Lord of Hearts

by Gillgannon, Mary

  Her hand strayed to her belly. For all she knew, a babe might already be growing inside her. She half hoped it was so. Then if anything happened to Gerard, she would have something to cling to and distract her from her guilt and grief.

  Tears blurred her vision as she thought of Gerard and his companions, trapped inside dark, forbidding Castell Ystwyth. If Gerard was killed, his death would be on her conscience. What a wretched, stubborn fool she had been. But she would not mourn over what she could not change. She must find a way to rescue Gerard and his men.

  Restless, she stood and motioned to the door. Bronwen looked up from her weaving but said nothing. Outside, the weather had cleared, although it was still cool and breezy. Marared found the midden by smell and made use of it. Wandering around the farmyard, she saw newly sprouted bean and turnip plants in the vegetable garden. Small brown and white chickens pecked in the dirt. A bramble-fenced pen held white, spotted pigs wallowing in the greasy mud. A black cow stood in another pen, likely kept there for milking.

  Growing up, Marared had never had to worry about caring for livestock. Now she realized how much work went into providing for a household. A dozen or more people lived in this place, and all of them had to be fed and clothed. There were over three times as many at her father’s fortress, and four times or more at Tangwyl. If she ever got back to Tangwyl, she would make more of an effort to help.

  No wonder Hilda always seemed a bit harried. It didn’t seem right that everyone at Tangwyl worked so hard while she had a life of leisure. It was also a life of boredom. If she were more involved in the running of the castle, her life would be more fulfilling. And if she got her husband back and he regularly shared her bed, she would be not only content, but happy.

  Bronwen had said her husband would be home soon. But having eaten, Marared felt ready to be on her way again. Perhaps Bronwen could tell her about nearby landmarks that would guide her in the right direction.

  She started for the house and turned at the sound of voices. Three men entered the farmyard. Behind them trailed a mule laden with the carcass of a deer. The oldest of the three men was clearly Talhern. With his heavy mustache and piercing blue eyes, he reminded her of a younger version of her father. One of the two youth accompanying looked like him, while the other resembled Bronwen.

  Marared went to meet them, inclining her head politely. “I am Marared ferch Caradoc ap Maben. I’m trying to find my way home to Caer Brynfawr. Can you tell me which way to travel?”

  Talhern also inclined his head in greeting. “I am Talhern ap Emrys. And these are my sons, Geraint and Elidon.”

  He gave the two youths a look and they both bowed awkwardly. Talhern dismissed them and met her gaze. His eyes were as clear and sharp as blue glass. “You’re traveling alone?”

  “I became separated from my companions.”

  “How long ago?”

  “Two days.”

  “And you’ve wandered the hills for all that time?”

  “I have a horse.” She gestured in the direction of the barn.

  “Where were you when you last saw your companions?”

  “Near a forest.” She pointed to indicate the direction she’d come from.

  Talhern grunted. Marared grew uneasy. What if he took her back to Gwenwynwyn? Or, to some another man he considered his overlord?

  “Mmm.” Talhern cocked his head. “You have the look of him.”

  “Who?”

  “Rhys ap Cynan.”

  She didn’t know whether to be relieved or wary. “Rhys is my cousin. But his mother is a Cymrae and mine was Irish.” And I never thought we looked anything alike.

  “’Tis in the slant of your eyes when you glare at me.”

  Had she been glaring? She must learn to guard her expression better. And be very careful what she said.

  “Rhys was here recently.”

  Marared tensed.

  “He wanted my sons to join his warband. As if I would be willing to let the last of my blood be squandered on such nonsense.”

  The contempt in Talhern’s voice surprised her. “Nonsense?”

  Talhern made a face. “He wants to take back the lands that were lost to the English near a century ago. I told him I have my own land. And I don’t think this is the sort of place the Saeson would fight to possess, do you?”

  Marared looked around the farmstead. Although it was fairly prosperous, there was no river to bring in trade goods and it was too rainy and cool to grow wheat or many other crops. Talhern was right. Even greedy King John would not covet this place.

