Memories of the Heart

by Marylyle Rogers

  Mabyn moved a step closer to the granddaughter who with this determined goal was proving the unwelcome fact that beneath her ever gentle exterior lay a resolute spirit of tempered steel. “But Vevina will be forced to devise a reason to excuse your arrival to her mistress, the Lady Angwen.”

  “But as Lady Angwen is a native, nay, the princess of Llechu,” Ceri immediately argued against the logic of that statement. “Surely she, too, will be amenable to my plea for shelter.”

  Mab’s lips twisted into a distinct sneer of derision. She knew too well just how bitter Angwen had become since the payment for her beseeched boon had come due. Armed with that knowledge of precious lives lost Mab very much doubted the woman capable of enduring any reminder of her Welsh past. Aye, Angwen would be incapable of enduring and far less be willing to permit the continued close proximity of someone whose eyes alone would be an unpleasant reminder of all she wanted to forget.

  When her grandmother failed to answer, Ceri squared her shoulders and uptilted her chin to firmly announce, “I would rather have your blessing but if you refuse, I will go without.”

  “Tch…” Mab clicked her tongue in disgust yet because she had no doubt but that her granddaughter would boldly follow through with her threat, she did a thing almost never in her life done. She yielded to another’s will.

  “I cannot give you my blessing for an action that fills me with dark clouds of ill-boding.” There were tinges of both regret and sadness in Mab’s solemn words. “But if you’ll postpone your doomed quest’s departure till the morrow’s dawning, I will do all in my power to see you protected leastways over the pathway through the forest.”

  Ceri knew how rare it was for Gran Mab to yield on any point, on one concerning her only grandchild rarest of all. Greatly relieved that the expected response of ominous warnings was not forthcoming, Ceri gladly nodded her agreement to delay her leavetaking through the hours till dawn.

  Ceri spent the rest of the afternoon packing her clothes and a pitiful few belongings into a sturdy leather satchel. While she neatly folded and carefully stowed these items, Gran Mab summoned one of the children ever playing in open spaces between the village’s widely scattered cottages. Then to the young Gethin she gave very particular instructions, but in a voice so low Ceri couldn’t hear the words.

  Mabyn and her granddaughter had settled at a trestle table pushed up against one wall to share their simple meal of rye bread and cheese, along with a few of the spring’s first wild strawberries, when a steady knocking pounded against the door.

  “Enter,” Mab promptly beckoned, staring at the iron-bound barrier of oak as it slowly swung open under a firm hand.

  “You called and I have come.” Lloyd sounded none too pleased but it was unclear whether in distaste for the summons or its source.

  True to her brusque nature, Mab wasted no time on polite preliminaries but rather glared up at the man come on her demand and launched immediately into the purpose for her call.

  “Ceridwen is determined to set off on a journey to Westbourne Castle with the morrow’s dawning—despite my earnest cautions against dangerous beasts lurking on the path and skulking within castle walls—both two legged and four.”

  The newcomer’s already cold expression hardened. Although he would prefer to thwart this old woman, source of far too many unhappy events, Lloyd instantly responded with the promise she had yet to demand but unquestionably sought.

  “I will accompany Ceri, guard her path against all peril, and see her safely delivered into her Aunt Vevina’s care.”

  Mab’s penetrating eyes narrowed. She had summoned Lloyd to her cottage to extract this very oath. But now, because too many issues muddied the waters surrounding his words, she was uncomfortable with the haste of its giving.

  “On the morrow, Ceri,” Lloyd almost purred as he turned to study the unique beauty who he could see was plainly anxious to be gone by the fact that her bag was already packed.

  Lloyd wished the two women a peaceful rest and promised to return in good time for the planned departure. With a last nod toward the table, he quietly slipped from the cottage. He had known and helped care for Ceridwen since babyhood but the sight of her glowing with anticipation lingered in his mind.

  In all save the color of her eyes, Ceridwen was the image of Lloyd’s lost beloved, and he meant to see Ceri safely into the castle but still he feared what might await the tender maiden inside the daunting strength of its unyielding walls.

