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And that’s when the answer to her question entered her room. Framed by the doorway, he was dressed in partial chainmail as if for a joust. But this was not the type of man to do mock battle. His black eyes were too harsh, his face too hardened and, despite the daylight, shadows emanated from him. This was not a man to play at things, but to take and take by force.
‘Are you well?’ he asked, his voice deep and resonating around the room.
Vaguely aware of Edith and Greta, both of whom were now standing at the far end of the room, she stared at the man walking towards her.
‘Did you eat? Can you hear me?’ he repeated.
He was the dark man to the golden man’s light. He was anger to any kindness. He was the man who had watched her for days and at night had held her hand. He was the man beneath the tree and the man who had saved her life. In one incredulous moment, she knew who he was.
He was Teague, Devil of Gwalchdu and the Traitor. He was a legend with the sword, a Marcher Lord of King Edward and her sworn enemy. And here she was lying in his bed. But she was no coward.
‘Yes, I hear you,’ she answered.
He nodded, before his eyes skimmed down to her legs.
Her bare legs.
Before she could cover herself, Teague closed the distance between them and tossed the covers roughly over her. When he did not step back from the bed, she was forced to look up.
‘You should not move,’ he ordered. ‘Are you well?’
Teague of Gwalchdu stood before her. Why hadn’t she recognised it immediately when Edith was the only one in the room, when there might have been a chance to escape? How could she have been such a fool? But how could she have imagined she’d ever be brought to hell?
Without turning, he addressed Edith and Greta. ‘Leave us.’
Frustration swamping her, she watched as Edith and Greta closed the door behind them. She was alone with the man who had torn her family apart and had brought the ruination of Brynmor. She had dreamed of meeting him face to face, but not when she was so weak she could barely sit up.
He narrowed his eyes, assessing her. ‘No, you’re not. You’re far too pale and that bruise is likely to continue spreading before you are healed. Does it hurt?’
‘Do you care?’
He ignored her. ‘Who are you?’
‘Is it important?’
He lowered his arms to his sides. It was clear he wanted an answer.
She didn’t feel like giving him one. He didn’t know who she was, or more specifically where she came from. It was no secret Brynmor and Gwalchdu were enemies. If she could keep her identity from him for long enough, perhaps she could escape.
‘If you don’t provide me with a name, I will give you one of my own.’
‘Anwen,’ she bit out.
‘Anwen?’ he asked and his tone implied he expected more.
‘Yes, Anwen,’ she said, repeating her name slowly as if he didn’t understand her.
‘Have I missed anything?’
It was this man’s brother, the golden one, who opened the door. He looked so different to Teague. His reputation was different, too. This man had been too young to fight in the Welsh wars. To him she would be civil.
‘Rhain?’ Anwen said.
‘Yes!’ Rhain grabbed a stool and a chair and set both by her bedside.
‘Do you remember anything else?’ Rhain asked, sitting on the stool.
She shook her head once. It was safer to pretend.
‘No one has told you of this place?’ Teague did not take his eyes from hers.
‘No,’ she answered.
‘You would want to know who we are and where you are, I imagine.’ Teague’s voice had grown silky, his mouth shaped into a mock of a smile. ‘How rude of me not to introduce myself, especially since you have supplied so much information to me.’
He sat on the chair Rhain had placed near the bed. He was now so close she could see the growth of his beard, the deep furrows around his mouth. His lips held an odd curve, making them full, soft, yet harshly masculine at the same time. Without releasing her gaze, he answered, ‘I am Teague, Lord of Gwalchdu.’
She could say nothing as her worst suspicion was confirmed. She lay in the bed of Gwalchdu’s lord. ‘Gwalchdu’ meant ‘black hawk’ and there was no more evil a bird in all of Welsh myth. The name fit this place and the traitor who now sat before her.
‘So you have heard,’ he said, gauging her reaction.
‘I have heard, but have seen nothing.’ She tried to keep her eyes unreadable. She had hated this man all her life. She would not back down now, despite the pounding in her head.
He gave a curt nod. ‘You are wise to be blind. But it seems you watch now.’
This was no word game he played with her. This was no pastime of a bored nobleman and there was no false smile on his face.
