In Debt To The Enemy Lord

‘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.

Chapter Three

Anwen woke to puffs of air brushing across her cheek. Two cloudy grey eyes, surrounded by folds of papery wrinkles and topped with hair the colour of snow, were mere centimetres from her face.

The old woman gave a delighted giggle. ‘Ooooh, you’re awake. My name is Edith. Are you feeling a mite better? We knew you would wake today. You tried so hard yesterday though the blackies would get you again and of course you got awful sick. Almost undid all my hard work!’

Anwen blinked. She tried to make sense of Edith’s words, but it was like listening to wind through trees and she felt, rather than understood, the words.

‘Today, I said that little child would live.’ Edith grabbed a wet cloth and gently wiped Anwen’s face with cool water. ‘You still have a mite of fever, I feel. Nothing like you had, though. You nigh had us scared witless when he carried you in five days ago silent as a kitchen rat.’

Anwen turned her head with some effort. ‘Five days?’ she asked. ‘Where am I?’

The bright light pouring through the many narrow tall windows hurt her eyes, yet she could still make out the dark, intricately carved bed she lay in and its cream-coloured coverlet bordered with rich red which was repeated in the linens covering two walls to give warmth. The rest of the room was decorated with deerskin rugs, carved tables and chairs, and a chest with locked brass fastenings.

The room belonged to someone of great wealth and she didn’t recognise a thing.

‘Ooh, you can talk. Oh, yes, m’lady. Well, maybe a wee bit more than five days.’ Edith grabbed some pillows and carefully stuffed them behind Anwen’s back. ‘You’re probably starving, you poor thing.’

With confusion setting in, Anwen shouldn’t be tempted by food, but the small bread loaf and flagon smelling of wine on the table next to her resembled a feast.

‘Nothing but broth for days.’ Edith tore off pieces of bread and fed them to Anwen. ‘How does it taste? Good? Too much?’

She couldn’t answer around the bread in her mouth.

‘Now what was I saying? Oh! Though you’ve been asleep, you’ve had the house in an uproar, what with him always asking how you fared, and if the answer wasn’t satisfactory, he’d check on you. Never saw anything like it.’

Edith kept stuffing bread in her mouth, but Anwen wanted to ask questions. Such as where she was and who Edith kept talking about, and who, for that matter, was Edith?

‘Him?’ she finally managed to say.

‘Did you say “him”? Don’t you remember anything at all?’ Edith shook her head. ‘That’s one question answered for us. We had a bet, you see—not exactly we and not exactly a bet, because I don’t do those sort of things—but there are some in the kitchens who have been wondering, heavily, whether you went into the sleep because of your head wound or because of him. But you see, since you didn’t know about him, then that answers the question for us.’

With a flash of a practically toothless grin, Edith turned around and faced the door. ‘I need the towels by the bucket, Greta. She doesn’t know about him.’

A large woman with big beefy hands carried linens into the room. She didn’t say anything, but her face was open and her brown eyes danced as she gave a wide friendly grin.

‘Who is he?’ Anwen could feel a headache beginning because of the kind of commotion no ancient old woman the size of a rinse bucket should make.

‘Why, he is the lord, of course, m’lady.’ Edith rolled down the covers. ‘Dear me, that head wound must make you suffer some. I’ll need to cool you with water while you lie still.’

Edith pushed Anwen’s chemise up to bare her legs. ‘You must be weak as a fawn.’

Anwen inspected her chemise. The weave was too fine and too white. It was not hers. ‘What happened? Where am I?’

Edith sighed. ‘Oh, very well. I’ll not be saying much that you couldn’t find out by looking out of a window. Just outside the walls is Dameg Forest. You have heard of Dameg Forest?’

‘Yes, I live near Dameg Forest, but where am I now?’

‘Well,’ Edith started, ‘we’re by the forest, too.’

Anwen looked to Greta for a clearer answer, but the other woman simply wrung a cloth in her hands. The worry on their faces turned her confusion to panic.

Flashes of memory. Brynmor. Gwalchdu. Gully flying into the forest.

Anwen’s heart lurched as she remembered the sickening crunch of the breaking branch. There was a man under the tree. She was angry. No, that didn’t make sense. Why would she be angry if he was there to catch her? She was safe. The man made her feel safe. But who was he?

She contemplated the fine furnishings of the room, the thick stone walls, the rich wall coverings and an awful thought filled her head.

‘Who is the lord of this place?’ she asked.

Edith was suddenly all of a flutter. ‘Don’t you mind me none. Got no manners and don’t know my place. I know that, by goodness I do. Going on like I did and you hurt and all. Why I could be causing you more harm than good.’ Edith bent to wring the water from the cloth.

And that’s when the answer to her question entered her room. Framed by the doorway, he was dressed in partial chainmail as if for a joust. But this was not the type of man to do mock battle. His black eyes were too harsh, his face too hardened and, despite the daylight, shadows emanated from him. This was not a man to play at things, but to take and take by force.

