Memories of the Heart

by Marylyle Rogers

  Ceri caught up with Edith a few steps up the stairwell where she’d paused in the privacy of its gloom. Without speaking, Ceri reached out to encircle the girl’s shaking shoulders with the comfort of her arms.

  “I can’t escape the lady of Bendale,” Edith whispered between gasping sobs. “In a castle with no empty bed chambers, we’re certain to share the same one, so I’ve nowhere to hide.”

  “Come,” Ceri quietly said. Having made an instant decision to lend all solace possible, she led the badly shaken girl up stone steps to the alcove shared with her aunt. There she urged Edith to settle on the downy softness of the waiting mattress which filled its floor area.

  “I must return to my duties in the kitchens while my aunt will be kept busy by Lady Angwen—but you are welcome to remain here so long as you like.”

  * * *

  Several days passed during which Ceri saw Taliesan only from a distance. She caught brief glimpses of the earl either leaving or returning from patrols and duties owed elsewhere on his demesne. And each evening while serving at lower tables she saw him feasting at the high table with Lady Angwen on his right, Lady Edith on his left, and beyond her the one who coyly demanded and easily held his attention—Lady Blanche.

  Although badly discouraged, Ceri refused to surrender the quest to win in reality the same happiness earlier shared by magic. Besides there were other issues to be resolved. Dangerous issues. Someone was clearly intent on harming Lord Tal while Lloyd remained a prisoner in the dungeon below.

  Having finished her assigned task of folding freshly laundered cloth squares for the nobleborn’s use in bathing, Ceri promptly delivered them to the solar. After depositing a neat stack atop the corner shelves where they were stored, she welcomed an unexpected opportunity. Since neither her aunt nor their lady were here where they might be expected, she felt safe in daring to take the few moments required to see if Vevina could be located in another likely spot.

  Ceri rapidly moved to the alcove they shared each night. It was empty. She was disappointed but not surprised as her aunt was rarely allowed to wander far from the demanding Lady Angwen’s side. Still, she had hoped that with noble guests in the castle other matters would occupy their lady.…

  Stepping through the archway onto the landing of the dark stairwell’s highest level, a faint rustling caught Ceri’s attention. It came from beyond the slightly ajar door of the family’s tiny private chapel which was fitted into the alcove on one side. Glancing inside, she wasn’t surprised to find the overfrail Lady Edith on her knees at the prie-dieu lost in earnest prayer. It was a sight become common in an amazingly brief time. Ceri found it troubling in considering that this bride barely more than a child was ostensibly here to learn important duties from Lady Angwen with whom she seemed to spend precious little time. And yet, the vast amount of time Lady Blanche demanded left little to spare for anyone or anything else.

  As Ceri’s aunt had warned, the castle gossip vines were plainly healthy and ever sprouting with new blooms of tasty scandal. By this means Ceri knew of the messenger which the bride-to-be had early dispatched to Farleith Keep.

  Was the letter sent by Lady Edith a plea for her father to undo the arranged union? Nay, Ceri berated herself for that fool’s hope. It was far more likely to be simply a lonely girl’s contact with the family and home left behind. Asides, gossip held that should the arranged union falter, Lady Blanche would promptly supplant the child she had so publicly termed “bloodless.”

  “Ceri—” This call, though quiet, instantly broke the preoccupation of the one summoned and drew a silver-mist gaze to the speaker. Vevina stood in the opening of drapes which normally closed the alcove Ceri had come to check in hopes of finding her aunt.

  “Aunt Vevina—” Ceri hastened to the older woman’s side. “I stole a few moments to see if I could find you but feared I’d failed.”

  “Ah,” Vevina gently teased the tender girl proven lovable and worthy of trust. “But I’ve found you.”

  “And pleased I am that you have.” Ceri’s smile was so bright it near lit the dark corridor.

  Head tilting in open curiosity, Vevina asked, “Why were you looking for me?”

  Ceri’s smile faded into a pale parody of the original as she carefully led the way into the relative privacy of their alcove. Once there, mindful of unseen but prying eyes and the possibility of straining ears, she spoke in a whisper.