  “You sent Rhys away?”

  “Aye. I sent him away. Good riddance to him and the young fools who follow him.”

  Marared nodded. “He and my father also disagree.”

  Talhern cocked his head, still studying her. “None of this explains what you’re doing here.”

  “I told you, I lost track of my escort. I went into the forest to relieve myself and got turned around. When I came out of the woods, I couldn’t find them.”

  “I don’t believe your father’s men would lose track of you.”

  Her instinct to flee grew stronger. “They didn’t know the area where we were traveling.”

  “Where were you traveling? And why? Your father must have had a reason to send you off on this journey.”

  It seemed she must tell him the truth, or at least part of it. “We were carrying a message to Prince Gwenwynwyn. He seeks an alliance with my father.”

  “Why send you?” Talhern’s blue eyes grew calculating. “Or were you sent to wed Gwenwynwyn and that’s why you ran away?”

  Dread clawed her chest, making it hard to breathe. “I can’t wed Gwenwynwyn. I’m already married.”

  Talhern’s brows jerked upwards.

  Marared licked her dry lips. Talhern might not want to fight the English, but he still considered them the enemy. But she could think of no other reasonable response but the truth. “His name is Gerard of Malmsbury. He holds Tangwyl Castle from the Marcher lord Fawkes de Cressy.”

  “Ah. And why does Gerard of Malmsbury allow his wife to roam the countryside with an escort too stupid to keep track of her?”

  “’Tis complicated.”

  “We have time. ’Twould be witless for you to set out this late in the day.”

  Judging by the light, it was only a little past sext. This time of year she could easily travel a good distance before it got dark. Was Talhern deliberately trying to keep her here?

  The farmer was sturdily built and the way he was standing reminded her of large boulder. Solid and immovable. Unless she told him more of the truth, he would never believe her. Or let her leave.

  “My husband accompanied me on the journey to Castell Ystwyth. But soon after we arrived, he and his men were imprisoned.”

  “And you?”

  “I wasn’t guarded. I was able to flee the castle and ride here.”

  Talhern looked skeptical, as well he might. If he knew anything about Castell Ystwyth, he would know no one simply rode out the gate of the massive fortress.

  “Why do you suppose Gwenwynwyn imprisoned you? What did he hope to gain?”

  She shrugged. “Perhaps he thought Lord de Cressy would pay a ransom for Malmsbury.”

  “And what of you? Would de Cressy pay a ransom for you?”

  “Likely not. But my father would.” Perhaps Talhern would help her if he thought her father would reward him for helping her.

  The silence stretched out. A dog barked in the distance. Among the outbuildings, one man called to another. Talhern’s blue eyes probed her, as if he could discover the truth of her words if he stared hard enough. Finally, he motioned toward the house. “Come inside. I would not have Lord Caradoc think I refused his daughter hospitality.”

  Marared hesitated. “Your wife has already fed me. I should be on my way.”

  “Go inside. I have to think on how best to handle this.”

  It was clearly an order. Although she might be of higher rank, she
was a woman, so he felt he could command her. She felt the familiar rebelliousness and fought against it. She needed Talhern as an ally.

  She followed Talhern to the house. He spoke briefly to Bronwen. She rose from her loom and gestured to the back of the dwelling. “Lady, you look weary. Perhaps you would like to lie down for a time.”

  Did they mean to lock her away as Gwenwynwyn had?

  Bronwen’s voice was gentle. “Your gown is a stained and torn. While you rest, I could wash and mend it.”

  She didn’t want to spend the night here. Without her clothing, it would be even more difficult to leave. Yet, she didn’t want to appear rude.

  She forced a smile. “I’m certain my clothing will get even more soiled on my journey home. Although I would not mind lying down for a time.” Perhaps once the rest of the household retired for the night, she could sneak out.

