A Time for Love

  And when his brother was killed by a mere knight, what else could Rollan do but take up a sword to defend his fallen brother’s honor? And if that sword happened to end Rhys de Piaget’s life, what could anyone do but count it a meet revenge?

  Rollan planned, of course, to use a crossbow. There was no sense in getting any closer to de Piaget’s sword than necessary.

  And when Alain was dead and Rhys slain in recompense for the deed, there would be Gwen, alone and in dire need of a protector.

  And who better than Rollan of Ayre to be that protector?

  He continued on his way to the hall door, whistling cheerfully. Ah, but familial mayhem was enough to brighten any man’s day.

  36

  “Sir Rhys says thievery isn’t a proper knightly activity.”

  Gwen clutched the stall door and gritted her teeth. Much as she had grown fond of Nicholas over the past fortnight, she thought that if she had to hear one more quote from that unwritten tome De Piaget’s Knightly Wisdom, she would go mad. How Nicholas had memorized so many entries she wasn’t sure, but obviously he’d made good use of his short acquaintance with the gallant Sir Rhys. She took a deep breath.

  “So true,” she agreed. “But at the moment, neither of us is a knight and both of us are very hungry.”

  Nicholas considered that for a moment before looking up at her with a small pucker forming on his brow.

  “We could not merely beg a meal?”

  “From Ayre’s cook?” She shook her head. “Nay, lad, ’tis better that no one know we’ve managed to breach the defenses of the keep. I fear a snatching is what we must resort to. Besides, they would expect nothing less of us dressed as we are in our mercenary garb.”

  Nicholas looked less than convinced. “My lady,” he said slowly, “they cut off hands of thieves. What if they mistake us for thieves instead of fierce mercenaries?”

  He had tucked his hands under his arms protectively, as if he could already feel the knife severing hand from arm. She looked down at her own disguise, then at his. They were both liberally smudged with soot and other unmentionable substances and to be sure the clothing Nicholas wore would have done any ragtag mercenary’s lad credit. Her own clothing was something she’d filched at Fenwyck, and she felt confident that almost three weeks’ worth of travel had added authenticity to her own appearance. Surely they would be taken for what they pretended to be. Besides, she was hungry enough not to care. She’d packed only enough food for herself. To be sure Nicholas was a slight lad, but he was a lad after all and seemingly trying to make up for nigh onto six winters of poor fare at his uncle’s cooking fire. As far as she could see, she had no choice but to take her chances at pilfery. Though she anticipated that Rhys would arrive at any moment, thanks to the messengers Geoffrey had sent, she was certain she would be in a better state to greet him having had something to fill her belly.

  “Come, Nicholas,” she said, reaching for his hand. “No harm will come to us. We’re far more likely to starve to death than to be branded as thieves.”

  Nicholas smiled gamely and took her hand. “I’ll protect you, my lady, should it come to that.” He patted the spare knife Rhys had given him and put his shoulders back. “Sir Rhys would wish it of me.”

  Gwen shook her head as she crept with Nicholas from the stall. It was no wonder Rhys had such a following of mercenaries. If he hadn’t beaten them all into submission, he surely would have charmed them into following him. It was certain he had made a loyal follower out of Nicholas. She could only hope Robin was being so obedient. She had no doubt her son had been discovered long before now, and she wished mightily she could have seen Rhys’s reaction to it. Robin must have hidden himself all the way to France. Gwen didn’t doubt Rhys would have turned around and brought the lad home had they still been on English soil.

  And turn around he would, once he discovered the falseness of the missive he’d received. It had to have been Rollan behind it. She was certain he had lured Rhys to the continent so he could be at Ayre to receive the gold. She hadn’t seen him as yet, but she hadn’t ventured out of the stables either, preferring to wait a day or so before making the attempt. Just getting inside the gates had been hard enough on her heart.

  “Bloody hell!”

  Gwen paused. That sounded uncomfortably like Geoffrey of Fenwyck. That did not bode well.

  “Turn the other way, you puking fool!”

  Gwen came to a dead stop at the entrance to the stables and looked out into the courtyard. There stood Geoffrey of Fenwyck, his guard, Montgomery, and fifteen grim-faced mercenaries.

