In the Shadow of Midnight - By Marsha Canham Page 0,19

to William?” Isabella asked.

“I think ye cannot take a chance on the king’s moods these days.”

“You may also count upon me to help in any way I can,” said Lord Rhys. “From waylaying a dozen couriers, to conveying my own sincere application for the Lady Ariel’s hand in marriage.”

“Henry and I will present your offer in the best terms possible,” Ariel assured him, barely glancing up.

“I have no doubt you would,” Rhys agreed affably, his teeth appearing in a white slash through the parting of his beard. “But since it would be an honour beyond my ken to have the lord marshal even consider me a candidate, I could not do him the disservice of approaching the matter with anything less than personal representation. My brother Dafydd will accompany you to Normandy, with my signed and sealed offer of good faith.”

Henry and Ariel both stared at the Welshman.

“Your brother?” they asked in unison.

“Being somewhat more scholarly inclined than myself”— meaning he could read and write, where Rhys could not— “Dafydd is far more capable with pen and ink negotiations than he is with bow and arrow … which is not to say he suffers any lack of skill or enthusiasm with either. In fact, it would further ease my mind to know there was another stout sword arm at your disposal.”

“It … is a generous offer, my lord,” Ariel stammered, “but—”

“You object to his company?” Iorwerth asked lightly.

Ariel looked askance at Henry, but for the moment he appeared content to let her stew in the juices of her own concocting. “N-no, of course not, but … surely you cannot expect to kidnap the king’s man and six of his guards on your own?”

The gleaming slash of teeth broadened. “Surely not,” he agreed. “There are a dozen of my men within sight of these castle walls even as we speak. For unlike your brother, my lady, I travel without the Pembroke lions on my shield to guarantee me safe passage through unfriendly lands.”

Henry, clearly startled to hear that Iorwerth’s men had been following them, exchanged a hard glance with Sedrick. Neither the glance nor the insult to their powers of observation went unnoticed by Lord Rhys.

“And now,” he stated evenly, “if there are no further objections, my brother and I have quite a few things to discuss before morning. Lady Pembroke, Lady Ariel … my lords …”

The two Welshmen offered a formal bow and excused themselves, striding out of the ring of firelight, then out of the room entirely, leaving utter silence in their wake.

Ariel, still on her knees by her aunt’s chair, frowned after them, wondering how such an inventively clever plan had flared so completely out of control. She had no intentions of marrying Rhys ap Iorwerth. She’d had no intentions of even putting him forward as a candidate in her uncle’s eyes—a conclusion the outlaw had obviously determined and countered with the offer of his brother’s “company.” His brother’s watchful eye, more’s the like.

“Well.” Lady Isabella waited until her niece, nephew, and husband’s liegeman gave her their full attention. “It seems as though this Welsh renegade is familiar with the game of chess. If I am not mistaken, he has just placed us in check. William,” she added curtly, “will not be impressed.”

Ariel refused to be daunted. “He will recognize a desperate measure when he sees one.”

The countess sighed and rubbed her aching temples. “I suppose, if I were simply to forbid you from leaving Pembroke Castle, you would not heed me.”

“Sweet Aunt … I do not want to hurt you, or anger you, or ever disobey you,” Ariel insisted, “but this is my life. My future. My very destiny being decided. I would sooner perish on the road to Normandy than tolerate one moment of hellish exile in Radnor.”

“But the dangers—”

“I will have Henry and Sedrick to watch over me … and the Welsh pup, for what he is worth. I have made the crossing before, Aunt. I know the road to Rouen well.”

“Aye, and what if the road back leads to Wales?” Isabella asked gently.

“Well—” Ariel bit the soft pulp of her lip and gave the possibility—however remote it might be—a moment of thought before she offered a quick, too-bright smile. “At least the rogue has no pocks and smells reasonably clean.”

Lady Isabella sighed and stroked a hand down the shiny red ripple of Ariel’s hair. “Nor is he a man to trifle with. You have offered him something of great value which he will not