Chapter 13 #2
By the time the horses were rested and fed and Alex had packed a few things he would need, Rory and Guy had returned to the hall and people were gathering for the evening meal.
He had told his mother of his plan to go after Merewyn and thus any feast should be delayed.
Maggie had urged them to eat, even ordering the servants to bring their food to the table early.
Alex was anxious to be going. Only a few hours of daylight remained.
When he told his father of his intention to bring Merewyn back, the reply had been terse. “I see. Well, best be about it then.”
The meal was served and, having been nearly starved for a month, Alex and his fellow knights dove into their trenchers piled high with salmon and roast duck.
“Eat hearty, lads,” said Maggie coming to their table. “Ye look like half o’ yerselves.”
Alex smiled up at her. The kindhearted housekeeper worried over them like a mother hen. Rory might be her grandson, but she had coddled the three of them since the day they were born.
He was enjoying the taste of home and the enticing smells of the roast duck and the herbs rising from the salmon, but all the while he ate, he kept thinking of Merewyn suffering the cold night as she traveled the same road they had taken to Chester.
What did she have to eat and where did she stay?
He hoped this Owain was a noble sort, else Alex would carve out his heart, no matter he was Rhodri’s nephew.
Alex had wanted to depart after they finished the meal but in between bites, Rory argued they should leave on the morrow. “They will stop for the night and so must we.”
“Aye,” Alex conceded. “ ’Tis probably best to ride with the dawn when we can see the path before us.”
“I agree,” put in Guy, washing the last of his duck down with his wine. “I like not riding over rough ground when ’tis dark. We did enough of that with William and the only result was some lame horses.”
Alex was glad his companions had been willing to go to Wales, given they had only just returned home and there was great risk because of the animosity between the two countries.
He wanted Merewyn back, safe in his arms. If they rode fast, he might be able to catch up with Owain before he took Merewyn over the Welsh Marches.
Once in Wales, three Norman knights would be an easy target, dead before he could say his family was friend to Rhodri.
Facing one skilled longbowman was enough. He had no desire to face hundreds.
“All right,” he reluctantly agreed, “but we leave at first light.”
* * *
They were not far from Chester when Owain pulled rein and turned to face her.
“We will stop here. There’s a stream just over there where we can water the horses.
” He came and lifted her down from her pony and untied her hands, which he always did when she needed to drink, eat or relieve herself.
She had changed to her archer’s clothing the first night because the clothing was more comfortable and less unwieldy.
It was the same trip Merewyn had made in the summer with Lady Serena, Alex and the others, but now the days seemed much longer. She was weary and cold. Owain had told her they would not enter Chester but would cross Afon Dyfrdwy, the Welsh name for the River Dee, at a point west of the city.
Determined to wash the dirt from her face, she walked with Owain to the stream where he led the horses.
As Ceinder drank, Merewyn bent down on one knee, threw back her hood and scooped water in her hands, splashing it onto her face.
The water refreshed her. She lifted another handful to her mouth to drink.
Her mind raced with thoughts of what was to come. They would soon be in Wales. Would Rhodri bring her back to Talisand if she asked? He had done so once before when war threatened. Mayhap he would do so again. At the very least, she could send Alex a message.
She rose from the ground, brushed the loose dirt from her cloak and walked to Ceinder. Stroking the pony’s neck, she said, “You have done well, my friend.” The mare raised her head and nuzzled Merewyn’s hand. “I’ve no oats for you, but soon.”
Owain stood nearby watching his pony drink, one hand on his bow tied to his saddle next to hers. “Come here and I will retie your hands. It won’t be long until we leave the road for Wales and then ’tis just a few days to my home.”
“You are taking me to your home, not Rhodri’s?” she asked, startled by the news.
Before he could answer, a familiar voice caused her to whip her head around to peer into the dense growth of alder trees some distance away. “You take what is mine, Welshman! Let her go.”
Alex! She thrilled to hear his voice, to know he was here, but how had he found her?
Owain grabbed his bow and two arrows and shoved her behind him. “Who speaks?” he asked, his eyes narrowed on the woods as he nocked the first arrow.
Alex stepped from the trees. “Alexander of Talisand. I come for Merewyn.”
Merewyn’s heart leapt to her throat. He was here! He was alive and, to all appearances, whole. Oh, Alex.
“Ah, the Red Wolf’s cub,” Owain said, holding his bow before him, his fingers on the string. “You shall not have her. You do not deserve her. I am taking her to Wales where she will become my wife.”
“That would be rather difficult,” Alex said, tossing Merewyn one of his rare smiles. “I may not deserve her, but she is already my wife and what I claim, I keep. She will never be yours.”
Merewyn inhaled sharply, shocked by his words. Did he say them to convince Owain to let her go?
“You lie, Norman!” Owain spit out.
