Stuart, Elizabeth (61 page)

Elen
watched as a group of laughing, struggling men dragged in the immense Yule log.
It would be lit tonight, Christmas Eve, and would smolder in the great
fireplace throughout the twelve days of holiday merrymaking.

Her
gaze wandered slowly over the mix of people gathered in the hall. In one corner
three Welshmen strummed harps, singing a lively ballad in their rich
mellifluous voices while even the English listened, occasionally joining in for
a verse. She felt a swift, sharp pang of regret, a deep longing that her mother
and father, her brother and Enion could he here to enjoy the season.

But
such thoughts were fruitless. The old life was being replaced with the new,
even as the queen had predicted. Though death and heartbreak had been no
stranger the year past, Elen was yet aware she had much for which to be
thankful. Dylan had not been heard from since that disastrous battle weeks
before and peace now reigned in Gwynedd—a peace most hoped would be permanent.
Richard had made no effort to seek out the Welsh Fox or his followers, and
though she knew her husband suspected Owain, the Welshman continued in his
duties as reeve, working alongside Richard's trusted bailiff and even the
master of Gwenlyn himself. Even Tangwen had found her, at last.

Richard
had written his sovereign concerning Hugh de Veasy's treasonous machinations,
and though there was no evidence sufficient to charge the powerful Baron of
Ravensgate, enough suspicions and ill will were engendered that he had removed
to his derelict Irish estates until the scandal blew over and Edward's wrath
cooled.

And
Elen's most personal cause of joy—her child—continued to grow. Her hand slipped
to her thickening waist in a reassuring gesture that had now become habit. She
had not lost her babe in that breakneck ride to warn Richard. She had yet to
feel its movement, but Tangwen assured her that all was proceeding as it
should.

"Madame...
what say you to a walk with your lord husband? The din here is enough to wake
the dead."

Elen
swung around in surprise. So intent were her thoughts she hadn't even heard the
sound of approaching footsteps. She smiled at Richard, her welcome taking in
Philip and Giles who flanked him on each side. "Certainly, my lord."
She nodded at Philip. "Would you gentlemen care to accompany us?"

"No
they would not," Richard put in firmly. "They've other business to
see to, I'm sure."

Philip
grinned, comfortable now with both Richard and Elen. "My thanks for the
invitation, but my brother's subtle hint hasn't escaped me. Giles and I will
play the hosts if you two wish to slip out for a breath of air."

The
idea of a moment alone with Richard in all this press of people did sound
wonderful. Elen caught her cloak from a peg on the wall, tucking her hand in
her husband's arm as they ducked down a back hallway, and slipped out into the
garden.

The
air was crisp and still, the sky opaque, gray-white like the milky surface of a
frozen mountain lake. They walked along in companionable silence, the soft snow
crunching underfoot. But the sight of so much pristine white was too much
temptation for Elen. She skimmed a handful of snow from a yew hedge as they
passed, gazing innocently ahead as she squeezed it into a ball.

"Don't
even think it," Richard warned softly.

But
it was too late. Elen had already spun sideways, dropping back for refuge
behind the hedge as the missile left her hand, splattering against the russet
wool of Richard's cloak in a clump of wet snow.

Richard
was quick to avenge the attack. Grabbing up handful after handful of the white
stuff, he fired a dozen snowballs in such quick succession, Elen had little
time to marshal a defense. He followed up his lightning assault by breaching
her yew fortress, catching her hands and forcing them to her sides as he
dragged her into his arms. "Quarter?" he queried with a grin.
"Cry quarter and perhaps I'll have mercy."

Elen's
lungs ached from the cold as she struggled to breathe despite her laughter and
Richard's tight hold. "Never! I'll never ask quarter. I'll beat you
yet!"

Richard
stared down at his laughing, struggling wife. Elen's rich chestnut hair was
dusted with snow. Sparkling crystals gleamed on the thick fringe of her
eyelashes and powdered the front of her cloak where his missiles had scored
hits. The cold and her exertion had brought the color into her cheeks and she
looked so lovely, he promptly forgot their skirmish and bent to cover her
chilled lips with his own.

