“And you are a wanton wench,” he told her.
Tanon could hear the playful smile in his words. “I am, aren’t I?” She felt drunk with wine, heady with happiness as he laid her in his bed and climbed in beside her, collapsing with a lusty sigh.
When Tanon rested her head beneath the crook of his shoulder, his arm came around her and pulled her closer.
“Gareth?”
“Aye?”
“I’m happy we married.” She closed her eyes, waiting for his reply, hoping, praying that he would give her one.
“So am I, Tanon.”
A radiant grin spread over her face and she snuggled deeper against him, finally ready to relinquish her heart to a man who would cherish it. Her champion. Her Gareth.
Chapter Seventeen
Cedric watched theCelebration from a densely wooded hilltop, alone and obscured from the view of the guards keeping watch from the tall footbridge. His eyes drifted back to the cottage barely illuminated by the bonfires, his thoughts preoccupied on the woman who’d disappeared inside with his brother. The Norman. The girl who was promised to him. The peace he had rejected.
He decided, while he had watched her earlier, her long raven ringlets swinging carelessly about her face, that he wouldn’t take her life right away. Nay, though she was his sworn enemy, she was far too lovely to deny himself the pleasures of her body first. He would take his time with her, avenging the blood of his people with her flesh. But not too much time. He wanted his war. Taking over Deheubarth and withdrawing the peace treaty would bring the Normans toCymru, but killing her would bring them here faster.
Someone moved along the line of trees to his right. Cedric slid his gaze toward the sound. “I had no idea my brother’s wife was so lovely.”
The figure stepped beside him and followed his gaze when it returned to the villagers. “She’s a Norman bitch, nothing more.”
Cedric aimed his chilling smile on his clandestine companion. “You aren’t tempted by such beauty, then, Madoc?”
“Every man is tempted by beauty, Cedric. Not all succumb to it,” Madoc replied tightly and swung his gaze to the rogue prince. “Why didn’t you tell me that Bleddyn was one of us?”
“Because I needed someone to make certain you weren’t betraying me.”
Bleddyn had been watching him. Madoc’s mouth hooked into a grim smile as another truth became evident. “It was Bleddyn who betrayed Gareth to Dafydd.”
“Aye,” Cedric boasted. “He is a most loyal vassal.”
“Was.” Madoc corrected him succinctly.
“Ah,” Cedric extracted a heavy sigh. “I assumed he didn’t make it to Winchester when I saw Gareth still alive.”
Madoc shook his head. “Not even close.”
“Pity. I’d hoped to turn the Norman king against my brother. But it won’t matter in the end.” His gaze hardened on Gareth’s cottage. “He weds our enemy and takes her to his bed, betraying our people and their families. He has always had a weakness for her. He would have married her at ten. Traitor. He doesn’t care how manyCymryhave died at the hands of the Normans. He betrayed our land, as did my uncle. I’m going to ridCymruof them, and then of the Normans, beginning with her.”
Madoc’s unblinking gaze fixed on the people below. The flickering flames of the glen reflected in his cool sable eyes, hinting at the anger burning beneath.
“Where’s Prince Dafydd?” he asked benignly.
“He’s close.” Cedric returned his attention to the Celebration.
“He best not deceive us, Cedric,” Madoc warned.
“Dafydd is as eager to war with the Normans as I am,” Cedric reassured him. “The northern princes are no longer our enemy. Not until I am king ofCymruat least,” he tossed Madoc a wink that looked much like Gareth’s. “His army will be waiting for us outside my uncle’s fortress in Llandeilo. They’ll be ready if we need them.”
“Are you certain that Dafydd and his men are well armed?” Madoc asked. “King Rhys has an army of over five hundred men in his garrison. Remember, we cannot use arrows or the people will suspect foul play. You must have the favor of the people in order to—”
“Dafydd’s men are fine warriors,” Cedric cut him off, glancing at him. “But it will not come to fighting. There will be no war in Llandeilo if what you told me is correct.”
“It is,” Madoc vowed. “You know your uncle’s affinity for music. Gareth shares that fondness. As long as you and your men are well disguised as troubadours, you’ll be granted a private audience.”