Richmond sighed sharply. “I have heard enough nonsense,” he snapped. “Henry, if we have nothing more to say to one another, I shall be on my way. I grow weary of this conversation.”
Owen was already moving for the tent flap, preparing to drive his point home. “This conversation may be tiresome, but it is necessary,” peering from the tent flap, he motioned to the soldiers outside. After a moment, he sealed the flap and fixed his gaze on Richmond. “If you would be so kind as to move to the opposite side of the tent with Hotspur, my lord.”
Richmond was out of patience. As he opened his mouth to insult the Welshman, Henry interrupted his tirade. “Do as he says, Richmond. Please do not be difficult.”
Richmond looked to Hotspur. “Difficult? Damnation, Henry, we were doing quite well by ourselves until….”
“Please, Richmond,” Hotspur snapped softly in a display of real emotion. “Listen to him, I implore you.”
After a long, highly-annoyed moment, Richmond tossed the chalice of wine to the ground and marched to the opposite side of the tent. Flustered and agitated, he took to raking his fingers through his damp hair and grinding his teeth. He hardly noticed when the tent flap opened, spilling forth several figures.
Chewing his lip in an agitated gesture and crossing his arms as he pondered the insanity of the situation, his entire body jolted as he heard his name spill forth from a very familiar, very beloved voice.
“Richmond!”
Instinctively, he groped for the sword at his side that was non-existent and he nearly stumbled to his knees in his haste to move in the direction from whence the pleading voice had come. But strong hands were on him, preventing him from moving forward, and he heard the unmistakable chime as swords were unsheathed from their scabbards, the glistening steel aimed at his heart.
In that horrified moment, he hoped he was dreaming as his gaze fell upon Arissa. Surrounded by several Welsh soldiers at the entrance to the tent, her face was as pale as the snowy mountaintops and, by her expression, he could see that she was equally surprised to see him.
The harsh reflection of broadswords blinded him in the dim light, rods of death aimed at halting his advance towards his lady. He could hear Hotspur whispering desperate words in his ear, attempting to calm him before he ran amuck in a fit of insanity and death, and he found himself torn between wanting to listen to the man and wanting to kill him for his treachery. Listening won over.
Arissa had begun to weep and Richmond was consumed with the vision before him. He simply couldn’t believe what his eyes were telling him, filling his mind with the black tides of disbelief even as he struggled to retain his grip on reality. Arissa washere, in the midst of the Welsh resistance. Owen, somehow, had managed to obtain her.
Suddenly, he understood a good deal of the Welshman’s irritating words. God’s Teeth, it was all painfully clear as he stared at the woman before him, more anguish filling him than he ever thought possible.
Before this night is through, you will pledge your loyalty to me.
“Oh, Riss,” he breathed, his chest heaving with emotion. “I am so sorry, kitten. Are you well? Have they harmed you?”
She was sobbing softly, swathed in the cloak he had given her. Her pale green eyes were wide with shock and fear, but she managed to nod faintly. “I am fine,” she whispered, her voice rising as she spoke. “Why are you here, Richmond? What is happening?”
He opened his mouth to explain, but truthfully, he was not sure how to answer. Owen, several feet from Arissa, moved toward the slight young woman with a good deal of sympathy in his expression.
“The Lady Arissa is aware that as my enemy’s daughter, she’s my guest for a time. Beyond that, I told her nothing more,” he said evenly. He had neglected to tell her of their blood relations, of her ties to both the crown and the Welsh rebellion. For all she knew, she was simply a captive as Henry’s bastard daughter.
Furthermore, le Bec had no knowledge of Owen’s ties to Arissa and he intended to keep it that way, for certainly, the knowledge could be used against him just as he was using the same factors against le Bec. The pain of blood relations went in both directions.
“It is not necessary that she be privy to the detailed political dealings of men and I have chosen not to enlighten her,” he continued, almost quietly. “Do you dispute my wisdom in this matter?”
Dazed as he was, Richmond was not daft. For Arissa’s sake, it would be best to allow her to believe the simplest explanation, not the more extensive dealings of factional intrigue. And having no knowledge of Owen’s relationship to his beloved, he couldn’t begin to imagine the precise depths of Glendower’s softly uttered statement. Had he known, he would have come to appreciate Owen’s sense of restraint; clearly, if both Arissa and Richmond knew the Welsh resistor was a cousin of Arissa’s mother, it would have made a grossly complex situation considerably more difficult.
But Richmond was unaware of the deeper connotations of blood ties; he had enough grief to deal with at the moment. After a lengthy pause, he lowered his gaze. “Nay,” he whispered, raking his fingers through his hair as he struggled against his shattered composure. “She does not need to know….”
He trailed off, unable to continue as he focused his attention on Arissa once again, drinking in the sight of her. Owen watched the meaningful expressions between them, the love and warmth filling the room even though they were separated by several feet. Feeling as if he were intruding on the intimate reunion, he cleared his throat softly to regain Richmond’s attention.
“I apologize for the blunt presentation of my guest, but I wanted you to understand my sincerity when I made my previous statement,” he motioning to the guards holding Arissa, indicating for them to remove her.
All of Richmond’s resolve to collect himself vanished as Welsh soldiers moved to handle Arissa; he broke from Hotspur’s grasp, throwing himself forward as a host of broadswords lurched towards him in response to his action. Startled, Arissa screamed in horror; Richmond was unarmed, without his usual protection, and she was terrified that he was about to end up impaled on the tip of a Welsh broadsword.
“No, Richmond!” she shrieked, extending her hands beseechingly to Owen. “Order them to sheath their swords, my lord! Please, before Richmond kills himself!”
Owen motioned sharply to his men, who were slow to obey. With Richmond uneasily restrained by Hotspur’s strength and Arissa’s words, Owen gazed at the man with a genuine concern.
“If you cannot control yourself, my lord, I will make it so that you will not see her again for some time,” he said seriously. “However, if you can guarantee your composure, I will allow her to remain for a short while.”
Richmond, unfortunately, could not vouch for his composure. His entire body was aching to hold her, to protect her from enemy hands. She was an unknowing pawn in a game of cataclysmic stakes and it nearly killed him to realize that, at the moment, there was nothing he could do to help her. He was being used as much as she was.
“Can…. can I hold her?” he whispered.