Anwen tensed and immediately regretted it as her body protested. It would take all her resources to escape. But she had herself. That had proven enough in the past and it would prove enough now.
‘I don’t watch so much.’ Anwen tried to get her thoughts together as pain slashed across her left temple. ‘I’ll watch even less once you let me go.’
Rhain stood. ‘We should go. It is clear you are unwell and have need of rest.’
Rhain glanced at Teague, but the lord’s gaze locked with Anwen’s. For a moment she didn’t think he would answer.
‘She needs time, Teague,’ Rhain argued.
‘Call for Ffion.’ Teague’s voice was low, but not soft.
* * *
Anwen did not breathe again until the two men closed the door. She was trapped. Trapped by a huge giant of a man with eyes as dark as obsidian. Eyes she knew matched his soul. She knew his name, as a person knows the name of evil. At Brynmor, the people did not even whisper his name aloud without crossing themselves and he had sat so close to her she’d noticed the slight shadows under his eyes.
Why would she notice he was tired? He was the Traitor. Dear God, she was beholden to the Traitor of Gwalchdu! It was clear he had saved her life by bringing her here. But now she recognised him, she wondered at his motive. She doubted it was kindness or gentleness. She’d seen his eyes caressing her bare legs; his motive could not be kindness.
The pain was increasing, but she must fight it. She put a hand to her head, the thick dressing holding its shape; if only the dizziness didn’t increase, as well. The Traitor wanted something from her and she had no intention of staying to find out what. Anwen pushed until she was able to sit up. For a moment she thought she would make it, then the room spun, and blackness overcame her.
* * *
‘Well, at least we know she is innocent of any treachery,’ Rhain whispered before they reached the bottom stair.
‘Do we?’ Teague walked through the entrance into the rare winter sunlight. He headed towards the gardens. It was wash day and the shrubbery was covered in linens.
Rhain followed. ‘She called herself Anwen. Since we know Brynmor is missing someone by that name, we know she belongs to them. Now it will be simply a matter of letting her rest until we can return her.’
Teague sat on a bench and stretched his legs. He admired the newly tilled and almost bare garden, knowing his winter larder was full. ‘But she didn’t say she was from Brynmor.’
‘She didn’t?’ Rhain thought for a moment, then shrugged. ‘So?’
‘So, she could have been given that information.’
‘What significance can it have? All manors have sworn allegiance to Edward.’ Rhain sat, and adjusted the dagger at his waist.
‘All manors have, but not all the people.’
‘You think that woman is a threat?’
‘Yes. When she practises deception and tells us nothing.’
Rhain shrugged. ‘Does it matter since we know her identity and her home?’
‘It matters that she deliberately hides facts. What else is she hiding?’
Rhain fingered his dagger’s hilt. ‘She suffered a severe head wound and could have mistaken your questioning.’
‘No, I saw her eyes on me when I entered the room. She knew who I was. She is hiding something.’
Rhain pursed his lips before answering. ‘She has been deeply hurt, Teague. Let her go. She can have no knowledge of what plagues us here.’
Teague scuffed his foot through the rough dark dirt. Many razed stalks were bare, but protected by compost. Come spring, he was sure the herbs would be flavouring his meals. Yet he wasn’t sure of the woman in his bed. He couldn’t take a chance on her innocence. ‘Like hell I will.’
* * *
It was the time of night that was almost day, but despite the hour, she could feel he was there. She was too tired to fight and didn’t open her eyes. ‘Why are you here?’
Teague watched Anwen fall asleep, watched as her breathing slowed, and her eyelids ceased their fluttering. ‘I don’t know,’ he said, even though she could not hear him.
He shouldn’t be here. Now that she was conscious, it was time to stay away from her. He might know her identity, but he still did not know her motivations and those would take time and distance to discover. But still he lingered idly by her side like some besotted troubadour.
No, this wasn’t an idle feeling, but a deep churning in his blood.
When he entered his chamber, the sight of her had been like the flat of a sword to his gut. She had lain in his bed, propped up with his pillows, her legs bared as if waiting for him. As if she belonged. He was ill-prepared for the lust which had assailed him.
