She took another swallow of wine. It would be foolish to try such a thing, no matter how desperate she was. Her current plan—to leave Castell Ystwyth with Gwenwynwyn and his escort, and then attempt escape—made much more sense.
But what about Gerard? If she left him behind, what would happen to him? Gwenwynwyn might decide to have him killed. But if he was going to do that, why go to all this trouble to have the marriage voided? The knife blade of fear for her husband twisted deeper, making the little food she’d eaten feel like a lump in her belly.
“Melangel.” She tried to make her voice pleasant. “I’m certain you’ve been told not to speak openly with me. But, I beg you, can you not at least tell me how my escort fares? Some of them are my countrymen, men I’ve known for years. And Lord Malmsbury, he may be English, but I have lived with him as my husband for over a month. I would know he and his men are alive at least, and not being mistreated.”
Melangel shook her head, looking very young and sad. “I know nothing, milady. I have no knowledge of the circumstances of your escort.”
“But you must know what Gwenwynwyn does with…with hostages.” She’d almost said prisoners, but she feared the term would make Melangel even more wary.
“I’m afraid not. Gwenwynwyn hasn’t been at Castell Ystwyth for long.”
“Who was your overlord before then?”
“’Twas Maelgwn ap Rhys, lord of Deheubarth. But he was very seldom here. Maelgwn made an arrangement with the king that gave him this keep.”
“The king? You mean John?”
Melangel nodded solemnly. “But since then, Gwenwynwyn has broken with Maelgwn. And Maelgwn is in the south, fighting his brothers.”
She’d come here thinking the goal was to pacify Gwenwynwyn, who was unsettled by Llywelyn’s marriage to John’s daughter. But Gwenwynwyn apparently held Castell Ystwyth due to Maelgwn, who was allied with John. The convoluted politics of Cymric princes were enough to make her head spin. But one thing was clear. Gwenwynwyn had convinced her father to send her here not because he wanted Caradoc’s support, but because he had planned this scheme of marrying her to consolidate his hold on Ceredigion.
The thought made her furious with Gwenwynwyn all over again. But she could not reveal her animosity to the serving girl. Instead, she sniffed, as if holding back tears. “Is it possible you can find out how my escort fares? It would relieve my mind greatly to know they are well.”
“I’m not certain how to do that, milady.”
“Where do you usually work, when there are not guests to serve?”
“In the kitchen, milady.”
“Then you should be able to find out if any food has been provided to my escort.”
Melangel looked doubtful. Marared continued to press her: “Think how you would feel if someone you cared for was far from their home and in unknown circumstances. Would you not worry about how they were being treated? It would relieve my mind greatly to know they are at least being fed.”
Melangel nodded timidly. “Perhaps I could ask one of the other serving girls. But I would not want to ask Einion, the cook. He gets angry over every little thing.”
Marared smiled at her sympathetically. “There’s no reason to bother the cook. I’m certain one of the other girls will know if anyone has taken food to men who recently arrived.”
At least she hoped some of the servants were aware of such things. Or, were they all like this timid young woman? Too downtrodden and meek to take note of anything? If circumstances were different and her father had wed her off to Prince Gwenwynwyn rather than Gerard, she definitely would have made some changes around Castell Ystwyth. Such as making certain the serving maids were better treated and certainly better fed.
Of course, Gwenwywywn was probably the sort of man who wouldn’t allow his wife to have any power, even in household matters. Marared shuddered. She was very fortunate to have wed a man like Gerard, who showed the utmost consideration for her decisions and cared for her happiness. But now that life she had failed to appreciate was threatened. If she could not escape Gwenwynwyn and his awful scheme and free Gerard, everything she cared about was at risk.
Melangel was still standing there, waiting patiently. Marared made her tone gentle. “That will be everything. Unless you would like some food.” She gestured to the bread and cheese left on the platter.
Melangel gave her a horrified look. “I could not. I would get in trouble for certain.”
“You can say I ate it all. Sit now, and have something to eat. That is an order.” She motioned to the stool.
