reconsider.”
Bran-Bron thoughtfully rubbed his chin. “How long has it been since he’s had a woman? He should have called for Bronwyn.”
The brothers exchanged sage looks. It was well known that their sister Bronwyn was very talented in some regards, and they were justly proud.
“You know why not. He won’t go with a girl from here,” Dafydd said. “It would only cause trouble, he says. Jealousy and accusations of playing favorites. Who knows? Maybe he’s right.”
“Then you should have told him to go to Shrewsbury,” Eifion declared as a small avalanche of dust fell from the hole he had picked in the stone. “It’s too hasty, this marriage.” He lowered his voice to a suitably somber tone. “I foresee trouble.”
Dafydd gave him a look of disgruntled disgust. “Quit picking at that wall as if you’re trying to break from prison. And considering the usual way of your predictions, I feel a lot better. You said there was going to be a great snowstorm last winter and we had the most mild weather in years. You said we’d only have two hundred lambs and we had nearly three times that. You said two years ago your mother-in-law was going to be in her grave in a week and here she is still hale and hearty at eighty, although nobody blames you for being hopeful. You said Richard was going to take Jerusalem and our Connor come home covered in glory and … well, he didn’t. You should give over making predictions, Eifion, before you’re the laughingstock of Llanstephan.”
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” the reeve stubbornly insisted.
“You don’t need to be a seer to have that about this,” Jon-Bron noted, shaking his head. “A Scot. A merchant’s daughter. God save me, I never thought Caradoc would stoop so low. It’s a disgrace, that’s what, and we’ve got to stop him.”
“He’s been that worried, I was afraid he would do something drastic, but never anything so terrible as this,” Dafydd admitted as the others nodded in agreement. “We’ve got to save him. The question is, how?”
“Kidnap Father Rhodri?” Emlyn-Bron suggested.
Dafydd frowned. “You know he doesn’t need a priest. He could just announce it and there you are.”
“We could kidnap her .”
Dafydd grinned at Emlyn-Bron. “Now there’s a thought. Get her out of the tower somehow and onto a horse and take her to somebody’s farm until Caradoc has had time—”
“To do what?” their lord asked as he strode into the barracks.
The men jumped as if he had thrown a bucket of freezing water at them, and Caradoc could tell from their guilty faces that whatever they had been discussing, they didn’t think he would be pleased.
His impending marriage, no doubt.
There was an empty cot near the door, the last ever taken because it was colder there from the draft and farthest from the hearth. He put his clothes on it and sat, facing them with his hand clasped and his elbows on his knees.
“Look you,” he said, ready to explain because these men were his friends, and they led his people, too, “she’s brought a dowry of three thousand marks.”
He thought Dafydd was going to faint as he wobbled to the nearest chest and sat down. The three men already seated stared at him with their mouths open, looking like fish in a stall at a market. Eifion leaned back against the wall as if he was holding it up, not the other way around.
“Th-three thousand marks you said?” Dafydd finally managed to stammer. “Three thousand ?”
“Aye, three thousand in wine and cloth and gold and silver and jewels. That’s what the men unloaded from those wagons.”
Jon-Bron slowly came back to life and cleared his throat. “That’s, um, that’s quite a sum, Caradoc.”
“Isn’t it?” he genially agreed. “So how could I say no? None of the Welsh nobility have gone out of their way to help us, or make a marriage offer I could accept, so it’s marry Fiona or give up Llanstephan to the crown.” He spread his hands.
Bran-Bron thoughtfully rubbed his chin. “How long has it been since he’s had a woman? He should have called for Bronwyn.”
The brothers exchanged sage looks. It was well known that their sister Bronwyn was very talented in some regards, and they were justly proud.
“You know why not. He won’t go with a girl from here,” Dafydd said. “It would only cause trouble, he says. Jealousy and accusations of playing favorites. Who knows? Maybe he’s right.”
“Then you should have told him to go to Shrewsbury,” Eifion declared as a small avalanche of dust fell from the hole he had picked in the stone. “It’s too hasty, this marriage.” He lowered his voice to a suitably somber tone. “I foresee trouble.”
Dafydd gave him a look of disgruntled disgust. “Quit picking at that wall as if you’re trying to break from prison. And considering the usual way of your predictions, I feel a lot better. You said there was going to be a great snowstorm last winter and we had the most mild weather in years. You said we’d only have two hundred lambs and we had nearly three times that. You said two years ago your mother-in-law was going to be in her grave in a week and here she is still hale and hearty at eighty, although nobody blames you for being hopeful. You said Richard was going to take Jerusalem and our Connor come home covered in glory and … well, he didn’t. You should give over making predictions, Eifion, before you’re the laughingstock of Llanstephan.”
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” the reeve stubbornly insisted.
“You don’t need to be a seer to have that about this,” Jon-Bron noted, shaking his head. “A Scot. A merchant’s daughter. God save me, I never thought Caradoc would stoop so low. It’s a disgrace, that’s what, and we’ve got to stop him.”
“He’s been that worried, I was afraid he would do something drastic, but never anything so terrible as this,” Dafydd admitted as the others nodded in agreement. “We’ve got to save him. The question is, how?”
“Kidnap Father Rhodri?” Emlyn-Bron suggested.
Dafydd frowned. “You know he doesn’t need a priest. He could just announce it and there you are.”
“We could kidnap her .”
Dafydd grinned at Emlyn-Bron. “Now there’s a thought. Get her out of the tower somehow and onto a horse and take her to somebody’s farm until Caradoc has had time—”
“To do what?” their lord asked as he strode into the barracks.
The men jumped as if he had thrown a bucket of freezing water at them, and Caradoc could tell from their guilty faces that whatever they had been discussing, they didn’t think he would be pleased.
His impending marriage, no doubt.
There was an empty cot near the door, the last ever taken because it was colder there from the draft and farthest from the hearth. He put his clothes on it and sat, facing them with his hand clasped and his elbows on his knees.
“Look you,” he said, ready to explain because these men were his friends, and they led his people, too, “she’s brought a dowry of three thousand marks.”
He thought Dafydd was going to faint as he wobbled to the nearest chest and sat down. The three men already seated stared at him with their mouths open, looking like fish in a stall at a market. Eifion leaned back against the wall as if he was holding it up, not the other way around.
“Th-three thousand marks you said?” Dafydd finally managed to stammer. “Three thousand ?”
“Aye, three thousand in wine and cloth and gold and silver and jewels. That’s what the men unloaded from those wagons.”
Jon-Bron slowly came back to life and cleared his throat. “That’s, um, that’s quite a sum, Caradoc.”
“Isn’t it?” he genially agreed. “So how could I say no? None of the Welsh nobility have gone out of their way to help us, or make a marriage offer I could accept, so it’s marry Fiona or give up Llanstephan to the crown.” He spread his hands.
Similar Books
