Brother Cadfael 09: Dead Man's Ransom by Ellis Peters Read Free Book Online Page A

sense enough to know that what she felt fell far short of a vocation. It had not that quality of overwhelming revelation it should have had.
    The shock of wonder, delight and curiosity, for instance, that stopped her, faltering, in her steps when she sailed through the archway into the outer ward and glanced by instinct towards the presence she felt close and intent beside her, and met the startled dark eyes of the stranger, the Welsh prisoner. It was not even his youth and comeliness, but the spellbound stare he fixed on her, that pierced her to the heart.
    She had always thought of the Welsh with fear and distrust, as uncouth savages; and suddenly here was this trim and personable young man whose eyes dazzled and whose cheeks flamed at meeting her gaze. She thought of him much. She asked questions about him, careful to dissemble the intensity of her interest. And on the same day that Cadfael set out to hunt for Owain Gwynedd, she saw Elis from an upper window, half, accepted already among the young men of the garrison, stripped to the waist and trying a wrestling bout with one of the best pupils of the master at arms in the inner ward. He was no match for the English youth, who had the advantage in weight and reach, and he took a heavy fall that made her catch her breath in distressed sympathy, but he came to his feet laughing and blown, and thumped the victor amiably on the shoulder.
    There was nothing in him, no movement, no glance, in which she did not find generosity and grace.
    She took her cloak and slipped away down the stone stair, and out to the archway by which he must pass to his lodging in the outer ward. It was beginning to be dusk, they would all be putting away their work and amusement, and making ready for supper in hall. Elis came through the arch limping a little from his new bruises, and whistling, and the same quiver of awareness which had caused her to turn her head now worked the like enchantment upon him.
    The tune died on his parted lips. He stood stock, still, holding his breath. Their eyes locked, and could not break free, nor did they try very hard.
    'Sir,' she said, having marked the broken rhythm of his walk, 'I fear you are hurt.' She saw the quiver that passed through him from head to foot as he breathed again.
    'No,' he said, hesitant as a man in a dream, 'no, never till now. Now I am wounded to death.'
    'I think,' she said, shaken and timorous, 'you do not yet know me...'
    'I do know you,' he said. 'You are Melicent. It is your father I must buy back for you, at a price...'
    At a price, at a disastrous price, at the price of tearing asunder this marriage of eyes that drew them closer until they touched hands and were lost.
    Chapter Three.
    Cadwaladr might have had his frolics on his way back to his castle at Aberystwyth with his booty and his prisoners, but to the north of his passage Owain Gwynedd had kept a fist clamped down hard upon disorder. Cadfael and his escort had had one or two brushes with trouble, after leaving Oswestry on their right and plunging into Wales, but on the first occasion the three masterless men who had put an arrow across their path thought better of it when they saw what numbers they had challenged, and took themselves off at speed into the brush; and on the second, an unruly patrol of excitable Welsh warmed into affability at Cadfael's unruffled Welsh greeting, and ended giving them news of the prince's movements. Cadfael's numerous kinsfolk, first and second cousins and shared forebears, were warranty enough over much of Clwyd and part of Gwynedd.
    Owain, they said, had come east out of his eyrie to keep a weather eye upon Ranulf of Chester, who might be so blown up with his success as to mistake the mettle of the prince of Gwynedd. He was patrolling the fringes of Chester territory, and had reached Corwen on the Dee. So said the first informants. The second, encountered near Rhiwlas, were positive that he had crossed the Berwyns and come down into Glyn Ceiriog,