Hands reached down to roughly yank de Worth from his chair. Struggling against the Welsh resisters, Charles sought Owen’s gaze in desperation.
“Why is it necessary for you to know my purpose?” he demanded, a substantial fear gripping him.
Owen eyed him. “As I said, it would appear that you lured my men into an ambush with tales of Henry’s bastard daughter, who was amply protected. Explain your motives for divulging her location and I may be merciful.”
De Worth’s face was a sickly white, beads of perspiration on his brow. After a moment, he swallowed hard, his resistance lessening. He knew, as he lived and breathed, that he had no choice but to admit the humiliating truth.
He swallowed again, nodding his head in resignation. “Very well, if that is what you require to realize that I am not involved with any subversive activity.” Immediately, the hands that had grasped him so brutally fell away, leaving him weak and disheveled. Charles groped for the chair, collapsing against the leather seat. “I was captain of King Richard II’s household guard for almost ten years. My wife and I lived on the castle grounds, happy but for the fact that we had no children. You see, I had an accident as a young man that left me barely able to…. function. Although we thought, mayhap, we would be blessed with a son someday, it became apparent that fortune was not with us.”
Owen listened carefully. “Continue.”
Charles sighed. “We ceased our physical relationship all together after several years. We had not had marital relations in well over two years when I noticed that my wife was beginning to put on a good deal of weight. I questioned her about it, but she insisted it was nothing. She continued to grow and grow and I paid little heed until one night she seemed to be most uncomfortable. I went about my scheduled rounds and when I returned at dawn, she was exhausted and pale and slept heavily until noon. It was not until days later that I realized….” he paused, wiping at his sweaty face. “I realized that she had given birth. Knowing the child was not mine, I set out to find the babe with a vengeance. Until I discovered that the child was in protective custody.”
Owen was seated, listening intently. “Protective custody? I do not understand.”
De Worth met his gaze, his eyes glittering with an old pain. “Royal custody, my lord. ’Twould seem that my wife had shared an affair with the Duke of Bolingbroke and the child was his.”
Owen’s eyes widened. “Henry!”
“Exactly,” Charles nodded, his gesture slow and weary. Noting the varied expressions of disbelief and understanding about him, he shrugged vaguely. “Now you understand why I have taken such an interest in Henry’s bastard. My vengeance shall come when he least expects it.”
“But what of your wife? Did you kill her for her betrayal?” Owen asked quietly, curiously.
De Worth shook his head. “I never got the chance. Henry sent her away to Whitby Abbey in Yorkshire and I have not seen her since.”
A peculiar gleam came to Owen’s eye. Passing a glance at David, he noted the same odd expression glazing his cousin’s features, an expression that caused his own uneasiness to increase with each successive moment. When he returned his attention to the fatigued English knight, he realized his hands were beginning to quake.
“Did your wife have a name?”
“Ellyn,” de Worth’s voice was barely a whispered.
Owen’s breathing suddenly became a harsh, ragged gesture. He rose abruptly, toppling his chair in the process and moving to right it with shaking hands. He couldn’t seem to control the violent tremors that had infected his movements and he struggled to keep the same quiver from his voice. “Lloyd, show our English friend a bit of food and ale. He’s free to leave when he’s rested.”
The silent Welsh soldier waited patiently for Charles to regain his composure, escorting the man from the tent as the English knight rose to unsteady feet. With a lingering glance at the Welsh prince, a silent gesture of shame and remorse, Charlesde Worth quit the tent in favor of a hot meal and a measure of much-needed rest.
When his boot falls faded, David turned to Owen with an expression of utter astonishment. “It’sher.”
Owen nodded vaguely, his hand over his mouth as he attempted to rein his reeling thoughts. “I never imagined…. God’s Blood, how were we to know? Of all the knights in England, how is it possible that we should come acrossherhusband?”
David’s astonished expression gave way to a pale countenance as he paced the frozen ground, lost in his own thoughts. “I haven’t seen Ellyn since she left for London. We received word from her only twice since; when she married, and when she pledged her servitude to Whitby.”
Owen eyed his cousin, the impact of the discovery weighing heavily on his shoulders. What had begun as a simple fact-finding endeavor had become a monumental discovery and he was having difficulty grasping the facts. But they were indisputable.
He finally sighed, shrugging off his shock. “You never did discover why your sister took her vows at Whitby?”
David shook his head, raking his fingers through hair the color of a raven’s wing. “Never. I tried sending her several missives, but received no reply until a simple message came from the abbess herself informing us that Lady Ellyn or, more correctly, Sister Repentia, had taken an oath of solitude.”
Owen closed his eyes in a gesture of disbelief. The tremors that had seized his body were gone now, replaced by an odd weakness. “How can I use my own cousin against my mortal enemy?”
David looked at him. “The Princess Arissa is my niece, for Christ’s sake. How do you think I feel? Lyle and I were less that kind with her during the abduction. And when I think of Lyle inmortal combat with Richmond le Bec as Arissa lay unconscious in the mud….”
He closed his eyes and looked away, unable to continue. Owen meandered to the dying vizier, putting his hands against the warm iron.
“Le Bec never saw you, did he?” he asked.
David shook his head, fighting off a deeper remorse. “I was too far away, shielded by the rain and the chaos of the fighting. I did not even see Lyle’s final minutes, for I knew that le Bec would be the victor and I had no desire to face him. I knew I had to return to you with confirmation of Princess Arissa’s whereabouts,” he suddenly slapped at this leather-covered thigh, emitting an explosive hiss. “She’s my niece. Christ’s Sake, Owen, do you realize what this means? We are related to the King of England!”
Owen did not say anything for several agonizing moments as both men pondered the revelation. Owen seemed to be riveted to the dying embers of the vizier as David continued to pace, remembering the beauty and frailty of his niece. He could scarcely believe the evidence, but believe he did. Thinking back, he realized that she looked a good deal like his sister and only now did the uncanny resemblance have a measure of meaning. She was his blood– she wasOwen’sblood.
