Читать книгу In Debt To The Enemy Lord - Nicole Locke - Страница 10

Chapter Two

‘Who is she?’ Rhain spoke in an undertone, more for privacy than for courtesy.

Teague didn’t look away from the woman lying on his bed. ‘I don’t know,’ he answered. ‘But I have my suspicions.’ The servants had worked quickly and now a warm fire blazed in the grate, hot water steamed in buckets, and Ffion was mixing healing herbs.

‘And you brought her here to Gwalchdu, to your room?’

‘Yes.’ Teague crossed his arms. He watched Greta, one of his most trusted servants, bathe the head wound. The woman’s eyes fluttered, but they did not open. She could die despite the care given.

‘Yes?’ Rhain repeated. ‘“Yes” is a very interesting word, dear brother. Very interesting indeed.’ He turned to leave the room. ‘I’ll be in the Hall, eating.’

Teague watched Rhain close the door behind him. He knew he should go. He would need to explain what had occurred in the forest.

There was no reason for him to stay. No need for him to watch Greta gently pat around the wound to dry it. He needed to bathe before eating, as he was still covered in sweat and blood. Her blood.

She looked so different now to how he’d seen her in the forest. There she had moved, without grace, but with an unexpected strength. Now, but for the steady rising of her chest, he’d think her dead.

Her head wound needed stitching. He watched as Greta plaited the woman’s hair to keep it out of the way. It was a menial task, one he had never seen before, but simple enough. Yet he stood transfixed as Greta’s thick fingers wound to the very end and secured the plait.

He remembered how the long golden strands shimmered when the sunlight touched it. Bound, her hair lay as limp as she did.

He quickly dismissed the feeling of loss and left his room.

* * *

After his bath, Teague entered the Great Hall. The evening meal was over and his footsteps rang in the vast emptiness of the space. Rhain sat on a large high-backed chair before a low fire crackling in the smallest hearth.

‘What happened in the forest?’ Rhain asked.

Teague poured the wine left on the table and drunk deeply before grimacing.

Rhain chuckled. ‘The wine has been watered. You may not be so observant, but you know how Ffion is when it comes to the wine.’

‘Remind me to have a word with my steward about keeping a closer eye on my personal supplies.’ Sitting on the other great chair, Teague explained what he had seen and heard from the woman in the forest.

‘It doesn’t make sense. Why would she be in the forest by herself? Especially so deep and so close to Gwalchdu,’ Rhain said, after Teague recounted all the facts.

‘She is the enemy.’

‘Are you so sure?’

‘She spoke against me and the King.’

‘We are on the border of Wales. What villager hasn’t spoken against you or the King? I worry your insurmountable patience is thinning and you are jumping to conclusions.’ Rhain stopped and tented his fingers against his lips. ‘Why don’t you blame me?’ he asked.

Teague’s eyebrows raised. ‘For what? You were not on watch last night when the message was left.’

‘The threats didn’t start until I returned to Gwalchdu.’

Teague flashed him a look of irritation. ‘You’re not the enemy.’

‘You trust too easily; that could be your undoing.’

‘I trust no one.’ Teague swirled his goblet in both hands. ‘And I don’t know why I am encouraging this conversation.’

‘Because you are no fool,’ Rhain argued. ‘The facts easily point to me. I came home last summer after being separated from you since childhood. The messages began a month after I arrived. Those messages are specific threats against your life and brought to you in your own keep, yet you cannot find who is behind the messages.’

‘It isn’t you,’ Teague said.

‘Who is to gain from your death? I am. Who can move freely to leave those messages? I can. Who can get close enough to kill you? I can.’

‘Enough,’ he growled.

‘Why are you so sure?’ Rhain pressed.

‘You are my brother.’

‘You are mad.’ Rhain chuckled. ‘Or perhaps you feel my more reasonable influence and you realise it would be foolish for me to threaten my own home.’

‘Or maybe I realise you talk too much to hold any secrets.’

Rhain reached for the wine. ‘Then why have you so quickly concluded this woman is the enemy? Because she is silent?’

Teague peered into the depths of his cup. The colour of the wine looked black in the low light and he could not see the bottom.

‘Why was she so near my keep?’ He took a draught of wine. ‘Her coming here, albeit by my hand, is too convenient. If she is not the enemy, then maybe she’s a trap.’

Rhain rubbed his hands against his knees. ‘She is no trap. She almost died falling from that tree. She needs our trust.’

Teague had expected his brother’s open nature to surface. ‘And you call me mad?’

‘Well, it’s your nature to mistrust. It’s my nature to trust. You are still stubborn, while I am as flexible as water. Why should now be any different?’

‘Perhaps because our home is being attacked by an unknown enemy?’ Teague said.

‘And you think that injured woman in your bed is the enemy?’

‘Yes, I do. It’s better to approach this situation with caution, rather than to be knifed in the back.’

