Tuck

'Difficult?' Merian snapped, her voice instantly sharp. 'Mother, you have no idea. Living in the greenwood with the dispossessed who have been driven from their homes and lands, whose hands have been cut off or eyes gouged out for petty offences and imaginary crimes, is difficult. Living in a hovel made of sticks and mud and covered with animal skins in deep forest where the sun cannot penetrate and stifling every stray sound for fear of discovery is difficult. Creeping place to place, careful to stay out of sight lest the Ffreinc soldiers see you is difficult. Hiding day on day from a sheriff who slaughters any unfortunate who happens to cross his path-that is difficult. Grubbing in the dirt for roots and berries to feed-'

'Enough, Merian!' snapped her brother, his tone matching hers. 'We know you've suffered, but you are home now and safe. There is no one in this room who wishes you harm. Mind your tongue and we will all fare the better for it.'

'Your brother is right, mon cher,' said Agnes Neufmarche, controlling her tone. Her Welsh was fair, if simple; that she was able to speak it at all Merian considered a revelation. 'We are your family now. We seek nothing but your good.'

'How kind,' Merian retorted. 'And was it for my good that your husband the baron pursued me and tried to kill me?'

'Of course, you have endured the ordeal terrible,' Agnes granted loftily. 'Yet, knowing my husband as I do, I cannot… accepter?…accept this as the truth.'

Merian stiffened. She had been expecting this. 'You would call me liar?'

'Jamais!' said the baroness. 'I suggest only that perhaps in your fear you mistook the baron's, ah… l'action as the assaut…'

She glanced to her daughter, who supplied the proper word. 'As an attack,' said Sybil.

'Is that what you think?' challenged Merian. 'You were there that day, Sybil. You saw what happened. Is that what you think? Bran was forced to flee for his life. He took me with him, yes-at first I thought he meant to abduct me for ransom, but it was to save me. He saw the danger I was in before I did, and he acted. When the baron discovered our escape he sent men to kill us both.'

'Very well!' said Garran irritably. 'Granting what you say is true, what can be done about it now?' He stared at his sister, his lips bent in a frown of deep dissatisfaction. 'It's been two years, Merian. Things have changed. What do you want me to do?'

There it was: the question she had been anticipating, her sole reason for coming. 'I want,' she replied, taking time to choose her words carefully, 'I want you to join with us. I want you to raise a war band and come help us recover Elfael.'

'Us?' wondered Garran. It was not a response Merian had anticipated. 'Have you lived so long among the outlaws that you no longer know where your true loyalties lie?'

'My loyalties?' She blinked at him in confusion. 'I don't understand.'

'What your brother is saying,' offered Anora, 'is that the affairs of Elfael are nothing to do with us. You are safe now. You are home. What is past is past.'

'But the fate of Elfael is my worry, Mother-as it is for all Cymry who would live free in their own country.' She turned to her brother, the king, and his nervous young queen beside him. 'That is where my loyalties lie, Brother- and where yours should lie too. Unless that bit of French fluff beside you has addled your mind, you would know this.'

Her brother bristled. 'Careful, Merian dear, you will go too far.'

'I am sorry,' she said, changing her tone from haughty self-righteousness to appeal. She smoothed the front of her gown beneath her hands and began again. 'I truly do not mean to offend. But if I cannot speak my mind here in this room among those who know me best, then perhaps I do not belong here anymore. In any event, the urgency of my errand leaves me little choice.' She licked her lips.'Baron de Braose has been banished from his lands and holdings in England and Wales, as you may have heard by now. Elfael is in the hands of Abbot Hugo de Rainault and the king's sheriff, Richard de Glanville. Without the baron to back them up, they are weak. This is the best chance we've had in many years to drive the invaders from our land-but we must strike soon. The sheriff has brought more men, and we must act quickly if we are to keep our advantage. If you were to-'

'We know all this,' her brother interrupted. 'Elfael belongs to the king now. I should not have to remind you that to go against Red William is treason. To raise rebellion against him will get you drawn and quartered at the White Tower and your pretty head fixed to a pike above the gates.'

'De Braose stole the land from Bran and his people. King William promised justice, but betrayed Bran and kept the land for himself.'

'He is the king,' countered Garran. 'It is his right to do with it what pleases him.'

'Oh? Truly?' said Merian, growing angry again. 'Is that what you think? You would sing a different song if the king's greedy eye was on your throne, brother mine. Or has Baron Neufmarche already bought your throne for the price of a wife?'

'Merian!' warned her mother. 'That is beneath you.'

'Non! S'il vous plait,' put in the baroness. 'Do not tax her so. She has had the… traumatisme, yes? She is not herself. In time she will see that the famille Neufmarche means only good for the people of this realm.'

'Thank you, Lady Agnes,' said Garran. 'As always your judgement is most welcome.' To Merian, he said, 'Bran's affairs are nothing to do with us. He has become an outlaw and a rebel and will pay with his life for his crimes. Of that I have no doubt.'

'Do not speak to me of crimes,' Merian said, her face flushing hot. 'Abbot Hugo and the sheriff rule with blood and terror. They hang the innocent and subject the Cymry living beneath their rule to all manner of torment and starvation. They are the real criminals, and chief among them is King William himself.' She tried one last desperate appeal. 'Listen to me, please. Bran and his people are preparing for war. They mean to take the fight to the invaders, and there is every chance they can succeed, but they need help.' Glancing at Queen Sybil, whose face appeared unnaturally white and pinched with worry, she said, 'Join us. Help us overthrow this wicked throne and restore the rightful king to Elfael.'

'No,' said her brother. 'We will speak no more about it.'

'Then there is nothing more to say.' Merian turned on her heel and prepared to walk from the hall and out through the gates. Stunned by her brother's outright rejection, the only thing she could think was returning to Cel Craidd, and that if she hurried, she might make it back before the night had passed.

'Where do you think to go, Merian?' King Garran called after her.

'To the greenwood,' she said. 'I am needed there. It is plain to me now that I have no place here.'

'You will not leave the caer,' Garran informed her.

She spun around and stormed back to confront her brother. 'Who are you to tell me where I will or will not go?'

'Father is dead,' Garran replied. 'Until you are wed and have a husband, I am your guardian. Moreover I am king and you are a member of my household. You will obey me in this.'

'My guardian! When did you ever lift a finger to help me, dear brother?' demanded Merian. Her defiance gave her a terrible aspect, but Garran stood his ground. 'I am a lady in my own right, and I will not submit to your ridiculous rule.'

'You will never see those outlaws again,' Garran told her with icy calm. 'Never. You will remain here for your own protection.'

The audacity of the command stole the warm breath from her body. 'How dare you!'

'It is for your own good, Merian,' said her mother, trying to soften the blow. 'You will see.'

'I see very clearly already, Mother,' Merian retorted. 'I see I was wrong to come here. I see that you have all made your bed with the enemy. Where once there was a family, I see only strangers. Mark me, you will yet curse this day.'

'You are much mistaken, Sister,' Garran said.

'Oh, indeed,' agreed Merian. She began backing away. 'Thinking my own flesh and blood would understand and want to help-that was my mistake.' She turned once more toward the door. 'But do not worry, dear hearts. It is not a mistake I will make again.'

She pulled open the heavy door, stepped through, and slammed it shut behind her with a resounding crack. She marched out into the yard, her heart roiling with anger at the unfeeling hardness of her own nearest kin. How could they fail to see the need and refuse her plea for help? Their intimate contact with the Ffreinc had corrupted