Page 70 of King’s Knight

By the time the horses were rested and fed and Alex had packed a few things he would need, Rory and Guy had returned to the hall and people were gathering for the evening meal. He had told his mother of his plan to go after Merewyn and thus any feast should be delayed. Maggie had urged them to eat, even ordering the servants to bring their food to the table early.

Alex was anxious to be going. Only a few hours of daylight remained.

When he told his father of his intention to bring Merewyn back, the reply had been terse. “I see. Well, best be about it then.”

The meal was served and, having been nearly starved for a month, Alex and his fellow knights dove into their trenchers piled high with salmon and roast duck.

“Eat hearty, lads,” said Maggie coming to their table. “Ye look like half o’ yerselves.”

Alex smiled up at her. The kindhearted housekeeper worried over them like a mother hen. Rory might be her grandson, but she had coddled the three of them since the day they were born.

He was enjoying the taste of home and the enticing smells of the roast duck and the herbs rising from the salmon, but all the while he ate, he kept thinking of Merewyn suffering the cold night as she traveled the same road they had taken to Chester. What did she have to eat and where did she stay? He hoped this Owain was a noble sort, else Alex would carve out his heart, no matter he was Rhodri’s nephew.

Alex had wanted to depart after they finished the meal but in between bites, Rory argued they should leave on the morrow. “They will stop for the night and so must we.”

“Aye,” Alex conceded. “ ’Tis probably best to ride with the dawn when we can see the path before us.”

“I agree,” put in Guy, washing the last of his duck down with his wine. “I like not riding over rough ground when ’tis dark. We did enough of that with William and the only result was some lame horses.”

Alex was glad his companions had been willing to go to Wales, given they had only just returned home and there was great risk because of the animosity between the two countries. He wanted Merewyn back, safe in his arms. If they rode fast, he might be able to catch up with Owain before he took Merewyn over the Welsh Marches. Once in Wales, three Norman knights would be an easy target, dead before he could say his family was friend to Rhodri. Facing one skilled longbowman was enough. He had no desire to face hundreds.

“All right,” he reluctantly agreed, “but we leave at first light.”

* * *

They were not far from Chester when Owain pulled rein and turned to face her. “We will stop here. There’s a stream just over there where we can water the horses.” He came and lifted her down from her pony and untied her hands, which he always did when she needed to drink, eat or relieve herself. She had changed to her archer’s clothing the first night because the clothing was more comfortable and less unwieldy.

It was the same trip Merewyn had made in the summer with Lady Serena, Alex and the others, but now the days seemed much longer. She was weary and cold. Owain had told her they would not enter Chester but would cross Afon Dyfrdwy, the Welsh name for the River Dee, at a point west of the city.

Determined to wash the dirt from her face, she walked with Owain to the stream where he led the horses. As Ceinder drank, Merewyn bent down on one knee, threw back her hood and scooped water in her hands, splashing it onto her face. The water refreshed her. She lifted another handful to her mouth to drink.

Her mind raced with thoughts of what was to come. They would soon be in Wales. Would Rhodri bring her back to Talisand if she asked? He had done so once before when war threatened. Mayhap he would do so again. At the very least, she could send Alex a message.

She rose from the ground, brushed the loose dirt from her cloak and walked to Ceinder. Stroking the pony’s neck, she said, “You have done well, my friend.” The mare raised her head and nuzzled Merewyn’s hand. “I’ve no oats for you, but soon.”

Owain stood nearby watching his pony drink, one hand on his bow tied to his saddle next to hers. “Come here and I will retie your hands. It won’t be long until we leave the road for Wales and then ’tis just a few days to my home.”

“You are taking me to your home, not Rhodri’s?” she asked, startled by the news.

Before he could answer, a familiar voice caused her to whip her head around to peer into the dense growth of alder trees some distance away. “You take what is mine, Welshman! Let her go.”

Alex! She thrilled to hear his voice, to know he was here, but how had he found her?

Owain grabbed his bow and two arrows and shoved her behind him. “Who speaks?” he asked, his eyes narrowed on the woods as he nocked the first arrow.

Alex stepped from the trees. “Alexander of Talisand. I come for Merewyn.”

Merewyn’s heart leapt to her throat. He was here! He was alive and, to all appearances, whole. Oh, Alex.

“Ah, the Red Wolf’s cub,” Owain said, holding his bow before him, his fingers on the string. “You shall not have her. You do not deserve her. I am taking her to Wales where she will become my wife.”

“That would be rather difficult,” Alex said, tossing Merewyn one of his rare smiles. “I may not deserve her, but she is already my wife and what I claim, I keep. She will never be yours.”

Merewyn inhaled sharply, shocked by his words. Did he say them to convince Owain to let her go?

“You lie, Norman!” Owain spit out.

Alex drew his sword, the sound of the steel sliding from the sheath loud in her ears. He stepped forward, his sword grasped firmly in his hand. He must look this way in battle as he confronted the enemy, his stance sure, his sword raised and his dark presence threatening.