The Warlord's Bride. Margaret Moore

was by no means certain.

      “Unless I’m losing my capabilities, I’m sure Madoc does want you,” Lloyd continued so enthusiastically, it suddenly seemed a shame to ruin his expectations. “Ever since Gwendolyn died, he’s had women chasing him and men trying to marry him off to their daughters or sisters, but he’s never had that gleam in his eyes he gets when he looks at you, my lady.”

      This was surely empty flattery. She hadn’t noticed any special gleam in Lord Madoc’s eyes when he looked at her.

      Haven’t you? a small, hopeful voice whispered. Haven’t you felt his desire calling to your own?

      No, she had not. She must not. To listen to the urges of her body was folly.

      Lloyd led her along a path that skirted the village at the south end of the castle, sparing her the necessity of walking through the market square, where more people would no doubt stop and stare at her. Whether he had done so on purpose or not, she wasn’t sure, but she was grateful nonetheless.

      The narrow river ran between banks of mossy red stones. A small, crooked wharf had been built close to the village and low-drafted boats were tied there or pulled up on the bank close by. Across the river was a forest of willow, ash and oak, pine and alders, so close together it was as if the trees were competing to see which one could reach the river first.

      Farther downstream she could hear the happy shouts of children at play and the occasional sharp reprimand of a mother. The language was Welsh, the tone universal.

      “Ah, like heaven itself, isn’t it?” Lloyd said with a sigh as they walked around a curve of the bank, so they were out of sight of the village, if not the high outer walls of the castle.

      He pointed at the grove of leafy alders ahead. “I told you it was a pretty spot.”

      “It is indeed,” she agreed, admiring the rugged beauty of the trees, rocks and river, with the rise of the mountain behind.

      Then they entered the grove, and Roslynn’s jaw dropped. A man was rising from the river—a completely naked man. His back to them, he stretched his long, powerful arms over his head as if he was worshipping the sun. Water glistened on his muscular torso, while his black, waving hair spread over his broad, powerful shoulders as he shook himself, like a great bear.

      The Bear of Brecon.

      CHAPTER FIVE

      BLUSHING WITH embarrassment, hot with indignation, Roslynn stumbled backward, almost tripping on her skirts. She immediately gathered them in her hands and walked swiftly away, the need to maintain some dignity the only thing preventing her from breaking into a run.

      Did Madoc ap Gruffydd think that she would be so overwhelmed by lust at the sight of his magnificent body that she would fall into his arms, begging to be his bride? Or had seduction been his aim, whether or not they wed? Had all his previous talk of honor been a lie after all?

      Had she been deceived again?

      “My lady!”

      She paid no heed to Lord Madoc’s uncle, nor did she slacken her pace. He must have been in on this…this disgusting exhibition, and here she’d been thinking him a kindly old man, who was perhaps a little too keen on his nephew remarrying and overly fond of drink.

      “My lady, please! Stop and let me explain!” Lloyd called, panting.

      He sounded as if he could scarcely draw breath, and while she didn’t think any explanation could ever excuse what had just happened, she would not have him fall ill, no matter what he’d done.

      As she waited, arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently, Lloyd came to a stop, breathing hard, his hand on his chest. “No need to rush off so, my lady! An accident, is all.”

      So he said, but the laughter in his eyes betrayed him.

      “Hear this,” she said. “This is the second time you’ve played me for a fool, and it will be the last. And if you and your nephew think seeing him naked is going to make me more keen to marry him, you’re wrong. Wimarc de Werre was as handsome as any maiden’s dream and he was the most evil, cruel, corrupt man in England. I will never again be swayed by such considerations.”

      “Madoc had no hand in this, I promise you!” Lloyd protested, apparently aghast. “It was all my doing.”

      She imperiously raised a brow. “He didn’t send you to bring me to the river so that I could see his exposed magnificence, such as it is?”

      “No. It was all my own idea, my lady. He came home hot and sweaty and needed a wash, so I suggested the river and I thought you…” He paused and took a deep breath. “Look you, my lady, he’s been alone too long. He needs a wife, my lady, and he likes you.”

      “No doubt my dowry won’t come amiss, either.”

      “I’d be lying if I said it wouldn’t be welcome, but money or not, I’ve never seen him look at a woman the way he looks at you. And a woman could do a lot worse than my nephew. You’ve got to admit, he’s a fine figure of a man.”

      “He could be another Apollo and that would matter less to me than how he treats the lowliest servant in his castle.”

      Lloyd’s eyes lit up like a torch. “Ah! Well, then, my lady—”

      “Uncle!”

      Madoc came striding toward them over the uneven ground. His wet hair dampened the shoulders of his leather tunic. The shirt beneath was open at the neck, and his swordbelt was slung low about his narrow hips, as if he’d dressed in a hurry. “What is Lady Roslynn doing here?”

      Regardless of the ire in his eyes, she faced him squarely. “I was asked to come to the river by your uncle—to talk to you, he said. Apparently he was under the mistaken impression that I would be anxious to marry you if I saw you naked. Let me assure you, my lord, lest you harbor any similar notions, that how my prospective husband looks—dressed or otherwise—is among the least of my concerns.”

      “And I assure you, my lady,” the lord of Llanpowell growled, his face reddening, “that had I known what my uncle intended, I would never have gone in the river.”

      Lord Madoc’s glance darted to his uncle, who had started to sidle backward toward the castle. “Where are you going, Uncle?”

      Lloyd stopped and spread his hands placatingly. “Why, back to the hall, of course, so you two can have a little time alone without that gloomy Norman watching over you like a crow in a treetop. You’re an honorable man and she’s an honorable lady, so why not use this opportunity to have a little chat? It’s not as if you’ll be slipping away for a romantic rendezvous, although—”

      “Uncle,” Lord Madoc warned.

      “Until later, then,” Lloyd said, and in spite of their anger, he gave them a grin and a shrug before he hurried away with absolutely no hint that he was short of breath.

      The sly trickster! Roslynn thought. He’d only pretended to be winded so that she would stop and listen to him.

      Fortunately, Lord Madoc seemed as annoyed by her arrival as she was at discovering him naked, so perhaps it had been Lloyd’s idea alone to bring her to the riverbank.

      As she reached that conclusion, her anger began to diminish. It lessened even more when Lord Madoc gravely said, “He’s my uncle and I love him, but he can be aggravation in the flesh when he gets an idea. He likes you, my lady, and wants us to wed and no doubt thought this a good way to encourage us. But believe me, that was his idea alone, not mine. If I’d had any inkling, I wouldn’t have been…”

      He flushed. “I wouldn’t have been in the river,” he finished almost defiantly, as if daring her to contradict him. “I’m no peacock to be preening as God made me, my lady.”

      He was so annoyed and flustered, her heart went out to him. She could well imagine how she would feel if the situations had been reversed and Lord Madoc had come