For Evon, she would help them destroy Jamison Munro.
But in order for any of that to happen, she had to find the Welsh first. She prayed that Evon’s clue had been correct and that the rebels, for the most part, were really in the swamps of the Dark Mountain. Even if she just found a few here, it would be enough for her to tell her story and to rally them around Evon’s death.
Three hours after entering the swamps, of struggling through the darkness, she made it around to the east side of the mountain base. She was tired of looking in the darkness and without any cooking smells to follow, she wasn’t even entirely sure anybody was here. Therefore, she began to call out, softly at first but then with increasing volume. She was fairly certain she was too deep in the swamps for any Four Crosses patrols to hear her. More than that, she was also certain that she was lost in the swamps until morning came and she had some light to see by. There wasn’t much more she could do than start calling for help, hoping the Welsh were nearby as Evon had suggested.
She could only go on that faith.
“Cyfarchion?” she called out. Hello? Knowing the Welsh language, since she had been born in the country, she called out again, in Welsh. “Is anyone there?”
She was met by silence. Not that she believed they would suddenly jump forth at her first cry, but she had hoped. Cold and admittedly frightened, she found a rotted stump to sit on and she sat there, crying out into the darkness, calling for anyone who might be able to hear.
Her calls went on into the night. Madeline truly had no idea how long she had been sitting there, calling out into the inky blackness, seeing only brief moments of light as the moon emerged from the spotty mists. Somewhere, she heard a bird cry, a night bird looking for prey, and the trees were alive overhead with things moving about in them. She kept her hood on, praying something wouldn’t fall down on top of her or, worse, mistake her for something to eat.
Discouraged, she eventually stopped calling out, thinking that she either wasn’t close enough for anyone to hear her or there simply weren’t any Welsh in earshot. So, she sat there, knowing it would be foolish to try to find her way out of the swamps in the dead of the night. She resigned herself to finding a place to sleep for a few hours. At least until the sun came up. After that, she would have to rethink her strategy. But, at the moment, she was too tired to do that. Tired and disheartened, she was just standing up from the stump to go in search of a dry patch of ground when someone grabbed her from behind.
A hand went across her face, covering her nose and mouth, as another arm went across her torso and began to drag her off. Terrified, Madeline began to fight back, as that was her instinct. She kicked and swung her fists, managing to dislodge the hand that was covering her face. Then she began to scream.
“Evon!” she yelled, hoping that the name might mean something to whomever was attacking her. “I am here because of Evon!”
More dragging and more fighting went on until she began to hear voices around her. She kept repeating Evon’s name, over and over, hoping that would be the key to her release. Much to her relief, her hopes were soon realized as whoever had been dragging her suddenly dropped her to the ground. As she fell forward, someone grabbed her wrist and yanked her upward, so she was on her knees, facing a myriad of dark forms in the blackness. There were many of them. Frightened, Madeline spoke Evon’s name again.
“I am here because of Evon!” she said in Welsh. “Do you know Evon?”
Someone crouched down in front of her, getting right in her face. Madeline found herself looking at a pair of glittering eyes in the darkness.
“Who are you?” he asked in the Welsh language.
Madeline wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to tell them right away. “I have come because of Evon Preece,” she said. “Do you know him?”
The man’s gaze lingered on her. “Where is he?”
Madeline felt a glimmer of hope. At least they were acknowledging that they knew him. “Please,” she said. “It is very important that I speak with his brother. My name is Madeline de Llion.”
That brought a reaction from nearly everyone standing about. The man who had been interrogating her suddenly yanked off her hood, trying to see her in the darkness in a more complete picture. But there was very little light, so all he could really see was an outline of her features. Soon afterward, he pulled off his own hood. Dark, dirty hair stood on end, silhouetted in the very weak light.
“’Tis Madeline, is it?” the man said, growing agitated. “Where is Evon?”
