Christopher was pleased he’d managed to shut down Gruffydd’s protests, for they were becoming tiresome, even if they were understandable. He was confident that Curtis could handle anything Elle decided to throw at him, so there was nothing left to discuss on the subject as far as he was concerned. He simply wanted to get past it and move forward.
“Where else will you go?” he asked, changing the focus slightly. “What other properties do you have that would be suitable?”
Gruffydd realized he hadn’t finished his meal. He’d been so busy discussing his sister that the food was cooling before him. He reached for his wine.
“Tywyl Castle is about ten miles to the east, in the heart of my lands,” he said, then took a long swallow before continuing. “I was born there. It is the traditional home of my family.”
“Good,” Christopher said. “That is a better place for you, as the ruler of these lands. Brython is on the marches, on the edge, so let me keep it strong for you. Henry will be pleased that I have garrisoned it, and that will keep him peaceful when it comes to you and your properties.”
Gruffydd could see what he was driving at. “And a pleased Henry will not cause me any trouble.”
Christopher lifted his eyebrows to concede the point. “You understand the nature of kings.”
“I know that I am one, yet I do not command the thousands that Henry does,” he said before tipping more wine into his mouth. “I do not command the numbers that Llywelyn does. He wants my lands, you know. He is not finished, no matter howyou convince Elle that siding with Llywelyn is not a victory for the Welsh.”
Christopher sipped the last of his warmed wine. “I know that any onslaught by Llywelyn will be met by your English allies,” he said. “And I have more men than he does. Is that not enough?”
Gruffydd nodded, though there was defeat in his slumped shoulders. “It means a great deal, my lord,” he said. “That is why I am pleased to retire to Tywyl while your son controls Brython. He will serve it well, I am certain.”
The situation was working out just the way Christopher had hoped. He stood up, stiffly, with the intent of finding more wine, and the flap to his tent flew open. His senior sergeant, an older man with a bushy beard named Becker, was in the doorway.
“My lord,” Becker said. “We have a prisoner you should see.”
Christopher frowned. “Who is it?”
“She says that Gwenwynwyn was her uncle.”
Christopher looked straight at Gruffydd, who was on his feet at the news. “It must be Melusine, my lord,” he said. “She is my cousin, the only cousin I have. She has been living at Brython too, but I have not seen her since I was put in the vault.”
Christopher’s features took on an incredulous expression. “Another woman warrior?”
Gruffydd shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “She is… Well, she is—”
Screaming interrupted them as the woman in question appeared at the entry. She was on her hands and knees, crying and carrying on, but neither Christopher nor Gruffydd could see anything around her that should terrify her so. No one was harming her. She had no marks that they could see, no blood. She was clad in the clothing of a servant, a rough and dirty woolen tunic and hose that had seen better days. On her feet were shoes that were too large for her. On her hands and knees, she wept hysterically.
Gruffydd was the first one to move toward her, reaching down to pick her up. “Get up, Melusine,” he said quietly. “No one is going to harm you.”
Melusine threw herself at him, clinging to him. “Gruffydd,” she sobbed. “Are you well?”
He peeled her away from him. “I am well,” he said. “Are you?”
She nodded unsteadily. “I am unharmed.”
Gruffydd frowned. “Then stop weeping,” he said. “You are making a fool of yourself in front of Lord Hereford.”
Like a magic pill, that request caused her to instantly quiet. She looked at Gruffydd with big, watery eyes, wiping at her face with the back of her dirty hand and smearing dirt down her cheek. Then she looked at Christopher as if the man were going to eat her, but he simply indicated a chair next to the remains of Gruffydd’s meal.
“Sit, my lady,” he said politely. “You are safe here, I promise.”
Melusine didn’t seem capable of releasing Gruffydd, so he had to walk her over to the chair and force her into it. Still, she clung to him, looking like a hunted animal.
“They found me,” she told Gruffydd. “I tried to hide, but they found me.”
Gruffydd ended up sitting next to her because she refused to release him. “Calm yourself,” he told her, trying to unwind her fingers from his arm. “Get control of yourself, Melusine. There is no need to be so frightened. You have not even greeted Lord Hereford, who is our ally. Do not be rude.”
Melusine’s gaze moved from Gruffydd to Christopher, who was pouring himself more wine. “Hereford,” she repeated, her voice trembling. “That is de Lohr.”
“It is, indeed,” Christopher said. “Have you eaten, my lady? There is still food on the table if you are hungry.”
