“’Tis ancient history. You’re risking all you’ve worked so hard to gain with Helene and her father if they learn of it.”
“I know.” Aidan tried to ignore the burning ache of the old wound in his chest. “But I could think of no other way to make her come with me peacefully.”
He shifted his gaze to the cause of this day’s troubles. She was in heated conversation with Marrok and unaware of his stare. “I had to do it, Kev; I can’t explain why, except to say that I owe her a life-debt—and I couldn’t very well repay it by trying to kill her.” He pulled his gaze back to his friend. “You’re right, though; it will be risky. I’ll need your help in making sure the men remain silent about who she really is and why she’s with me once we’re home.”
“What do you want them to say about her, then?”
“I don’t know yet. I’ll figure out a story before we arrive at Dunston.”
“It had better be a good one,” Kevyn said, following Aidan’s stare back to Gwynne. “Though I can’t pretend to understand why you’re doing this. It won’t matter in a few days. Once the king learns you’ve captured the Dark Legend, he’ll demand her surrender—and you know the likely outcome of that. Cedric and the other lads might as well make their peace with God now.”
Aidan paused. “I’m not going to tell the king.”
“What?” Kevyn fixed him with an incredulous look.
“Not yet, anyway.”
“Christ, Aidan, ’tis not as if you can hide her. She’s a warrior, for God’s sake. She’ll fit into English society about as easily as a wolf mingles with sheep.”
“That’s why I’m going to keep her secured at Dunston, at least until I have a chance to work on her for a while.”
He watched Gwynne, saw the graceful movement of her hands, the quick way she tilted her head, and memory upon memory slammed into him—of Gwynne, young and lithe, bending over to heal a bird’s broken wing. Gwynne, her hair rippling down blue-black in the sun where she sat atop a stone in the ancient circle, playfully pelting him with acorns. Gwynne, wrapping her arms around his neck and smiling up at him as she slid her lips sweetly across his.
He swallowed hard, banishing the images. “She knew me once, Kev. Better than anyone. She may not remember it now, but I intend to bring it back for her. To help her remember her life before the rebels stole her away.”
Kevyn choked. “Jesu, Aidan, you might as well rip up your betrothal to Helene right now. You cannot go courting another woman under her nose and expect her or her father to ignore it.”
“I’m not going to court Gwynne, I’m just going to help her remember,” Aidan grated. “Think about it. She’s not likely to continue leading the Welsh in battle once she realizes how they used and betrayed her. ’Tis the perfect way to repay my debt to her. Her life will be spared, and the king will get exactly what he wants.”
His friend’s expression didn’t waver. “So you make her remember—make her recall loving you, by all that’s holy—and then expect her to walk away quietly so that you can marry another woman? Are you daft? She’s morelikely to pull out her blade and lop off your head than turn against the Welsh for it.”
“What would you have me do, then?” Aidan countered.
“Hand her over to the Court, and certain execution? Let her stay with the Welsh so that I can face her in battle again and try to kill her myself? I won’t do it, Kev. I can’t.”
His friend didn’t respond at first. Shaking his head, he finally muttered, “You’re playing with fire, Aidan, mark my words. ’Twill be a bloody inferno, and you yourself are setting the blaze.”
Aidan clenched his jaw, his mood turning blacker by the second as Kevyn stalked off to rejoin the other men. This plan was the only way open to him, damn it. It was. Difficult or nay, he had no other choice.
And yet a part of him wondered if his friend might be right after