Nicole Locke - In Debt To The Enemy Lord

He was Teague, Devil of Gwalchdu and the Traitor. He was a legend with the sword, a Marcher Lord of King Edward and her sworn enemy. And here she was lying in his bed. But she was no coward.

‘Yes, I hear you,’ she answered.

He nodded, before his eyes skimmed down to her legs.

Her bare legs.

Before she could cover herself, Teague closed the distance between them and tossed the covers roughly over her. When he did not step back from the bed, she was forced to look up.

‘You should not move,’ he ordered. ‘Are you well?’

Teague of Gwalchdu stood before her. Why hadn’t she recognised it immediately when Edith was the only one in the room, when there might have been a chance to escape? How could she have been such a fool? But how could she have imagined she’d ever be brought to hell?

Without turning, he addressed Edith and Greta. ‘Leave us.’

Frustration swamping her, she watched as Edith and Greta closed the door behind them. She was alone with the man who had torn her family apart and had brought the ruination of Brynmor. She had dreamed of meeting him face to face, but not when she was so weak she could barely sit up.

He narrowed his eyes, assessing her. ‘No, you’re not. You’re far too pale and that bruise is likely to continue spreading before you are healed. Does it hurt?’

‘Do you care?’

He ignored her. ‘Who are you?’

‘Is it important?’

He lowered his arms to his sides. It was clear he wanted an answer.

She didn’t feel like giving him one. He didn’t know who she was, or more specifically where she came from. It was no secret Brynmor and Gwalchdu were enemies. If she could keep her identity from him for long enough, perhaps she could escape.

‘If you don’t provide me with a name, I will give you one of my own.’

‘Anwen,’ she bit out.

‘Anwen?’ he asked and his tone implied he expected more.

‘Yes, Anwen,’ she said, repeating her name slowly as if he didn’t understand her.

‘Have I missed anything?’

It was this man’s brother, the golden one, who opened the door. He looked so different to Teague. His reputation was different, too. This man had been too young to fight in the Welsh wars. To him she would be civil.

‘Rhain?’ Anwen said.

‘Yes!’ Rhain grabbed a stool and a chair and set both by her bedside.

‘Do you remember anything else?’ Rhain asked, sitting on the stool.

She shook her head once. It was safer to pretend.

‘No one has told you of this place?’ Teague did not take his eyes from hers.

‘No,’ she answered.

‘You would want to know who we are and where you are, I imagine.’ Teague’s voice had grown silky, his mouth shaped into a mock of a smile. ‘How rude of me not to introduce myself, especially since you have supplied so much information to me.’

He sat on the chair Rhain had placed near the bed. He was now so close she could see the growth of his beard, the deep furrows around his mouth. His lips held an odd curve, making them full, soft, yet harshly masculine at the same time. Without releasing her gaze, he answered, ‘I am Teague, Lord of Gwalchdu.’

She could say nothing as her worst suspicion was confirmed. She lay in the bed of Gwalchdu’s lord. ‘Gwalchdu’ meant ‘black hawk’ and there was no more evil a bird in all of Welsh myth. The name fit this place and the traitor who now sat before her.

‘So you have heard,’ he said, gauging her reaction.

‘I have heard, but have seen nothing.’ She tried to keep her eyes unreadable. She had hated this man all her life. She would not back down now, despite the pounding in her head.

He gave a curt nod. ‘You are wise to be blind. But it seems you watch now.’

This was no word game he played with her. This was no pastime of a bored nobleman and there was no false smile on his face.

Anwen tensed and immediately regretted it as her body protested. It would take all her resources to escape. But she had herself. That had proven enough in the past and it would prove enough now.

‘I don’t watch so much.’ Anwen tried to get her thoughts together as pain slashed across her left temple. ‘I’ll watch even less once you let me go.’

Rhain stood. ‘We should go. It is clear you are unwell and have need of rest.’

Rhain glanced at Teague, but the lord’s gaze locked with Anwen’s. For a moment she didn’t think he would answer.

‘She needs time, Teague,’ Rhain argued.

‘Call for Ffion.’ Teague’s voice was low, but not soft.

* * *

Anwen did not breathe again until the two men closed the door. She was trapped. Trapped by a huge giant of a man with eyes as dark as obsidian. Eyes she knew matched his soul. She knew his name, as a person knows the name of evil. At Brynmor, the people did not even whisper his name aloud without crossing themselves and he had sat so close to her she’d noticed the slight shadows under his eyes.

Why would she notice he was tired? He was the Traitor. Dear God, she was beholden to the Traitor of Gwalchdu! It was clear he had saved her life by bringing her here. But now she recognised him, she wondered at his motive. She doubted it was kindness or gentleness. She’d seen his eyes caressing her bare legs; his motive could not be kindness.

The pain was increasing, but she must fight it. She put a hand to her head, the thick dressing holding its shape; if only the dizziness didn’t increase, as well. The Traitor wanted something from her and she had no intention of staying to find out what. Anwen pushed until she was able to sit up. For a moment she thought she would make it, then the room spun, and blackness overcame her.

* * *

‘Well, at least we know she is innocent of any treachery,’ Rhain whispered before they reached the bottom stair.

‘Do we?’ Teague walked through the entrance into the rare winter sunlight. He headed towards the gardens. It was wash day and the shrubbery was covered in linens.

Rhain followed. ‘She called herself Anwen. Since we know Brynmor is missing someone by that name, we know she belongs to them. Now it will be simply a matter of letting her rest until we can return her.’

Teague sat on a bench and stretched his legs. He admired the newly tilled and almost bare garden, knowing his winter larder was full. ‘But she didn’t say she was from Brynmor.’

‘She didn’t?’ Rhain thought for a moment, then shrugged. ‘So?’

‘So, she could have been given that information.’

‘What significance can it have? All manors have sworn allegiance to Edward.’ Rhain sat, and adjusted the dagger at his waist.

‘All manors have, but not all the people.’

‘You think that woman is a threat?’

‘Yes. When she practises deception and tells us nothing.’

Rhain shrugged. ‘Does it matter since we know her identity and her home?’

‘It matters that she deliberately hides facts. What else is she hiding?’

Rhain fingered his dagger’s hilt. ‘She suffered a severe head wound and could have mistaken your questioning.’

‘No, I saw her eyes on me when I entered the room. She knew who I was. She is hiding something.’

Rhain pursed his lips before answering. ‘She has been deeply hurt, Teague. Let her go. She can have no knowledge of what plagues us here.’

Teague scuffed his foot through the rough dark dirt. Many razed stalks were bare, but protected by compost. Come spring, he was sure the herbs would be flavouring his meals. Yet he wasn’t sure of the woman in his bed. He couldn’t take a chance on her innocence. ‘Like hell I will.’

* * *

It was the time of night that was almost day, but despite the hour, she could feel he was there. She was too tired to fight and didn’t open her eyes. ‘Why are you here?’