Mary Reed McCall by The Maiden Warrior Read Free Book Online Page A

Dafydd sat close by, but Owin had moved off to check their mounts. Sounds of laughter and talking came from behind her where the English soldiers, including their maddening leader de Brice, clustered around their own fires; still, she knew by the hot tingle up her neck that she was the focus of much of their attention.
    “I expected Owin to be back by now,” she murmured to Dafydd, trying to ignore the weight of the enemy stares on her.
    Dafydd shrugged. “He always takes his time with the horses. He swings his blade with the best of them, but let any harm come to one of his animals, and he goes wild. In truth, I think he finds their company more comforting than people’s. ’Tis his way.”
    Gwynne smiled. “I understand that.”
    But just as quickly her smile faded as a flash of memory shook her—a murky glimpse of a crow with one of its wings in a splint, hopping through a clearing of grass inside an ancient circle of stones.
    Shaking her head to banish the image, she prodded the fire with a stick. After turning the roasting fowl so that the fat dripped hissing to the flames, she handed the spit to Dafydd. “Here. Take some of the meat to Owin once it’s done. I’ll eat later.”
    Dafydd nodded and remained at the fire while she stood and walked over to some nearby branches, to check the wet tunic and shirt she’d hung there. On the way to this resting point, de Brice had surprised her by insisting that they stop at a stream so that she and her men could wash out their blood-soaked garments. At first she’d refused, galled to accept even a hint of kindness from the Englishman. But when he’d tossed her three shirts to use while their clothing dried, she’d been forced to comply. Cooperating with him vexed her, to be sure, but she’d decided that easing Dafydd and Owin’s obvious discomfort was more important than her pride.
    Now she had to admit that she was glad she’d done it. ’Twould be good to get into her own clean clothing again.
    She tested the sleeve of her shirt, brushing her palm over its rough surface. Still damp, but dry enough. She was just readying to pull it from the branch and slip into the wood to change when a low voice startled her.
    “You might as well let it dry completely.”
    She spun to face Aidan’s dark-eyed gaze. Her surprise at not having sensed his approach sent a stab of irritation through her. Lugh , ’twas not like her to miss such a thing, and yet this was the second time he had managed to sneak up on her today.
    “I’d rather wear my own shirt,” she muttered, reaching to take the garment down anyway.
    “’Tis a waste. You’ll not be wearing it long enough to warrant dirtying it again.”
    “Why, do you intend to keep me locked away in sackcloth at your castle?” she asked, half mocking.
    “Nay. I intend to have you dress as you must to ensure your safety while you reside with me in England—you’ll be clothed in a gown, chemise, and circlet.”
    He might as well have told her she’d be parading around naked.
    “Not likely,” she said, carefully keeping her voice even.
    “We never agreed to such terms. I’ll wear my own clothes during the time I’m forced to stay in England.”
    “You’ll wear what I tell you to, or you will find yourself a prisoner to the king, awaiting trial in his Tower.”
    Dafydd glanced over at them during this last exchange, and she met his gaze for an instant, acknowledging his readiness to lend his support at any time.
    Looking back to Aidan, Gwynne met his implacable expression with one of her own. “You should realize by now that I don’t respond well to threats, Englishman.”
    “Damn it, Gwynne, it isn’t a threat. Don’t you see? You are a wanted criminal in England. If anyone learns who you really are, the king will hear of it and dispatch his entire army to take you captive.”
    Several of his men ceased talking around their fires and looked over at them. He lowered his voice, scowling. “My own men may be sworn