  Oh, and the twins strapped, as usual, to their horses.

  “Oh,” she said.

  “Nay, Connor, not you, too! And do not fall upon me!”

  Gwen would have laughed, but Geoffrey of Fenwyck had just caught sight of her, and she thought better of her reaction.

  “You!” he said, shaking the more substantial items off his very damp sleeve and pointing at her. “This is all your fault!”

  Evidently the twins had braved the journey south, but not survived it any better than their trip north. Geoffrey looked to have not weathered the ensuing results very well.

  “Told you not to stand between them,” Montgomery remarked.

  Geoffrey snarled a curse at Montgomery, then removed himself from between the two fallen Vikings.

  “You could at least roll them over so they don’t choke,” Montgomery said. “Then again, maybe I’ll do it,” he added at Geoffrey’s look.

  Gwen folded her arms over her chest and waited for the inevitable eruption.

  “You swore you would stay behind!” Geoffrey shouted at her.

  “Swore by the Rood, too,” Montgomery said with a grunt as he heaved a Fitzgerald onto his belly in the dirt.

  “I’ve never been tempted to beat a woman before,” Geoffrey growled, “but I vow that the thought grows more appealing by the moment. Especially now. Look at me!”

  Gwen looked. And she suppressed the urge to hold her nose closed.

  “What did you feed them last eve?” she asked.

  “Does it matter? They bloody can’t look at a horse that they aren’t puking!” He flexed his fingers. “Yet another thing to hold you accountable for—”

  Gwen found herself suddenly standing behind a bristling, knife-wielding six-year-old.

  “N-not while I 1-live,” Nicholas said, brandishing his blade. “You’ll n-not t-touch her!”

  Gwen realized then that Nicholas wasn’t bristling, he was shaking with terror. She couldn’t help but smile at his bravery. Even Geoffrey seemed impressed. He folded his arms behind his back and looked down gravely at the boy.

  “Think I should leave her be?” he asked.

  “If you v-value your 1-life,” Nicholas said, stabbing the air in front of him meaningfully with his knife.

  “And what think you of her lying her way from Fenwyck to come here?” Geoffrey asked.

  Nicholas stopped stabbing and merely pointed his knife at Geoffrey. “Sir Rhys wouldn’t have approved—”

  Geoffrey looked at Gwen with one eyebrow raised.

  “—but since we’re posing as mercenaries and not knights, it’s all right.”

  “Mercenaries,” Geoffrey repeated.

  Montgomery laughed. “Lady, isn’t such a thing what got you into trouble initially?”

  Gwen scowled at the two of them. “I did what I had to. And now I’ll thank you both to leave me in peace to continue my labors. I can only pray you haven’t spoiled my ruse beyond repair.”

  Geoffrey clapped a hand to his head. “By the saints, I think I should let Rhys have you. I don’t think I’ve the stamina for your schemes.”

  “As if the choice were yours,” she said tartly. She put her hand on Nicholas’s shoulder. “Come, lad, and let us see if we can filch supper, then we’ll return to our post and wait for the proper moment to recover Rhys’s gold.”

  “Oh, nay,” Geoffrey said, shaking his head. “You’ll not con
tinue along this path. Montgomery and I will see to the unraveling of this mystery.”

  “Rollan will never reveal himself with you here,” Gwen argued. “’Tis better that I see to it.”

  “How, by holding a handful of sewing needles to his throat?”

  “I can wield a blade well enough,” she said through gritted teeth. “Shall I demonstrate on your sorry form?”

  “If I might venture an opinion,” Montgomery began.

  Gwen threw a curt “Nay, you may not” at him only to realize Geoffrey had said the same thing.

  “My lord, my lady,” Montgomery continued, “surely we can settle this amicably.”

  “He has insulted my skill,” Gwen said stiffly.

  Nicholas patted her hand that still clutched his shoulder.

  “My thanks, lad,” Gwen said, “but I think I’d like to repay him myself. There are several other things I should like to avenge myself for as well.”

  “What?” Geoffrey demanded.

