In Debt To The Enemy Lord. Nicole Locke

her garments, despite the strength sitting gave her, she felt naked, exposed. Vulnerable. It was enough to shake her.

      ‘Why am I a prisoner?’ she asked.

      ‘Is that what you think you are...a prisoner?’ Teague bit into the apple again. This time she was prepared for whatever strange reaction she experienced before. Prepared, but no less affected. He was merely eating, but the way he did it... The smooth bite of his teeth, the sound of the crisp apple. The way he cradled the fruit.

      She felt more like a prisoner than when she was locked in the room. Yet nothing kept her here except for his presence and the way she reacted to him.

      ‘You’re no prisoner. I merely provided a guard to give you some protection. Do you believe you have committed a wrongdoing to justify imprisonment?’

      ‘How could I commit a wrongdoing when I was asleep for days?’

      Teague tossed the apple into the fire, but her eyes remained on him, so she saw the smug curve of his lips as he continued. ‘Perhaps it is what you were doing before you fell that we should be discussing.’

      ‘What do you mean?’ Her actions prior to her injury were none of his concern. If he didn’t want people to come to his village, then he shouldn’t have stolen the best tanner in the region.

      ‘You are from Brynmor,’ he said.

      Anwen just managed to hide her surprise. ‘Yes, it is my birthplace.’ So it wasn’t the tanner but her home that concerned him.

      ‘So you admit to living in a Welsh minor prince’s home?’

      ‘I don’t know what you mean. There have been no Welsh princes since Edward’s wars. We are all English now.’

      ‘But you do admit Brynmor was at one point an enemy manor?’ he pressed.

      ‘I believe that is a matter of perspective. Your home could just as easily be termed an enemy castle.’

      ‘Are we enemies?’ He stood and clasped his hands behind his back. He did it so suddenly, so restlessly, the move surprised her.

      Anwen stood along with him, moved away from the chair, the repast and the warmth of the fire. She wasn’t fooled by his friendly tone; she knew a trap was being laid. ‘King Edward has declared we are not.’

      ‘Then what were you doing in Dameg Forest so close to Gwalchdu?’ Teague began circling her.

      She felt like a hawk’s prey and had a sudden instinct to move her head to follow him. Instead she stared straight ahead when she answered. ‘My home is near yours and Dameg Forest. If we are not enemies, then there is no wrong in being in the forest.’

      ‘You know Alinore, Lord Urien’s daughter?’

      ‘I am well acquainted with her.’

      ‘And Robert?’

      ‘One would hardly live at Brynmor without knowing its English-appointed Governor,’ she answered through the tightness in her throat.

      ‘What is your position at Brynmor?’ he asked.

      It was the question she dreaded. Her positions were many at Brynmor, and all of them would give anyone cause to question her veracity. It would hardly do to tell him the truth of who she was at Brynmor: bastard-born and unwanted. That Alinore was her half-sister and Lord Urien her father. But she could not avoid the question, so she chose one of her occupations.

      ‘I am an astringer,’ she answered.

      Teague stopped in front of her. ‘An astringer?’

      She hated that incredulous smug tone. She was good as an astringer and people needed her. ‘I work with hawks.’

      ‘It’s an unusual occupation for a woman,’ he persisted.

      ‘Any occupation is unusual for a woman, but that is what I do,’ she said.

      ‘There are other occupations that women do that are not quite so...unique.’

      ‘How like a man to think bearing children is a woman’s only occupation,’ she retorted.

      ‘It wasn’t the bearing of children I had in mind.’

      Anwen’s face heated. She should have known he would turn their conversation to appeal to his lust. But whatever purpose he had in embarrassing her shouldn’t matter. Her entire desire was to return to Brynmor and be done with the conversation.

      ‘These are not questions I can provide answers to,’ she retorted. ‘You talk this way to embarrass me and I’ve little knowledge or care as to why. All I know is I am held here against my will and given no courtesy as to the reasons.’ She wasn’t worried about fainting or weakness or her head aching. Anger and frustration kept her strong now. ‘You’ve now asked your questions, and I want mine answered. Can I go free?’