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As tempting as that was, she might rouse his temper too much. If she did follow such a course, she would have to ensure that she wasn’t alone with him, which shouldn’t be difficult.
Before she could decide what she would do, she heard the sound of brisk footsteps approaching.
Whoever it was, she would be calm and aloof. She would be polite but distant. She would—
It wasn’t Lord Madoc who came to stand at the foot of the cot. To her disappointment—a response she should not feel, she told herself—it was his uncle.
“Poor man can’t hold his drink, can he?” he whispered loudly, regarding Lord Alfred as he might a sick child.
“He should be fine by this evening,” she quietly replied. “I don’t think you should offer him any more braggot.”
“I won’t,” he agreed. “Look you, my lady, Madoc’s come back and he wants to see you. Since it’s such a fine day, he’ll wait for you down by the river, in a little grove of alders. Very pretty spot for a conversation, if you’ll join him.”
Roslynn wanted to get out of the stuffy confines of the hall and there was no real need for her to stay by Lord Alfred’s side; nevertheless, she hesitated. It might not be considered a wise or honorable thing to leave the castle without Lord Alfred to escort her. On the other hand, her host might consider it an insult if she refused his invitation, especially since they would be with his uncle, and so not alone. “Very well.”
“Excellent!” Lloyd cried.
As she rose to join him, he reached around to grab a square of linen on the table beside the bed. She’d been bathing Lord Alfred’s face when he was awake and complaining of evil Welsh brews. This large square, however, was dry.
Lloyd used it to wipe his brow, then tucked it into his belt. “I was in a rush to find you, and I sweat like a horse.”
Accepting his explanation, she took his arm and together they left the hall, passing the servants replacing the flambeaux in iron holders on the walls. Roslynn felt their watchful eyes and wondered if there would ever be a time when she would no longer be the subject of gossip and speculation.
Outside, the weather was still fine, with a breeze redolent of fresh grass and warm summer days to come. Despite their curiosity, the servants at their chores and soldiers on guard duty went about their duties efficiently, although without the haste of colder days.
The yard itself was tidy, with nothing out of place, and the buildings were all in good repair.
As they were nearing the gate, the steward came hurrying around the side of one of the smaller buildings, probably a storehouse, as fast as his limp would permit. “Well now!” he cried. “Where are you two off to? And without Lord Alfred?”
“Lord Alfred’s sleeping and Madoc sent me to fetch Lady Roslynn,” Lloyd answered. “Wants to have a little chat with her down by the river on this lovely day.”
“Then I won’t keep you,” Ivor replied, giving them a smile that didn’t impress Roslynn. It was too much like Wimarc’s—more a barring of the teeth than an expression of pleasure. “One thing you’d better learn if you’re to live in Llanpowell, my lady—if Madoc gives an order, he expects it to be obeyed, and quickly, too.”
“Or what?” she asked.
“If you’re a soldier, night duty and short rations,” Ivor answered. “If you’re his friend, his eyes alone can make you feel you’ve sinned. If you’re his wife…”
His smile widened as he shrugged. “I don’t know. Gwendolyn never disobeyed, did she, Lloyd? A very sweet, quiet wife she was for Madoc—quite different from you, my lady.”
Had Lord Madoc not said he liked spirited women? What, then, did the steward mean by this? Was he trying to insult her, or intimidate her or make her afraid of his master?
Whatever he was trying to do, she wouldn’t let him see that he was affecting her in any way.
Instead, she gave him a smile as condescending as his own. “Poor man, to lose such a model of a wife. But surely you don’t begrudge Lord Madoc another chance for happiness in marriage, especially since it means a powerful alliance and wealth, too?”
She caught a flash of annoyance in the steward’s eyes, although it was quickly replaced with another patronizing smile. “Indeed, my lady, some would consider your arrival most fortunate.”
But not this man.
Yet perhaps she shouldn’t be surprised. He was Welsh, and she was not, and his animosity could be based on no more than that.
Deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt, she said with cool politeness, “Since I don’t wish to upset your master in any way, we had best be on our way.”
“WHATEVER IVOR SAYS, never you fear about going against Madoc, my lady,” Lloyd assured her, trotting to keep up with her brisk pace as they went out the gate. “My nephew’s a bit stubborn and gruff sometimes, but he’d never hurt a woman. Never hurts anybody, except in self-defense or a tournament and then, God grant you, he’s something to see.”
Lloyd’s words might have assuaged her fears, was she not well aware that pain could also be inflicted with a look or a word or a gesture. It didn’t have to be slaps or blows.
“No need to worry about how Madoc will treat you, my lady,” Lloyd persisted. “A soft heart for the women, him. And don’t be troubling yourself about Ivor. He’s got a grudge against Normans, you see, not just you in particular.”
So, it was as she’d suspected, and she was glad she hadn’t sounded as offended as she’d felt.
“Ivor can be like an old mother hen, too, the way he fusses. But he wants Madoc to be happy, as do we all, so if Madoc wants you, Ivor’ll come round in time and so will everyone else who thinks it’s a mistake.”
