A Time for Love

  Gwen turned her attention back to the matter at hand and found that though the priest had regained his senses, he didn’t seem to have the strength to stand on his own. She took pity on him and resheathed her sword. She thought to suggest the same to Rhys, but she could tell by the way he was clutching the hilt that he had no intentions of releasing the weapon any time soon.

  “By the saints,” John complained, “is there aught this man does save eat?”

  The priest was rotund, and he seemingly had little interest in helping himself stay afoot, as it were.

  “Where are those damned Vikings?” Sir Jean muttered. “If I’d known what weak-stomached women they were, Rhys, I never would have left you in their care. ’Tis a wonder you turned out tolerably well at all.”

  Gwen found, quite suddenly, that the impossibility of the situation in which she found herself was finally beginning to sink in. Rhys planned to wed her. Their priest either was too lazy or too terrified to stiffen his knees and stand on his own. Geoffrey was muttering under his breath behind her, Sir Jean was stalking off to rouse the Fitzgerald brothers, and Montgomery and John were arguing over whom the priest should be foisted upon. Nicholas and Robin were fighting with their wooden swords, and the whole of Ayre’s garrison had gathered in a group behind them, all watching with wide, incredulous eyes. Rhys’s mercenaries, the ones he had taken with him and the ones who had followed Geoffrey from Fenwyck, had all gathered themselves into a fierce little group of thirty, their hands on their swords as if they intended to seriously injure any soul who sought to thwart the plans of their paymaster. Rhys was fingering his own sword as if he prepared to fling himself into the midst of a battle, not matrimony.

  Oh, and then there was Alain, who lay dead not fifty paces from them, victim of his own fury.

  “Am I the only one,” she asked no one in particular, “who finds this odd?”

  “You think this is odd?” Rhys asked grimly. “Just wait, Gwen.”

  She looked up at him. “What more could happen to improve upon these events?”

  He pursed his lips. “The king could arrive and discover what I’m about. You could find yourself widowed twice in one day.”

  Gwen blinked. “Then he did not give you leave—”

  “He gave me many things, but you were not among them.”

  “Rhys!”

  “Do you love me?”

  She swallowed, hard. “Desperately.”

  “Then it is enough.”

  “Did you give him all your gold?” she demanded. “Did he take it all and merely thank you kindly?”

  Rhys shook his head. “I gave him a bit to sweeten his humor and a bit more for his tax coffers. There is still enough yet in France to fund our escape should we need to leave England in a rush. For now, though, let us be about our business. The king’s temper will see to itself eventually.”

  She sighed. “I suppose this means we will be riding very swiftly north.”

  “We’ll have to pause long enough to consummate the marriage, my lady. You can rest then.”

  “The very romance of the thought leaves me breathless,” she said dryly.

  He spared her a scowl before he turned back to the priest. “Up on your feet, man! We’ve a wedding to hasten through.”

  “Here,” Sir Jean said, shepherding the twins in front of him, “be of some use, you great mewling babes.”

  Rhys waited until the twins had settled themselves on either side of the priest, who suddenly found that his feet were sturdy enough to keep him upright and therefore there was no need to lean on either of the rather crusty and noisome-smelling men flanking him, then cleared his throat.

  “Wed us,” he commanded.

  “But—” the priest spluttered.

  “Robin,” Rhys called. “Come name your mother’s dowry.”

  Robin sighed as he put up his sword. He came to stand in front of Rhys, who turned him around to face the priest.

  “Artane,” Rhys supplied, “is hers alone.”

  Robin looked at the priest. “She has Artane, Father.” He looked back up at Rhys. “Is that enough, do you think?”

  “’Tis more than enough for me,” Rhys said.

  “Perhaps she should have what she had before she married Alain of Ayre,” Robin said, as if he talked about someone besides his father. Gwen listened to him discuss the advantages of such a thing with Rhys as if he’d been managing such vast holdings his entire young life. Evidently his journey to France had been instructive.