Madeline was coming to suspect that she had found Evon’s cell of rebels. She looked around, wanting very badly to speak further but fearful to do so until relationships were established. She didn’t want to give the information to the wrong person.
“Where is Morys?” she asked. “I will only speak with his brother.”
The man who had been questioning her was in her face again, aggressively, trying to see her clearly in the darkness. “How do I know you are really Madeline?” he demanded.
Madeline tried not to appear frightened because the man was very threatening. “I am Madeline,” she insisted. They were all quite wary of her presence and she hastened to assure them she was no threat. “I am Madeline de Llion. I am from Four Crosses Castle. My father is Roald and my sisters are Havilland and Amaline. Evon and I have known each other for many years and we were to be married. If you know Evon, then you know this is true. Please… I am who I say I am and I have not brought a horde of English to kill you. I am quite alone.”
The man who had been interrogating her nodded. “That, we know,” he said condescendingly. “We would not have let you come this far had you been followed.”
“Then why do you not believe me?” she asked, desperate.
The man scratched is head, eyeing her. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm. Madeline couldn’t really see him but she could hear him. “Why did you come here?” he asked again. “Tell me where my brother is. I grow weary of asking.”
Madeline was coming to think they might do something terrible if she didn’t answer their question. But she was resolute in that she wanted to speak with Evon’s brother.
“I will only tell Evon’s brother,” she said, sounding frightened.
The man sighed heavily. “I am his brother, foolish chit,” he said, annoyed. “Where is he?”
Madeline tried to get a good look at him in the darkness. She had met the man, many years ago when she and her family had come across the Preece family in a nearby town, but she honestly would not have remembered what Morys looked like. Therefore, she had to take his word for it. Moreover, she had to tell him everything if he was going to understand the true extent of why she had come and the fact that she was a fugitive from her own people now because of it. There was much to tell.
“You know that Evon and I have been meeting regularly, do you not?” she asked. When she could see Morys’ head bob, she continued quickly before he became too angry with her for not answering his question. “I have tried to help Evon any way I can. We were in love, you see, and he promised me that when the Welsh claimed Four Crosses, that he would marry me and we would rule it together. So I helped him any way I could. We would meet regularly next to the river that flows near Four Crosses. Two days ago, I went to meet him there but I was followed by my sister. Evon captured her and there was a terrible fight because… because a knight from the fortress had also followed me and this knight… Morys, he murdered Evon as I watched. He drowned him in the river.”
Morys didn’t say anything for a moment but Madeline could hear people shuffling about all around her, hissing to one another, whispering in the darkness. She looked around, trying to see who was all around her, but the blackness made it impossible. She returned her attention to Morys, feeling the tension rise.
“You saw this?” Morys finally asked, his voice oddly tight.
Madeline nodded her head. “Aye.”
“The Saesneg killed him?”
From out of the d
arkness, a man spoke Welsh but with an oddly heavy Gaelic accent. “She may be lying,” he growled before Madeline could respond. “Dunna trust her.”
Scots, Madeline thought. She knew that because Jamison Munro had that very same accent. But more than the accent, it was the words spoken and she was both fearful and defensive.
“I am not lying,” she insisted angrily. After that, no one seemed to be saying much more and she was starting to feel desperate. “Think what you will of me, that I am English and therefore your enemy, but I assure you it is not true. My deeds were discovered when the knight murdered your brother and I was thrown in the vault. My own sister helped me to escape so that I could come and tell you what has happened. If you truly want Four Crosses and if you truly want revenge against those who killed your brother, then I will help you. I want to punish the man who killed Evon, too!”
More hissing in the darkness as the Welsh discussed what they had been told but, thus far, no one had really reacted to the news of Evon’s death. Madeline sensed shock but not much more than that. She could see Morys in the darkness as he hung his head and that was an indication that at least Morys was grieving the loss, but she didn’t get a huge sense of anger out of those around her. Anger of the death, a need for vengeance. It made her angry. She had risked herself for these people who seemed so apathetic to the death of one of their own?