  “I wondered if from your trusted position with the lady of Westbourne you had heard news about the timing of Lloyd’s appearance in the lord’s court?”

  Days had passed since Lloyd’s imprisonment and with each passing hour Ceri’s fear on his behalf grew in breadth and depth until she thought it might swallow her whole.

  With the same inner strength necessary to tame her own fears for Lloyd, while slowly shaking her head Vevina pressed the fingertips of one hand against a stone wall so hard they turned white. “Nay, Lady Edith’s arrival threw the schedule of our castle’s normal routine completely off kilter.”

  “When last we discussed Lloyd’s situation,” Ceri tenaciously pursued the sensitive topic, “you suggested we seek further information about both the misdeed involved and its culprit. Have you learned anything toward that goal?”

  “With the constant possibility of either Tal’s bride being near or the intrusion of that other guest, it’s been too difficult to broach the subject with Lady Angwen.” From the strain in Vevina’s tone it was clear to Ceri that she and her aunt shared two emotional responses. First, they both found Lady Blanche objectionable and, second, their deep concern for Lloyd’s safety had in no way lessened.

  “Have you,” Vevina continued with faint hope, “overheard anything while serving at lower tables or learned pertinent morsels of gossip in the kitchens?”

  “Would that I had,” Ceri solemnly responded. “But, like you, I’ve found that the arrival of two very different yet noble guests completely distracted everyone from thoughts of the assault and the assailant. I’ve heard nothing from anyone about either.”

  “Unfortunately—” Vevina painfully acknowledged an unpleasant fact. “Lloyd’s charged wrong will not be so easily forgotten. Time before that wretched trial grows ever shorter while, lacking a miracle, we have little hope of seeing him escape the punishment levied against him.”

  * * *

  “Lord Taliesan—” A soft voice spoke from stable shadows.

  Surprised by this interruption while leading his own destrier into its darkness after this late return from a distant farm, Tal turned to dimly view the silhouette of his young squire. In the few days since the arrival of two uninvited guests, he had taken to finding excuses to delay his return home for as long as possible. By this tactic Tal limited the hours he must spend caught between the coldly disapproving child-woman and the all too warm admiration of the second lady guest.

  “Thomas,” he gently scolded, “you shouldn’t be here while surely everyone is at table for the day’s last meal.”

  Taking a deep breath for courage, Tom launched into the speech he’d carefully rehearsed again and again in recent days.

  “I should have told you before—wish that I had—and am determined to speak of it now.”

  Having noted the boy’s need to bolster his usually daring spirit merely to share information, Tal listened with great curiosity. What could this earnest youngster possibly know that was so important and yet posed such a threat as to justify this kind of alarm?

  “On entering that cottage in Dyffryn when we arrived to fetch you back home to the castle, I saw you, of course.…”

  Tal nodded, urging the boy to hasten beyond such obvious facts.

  Valiantly meeting his lord’s steady gaze, Tom said, “But you were not alone.”

  “I wasn’t?” Tal was startled. Still he quickly recovered his balance while offering the explanation he assumed must be true. “You must mean that the old wise woman responsible for mending my wound tarried somewhere near?”

  “Not s
omewhere near.” Tom slowly shook his head. “And not an old woman.”

  “Then who did you see and where?” Tal’s penetrating gaze narrowed on his squire.

  “A magical figure like a enchantress or sorceress or…” Tom’s voice trailed off into embarrassment for sounding a moonstruck witling. “But now I know that it was the niece of your mother’s companion. Ceri was there with you in the cottage.”

  “With me?” Rarely caught unprepared, Tal was annoyed that he had no response to give. He knew Thomas well and was certain that boy wouldn’t lie, assuredly not about facts he plainly viewed as being important enough to warrant serious concern.

  “She was there when I entered.” A lock of sun-streaked hair fell forward across Tom’s forehead as he nodded. “But while I helped you dress, she simply vanished.”

  “Vanished.” Tal was irritated with himself for sounding like a toddler first learning to speak by repeating every word. “She vanished?”

  “Vanished without a sound,” Tom nodded once more. “And I didn’t see her again until the Welshman now in the dungeon below boldly brought her to Castle Westbourne.”