  Bronwen took her to a spacious room at the back of the dwelling, which was clearly Talhern and Bronwen’s private chamber. A fair-sized bed took up much of the room, but there was also a stool, several chests, and a coffer. On the bed was a thick woolen blanket dyed a lovely rose hue. Marared motioned to the blanket. “’Tis beautiful. Did you use madder for the dye?”

  “Aye. My mother taught me the use of dyes and patterns for weaving.”

  “Did you grow up near here?”

  “Nay. My family are from up north, near Conwy.”

  That explained why Bronwen didn’t look like the rest of the people here. “How did you meet Talhern?”

  “He came to Gwynedd looking for a bride. His family has ties there. This area is sparsely settled and he couldn’t find a woman he wanted to take to wife around here.”

  “Yet there is good pastureland. I’m surprised there aren’t more farms in the area.”

  “A fever passed through some years ago. Several farms were abandoned because there were no longer enough family members left to maintain them.”

  Bronwen waited expectantly. Marared realized she couldn’t lie down on the beautiful blanket wearing her soiled gown. Despite her unease, she pulled her gown over her head. Bronwen took the garment and draped it over the back of the wicker chair next to the coffer. Marared removed her shoes and lay down in her shift.

  Bronwen started toward the door. “If there’s anything else you need, let me know.”

  “Thank you.”

  Marared stared up at the whitewashed ceiling. The bedding smelled of hyssop, lavender and some other sweet scent. Light from the one unshuttered window filled the room. She thought the brightness and her general unease would keep her awake, but after a time, her limbs grew heavy and her eyes drifted shut. She sought to open them but seemed unable to summon the effort. The room and all her doubts faded away.

  *

  She woke with a start. It was dark. How could she have slept so long? She climbed awkwardly from the sagging rope bed and fumbled around on the floor for her boots. When she couldn’t find them, she made her way to the chair. To her relief, her gown was still there. Bronwen hadn’t taken it away to wash, although she, or someone else, had been in the room and closed the shutters.

  Marared put on her gown and padded to the door. She pushed the cowhide covering aside and peered into the main room of the farmhouse. In the faint light from the glowing hearth, she could make out vague shapes. She started forward and ran into a bench. The person sleeping on it jerked upright. “Watch yourself!” The next moment the serving woman gasped. “Beg pardon, lady, I didn’t know it was you.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you,” Marared whispered.

  The woman also lowered her voice. “Can I fetch you anything?”

  “Nay. But do you know where my boots are? I need to go out.”

  “There’s a chamber pot in the master’s room. Likely under the bed.”

  “I’d rather go outside. I need my boots.”

  “They’re by the fire. Mistress Bronwyn asked me to clean them.”

  “I also need my cloak. Is it hung near the fire as well?”

  “Aye.” The woman started to rise. “I can get your things.”

  “I’d don’t want to disturb you any further. Although, thank you.”

  Marared carefully made her way to the hearth. No one else seemed to have woken. Her boots weren’t quite dry, but good enough. Her cloak, hanging on a wooden stand near the fire, was toasty warm. She put on her boots and cloak and crept to the door. It creaked loudly as she opened it, making her cringe.

  Outside, the air was thick with mist. She could barely see more than a few feet ahead. For a moment, she considered abandoning her plan. Then she decided she must try to leave while she could. She held her hands out in front of her and inched forward, guessing at the direction of the barn. After what seemed like ages, she encountered the scratchy branches of the hedge surrounding the farmstead. She must have gone the wrong way. Sighing, she turned around.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Gerard had always considered himself patient and calm. But the longer they were held captive, the more he felt his hope fade. He reminded himself he should be grateful they were still alive. If you could call this living—trapped in a nearly airless cell with no light or access to the outside world. He should also be glad he wasn’t alone and take comfort in that.

  As if prompted, Anselm spoke wistfully. “How many days do you think we’ve been here?”

  It was Guy who answered. “If you base it on when they bring us food, I’d reckon three days.”

  “Nay, four,” Owain said. “The first day, they brought us nothing.”