“Listen to me,” she said, facing the group of figures, like phantoms as they clustered around her. “You must strike now. The castle is not quite repaired from the last attack and the number of soldiers is far less than it has been. When de Lohr left after the last battle, he took most of his men with him. What he left behind were five hundred Englishmen and three knights, including the man who murdered Evon. Do you not want to seek vengeance for his death?”
Morys lifted his head. He wiped at his cheeks, his tears hidden by the darkness. “Of course we do,” he said. “And we shall. But it would be foolish to attack now. Our numbers are depleted by men who have returned home, farmers for the coming spring planting. It would take time to reclaim our numbers, but reclaim we shall. My brother’s death shall not be in vain, I swear it.”
Madeline looked around, seeing the dark shapes of men listening to what she was saying. “You do not understand,” she said. “If you do not strike very soon, de Lohr will have returned. The earl himself is coming and there is no knowing how many troops he will bring with him. Once he comes, hope will be lost. Do you hear? You may never have this chance again!”
Morys eyed the girl in the dim light; he knew about her. Evon had explained that she was aggressive and foolish. She was also young and spoilt, demanding in her ways. Morys had helped lead this southern rebellion for months now and wasn’t about to let this stupid girl rush him or his men into something they were not ready for.
“Do you not think I want to act?” he demanded, his tone hazardous. “Do you not think that Evon’s death does not cut me like a knife? He was my brother, my heart, and now you tell me that he has been murdered. Of course, I want vengeance. But I have less than half of the men I had before and many others have gone home for the winter. They are tired of being cold and without victory. I do not have an adequate strike force against Four Crosses any longer.”
Madeline would not be stopped. She thought he sounded like a coward. “Then recruit one,” she said. “There are towns all over the area where you can recruit patriotic Welsh. Recruit men to help you for if you do not, de Lohr will arrive with his army and the time to act will be over. Moreover, the knight who killed him may be gone. I want that bastard to pay for what he did to Evon. I want him to die!”
Morys was far more levelheaded than Madeline was. He wasn’t foolish enough to rush Four Crosses as she was trying to force him to do. She was English and the enemy, no matter what Evon had thought of her, which, truthfully, wasn’t much. He’d only used her for information. No matter what she thought, any feelings from his brother were not reciprocated.
In fact, the more he listened to her, the more suspicious he became. She seemed awfully eager to push his men into attacking Four Crosses, something that made him vastly uncomfortable. Reaching out, he grabbed her by the arm.
“They will all pay,” he said, his fingers biting into her flesh. “But you are too eager to be brave with my men. Is it possible you have set a trap for them at Four Crosses and that my brother isn’t really dead, simply a captive of the Saesneg forces?”
Madeline looked at him, shocked. “Nay!” she gasped. “I would never do that! You must trust me when I tell you that Evon is dead and the knight responsible for it is at Four Crosses!”
Morys didn’t like the way she was behaving; she was shifty and pushy. He yanked on her angrily. “I do not know if I believe you,” he said. “I do not even know if you are truly Madeline. You could be someone the Saesneg has sent to trick us.”
He was hurting her arm and she winced. “I swear to you that I am telling the truth,” she said. “Evon died for this cause that he believed in. I only wish to help you, to believe in the same things he believed in!”
Morys scrutinized her; since Evon had not returned to camp in a couple of days, he was willing to believe that something had happened because it wasn’t like his brother to stay away. Evon was very rooted to the encampment and to the Welsh dedication to clear the English lords out of Wales. Still, Morys was torn.
Gazing into her frightened face, he was willing to believe that some of what she said was true. Perhaps the time was right to hit Four Crosses again before it was fully repaired. They’d been doing that for months now and he agreed with that strategy. But he wasn’t entirely sure that the overlord of Four Crosses, the Earl of Worcester, was on his way to the castle. In the spirit of prudence, however, he couldn’t discount it, either. If they wanted to make one last drive on Four Crosses, while it was still vulnerable, then perhaps the time was, indeed, now.