Rhain arched one golden eyebrow. ‘That situation lying in your bed was brought into this home by you. And she can hardly keep awake, let alone wield a knife.’ He stood and stretched. ‘No, I am curious about her. I believe once she is well, I will simply ask her for answers.’

* * *

It was late at night, the keep was quiet and Teague found himself returning to his chambers. The woman was not alone. Greta slept in a chair in the corner, her great chin resting on her chest.

Compelled, he crouched by the woman’s bedside so his face was closer to hers. He could not get her out of his mind: her climbing the tree, her hair swinging with the movements of her legs and arms.

Then, in that moment when the branch broke...his powerlessness; her demanding that he catch her. He knew she was his enemy, he knew he could not help her, but still he had held out his arms. Though hatred was etched across her every feature, she fell towards him.

Before he could stop himself, Teague placed his hand upon her head and brushed his fingers across her hair. Her eyelids fluttered, but she did not wake. He was...grateful. Somehow, this caress quieted him. Made him less restless...less alone. The feeling was as foreign to him as the other feelings she had inadvertently inspired in him.

Hope. She’d given him hope. With his arms outstretched, she had leapt towards him as if she could make it.

Hope. A ridiculous emotion that served no purpose.

He stood and walked away. He must be tired. It was not in his nature to be open. He’d been alone most of his life, as he would continue to be. His people trusted him to protect them.

A woman could be as deadly as any man, or even more so. It was the reason he’d not lain with a woman since the threats began. In these times, hope had no place. Their very lives depended upon it.

* * *

Drifting on something soft, warm and comfortable, Anwen was half-asleep when the door creaked.

She opened her eyes. In the now-opened doorway was a small boy shaking mightily from the weight of a water bucket.

‘Oh!’ He dropped the bucket. ‘You’re awake!’

Her head throbbing relentlessly, she could not reply.

The boy straightened the bucket. ‘I have your washing water, my lady. But you’re awake! The house must be told.’ He fled, but she could not move her head as she stared at the empty doorway.

Her vision cleared as a man filled the door frame. He was the most beautiful man Anwen had ever seen.

He was golden. From his head to his feet, he had the look of pure gold in sunlight. His eyes, the colour of warm amber, were brilliant against a square jaw and aquiline nose.

Then he smiled. She knew that smile would make many a maiden faint, but not her. Not under these circumstances.

‘Where...where am I?’ She forced the words out.

‘You don’t know?’ Grabbing a stool, he stepped closer. ‘Do you remember anything?’

Pain, her head full of knives. ‘No.’ Blackness hovered, threatening to take her again, but she couldn’t let it. ‘No.’

The man placed a cloth to her face. Welcoming the cool moisture, she closed her eyes. Images flashed through her mind: someone taking care of her, a deep voice, a gentle, callused touch. Was it this man?

‘Who are you?’ she asked.

‘My name is Rhain. Be easy.’ He grabbed a cup of something and cradled her head so she could drink.

Struggling to swallow the diluted wine, she tried to concentrate on his words. ‘My head feels...tight.’

‘You’ve hurt it. The tightness is the dressing there.’ Rhain sat down, put out a hand and stilled hers. ‘No, do not touch it. Your wound is still too fresh.’

‘But how did I—?’ She stopped. There had been someone. Under a tree. Someone...

The door swung open and in walked a god or a demon—no, it was a man, but he was no ordinary man. Where Rhain was golden, this man was dark. His hair, his eyes, his sun-darkened skin all reminded her of the night. But it was more than his colouring, it was the man himself. He was dark. Wariness overcame her, but she would not take her eyes off him.

He was familiar, like someone she’d seen in the darkness, but it could not be him. She remembered the person who had soothed her when the blackness overcame her, when the pain worsened. This man did not soothe, he cut.

‘She wakes?’ he asked, his eyes never leaving hers.

Rhain’s eyes narrowed as he took in the dark man’s mood. ‘Is this necessary?’

‘More than ever.’

Anwen’s eyes burned as she strained to keep them open. The closer he got to her, the more she wanted to protect herself against the great waves of tightly controlled anger emanating from him. Power and authority were etched in every curve of his face. It was clear he wanted something from her and if she didn’t give it, he would take it. Pain slashed across her head as her body tensed.

‘She is not well. Leave her in peace.’ Rhain stood and pushed the stool aside to let the other man stand closer to her.

‘She is awake; she can speak.’

She could not speak. Her heart beat too fast and sweat covered her. Her stomach churned as she took in great gulps of air.

‘Brother,’ Rhain warned.

The rolling in her stomach would not subside, her head was spinning. Great waves of nausea drowned out whatever else was around her.

‘I am—’ she tried to say. The dark one leaned closer to her. ‘I am—’

Anwen pushed herself up and retched over the breeches of Lord Teague of Gwalchdu.

