Dark Deceptions: A Regency and Medieval Collection of Dark Romances(150)

Gryffyn slurped down the last of the watery stew. The flavor had been terrible but it was warm, and that was all that mattered. “William Marshal desires it,” he told Colvyn. “The man desires a foothold in Powys and now he has it.”

“A foothold for what?”

Gryffyn sucked the scraps of meat from his bowl and tossed it aside, watching the dogs fight each other for the privilege of licking it.

“Long have the Normans desired to conquer Wales,” he said, eyeing the short, dark man across the table from him. “You know this. They have already conquered southern Wales and now they move north. Today it will be Nether; tomorrow, mayhap it will be Castell Mallwyd. You must send word to your teulu for more men so that we can take Nether back and vanquish the English from our region. If we do not strike now and strike fast, all will be lost.”

It was an impassioned plea but Colvyn, unlike Gryffyn, was not quick to react. He was more methodical, and frankly, the story seemed a little far-fetched. He’d never heard of English attacking a fortress this deep into Wales, at least not without good reason. Conquest of the region, especially with winter bearing down on them, seemed odd. All skepticism aside, however, it was not an entire unlikely prospect. The English had been known to do stranger things. Torn between real possibilities and Gryffyn’s dramatics, he sighed heavily.

“There is some truth in what you say,” he replied. “I can think of no other reason for the Saesneg to attack Nether other than it must be a part of a greater plan. Mayhap of conquest, as you said. And you say your father was killed in the attack?”

Gryffyn nodded, appearing properly grieved. “The Saesneg warriors killed him because he resisted,” he replied. “Then they took my sisters as a prize.”

“But you escaped?”

“Only by the grace of God was I able to,” Gryffyn said, sounding properly convincing. “They tried to restrain me but I was able to break free. See this broken wrist? This is proof of their brutality.”

He was holding up his heavily bandaged wrist, one that Colvyn’s soldiers had set because Colvyn didn’t have a physic. His castle was too poor for that. Eyeing the wrist, Colvyn digested the story. He had known Gryffyn d’Einen for many years and they were friends, although Gryffyn at times had tested that friendship. He was a nasty man with a brutal streak and there were times that Colvyn had been disgusted by his actions.

Once, on a visit to Nether, he caught Gryffyn slapping Chrystobel, but Gryffyn had come up with a very plausible and convenient excuse for the action, and Chrystobel had kept her mouth shut out of fear. She’d neither condemned nor defended her brother, but the incident had left a bad taste in Colvyn’s mouth. Still, men had a right to discipline their women and Gryffyn was no exception. Colvyn gave him the courtesy of not questioning him further on the matter, even when he saw Chrystobel the next day with an eye swollen shut.

However, facts were facts – Gryffyn had never shown any real concern for his family, so his story of the his family at the hands of the English seemed questionable. Colvyn had been listening to it for over an hour. With that in mind, Colvyn contemplated his next volley of questions.

“That may be true,” he said. “They are a brutal race. But why have you come to me for help? You hold no real love or affection for your family, Gryffyn. Do you panic because the English seek to steal your legacy? Surely you do not wish for me to save your family from their clutches. They are probably better off with their Saesneg captors than they are with you.”

As he laughed quietly into his cup, Gryffyn struggled not to become enraged. If he did, Colvyn would throw him out and he would have nowhere to go. More than that, if he offended the man, he would lose his only real ally. Therefore, it was imperative to convince Colvyn that the English were bent on conquest of the region. There was no other way to force Colvyn to rally his men and, consequently, his very large teulu. The Gwynwynwyn teulu had hundreds of members at the very least. With that in mind, he decided to go for the man’s heart. It was the only way to get what he wanted and Gryffyn was a man who did not like to be denied his wants.

“They took Chrystobel,” he said. “We have no way of knowing what they have done to her in the time I have been gone. Rape and brutality is commonplace with them. Will you leave her to their clutches or will you help her?”

Colvyn’s general disinterest began to fracture. He was very fond of Chrystobel. He’d made no secret of that. He’d sent her gifts and messages for the past six months with the intention of asking for her hand in marriage at some point. The thought of the woman being a captive of Saesneg filth had his genuine concern.

“They have probably already marked her,” he muttered. “Like the dogs they are, they have marked her as their own. She is too beautiful to be left untouched. As fond as I am of her, I will not accept Saesneg leavings.”

Gryffyn appeared stricken. “Then you will not help her?”

Colvyn eyed the man. It was evident that he wanted help very badly but Colvyn wasn’t apt to give it so readily. Unlike many of his fellow Welshmen, he wasn’t particularly hot-headed. He was rather methodical and weighed all options before attacking. He set his cup aside, gazing intensely at Gryffyn.

“This is not my fight,” he said. “If I help you, then the Saesneg might come after me, too. It is true that Castell Mallwyd is difficult to reach, but it is not impossible and this place could not stand a siege. It would fall, and I cannot say I am willing to risk that.”