Chapter One #3
That was a question she didn’t want to answer.
She’d avoided it, now for the third time.
As much as she would have liked to have remained evasive, the truth was that the English would discover what happened to her elder brother eventually.
They would comb through Brython, search every chamber, every shadow, and eventually, they would find him.
Gruffydd would have no hesitation in telling them about his sister.
Better that de Lohr hear it from her.
“In the vault of Brython,” she said quietly.
If that answer was surprising to Christopher, he didn’t show it. Not really. A flicker in his eyes perhaps suggested it, but that was quickly gone.
“I see,” he said. “May I ask why?”
Elle extended her empty cup to him, a silent plea for more.
He took the cup and poured it to the rim before handing it back to her.
As he waited patiently, she drained it again, and it occurred to him that starving out the castle might have done its job.
She was very thirsty and probably hungry, so he went to the tent flap to summon food and more drink.
But until then, he’d continue to fill her cup and hope that a tipsy daughter might spill more secrets.
He wondered if she was aware of that.
“Would you like some dry clothing?” he said. “My wife is about your size, and there are times when she has come on a battle march with me. I could see if there is something of hers, somewhere, for you to wear.”
Elle shook her head. “Nay,” she said. “You are polite to offer, but I will stay in my own clothing. This is who I am, wet or dry. I will not change it.”
“Nor would I,” Christopher said, pouring the last of the wine into the cup in her outstretched hand. “But I will admit that I am curious why your brother is in the vault. Will you tell me?”
The full cup was almost to her lips again when she paused. She wasn’t looking at him, but rather had a distant gleam to her eye.
“Because he was going to betray us,” she said simply.
“What do you mean?”
She took a big gulp of wine before replying. “Precisely that, my lord,” she said, her tongue loosening with the amount of wine she’d ingested in a short amount of time. “Gruffydd and my father shared the same loyalty.”
Christopher wasn’t going to play dumb when he already knew. “To England?”
“Aye.”
He was careful as he continued, because he wanted information only she could supply. “We had it on good authority that Llewelyn had taken Brython from your brother,” he said. “That was not true?”
“Nay,” Elle said before taking another drink. “But I did.”
His brow furrowed. “You took it?” he said, trying to clarify. “But it already belonged to your family.”
She tipped her head back and gulped down the rest of the wine. “Do you not understand, my lord?” she said. “My brother and father were fools. They were forsaken of everything the Welsh stood for. They pandered to the English. To warlords like you. They were subservient to the king.”
“And you are not?”
She shook her head stubbornly. “I serve Wales,” she said. “Not Llewelyn or my father, but Wales. An independent Wales.”
“And you have been trying to achieve that in this battle?”
“I have,” she said firmly. “I was doing well enough until your knights mounted the walls. I’ve managed to hold you off for an entire month, and I’m sure not many can make that declaration. Does that shock you?”
Frankly, it did, because he was coming to see that this slip of a woman had held off an entire English army.
Worse still, she’d held off him. Him! Truthfully, he didn’t know how he felt about that, but, for some reason, he smiled.
Then he started to laugh as if realizing he’d been the butt of a great joke.
He could hardly believe it.
When Elle realized he was laughing, her eyes narrowed at him. “Why are you laughing?” she demanded. “Have I said something humorous?”
He waved her off. “Nay, you have not,” he said. “But you remind me of someone.”
“Who?”
“My wife,” he said. “You think you are the strongest, toughest woman on the marches? Think again. When I first met my wife, she fought me like a banshee until I married her. She did it to gain peace. I did it to gain a castle. I also have a daughter who has fought with men. More than that, she used to be a spy. So you see, my lady, strong women do not shock me. Not in the least. I am surrounded by them.”
Elle’s irritation took a dousing. “Ah,” she said, eyeing him with uncertainty as he continued to snort. “But what is so funny?”
He shook his head. “The fact that you, an untrained warrior woman, have held me off for an entire month,” he said. Then he started clapping, his eyes glimmering with mirth. “Da iawn, my lady. Well done. You have my respect.”
