Beauchamp Besieged. Elaine Knighton

spent the third day in a row combing the woods for his wolfhound and was in no mood for Giles’s usual sideways approach to bad news.

      “My lord, be easy. ’Tis a simple matter to get Hamfast back. All you need do is—”

      “A simple matter! These Welshmen hold my dog hostage and you say ’tis simple? What if they don’t feed him properly? What if he bites one of them, and they abuse him for it?”

      Raymond took a deep breath to banish the painful image of his huge, noble hound in the hands of fierce Welshmen. He smoothed the creases he’d made in Giles’s attire, then gave his friend’s broad chest a thump to indicate he’d finished mauling him. “Where exactly do they have him?”

      “At a deserted tower in Trefynwy.” Giles dropped the joint he’d been gnawing, and it fell into his trencher with a sodden plop. He licked his fingers, one by one. For all his knightly virtues, Giles’s table manners were abominable.

      Raymond looked to his empty bed, where Hamfast usually slept. “They seek to draw me in, well beyond the border, and play me some trick. What ransom have they demanded?”

      Giles cleared his throat. “Only you, my lord.”

      “Do not jest. Tell me truly.”

      “But I do. Lord Morgan has a comely daughter, one overripe for marriage. In fact, she was once promised to Parsifal, was she not?” Giles reached for his goblet and took a gulp of wine.

      Raymond closed his eyes briefly at the stab of sorrow his long-dead brother’s name still evoked. Percy, a brave knight of tender years and tender heart. Would that he had come home from the crusade and taken this Welsh maiden. Another marriage, be it to Helen of Troy, was a dread prospect for himself. “Nay. I will simply storm their defenses and retrieve Hamfast.” Ever restless, Raymond fumed and paced, his hands clasped behind his back. Still, for the good of his people, he had to at least consider the idea. “What does Morgan expect to gain? How will Rookhaven benefit?”

      Giles belched and carefully wiped the corners of his mouth with the pad of his thumb. “We are like lame wolves in a herd of wily sheep. Always hungry and never satisfied, worn out with constant moving from uprising to uprising. So, if there is peace between you, both will benefit. And the dowry she brings contains the crossroads of Llanmadog.”

      Raymond paused to consider. He had needed control of that area for years. With it in his possession, his western borders would enjoy security. He could better conserve his strength for the final push against Alonso—if it wasn’t already too late. But there was no room in his life, nor in his heart, for any woman, much less a wife. He glanced at Giles. The handsome knight had tied back his thick, dark hair with a leather thong. He seemed able to accommodate any number of women, and his heart never became entangled with any of them.

      Whereas with himself and Meribel…never had a lady been better loved, or caused more grief. Raymond pinched the bridge of his nose. “What does this overripe girl look like?”

      “She is beautiful, of course.”

      It was as well Giles’s hair was pulled back, for a hint of red crept into the curves of his ears. He was hiding something. Raymond crossed his arms. “Is that so? What good fortune. Tell me the color of her eyes.”

      “I did not get that close.” The knight’s cheeks pinked.

      “Her hair, then?”

      Giles bloomed a vivid, rosy hue and said nothing.

      “You missed that, too?” Raymond’s impatience waxed. “Is she short, tall, plump? Let me guess. You rode up to their gates and conducted the entire farce as a shouting match without ever dismounting. You saw no proof that Hamfast still lives!”

      “I have it on good authority that the maiden resembles nothing so much as an angel, in both form and disposition,” Giles said indignantly. “She is fond of dogs,” he added, “and would never countenance him coming to harm.”

      “Whose authority? A shepherdess on her back with her skirts up to her waist, no doubt.”

      “Well, I…”

      Raymond shook his head. “Giles, you will never change. We both know where your brains reside.”

      “Aye. How long has it been, Raymond? Is that why your temper is so short?” Giles speared a piece of meat and eyed it as though it were a tantalizing morsel of peacock, instead of tough, cold mutton.

      Raymond stared at his friend. From habit his fingers tightened around his dagger hilt. Giles could needle him like no one else. Except perhaps Alonso. “Methinks you know me not at all, sir. Shall I bemoan my sad lack of romantic exploits and accept the offers of your leftovers? Or should we parley with these barbarians and rescue my hound in proper form?”

      “I believe the latter would be for the best, my lord,” Giles said with surprising primness. He actually sniffed, giving Raymond some small satisfaction.

      “There is one other thing….” Giles began.

      “Aye?” Raymond leaned down and set the toppled bench back on its feet with a loud crack.

      “Her uncle is Talyessin.” Giles sucked his teeth.

      “So? Wales is full of Talyessins.”

      “The Talyessin.”

      Raymond blinked as this information penetrated. He had not been privy to the details of his late brother’s engagement. At the time he had been profoundly absorbed in more important concerns, namely, staying alive on a battlefield in France.

      The Talyessin. A mighty Welsh lord, maneuvering himself from the north to rule the whole of Wales. His kinsmen’s expert archers had left Raymond with the near-fatal thigh wound that had cost him a full summer of recovery. The stench of the infection had kept Meribel away from him, had sent her looking for other, prettier amusements. He still favored that leg.

      “Does he approve of this match, or is this an independent scheme of Morgan’s?” Raymond knew he could not escape the marriage, if backed to the wall by both of the powerful Welshmen. Not alone, and not with his prized dog in their hands. Men far greater than he, condemned to death, had purchased their very lives with the likes of Hamfast.

      “He agrees with Lord Morgan, that they are well served by persuading you to form an alliance.” Giles wiped the grease from his eating dagger with the hem of his surcoat.

      “An alliance based upon treachery. It goes against my grain. But, there is the happy thought that my righteous lord brother would find my new domestic arrangements intolerable.” Raymond rubbed the carved stone head of a knight, sitting on the chessboard he’d had built into the table, and sighed. “I will do it. But if this girl causes any trouble, back she goes.”

      “Of course.” Giles grinned. “But she’ll be butter in your hands, I have no doubt.”

      A soft knock sounded at the door.

      “Come!” Raymond frowned. What now?

      His cousin-by-marriage, Blanche, peeked into the solar. As ever, her hair was modestly hidden beneath her head cloth. She wore an unadorned kirtle of russet wool, which lent her graceful form more elegance than any amount of finery.

      “Forgive me, my lord, I did not know you were occupied.” Blanche curtsied deeply and immediately turned to leave.

      “A moment, lady.” She lifted her head and Raymond could see in her silver-grey eyes that she was nervous before him. A penniless widow, Blanche and her daughter had been thrust into his care by her mother-in-law, his aunt Clarisse. A cunning old witch if ever he knew one. He would try to put Blanche at ease.

      “Please, be seated.” Raymond indicated his own place by the fire. She hesitated, then warily sat in the heavy oak chair. Giles followed her every move with his smoldering gaze.

      “Tell me what brings you here. I am at your service.” Raymond did not attempt a smile, but he did speak softly and avoided