seemed very pleased to be of service to Swen—he was a very attractive, brawny man, after all—and he followed her from the room with every sign of eagerness.

Ian shook his head after Swen left.

“Like a lamb to the slaughter.” He laughed.

“Women fell all over themselves to get at him at Dolwyddelan. You’d best watch your maidservants,” he warned Gillian, “else you’ll reap a crop of young Vikings ‘nine months hence.”

She joined his laughter.

“Don’t worry, Ardyth is known as the biggest tease in the entire demesne. She’s saving herself for one of Rannulf’s soldiers, who’s off at Fitz Clifford at the moment. However, that hasn’t prevented her tying nearly every male over ten and under eighty into knots.”

Rannulf came up behind her and enfolded her in his arms.

“I’m glad you qualified that,” he said.

“You’ll give your sister a bad impression of me, otherwise.”

Lily could see that they were very much in love, a fact that surprised her. From things she’d heard—admittedly, not much—she’d formed the impression that the English, the Normans, did not marry for love, but for land, power, position. Or, as in her case, for protection.

At least that was the reason Ian had wed her. He was a truly honorable man, more than willing to do whatever he must to help her.

She only hoped he’d never regret his decision.

That, she could not bear.

Gillian led them to a spacious chamber and arranged for a bath to be set up in front of the fire. Lily nearly swooned at the thought of such luxury, though she doubted that this bath would be anything like the one she’d taken that morning.

Unfortunately.

Ian stepped out into the hall for a moment to speak with Rannulf, leaving Gillian alone with Lily.

“I’ll have some clothes brought for you,” Gillian told her.

“We’re close enough in height that my gowns should fit you.”

Indeed, Lily stood only an inch or so taller than her sister, tall for a woman.

“Was our father a big man, or was he short?” Lily asked.

“Our/nother was tiny. I never understood how I ended up so tall—too tall, I’ve always felt.”

“Father was tall, with a sturdy build. He was old when I was born, nearly forty years, but he still was an imposing figure and a fearsome warrior.”

Lily sank down on the bed, suddenly ready to drop with weariness, She yawned.

“I beg your pardon,” she murmured.

“These past weeks have taken their toll.” She pushed her hand experimentally into the pillowing softness of the mattress.

“I never slept in a bed such as this until we stayed at Ashby a few days ago.

“Tis decadent—and delightful.”

Gillian smiled.

“You’ll become used to it in no time, I’m sure. Ian’s keep at Gwal Draig isn’t as grand as this, but ‘tis a comfortable manor. And Catrin trained the servants well. It hasn’t been long since she was mistress there, so I doubt they’ve forgotten their duties.”

Lily frowned.

“I don’t know that Ian will be able to return to his home anytime soon.”

“What do you mean?” Gillian asked.

“It wouldn’t be safe. Even though Llywelyn can’t possibly know that Ian and I are married, evidently he suspects that Ian has been helping me to stay away from him.”

Gillian looked at her, puzzled.

“I can see that I should have waited to suggest leaving, until Ian told the rest of the tale. I’m confused. Why should you need to stay away from the prince?”

“He held me prisoner at Dolwyddelan. Indeed, I first met Swen when he smuggled me away from the castle to remove me from Ian’s influence—at Llywelyn’s request.”

“And you brought the Viking with you? Are you mad?”

Lily held out a cautioning hand.

“As Ian said, there’s more to the tale. Believe me when I say that Swell is no threat to either of us. He truly admires Ian and wishes to serve him. Indeed, if he’d done as Llywelyn ordered, I’d be back within the walls of Saint Winifred’s Abbey. I doubt that even the Dragon would wage war on a convent,” she added dryly.

She stood and wandered to the window, absently staring down at the shadowed bailey.

“No, the threat tolan is from someone he ought to be able to trust.”

“Who dares to threaten him?” Gillian demanded.

““Tis Llywelyn,” Lily told her.

“He has declared Ian an outlaw.” ‘

An army of servants streamed into the chamber, bringing with them a bathtub and buckets of water. Lily could almost find it within herself to be grateful for the interruption.

So tired she could scarcely think, she didn’t feel ready to carry on a conversation with Gillian.

Especially when the topic was Ian.

Gillian gazed at Lily’s face, then reached out to place a comforting hand on her arm.

“Forgive me. You look nigh ready to drop with weariness, and yet I’ve done naught but question you.”

“Nay, milady, it’s all right. I know you care for Ian.

