“What could you possibly hope to gain by capturing me?” Ceri had maneuvered herself into an awkward sitting position atop the straw-filled pallet where she’d earlier been callously dumped. “I am neither a noblewoman worthy of ransom nor a serf bound to the land, one whose absence might cause leastways a minor measure of loss to Lord Taliesan.”
The two men assigned to guard Ceridwen were so alike they could be twins or leastways brothers. Each had lank, mud-brown hair crudely cropped at the shoulder, dull grey eyes, and badly pockmarked faces utterly bereft of expression.
Weary of vainly striving to win some slight response, Ceri sank back against the lumpy, straw-filled pallet despite the discomfort of wrists bound behind.
The two men exchanged a long-suffering glance. Their captive’s comfort meant nothing to them. Not destined to survive her captivity, she was alive now only by deference to their master’s order to wait for his direct command before doing the deed.
Ceri pretended to sleep and could hardly believe either her good fortune or the foolishness of the two unwelcome men when at length they both stepped beyond the cottage door, leaving her alone. Though her hands were confined, her feet were not—a fact which permitted the faint hope of escape.
Struggling to again sit upright, this time with as little noise as possible, Ceri’s heart pounded with the desperate wish for success. Once sitting, she scooted toward the pallet’s edge, placed her feet firmly on the hard-packed dirt floor, and fought to stand without free arms to aid her balance. It was a lengthy exercise and every instant was fraught with dread of her captors’ too soon return.
Standing at last, Ceri looked toward the door through which her foes had gone but rejected it as a possible escape route. The two men were almost certainly no more than a few steps beyond, seeking fresh evening air to clear away the cottage’s stale odor.
Taking careful stock of her surroundings, searching for an alternate way to freedom, Ceri found only one—a tiny, shuttered window low on the wall opposite the door. The portal’s covering was in a badly deteriorated condition and plainly remained to place only by a luck which any stout wind would destroy.
With a series of brisk kicks Ceri slowly shoved her pallet across the floor to lay just beneath the window. Then by persistently bumping the shutter’s outer edge with her shoulder, she succeeded in dislodging its rotting pieces to fall silently atop the pallet.
Heart madly thumping, Ceri bent down to thrust her head through the opening, wiggled her shoulders out after, and then relentlessly squirmed until her hips and legs followed. She landed head first in the tall swathe of weeds growing around the cottage’s perimeter—a thankfully soft resting place.
Ceri’s exit had been accomplished with precious little noise, but she lay motionless for long moments, straining to hear any sounds that might signal pursuit. There were none. Her heart had nearly returned to a normal beat when she rose to her feet. It was a task more easily accomplished here with the convenient support of the cottage wall.
From this site Ceri had few options save hastening into the nearest forest shadows. Once deep within the increasing night gloom of thickly wooded ground, she continued her flight despite having no notion of which direction that was. She was tripped repeatedly by exposed roots, twisted her ankle in a stumble-hole hidden by lush vegetation even in daylight, and her clothing was constantly caught on the unseen thorns amidst dense foliage. Still she moved ever onward without hesitation until …
Suddenly Ceri tumbled into a deep ravine impossible to see in the dark. Though shocked to find herself rolling in a bundle of skirts over the uneven, rocky surface certain to leave bruises, she firmly refused to make a sound. At the bottom of her fall lay not loose pebbles and stones but a boulder. Her head abruptly struck its unyielding strength after which no sound was possible. Ceri lay unconscious, half-buried in the cool embrace of deep grasses.
* * *
Having confidently led the way over the secret trails of a far distant forest, Lloyd stepped from its border to stand at the edge of a tilled field. Mabyn silently followed. Never before had she visited Castle Westbourne and wouldn’t now but for the sake of her foolish, headstrong granddaughter.
To Lloyd’s surprise, relief, and uneasiness they found the castle drawbridge still lowered and guards absent although night had fully descended. Why? Was it to allow the entire garrison to search for its captured earl that the fortress had been left dangerously unprotected?