  “Numerous tweakings of my plaited hair while I was a child,” Gwen said, drawing her blade.

  Geoffrey snorted in disgust. “What a pitiful reason.”

  “Very well, then,” Gwen said, pulling Nicholas behind her, “there are other things I might seek satisfaction for.”

  Geoffrey only glared at her.

  Gwen took a deep breath. “The locking of me in the piggery.”

  “Ha,” Geoffrey said, “I knew you hadn’t forgiven me for that.”

  “I could have been trampled to death!”

  “Snuffled thoroughly, more likely,” Geoffrey returned. “Besides, the sow was away from her piglets at the time. You were perfectly safe.”

  “What about threatening to toss me in the dungeon?”

  He smiled just as wickedly as he had when he’d threatened it. “Many thanks for the reminder. Perhaps you would care to see the inside of Ayre’s.”

  Gwen glared at him and fingered the hilt of her sword. Geoffrey folded his arms and looked at her with what she could only term a smirk, as if her skill was too paltry to cause him any distress or concern.

  “Make way for the lord of Ayre!”

  Gwen jumped. The announcement even produced something of a start in Geoffrey. He whipped around to look at the gate guard who had bellowed those words. Gwen contemplated a quick duck back into the stables to protect what anonymity she still had, then found she was far too late.

  She had counted on Rollan. She hadn’t anticipated having to face her husband as well. She put her shoulders back. Perhaps ’twas best she confront Alain and Rollan together. At least she would have the support of her small army, though she had to admit Geoffrey looked none-too-enthusiastic about the prospect. At least Rhys’s mercenaries were looking appropriately fierce.

  The herald’s words had hardly died away before Alain himself rode through the gates and came to a halt. He was surrounded by a handful of guards and trailed by his brother.

  “Well, this is interesting,” Rollan drawled. “Sister, are you felling your guardsmen again?”

  Gwen wished desperately that the Fitzgeralds were doing something besides moaning in the muck. They surely would have added to her air of invincibility.

  Alain was looking at her and blinking. “You’re not abed,” he said.

  “Nay, my lord, I am not,” she agreed.

  Alain looked at Rollan. “I certainly wouldn’t want to bed her now. She smells.”

  Gwen wished she’d thought of her disguise on her wedding night.

  “Where’s de Piaget?” Alain asked.

  “Ask your brother,” Gwen said. “I imagine he knows.”

  Alain scratched his head. “Rollan said he would be—”

  “Ah, aye,” Rollan agreed. “Off doing some chivalrous deed, no doubt.”

  “But he’s supposed to be here,” Alain argued. “Bedding her. Though why he’d want to, I don’t know.”

  Gwen smiled at her husband. “Oh, you won’t have to wait long for him. I imagine he’s on his way here by now. I don’t know that I’d want to meet him, though. I doubt he’ll be all that happy when he arrives.”

  Alain looked faintly panicked. “Then perhaps we should raise the drawbridge. Just in case.”

  “Riders approaching!” another guard shouted.

  “It can’t be him,” Alain said, fingering his crop nervously. “I didn’t see him on the road.”

  “I did,” Montgomery offered.

  “And you know what fine eyes Sir Montgomery has,” Gwen added, finding that a great sense of relief had already begun to wash over her. Though she was certain she could have bested Alain on her own, having Rhys there beside her would be a boon indeed.

  “No device on them!” the guard shouted down. “But dressed in black they all are!”

  Alain gulped audibly. “Raise the drawbridge,” he called nervously.

  “That won’t do any good,” Gwen said confidently. “I tried that before.”

  “He won’t scale my walls,” Alain boasted, but he didn’t look all that convinced.

  Gwen raised one eyebrow, then shrugged and positioned herself where she could see the barbican. And as the drawbridge began to rise, she began to wonder if Rhys actually would manage the feat.

  But then she saw a leg swing over the end, followed by the rest of a black-swathed body which rolled swiftly down the span toward the gatehouse.

  “Down with the portcullis!” Alain squeaked.

  It was too late. Rhys was standing inside the gates before Alain’s command had reached the gatehouse. Rhys looked at the guards and snarled, “Lower the drawbridge.”

