My lovely beta, xxCee-Gisborne-Cullenxx, has not abandoned me, but I had so tight a schedule that a friend, who is a translater, did part of the translation of this chapter for me. Thank you so much, bellydancer. Anyway, hugs to you, too, Cee. I hope you like this chapter; thank you to everyone who took the time to review. I hope I replied to each of your comments. There are waiting three more chapters and an epilogue.

Illusions 40

Rhobert knelt beside Guy, who was lying on the ground, completely motionless. Only seconds later, he rose. "He's alive! Quick – a stretcher!" he shouted. Two men hastened to obey, while Rhobert ripped several lengths of cloth from his swiftly unfastened cloak. His hands shook when he pressed a wad against the bloodstained shoulder to staunch the flow of blood. For some moments, Gwyneth had been standing at his side, petrified like the other people, who gathered around the wounded man, murmuring. She blinked and laid a hand on her husband's shoulder. "Please, Rhobert, let me do this," she said and gently edged him aside. Everybody knew that Rhobert had been a monk, but except for his family, the King and herself, nobody knew about his reaction to the sight of blood, and she would make sure that it remained this way. Gwyneth laid her finger on Guy's throat to fee the pulse…Yes, Rhobert had not been mistaken and… had she heard a faint groan?

The murmur died down and two servants edged themselves through the curious crowd. Gwyneth rose and stepped back, while Guy was hoisted on the stretcher. "I will tend to his wounds, she said, gently stroking Rhoberts shoulder. "He won't die; he mustn't die." She darted a contemptuous glance at Marian and hurried away.

Rhobert stared at Marian. It had been him, who had brought this woman, him, who had meddled in his friend's life and it was his fault, if Guy should die. He felt as if choked and a blazing hatred welled up in him, something he had never known before. He clenched his fists, at first unable to utter a word and then drew a deep breath. "Never in my life have I rued something more than bringing you here. Guy was right: You're a brilliant actress. You will…."

He had not even noticed that Lord Rhys had stepped beside him, until he felt the ruler's hand on his arm. "She will get what she deserves, Rhobert."

"It wasn't her!" a silver voice chimed in. "It was him!" Bran pointed at Morgan, who was sitting on the ground, leaning against a wall and watching everything through half-closed eyelids. "I saw it!" A murmur went through the crowd, but Morgan didn't move. Everyone had seen that he was too drunk to even move; this he was sure of. He had poured ale over his tunic and overturned a chair in the tavern. Who would give credit to the bat's tale, even if he was the Prince's son?

Rhobert hesitated for a moment and then shook his head. "You must be mistaken, Bran," he replied.

"I saw it and I'm not mistaken."

Mass was boring. Why was it that Guy could go and he had to stay? Bran was glad that he was in the rearmost row of the chapel and that all the others had gone forward to watch the wedding ceremony. So nobody saw that he knelt on the bench and pressed his nose to the glass window, glancing into the courtyard. There was not much to see and he breathed against the window, fogging it and then drawing a horse with his finger. But then…There was Guy and he was following Lady Marian…aha… They were standing in the courtyard and of course he could not understand what they said. This was boring, too. Bran looked around and saw that nobody was paying attention to him; so why should he stay any longer? Unnoticed, he slipped out of the chapel and saw Lady Marian hurrying away and Guy remaining rooted to the spot. He opened his mouth to attract attention to himself and then…suddenly appearing out of thin air a man jumping Guy and raising a knife….Morgan, it was Morgan ap Owain. Bran was unable to move; he gasped and covered his mouth in terror… Marian, running back to Guy, the wedding party coming out of the chapel…Guy…Morgan had killed Guy…When Bran finally succeeded to make his way through the crowd, he saw Guy being carried away on a stretcher and two men holding the English lady…

"It wasn't her!" Bran repeated, looking straight in Rhobert's face. With a single bound one of the men was at Morgan's side and pulled him roughly to his feet. It was Brian, one of the soldiers, who had befriended Guy. "If Bran is right, Morgan should have blood on his clothing. A torch, quickly!" he shouted.

Morgan froze; he had not paid attention, but probably there was some blood on his tunic. His plan had been good, but he had not been prepared that anybody might pay attention to him. He had wanted to watch everything, watch how the bloody Englishwoman was led away as a prisoner and now… In the light of the torch it became obvious that his hands and his tunic were stained with blood.

Morgan knew that he had lost. He had to…"Don't even try, sunshine!" Brian hissed, holding Morgan's arm in a vicelike grip.

"Bring him to me," they heard Lord Rhys's commanding voice; Brian jerked Morgan forward and gave him a push, so that he fell at the Prince's feet. Morgan didn't dare rising without permission and cowered on the ground until he was pulled up again and looked into his ruler's face. It showed all the contempt he felt. "You will get the punishment you deserve; you will hang first thing in the morning."

Seized by panic, Morgan looked around. "He's an Englishman, for heaven's sake!" he gasped. "Only an Englishman! What's the matter with you? We have to defend ourselves from these foreigners. We have to defend Wales!" His voice cracked and he looked at the crowd around him pleadingly.

"Is that what you are thinking?" Lord Rhys addressed the men calmly.