When he tried to find some semblance of control, she refused to answer his questions. Weak as she was, she defied him. She might have been truthful in giving her name, but she withheld something. He could feel it. She had known he wondered where she lived, but had avoided answering him. She’d asked where she was, even though she already knew.
Teague averted his gaze from her sleeping face. It was wrong for him to be here, but she was wrong in hiding something. She could not be allowed secrets. He had an enemy threatening his home. He would discover what she hid from him. He had to. For all their sakes.
Chapter Four (#uef78ebf6-7f8a-5ea4-83f2-f00536dec637)
‘You have overexerted yourself, I see.’ With long strides, an older woman, wearing voluminous black robes, approached the foot of Anwen’s bed. ‘Take care, girl. I am Sister Ffion and I don’t have time to cater to you and do my duties here.’
Biting her lip to keep from snapping at a woman of God, Anwen watched Ffion pull herbs from her satchel and place them in the mortar on the nearby table.
‘You took a blow to your head.’ Ffion lifted and swirled the matching pitcher before pouring the dark liquid on top of the herbs and mashing them more. ‘I’ll do the best I can, but it is in God’s hands.’
As Ffion ground the concoction, the air turned foul. Anwen’s eyes watered.
‘I’ll have none of your complaints.’ Ffion set the pitcher down and came to her side. ‘You about undid all of my healing. For days this poultice has been placed on your head to help heal your wound.’
Anwen tried to breathe through her mouth, as she lifted her head and concentrated on Ffion’s cold hand supporting her neck. ‘You have been here?’
‘From the beginning.’ Ffion unbound the wrappings. ‘Dear Rhain notified me immediately of your arrival. He knew of my healing abilities. Why, if it wasn’t for him, you would have died.’
Ffion dropped the bandages in a bucket. ‘It’s quite a miracle you pulled through. Rhain was right in notifying me immediately. I was able to prepare the herbs in time for them to take.’
Anwen patted the side of her head. ‘Wasn’t...wasn’t Lord Teague under the tree? Didn’t he save—?’
Ffion seized Anwen’s wrist; her cold fingers dug like claws into her skin. ‘Gwalchdu’s lord saves nothing!’
Anwen jerked her wrist free and Ffion’s lips pursed before she shook her head. ‘I only meant it is better if you don’t touch the wound. You may harm my healing.’
Anwen rubbed her wrist and quickly damped her anger. Ffion was trying to help her. ‘How bad is my wound?’ she asked.
‘You’ll scar.’ Ffion began to clean the wound and the water brought both pain and relief. ‘It’ll be permanent, too. Most likely a disfigurement so no man would have you. But that is probably for the best.’
Ffion slowly rinsed the linen in a bowl, as Anwen processed the Sister’s almost gleeful words. Despite her Welsh-born accent, Anwen knew Ffion would be no ally.
‘But your disfigurement does not seem to keep some men away now, does it?’ Ffion dabbed at the wound. ‘However, the wound is healing according to God’s wishes. You must still be chaste.’
Anwen didn’t want to think about all of Ffion’s words, but she needed to clarify something. ‘It’s healing?’ she asked.
‘Yes. In His great wisdom, God gave me gifts and knowledge of the healing arts. I suspect your healing to take at least another sennight.’
‘Surely it won’t be that long.’ The poultice stung.
‘A few days ago, we didn’t think you’d live. You are staying here for a sennight so you will not undo all my work.’
‘I didn’t mean to stay as long as I have.’ Demanding woman of God or not, Anwen had no intention of staying. She was needed at Brynmor. And not only for Melun’s sake. She wondered if Alinore, her sister, was alive; if Urien, Lord of Brynmor, had hurt her again. It hurt to think of them. She needed a distraction from knowing she wasn’t there to protect either of them now.
‘Have you been here long?’
‘Almost all my life.’ A look of pain crossed Ffion’s face as she added, ‘Many years.’
‘You’ve known the family that long?’
‘I am the family. I am the sister of Teague’s mother and Rhain’s aunt.’
Edith opened the door, her hobbling-and-hopping gait shaking the bread and pitcher on the tray she was carrying.