  A deep scowl settled over Tal’s dark gaze. What did it mean that Ceri was with him in Dyffryn but he had no memory of it? Was there so much as a grain of truth in his mother’s tales of Mabyn’s magic? Worse, were Ulrich’s warnings of treachery from Ceri and her guardian, Lloyd, a reality?

  He couldn’t bear the thought of the incredible damsel source of such sweet compassion being both untrustworthy and, more lamentable, his enemy.

  Chapter 12

  Taliesan’s tardiness for the evening repast provided him with an excuse to gently urge his mother and their lady guests to retire from the high table once finished with meals nearly done when he arrived. After they withdrew to either the solar or bedchambers above he was free to release the many lower born impatiently seated below, unable to rise and be about their duties so long as nobles lingered. Then as they scattered to take up tasks undone, Tal was left to eat in relative peace while awaiting the opportunity to seek an important meeting best won without three noblewomen to observe.

  From his vantage point at the center of the dais, Tal watched as houseserfs scurried over the hall, retreating with heavy loads of empty mugs and platters of meat-stripped bones. Others disassembled trestle tables, leaning plank surfaces against stone walls and braced them with crossed trestles while benches were lined up in front.

  Tal at last found the one he was searching for when a pair of silver-green eyes met his gaze unflinching. He motioned for Ceri to approach the dais where he sat, intending to issue an order once she was near enough to hear.

  “Fetch the mulled wine normally delivered to the solar and bring it to my bedchamber.” Tal knew that this command would put fresh sprigs on the gossip vine but felt there was little choice. He had no desire to see Ceridwen suffer the consequences of un-pruned rumors but there were questions that must be answered. Answers that could only be sought in private.

  Very much aware of curious houseserfs laboring nearby to clear the great hall, a rosy hue bloomed on Ceri’s pale ivory cheeks while she again nibbled her lower lip to berry-brightness. She couldn’t refuse the earl’s command. Nor, truth be known, did she honestly wish to do so. Obedience might bring a shame to her, the one her aunt had warned her to evade but …

  As Ceri turned to comply, her attention was caught by a sight which had become familiar since her arrival at Westbourne. She’d often caught the same young boy who had burst into the cottage in Llechu peeking at her although, as now, he always slipped away without meeting her eyes directly.

  Bolstering her resolve to see the commanded deed done, Ceri forced her attention back to the next step to be taken. Obeying wasn’t so easy as simply fetching the requested wine. Nothing left the kitchens without permission given leastways by the steward, and more likely the seneschal. No servant dare take so much as a sip of ale and far less a flagon of the valuable wine without their approval. Thus, before Ceri could fulfill Lord Tal’s request, she must descend to the kitchens and relay his order to someone in a position to sanction her compliance.

  In the vast chamber constantly heated by cooking fires Godfrey watched the nervous newcomer from Wales moving toward him. Ceri had been in the castle for only a brief time yet he’d seen enough to judge her a worthy servant—pleasant, anxious to perform tasks well, and ever willing to help another. By these observations Godfrey was quick to note her uneasiness as she approached.

  “Ceri—” Godfrey began, raising his voice enough to be heard over the kitchen’s persistent din. “What sends you to me?”

  “Lord Taliesan ordered me to bring to his bedchamber the mulled wine usually served him in the solar.” Ceri steadily met the seneschal’s probing gaze, refusing to feel ashamed when she was guiltless.

  “Go to Biddy at the small hearth.” Despite misgivings about the possible repercussions of Ceri’s task, Godfrey chose not to question the girl on a decision of their lord’s which neither of them had the right to question.

  “Tell Biddy—” While holding his staff in one hand, Godfrey motioned toward one among the kitchen’s numerous fireplaces built into the depth of stone walls where an older woman nightly prepared the lord’s expected beverage. “It is by my wish that you deliver this evening’s mulled wine.”

  Appreciation warmed Ceri’s eyes as she gazed at the elderly man granting this boon. She was grateful that he had both eased her task and pried no further.