Brian stepped forward. "Guy has fought with us and he's one of us; Morgan brought shame on us and to the name Welshman. In a fair fight he wouldn't have stood a chance against Guy; I've watched him often enough. I will take pleasure in putting the noose around his neck."

The people around nodded approvingly, some of them even jeering Morgan and spitting at him. Frantically, he glanced at the hostile crowd. "You are mad, all of you! Don't you see? Wales is bartered away to the English. They are welcomed here, they make themselves at home, first Guy and then this Englishwoman and all of this under the eyes of our ruler. If Gruffydd were our Prince, this wouldn't have happened. He would have…."

Morgan didn't finish the sentence; a blow of Rhobert's fist to his chin dashed him to the ground, rendering him unconscious. Rhobert looked down at the man. It had only been a few minutes, since he had left the chapel with his bride, only a few minutes, after they had tied the knot and now he was standing here, the man who had tried to kill his best friend lying at his feet.

Two soldiers grasped the unconscious assassin and dragged him away. The people's reaction on the cowardly deed had shown Rhys that he still could rely on his men, but he knew that the tables could turn quickly. Morgan was a man without character and he would hang from the battlements the next morning, but perhaps there would be others, perhaps it was time to think of a successor. But who? Gruffydd craved power, but he didn't possess the ability to unify the realm, let alone to win lost lands back from the English.

Rhys knew that his men were waiting for a word from him and that he must not betray his exhaustion, must not show how tired he was. He had to show them strength and determination.

"I hope Guy will live; in the short time he's been here, he has served me well. If Bran had not seen what had really happened, Morgan would have got off scot-free. But this is not the worst. If men like Morgan go to war for our country and butcher down people simply because they are English, then we will lose because the English will take revenge and pay back in kind. If we are careful and merciful, some of the English peasants might even be glad to belong to Wales now, since the English extort a huge amount of taxes to finance their military expeditions. They have lost nearly all their riches to King Richard; they need money. We may even get new allies. If we do not distinguish between enemies and allies, Wales will go down. This is not what I wanted to say at my daughter's wedding but fate had something else in store. Now go back to your chambers, all of you. We will celebrate this event – but not today."

Rhys could see the dismay in the faces around him and knew he had said the right thing. Rhobert still stood next to him as the crowd slowly dispersed. No one paid attention to Marian any more, who had dazedly followed the events.

"I am so sorry for you and Gwyneth", Rhys said to Rhobert. "Of course, you will want to go to Guy as well. Let me know as soon as you have information whether he will survive. – Come on, Bran," he adressed the boy who was standing closely next to him. He looked him in the eyes and smiled at his son. "Come on!", he repeated. Then he nodded again towards Rhobert and departed without waiting for an answer.

"Rhobert!" Only when he heard Marian's voice, he became aware that he was not alone. "Rhobert, I want to come with you – I need to know..."

It took him a few moments until Rhobert found his voice again. He had done her terribly wrong; what would have happened if she hadn't chased off Morgan...

"Please, forgive me, Marian...", he said finally.

"I forgive you. You would have thought... but that't not important now... Please..."

They stepped into Guys chamber where he had been laid on his bed. His head was bandaged, his eyes closed, and he didn't move. His blood-soaked shirt was lying in rags on the floor, and Marian could see the gaping wounds in his shoulder and below the collarbone. Two bowls with steaming water were standing on the table, and Gwyneth carefully pressed a cloth on his wound. Then she stood up to rinse the cloth and to press it on the wound again. Her eyes widened when she caught sight of Marian, and Rhobert hurried to explain: "It wasn't her – it was Morgan ap Owain..."

Gwyneth's eyes rested only for a short moment on Marian, then she turned to Guy again. Several times she dipped the cloth into the hot water and cleaned the wound before the adjusted a firm bandage around his shoulder. Guy hadn't moved while she bandaged him – and Rhobert's heart sank. Gwyneth did her best but obviously that wouldn't be enough. "God, help him", he prayed, and sank down on his knees next to the bed. He noticed Gwyneth stepping next to him and touching him lightly.

"He is not going to die", she said. „The wounds on his shoulder are not really dangerous. He has lost a lot of blood, however, and it looks worse than it is. When Morgan attacked him, Guy must have banged his head on a rock. He has a wound at the back of his head which is not very deep, and he will soon come round…"

The way she said it sounded so simple and matter-of-fact that Rhobert felt a bout of new confidence rising in him. He got up and took a deep breath. "I am sure, Rhobert", she said, "but I will stay with him tonight, in case that he might catch a fever."

"Please... I would like to stay with him…" Marians eyes were pleading, but her voice was determined, and eventually Gwyneth nodded.

"Promise me that you will send for me if he starts getting feverish."

"I promise."

Finally, the door closed behind Gwyneth and Rhobert, and Marian pulled the small stool close to Guy's bed. His face was pale, and even in the dark glow of the torches his long lashes stood out from his pale skin. But Gwyneth said that he would live, and Marian believed her. They had Guy blanketed with soft furs, but so that his wounded arm was not covered. How beautiful his hands are. Marian was appalled by her thoughts. How could she be thinking about his hands in such a moment? Maybe because this might be the last time that she would ever see him. In two days her ship would be sailing, and then…

A slight noise pulled her from her thoughts. The hand had moved, and as she glanced up, she looked straight into Guys eyes.