  “All she brought with her before,” Robin decided, turning to the priest. “It can go to Lord Rhys. I’ll keep Lord Alain’s lands. Lord Rhys can see to them for me until I’m of age.”

  Gwen blinked. She wasn’t sure what surprised her more, Robin’s tone of authority or his mistake in Rhys’s title. She put her hand on his shoulder gently.

  “Robin,” she said softly, “much as you might like to call Rhys lord, he is but—”

  “The newly made earl of Artane,” John supplied cheerfully. He smiled at Gwen. “A successful chat with the king and all, you know.”

  “Do not forget your lands in France,” Sir Jean added with a grunt.

  Gwen looked at him in surprise. “Land there as well?” She turned to stare at Rhys. “Did you know of it?”

  “Not a bloody thing ’til a se’nnight past,” he said, sounding none-too-happy about the delay in receiving the tidings.

  Sir Jean shrugged. “Could have told him about it sooner, I suppose—”

  “Aye, you could have,” Rhys agreed with a growl.

  “But I wanted to see what he’d make of himself,” Sir Jean finished with a wicked smile sent his grandson’s way. “Nothing like a little lust for land to make a man into a man.”

  “Grandpère, had I time, I would take you to the lists and show you what a man I’ve become.”

  Sir Jean looked greatly tempted. “Unfortunately you haven’t the time, whelp, but don’t think I’ll forget the offer. In a fortnight or two after we’ve reached your wasteland in the north and you’ve recovered from your saddle-sores, we’ll see who is the man in truth.”

  “Earl?” Gwen said, looking up at Rhys.

  “Gift from the king for valiant service and bravery,” John said.

  “As well as for a chest of gold,” Rhys muttered.

  “Earl?” Gwen repeated.

  “It was a very large chest.”

  “Yet still he would not give me to you?” Gwen asked.

  “He said he would think on it,” Rhys said shortly, “which left me wondering if I would do better to return to France for more funds or merely tempt him with a barrel or two of peaches.”

  “You could have threatened to make off with his cook,” Sir Jean suggested.

  “I had considered that, believe me,” Rhys said dryly.

  “Rhys, what will we do!” Gwen exclaimed. “If he has said you nay—”

  “That was before he knew you were a widow,” Rhys said, reaching down to take her hand, “and I’m sorry I’ve left you no time to grieve—”

  The one who possibly would need it was Robin, but he seemed more preoccupied with standing as close as possible to Rhys. And it wasn’t as if he’d spent more than what amounted to several days with his sire. Perhaps grief would be the last thing on his mind.

  “But haste is of the essence,” Rhys finished. “I hope the king will be too busy chasing Rollan to pay us much heed until we’re safely ensconced at Fenwyck, where I am certain Geoffrey intends to offer us hospitality.”

  “Hospitality,” Geoffrey snorted. “Think again! I always have regrets when I indulge in it.”

  Rhys ignored him and looked down at Gwen. “John reappropriated Artane and gave it to me. I told him not to, but he insisted I should have something for my trouble since I wasn’t to have you.”

  “And now that you’ll have me?”

  “I’ll keep it, if you don’t mind, and build you a very fine hall upon it.”

  It mattered, she found, very l
ittle to her whom the land belonged to on the king’s rolls. All that mattered was that she and Rhys now seemed destined to live in the same place, hopefully as man and wife. Assuming the king didn’t reach them first and deny them what they’d waited so long to have. Gwen turned to the priest.

  “Wed us,” she commanded. “Now.”

  “Um,” the priest began.

  “Scribe!” Rhys bellowed.

  A rather thin, sickly-looking soul was thrust into their midst, endeavoring to balance parchment, ink, and quill. The scribe was instructed to record what had transpired, under the watchful eye and drawn sword of the newly made earl of Artane.

  The contract was signed by all parties involved, then the priest was sent on his way to see to the less pressing matter of arranging the former baron of Ayre’s burial.

  Gwen thought Rhys might find it an appropriate time to kiss her to seal their marriage, so she turned toward him, closed her eyes, and lifted her face up accordingly. But instead of kissing her, Rhys took her by the shoulders and set her aside.