She wondered if she should give Lord Madoc’s uncle an indication of the unlikely possibility of a marriage, at least enough to warn him that the union he seemed so keen to promote was by no means certain.
“Unless I’m losing my capabilities, I’m sure Madoc does want you,” Lloyd continued so enthusiastically, it suddenly seemed a shame to ruin his expectations. “Ever since Gwendolyn died, he’s had women chasing him and men trying to marry him off to their daughters or sisters, but he’s never had that gleam in his eyes he gets when he looks at you, my lady.”
This was surely empty flattery. She hadn’t noticed any special gleam in Lord Madoc’s eyes when he looked at her.
Haven’t you? a small, hopeful voice whispered. Haven’t you felt his desire calling to your own?
No, she had not. She must not. To listen to the urges of her body was folly.
Lloyd led her along a path that skirted the village at the south end of the castle, sparing her the necessity of walking through the market square, where more people would no doubt stop and stare at her. Whether he had done so on purpose or not, she wasn’t sure, but she was grateful nonetheless.
The narrow river ran between banks of mossy red stones. A small, crooked wharf had been built close to the village and low-drafted boats were tied there or pulled up on the bank close by. Across the river was a forest of willow, ash and oak, pine and alders, so close together it was as if the trees were competing to see which one could reach the river first.
Farther downstream she could hear the happy shouts of children at play and the occasional sharp reprimand of a mother. The language was Welsh, the tone universal.
“Ah, like heaven itself, isn’t it?” Lloyd said with a sigh as they walked around a curve of the bank, so they were out of sight of the village, if not the high outer walls of the castle.
He pointed at the grove of leafy alders ahead. “I told you it was a pretty spot.”
“It is indeed,” she agreed, admiring the rugged beauty of the trees, rocks and river, with the rise of the mountain behind.
Then they entered the grove, and Roslynn’s jaw dropped. A man was rising from the river—a completely naked man. His back to them, he stretched his long, powerful arms over his head as if he was worshipping the sun. Water glistened on his muscular torso, while his black, waving hair spread over his broad, powerful shoulders as he shook himself, like a great bear.
The Bear of Brecon.
CHAPTER FIVE
BLUSHING WITH embarrassment, hot with indignation, Roslynn stumbled backward, almost tripping on her skirts. She immediately gathered them in her hands and walked swiftly away, the need to maintain some dignity the only thing preventing her from breaking into a run.
Did Madoc ap Gruffydd think that she would be so overwhelmed by lust at the sight of his magnificent body that she would fall into his arms, begging to be his bride? Or had seduction been his aim, whether or not they wed? Had all his previous talk of honor been a lie after all?
Had she been deceived again?
“My lady!”
She paid no heed to Lord Madoc’s uncle, nor did she slacken her pace. He must have been in on this…this disgusting exhibition, and here she’d been thinking him a kindly old man, who was perhaps a little too keen on his nephew remarrying and overly fond of drink.
“My lady, please! Stop and let me explain!” Lloyd called, panting.
He sounded as if he could scarcely draw breath, and while she didn’t think any explanation could ever excuse what had just happened, she would not have him fall ill, no matter what he’d done.
As she waited, arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently, Lloyd came to a stop, breathing hard, his hand on his chest. “No need to rush off so, my lady! An accident, is all.”
So he said, but the laughter in his eyes betrayed him.
“Hear this,” she said. “This is the second time you’ve played me for a fool, and it will be the last. And if you and your nephew think seeing him naked is going to make me more keen to marry him, you’re wrong. Wimarc de Werre was as handsome as any maiden’s dream and he was the most evil, cruel, corrupt man in England. I will never again be swayed by such considerations.”
“Madoc had no hand in this, I promise you!” Lloyd protested, apparently aghast. “It was all my doing.”
She imperiously raised a brow. “He didn’t send you to bring me to the river so that I could see his exposed magnificence, such as it is?”
“No. It was all my own idea, my lady. He came home hot and sweaty and needed a wash, so I suggested the river and I thought you…” He paused and took a deep breath. “Look you, my lady, he’s been alone too long. He needs a wife, my lady, and he likes you.”
“No doubt my dowry won’t come amiss, either.”
“I’d be lying if I said it wouldn’t be welcome, but money or not, I’ve never seen him look at a woman the way he looks at you. And a woman could do a lot worse than my nephew. You’ve got to admit, he’s a fine figure of a man.”
“He could be another Apollo and that would matter less to me than how he treats the lowliest servant in his castle.”
Lloyd’s eyes lit up like a torch. “Ah! Well, then, my lady—”
“Uncle!”
Madoc came striding toward them over the uneven ground. His wet hair dampened the shoulders of his leather tunic. The shirt beneath was open at the neck, and his swordbelt was slung low about his narrow hips, as if he’d dressed in a hurry. “What is Lady Roslynn doing here?”