The wine and his reaction fed her courage. “Then will you call off your attack?” she said. “I want my castle back.”
Much to her surprise, he looked as if he was actually considering it. “If I do, what will you do with it?”
The question puzzled her. “Live there, of course.”
“In peace?”
“If the Saesneg leave us alone, then I will not bother them.”
“But what if your allies call upon you?” he asked. “Will you answer the call if it was to fight against the English?”
“Of course I would.”
The food arrived. Christopher tossed back the flap to admit servants bearing trays of boiled beef and a stew of vegetables.
The smell of fresh bread filled the tent almost immediately.
Standing over by the cot, wet and dirty, Elle felt her mouth begin to water, and her stomach, so empty these past several days, began to growl and twist. She actually put her hand to her belly as if to comfort her own stomach at the sight of so much food. The smell was making her lightheaded.
And Christopher knew it.
“Would you like to eat, my lady?” he asked.
Elle nodded, trying not to look too eager. But Christopher didn’t invite her to sit down, not yet.
He had a plan.
“Lady Elle, since you seem to know a good deal about warfare, you know that there is never truly a victory in battle, nor is there ever truly a surrender,” he said.
“Any battle takes compromise and negotiation, so that both armies know their place. Not everyone gets everything they want, and most especially the losing army. Would you agree with that?”
Poor Elle was starting to tremble. She only had eyes for the food, but she nodded to his question. “I would,” she said. “That is the nature of war.”
“Exactly,” Christopher said. “You have asked for your castle returned to you, and I am willing to do that. With a compromise.”
She looked at him then. She’d been shockingly adept at keeping her emotions in check, but when he said that, her eyes widened.
“You would?” she gasped.
“With a compromise.”
“What is it?”
He went over to the table where the food was sitting, fragrant and hot, and sat down. He still hadn’t invited her to sit. Reaching out, he tore a hunk of meat off the boiled knuckle and bit into it as she watched.
“The truth of the matter is that you are my prisoner,” he said, chewing.
“I am the victor and you are the loser. If you do not agree to my compromise, know this—I will imprison every one of your men, strip the castle of anything that suggests the Welsh were even there, and put an army of a thousand English there. None of your allies or enemies could dislodge them, because if you try, I will summon my own allies and have fifteen thousand men at Brython to overrun the countryside. I will punish anyone who attempts to take the castle from me, and I will kill anyone who helps them. Am I clear so far?”
Elle’s trembling was growing worse. “Why are you threatening me?”
He swallowed the bite in his mouth. “Because I want you to know how serious I am about this,” he said.
“I have the sense that you are not agreeable to the English, in any way, and I am telling you that if you do not learn to live and work alongside us, peacefully, you will have a difficult and short life. No one will remember your name after you are gone. Battle is not about killing the enemy with no end in sight. It is always about fighting for your cause but understanding that there is, indeed, an end in sight, and that end is peace. Peace is achieved by cooperation and negotiation. Do you understand me?”
Elle was watching him put more food in his mouth. “I understand,” she said. “What do you want from me?”
“Are you married?”
She shook her head. “Nay.”
“Then you will take an English husband,” he said, chewing.
“I will not imprison you or your men, but allow you to live freely at Brython—but you will marry an Englishman, and he will bring his army to the castle as my garrison. You will live in peace and learn the ways of your enemy, as he will learn your ways. It is a compromise.”
Elle wasn’t so hungry or tipsy that she didn’t understand what he was saying.
He’d been kind to her, and had lulled her into a false sense of security until this very moment, when he lowered the hammer.
She’d foolishly fallen for it. Realizing the tables had been turned on her, for she had thought she was the one being so clever, she widened her eyes and staggered back.
“Nay!” she roared. “I will not!”
Christopher abruptly stood up, slamming his fist on the tabletop and sending the food jumping in all directions.
“Refuse me and I will send you to London and the king,” he said.
Gone was the gentle father, replaced by a snarling and terrifying warlord.
“Let Henry do what he wishes with you, for I do not care. But I can tell you that you will never see Wales again, lady. If this is what you wish, then by all means, refuse me. I dare you.”