  Chapter 6

  The sun had passed its midpoint in the sky while in the woodland below a steady thudding of horse hooves lent rhythm to tedious hours of drudgery for Taliesan and his contingent of Westbourne guardsmen. This riding of the northeastern border with Bendale was both an important responsibility and a necessary chore. It was also a task filled with boredom, but Tal was wise enough to thank Providence for a lack of the sort of dangerous threats which would go too far in livening matters.

  In the lead, Tal ducked beneath a branch half-broken by some past storm to hang low across the path. With the motion his attention was caught by a silvery flash amongst the woodland’s dark greenery. He peered more closely to find that its source was merely a stray gleam of sunlight sparkling over remnants of the past night’s rainwater as it slowly, steadily dripped from the foliage of a towering tree.

  Still Taliesan’s heart pounded as he inwardly acknowledged that every night since his return from Wales, his dreams had been invaded by the same thrilling flash. But in his sleep that bewitching gleam emanated from the incredible eyes in a compassionate face of ethereal beauty … a magical being utterly unlike anyone he had ever known.

  Fool! Tal silently castigated himself. Even here in broad daylight he was haunted by that fantasy figure. But how else when her gaze contained a piercing silver surely able to delve into the soul yet cradled in a comforting green the same shade as the forest’s gentle morning mists?

  “Milord,” called Martin, a young guardsman clearly as pleased as startled. “How did you know something was there?” He spurred his steed to move forward, almost to his leader’s side. “What clue did you see that we did not?”

  Perplexed by the odd questions, Tal reined his horse to a halt while Martin swung down from his own. The younger man took two long steps into the thick undergrowth and reached down at the point just below where Tal had seen a flash of silver.

  From the ruthless clutches of a small but healthy holly bush Martin carefully freed a ragged strip of parchment that waved like a warning flag in the day’s slight breeze. After briefly glancing over this strange discovery, the young guardsman’s face darkened, and he immediately retraced his steps to place the fragment into his lord’s waiting hand.

  Tal’s usual good humor, too, drained away as he closely scrutinized the recovered item. The impassive expression that remained revealed no hint of his actual response to the treachery it suggested. Although only a tattered scrap apparently torn from the middle of a single short message, parts of scrawled words remained: Bendale on one line, welcome on the next, and a partial seal below—clearly a royal seal. It was obvious that King Stephen was its originator but what it truly meant was less evident. Tal suspected that it had been carefully torn from the original to present a view of Bendale as the one wooed by the king to attack and defeat Westbourne but was it true or yet another ruse? …

  Although incomplete with only half the seal remaining, it raised ominous questions that cast doubts on oaths sworn and tokens of loyalties given. And what folly had allowed any portion of so important a document to settle here? As a well-informed lord, Tal was certain that its apparent recipient never journeyed over these half-hidden trails.

  Not well versed in either tact or the dangers dared by openly raising any question that came to mind, Martin boldly stated his too hasty assumptions and the flimsy reasoning behind them.

  “Ulrich says as how Lord Morton of Bendale’s loyalties are ever changing and that it makes him and this border the most likely origin o
f intruders threatening danger for Westbourne.”

  Tal nodded, but didn’t verbally respond. Ulrich was far too impressed by his own opinions for Tal to ever take either them or their source seriously. In truth, but for the promise he’d given his dying father, Tal would already have replaced his guard captain.

  Ulrich and his brother Simeon had been fostered by Tal’s father in Westbourne. In honor of that relationship, Earl William had first employed Ulrich in his garrison and later promoted the man to its leadership. Tal didn’t approve of Ulrich’s methods of discipline as, although necessary to have strict discipline, he believed its value completely undermined when unjustly applied. Ulrich unsteadily walked a dagger’s sharp edge between what Tal would and wouldn’t abide—but had yet to tumble over.

  Tal forced the return of his attention to more immediate and ominous possibilities. If the treachery hinted at on this found scrap of paper hadn’t sprung from Bendale, then who had placed it here? Tal had no doubt but that it had been put precisely where it would be and was found.