Regardless of the ire in his eyes, she faced him squarely. “I was asked to come to the river by your uncle—to talk to you, he said. Apparently he was under the mistaken impression that I would be anxious to marry you if I saw you naked. Let me assure you, my lord, lest you harbor any similar notions, that how my prospective husband looks—dressed or otherwise—is among the least of my concerns.”
“And I assure you, my lady,” the lord of Llanpowell growled, his face reddening, “that had I known what my uncle intended, I would never have gone in the river.”
Lord Madoc’s glance darted to his uncle, who had started to sidle backward toward the castle. “Where are you going, Uncle?”
Lloyd stopped and spread his hands placatingly. “Why, back to the hall, of course, so you two can have a little time alone without that gloomy Norman watching over you like a crow in a treetop. You’re an honorable man and she’s an honorable lady, so why not use this opportunity to have a little chat? It’s not as if you’ll be slipping away for a romantic rendezvous, although—”
“Uncle,” Lord Madoc warned.
“Until later, then,” Lloyd said, and in spite of their anger, he gave them a grin and a shrug before he hurried away with absolutely no hint that he was short of breath.
The sly trickster! Roslynn thought. He’d only pretended to be winded so that she would stop and listen to him.
Fortunately, Lord Madoc seemed as annoyed by her arrival as she was at discovering him naked, so perhaps it had been Lloyd’s idea alone to bring her to the riverbank.
As she reached that conclusion, her anger began to diminish. It lessened even more when Lord Madoc gravely said, “He’s my uncle and I love him, but he can be aggravation in the flesh when he gets an idea. He likes you, my lady, and wants us to wed and no doubt thought this a good way to encourage us. But believe me, that was his idea alone, not mine. If I’d had any inkling, I wouldn’t have been…”
He flushed. “I wouldn’t have been in the river,” he finished almost defiantly, as if daring her to contradict him. “I’m no peacock to be preening as God made me, my lady.”
He was so annoyed and flustered, her heart went out to him. She could well imagine how she would feel if the situations had been reversed and Lord Madoc had come upon her bathing in the river, naked, water streaming down her…
“I believe you, my lord,” she said after inwardly giving her head a shake. “I can tell you’re no jack-a-dandy.”
Certainly he dressed nothing like the vain men of the king’s court, or her late, conceited husband.
Lord Madoc’s broad shoulders relaxed. “Then I’ll forgive him.”
She suspected Lord Madoc had forgiven his uncle many things and many times. That would be a promising sign for a happy marriage—if she were staying.
Then he smiled, a warm, open smile that heated her even more than the sight of his naked body—although the memory of his body was more than enough to warm her, too.
“Shall we return to the hall?” he inquired, holding out his arm and nodding toward the castle walls.
“Yes,” she agreed, lightly laying her fingertips on his strong forearm.
She could feel his muscle and realized the Bear of Brecon was a robust man, indeed.
“Unfortunately, my uncle’s taken a notion into his head that I’m never going to be happy again until I take another wife,” Lord Madoc said, his voice both apologetic and frustrated as they walked side by side. “Yet I think you, of all women, can appreciate that I would rather live as I do now than be miserably wed.”
“I agree that it is better to be alone than to be bound to a person you can neither like nor respect.”
“Aye. That’s a whole different kind of loneliness.”
He spoke as if he had intimate knowledge of that state, and she began to suspect his first marriage hadn’t been a happy one.
If so, how much easier it would be for her to win his affections…if she were staying. If she could even consider marrying again, and a man like him.
They continued in silence until they neared the village. Sliding Lord Madoc a glance, she wondered what the villagers would think when they saw them thus, then decided it didn’t matter. They were simply walking together. What worse scandal could come of that than that which she had already endured?
“My uncle said he told you a bit about my trouble with my brother.”
“A little,” she replied.
“Trefor thinks I did him a great wrong and so seeks to punish me in return.”
Even if she wasn’t staying, she wanted to know what had brought brothers to such a pass. “Did you?”
Madoc stopped beside a low stone fence bordering a farmyard. Within its confines lay a small cottage, with a lazy trail of smoke rising from an opening in the slate roof. Close to an outbuilding, chickens scratched in the dirt. A dog tied to the door rose, growling, then seemed to think better of it and returned to its slumber.
Meanwhile, Lord Madoc rested his hips against the enclosure and looked off into the distance. “My elder brother was in the wrong, without doubt, but he doesn’t see it that way. All Trefor sees is that I wed the woman he was to marry, and became the heir of Llanpowell instead of him.”
He had married a bride intended for another? Willingly? Or for some other reason that would have made for an unhappy union?
And how did he become the heir, if his older brother still lived?
However it happened, those were causes for enmity indeed.
“It was his fault,” Lord Madoc said. “Trefor came to his wedding so drunk he could hardly stand. That would have been bad enough, but he started bragging about what else he’d been up to the night before, with a harlot. I tried to get him out of the hall, but I wasn’t quick enough. They all heard him—the bride, her parents, my parents, our families, the guests, the servants.
