They walked for an hour before Gressa held up her fist. Strian froze mid stride and watched Gressa as she silently pulled an arrow from her bow. She glanced at him and tilted her head slightly away from him, indicating she wanted him to get behind her. He had no intention of hiding behind his petite wife. He returned her gesture with a scowl. Strian was sure Gressa would have huffed if she were not aware of danger. She knocked the arrow and took sliding steps forward not risking stepping on a twig. Once more she tilted her head, but this time she indicated Strian should follow.
It was only moments later that five bowmen dropped from the trees surrounding Strian and Gressa. She released the arrow she had at the ready and felled one of them. Strian drew his sword, but he was no match for an arrow. The archers would kill him before he could get within reach.
“Beth ydych chi eisiau?” Gressa asked them what they wanted. It was clear from their clothing they were Welsh. The length of their bows and their unique arrows confirmed it. Gressa strained to see their faces in the dim light of the forest. She suspected she knew who stood before her.
“Dydych chi ddim yn adnabod eich darpar wr?” One man stepped forward, causing Gressa to step back. She knew the man who asked if she recognized her future husband.
Strian watched as Gressa’s body language went from being on alert to rigid and defensive. He could not understand their words, but he understood his wife. He took a step forward, but an arrow landed at his feet as a warning. Gressa whipped her head around and bit out what sounded like an order.
“I recognize my husband just fine. I did the first time we saw each other at the Ross keep.”
“So, your Norse man has survived all these years. I suppose that’s him.” The man Gressa recognized as Rhys jutted his chin in Strian’s direction. “Such as shame you will be a widow and a bride in such a short time, or perhaps it is a blessing that I still want you.”
There was no response Gressa could give that would not make the situation worse. She would not lie and give Rhys a false sense of success, but she also could not tell him that she would die before marrying him as it would only encourage a violent reaction from a man she had avoided for years. Gressa had seen him at his most charming when he tried to seduce her, but she had also seen him when he did not know she was present. She had seen him mistreat more than one woman and abuse many slaves assigned to the royal home.
“My husband isn’t going anywhere and isn’t to have a hair on his head touched. Rhys, you know as long as we are in this country, Grímr will not let you have me. Killing my husband serves no purpose when I’m not yours to take, anyway.”
“Obviously we are not letting you get away, so are you turning your husband over as a prisoner?”
“Of course not. He’s an informant.” Gressa forced herself not to wince at the lie. She disgraced Strian’s honor by telling such a falsehood, but she feared it was the only way to keep him alive. “He has already agreed to move back to Wales with me. He is ready to be one of us.”
“And why would you tell him he could when you know a man awaits you?”
“And why do you insist upon something that can never happen?”
“It can if he’s dead.”
“We’re going in circles. Take us to the camp, and we will tell you what we know.”
Rhys observed her for a long moment before he nodded his head to the other men. They remained in a circle around the couple as they continued to walk through the trees.
“You’ll be furious with the deal I brokered.” Gressa spoke out of the side of her mouth. She knew the Welshmen could hear her, but it was not loud enough to sound like a conversation.
“I’m angry that man looks at you like he’s ready to strip you bare and bed you in front of me.”
“He probably would if he could, but he knows I’d kill him first. You’ve just met Rhys. The man who’s convinced he will marry me.”
“Wonderful. Another one of your secrets that comes out at the worst moment.”
Gressa looked towards Strian, but she had nothing to say.
“Did you plan for us to show up in Wales where a man is waiting to make you his bride? Did you not think that might complicate things?”
“It was one complication to returning to Dafydd’s court. It was one of many. I just didn’t name them all.”
“Woman, you test my patience beyond all resolve. It’s a good thing I love you.”
“I still haven’t told you the worst part.” Gressa tried to infuse her smile with some cheer, but she feared it was more of a grimace. “The only way to keep you alive is to make you sound useful. I told them we intend to return to Wales. Together. I told them you’re an informant.”
Gressa really did grimace when Strian turned to look at her, his face a thundercloud waiting to release its might.
“Before you say anything, Strian, listen to me. We don’t have to tell them anything that is true. They won’t know. We have their spies who got the best look at the homestead chained to the pillory post. Dead men don’t talk. Besides the spies never mentioned Rangvald. They don’t know the combined forces are there. We feed Grímr and Rhys misinformation.”
“You’ve left us with little choice. Neither of us should have been foolish enough to wander so far into the woods or to think we could spy any better than the men our tribe caught. What about Grímr’s threats to me? It seems Rhys has relented and won’t see me dead by nightfall, but what of Grímr?”
“I don't know.” Gressa’s stomach churned with fear that the only way to keep Strian might require her to once again sell herself in exchange.
“Don’t even consider it. I’ll kill myself before I force you to give your favors to that man, any man.”