Melangel crouched on the stool, reminding Marared of a cornered coney. She began to nibble on a chunk of bread. Marared went to the window. If she left the girl alone, perhaps she would relax.
Marared gazed unseeingly out the small window. If only she knew more about Gwenwynwyn and what sort of man he was. Her instincts told her he had not planned things out, but impulsively seized this opportunity to make her his unwilling bride. Perhaps when he saw the size of their escort and realized how far they were from any help, he’d come up with this scheme. Or, maybe her cousin Rhys somehow had a hand in it. Gwenwynwyn seemed like a wary, careful man, and this plan spoke of someone shrewd and ruthless. Someone like her cousin. Maybe he’d left Caer Brynfawr immediately after they spoke and ridden here ahead of their arrival. Was he here even now? Advising Gwenwynwyn on every step of the plan?
The thought unnerved her. Rhys would immediately see through her insistence that the marriage be annulled by an important church official. He would know she was buying time to escape. He would also make certain Gerard and his English escort never left Castell Ystwyth alive.
Another shiver of fear swept her, and she glanced over at Melangel, still eating. If she made a dash for the door, the small, underfed serving girl would be no match for her. But then she’d have to make her way around this sprawling, unknown fortress, find Gerard and his men, free them and hope they could get safely out the castle. Even if she freed Gerard, she knew he would never agree to leave her. He would not save his own life and leave her at the mercy of Gwenwynwyn. She knew that much about him.
Besides, if she attempted to escape, she’d get poor Melangel into terrible trouble. Gwenwynwyn would have the girl beaten, perhaps killed. She’d started to earn the girl’s trust; she could not betray her now. Nay. She’d have to stick to her original plan. And hope against hope that nothing happened to Gerard until she could get free and find help.
Melangel finally finished, and after thanking Marared profusely, scurried from the room. Marared gritted her teeth as the latch fell into place, locking her in. It would be a long, agonizing night. It would take all her patience and self-control to endure it.
Chapter Sixteen
Gerard shifted, trying to ease his body’s discomfort. The cellar was dank and chilly, and the shackles on his ankles and wrists chafed. With six other men in the small space there wasn’t much room to move. At least Marared wasn’t enduring such miserable conditions. He’d seen a young serving girl leading her away to the living quarters of the castle. Gwenwynwyn would not treat a woman like this, especially not the daughter of an ally.
He was also relieved he hadn’t been separated from his companions. If he’d been brought down here by himself, he would have been certain Gwenwynwyn meant to kill him. Or imprison him indefinitely. But his captor wasn’t such a fool to think seven men could disappear and no one would ask questions or pursue the matter. Especially since it was well known Gerard and his men were on their way to this place.
Of course, Gwenwynwyn could always kill him and let the rest of them go. But Gwenwynwyn must know de Cressy would seek justice if his vassal was killed. De Cressy might even go to the king. That would give John an excuse to send knights into Wales, which surely Gwenwynwyn didn’t want to happen. Or, perhaps John would have Llywelyn ap Iorwerth handle it. Then Llywelyn would have an excuse to come south and seek to enlarge his territories. Hardly the outcome Gwenwynwyn was seeking either.
Nay, he didn’t think Gwenwynwyn would kill him. But what was the man’s plan?
Slumped on the floor beside him, Owain grunted. “It may seem we are in a bad way, milord, but don’t fret. Caradoc won’t abandon us. If we don’t return, he’ll send men to find out why.”
Unless he’s in on the scheme. But it made no sense for Caradoc to insist Gerard marry his daughter and then knowingly send his new son-in-law into this viper pit. If anyone was working with Gwenwynwyn, it had to be Marared.
He wished he could ask Owain whether he thought she might be involved. But he didn’t want Owain to realize he was so unsure of his wife he feared she had betrayed him. Nor did he want Owain to be offended and angered by the suggestion his chieftain’s daughter was untrustworthy. He must keep his dark musings to himself. Which was not such a strain. He wasn’t a man for prattling on about whatever was on his mind.
Perhaps that was partly why Marared hadn’t wanted to wed him. She was used to men like her father, bluff, sociable men who spoke openly. She might find him cold and distant. But he’d tried so hard to show her he cared for her. Could she not see it? Even if he’d never spoken of his affection for her, surely she must know how he felt.