  Then he hit Geoffrey of Fenwyck full in the face.

  “That,” he said, “is for slobbering upon my wife’s hand.” He looked down at the baron of Fenwyck, who lay sprawled in the dust. “Never do it again.”

  Geoffrey could only gape at him, speechless.

  Rhys looked about him, flexing his fingers. “Who should be next? I daresay I have many scores to settle this afternoon, especially with those who couldn’t seem to follow my simplest command.” He frowned at the Fitzgeralds. “Don’t know that I’d want to touch them in their current condition.”

  “Montgomery?” John suggested politely.

  Rhys shook his head. “That would leave me having to prop up the twins. He should be repaid as well, though. I left him with instructions to see Gwen remained at Fenwyck.”

  Gwen winced at the glare Montgomery threw her way.

  “She vowed by the Rood,” Montgomery said. “How could I doubt her word?”

  Rhys snorted. “You know her as well as I do.”

  “If someone would care to hear my side of the tale,” Gwen interjected. “I came to save your gold,” she said to Rhys before he could open his mouth. “We received another missive at Fenwyck, you know.”

  “I know all about it, as I had the pleasure of intercepting your messenger in Dover,” Rhys said. “That changes nothing. Fenwyck could have come in your stead.”

  “I am better at disguise.”

  “And very vulnerable should Rollan have caught you unawares.”

  “I’ve been working on my swordplay,” she argued,

  “You promised me you would stay behind.”

  “My plans changed.”

  “You know,” John put in, “we should likely gather our gear and be on our way. Should the king decide to come to Ayre in the near future, I daresay we don’t want to be here to entertain him.”

  Gwen looked at her former brother-in-law. “There are many who will attest to Rollan’s murdering of Alain. You’ve no need to fear.”

  John smiled. “Oh, I have no fear for myself. ’Tis Lord Rhys who must worry about his sweet neck.”

  “There is that,” Sir Jean agreed. “Powerfully fickle is that king of yours. Never know what he’s intending.”

  “By the saints, Grandpère,” Rhys grumbled, “I wish you had told me of the lands before we left London.”

  “Wanted to see what—”

  “—I’d make of myself, aye, I know,” Rhys finished sourly. “Have you any suggestions on what I might do to secure my bride?”

  “Well, you’ve already wed the girl. Best bed her as quick as may be. Johnny Lackland can’t argue with that much.”

  Rhys nodded. “Very well. Won’t take but a moment or two.”

  “It will if you value your ability to sire any children,” Gwen warned.

  “I’ll woo you later—”

  “You’ll woo me now.”

  “I’ve no need to woo you now—I’ve just wed you!”

  “Too long out of polite company,” John said, shaking his head sadly.

  “I could give you a courting idea or two,” Geoffrey offered, leaning up on his elbows in the dirt.

  “Let the boy work it out himself,” Sir Jean said. “We’ll see what sort of imagination he has. ’Tis the last test I have before I tell him the last of the family secrets.”

  Rhys opened his mouth to say something, then shut it and shook his head. “I don’t want to know any more. I’ve learned too much today as it is.”

  “I have something that might aid you.”

  Gwen looked at Montgomery to find him fishing about in the purse attached to his belt. He pulled forth a very faded green ribbon and handed it to Gwen with a smile.

  “Oh,” Rhys said, his breath catching on the word. “Then you had it?”

  “Thought you might want it eventually,” Montgomery said with a smile.

  Gwen took the ribbon she had once given Rhys and gingerly tied it about his arm again. “I don’t suppose,” she said softly, “that this counts for you wooing me, but it is a most romantic thing just the same.”

  He drew her into his arms and smiled down at her. His eyes were very bright and seemingly filled with a stray tear or two.

  “If you only knew how long I’ve waited for this moment,” he said softly. “If you only knew what I felt the first time you tied this ribbon about my arm, and how desperately I prayed that some day you would be mine.”

  “You can tell me of it . . . um . . .”

  “During?”

  “After.”

