“Yes, I did want a babe.” That was the only clear truth in her life at Redfern. It would take time to sort out the other truths from lies, but the bearing of a child had not been only duty. When she had been with child, she had been filled with wonder and joy, and when they were taken from her there had been darkness. “A child is a wondrous gift.”
“Perhaps if you are the lady of a great lord.” For the first time a note of bitterness threaded Alice’s voice. “Not if you’re a servant with neither a husband nor means to provide. Then a babe is only a shameful burden.”
Adwen was feeling shame herself. She had been thinking of her own sorrow, her problems, and this woman was beset by a far worse fate. It was a cruel world for a woman who broke the rules set by Church and man even when forced to do so. “The shame is not yours, it is Richard’s,” Adwen said. “And as for a burden … yes, a babe is always a burden.” But, unlike Alice, it would have been a burden Adwen would have accepted with joy even if it were accompanied by shame.
Adwen looked down at the burning Redfern. “But I’m no more a great lady than you. I have no husband, no father, no home. Perhaps you are even better off than me. As a child I was taught to run a household, but you have knowledge of how to earn your bread. Such knowledge can be a great treasure. I envy you.”
Alice was looking at her doubtfully.
“Truly,” Adwen said. “Will you share your knowledge with me? I have nothing to give you in return. I don’t even know if I will be quick or slow. I think when I first came to Richard I was not too stupid, but he did not want me to think.” He had wanted nothing but submission and her body, she thought bitterly, and she had given until he had drained her. “I might even be more of a burden than a babe.”
“Oh, no,” Alice said eagerly. “It will be my pleasure to help you, my lady.”
“You must call me Adwen, and it will also be my pleasure to help you.” Adwen smiled. “When I find a way.”
Alice looked abashed. “Adwen?”
“I told you I was no longer a great lady.” Adwen rose to her feet. “I’m only a woman like you, and we must take care of each other. Now, close your eyes and rest. I’ll go and get Brynn. She will want to see how well you are doing.”
Alice obediently closed her eyes.
So meek. Adwen felt a burst of anger as she started across the camp. Alice had always been timid and meek and had been cruelly used. Was it the fate of all gentle human beings to be so abused?
“You are disturbed,” Malik said as he appeared at her side. “You should not have chosen to care for Alice. I would have done it.”
“Why shouldn’t I have—” At first she had been so absorbed, his meaning was not clear. Then she understood and all the anger stored within her was set free. “You think my feelings are too tender, my soul too sensitive to wait upon my husband’s leman?”
“I did not say—”
“You meant it.” She did not look at him as she strode away. “You’re like all men, you think we’re weak and without strength. Well, it is you who make us weak and rob us of our strength. You use our bodies and dull our minds. You think it right to beat us and make us serve you, to give us children and then desert us.”
“I am truly a wicked fellow,” Malik said solemnly. “And clearly grievously forgetful. I do not even remember giving you a child. What did we name it?”
She glared at him. “You know I didn’t mean—” She broke off as she saw his bland expression. Incredibly, she suddenly felt a smile tugging at her lips. “Beelzebub.”
“It was a boy?”
“A demon, as any babe of yours would be.” Her smile disappeared. “You see, you think so lightly of us that you pay no heed to my words.”
“When they apply to me, I will give them every concern. But you are not talking to me; you are talking to your husband.” He smiled gently. “So, instead, I will ignore this venom you are spewing and try to make you smile again. Perhaps, if I am fortunate, you will even laugh. You need to laugh, Adwen. Laughter is good.”
When he smiled he was more beautiful than any man she had ever seen. His face lit with warmth and it was like watching a sunrise. She stared helplessly for an instant before she forced her glance away. “Laughter is for the jesters in the hall.”
“Shall I be your jester, Adwen? Shall I serve and delight you? I can, you know.”
She looked back at him and instantly wished she had not. Sunrise again. Her pace quickened as she approached Brynn, and she looked straight ahead. “I want nothing from you. I want nothing from any man.”
“I like the idea of a boy, but Beelzebub is not a good name. We will call him Malik, after me.”
A boy as beautiful as this man. She felt a sudden pang of sorrow. Not for her. Never for her.
“What is wrong? What did I say?”
“Nothing.”
He reached out and stopped her. “It is not nothing when I cause you pain. It is everything.”
“I am barren,” she said haltingly. “I cannot bear children.”
“With your husband. If there is fault, perhaps it is with him.” He puffed out his chest. “Now, since I have no faults …”
“What are you saying? The fault is always with the woman.”
“In my country we do not believe that is always true.”
“You don’t understand.” She broke free and backed away from him, her voice hoarse with pain. “They die. They’re mine for a while and then they die.”
“I do understand.” His voice was soft as he held out his hand to her. “Come to me. Let me be your friend. Let me share your sorrow.”
She wanted to take his hand. He was not like
Richard, who had blamed her and made her ashamed of her body. Her husband had never shared her sorrow when she had lost the babes, never even visited her until she was well enough to try again.
Yet even if she found she could trust Malik, he would only try to take away this new freedom she had been granted with Redfern’s destruction. The comfort he offered would come at too high a price.
