He jumped in and floated to the bottom. The only sound he could hear was that of the waterfall and his swishes in the water. Alone, he swam around until he ran out of breath and when he reached the surface, he saw Colm standing by the bank.
“James, are you all right?”
“Aye. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Colm took his boots off and then his tartan and tunic, and jumped into the water with a good splash to show for his effort. “I was concerned that you got angry at our teasing. You’re not, are you?”
“Nay. I didn’t want to hurt the lad and so I … I took it a wee bit easy on him.” If ever that was an untruth. He’d attacked her with zealous and she met him, thrust for thrust. James would be struck down by God if he didn’t say a quick penance for his falsehood. He hadn’t known she was a she until he spotted the tress of hair that had fallen from under her helmet. Even then he was unsure. It was the way her breasts pressed against his chest that struck him in awe.
“That is well, but we’re here to train and should be as hard as we can on Llywelyn’s men. You should not hold back next time.”
“I doubt there will be a next time,” he said, knowing he wouldn’t be able to go against her in the future. For one thing, he would not put himself in such a position, and for another, he hoped she wouldn’t put herself in such a position. Then he groaned thinking of how her body felt above his. Her breasts were full and rounded even beneath the thin covering of her mail.
“What’s wrong with ye?” Colm asked when he groaned again.
“I, ah, pulled a muscle in my calf.”
Colm laughed boisterously. “Aye? You’re getting old James. You might want to practice a little longer so you’re prepared. For we’re going to be fighting against the English and you know how wily they are.”
He nodded but didn’t retort. All he could think of was Emlyn’s groin pressing against his, and his rod grew thick and heavy from the remembrance of it. This night he was sure to have absolutely no sleep whatsoever.
When he returned to camp, Sean had made a light supper and his comrades sat around the fire. James took a hunk of bread and picked pieces from it, barely listening to their conversation.
His eyes blurred with tiredness considering he’d slept barely a handful of hours since their departure from Sean’s holding. James closed his eyes and tried not to think of the vixen, but her face waved before his vision.
“James?” Grey called him, and when he didn’t answer, he shouted his name.
He opened his eyes slowly and nodded. “God Almighty, can a man not take a little rest?”
His laird laughed. “Aye he can when he proves himself on the training field. What is wrong with you? I never seen ye lose to an opponent before.”
“I say, James is losing his will,” Duff said, and tossed him a tartan. “Best cover up, lassie, and get a wee bit of sleep.”
James tossed the tartan back to him with vigor. “I will not make excuses. I lost this day and that is that. I verily won’t on the morrow.” Truer words were never spoken, as James knew he’d be full of wrath the next day and any opponent would feel it with the force of his sword.
“Cease, you’ll cause James’ temper and he’s had a trying day,” Sean said.
“Cosh, that’s enough, all of you. I’m going to sleep.” James left the ground and went inside the tent, and lay upon his cot. He tossed and turned for a few minutes and thought of Muriel’s words on their last night together. Had the woman truly vexed him? For he certainly wanted Emlyn and was beguiled by her. Muriel’s words rang in his ears. He was already feeling the effects of her fervent speech.
She will cause you nothing but heartache.
Chapter Eight
Emlyn tossed aside the covers and sat on the side of her bed. The exertion of the training the day before and that of the news her parents bespoke, exhausted her. She was surprised she was able to sleep what with the discussion she’d heard betwixt her parents. Try as she might, she couldn’t reason of any way to get her father and mother to change their minds. Emlyn wasn’t offended by her mother’s remarks, for she often gave her opinion of her.
She considered begging her father until he gave in, which he usually did. But that tactic didn’t work on her mother. And in this, her mother was right. Only she would be able to handle such a man as Marshall, for at least she knew how to protect herself. Her sisters would not fare well. And she wouldn’t allow harm to come to them, especially if either of her sisters were sent in her stead. Guilt would rule her for the rest of her life. Still, she refused to give up hope, because something would come to her.
When she’d joined her family for their morning fare, she noticed her parents looking at her oddly. She tried to disregard their gazes, and sat, pulling a bowl toward her. She started to fill it but lost her appetite.
“All will leave and be about your day,” her father announced, “Except for you, Emlyn.”
She stayed where she was and waited until he was ready to speak to her. Her father’s long face watched her, his staid eyes sad. Her father had dressed regally this day with his bright red cape. Beside his chair sat his favorite shield, the one with the large lion on its outer cover. His plain crown sat atop his covered head, and his jaw twitched and tightened.
He was provoked about something, and she hoped and prayed that she wasn’t the cause. Yet she knew he’d been upset about Marshall’s treaty request. Was he really that concerned for her? Emlyn hated when her father was upset with her and she detested knowing she was the cause. She loved his attention and was thrilled when he’d shown pride in her.
Her mother sat wearily next to him and finished eating without a word.
“I fear, lass, that I’ve distressing news and I want to find out what you think of it.” Her father’s voice lowered and was deep with woe.
“It matters not what the lass thinks, Llywelyn. We agreed. Do not change your mind now.” Her mother set aside her trencher and looked pleadingly at him.
“To end this feud with Marshall and England, we need to send you to him. It is the only way we can appease him for he asked for your hand. We will betroth you to him.”
“I understand, Father. I will do as you wish.” Emlyn couldn’t believe her voice sounded so strong and appeasing. It took all her will not to yell out in reproach of his dictate.
“There you see, Siwan, she’s agreed.”
Her mother seemed mollified. “I shall gather many belongings for her travel. We will need at least a week to ready her, Llywelyn. You will be sent enriched, as if you are a princess, as is your station. You will not wear men’s garb from this day forward. Do you understand?”
Emlyn only nodded and refrained from comment. Her tongue often got her in trouble and this day it’d do well to keep it tucked behind her teeth.
“I will have a gown sent to your chamber this morn. You will wear it for the celebration this eve. I expect your compliance, Emlyn, for it is time to grow up and face the fact that you cannot run around the keep trying your hand at silly warfare. For you’re a woman and your place is to marry, bear heirs, and care for your husband. Is that not right, Llywelyn?”
How many times had she heard that dictate? Emlyn lost count.
Her father lowered his chin and kept his eyes on her. Emlyn thought he’d laugh, but he didn’t. “Aye, verily, my love. And your mother does her duty well, as will you, sweet Emlyn.”
“You dare jest about this? I will not have my daughter sent to our enemy in serf’s attire. She will be laden with comforts and Marshall will know her wealth.”
“I vow he already knows,” her father said with a bang to his cup.
Her mother scoffed at her father, knowing he teased her. She got up and haughtily made off.
Emlyn wouldn’t move until her father dismissed her. If there was one thing that irked him, it was when someone dismissed him. No one ever did, and so she sat there awaiting him to allow her to leave. He didn’t appear to want to do so.