  The men began to crank furiously, in direct disobedience to Alain’s direction.

  “Traitors,” Alain complained as Rhys’s men swarmed into the bailey. Gwen smiled pleasantly at Alain.

  “Told you so.”

  Gwen turned back to look at Rhys. He spared her a glare, and she suspected that he was less than pleased to see her there. She searched through the ranks of his men and felt an almost overwhelming sense of relief to see Robin waving merrily at her from where he sat before John on John’s horse.

  One loved one safe. Now if Rhys could just manage to avoid any stray arrows from Alain’s guardsmen.

  Another man had seemingly joined Rhys’s company, and Gwen marveled at the white in his hair. The resemblance to Rhys was very strong and Gwen wondered if that might perhaps be his grandfather. She smiled at the man and received a sunny smile in return. At least Rhys’s gold was safe. Or so she supposed.

  She looked back at her love and wondered, by the fierceness of his expression, if she might have relaxed too soon.

  Or perhaps he was reserving his stern look for Alain and his brother.

  Gwen took a firmer grip on her sword. She’d sought Rhys out at one time in her life, ready to offer her sword to guard his back.

  Perhaps that promise would be called upon after all.

  37

  Rhys knew he shouldn’t have been surprised by what he was seeing, but he was. He distinctly remembered a very serious discussion he had had with his lady about the importance of remaining safely at Fenwyck. When he’d encountered Fenwyck’s messenger at Dover, however, he’d begun to worry that perhaps Gwen might have decided that a quick journey to Ayre was called for. He couldn’t have been so fortunate as to have had her not read the second missive. Rhys shot Rollan a look of promise before he turned back to his lady. Obviously she had as much regard for the sanctity of his word as did her son. He sighed. He was doomed never to be taken seriously. He looked at Gwen and frowned, just to let her know where his thoughts were leading him.

  She was dressed, and this came as no surprise to him, either, in what she deemed mercenary garb. She was brandishing her sword as if she fully intended to use it. Well, at least she hadn’t done any damage to any of her keepers yet. Nicholas had also been subjected to a liberal sooting and held his knife in front of him as if he expected to be attacked at any moment.

  Rhys looked at the m
en in whose care he’d left his lady and had no doubts of their inability to control her. Geoffrey didn’t look overly happy to see him, though Rhys suspected that look came more from wanting Gwen for himself than any remorse for a failure to keep her at Fenwyck. Montgomery was only shaking his head, smiling dryly. Rhys could hardly wait to hear what he had to say about the situation.

  And the Fitzgeralds, of course, were lying facedown in the muck, conveniently senseless.

  And then there was Alain watching the group just as Rhys was, with his entourage of guardsmen and Rollan slinking along behind him as usual. Rhys wondered how long Ayre’s lord had been facing off with his wife.

  And he shuddered to think what would have befallen Gwen had Geoffrey’s messenger not found him. He would have traipsed back merrily up to Fenwyck, fully expecting to find things as he had left them, only to realize he should have stopped at Ayre.

  “You were to be here already,” Alain said pointedly.

  Rhys blinked, then realized he was the one being spoken to. “Was I?”

  Alain shot Rollan a look of irritation. “This isn’t working out as you planned.”

  “Keep to your path, my lord,” Rollan advised.

  The saints preserve us all, Rhys thought. He found that Alain was looking at him with his customary look of disdain. Alain scowled and huffed and seemed to be searching for something to blurt out. Evidently he stumbled upon something, for his frown was replaced with a look of triumph.

  “Can you not choose some sort of device?” he demanded.

  “I plan to,” Rhys answered calmly. “When my hall is built.” Indeed, he’d already given it much thought. It would be a black lion rampant in deference to his own pride in his skill. And there must needs be something to honor his lady. He had not decided finally upon that as yet.

  “Well,” Alain said, obviously struggling for something else to say, “you look foolish without a device.” He looked at his brother for approval.

  Rhys watched as Rollan rolled his eyes. What mischief were these two about? Rhys looked back at Alain. He was obviously waiting for some kind of reaction.