News of Prince Llywelyn’s alliance with Dafydd spread the length and breadth of Wales in a matter of days. Everywhere, the Welsh rose in great numbers. They attacked English castles, setting fires that left nothing but smoking ruins in their wake. They besieged towns and killed hated Englishmen who had previously suppressed them.

Never before had the Welsh been so determined. They pushed through the Marches, from Chester in the north to the Bristol Channel in the south. They fought across South Wales, from Chepstow castle at the mouth of the Wye to Pembroke castle on the west coast.

In the north, Dafydd attacked both Flint and Rhuddlan castles with a vengeance. Neither fell to him, though many others went up in flames.

Richard held Rhuddlan with one hundred men, confident the king would reach them long before Dafydd could manage to starve them out.

He thought of Gwen often. He worried about her, but he reasoned that if Dafydd were here, he could not be besieging Claiborne. If any stray bands of Welshmen attacked the castle, they would be repelled easily enough.

When Edward arrived with the army in mid-July, Dafydd fled to the hills to regroup. Richard and Edward sat in the same solar they had once shared with Dafydd and discussed how to proceed.

The king’s strategy was simple. He would secure the coast, then build mighty fortresses to hold it. Ringing Gwynedd with English castles would assure future dominion over the volatile principality.

Eight-thousand-foot soldiers and four-thousand-mounted knights made the trek from Worcester. Of that number, nearly a thousand were crossbowmen. The experimental longbowmen numbered half that.

Fifteen-hundred-woodsmen also accompanied the army, hacking a mile-wide path through the dense forests to build roads. Edward’s aim was to make Wales easy to access for English merchants and settlers.

He stood at the window and gazed out over the sprawling army encamped outside Rhuddlan’s walls. “I’ve sent the earl of Surrey into the Vale of Clwyd to secure the territory south of Snowdonia. Forty ships from London and the Cinque Ports are on their way to Anglesey. We’ll block the Menai Strait, same as before. If this campaign continues into winter, Llywelyn will find himself without a harvest.”

“Who is in command of the vessels?” Richard asked.

“Luke de Tany.”

“The old seneschal of Gascony? Jesú, Ned, he is an impatient man. Are you certain he is suited for this game of hide-and-seek?”

Edward waved a hand. “Aye, he will be fine. He knows he is to secure the Strait, then await my orders.”

“Any word from Llywelyn?”

“Nay, though the archbishop of Canterbury has threatened him with excommunication if he does not yield.” Edward clasped his hands behind his back. “I think Llywelyn means to see it through this time, Richard. Victory or annihilation.”

Richard thought of Llywelyn’s stricken face when he’d been told of his wife’s death. “Aye,” he said softly. “I think you are right, Ned. Mayhap he feels he has nothing left to lose.”

Within a few days, the army moved west, toward Conway and the Menai Strait. The garrisons at Rhuddlan and Flint were secured and Richard joined the king.

They received word of Llywelyn’s sorties in the south and west. He stormed Aberystwyth and took Llanbadarn castle, then cut across the center of Wales to Montgomery, taking towns and besting English forces led by the Marcher earls.

Dafydd swooped down out of the mountains to engage Edward’s army, then disappeared back into the gullies and ravines the Welsh knew best.

As the middle of August approached, Richard prepared to return to Claiborne. Since Dafydd insisted on playing cat and mouse, and Llywelyn had not yet realized the threat Edward’s triple offensive placed on Gwynedd, there was no need for Richard to stay.

He took twenty men and set out for Claiborne. Within three days, they were in the valley of the Dee without encountering any resistance along the way.

When Richard rode into the bailey of his castle, he sensed something was wrong. The guards looked at him with wary eyes. The servants scurried in the other direction.

Owain came to greet him, his face drained of all color. The dark circles under his eyes told of many sleepless nights.

Richard’s heart stopped beating in that instant. “Gwen?”

“Richard, she—”

He shoved past Owain, not stopping when the Welshman called to him. He raced through the hall and up the steps, then flung the chamber door wide. He stopped in the center of the room, spinning around.