But perhaps not. He’d never told he loved her. The only men who spoke of such things aloud were poets, jongleurs and courtiers. Not knights.
The sound of footsteps. The souterrain door creaked and there was a flicker of light. Gerard caught a glimpse of a tray and a pitcher being pushed through the opening.
“At least they don’t mean for us to starve,” young Anselm said cheerfully. “That’s a good sign, isn’t it?”
*
In the morning when Melangel returned to the bedchamber, her face had more color and she moved more quickly, as if having a decent meal had heartened her. She put a bowl of pottage and some dried apples on the small table. Drawing close to Marared, she spoke in a barely audible voice. “Your escort is being held in the souterrain. Food and water was taken down to them.”
Marared let out her breath in relief. “Is that where prisoners are usually held?” She also spoke quietly. It seemed unlikely anyone was spying on them, but it didn’t hurt to be cautious.
“I think so, milady. Apparently, that part of the castle hasn’t been used in some years.”
The souterrain was probably damp and foul and horrible. But there was nothing she could do to help them.
She forced herself to eat some of the bland pottage, then motioned for Melangel to finish the rest. While Melangel ate, Marared washed her face and tidied her clothing. Then she sat on a stool while the serving girl brushed her hair and braided it. Melangel seemed quite adept, as if she dressed ladies’ hair everyday. When Marared commented on it, Melangel pointed out that smoothing hair was not much different than carding wool, which she’d done for years.
Before Melangel had finished braiding, there was a sound at the door. Gwenwynwyn entered. Marared rose to face him.
He gestured curtly. “Are you ready?”
“Almost.” Marared resumed her seat so the serving girl could finish braiding her hair. She could feel Gwenwynwyn examining her and was surprised by the revulsion she felt. He wasn’t an unattractive man, but the thought of being intimate with him made her skin crawl. Was it because she didn’t know or trust him? But she’d never felt that way with Gerard, even when she considered him her enemy.
As soon as Melangel finished her hair, Marared retrieved her cloak from the clothing pole, pulled it on and fastened it. She feared Gwenwynwyn might try to help her and if he got near, she worried he would sense her distaste for him.
He started for the door. Marared shot Melangel a warm, encouraging smile and mouthed the words “thank you”. She had to let Melangel know she was grateful for all the girl had done for her.
She followed Gwenwynwyn as he led her rapidly through the twisting corridors of the keep. It was a good thing she hadn’t tried to escape the night before or she would have gotten hopelessly lost. Several mounted knights waited in the bailey, although none of them were men she knew. Marared fought the discouragement she felt. She would have no allies on this journey, and would have to manage everything herself. At least Gwenevere was saddled and ready to go. Thank heavens. She worried Gwenwynwyn wouldn’t let her ride her own mount and she needed her swift, obedient mare, or her plan was useless. Gwenwynwyn must think she had accepted her circumstances. Either that or he didn’t believe she had the courage to try to escape.
Her plan might work, but it would not be easy. She’d have to wait for the perfect circumstances. Play the dutiful, refined lady and bide her time.
A squire helped her onto the mare. Gwenwynwyn mounted his own horse and gestured for her to follow. They rode through the gate and slowly made their way down the pathway winding around the hill. Marared’s dread of the sheer drop off to the side was tempered by her relief at being out of the castle. She savored the fresh air, tinged with the faint scent of the sea and the fragrance of flowers and grass. After the musty staleness of the fortress, it smelled wonderful.
The winding trail finally reached the other side of the hill. Marared caught a glimpse of the landscape to the east, a rich tapestry of gleaming green pastureland interspersed with the golden green of newly-leafed oaks and the creamy white of hawthorn blossoms. She wanted to ride off immediately, but she knew she couldn’t. Gwenevere might be fast, but these men were familiar with this territory and she was far from any refuge. She must be patient and wait for the right opportunity.
