His Captive Princess Read Free

at the form taking shape across the river. Blue skin, sagging and shriveled, glistened on a skeletal female body wading into the current up to its ghostly knees.
    Eleri felt cold sweat break on her skin and swallowed. Gwrach y Rhibyn. The ugly woman.
    She longed to shout at the horrid wretch, to beg her to leave them alone. But it was no use. Although Eleri had witnessed the sight countless times, the hag of the mist never paid her any attention.
    As Eleri now stood hugging herself from revulsion and the sheer terror of anticipation, the cyhyraeth began her ritual.
    First, she stared through orb-less eyes into the distance. Then her lips turned down at the corners, trembling, and she wept as she washed her birdlike hands.
    Eleri listened for the fateful omen, tears pricking her eyes, too, and then there it was—
    “Fy mab, fy mab!” Gwrach y Rhibyn sobbed as she wrung her bony fingers. “Fy mab, fy mab!” My son, my son. A chill went up Eleri’s spine as she brushed the moisture from her eyes with the back of her hand. Nay. She must be wrong. Then as silent as death, the creature rose from the water in a beam of frosty blue light and vanished back into the black forest.
    Eleri let out her breath. Just once she would like to see the ugly woman appear and disappear without saying a word. But it was never to be. There was always a Cymreig victim.
    Yestereve, Gwrach had cried, “My husband, my husband,” leaving Eleri to only guess which of the married warriors would fall in their planned ambush, and no way to warn Iolo before he died. This time, Gwrach’s prediction left Eleri no doubt whose death had been foretold. There were no sons among her husband’s warriors. Only Lew. The youngest.
    Nay! Not Lew.
    The prince was alive and well, no sign of illness to kill him. Could he have somehow sealed this fate by allowing the death of the prisoner? The Norman was the last of his conroi. His fatal end at Lew’s hands would be noted by his king. Other soldiers would come to avenge the slaughter. The Council would then blame the mistake on her brother-in-law even though it wasn’t his idea. Ultimately, the prisoner’s death could bring Lew’s.
    Of course. That was it. Even if it wasn’t the reason, she couldn’t take any chances.
    Eleri broke into a run for the great hall, praying she wouldn’t be too late.
    Their captive must live.

Chapter Two
    By Deheubarth law, as their dywysoges ,or princess, Eleri could fight alongside her men, but she had no say in the meetings of the Council. She found the exclusion absurd, and had needed to remind herself that she wasn’t their kind.
    Born to the royal Aberffraw family of Gwynedd, she had been allowed to address her father’s court at home, with its mix of noble and baseborn men such as the leaders, lords and fighters of the Deheubarth. It rankled knowing that in her husband’s castell she was considered less than these men.
    With these venomous thoughts thrumming behind her temples, she charged through the heavy wooden doors of the great hall and pushed her way between the shoulders of the warriors to reach the table of the mighty lords.
    She stopped directly across from Lew’s chair and bowed with a formal air they never used in private. “Your Highness, forgive me.”
    Perhaps it was her father’s fault for raising her to think for herself. Or perhaps it was Owain’s. Sometimes she allowed her late husband’s resentment of some of his kin to sway to her opinion, clouding her judgment, but she couldn’t help thinking that had it not been for the arrogance and weakness of the Deheubarth, the kingdoms of Cymru would still be under the rule of their native people.
    Standing beside her, Lord Vaughn bristled. “ Dywysoges , you should not be here.”
    He put a gloved hand on her arm and she wrenched away. His touch revolted her, along with his deep-set eyes that lingered on her longer than the offensive hand.
    “And you should not be addressing me.” While Owain was