Please don’t apologize for your concern.” Lily dredged up a smile.

“I’m sure we both have questions—and many things to discuss. But I am tired, ‘tis true. We’ve had little rest the past few days.”

Gillian gave Lily’s arm a squeeze, then stood as the last manservant closed the door behind him.

“I can imagine.

From the sound of it, you haven’t had a moment’s peace since you left the abbey. But you needn’t worry now.

L’Eau Clair is a Norman keep—Llywelyn has no power here. You and Ian are safe within these walls. Rest here awhile, spend time with your new husband,” she added with a mischievous grin. She glanced toward the fire, where the bath set up before it sent up a flagrant cloud of steam.

“We’ll see that you have a chance to relax, to decide what to do.”

Lily eased herself off the bed.

“Thank you. Perhaps once I’ve slept, my brain won’t feel so muddied.”

“We’ll talk again when you’ve rested,” Gillian said, kissing Lily’s cheek. Her gaze never left Lily as she walked from the room and shut the door.

How different the Normans were from the Welsh! Their clothing seemed brighter, more elaborate, of better quality—even the men’s hair was different. Nicholas and Rannulf wore their hair cropped to the nape, unlike Ian’s shoulder-length mane. They were both attractive men, rugged and masculine in appearance. But to her, the style looked tame.

Perhaps it wasn’t the hair, but the man, for Ian possessed an untamed quality totally in keeping with his appearance.

Lily sank back onto the bed, running her hands over the silken coverlet and allowing her gaze to caress her surroundings. Since she’d been exposed to the fine furnishings and way of life of the nobility, she’d discovered a new aspect of herself. She enjoyed the soft, colorful fabrics used so lavishly at Ashby and lEan Clair, savored the sweet smell of herbs scenting the air, relished the feel of soft carpets beneath her feet.

After a lifetime spent within the austere confines of the abbey, Lily found it very easy to grow accustomed to luxury. Surely it must be a sin, to enjoy these fine surroundings so thoroughly.

She’d been taught that much in life was sinful, not least the sins of the flesh.

If that was the case, she had already passed beyond redemption.

Lily rose from the bed and walked to the tub, absently unwinding her braid. She hadn’t bathed as much in the past year as she had in the past few days—another pleasure she’d come to enjoy.

But none of these luxuries meant as much to her as Ian.

Though they had spent their wedding night in a crude hut, it did not matter. That night would stand out in her memory as the richest of delights. The joy of Ian’s touch required no other embellishment.

He was everything she could ever have wished for.

Brave, determined, kind. Although she knew he was capable of violence, she also knew he possessed a precise sense of justice. He did nothing without a reason.

And his loyalty was beyond question.

Add to that the fact that a mere glance from his deep green eyes made her heart beat faster, that his touch sent fire pulsing through her veins, that the sound of his voice made her shiver deep inside, and she knew she was blessed to have captured the attention of the Dragon.

For however long it lasted.

But at what cost to him? She feared he’d pay dearly for his gallantry in marrying her. If what he—and the rest of her family—suspected was tree, Ian was a far cry from the type of man Llywelyn would have chosen to be her husband.

Clearly, even Llywelyn could not control the Dragon.

What if the cost of Ian’s disobedience was their lives?

Only Ian’s skill as a warrior—and a measure of luck in finding Swen—had prevented her becoming a widow already.

They could not hide behind the walls of l’Eau Clair forever. Eventually they would have to leave—to go where, Lily had no idea—and Ian’s life could once again be forfeit.

They could not live that way for long.

Lily sank down onto the carpet before the fire and covered her face with her hands. She could not bear to lose Ian, not now. Not after all he’d come to mean to her.

But if she had to, she would give him up.

What would a broken heart matter, if it saved his life?

She heard a sound at the door and sat up, swiftly wiping away her tears on the trailing hem of her sleeve. Ian entered the room and closed the door, then turned the key in the lock.

Cursing her sore muscles, Lily struggled to her feet, drawing Ian’s attention.

“Why were you sitting on the floor, when there are plenty of more comfortable places?”

he asked, glancing about the room.

She didn’t want him to know she’d been crying, so she turned away to trail her fingers in the still-hot water of the tub.

“The rug is comfortable. But I forgot how difficult it would be to get back up, ‘tis all.”

Ian crossed the chamber to the fire.

“Why aren’t you in the tub?” he asked, his voice slow and deep.

“Were you waiting for me to join you?”