I join them under the table and ask who they’re raiding, how many spoils they’ve carried away, what they’ve burned. William spins out a story about a ford and an ambush and five thousand Norman knights. David slides against me and grips my hand, damp and sticky.
They’ll be out of danger. Untangled from the war Owain tried to “enhance” and free from his attempt at vengeance that they never should have been part of in the first place. They’ll be out of danger, and I’ll never see them again on this earth.
William holds his giggling sister’s smock like reins, tugging her left and right, while David sucks his thumb and waves his rag like a banner. The older boy talks faster, and now there are a hundred thousand knights and the ford runs red with blood and they have so much plunder that he needs David to bear some of it on his horse, so David slides away from me toward his brother, squealing, “I carry it! Me, I carry!”
Feet clomp past. Einion penteulu. There aren’t many reasons he’d come into the kitchen, and none of them are good. Cadwgan has released Nest and the little ones, and it must be that Owain will not let such a thing stand.
Einion penteulu must be here to kill them.
I put a finger to my lips and William pauses mid-sword-stab, head cocked. “It’s the enemy,” I breathe into his ear. “We must be quiet so we’ll not give away our position.”
William nods, grinning, and puts his own finger to his lips at David. David looks between me and his brother, eyes huge. I give him my miracle-girl smile. Absolutely nothing is amiss, this is all a game, and the enemy will never find us. David does not scramble back against me. He’s wary, but he stays near William and holds tight to his rag.
Einion penteulu stomps toward the rear of the kitchen, asks the cook something, swears, and heads outside once more. I wait till the echo of footfalls is gone some moments, then let out a long breath and turn to the little ones. They must keep out of sight till I can put a stop to this.
“You stay here and guard this border,” I whisper. “William, you’re the king. David, you’re penteulu. Don’t let the enemy past, and don’t let them take your livestock.” I pet Not Miv’s soft hair. “Stay together, and don’t leave your position.”
“Not go,” David says, and he grapples the end of my cloak into the same fist as his cloth scrap.
I shush him and glance at the door. Einion penteulu will be back when he can’t find them anywhere else. “I’ll be a scout. I’ll go find where the enemy is hiding. I’ll make sure he thinks we’re somewhere else.”
“Not go,” David repeats, doubling my cloak-end in his grip.
“Stand to, field captain,” William says cheerfully to him. “She’ll be back. She came to find us after we had to leave with that warbander all in a rush. Right, scout?”
David draws a sobby breath and wrings my cloak-end. If I pull away and leave, he’ll cry. If he cries, Einion penteulu will be back in a heartbeat, blade in hand. So I nod. Instead of saying farewell, like I came here to do. Then, because his eyes are so big and swimming, I tell him, “Duckling, I’ll always come back.”
“Told you,” William says to David as he gentles my cloak out of his brother’s fist. “You’ve your orders, scout. My field captain and I will ambush the next warband that happens past.”
“A good ambush needs quiet,” I remind them. “Hold your border here and stay together.”
I slide out from under the table. David makes a tiny puppy sound even as William whispers something in his ear and firmly closes his brother’s fingers around the red cloth square like it’s a fire iron.
I’ll find Owain. I’ll convince him. I’ll beg. I’ll promise him anything. He said no comfort, but that’s a world away from murder in cold blood.
I’ll go to Cadwgan if need be.
The yard is mostly empty, growing dark and freezing besides, and I’m halfway across when Rhys falls into step beside me, hooded and dressed for weather. He gestures to a handful of horses standing saddled near the well. Owain appears at the stable door with a groom. They speak briefly, and Owain passes him something round and silver while glancing over his shoulder at the hall.
“Hurry,” mutters Rhys, and he nudges me forward with the arm I healed.
I do as I’m told. Madog and his warband must be closer than anyone thought for us to take horse right now when we should be looking toward supper and bed. Cadwgan will be scrambling too, to set Nest up with an escort home. It’ll go hard for him if he’s not the one to give her and the little ones back to Gerald.
The little ones I just lied to. I’ll not be coming back. Not ever. I could have said farewell. Given them each one last hug.
Owain grins when he sees me and plants a kiss on my forehead. He holds out my rucksack, and I shoulder it as Einion penteulu appears like a ghost, holding the elbow of a cloaked figure I can tell at a glance is Nest just by the way she carries herself.
Surely Cadwgan is not fool enough to bid Owain return Nest and the little ones to Gerald. Even were that so, the children are still in the kitchen and not ready to travel. The rest of the lads are nowhere in sight, and Owain would ride in full force on such an errand. The horses are Cadwgan’s, though. I’d know that bridle tooling anywhere.
“Right then.” Owain steadies the stirrup of a bay mare and smiles at Nest, cold and dangerous. “Up you go.”
“Where are my children?” she asks.
Einion cuts his eyes to Owain and makes the warband field gesture for deception behind Nest’s back. Nest looks from me to Owain, then she buries an elbow in Einion penteulu’s ribs and tries to break away, but Einion has two handfuls of her cloak and she’s pulled up hard, choking, gasping. Owain seizes her wrist and waist, pinning her against him while Rhys draws steel and blocks the view from the hall with his turned back.
“Listen closely,” Owain growls in her ear, “and don’t you dare make a sound. Your brats will be fine. My father will see them returned to your whoreson coward husband, but you are coming with us to Ireland, and I swear before God Almighty and all the saints that I am prepared to make your captivity up to this point seem like paradise should you decide to make trouble.”
I cannot look at Nest. I should have known. I should have at least suspected.
Nest’s indrawn breaths are loud and shaky. At length she nods. A small motion. Small and helpless.
“Now get on that horse,” Owain says, “and be quick about it.”
Nest hoists herself into the saddle all in shudders like a puppet on strings. She takes the reins, and they slide limp like ribbons through her fingers. She doesn’t even flinch when Einion penteulu pulls her hood sharp across her face.
“We’re leaving here easy and slow,” Owain goes on, pulling his own horse about. “No notice. No alarm. No trouble.”
We do. We ride one after another through the yard, out the gate, and into the frigid twilight, and no one pays us any mind. We ride later than we should, till Owain is smacked in the face by low branches once too often and bids us halt and scratch out a camp. While Owain and Einion penteulu whisper-argue about security and visibility and Rhys stands by resigned, waiting to get the worst watch, I guide Nest into a stand of brush and push a field wineskin into her hands. She holds it but doesn’t drink.