The
kiss was long and slow and deep, and when it ended another began. Elen's
resistance crumbled, and she slid her arms inside Richard's cloak, holding him
against her, relishing the contrast of cold air outside and warmth building
within. "Quarter," she whispered breathlessly. "You don't fight
fair, Richard."

"I'll
accept your surrender, but only upon my terms." Richard's eyes went very
green and his mouth curled upward in a devastating smile. "Meet me in our
chamber in twenty minutes. I'm damned tired of having no time alone with
you."

"But
Richard, our guests! We can't just disappear. It wouldn't—"

"You've
surrendered, Madame. You don't cite conditions," he interrupted.
"Upstairs... twenty minutes." His eyes twinkled brilliantly. "If
you wish to save life and limb."

"Very
well, my lord. Since I've no other choice, I accept your terms." Elen
lowered her gaze demurely. "Twenty minutes." She drew away from him
and began retracing her steps up the path. But the fight wasn't done. In a
lightning move she bent, swept up a handful of snow, and let fly a snowball
that caught Richard squarely in the chest.

He
sprinted forward to catch her, but she was already racing away, her triumphant
laughter floating back to him as she reached the safety of a group of milling
carolers at the edge of the bailey.

"Damned
Welsh," Richard murmured with a grin. He swept her a low bow, granting her
the honors of the exchange. Life with Elen might occasionally be exasperating,
but it would certainly never be dull.

***

Elen
was still flushed and breathless and thinking of Richard's kiss when she
entered their bedchamber a short time later. She had sent Felice up earlier to
ready the room while she hurriedly checked preparations for the evening
feasting.

She
glanced around. It was obvious her maid had come and gone. The shuttered room
was alight with two burning tapers, while a small fire blazed brightly in the
hearth. The bed curtains were drawn back and a plate of the sweet Yule wafers
Richard loved sat on a table alongside a flagon of wine and two wine cups.

She
moved forward, unpinning her snow-damp hair and reaching for her brush to
untangle its length. Richard should be along in a few minutes; that is, if he
didn't get caught up with some of their guests.

She
began to smile, then to laugh, the sound spilling into the chilly stillness of
the bedchamber. She and Richard were acting like two heedless youngsters so hot
for each other they couldn't even wait for the coming of night— and she an old
married woman with a babe on the way!

"Share
your mirth, Elen. I see little cause for joy this Yule season."

Elen
spun around, gasping at sight of the unexpected figure. "Dylan! For the
love of God, what are you doing here?"

"Some
unfinished business. A matter of a promise to Enid," he said softly.

Elen
moved toward him, intent on one thought. Richard would be along any minute and
she had to get the Welshman hidden. "Dylan, you can't stay here. It's not
safe!" She bit her lip anxiously. "There's a place down the hall—
just a cupboard really, but you can hide for a time till I think where best to
keep you." She caught his arm. "Come, we must hurry before you're
seen."

His
hand closed about her wrist. "I think not, Elen." He glanced about
the cozy chamber. "It looks as though you expect only one. I think we
should await your lord's coming together."

His
dark gaze settled on her with a look of such hatred it took her breath. Dylan
was here to kill Richard. It wasn't finished yet!

She
tried to swallow, but couldn't, tried to draw her hand away but his grip only
tightened. She could scream, but the noise wouldn't carry far through thick
stone walls. And no one was in this part of the castle anyway.

"Dylan,
you can't possibly mean what I think you do," she began, struggling to
find her wits. "You'll never leave here if you take Richard's life. Don't
waste yourself for this. You're a leader men will rally to—the last hope for
us, the last hope for Wales!"

"You'd
sound a bit more convincing if you and that cursed priest hadn't sent over a
hundred countrymen to a needless death," the Welshman said coldly.