‘Are you well?’ he asked, his voice deep and resonating around the room.

Vaguely aware of Edith and Greta, both of whom were now standing at the far end of the room, she stared at the man walking towards her.

‘Did you eat? Can you hear me?’ he repeated.

He was the dark man to the golden man’s light. He was anger to any kindness. He was the man who had watched her for days and at night had held her hand. He was the man beneath the tree and the man who had saved her life. In one incredulous moment, she knew who he was.

He was Teague, Devil of Gwalchdu and the Traitor. He was a legend with the sword, a Marcher Lord of King Edward and her sworn enemy. And here she was lying in his bed. But she was no coward.

‘Yes, I hear you,’ she answered.

He nodded, before his eyes skimmed down to her legs.

Her bare legs.

Before she could cover herself, Teague closed the distance between them and tossed the covers roughly over her. When he did not step back from the bed, she was forced to look up.

‘You should not move,’ he ordered. ‘Are you well?’

Teague of Gwalchdu stood before her. Why hadn’t she recognised it immediately when Edith was the only one in the room, when there might have been a chance to escape? How could she have been such a fool? But how could she have imagined she’d ever be brought to hell?

Without turning, he addressed Edith and Greta. ‘Leave us.’

Frustration swamping her, she watched as Edith and Greta closed the door behind them. She was alone with the man who had torn her family apart and had brought the ruination of Brynmor. She had dreamed of meeting him face to face, but not when she was so weak she could barely sit up.

He narrowed his eyes, assessing her. ‘No, you’re not. You’re far too pale and that bruise is likely to continue spreading before you are healed. Does it hurt?’

‘Do you care?’

He ignored her. ‘Who are you?’

‘Is it important?’

He lowered his arms to his sides. It was clear he wanted an answer.

She didn’t feel like giving him one. He didn’t know who she was, or more specifically where she came from. It was no secret Brynmor and Gwalchdu were enemies. If she could keep her identity from him for long enough, perhaps she could escape.

‘If you don’t provide me with a name, I will give you one of my own.’

‘Anwen,’ she bit out.

‘Anwen?’ he asked and his tone implied he expected more.

‘Yes, Anwen,’ she said, repeating her name slowly as if he didn’t understand her.

‘Have I missed anything?’

It was this man’s brother, the golden one, who opened the door. He looked so different to Teague. His reputation was different, too. This man had been too young to fight in the Welsh wars. To him she would be civil.

‘Rhain?’ Anwen said.

‘Yes!’ Rhain grabbed a stool and a chair and set both by her bedside.

‘Do you remember anything else?’ Rhain asked, sitting on the stool.

She shook her head once. It was safer to pretend.

‘No one has told you of this place?’ Teague did not take his eyes from hers.

‘No,’ she answered.

‘You would want to know who we are and where you are, I imagine.’ Teague’s voice had grown silky, his mouth shaped into a mock of a smile. ‘How rude of me not to introduce myself, especially since you have supplied so much information to me.’

He sat on the chair Rhain had placed near the bed. He was now so close she could see the growth of his beard, the deep furrows around his mouth. His lips held an odd curve, making them full, soft, yet harshly masculine at the same time. Without releasing her gaze, he answered, ‘I am Teague, Lord of Gwalchdu.’

She could say nothing as her worst suspicion was confirmed. She lay in the bed of Gwalchdu’s lord. ‘Gwalchdu’ meant ‘black hawk’ and there was no more evil a bird in all of Welsh myth. The name fit this place and the traitor who now sat before her.

‘So you have heard,’ he said, gauging her reaction.

‘I have heard, but have seen nothing.’ She tried to keep her eyes unreadable. She had hated this man all her life. She would not back down now, despite the pounding in her head.

He gave a curt nod. ‘You are wise to be blind. But it seems you watch now.’

This was no word game he played with her. This was no pastime of a bored nobleman and there was no false smile on his face.

Anwen tensed and immediately regretted it as her body protested. It would take all her resources to escape. But she had herself. That had proven enough in the past and it would prove enough now.

‘I don’t watch so much.’ Anwen tried to get her thoughts together as pain slashed across her left temple. ‘I’ll watch even less once you let me go.’

Rhain stood. ‘We should go. It is clear you are unwell and have need of rest.’

Rhain glanced at Teague, but the lord’s gaze locked with Anwen’s. For a moment she didn’t think he would answer.

‘She needs time, Teague,’ Rhain argued.

‘Call for Ffion.’ Teague’s voice was low, but not soft.

* * *

Anwen did not breathe again until the two men closed the door. She was trapped. Trapped by a huge giant of a man with eyes as dark as obsidian. Eyes she knew matched his soul. She knew his name, as a person knows the name of evil. At Brynmor, the people did not even whisper his name aloud without crossing themselves and he had sat so close to her she’d noticed the slight shadows under his eyes.