  The sound of a key turning in the lock interrupted their conversation.

  “What is it?” Ifan whispered. “’Tis too early for them to bring us food.”

  Gerard’s heart skipped a beat. Was this when they came for him? How would they do it? Hanging? Running him through with a sword? If he had a chance, he would plead for the lives of his men. His muscles, already cramped from sitting for so long, tightened like the metal bands lashing a barrel.

  “Lord Gerard.” The voice was familiar. Madog? What the devil was he doing there? Had Gwenwynwyn decided he was finished with his young spy and sent him down to rot with the rest of them?

  “I’m here,” Gerard answered.

  A deep breath and then a rush of words: “We don’t have much time. And I didn’t dare bring a torch, so you’ll have to manage in the dark. Here. I’ll bring you the key to unlock your shackles. Don’t drop it.”

  Gerard reached out and after some fumbling, found Madog’s hand and took the key. But it was still no easy thing to find the lock in his shackles and insert the key.

  “What are you doing here?” Ifan voice was sneering. “Your conscience get the better of you?”

  “Best not to talk too much,” responded Madog. “I don’t know for certain who we can trust.”

  “Not you, that’s clear.” Ifan let out another hiss of contempt.

  “That’s enough.” Gerard spoke firmly.

  After freeing his ankles, he moved on to his wrists. It felt wonderful to escape the punishing metal bands. With the full use of his hands, it was much easier to unlock the other men’s shackles.

  As he freed them, he could hear Madog’s impatient breathing. Their rescuer was obviously very apprehensive. What was his plan for getting out them of the fortress? What of their horses? Without them, they had no chance of eluding pursuers. And they would be pursued, Gerard felt certain. If Gwenwynwyn had changed his mind and decided to let them go, he would not send Madog. Nor would the Welshman appear so agitated.

  The last shackle fell away. They were free. Guy stretched and let out a groan. “I vow, I ache from head to toe.”

  “You’ll forget how you feel as soon you breathe fresh air,” Gerard said.

  “Follow me,” Madog whispered harshly.

  Gerard grasped Owain’s arm and reached out for Guy. The other men also linked hands until they formed a human chain. They moved slowly to the door and freedom.

&
nbsp; Once outside their prison, they climbed single-file up the narrow stairs. The entrance to the dungeon was located in a corner of the castle yard behind the blacksmith’s shop. The smith’s forge was stoked, so instead of fresh air, they were surrounded with the acrid smoke of burning charcoal.

  Rob coughed loudly. Madog gave him a stern look. Then he led them behind the smithy and past the other sheds and shops abutting the castle curtain wall. Gerard glanced back at his companions, wondering if they felt as anxious as he did. Why hadn’t Madog waited until night to free them? Although then they would need a torch, and that might draw the attention of the guards in the watchtower. But it was hard to imagine anything would alarm the guards more than looking down and seeing their prisoners creeping through the castle yard.

  At last they neared the stables and Gerard exhaled in relief. If they could get their horses, they might have a chance. But Madog didn’t enter the long low building. Gerard started to protest, to say that they must try to get a couple of mounts. But to his amazement, when they reached the other side of the stables, he saw their horses were saddled and ready for them.

  “How in the devil?” Guy murmured.

  Madog shook his head to indicate they still must remain silent. Then he nodded his thanks to the stern-faced ostler and the two grooms holding the horses.

  Within seconds they had mounted and followed Madog to the gate. This was clearly the most important hurdle. If the guards wouldn’t let them leave, they had no chance. They could hardly fight their way out without weapons. With a pang of loss, Gerard thought of his beautiful sword, Conqueror.

  The gate was wide open and there didn’t appear to be anyone manning it. They rode out as easily as they’d ridden in. Then it was single-file down the treacherous pathway that wound around the castle motte. With the sheer drop to the side, they all concentrated on their horses’ footing. It wasn’t until they reached the bottom and had ridden to the shelter of the trees by the river that Madog halted.