The older man lifted the cup to his lips and drank. “I think not,” he said after a swallow. “As we speak, my men are in your bailey. They will soon be lifting the portcullis, and after that, the castle is ours. I’m afraid your men will all be prisoners within the hour. If, in fact, the castle really is yours.”
Elle didn’t want to admit that his scenario was very likely going to happen. She hadn’t even let herself entertain the thought until this very moment. She couldn’t stomach swallowing the reality of defeat, not after all of the fighting and planning she’d done. Not after everything she’d sacrificed.
It can’t happen!
“It is just as likely that my men will repel your men,” she said, trying to sound brave. “We have the advantage.”
“What advantage is that?”
“We want it more than you do.”
The older man shrugged as if that was, indeed, a possibility. “Mayhap,” he said. “But before we continue, may I introduce myself? I am the Earl of Hereford and Worcester. My name is Christopher de Lohr. May I know your name, my lady?”
That brought a reaction from Elle. She knew very well who the Earl of Hereford and Worcester was. Everyone on the marches did because he was a very important man. In fact, knowing who he was emboldened her. She wasn’t going to hide behind mystery, because her name, her family, had always stoodfor something strong and true. She was proud of the name. She was proud of her heritage. If this really was the moment of her defeat, perhaps being forthright with the enemy would do more good than calling him names and resisting him. To be perfectly honest, she knew that de Lohr was perhaps the one man in England other than the king who could give her back the castle.
Perhaps if she was honest with him.
Perhaps if he understood her.
She came out from underneath the cot.
“I know you to be a man of honor, my lord,” she said. “I know you by reputation. So did my father.”
“Who is your father?”
She hesitated. “If I tell you, will you bargain with me?”
“I will listen to you.”
She wasn’t sure if that meant he was willing to negotiate with her, but she was willing to take the chance. At this point, pragmatically speaking, she had nothing to lose.
According to him, she’d already lost.
“Do I have your word?” she asked.
He nodded. “You have my word that I will listen with respect to every word you say.”
That was enough for her. Since she was dealing with the man at the top and not one of his subordinates, she would tell him what he wanted to know.
“Gwenwynwyn ap Owain,” she said.
Elle thought that made him stand a little taller. De Lohr had been on the marches for as many years as her father, and they’d most certainly fought at one time or another. They were not strangers to each other, and, truth be told, there was respect for a good adversary. Elle could only pray that de Lohr felt that for her father as he’d felt it for Hereford.
“I know he had a son,” he said after a moment’s pause. “Two sons, I believe. Gruffydd and a second son that no one knows much about. The English call him the Wraith.”
“Gruffydd is my brother.”
“And your name?”
Her eyes glittered at him in the dim light of the tent. “I am Enid Avrielle ferch Gwenwynwyn.”
He cocked his head curiously. “I have lived here for many years and I’ve never heard of a daughter,” he said. “Who was your mother?”
“Margaret Corbet.”
He pondered that news. “I knew her father,” he said. “The Corbets hold Caus Castle and are, in fact, Norman. If you are being truthful with me, that makes you half English.”
Her hands found their way onto her arms as she embraced herself, trying to keep warm. “I am being truthful with you,” she said. “You have given me your word, and I shall give you mine.”