She turned and almost ran the remaining short distance to where Brynn was standing on the side of the hill.
“Alice is awake,” she said breathlessly.
Brynn started to smile and then stopped as she saw Adwen’s expression. “What’s wrong? Doesn’t she have her senses?”
“She seems very clear.”
Brynn looked over her shoulder. “Is Malik—”
“I told Alice you’d come to her,” she interrupted. “But when you’re finished, call me and I’ll go and sleep beside her.” She frowned. “You should sleep yourself. Alice isn’t the only one who bears wounds.”
“When I’m finished here.” Her attention shifted to the trail down which Gage Dumont had disappeared a few hours before. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it? They should be back soon.”
She was worried about the Norman, Adwen realized. Poor Brynn, so much inner conflict and pain. Just when her own way was becoming clear to her, Brynn’s path was beset with obstacles. “They went after Richard?”
Brynn nodded as she continued to scan the trail.
“You won’t make them come sooner by staring down that hill,” she said gently.
Brynn turned away. “I know. I’m being very foolish.” She started across the camp toward Alice’s pallet.
Malik was already kneeling beside Alice, Adwen saw. She couldn’t hear his words, but she suddenly heard
Alice chuckle. It didn’t surprise her. The impudent scamp could probably make a dying woman laugh.
As if he felt Adwen’s gaze on him, he looked up and met her eyes. He smiled brilliantly and his expression was filled with understanding and a little wistfulness that was near irresistible. He wanted her to come to him.
Too high a price, she reminded herself desperately. Much too high.
Gage did not return to the camp until just before dawn.
Safe! Relief surged through Brynn as she saw him. Even in the half-darkness no one cou
ld mistake Gage’s giant silhouette. Brynn watched the riders trot up the hill; no pennants flying this night. The company looked as weary as Brynn felt.
Brynn walked forward to meet them at the edge of the camp.
Gage’s stallion reared as she stepped out of the bushes, but he was weary too and Gage quickly had him under control. Not so his temper.
“Haven’t you been to sleep?” he asked roughly. “How much do you think you can stand?”
“As much as you.” She braced herself, afraid to ask the question.
She didn’t have to. Gage shook his head and said, “We didn’t find him. So you may go to your rest with a clear mind. No blood has been spilled to taint you.” He turned to LeFont. “Have the men get a few hours rest and then go back to Redfern and see what you can salvage. Blankets, food, anything.” He glanced back at the smoldering, blackened ruins. “God knows, it won’t be much.”
“And what do we do with them?” LeFont asked.
“We try to make these people as comfortable as we can while you rebuild their homes.”
“Build?” LeFont recoiled in horror. “I am a soldier. I do not build.”
“Then it should give you reason to find craftsmen who can do the task for you,” Gage said. “Quickly. I want dwellings here before the first snow. Stone dwellings and the castle will also be stone. As strong and impenetrable as Bellerieve.”
“Why are you doing this?” Brynn asked in bewilderment. “Are you going to accept Redfern from William as your own?”
“Perhaps. It’s close enough to the sea for trade. The ground is fertile.”
“Perhaps? You’re expending a great deal of effort and money if you aren’t certain.”
“Then I’ll have to have my coffers replenished, won’t I?” He turned to LeFont again. “If you can find craftsmen and workers within the week, I’ll put Gillaume in charge of the building and you can accompany us on our journey.”
LeFont did not even ask their destination. He was too relieved to be rid of the ignominy of relinquishing his sword. “I’ll find them. If I have to send back to Normandy, I assure you that you’ll have your craftsmen.” He dismounted and motioned the other soldiers to follow suit. “Four hours rest. No more.”
Brynn watched the men disperse. “This is most strange. Why?”
Gage dismounted. “I don’t like random destruction. It offends me. There’s destruction in war, but it’s done with a purpose in mind.”
“Tell that to the innocents who get in the way of your purpose.”
“There are few innocents left in the world.” He wearily rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll not make excuses for myself. I do what has to be done to live and prosper in this world.” His gaze searched among the sleeping bodies. “Where is Malik?”
“Over there.” Brynn gestured to a pallet beneath the tree. “He’s exhausted. He and Adwen insisted on helping me.”
“But he had the good sense to lie down and go to sleep when his strength ran out.” His tone roughened. “For God’s sake, go and rest.”
“I will.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “I was only waiting for you to return.”
“To see if I brought you Richard’s head?”
“No, I wanted …” She was too tired to hide and protect herself. “I wanted to make sure you were safe.”
He went still. “You did?”
“Of course I did. Do you think me so hard that I would wish that monster to live and you die?”
“I don’t know what to think of you. I’ve never met a woman who would cast off a man for saving her life.”
“I wasn’t in danger.”
“Delmas nearly killed you,” he said savagely. “The next time he might have done it.”
“It was wrong.” She swallowed. “I will not be Bathsheba. I will not live with you with that sin on my soul.”
“The hell you won’t!” His eyes blazed down at her. “I won’t be cast off, Brynn. I will have your body. I’ll worry about your soul later.” He was silent, struggling for control. “We will leave for Gwynthal in two weeks. I give you that much time to heal, mourn your pig of a husband, and prepare yourself to come back to my bed.”
