the distance. Tonight he knew that he could control his followers and that they could accomplish what had to be done quickly and efficiently. But his heart pounded like a jackhammer in his chest. And perhaps it was just as well, he thought. Perhaps the night he was relaxed and confident would be the very night when danger would strike and he would not be ready for it.
At the first gate there was a gatekeeper with a wife and an infant. The woman was hysterical, the child loudly crying, and the man terrified and sniveling. Geraint had to direct that four of his followers help remove the family’s belongings and set them far enough away from the house that they would not be damaged. This was the worst part, he thought as he sat motionless facing the gate, his arms aching from being raised for so long. He did not enjoy creating terror in innocent people. He did not enjoy making them homeless in the middle of the night even though he knew that tomorrow they would be well compensated from the coffers of Rebecca.
But finally the personal belongings were safe and the family had disappeared and he was able to bring his arms sweeping down and to watch as his followers destroyed one of the symbols of their oppression.
Marged, he saw, was working on the gate as she had the last time, wielding blow for blow with the men on either side of her. She did not look up at him.
At the second gate there was only one elderly man as gatekeeper. He neither sniveled nor raged, and he had so few personal belongings to fetch from the house that Geraint felt a stabbing of pity for him. He went limping off into the darkness, his bundle over his shoulder, before Rebecca brought down her arms and his home was destroyed within a few minutes.
Geraint felt slightly less exhilaration tonight. And perhaps that was as well too. This was not a game he played. He was not a boy any longer. He was a man. And it was serious business he was involved in. Unfortunately, in serious business there were always people who suffered. He did not like causing suffering. He did it only because it seemed necessary, but he would not allow any more than he must.
“My children.” He raised his arms and waited for silence. He had thought that first night that he might not achieve it since the men’s blood was up after such destruction. But he had found that the raised arms and the firm expectation of obedience to his will had brought it. It happened again.
“My children,” he said, “you have done good work tonight. Rebecca is proud of you. Go home now but be careful. We have enemies. Your mother will call you out again soon and you will come to her assistance.”
He held his horse still in the middle of the road as he had done the last time while the men dispersed and went their several ways. Marged went with the men from Glynderi. He watched her go. Their eyes had not once met tonight. He had made no attempt to ride close to her or to single her out for attention. He was not sure it would be wise to try to repeat what had happened on Saturday night. He did not want to tempt fate. And she might have had time to realize since Saturday that it was not wise to pursue any sort of flirtation with a stranger. He did not want to approach her and be rejected. Being rejected as both Geraint Penderyn and Rebecca might be just too much for him.
And yet he watched her go with regret and wondered if he should go after her.
A little farther along the road her group turned upward into the hills. She stopped for a moment to look back at him. The moment stretched and she half lifted a hand in a gesture of farewell.
He raised his own arm upward, palm in, and moved it slowly toward himself—a slight gesture of beckoning that she could interpret as she would.
She stood where she was a moment longer and then came walking back toward him. He did not know if she had said anything to the others, but they kept walking upward after a couple of them had stopped briefly to look down at her.
She stopped beside his horse and looked up at him.