Spindle and Dagger - J. Anderson Coats Page 0,60
in the eye.
Rhys is rubbing his thumbnail. The same motion as praying with a paternoster had it not been taken off him by the sailors. “Saint Elen is looking to Owain. She must be. Nothing less would keep the Normans from taking her. For making it so I could bring her back to him.”
I close my eyes.
“You never said it.” Rhys has fallen still. Arms crossed over his belly. Blocking the road.
He’s not looking at me, but I know he wants an answer, so I reply, “Never said what?”
“That you left of your own choosing. She said you did.” Rhys peers at me hopefully, head tilted as if he still had stringy curls to hide behind. “Did you?”
I cannot outrun Rhys. I can’t overpower him. I definitely can’t convince him to help me find Nest.
At a royal residence, I’ll be safe while I catch my breath. Owain is forbidden to come home till Cadwgan sends for him. That could be tomorrow. It could be two years from now. The last we heard, Madog ap Rhirid held all of what was once Cadwgan’s with the blessing of the English king, and Cadwgan was in the wind pulling strings and calling in favors. Owain still has a price on his head that the English king would very much like to redeem. Owain coming back, reminding everyone why this happened at all, would only make things worse.
“Can we just walk? Away from here?” I gesture at the path leading out of the village. “Please?”
“You must stay close. I promised I’d find you. Keep you safe.” Rhys keeps rubbing his thumbnail. “Owain needs you with him. He’s got enough to worry about. He heard that his kinsmen who backed Madog ap Rhirid’s invasion did it because Cadwgan paid them to. That Cadwgan wanted to teach Owain a lesson, to force him to give Nest back and make him cool his heels in exile. Make him more obedient. Humble him.”
That story has the sound of someone stirring the pot. It can’t be true. Cadwgan ap Bleddyn would never take such a risk with his kingdom. But whether it’s true won’t matter if it’s what Owain believes.
“I’ll not run away.” I’m not sure I can. Not shivering like I am.
“Good. We must hurry.”
It hadn’t been quite a threemonth the first time I thought to flee Owain ap Cadwgan. I wasn’t running anywhere, though. Just away. So when Einion ap Tewdwr broke me with that single line and brought me back, at least I was going somewhere.
This time, I will think it through. This time, I will have a plan.
SOMETHING IS STRANGE ABOUT THE FORT RHYS leads me toward. It seems ordinary enough — sturdy wooden wall, set on a hill — but it’s completely unspoiled. There are no piles of burned timber. No scaffolding holding up new buildings. Then sentries call to us in French, and of a sudden I realize why I don’t recognize this fort and where we must be. Powys is in the hands of Madog ap Rhirid, who chased Owain over the sea, and Heaven only knows what’s befallen Ceredigion. This must be the land on the border with England that Isabel brought Cadwgan in marriage.
Quite possibly the only land still held by the house of Bleddyn. Little wonder Rhys made his way directly here.
Rhys speaks French surprisingly well, and we’re soon through the gate. He plows straight toward the hall, but a happy baby squeal brings my head around like a string toy. A matronly woman is holding little Henry ap Cadwgan on her hip near the rain barrel. She’s dressed for traveling and has a rucksack over her shoulder. For the longest moment, I’m taken by how big Henry has gotten. I’m still looking for the unsteady little boy clinging to his nurse’s forefingers at Aberaeron. He’s leaner and taller, and someone trimmed away the baby curls that once trailed down his neck. Two warbanders pause to speak with Henry’s nurse, then they fall into step beside her, and the four of them leave the fort.
“. . . from Ireland,” Cadwgan is saying as he steps out of the hall, Rhys at his heels like a puppy. “Madog took the bait. I don’t think he even realized his allies were keeping him on a leash. He had his fun playing king, but time has come for boys to go home and men to step into the field.”
“Your son will be glad to hear it, my lord.” Rhys can’t hide his