“My chickens need tending to,” Gareth called out, offering Sir Bonvalet a pleasant smile when the knight snapped his attention back to him. “They haven’t eaten in a fortnight, and I’m overcome with worry.”
“Welshmen!” Bonvalet reared back on his horse and drew his sword. His action was echoed by the other twelve surrounding Gareth’s group.
“Ease yourselves, men.” Gareth held up the king’s missive. “Being saddled all day in your piss soaked breaches has made you disagreeable. You have naught to fear from me.”
“How did you gain entry into England?” Bonvalet demanded.
Gareth shrugged, “The same way a group of fifty other Welshmen did. You soldiers are grossly lax in your duty.”
Beside him, Madoc chuckled. Bonvalet glowered at him from under his helm. “You find that humorous, knave?”
“Aye,” Madoc’s posture on his horse remained relaxed, but his eyes bore into Bonvalet. “But I was also thinking about how quickly I could kick your arse back to Normandy.”
For a moment, Bonvalet simply stared at Madoc’s audacity, doubting the good of his ears. Then his lip curled into a challenging snarl, and he urged Madoc forward with a wave of his gloved hand.
“Norman.” The force in Gareth’s voice made every head turn to him. “Read the missive before I let him do it.”
“I’ve no interest in missives,” the knight sneered, then pointed to the carriage. “But she might be able to persuade me to let you live, if she begs hard enough.”
The malevolent curl of Gareth’s lips sparked an equally deadly glint in his eyes. “If you make it to the carriage door alive, you’re welcome to her.”
Inside the carriage, Tanon took hold of Rebecca’s hand and squeezed. She wasn’t worried about being given to the Norman knight. Her husband was a confident warrior who knew he could fight this entire regiment and win, else he would never have made the challenge. But she didn’t want to see any more men killed before her eyes.
The carriage bounced slightly as Hereward leaped from the upper bench and landed on his feet. Without pause, he strode directly to the Norman soldier. He reached up, gripped the knight by the back of the throat and pulled him off his horse.
“The lady is the daughter of the Duke of Scarborough, Earl of Avarloch.” He gave the man a teeth-throttling shake, and then set his burning green eyes on the rest of the knaves. “That’s Lord Brand Risande I refer to, if any of you bastards don’t know. I warn you now if any one of you even looks at her again, I will personally skin you alive.”
Within the coach, Rebecca arched her neck to have a better look at the brutish Saxon.
Hereward swiped the rolled missive from Gareth’s hand and shoved it in Bonvalet’s face. “If you can read, you had better begin now.” While the knight tore open the missive with shaky fingers, Hereward released him and grumbled under his breath about foolish whelps, lightning-quick dragons, and crazed dukes.
While they waited for Bonvalet to read King William’s missive, Gareth inhaled an impatient sigh. If he didn’t get Tanon home where he could be alone with her soon, he was going to start removing some heads.
The guard finally looked up. “The Duke of Scarborough gives his daughter to a Welshman in marriage?”
“To His Highness, Prince Gareth of Ystrad Towi,” Cian called out with a measure of pride straining his voice that made Tanon smile hearing him. “Nephew to King Rhys of Deheubarth.”
The Norman soldier didn’t bow or acknowledge Gareth’s nobility.
“Your king desires peace,” Hereward announced to the guardsmen, raking his gaze over each. “Which one of you will defy him?” When no one answered, he gave Bonvalet a hard shove. “Do we pass, or do you wish to send for your priest to pray over your bodies?”
Bonvalet vaulted to his horse and called out to his men. “Let them go by order of King William.” The knights parted, creating a wide path for Gareth’s men and the carriage. As Gareth passed Bonvalet, the Norman eyed him warily.
“I shall remember your face, Your Highness.”
Gareth nodded, his confident smirk belying the icy contempt that frosted his eyes like blue glaciers. “And I shall remember that you wanted to make my wife beg.”
As Tanon’s coach tottered by him, Gareth’s eyes found hers, then he flicked his reins and enteredCymrubehind her.
*
The land ofthe savages looked nothing like Tanon had expected. In fact, she was certain she’d never seen any land more beautiful. Oh, Gareth’s stories had been true. White woolly sheep scampered across lush green, rolling hills as serene as a summer loch. Windswept moorlands festooned with blossoms bursting with color filled her vision and tickled her nose with sweet perfume. Riverbanks and woodland met along the winding Wye River. As they rode onward, the landscape grew wilder, even more glorious with low, grassy mountains and razor-sharp ridges. In the distance, farmsteads speckled sprawling vales, where more sheep and cattle grazed.
They reached Gareth’s home two days later. His village, which was actually larger than some towns Tanon had seen in England, was sheltered in a valley of wild, rolling hills and glistening rivers, set against the magnificent backdrop mountain ranges in the east.
A defensive earth bank and ditch were built around the village. The long ditch was topped with a timber palisade wall of carefully arranged oak planks. Inside the palisade was a footbridge where at least fifty men paced, looking out over the populace. There was no castle jutting towards the vast swath of powdery blue sky, but dozens of large, well-kept cottages nestled close together. Some structures were not cottages at all, but craftsmen’s shops. Blacksmiths, leatherworkers, weavers, and potters all busy with the day’s tasks, stopped and followed Gareth’s men to the front of a large tavern in the center of the village. Children dressed in linen smocks ran alongside the carriage calling out greetings ofBore da!andCroeso!Dogs, and even squealing pigs, ran at the children’s sides. The sound of harps and stringed lyres, pipes and drums permeated the fragrant air with lively music.
Tanon marveled, gazing out her window. Everywhere she looked, women dressed in gowns of patterned linen, some with colorful overskirts and aprons stained with the food they’d been preparing, stopped to have a look at her. Some carried large baskets piled with laundry under their arms, while others wielded wooden paddles Tanon hoped were used to beat the dust out of bedding, rather than children’s hides. None offered her a smile or a scowl. The men were a different tale altogether. They wore shirts of dyed hide over loose hose or dusty hide breeches. They raked their gazes over her quite brazenly when she stepped out of the carriage. Some smiled looking a bit more like wolves that had just spotted an unguarded sheep ripe for the devouring. A few of the men narrowed their gazes on her moments before coming to some conclusion that made them spit and look away.