“Where is she?” he demanded when Owain appeared in the doorway, red-faced. “What have you done with her?”

“She is gone, Richard. We searched but we did not find—”

“Searched?” Richard braced his arm on the table for support. Dear God, he’d thought her dead, but if they’d searched, that meant she was alive. Then the significance of Owain’s words hit him.

“Searched?” he repeated in a roar. “What the bloody hell do you mean, searched?”

“She disappeared one day. We thought she’d been captured, but—”

“When?”

Owain swallowed. “Two and a half months.”

Richard gripped his sword so hard he could feel the imprint of the carved hilt cutting into his flesh. The pain was a welcome respite from the hot rage threatening to consume him. “You had better have a damn good reason for not sending for me, old man, or I swear I will kill you where you stand.”

“Goddammit, kill me then! ’Twould be a relief after the hell I’ve been through these months past. Besides, she wasn’t abducted, she left. She wrote Alys a note, though we didn’t find it for a couple of days.”

“Get me the note,” was all Richard could manage.

Owain left, then returned with Alys. The two didn’t speak, or look at each other, though Richard hardly cared what had happened between them.

Alys held out the scrap of parchment, and Richard snatched it. It was written in Welsh. The writing was sloppy, as if scribbled at the last minute.

Alys,

I have gone to my father. Do not worry, Rhys is with me. I will see you soon.

Gwenllian

“What does this mean, she will see you soon?” Richard demanded.

Alys started to cry. “I know not, my lord, truly. I have already told Owain. I know not.”

Owain’s jaw tightened. “I sent a messenger. You never came.”

“I never got it,” Richard said numbly. “Rhuddlan was besieged.”

Gwen was with Rhys ap Gawain. Rhys, whose face had so clearly told Richard the feelings he still harbored for Gwen. Feelings mayhap she returned.

The black rage that had consumed him so briefly when he’d found her in Rhys’s arms returned in full force, eating at him until he thought he would explode.

“Out,” he snapped. The two of them stared at him, sympathy written on their faces. It was more than he could take. “Out, goddammit, before I kill you both!”

Alys scurried away first, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. Owain backed out, pulling the door shut behind him. “She will return, Richard. She loves—”

Richard picked up the chair and threw it at the door. It crashed against the wood, splintering into three large pieces.

He sent the table crashing with a booted foot to the edge. The other chair followed the first. Lying Welsh bitch! She promised she would never leave. It was a lie. Everything was a lie!

He stood in the middle of the room, his chest heaving. Gwen was gone. She’d chosen her father and Rhys over him. She had sworn she would never doubt him again and she had lied. Had she been planning her betrayal the entire time they’d been making love on that last night they shared?

His gaze settled on the bed and a sharp pain ripped through his heart. He went to it slowly, his eyes never straying from it as he relived every moment, every word, every caress, every kiss.

Oh God, how could she abandon him?

His foot hit something and he looked down to see he’d kicked one of Gwen’s trunks. He opened it, and the scent of roses drifted to him. He sank to his knees and lifted one of the gowns. A rosepetal fluttered to the floor, brilliant crimson against dark wood.

Settling against the bed, he brought his knees to his chest and buried his face in the dress. For the first time in twenty-odd years, the frightened little boy won the battle, and the brutal Earl of Dunsmore wept soundlessly.

---

Night had fallen and the torches flickered with the summer breeze drifting through the open shutters of the castle. Anne smoothed her chemise over her curves before she entered the room.

At first she did not see him in the darkened chamber. Then her gaze landed on the figure slumped at the end of the bed. His head rested on a trunk, and women’s clothes were strewn around him.

“Richard.” She stood over him, waiting. “Richard…”

His head lolled back. “Gwen?”

Anne gritted her teeth. “Yes, darling. I am here.”

He held up his hand and she took it. He pulled her across his lap, his hands entwining in her hair, his face buried against her throat. His voice was husky, breathless. “I knew you could not leave me. I knew it was a mistake. I cannot live without you, Gwen. I cannot…”

He stiffened. Anne cried out when he shoved her away. She landed on the floor with a thud. Then she laughed. “You never used to push me away. Nay, you used to bury that big weapon of yours deep inside—”

“Shut up, bitch,” he growled. “I should snap your neck for that trick.” He shot to his feet.