  * * *

  “She’s a witch.” Angwen’s succinct words destroyed the solar’s brittle silence as effectively as icicles falling to shatter against stone.

  “Who?” Despite the sticky sweetness of her voice, Blanche’s single-word question was a demand for the answer even though near certain she already knew. While earlier bringing to the solar a small piece of half-complete needlework which Blanche had requested be fetched, Mary had mentioned Lord Tal’s command that the young Welsh servant deliver wine to his bedchamber.

  “Who is this witch?” Blanche repeated with less honey and more steel in her tone.

  “Ceridwen.” Angwen’s cold answer was as brusque as her accusation had been.

  “Surely that can’t be true—” Edith meekly ventured in defense of the only person who had shown honest concern for her within these cold walls. Her tentative support for the Welshwoman was immediately refuted.

  “Ceridwen is her grandmother’s acolyte.” Angwen flatly stated. “And her Gran Mab is most undeniably a witch.”

  While an already worried Edith looked confused, Blanche was clearly intrigued. Although Blanche had hastened to Westbourne with the intention of diverting Taliesan’s interest from the proposed child-bride from Farleith, she had quickly recognized in Ceridwen a much greater threat to her plans.

  Blanche meant to secure a new husband and with him a position for the future more certain than the one stolen from her at the death of her first spouse. Aye, a new husband more powerful and infinitely more handsome—along with the added prize of Taliesan’s position as an earl. Blanche refused to waste effort in acknowledging her previous attempt and failure to win him.

  “The people of Llechu rightly fear Mabyn’s powers.” Angwen slowly began explaining to her two lady guests the basis for her condemnation of the Welsh newcomer. “Unfortunately, though I was their princess, I failed to do the same.

  “As a foolish bride I went to Mabyn with a silly plea for some spell or potion to hold my groom enthralled, leastways until I’d provided him with heirs. The old witch granted my request. Yet, with the mysterious seeds provided to see it fulfilled she cautioned me that there would be a price to be paid. I gave little heed to that warning—to my endless grief.”

  Before she could stifle the urge, Edith crossed herself against this example of a dark magic sprung from fearsome and surely ungodly powers. Blanche merely arched her brows in silent demand for more.

  “I paid a price most dear.” Angwen’s lips curled upw
ard but with cold pain rather than warm humor. “That price was the life of my firstborn son.”

  Edith instinctively reached out to comfort the obvious pain of her hostess who, having begun, inexorably continued to the end.

  “Then, once the seeds were completely gone, my Lord William—” Angwen paused to swallow hard. “My husband died, too.”

  Though too proud to sob in open grief, Angwen couldn’t prevent a silent but steady fall of tears.

  “’Struth, the Welshwoman is plainly a witch.” Blanche promptly nodded a head of golden curls so very different from Ceri’s black locks.

  “A young witch and dangerous,” Angwen solemnly agreed, directly meeting the speaker’s azure gaze with needless volumes left unspoken.

  “You must immediately send Ceridwen back to the Welsh wilds,” Blanche boldly suggested. “What, in the first instance, led you to permit the exchange of her position there for one in your castle?”

  “It is not so simple as that,” Angwen wryly stated. “As a Welshwoman, Ceridwen is not a serf, bound to the land. Rather she is freeborn and able to travel where and when she chooses.”

  Blanche frowned. “Surely whether serf or free-born none among the common class has the right to intrude on your home without your leave?”

  Angwen couldn’t stifle the cynical smile earned by this amazing statement from the woman who had done just that herself. Still she responded, “There are reasons why Ceridwen was permitted to remain and work in Castle Westboune.”

  Blanche slowly shook her head, hoping that those reasons had nothing to do with Taliesan’s obvious fascination with the young witch.

  “The danger—” Blanche solemnly spoke an obvious warning aloud. “Will linger so long as Ceridwen remains in the castle.”

  * * *

  In the kitchens once the requested liquid filled the same valuable flagon of glass and gold that Ceri had carried to the solar her first night in Westbourne, it was carefully placed on a serving platter and put into her hands. The silence surrounding these actions was sufficient to warn Ceri of the overclose attention paid by too many observers.