‘By Gwyn!’ he exclaimed, before she blacked out again. It was a moment before the two men reacted to the considerable mess Anwen had made.

‘Well, that was a first, I must admit.’ Rhain’s droll tone was not lost on Teague, who shot him a look. ‘Oh, Teague, she did it not on purpose.’ He took the cloth from the bucket of cooled water and wiped Anwen’s mouth and face.

‘I did not think her so weak.’ Teague grabbed another towel and dipped it into the bucket to wipe his front.

‘Ah, yes, weakness. I forgot what an unforgivable trait that can be. But she is a woman and even God allowed them a softer side, regardless of whether you acknowledge such a terrible flaw.’

‘I am no beast. I know she is a woman. It’s only—’ Teague remembered her determination in climbing the tree and her quick thinking when she flung herself away and towards him. She was not like most females of his acquaintance.

‘She surprised me,’ he finished.

Rhain’s mouth pursed in amusement, his gaze pointed at Teague’s wet front. ‘Yes, well, I can see that, but I differ with you regarding her weakness. She is not weak. Only strength of will could have pulled her out of such an injury.’

‘She’s weak now and useless to me asleep.’

‘Why the need for interrogation? Have you heard from Robert at Brynmor?’ Rhain asked.

‘Yes, he sent me a missive. It appears they are missing a woman. An Anwen.’

‘Now the question is if this is Anwen.’

‘And if she is the threat,’ Teague said. The woman’s face had softened now she was sleeping. But her hands were still curled into fists, lending her an air of determination at a moment in which she should have been most vulnerable.

Teague remembered she had not cried out in fear when she fell. To see her this fragile went against everything he knew of her. Frustration rushed through him. He didn’t know her at all; he needed answers.

‘I must get clean.’ Teague dropped the soiled rag into the bucket. ‘Make sure she receives care,’ he ordered before he left the room.

* * *

It was pitch-black when Anwen woke again. This time she didn’t move her head. Her throat was sore and her stomach was filled with acid. Sleep was blessed, but something woke her. There was a smell nearby like leather and sandalwood.

She opened her eyes. He was so close, she thought the blackness of his eyes was simply the darkness of the room. Then the heat of his gaze touched her and she realised this blackness was alive. A feeling of quietude entered her. The one who’d comforted her in the night had returned.

‘You’ve returned,’ she said, trying to smile.

He did not reply, but his eyes held hers. She couldn’t look away. If she could look long enough, she’d see—

Pain!

It slashed across her head and exploded behind her eyes. Moments of agony, subsiding only when she became aware of her gasping breaths, and a warm hand holding hers. She concentrated on the warmth and gentleness of his hand. It was a while more before her breathing eased and she was left with a dull ache weighing her down.

‘I didn’t mean to wake you.’ His voice was deep, soft and vibrated through her.

They were such simple words, but she could hear...something...some meaning. The hand holding hers belonged to this voice. If her head didn’t hurt, she’d be able to understand. Maybe it was concern? No, it sounded more like pain, like loneliness, but that was more confusing. She was here and he wasn’t alone.

It didn’t matter if she couldn’t understand. She felt the need to do something for him, but she couldn’t seem to open her eyes and blackness was seizing her again. He was being so kind. She didn’t want him to feel pain.

‘I’m here,’ she whispered, her voice slowing as gentle waves of sleep took her.

A mad desire to keep her awake plaguing him, Teague watched the woman return to sleep. Looking at her hand still in his, he listened to the gentle rhythm of her breathing. It was almost enough to keep his restlessness at bay.

It was time to go. There was no logical reason for him to watch over her. The ravages of her fever were far from over and while she could suffer a relapse, she was regaining consciousness. Despite the pain, she was recovering. Soon, he would be forced to decide what to do with her.

Teague scrutinised the room. Since he’d brought her to his bed four nights ago, the sole change to the room was Ffion’s mortar and pestle and some herbs littered on a table. Yet it felt foreign to him.

Gently placing her hand on the bed, he walked to the windows and opened the thick shutters to look into the courtyard below. The lit torches dotted across the dark stone walls and the full moon made it easy for him to watch his soldiers on patrol. He tried to put a name to the feeling of longing in him as he watched them.

Envy. His soldiers understood their tasks. They had a purpose in the night. He felt envy, too, that they had companionship as they went about their tasks. For him, although he was busy during the days, he was alone during the nights. His brother was here now, but Rhain had too many female admirers to be much company. His solitary nature had never bothered him before...but now he felt a longing that couldn’t be fulfilled.

With the threats on his life, companionship was a luxury he could ill afford. Still it did not stop the conflict between his wanting and denying.

He turned from the courtyard and leaned against the window frame. There was no reason in any of this madness. It must be tiredness making him ache. Without sparing a glance at the sleeping woman, Teague left the room.