Alex drew his sword, the sound of the steel sliding from the sheath loud in her ears. He stepped forward, his sword grasped firmly in his hand. He must look this way in battle as he confronted the enemy, his stance sure, his sword raised and his dark presence threatening.
Owain did not wait for him to lunge. He pulled back the string and loosed the arrow. It hissed through the air and sank into the calf of Alex’s right leg. Alex stumbled back but did not fall.
“Alex!” she screamed, starting toward him.
Owain held her back with his arm.
She pushed at him. “You shot him!”
Alex staggered. From his mouth came a feral snarl, a sound more like an animal than a man.
His gray eyes became like shards of granite as he glared at Owain.
“Have you never heard, Welshman, a wounded wolf is more dangerous? I asked you to give me what is mine. Now I will kill you before I take her.”
While the men faced each other, Merewyn sped the few feet to Owain’s pony and reclaimed her bow.
Owain nocked another arrow and took aim.
Merewyn, too, nocked an arrow and swiftly drew alongside the two men, separated by a dozen feet, lifted her bow and pulled back the string. “Both of you stop!”
The two men turned their harsh looks from each other to her.
“Owain, you will not loose another arrow. Alex, you will let Owain go. He meant me no harm.”
Alex gave her an angry, incredulous look, but he held his sword still. Blood dripped from his leg. Her chest heaved for the panic she experienced. The arrow could mean his death.
“Owain, go!” she shouted.
Owain looked at her with disdain. “You would choose to stay with this Norman dog, who would plant a babe in your belly yet offer you no ring for your finger?”
“It is my decision to make, Owain. Wales is not far. Leave us.” When he failed to move, she added, “Please!” Her unwavering gaze met Owain’s angry brown eyes. “Go!”
Owain slung his bow over his shoulder and swung onto the back of his pony. “Only because you ask it of me, Merewyn. But should you change your mind, you have only to send for me and I will come.” With that, he shot another glare at Alex, turned his pony and galloped away.
She ran to Alex and kissed him. With his free arm he drew her to his side.
She looked down to see the arrow had gone through his leg, the tip sticking out the back of his calf.
“You must have care. Let me help you.” She placed her shoulder under his left arm and leaning on her, he was able to sheathe his sword.
“What was that about a babe in your belly?” he gritted out, wincing with the pain, as he tilted his head toward her.
“Can we come out now?” said a voice she recognized as Rory’s. The redheaded knight stepped out of the trees. Beside him stood Guy. Both were wearing mail, their swords drawn.
Alex’s gaze shifted to his companions. “Aye. Might as well join us. You can see I have managed to get myself shot and the Welshman got away.”
“But you did rescue the fair damsel,” said Guy, his mouth twitching up in a grin.
“Aye,” said Alex. “My errant wife.”
“We need to talk about that, Alex,” she whispered. He might have claimed she was his wife for Owain’s benefit, but why did he persist in doing so now that Owain was gone?
“You two can talk in Chester,” said Rory, sheathing his sword as he walked to where they stood. “Let Guy and me help you to your horse.” Bracing Alex under his right shoulder, he said, “It seems we must impose, once again, on Earl Hugh’s hospitality.”
Guy sheathed his sword and came alongside Alex. Merewyn relinquished her hold.
“First,” said Alex, “break off the fletching and pull the arrow through. I would have it out sooner rather than later.”
“If you insist,” said Rory. “Hold him steady.”
With Guy and Merewyn holding him, Rory tore open Alex’s hosen and broke off the fletching.
Merewyn kept her eyes on Alex’s face. He clenched his jaw and closed his eyes, bracing for what was coming.
Rory pulled the arrow through. Alex grunted, bearing the pain.
“Hold him for a moment while I fetch the horses,” said Guy.
Merewyn took Guy’s place.
Guy returned with their horses and accepted the weight of Alex from her shoulder.
“We can take him,” Rory said to Merewyn and the two of them began to help Alex toward the horses.
“Wait!” They stopped and she tore a strip from the hem of her undertunic and bent to Alex’s leg. Placing a wad of cloth against the wound, she wrapped a long length around his leg and tied it tightly. “Mayhap it will staunch the blood.”
“My thanks, my lady,” said Alex in a weak voice.
With Alex between them, Rory and Guy helped Alex into his saddle, his face contorting with pain as they did. He was growing weaker with the loss of blood. The bandage she had made for him was already leaking the crimson fluid.
Rory helped her mount Ceinder and then he and Guy swung into their saddles and flanked Alex as they rode toward Chester. She thanked God it was only a few miles away.
“Owain was kind,” she said to their backs.
“What do you mean?” asked Rory. “He shot Alex. I would hardly call that kind.”
“Owain never misses. Had he meant to kill you, Alex, you would be dead. He only wanted to slow your advance.”
Alex huffed. “ ’Twould have done him no good.”