Chapter Eight

CHAPTER EIGHT

"T he Shrewsbury party arrived earlier in the day, Davies." A man with shaggy dark hair, wrapped up in a dirty brown cloak, had slipped into the doorway near the city gates where Davies and a few of his men were lingering. "They came right up through town from this very gate and into the castle."

"And the lady?" Davies asked.

"She was sighted."

Even though Davies knew that would be the case, still, it was difficult to hear. The woman he loved, the one he'd wanted to marry, was now married to another. He looked at the faces of the four men with him, his teulu , or the personal guard of a Welsh lord. They were with him for better or for worse and, in this case, they were with him on a very large undertaking.

On the ride to Shrewsbury, he'd had time to think. Davies had told Eolande that their people were starving and, perhaps, Shrewsbury might be the only source of food for them. But Eolande had seen through his farce; she knew that he was going to Shrewsbury to wreak havoc upon the new duke, the one who had married Grier and take her away from him. Perhaps that was the truth, but Davies wouldn't admit it to his little sister. She'd been right, in every way.

Now, all Davies could think about was that the woman he loved had been married to the man for two days. Two long days for the man to do anything he wanted to her. Even now, as night fell on the second day, Davies was crushed to think that Grier would be warming the bed of the man she married.

Davies should have been that man.

He'd tried to lie to Eolande about his true purpose in going to Shrewsbury, but she had known his heart. She'd known why he intended to roust the town, but she didn't know all of it. Perhaps, he hadn't even known all of it himself until the ride to Shrewsbury. During that ride, with his heart full of hurt and anger, Davies had made plans.

Plans to kill Grier's new husband.

And now, here he was, ready to carry out those plans. He'd brought men with him from Godor, a gang of at least fifty Welshmen, all ready and willing to carry out his commands. They were gathered outside of the walls, in the forests in the distance, awaiting Davies' command, but for them, it was a different purpose. Davies had given them permission to raid for food and valuables. They thought they were here only for that, which was why they'd come so eagerly when summoned late last night.

Only Davies was here to kill.

Only his teulu knew the truth.

"So, she is here," Davies said, his eyes moving about in the darkness to make sure no one was listening. "When the gates open before dawn, we shall summon our men and we shall ride straight into the market. That will bring out Shrewsbury's army."

Davies' teulu glanced at each other nervously; these were not the fighters their ancestors had been. There hadn't been the need. With an uneasy peace between England and Wales for so many years, men weren't particularly bred these days to battle against armored knights. Many of them had become farmers and tradesmen. There was a warrior class, but it was small and not particularly well armed but for their spears and crossbows. They had horses that were swift, however, and in that swiftness was their saving grace. The heavily-armored war horses of the Saesneg didn't move quickly, and that was what they would be up against.

But a full-blown raid into a major city along the Marches? They were fairly certain Davies had lost his mind.

"There will be soldiers on the southern gate, Davies." A man named Efor spoke quietly. Dressed in a dark green woolen cloak, he had it pulled tightly around him to ward off the evening's chill. "They will close the gates before we can escape!"

Davies shook his head. "We have the best archers in all the land," he said. "We will position them so they can take out the sentries at the gatehouse, but we must leave quickly before the gates close for the night. Come, now, we have little time to waste."

The five of them moved from the shadowed doorway and out into the street, with the last strains of the day fading overhead. They'd spent most of the day scouting out the city, finding the marketplace, locating the gates, and now that their reconnaissance was finished, it was imperative they make it back to the men waiting in the distant trees.

A mist was beginning to fall as the sun went down, filling the streets and creating more of a shield for their escape from the city. Citizens were coming out to light the street torches for the night, to illuminate the darkness, and the last few travelers were coming in through the open gate for the night just as Davies and his men slipped out. The sentries on duty were too busy worrying about who was coming in to pay any attention to who was going out.

In the darkness, they slipped away into the trees and towards the Welsh who were bundled up in their woolens against the night, since a fire would have alerted those on night watch to their presence. No fires, no warm food, only cold and damp, as men waited for dawn to come so they could charge in and take what food they could before the castle was alerted. As they sat in the darkness and clung to each other for warmth, it was all they could speak of.

Soon, their bellies would be full.

If Davies felt any guilt in using his men's hunger to suit his own purposes, he refused to acknowledge it. For him, he was doing what needed to be done. With the old duke dead and, hopefully, the new duke soon to follow, he would go to Shrewsbury and propose marriage yet again to Grier, now a lone woman in charge of a vast empire. He didn't care about the empire so much as he did for the lady. It was her he wanted; the Shrewsbury entitlement was secondary, but it was one that would make his spineless father rather happy.

In the end, Davies would have what he wanted, and his father would have what he wanted.

Tomorrow would be the day.