Lloyd regretted the time limits preventing further investigation but knew they must continue with their own plan. Still, he would remain wary to stand prepared for any eventuality.
After climbing wooden exterior steps, Lloyd took the reluctant Mabyn’s hand and laid it atop his upraised forearm to formally escort her through the tunnel and into the great hall.
From the center of the high table, Taliesan was the first to notice the new arrivals. Vevina had been right when assuring him that Lloyd would come back for Ceri’s sake but neither of them had expected Llechu’s wise woman to return with the Welshman who’d escaped from Westbourne’s dungeons.
“Welcome to my castle,” Tal’s voice carried easily above the dull roar common at most evening meals and instantly directed the attention of everyone in the vast chamber to the pair standing in the tunnel’s arched opening.
Heart pounding in her throat, Vevina watched from near the end of one long line of lower tables as a dangerous scene began to unfold.
Lloyd was initially surprised to find Lord Taliesan seated in his place of honor at the center of the high table. But surprise quickly shifted to a dawning recognition of the answer to why the castle seemed to have been left unprotected.
Plainly he had been expected and the way cleared for his return. However, by the reaction of guardsmen seated at lower tables, it was clear that they hadn’t been advised to expect his arrival.
Benches scraped over plank floors as warriors abruptly shoved them back to rise with drawn daggers held firm in their hands.
“Hold,” Tal thundered. “They’re my guests and by my command will come to no harm in this hall.”
Piercing gaze slowly moving from one man to the next, Lord Taliesan didn’t speak again until all had settled in their seats once more. He waited for indistinct grumbles to fade into silence before returning his attention to the newcomers with an order.
“Advance and share the purpose for your journey to Castle Westbourne—despite the dangers you surely know await.”
As the two natives of Llechu began to move forward Angwen couldn’t restrain her indignation. Her seething resentment erupted before the pair of uninvited guests could reach a point below the dais.
“Tal, you can’t, you must not welcome this creature, this witch responsible for the unnatural deaths of both your brother and father!”
“’Tis not so!” Strange eyes flashing with dangerous bolts of silver, Mabyn immediately and heatedly rebutted the lady of Westbourne’s accusation. “You begged a spell to bind your unmet groom to you. Merely did I grant my princess her fervent desire.”
Not only was Angwen frustrated by this unexpected confrontation but hideously aware of being woefully ill-prepared to argue its details now while suddenly the focus of every eye.
“And warn you I did of a price to be paid…” Mabyn boldly moved closer to the dais. Peering directly across a table draped in white linen, she solemnly delved into Angwen’s gaze and found the poorly hidden alarm within its depths. “It was you who chose to ignore the caution I advised.”
“But death?” Angwen cried out, her anguish exposed. “You said nothing about that price meaning death to those I loved.”
“I couldn’t warn of something unknown.” Mabyn’s tone startled Lloyd. Never had he earlier heard from her any hint of this gentle regret.
“That there’s a price for every gift given is a certainty,” Mabyn slowly added. “But for a spell as powerful as the one cast for you even I have no sure way of predicting the nature of what cost will be
called forfeit.”
“You didn’t know my firstborn son and my husband would die?” Angwen bitterly scoffed.
Mabyn slowly shook her head. “What I know of your elder son’s death is that it was an unfortunate but foolish accident—one in no way influenced by my spell. How could it be?” Mabyn demanded. “The boy consumed none of its potent seeds.”
Angwen felt as if she’d been landed a stunning blow. ’Struth, how could Mabyn’s spell have struck down her son without his having partaken of its be-charmed seeds? Worse, how could she have allowed bitterness to blind her to this glaring fact? This revelation which should’ve calmed her antagonism for the one who had provided the seeds aggravated it instead. Indeed, it increased fourfold for having been publicly made a fool.
“But my husband did,” Angwen flashed back in self-defense. “By your direction I saw one of them deposited in either a favorite dish or drink every day for a decade and more.”
