LITMIR.BIZ

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“I am learning to make soap today.” She curtsied, and left the two men.

      “My father is right,” Roger Mortimer said. “You cannot wait too long. Certainly your sire, God assoil him, would not want you to wait.”

      “He said I should steal the Pendragon girl in the Welshry,” Rhys answered.

      “ ’Tis as good a choice as any,” Roger agreed. “Her father’s family claim their descent from King Arthur. Merin Pendragon has a son, but he’s also got plenty of coin and cattle for a daughter. When shall we go?”

      Rhys laughed. “I don’t know if it is an honorable thing to do, Rog,” he replied. “To steal a maiden so her father will be forced to make a marriage and settlement on the girl does not seem right to me.”

      “Bah! Bride stealing is done all the time. You haven’t got a choice. I’ll wager your old sire didn’t even leave you so much as a silver piece. He left you with all the responsibility for your sibling, and Everleigh, and naught but a bleak future.”

      “I will remain as Mary’s bailiff,” Rhys said.

      “Perhaps, but when Mary weds, Everleigh becomes her husband’s property. He could have a poor relation who he will want to make bailiff here. Mary may want to please him. Then where will you be? A dowered bride is the answer to all your difficulties, Rhys. With her silver you can find a small piece of property for your own so when Mary weds one day, you and your wife will have your own home to go to and be happy,” Roger Mortimer concluded.

      “You have my life all settled, then,” Rhys said with a smile. “Perhaps I should prefer to go crusading when Mary is grown and settled,” he suggested.

      “You’ll be too old then,” Roger said. “Crusading is difficult work.”

      “So I must steal an heiress bride,” Rhys said.

      “We’ll go tomorrow to scout out Pendragon’s keep and see if we can gain a glimpse of his daughter,” Roger said enthusiastically.

      “Nay, we will not. My father is only just buried. Mary and I need time to mourn in peace. A stolen girl will not bring peace into our hall. She will certainly wail, and weep until the matter is settled between her father and me.”

      “A week,” Roger Mortimer said. “I will give you a week. And do not argue. Both my father, and yours, would agree.” He grinned. “I wonder what she’s like.”

      “Who?” Rhys replied.

      “The Pendragon wench. For your sake I hope she is round and sweet.”

      Rhys laughed. “Mayhap she’s too young to steal,” he suggested mischievously.

      “We’ll steal her anyway,” Roger responded. “If she’s too young to breach she will be easier to train to your ways. You can win her over with sweetmeats and ribbons.

      “If she’s ready to be mated then you will have to charm her, and overcome her maidenly fears with kisses. Either way a girl can always be gotten around, Rhys.”

      “You sound so damned knowledgeable, Rog,” came the reply, “but I don’t see you wed yet.”

      “Mayhap the Pendragon girl will have a sister,” Roger Mortimer said with a deep, wry chuckle.

      “Come back in a week,” Rhys FitzHugh told his friend. “But leave Mary and me to our small mourning now.”

      Roger Mortimer departed, returning exactly a week later with a dozen young men from his father’s estates, all mounted upon good horseflesh. “I thought we should have company,” he told the astounded Rhys. “It will be far more impressive to have a lord with a troop of men-at-arms at his back steal Pendragon’s daughter than just two fellows on horseback,” he explained.

      “You’re mad!” Rhys answered him, half laughing.

      “Get your horse,” Roger Mortimer responded. “ ’Tis time to go bride stealing.”

      “I don’t know,” Rhys demured. “It seems so drastic a step, Rog.”

      “Your own father suggested it, and what other choice do you have?” his friend reminded him. “Perhaps some freedman’s daughter? A step up for her, but a step down for you. Get your horse, Rhys, and let’s get on with this matter. The sooner the deed is done, the sooner your future is secured.”

      “We could fail. What if the girl is well guarded?” Rhys considered.

      “We’ll never know unless we ride over into the Welshry and survey the situation for ourselves,” Roger Mortimer replied sensibly.

      Rhys FitzHugh nodded. “Let me speak to Mary first,” he said.

      “Hurry!” Roger answered him, grinning.

      Rhys found his sister in the solar of their stone keep. “I have to go out,” he said. “I may be gone a day or two, dearling. Rhawn will look after you, and you have Father Kevyn, too.”

      “I hope she’s pretty, and amenable,” Mary said sweetly.

      “Who?” Rhys feigned innocence.

      “Your heiress bride,” Mary replied, giggling. “Do you think some handsome man will steal me one day, Brother?”

      “He had best not,” Rhys responded. “I should have to kill him if he did. You will be properly matched, Mary.”

      “Why is Pendragon’s daughter not properly matched, then?” Mary wondered.

      “They are Welsh, and half savage,” Rhys told his little sister. “Who knows why they do what they do.”

      “Why, then, would you steal a girl like that?” Mary said, curious.

      “Because her family, while rich in cattle and other livestock, is not an important family. They may be angered by my actions, but they will not complain too loudly, and the girl will be decently matched. As for her brother, he is too young to fight me, I am told. He is not much older than you are, dearling. Now give me a kiss and let me go, for Roger and a troop of his father’s men are waiting for me.”

      “Do the Welsh really eat children?” Mary asked him nervously.

      “Nay.” Rhys laughed. “Who told you that?”

      “Rhawn says they do,” Mary replied.

      “Rhawn is an ignorant old crone,” Rhys said. “If she tells you many more stories like that I shall have to beat her. You may tell her that I said so.” He bent down and kissed his little sister’s lips quickly. “Prepare the guest chamber for the bride while I am gone, Mary.”

      “I will, Rhys. God go with you and bring you home safe to Everleigh,” Mary said. She kissed her brother’s cheek and gave him a sweet smile.

      The big dappled gray stallion he rode was waiting eagerly for him in the courtyard of the keep. Rhys mounted it, and then looked to Roger Mortimer. “Do you know where we are going?” he asked his friend. “I surely don’t.”

      “I know the way.” Roger chuckled.

      The first thing Rhys noticed as they rode away was that the horses hooves had been wrapped lightly to prevent the sound of their passing. None of the animals was a light color, and the men were garbed in sober hues that would not draw attention. While the countryside was scantily populated, a large party would always draw attention, but these men rode seemingly without weapons, nor could the thick leather vests they wore beneath their tunics and capes be seen. A sharp eye would have understood it was a raiding party, shutting their door quickly and praying it passed them by.

      The first night they camped at twilight, for the days were growing longer with the onset of spring. They carried barley cakes, strips of dried beef, and flasks with water. They lit a small fire to deter the wild beasts, the men taking turns at the watch through the night. In the morning they rode out again. Merin Pendragon’s keep was but a half day’s journey farther.

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