Heart's War (Heart and Soul) Read Free Page A

it.” His entire body tensed.
    “ My lord, I meant no—”
    “I know what you meant,” her father snapped. “Leave.”
    The fool took a breath as if to argue.
    “Now.”
    With a huff, and his nose held impossibly high, the nobleman left the gardens.
    Her father sighed heavily, pulling Rose tighter into his embrace. “Rose, my dear, you know I wish you to choose a husband, but praise the saints it was not that one.”
    She could not help the giggle that bubbled within her. “You taught me better than that, Papa.”
    He grinned down at her.
    She tugged on his hand and he followed her to a bench in the gardens. He made a strange noise in his throat.
    “Papa?”
    “’Tis the same bench where Gwen found me…when I decided to tell her about you and your mother.”
    She smiled and sat, lifting his arm so it draped about her shoulders and she was tucked firmly against his side. “Gwen is my mother now,” she said firmly.
    "Aye.” He hesitated. “Rose, you have kept your own counsel. Answer me truly. What do you think of the Welsh?”
    Only one Welshman came to mind, one who was the epitome of chivalry, one whose voice whispered in her dreams with the burr of the commoner’s tongue.
    “They are a noble people, Papa,” she said softly. “They deserve to live their lives and govern themselves as they see fit. Yet for the first time I have heard word of a united kingdom whispered. That is simply sound strategy on Longshanks’s part. I know I do not wish to face a threat from France or Europe with an enemy snapping at my backside.”
    As she spoke, her father’s smile grew. “Sweet Rose,” he murmured, hugging her tightly. “There is not a day that passes that I do not thank God for Brynmor bringing you home.”
    Rose’s heart leapt in her chest. “Papa, speaking of Brynmor—”
    “ My lord Montgomery!” a sentry cried.
    Her father’s head shot up.
    “A herald with armed men approaches the gates. They bear Longshanks’s livery!”
    Talon lunged to his feet. “Rose, fetch your mother,” he growled. “Men at arms, ready your weapons!”
    “My lord,” Marcus, the aging constable of Montgomery Castle, said as he fell in stride with her father. “Are you sure that is wise?”
    “Aye,” her father snapped as he strode for the gates. “Let them see Montgomery poised for battle and then we shall know their courage. Edward would expect nothing less.”
    ****
    “Damnation,” Brynmor muttered under his breath as he once again approached Llywelyn’s holding. The herald escorting him and the guard surrounding him made him wonder if he was actually under arrest this time, especially considering the result of the last meeting so many years ago. Yet this time the missive summoning him had been worded a bit more politely, although not much. It was still an order to appear before Llywelyn, an order Brynmor could not refuse.
    Once again, Brynmor, with his head high, his shoulders straight, and his stride resolute, entered Llywelyn’s hall. Not much had changed since his last visit, except Llywelyn appeared as if he had aged far more than the eight years that had passed.
    Brynmor dropped to one knee and bowed his head. “I bid thee fair greeting from Powys, Your Highness.”
    “Rise , Brynmor ap Powys,” Llywelyn said. He once again studied Brynmor intently. “Do you know the reason for my summons?”
    “My scouts have reported your brother moves troops against English holdings.” He paused and drew a deep breath. “Am I to understand your brother has returned to your grace, Your Highness?”
    Llywelyn’s jaw tightened subtly. “Aye , but I still have some concern over the details.”
    Brynmor swallowed hard , knowing that while Dafydd had been forgiven, Brynmor had not, even though he had nothing to do with the plot.
    “Five years ago, you betrayed me again.”
    His gut clenched. In 1277, Llywelyn had sought to increase his holdings and therefore his bargaining position with Longshanks by seizing more