She kept Gwenevere to a sedate pace, forcing Gwenwynwyn and her escort to ride slowly as well. The prince glanced back at her a couple of times, his expression stiff with impatience. But she kept to her pretense of being a refined lady who rode with timidity and caution. Let him think she was a delicate flower who had to be treated with care. She rather enjoyed the deception.
They followed the river, picking their way along the marshy land where yellow flag irises gleamed among the reeds. Then they turned and climbed into the hills. They saw a herd of cattle grazing, the recently-born calves the same black-brown hue as their mothers, bucking and chasing each other in the tall, green grass.
They passed a farmstead of ancient stone. It was wildly overgrown with brambles and moss, and looked as if it had been there for centuries.
How many chieftains had claimed authority over this area in all those years? Probably dozens, each claiming to be prince of some territory or other. But the folk of the hills knew better than to involve themselves in the disputes of chieftains and princes. For them, life went on the same no matter who was supposedly their lord.
Marared and her escort moved into a broad valley. When she saw the dense woodland ahead, Marared’s heartbeat accelerated. This was her chance. As they neared the edge of the woodland, she urged Gwenevere forward so she was riding next to Gwenwynwyn. “Milord, I must stop. I am in need of…I must relieve myself.”
Gwenwynwyn halted, and his eyes narrowed. She gazed at him with what she hoped was helpless innocence and motioned to the forest. “I need a bit of privacy.”
She didn’t wait for his response, but rode for the trees. Although she’d feared he would send one of his men after her, no one followed. She rode slowly at first, searching for a pathway. At last she found a game trail and urged the mare faster. Any moment Gwenwynwyn might sense something amiss and send someone after her. By then she must be out of the woods so she could give Gwenevere her head and ride swiftly.
The forest thinned, but the ground was marshy. She still couldn’t go as fast as she’d like, lest the horse stumble in the soft wet ground and throw her or be injured. She gritted her teeth as she continued on at a measured pace.
Finally, they reached open ground. She glanced around warily and then urged the horse up a steep hillside. When she reached the top, she pushed Gwenevere into a full gallop. The wind was in her face, tearing at her hair and making her eyes water. But exhilaration and excitement flooded her with energy. Up one hill and dow
n the other she rode, putting as much distance between herself and Gwenwynwyn and his men as she could.
Gwenwynwyn would expect her to head east, back toward her father’s keep. Instead, she chose a route south. Even if he was able to track her, he was less likely to pursue her too far. He wouldn’t want to risk encountering men loyal to the southern princes.
Of course, she faced risks with this route as well. By heading south, she might have more difficulty finding her way back to Caer Brynfawr. And if she fell into the hands of one of the southern princes, they might seek to ransom her. But she would deal with that when the time came. At least for now she was away from Gwenwynwyn. Having lost his prize, there would be no reason for the prince to keep Gerard and his men captive.
At least she hoped he would take the sensible course of action and not kill the captives in a fit of anger. Gwenwynwyn didn’t seem like a rash, vindictive man. But he was a Cymro, and possibly Irish as well. She well knew that both races were known for their volatile temperaments.
The hills around her were bare and open. If Gwenwynwyn or his men were anywhere near, they could easily spot her. She must keep to the valleys. She guided Gwenevere down the steep hillside. It was midday, and the air was thick and humid. She could feel her face getting burned by the sun, but it was too hot to pull up the hood of her cloak. Sweat soaked her underarms and chest. The horse was also lathered and spent. They both need to rest.
A small stream flowed through the valley. She rode the horse into it and let Gwenevere drink. When the animal had quenched her thirst, Marared dismounted and led the animal to a copse of elm. She returned to the stream and splashed water on her face. She was desperate for a drink, but the bank was muddy and churned up, and the water didn’t look clean. She would have to look for a place where the creek flowed more swiftly. For now, she must content herself with the meager moisture of the half-dried apples Melangel had given her, which she’d stored in the pocket of her cloak.
She sat on the bank and ate the apples, aware of Gwenevere eyeing her and nickering softly. The poor horse didn’t understand why she didn’t share the apples. “I’m sorry, Gwenevere. This is all I have, and it might have to last me awhile. I can’t eat grass like you.”
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