Elen
caught her breath. So Dylan had learned of her warning to Richard.

He
read her face easily. "Oh yes, I know of that. I know of far more than
you'd like." His dark gaze slid over her contemptuously. "I know you
fawn over Richard Basset like some whore does a rich merchant. That you share
his bed and carry his child." His voice trembled with anger. "You,
Elen of Teifi—Lord Aldwyn's daughter! Thank God he died never knowing this
day!"

Elen
fought to keep her composure. "My father loved Wales. He never favored
senseless killing—you know that. If he were alive today, he'd have made his
peace with Richard. He'd have done what was necessary to protect his people and
win concessions from Edward... just as I have done."

She
took a step nearer, her cool blue gaze on a level with his. "And you speak
of my betrayal, but what of yours? At least Richard is a good man, he gives us
justice as no other Englishman has before. He cares about Wales, about us. But
that bargain you struck with the Baron of Ravensgate was conceived in hell,
Dylan. You can't lie with the devil and not expect to be burned. You must know
he wants Richard dead so that he can rule Gwynedd. And God help all Welshmen if
that day comes to pass!"

Dylan
shrugged off her words. "Englishmen are all alike so far as I am
concerned. Let them kill each other. There'll be that many the less for us to
fight."

"They're
not alike," Elen said hotly. "Talk to the people of Ruthlin, the
people anywhere in Gwenlyn's demesne. They prosper, both Welsh and English.
They'll tell you Richard Basset is a fair lord to all."

"The
time for talking is done, Elen. I've sworn an oath to kill the Wolf. I owe him
that for Enid." Dylan's voice dropped, his eyes went very hard.
"Despite your betrayal, I've no wish to harm you. But I will if you force
me."

"Dylan,
listen to me!" Elen cried out. "Enid wouldn't want this, you know she
wouldn't. And your daughter is here. Richard knows who she is but he hasn't
used her to hurt you. Dylan, you can still live! You can go far away, make a
life with your child. Richard isn't even looking for you!"

But
Dylan wasn't listening. "Lie down on the floor," he ordered.
"Facedown."

"Dylan—"

She
broke off as he drew his knife, shoving her to her knees. He was right. The
time for talking was done. She steadied herself against the floor with her free
arm, then twisted suddenly, throwing all her weight against his legs to knock
him off balance.

But
he must have expected something of the sort. He was braced for her attack and
it scarcely shook him. He forced her against the floor, his knife at her
throat. "One false move, Elen, and I'll end your life... yours and that
brat you carry."

She
stared up into his hard face, remembering all the times they'd shared, the good
and bad. "I can't believe you'd kill me, Dylan," she whispered.
"I just can't."

His
gaze shifted away. "Believe it. I've already slain one woman this day.
Margaret, that half-breed bitch who betrayed our camp to Richard last
spring."

He
grinned as Elen jerked toward him in surprise. "So you didn't know."
He dragged her hands behind her, roughly binding her wrists and ankles.
"Well, she's been repaid for her treachery. She sold us out to Richard
then resold him to me for a bit of Hugh de Veasy's silver. But I'll not be
needing her information any longer. I'll soon be done with Gwenlyn and back in
the hills where I belong."

Elen
stared narrowly at her old friend, but could find little trace of the man she
had once known. This stranger just might kill her. She didn't know, but she had
to take the chance. Perhaps someone would hear.

Twisting
her body away, she began to scream, biting down hard on Dylan's hand as he
covered her mouth to silence her. But he quickly ended the struggle, forcing a
gag into her mouth that abruptly smothered all sound.

For
a moment, he squatted on his heels, regarding her intently. Then he swung to
his feet and moved to the door, opening it a few inches to peer into the
corridor. He must have been reassured, for he returned to her at once.
"Now we wait," he remarked, drawing his sword.

***

Richard
hurried along the corridor, impatient with the delay two English guests had
cost him. He had listened politely as they expounded on the Welsh problem, then
made good his escape at the first opportunity.