* * * * *
"I must speak with the Prince!"
I swam awake, fighting through a strange fog of half-remembered dreams and conversation from the night before. Someone was pounding on the bedroom door and shouting in a confused mix of French and Welsh. Or, at least, confused to me since I couldn't make out every word. The intent, however, was clear.
Abruptly, the pounding stopped, and a stern voice cut through the commotion on the other side of the door. "The Prince is ... busy."
"Stand aside! I must speak with him! Wake him for me!"
"My brother, Dafydd, is a bit intemperate."
My breath froze in my lungs. I turned my head and found myself looking into Llywelyn's face. He was lying on the bed-and admittedly it was a big bed because he was at least three feet away-with his elbow on his pillow and his head propped up on one hand, looking at me, clear amusement in his eyes. He had an almost impish expression on his face that told me he was enjoying himself enormously.
"What's happening?"
"It seems my brother seeks an audience with me. I suppose I ought to let him in before he wakes Anna."
Llywelyn's chest was bare, and as he threw back the cover, I sure hope he has something on his lower half! had barely passed through my head before he straightened, wearing-
Oh dear God! Absolutely nothing!
I must have squeaked because Llywelyn shot me a look of amused condescension. He reached for his breeches, which he'd left at the foot of the bed, and pulled them on. Didn't medieval people wear underwear? And if they didn't, did he have to make this whole thing so authentic?
Stirrings and bangs came from the other side of the curtain and then Llywelyn appeared on my side of the bed, fully dressed, his finger to his lips. He tugged the curtain closed so it hid me. He left a little gap, however and through it, I could see Llywelyn stride to the door and open it to reveal an agitated man, his hair flattened to his head and his helmet under his arm. Despite that, he was extraordinarily handsome, younger than Llywelyn, shorter and not as lean.
"My lord. Brother." The man bowed his head.
"What is it, Dafydd?" Llywelyn said, in French. "I was sleeping."
The man dismissed his words with a shake of his head. "I've already breakfasted."
"Good for you." Llywelyn's voice was dry.
"Not all of us are lay-a-beds," Dafydd said. This was so patently unfair I wondered that Llywelyn didn't correct his brother, but he didn't, just let the silence drag out until Dafydd filled it with his news. "Clare is on the move. He knows that Gruffydd ap Rhys has returned from Ireland with your support, and that you have plans to give Senghenydd to him, along with Castell Morgraig. Clare has begun work on a new castle at Caerphilly."
"Damn the man!" Llywelyn said. "That is my land. He knows this will bring me out. Doesn't he care?"
"Perhaps that's his plan. Perhaps he intends to thwart you with open battle or with treachery."
Llywelyn eyed his brother. "Thank you, Dafydd, for your news. I submit it could have waited until I was awake."
"Yes, brother, but then I wouldn't have had the chance to glimpse your lovely new lady." Dafydd's eyes met mine through the gap in the curtain, and he smirked.
"She's mine, Dafydd. Do not forget it."
"Yes, brother." Dafydd stepped back.
Llywelyn shot a glance at me and then followed Dafydd into the hall, pulling the door closed behind him.
I lay there, feeling alternately horrified, sick, extremely vulnerable, and then angry. Why was this happening to me? Who were these lunatics, and what were they going to do next?
The door opened, and Llywelyn stalked back into the room, headed towards me. He jerked open the curtain and leaned forward, his fists resting on the bed on either side of my hips, his face only inches from mine, just as we'd been the night before. This time, while he looked just as fierce, his eyes had a glint of something else-amusement again perhaps, or mischief.
"I must meet with my counselors. A maid will come with clothes for you and Anna. I journey south within the next two days. You must prepare, for I intend to take you with me."
"South?" I asked, feeling stupid again. "Where?"
Llywelyn didn't answer. Instead, he threaded his fingers through the hair at the back of my head, lifted me up and kissed me, hard, before letting me fall back onto the bed. "Remember what I told my brother."
Speechless again, all I could do was watch him go.