Читать книгу A Warrior's Honor - Margaret Moore, Paul Hammerness - Страница 11

Chapter Four

“Abduct her?” Bryce repeated in disbelief. “Lady Rhiannon?”

Lord Cynvelin chuckled. “Do not be looking so horrified, Frechette,” he chided, his tone as calm as if suggesting a stag hunt. “I am not talking of a crime.”

“By what other name would you call such an act?” Bryce demanded.

“A Welsh custom,” Cynvelin replied, smiling. “Especially when the groom’s potential father-in-law is a stubborn fellow who fails to see the groom’s merit.”

“A custom?”

Lord Cynvelin’s usual good humor momentarily disappeared. “Aye. An old one, or surely you know I would never propose such a thing.”

“My lord, you’ll forgive me for—”

“Doubting that I am an honorable man?” Cynvelin finished, a hint of a frown on his face. “If so, there is the door, and you are welcome to leave.”

Bryce didn’t respond at once. In truth, he didn’t like the sound of this. Kidnapping as nothing but a quaint custom? It didn’t seem possible, but what did he know of Welsh customs?

Cynvelin’s manner was open and sincere. Surely a man about to commit a serious crime could not behave so blithely.

His companion laughed ruefully. “Forgive my harsh words. I know how this must sound to your Norman ears, but I assure you, my friend, Rhiannon DeLanyea is quite prepared for her abduction, although she’s not quite sure when it will be. Indeed, she’s expecting such a thing and she’ll be disappointed if I don’t come for her.”

Bryce stifled the surge of disappointment that seemed to hit him like an unexpected wave on a calm day at sea.

“And by taking her,” Cynvelin continued, “her father will see how serious I am in my desire to have her for my wife. If I don’t abduct her, her family might think I am a coward. I cannot have that, can I?”

“She will be disappointed if you don’t cart her off unexpectedly?” Bryce asked dubiously, still too wary of the proposal to find it at all droll, as Lord Cynvelin obviously did. “You are contracted then?”

“No, not in the Norman way,” the Welshman replied with a dismissive wave of his hand that told Bryce what he thought of Norman legalities.

As he had suspected, Lady Rhiannon DeLanyea was the most audacious hussy Bryce had ever encountered, kissing him with such apparent passion when she was as good as betrothed to another.

Now more than ever he wished he had abandoned the lady in the courtyard before she had enticed him into the shadows. Nor did he want to be anywhere near Lady Rhiannon ever again.

Nevertheless, Cynvelin was offering him a great opportunity, one that he would not abandon without serious cause. Surely he could manage to avoid the lady for the short time she was here, and she had obviously not wanted her immoral behavior revealed to her future husband. Probably she would avoid him just as studiously. “This expected kidnapping is to happen tomorrow?”

“Aye. We will meet her father’s entourage on the road not far from here as they journey home. It is too far to go to Caer Coch on the same day, so we will stop at Annedd Bach for the night.”

“What is it you expect me to do?”

“Ride with me as one of my groomsmen. We will not be a large party, because this is mostly for show, you see.” Lord Cynvelin ran a cursory gaze over Bryce. “Better clothes you must be having. There isn’t time to buy new, so you may have something of mine I no longer wear.” He held up his hand to preempt Bryce’s protest. “Not hearing a word about that. You must be well dressed, or you will bring me disgrace.”

Clearly Cynvelin didn’t consider his offer of his old clothes an insult to Bryce, and he knew the man meant well, but he was insulted, nonetheless. He detested charity when he was the recipient.

“You, I think, should be the one to bring Rhiannon back here,” Cynvelin mused.

“Me?” he demanded, too surprised to be polite.

“Madoc and the others would probably be too rough. I know I can count on you to do it right.”

“Too rough? Why would they be rough if she wants to come away with you?”

“She has to at least feign some maidenly, modest aversion,” Cynvelin replied. “She might even weep and wail and protest, but you should just ignore it, because it will only be pretend. The moment we are together, she will be happy again.”

“What if the baron refuses to let her go?” Bryce asked.

“Oh, he very well might. He may even look to put up a fight. You know how fathers can be about their daughters.”

In truth, Bryce didn’t know. He had not been home when his sister was of an age to think of marriage, and he had not been there when she had fallen in love.

“That’s part of the tradition, too, you see,” Cynvelin explained, “and that is why I want you to take Rhiannon away as soon as possible. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to my bride by accident.

“Not that it should,” he hastened to add. “Any fighting is just for show, too. And honor, you see, to make the woman think she’s worth a fight. There might be a few knocked heads and scratches. Nothing worse than you might get in a tournament, I promise you. Still, it would be best if you were to get Rhiannon away as quickly as you can. I will give you the word, and you take hold of her horse and gallop away, simple as can be.”

Bryce nodded, convinced of the truth of Cynvelin’s words by his earnestness and the Welshman’s honest demeanor, as much as his explanation. “Very well, iny lord,” he said with a slight bow. “I shall be honored to act as your groomsman.”

And he would be the one to take charge of Lady Rhiannon, because like Lord Cynvelin, he didn’t relish the idea of Madoc and his friend having responsibility for her.

“Here, you!” Cynvelin suddenly shouted at the pale serving wench. “More wine!” He turned back to Bryce and said wryly, “By the saints above, all this talking makes a man thirsty.”

“Don’t you get a dowry or exchange gifts, my lord?” Bryce asked.

“Ah, a wise man you are, Frechette,” Cynvelin replied. “Of course. Not savages, the Welsh. I get the dowry later, and I have to pay the amobr.”