  Though unknown to outsiders, each and every member of Tal’s garrison was familiar with this path often followed by regular patrols. But would one of his own be a party to such ill deeds? Nay! Tal firmly shook his head. He refused to wildly jump to unwarranted suspicions. It would require a great deal more detailed and specific evidence to make him blame one of his own—still he would cast a wary eye over all to stand better prepared for whatever might yet come to be.

  * * *

  In the shadows of the same forest but on its western edge, Ceri quietly followed Lloyd’s lead over secret pathways descending a steep, heavily forested mountainside that to others would likely appear impenetrable. The trail wound between trees, over fallen trunks, and through shallow streams. The trip had been long and required nights spent sheltered by leafy boughs. Her back ached and feet hurt but she wouldn’t complain when it was a journey embarked upon at her insistence. To divert thoughts from sore legs and burning soles, she attempted to initiate conversation on a far different matter with the man moving relentlessly onward.

  “How well did you know my mother? You must have been nearly of an age with her.” Although Ceri had broached this topic for a simple purpose, once begun she realized how important the information was to her. “What was she like?”

  Completely unprepared for this abrupt inquisition, Lloyd came to a dead halt in the middle of a narrow path. Since near the day of Ceri’s birth, he had willingly accepted Mabyn’s request that he stand as guardian to Ceri. Yet in all those years he’d exchanged precious few words with the girl, and he was ill-equipped to discuss this sensitive subject with her.

  “Your mother, Gwynth—” Lloyd gruffly forced the words out even while making himself resume the steady pace of their progress down the route from Dyffryn in Llechu through Westbourne lands to the castle. “Gwynth was—” He compelled himself to start over in a tone utterly devoid of emotion. “As you already know, your Aunt Vevina’s twin sister.”

  Though Ceri calmly nodded she was surprised by Lloyd’s unexpected reaction to these simple questions on a issue she had, apparently wrongly, believed a safe one to raise.

  “Aye,” Lloyd continued while struggling to hide the uneasiness clearly revealed by the bright color of a face only partially hidden by the short curls of his beard. “Gwynth and Vevina were so much alike that during childhood they took joy in tricking the unwary into thinking one was the other. Not even Mabyn, their own mother, could always tell them apart.”

  Ceri gently smiled, pleased with this new insight on the mother she had never known.

  “Then to know Vevina was to know my mother.” These words weren’t a question but rather the delighted welcome of implied fact.

  Though the girl trailed behind Lloyd with a step seemingly lightened by misconception, his still burning face closed into a hard mask. He was unwilling for Ceri to see the anguish her query had roused … a distress further deepened by the sad fact that her assumption was so very, very wrong.

  Lloyd remained silent, allowing Ceri to linger in a cheerful fantasy. What else could he do? No good purpose could be accomplished by selfishly and uselessly burdening her with the whole unhappy truth. However, the decision not to speak did nothing to prevent his own thoughts from wandering again through caverns in his mind where unpleasant memories dwelled.

  Vevina and he had been betrothed when, decades past the young Princess Angwen of Llechu was sent to wed with William, Earl of Westbourne. Their princess had requested Vevina’s company on the journey into Norman lands but had also promised to promptly send her friend home to Wales once the marriage was performed.

  Angwen hadn’t kept her word. Instead she had begged Vevina to remain in the castle until her first child was born during the depths of winter. With the arrival of spring’s warm days following that son and heir’s birth, Lloyd had traveled to Westbourne and begged Vevina to return home with him for their own wedding rites. Unfortunately from his point of view, Angwen was already awaiting the birth of a second child. Terrified of childbirth without a friend at her side, their princess, now Lady of Westbourne, had again pleaded with the soft-hearted Vevina to stay and support her through the frightening event.

  The ensuing heated quarrel had cast a dark blight across the bright future they’d planned. Lloyd stormed back to Llechu swearing he’d never again seek Vevina’s company. His beloved had also closed the door on their relationship and neither had reopened it even after Angwen’s second pregnancy ended with a stillborn daughter. During the decades since Vevina had rarely visited her Welsh home, then only for brief periods of time and never in the past twelve years.