  And with that, he closed his eyes, bent his head, and kissed her softly and sweetly on the lips. Gwen felt the world about her fade until there was only the man with his arms about her. No king, no gold, and no others. He angled his head and kissed her more deeply. His hands began to roam over her back and up into her hair. Her plait was loosened and her hair soon flowed freely over her shoulders.

  “Oh, by the saints,” a crusty voice said in faint disgust, “find a chamber, won’t you?”

  Rhys spared his grandfather a glare before he smiled down at Gwen again. “Should we?”

  She blinked to clear away the haze and gave the matter serious thought. She suddenly felt the eyes of every man in the company turned upon her. Even Ayre’s guardsmen were looking upon the scene with great interest, as if they each were counting on her to make the correct decision.

  Gwen looked at Rhys.

  “I know just the place.”

  It was only a short time later that she stopped in front of a vaguely familiar door. She smiled at her newly made husband.

  “This might be appropriate.”

  Rhys pushed it open, then pulled a torch from the passageway and found a place for it inside. “I believe, however,” he said as he drew her in behind him, “that you were wearing John’s clothes the last time we were here. And you were not so liberally smudged.”

  Gwen felt her mouth fall open. She had completely forgotten about her condition. She had just been wed in garments covered with horse manure and three weeks’ worth of travel.

  Rhys laughed, as if he understood what she’d been thinking. “Not even that detracts from your beauty, my love.”

  “As if flattery comforts me!”

  “Flattery?” He shook his head. “A knight never lies, so you must believe I speak the truth. Besides, smudged or not, the very sight of you leaves me weak in the knees.” He shifted. “I can scarce believe you are mine.”

  She sighed and looked down at her filthy clothes. “This isn’t exactly how I’d envisioned our nuptials.”

  “Nor I. I had thought even to attempt a song or two.”

  “The saints preserve me,” she said with a laugh. “Perhaps my ears should be grateful for your haste.”

  He scowled. “’Tis hardly my fault that I cannot hear the notes aright. My skills simply lie in a different area.”

  “Dicing.”

  He smiled at that. “Perhaps later.”
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  She looked around her. Not even a blanket or two to throw upon the floor. She looked at Rhys.

  “Well?” she asked.

  He took a pair of steps toward her, reached over her, and shoved the bolt home. “That should assure us privacy.”

  “For a moment or two,” she agreed.

  He looked down at her and smiled faintly. “If you had any idea how badly I want you, you’d realize a brief moment or two may be all you’ll have from me at present.”

  She wasn’t exactly sure what he meant by that, but she had the feeling she was soon to find out.

  “I will woo you properly,” he said as he pulled her into his arms. “Soon.”

  “The very thought is almost enough to induce me to bathe,” she said as he kissed her.

  And then she found that the condition of her clothing and her person mattered not at all, except as it served for a bed.

  The floor was just as uncomfortable as she remembered it being. At least this time she had no fear of being interrupted. There was something to be said for a band of mercenaries to do her husband’s bidding.

  Her husband. Gwen could hardly believe it. Widowed and wed within moments. And what a ceremony it had been—

  “Gwen,” Rhys said with a sigh of resignation.

  She winced. “Forgive me. No more thoughts.”

  He took her face in his hands and kissed her thoroughly. And then kissing led to touching and that led to all clothes being used as a bed, which led to Rhys promising between more long, sweet kisses that he would filch Fenwyck’s finest goosefeather mattress at his earliest opportunity. Gwen started to say that it mattered not, then she realized she was several years older and the birth of two children more mature than the last time they’d lain upon such scant padding, and a goosefeather mattress was beginning to sound very pleasant.

  And then thoughts of goosefeathers and children and uncomfortable floors began to fade and all she was left with was the man in her arms she’d never thought to have there again. And the thing that fair brought tears to her eyes in truth was the realization that his touch was no more practiced, his loving no more skilled than it had been the last time they’d lain together. He was all enthusiasm and unschooled passion—certainly not a lover who had spent countless hours lazing in his mistress’s bed.