Free Stuart, Elizabeth by Where Love Dwells

brave men quail, he pointed to the girl.
"Tell her not to look so damned pleased with herself till she learns her
own fate!" he snarled. "She rides with us." He glanced up at the
lightening sky. "On the hour!"

CHAPTER SIX
    The
brilliance of dawn broke over brooding mountain peaks, sending golden waves of
light down the mountainside to the shadowy valley below. The morning air was
crisp and still. In the Welsh camp, men beat their arms together to warm
chilled limbs, and horses pranced and snorted, their warm breath sending plumes
of steam rising into the frosty air.
    Elen
gazed at the frantic preparations for departure, trying desperately to keep her
gnawing fears at bay. Richard of Kent was furious and taking no pains to hide
the fact. As he strode about the camp, men leaped to nervous action at his low,
clipped orders, while his green eyes blazed with an anger more terrifying for
its icy restraint.
    He
knew! He knew she had given Dylan the knife. She swallowed nervously, wondering
just what price he would exact for her deception. The Wolf of Kent was no fool,
nor was he a man to be toyed with. She wasn't afraid, she assured herself
hastily, but God forbid he take out his rancor on his helpless hostages.
    A
new and terrible thought crossed her mind. The wounded—what would he do with
them? Her people were poor and had few horses, not nearly enough for all to
ride.
    The
answer came with a sickening realization that near brought her to her knees.
Kill them if they couldn't keep the pace.
    And
what of her? What would Richard do to her? She stared blindly at her
leather-bound wrists, remembering the crude words of Richard's men. They
obviously thought her a common camp follower. But that was the way she must
keep it no matter the price.
    In
those first terrible weeks after the flight from Teifi, Owain had told her
again and again of her importance to her countrymen. She hadn't really believed
him at first. How could one lone woman not yet seventeen be of any importance
in this cursed war?
    Yet
the English were searching high and low for the wife and daughter of Aldwyn of
Teifi. They had already seized the dead Llywelyn's daughter, a babe of only a
few months whose English mother, Eleanor de Montfort, had died in childbirth.
And Llywelyn's treacherous brother, Dafydd, had been deserted by his own men—a
fitting reward for one who had betrayed both his brother and the powerful king
of England. It was only a matter of time until he too was caught in Edward's
tightening net.
    She
alone was left of the great warrior families her countrymen might look to, and
the mighty Edward was determined to have her in his power. For so long as she
lived and was believed to be free, her people might yet rally.
    Edward
had yet no legal claim to her lands. It was the English king's own laws that
tied his hands, she reminded herself with a grim smile. By Welsh custom a woman
could not inherit, but Edward had forced the hated English laws upon them after
the failure of Llywelyn's revolt.
    It
was the king's one weakness. He would do everything according to his laws. In
her case, however, it would be most convenient to his purposes if he could
seize her and put one of his own knights to rule the lands of Teifi legally in
her name.
    But
even more importantly, if allowed to remain free she might marry and breed
sons—sons to claim the crown of Wales that Edward swore to wear, sons to lead
future rebellions in pursuit of their stolen birthright. Yes, so long as she
remained free, a lone woman could be important in a war!
    She
smiled grimly, promising herself Richard of Kent wouldn't learn who he held.
And if he did, he would die. "Mount up."
    The
cry spread quickly throughout the camp. The English swung into their saddles,
driving their prisoners before them on foot. Elen watched the men go by. The
wounded weren't among them.
    No
one had spoken to her since Richard ordered her hands bound nearly an hour ago,
and she had no way of knowing what he planned