But that would mean sending men to gather the army that had largely disbanded and that would take a little time. Recruiting from the towns wasn’t a bad idea, either. He was willing to send men out to do that. But what he wasn’t willing to do was listen to a Saesneg chit order him around, a woman who had betrayed her own people.
There was no respect or loyalty to her, but in a sense, she had helped him make a decision – they did, indeed, have to move against Four Crosses one last time and, most especially, if Evon was truly dead. The man deserved to be vindicated so that his death would not be in vain. Moreover, they had to move swiftly – if Four Crosses was as weakened as the woman said it was, then they could only wait a few days at most. They would have to gather what men they could and fight.
And this treacherous girl deserved her reward for helping them. Brutally, Morys yanked Madeline into the trees where his men were lurking.
“You can help my men, then,” he said, tossing her so roughly that she fell to the ground only to be swooped upon by the men in the trees. Morys showed no reaction as she screamed. Instead, he lifted his voice to his men. “Take her back to camp and sell her to the highest bidder. I will split the money with whoever makes the bargain!”
The men cheered as Madeline screamed again, hardly believing what she was hearing. Dear God, wasn’t this what Evon had threatened to do to Havilland? Was it really possible that this terrible fate had now become her own? She kicked and twisted, fighting against the men’s hands that grabbed her, but they had overwhelmed her. There were just too many of them.
“You cannot do this!” she cried. “I was to be your brother’s wife! You cannot do this, I say!”
Morys looked at the treacherous girl, not an ounce of compassion in his heart. “Evon already has a wife,” he told her emotionlessly. “I do not know what he told you, but whatever it was, he only said it to get information from you. Now you can face your fate as a traitor to your own people.”
Morys would remember Madeline’s horrified face for the rest of his life as she was pulled into the black trees.
Her screa
ms, however, would haunt his dreams for eternity.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
*
“This is yer choice, Havilland,
not mine….”
*
Four long days.
Four days since Jamison and Havilland had their final discussion, since they’d shared that last passionate encounter. Four days since Havilland had spoken more than one or two words to him. Four days since he’d last experienced a taste of her, the feel of her.
Four long days ago, his life had ended.
Standing on the battlements of Four Crosses as the sun rose through the mist, Jamison couldn’t remember when he’d slept last. He thought he might have for an hour or two the evening before, but other than that, he couldn’t really remember. Sleep brought dreams of Havilland and he couldn’t do that to himself, awakening with a feeling of emptiness more vast that the sky itself, endless in its pain and brutal in its longing. Sleep was not his friend these days even though he desperately needed it.
So he stood in the mist, wrapped in his brecan, inhaling the scents that the morning often brought – the smell of smoke from the cooking fires and the smell of the dampness over the land that had settled overnight. It was still bitterly cold, now in the dead of winter. Even though spring would come next month, it didn’t seem like it. For now, everything was frozen and dead.
Just like his heart.
As he stood there and gazed out over the land beyond the walls of Four Crosses, he heard some chatter behind him in the bailey and turned to see that the mounted patrols were ready to depart. The mist had been so dense the past few days that they had to wait until there was some light before sending out yet another patrol in an ineffective search for Madeline de Llion and also for any signs of Welsh movements. For four days since Madeline’s departure, they’d seen no sign of either. It was as if both had vanished.
But Jamison knew they hadn’t. He knew the Welsh were still out there. As for Madeline, he couldn’t honestly guess what had happened to her and, to be frank, he didn’t care. Perhaps he should have, but he didn’t. Amaline was still in the vault, Havilland wouldn’t speak to him, and he was coming to think that his time here needed to end. He had a father that was expecting him home and a clan in turmoil. Four days after the news of his new role in Clan Munro, Jamison was coming to think that Beaux and Kendrick and Caspian had been correct.