“You are too generous, my lord.”
“Yes, I am.” He turned and strode away from her.
She would not do it. She must fight him. If she allowed herself to fall once again under that sensual spell, she did not know if she would have the strength to walk away from him when they reached Gwynthal. He knew her body so well, how to please it, how to make it crave and burn. Sweet Mary, even the memory was making her breasts swell. She must forget him, block the thought of him away from her.
She turned and walked to the pallet she had prepared for herself beside Alice. Think of Alice. Poor Alice, who would bear Richard of Redfern’s child.
Brynn could have a child. If she went again to Gage’s bed, within a year she might bear his child. The idea brought no revulsion, only a melting, aching tenderness. Gage’s child …
She should feel fear and despair at the thought of bearing a bastard. Not joy. Not love.
Love.
Dear God, save her. Let it not be true.
She did not want to love this warrior, who was so foreign to everything she believed. She did not want to accept the truth that because she had loved and yielded, a man had died.
But it had happened.
And she did love Gage Dumont with all her being.
She was not even surprised. How long had she been fighting the knowledge that was now here before her? It did not change anything except make the sorrow more intense. She could not have Gage. To take him into her body and her heart would be to reward herself for an act that she must not condone.
Gage’s child …
Perhaps she could not have Gage, but what of his child? Something of him could be her own. Surely she could be granted this boon?
But could she bear to leave him after the child was born?
The answer was a swift and violent no, and she felt tears sting her eyes. No, she could not have even this gift. After they reached Gwynthal she must leave him and make the cut clean and final.
“We must talk,” Gage said as he dropped down beside her before the fire. “Rather, you must talk.”
“About what?” Brynn asked warily. It was the first time he had approached her during the past ten days. They had both gone their separate ways: she caring for the refugees and helping to erect shelter here on the hillside, he supervising the start of the rebuilding of Redfern down in the valley below.
“Tell me about Gwynthal.”
“I’ve told you about Gwynthal.”
“Not enough. I have no intention of starting a journey to a land that could be beset with enemies without my knowing more about it.” He paused. “And if there is true reason for the journey besides your desire to go home.”
“You still think I lied to you?”
“No, but I need you to tell me. You were not entirely honest with me regarding your reasons for coming to Redfern.” He stared into the flames. “You’ve led a hard life. I wouldn’t blame you for saying anything that would rid you of your enemies. I won’t be angry or condemn you. If you wish so desperately to go to your Gwynthal, I will take you there. Treasure or no.”
Warmth flooded through her as she looked at him. She did not want to feel this softness. She wished he would be hard, unfair. It was difficult to keep armor in place when he displayed such generosity. “I didn’t lie. There is a treasure.”
“Where did it come from?”
“Plunder. War.” She smiled sadly. “Where do most great treasures come from? I’ll not be sad to see it gone from Gwynthal.”
“Whose plunder?”
“Hevald’s. He was a great warrior who lived many centuries ago. He came from Wales but fought and won many battles from the Saxons here in England. He was much renowned and many legends and tales were told about him. But he grew weary of battle and blood and decided to renounce all he had been be
fore. He took his beautiful new bride, his officers and wagons filled with gold and jewels, and returned to the land of his birth.”
“Gwynthal?”
“No, Kythe in Wales. But Kythe was also torn by war and dissent. So he left Kythe and traveled farther west to the sea. He stayed at the village of Selkirk for four months while he built a ship. Then he and his followers set sail, seeking a place to settle in peace.” She added simply, “He found Gwynthal. An island without war because it had no people.”
“And how far away is this island?”
“Two days by ship after we leave Selkirk.”
“So close?” He raised his brows. “And yet this treasure has remained undiscovered for centuries?”
“Gwynthal is guarded by high cliffs. From the sea there appears no way to dock a ship near it.”
“But you know a way?”
“Of course, it’s where I was born.”
“Then why didn’t you stay there?”
“My father was not content in Gwynthal. He said it was too serene.” Her lips curved bitterly. “He was like you. He found life without conflict like meat without salt.”
He did not answer the challenge. “But you said he left your mother and you.”
“Not before she followed him to Kythe.” She was silent a moment before she blurted out, “What could he expect of her? He knew when he wed her she was not like those other women. She was a healer. She had to give to them. In Gwynthal it was accepted, but in Kythe …”
“They called her a witch.”
“Not at first. They merely thought her odd and unwomanly. Then, over the years, it changed. She was too strong, too strong for them, too strong for my father. I think it was when they saw my father desert her that they truly began to fear her.” She closed her eyes, shutting away the memories. “I don’t want to talk anymore. Is it enough?”
“Yes.” She thought she sensed him reaching out to her but felt no touch. “Answer one more question. Who on Gwynthal will I have to fight for this treasure?”
“No one.” She opened her eyes and swallowed to ease the dryness in her throat. “No one knew of the treasure but my mother. She was descended from Hevald’s chief adviser, Bentar, who was given the task of hiding the treasure when they reached Gwynthal. When Hevald died he gave his treasure to Bentar and since then the knowledge of the hiding place was passed on from eldest child to eldest child in the family.”