His eyes immediately found and surveyed the three men who concealed their faces beneath hooded mantles. Cedric, Madoc, and Dafydd. The only three he would be able to identify.
Marking their positions, he stood up and stepped around the table.
“Tinkers,” His eyes narrowed slightly, and he snaked his lips into a thin smile. “You have audience with the king, as you desired.” He stretched his arms out slightly at his sides as he walked toward them. “Do you need to practice before you can give us a showing of your skill?”
The bard tothe far right raised a shaky hand to the hood shadowing his features. Cedric was surprised to find his heart drumming hard in his chest. He’d been certain he could kill his brother without facing the king’s army. But now, standing here before him, Rhys at his right side as if he were the prince and Gareth the king, gave Cedric a moment of doubt. It was the gleam of intelligence in Gareth’s eyes that slashed through Cedric’s self-assurance and compelled him to look toward the doors.
Nay, he couldn’t falter now. It was time forCymruto make a stand. Peace was earned through war, Cedric reminded himself. Begging a conqueror for it only madeCymrueasier to consume.
Summoning his resolve, Cedric pulled the hood back from his face. “Bore da,brother.”
He wished the Norman wench hadn’t escaped. What satisfaction he could have enjoyed when Gareth saw her with a dagger to her throat. No matter, seeing him would have to be shock enough for Gareth. He watched for the helpless disbelief in his brother’s face, but he saw a shadow slip across Gareth’s expression instead. Disappointment. Regret. Cedric looked away and flicked his gaze to King Rhys.
“Your reign is over. The new king ofCymruwill cower to no one.”
“You mean the new king of the south, nay?” Gareth quirked his brow and brushed his gaze over Dafydd. “A slip of the tongue, mayhap?”
“You allied yourself with our enemy,” Cedric charged his brother before Dafydd had time to consider the insinuation. “Men who now rule our entire eastern border. A privilege won through the massacre of our people. Do you think the Normans will ever truly withdraw from their campaign to conquer us when we’ve made it so easy for them?”
“Nay, they won’t,” Gareth answered solemnly, sincerely. “Cymruis divided by its own rulers. A warrior as tactically proficient as King William recognized our weakness long ago. If, as you say, peace, even for a time, can never be found with them, then tell me, where are they now?”
“They will come eventually. Why wait like sheep to the slaughter?” Cedric demanded.
“Why be so eager to stain our soil with more of our people’s blood?”
“We must be aggressive in our campaign to wipe them out,” Cedric erupted. “We can beat them!”
“We cannot.” Gareth shook his head, his eyes fired from his impassioned heart. “The warring between our rulers has weakened us. King William’s army is as vast as the sea that divides his two thrones in England and Normandy. But a third of its men were enough to gain the land of the Celts in Sicily. They fight upon horses, Cedric. We don’t. They build defenses of stone, impermeable to our meager weapons. We can continue to hold them off until every man inCymruhas died defending his land, leaving the women and children truly at the mercy of the invaders. Or we can hold them off in another way and use this time to teach our people how to avoid becoming their serfs.”
“You teach them how to surrender before the fight has even begun, Gareth.” Cedric spat as he advanced on his brother. One of the other two hooded men moved forward with him. “You betray every life lost in the war to stop the Normans by making one of them your wife.”
“An alliance I made for those who still live, that they might enjoy a better life than one wrought in sorrow and loss,” Gareth answered calmly.
“Peace, at the price of our people’s dignity is cowardly.”
Gareth exhaled deeply. “Peace has no price, Cedric.”
“It does today.” Cedric stepped forward. “You’re a usurper, Gareth, an imposter. You cannot leadCymrubecause you’re afraid. You always have been. Even when you fight, you run.” Cedric accused with a wry smile. “But you won’t run today.” He gestured to Madoc to reveal himself and seize Gareth. “The rest of my men are just beyond these doors. No one will enter, and no one will leave until this is over. Dafydd’s army surrounds the entire fortress at this very moment.”
Without looking at him, Gareth lifted a finger to Madoc, halting his approach.
“Your men are already dead,” he told Cedric. “Prince Dafydd”—he turned and looked directly at the man in the third hooded mantle—“you should know, before your men share the same fate, that the king’s army surrounds yours—at this very moment,” he added, his expression marked with arrogance. “But we will let them live if you surrender to me now.”
Dafydd yanked back his hood and cursed Gareth to the farthest pits of hell.
Cedric felt as if the floor had caved in beneath him. Impossible! His uncle had no time to ready his army. Gareth was bluffing. He and the king would have had to have known of his plan all along. Nay, it wasn’t possible. His brother couldn’t be that clever. How? How could he have known? His gaze shifted to Madoc’s dark, inviolable eyes.
Nay!
“Madoc,” he commanded, hoping he was wrong, “show this coward what you’ve come here to do.”
With a seemingly effortless tug, Madoc slid his left blade free of its scabbard and swiped it across the belly of one of Dafydd’s men. His eyes returned to Cedric, sparked with condescension.
Traitor. Cedric’s mouth twisted with fury. His gaze darted around the hall as the rest of Gareth’sTeuluappeared from behind the curtained walls.
The odds were not in Cedric’s favor. He smiled through the choking realization that his plan had failed.
“Brother,” he began, supplying himself with time to form a plan that might get him out of this alive. “There needs not be any blood spilled here. You never did fancy unnecessary bloodshed, preferring to use your wits, as you’ve proven here today. Let us sit down at the table and discuss our positions of the welfare ofCymruin a civilized manner.”