  While her inexplicably brooding guide strode relentlessly forward, Ceri accepted the fact that he meant to say no more. She wasn’t surprised. Lloyd rarely spoke without purpose and yet she trusted him more than anyone else save Gran Mab. He had given her unwavering support all her life.

  Smiling affectionately at Lloyd’s back, she silently trailed behind until an exciting view demanded her full attention. Through the thinning forest’s web of interlaced leaves and branches a stunning sight slowly appeared.

  “Is that our destination?” Ceri gasped, voice warmed with awe.

  Lloyd shook himself free from desolate memories to peer through the last trees lining the edge of tilled fields covered with orderly rows where fresh green shoots sprouted.

  “Aye—” Black curls liberally streaked with grey bobbed as Lloyd firmly nodded. “Castle Westbourne it is … the site you were determined to reach.”

  The closer they moved to the massive structure, the smaller Ceri felt and the more erratic the beat of her racing pulse. Sunlight gleamed so brightly over towering, whitewashed walls that she blinked rapidly against the discomfort it caused her eyes.

  Lord Taliesan’s home was infinitely more impressive than anything Ceri had ever in her life seen! And if Lloyd were not at her side, if she hadn’t earlier fought so boldly to reach this goal, she might’ve turned and hastened back toward the safe haven of Gran Mab’s small cottage.

  Nay, Ceri scolded herself, that she would not! She’d sworn to never be content with so little and must bolster her courage to continue the quest for more.

  The remainder of their approach to the castle across verdant fields passed all too quickly for Ceri who was caught in an uncomfortable struggle between anticipation and alarm.

  They counted themselves fortunate that the broad drawbridge of thick planks was daily lowered for daytime traffic with outlying farms and neighboring villages. This practice allowed them to penetrate Westbourne’s fortified outer bailey wall by merely walking under the portcullis’ sharp teeth and over a wide moat filled with placid water.

  A burly guardsman suddenly barred their path into the courtyard. This impassive figure held a deadly broadsword across his thick chest in a wordless threat. “State your business.”

  Lloyd promptly answered the brusque demand. “I am Lloyd from the village of Dyffryn in Llechu
, and from there I bring Ceridwen to Castle Westbourne for a visit with her Aunt Vevina, your lady’s companion.”

  “Does Vevina expect you?” This question was as lacking in emotion as their inflexible barrier’s initial challenge.

  “Nay.” With his unhesitating and unequivocal response Lloyd earned a measure of respect from the guardsman although the man’s expression remained indifferent.

  “Wait here,” the guardsman flatly ordered. “I’ll send word to the one you seek to learn whether or no she welcomes your arrival.”

  Having little choice, Lloyd nodded. Ceri silently gulped, apprehensive of what this unexpected complication might bring. Would her Aunt Vevina be willing to accept an uninvited guest? Or had Gran Mab been right in saying that her presence would be resented? Ceri had met Aunt Vevina only twice in her life and both times she’d been but a child.

  Ceri uncomfortably stood at Lloyd’s side under the full force of the afternoon sun as what seemed an endless time crawled by at the pace of a particularly slow snail. And all the while she tried not to notice the many surreptitious glances cast her way by natives of both the castle and the village built within the security of its bailey walls.

  “Lloyd, you’ve returned.” These soft words instantly sundered the strain of the waiting two. Unrecognized by Ceri, they held far more emotion than their speaker would’ve openly revealed.

  With deep curiosity Ceri watched as the woman gracefully glided toward them with hands outstretched. Although her memories of their past encounters were sketchy at best, Ceri had no doubt but that this was her Aunt Vevina.

  Moreover, Ceri’s attention was sharpened for having learned on the journey here that this figure was the image of her own mother. And what a vision of gentle loveliness the willowy woman was with her thick black hair barely touched with silver, gentle brown eyes, and a face nearly unlined by her more than four decades of life.