“Aye,” Mabyn instantly agreed. “And yet the seeds didn’t kill Lord William.” Before the other woman could argue, she made a dispassionate statement that shocked her listeners with its unspoken meaning. “Nor did he die by the hand of either friend or foe.”
In a hall long since gone unnaturally still, Tal joined all within to watch this exchange in wary fascination. He could have stopped the confrontation at its outset and probably should have done so but now was perversely glad that he hadn’t. These were matters left too long unaddressed and festering in a dark, unhealthy silence.
Mab’s intense glare dared Angwen to deny the veracity of her words. “You meant for no one to know a truth hidden so long behind accusations against me that you’ve come to believe the lie yourself. Yet we both know that Lord William took his own life—as now does everyone present here.”
Mabyn’s gaze shifted to Lord Taliesan and found an impassive expression and eyes gone to black ice. “You know my seeds had nothing to do with your brother’s death. And, though it may be painful to acknowledge, now you also know the truth about your father’s end.”
Tal wasn’t shocked by this news concerning his father’s demise. After inadvertently observing the man as he gathered poisonous berries from a yew tree the day before his death, Tal had long suppressed the possibility that the illness which had taken his sire’s life hadn’t been a natural ailment.
And yet, behind an inflexible facade, he was viciously stung by these statements made by the wise woman of Llechu. Her words seemed to flatly confirm that he’d played a guilty role in his only brother’s deadly accident.
“Hah!” By crashing hands down palm-flat on the tabletop, Angwen made it clear that she wasn’t prepared to surrender. Oh, she accepted as fact that Mab wasn’t responsible for the demise of her oldest. However, the same argument involving consumption of becharmed seeds which had won that dispute also refuted Mab’s claim of innocence in Lord William’s death.
“Do you dare pretend that the seeds which, at your direction, I fed my William had nothing to do with his end?”
“The seeds are not poisonous,” Mabyn’s response was as loud as Angwen’s bitter challenge but her tone calmed when she added more. “And yet it is true that they affect the mood of anyone who steadily consumes them. Thus, it’s possible that after partaking of them for so long a time, they might have led to actions he wouldn’t elsewise have taken.”
“Then you are responsible.” Angwen victoriously declared.
“I gave the seeds to you with a warning.” Mabyn was no more willing to concede defeat than the castle’s lady. “You gave them to your husband.”
Realizing that this argument could go no further, leastways not to any good purpose, Lloyd intervened and turned the people’s focus toward a different and to him more important issue.
“Mab, these people believe that Ceridwen cast a spell over Lord Taliesan. Does Ceri indeed possess such skills?”
“Nay,” Mabyn firmly denied although startled by this abrupt interjection of a subject which she hadn’t been forewarned to expect. “I have taught Ceridwen a portion of the healing arts but my tender gosling is far too softhearted to be trained in more complex skills—and I wouldn’t try.”
Mabyn turned to slowly study the curiously watching crowd. “Ceridwen couldn’t possibly cast a spell over anyone but she, like your lady, did beseech me to cast one for her.”
Breath caught uncomfortably in Lloyd’s throat, near threatening to strangle him. He hadn’t expected Mab to reveal this dangerous fact and now wished he’d prepared her to expect his question.
“Only by my love for my granddaughter and her love for Lord Taliesan did I cast a web of enchantment over your master.” As the listeners gasped, Mabyn moved to again face the earl.
“By the power of my spell Lord Tal viewed her through love-misted eyes—but only for so long as the wrongly wounded hunters remained within my sphere. Once he passed beyond the borders of Llechu, his memories of Ceri and their days together were gone.”
While speaking directly to Taliesan, Mabyn’s voice softened to a quiet tone heard only by those at the high table. “Unfortunately, Ceridwen’s memories were unaffected. I had failed to either recognize the depth of her love or realize the lengths to which she would go to follow her heart.”