Anne felt a surge of triumph. Oh, this was much better than she’d imagined. Richard de Claiborne actually cared for a woman, actually hurt because she’d left him. “What is the matter, my lord?” she teased. “Have you never been jilted before?”

He jerked her up, then thrust her toward the door. “You are stretching my patience, Anne. And I have precious little of it left.”

Anne clutched the door and glared at him. “She left you, like you left me. ’Tis the least you deserve.”

He let go of her arm and surprisingly his voice softened. “I never desired anything more from you than sex, Anne. I am sorry if you expected more from me.”

“I wouldn’t have left you if you’d married me,” she said bitterly. “I hope she never comes back!”

His eyes glittered in the torchlight leaking in from the passage. “It is not her choice to make.”

He shoved her through the door and shut it. Anne stood there for a moment, angry and undecided.

It is not her choice to make.

Laughing, she clapped her hands together. Oh God, it was entirely too good to be true. Richard was going after his wife. In the middle of a war, he was riding into the heart of Wales.

---

Dawn had barely begun its ascent into the sky when Richard vaulted onto Sirocco and clattered through the gates. Owain stood in the bailey, but Richard didn’t acknowledge him.

Ten knights accompanied their lord. Where he was going, more than that would only call attention to their presence.

Llywelyn was far south, but Richard didn’t believe Gwen would be with him in her condition. Nay, she would be at Dolwyddelan, or high on Snowdon in Llywelyn’s summer fast.

All through the night, he’d wanted to hate her. He’d told himself he hated her even while his heart felt as if it were splitting in two.

Actually, he owed Anne for showing him the folly of that line of reasoning. When he’d awakened and thought she was Gwen, the relief and love that flooded through him was blinding. He’d been willing to forgive her anything just to hold her again.

It was then he knew he would go after her. Gwen was his wife and he had no intentions of giving her up. He would lock her in her room if he had to. He would have her guarded every hour of the day. She would never leave him again.

Her lack of faith hurt. Her willingness to leave him and take their child hurt. He would never trust her, and he would never let her go.

They rode hard throughout the day, steadily climbing upwards. Wales was wild and beautiful, with its steep hills and plunging gullies, its mixture of green meadows and gray rocks, its oaks and conifers and standing stones.

Richard signaled a halt when they came to a ravine with sheer walls rising thirty feet on either side. They’d encountered no trouble so far, but Dafydd was too close for carelessness.

“Ye want to send a scout through first?” Andrew asked.

“Aye.”

Andrew nodded and motioned to one of the knights.

Richard listened for any unusual sounds, but the only things he heard were birds and the wind in the treetops.

When the knight reached the other end of the narrow valley, he signaled. Richard urged Sirocco in first and the rest of the knights followed.

They were little more than halfway through when Welsh warcries shattered the air. Richard unsheathed his sword and charged. Men dropped into the ravine from overhead while others rushed in from both ends, closing the knights in and making escape impossible.

The clashing of steel and the whining of arrows echoed through the air. Richard dropped two Welshmen instantly. Four more replaced them, coming at him faster than he could swing his sword.

He heard the shouts of his men through the roaring in his ears. Screams of death came from both quarters. Sirocco reared and struck, but six men grabbed for his head and wrestled him down.

Richard spurred the stallion. Sirocco leapt forward, dragging the Welshmen who still held him. They were almost clear when Richard was knocked to the ground.

A man sat over him, grinning. Richard twisted beneath him, but the man didn’t move. It was then he realized his arms and legs were pinned down.

The Welshman took out a knife and pressed it to Richard’s neck. “Gwalchddu, I presume? ’Twill be an honor to carve your heart from your chest.”

Just as the man raised the knife, he went sprawling across the grass.

Another man stood over him, his face mottled with fury.“Alive, you idiot! Dafydd wants Dunsmore alive!”