Tal was stunned by Mabyn’s latest revelations, confused by the suddenly released flood of indistinct memories and unsuspected answers to far too many unjust questions about Ceri’s nature.
“Did Ceri know I wouldn’t remember?” Tal asked, pained to remember how often her honest emotion had been returned with suspicion. Only certainty of her understanding of the false barrier between them would ease his distress.
Mabyn didn’t speak but merely nodded.
By the roar rising from assembled diners it was obvious that they wouldn’t easily believe the old witch’s claim of her granddaughter’s innocence. In truth, their distrust of Ceri remained unchanged.
“Friends, as your lord—” Tal rose to his feet and from the raised dais demanded silence and the undivided attention of all. “Restrain your criticism, your accusations against Ceridwen. Wait until she is returned and we’ve investigated the truth of these matters. But know that, for my part, I believe her innocent of any wrong against Westbourne.”
Morton cast his sister a surreptitious, sidelong glance. Their eyes met in silent accord and confidence. They’d seen to it that Ceridwen would not be returning—leastways not alive.
Tal’s gaze returned to Lloyd as he asked a pointed question. “Where is Ceri?”
“Would that I knew,” Lloyd responded. “I have been told that it’s believed I had a guiding hand in capturing you, but I give you my oath on all I hold sacred that I was nowhere near the site of your abduction. I am also told that it is widely believed I first secreted Ceri away to help in that wretched crime against you but I am not guilty of that, either.
“How do we know that you speak true?” One dubious guardsman called out.
“Ceridwen is my daughter.” Lloyd proudly proclaimed for the first time while steadily meeting Vevina’s gaze across the crowded hall. “And if I had her safe and sound I would not have come to you now, not here where your first instinct is to again imprison me in the dungeon to await execution. Nay,” Lloyd firmly shook his head. “Never would I have come save for the hope of aid in rescuing my daughter from whatever vile wretch stole both her and your lord from our company.”
Chapter 19
The hour grew late and an inevitable weariness calmed the earlier excitement in Castle Westbourne’s great hall. Its inhabitants began to separate and plan to settle for their night’s sleep. With Lady Angwen’s reluctant approval, Vevina had convinced a restless Mabyn to share her alcove pallet in the absent Ceridwen’s stead. Mabyn was sure she couldn’t rest easy so long as the fate awaiting either her granddaughter or the girl’s father remained uncertain.
Everyone in the great hall had watched Lord Taliesan escort Lloyd down the corner stairwell, assuming that their master meant to see th
e escaped prisoner once more locked in a dark cell. Carrying a small torch to light the way, Tal instead wordlessly led the Welshman to a small alcove on the dungeon level from where, when necessary, guards could be posted to watch cells currently empty.
“While those above believe I mean to see you again confined—” Tal turned toward his amazingly compliant ‘prisoner.’ “I have a far different purpose for our descent into this gloomy place.”
Lloyd’s lips parted on a long-rehearsed confession and plea for forgiveness but words were stifled when his lord continued.
“I’ve no doubt that you, as Ceri’s father, are as anxious to see her safely freed as I am.”
“But why do you want to see Ceri returned?” Lloyd skeptically asked. “Because her taking wounds your pride? Or because as her lord you reserve the right of her punishment for yourself?”
“The punishment is mine—” An unmistakable thread of deep emotion deepened Tal’s immediately response. “Not to inflict but to suffer for having allowed others to inspire doubts about the angel’s sweet nature and unblemished loyalty.”
“You love Ceridwen,” Lloyd quietly stated, relieved and pleased by this confirmation of his brightest hopes for his daughter’s happiness.
“Aye—” As Tal firmly nodded, light from the small firebrand in his hand glowed over black hair. “Although I have only vague memories of all Mabyn claims passed between Ceri and me, I’m certain that I have loved her granddaughter since the moment I first saw her—a moment I truly wish I could recall with perfect clarity. And if fate allows the opportunity, I will see that Ceridwen knows how precious she is to me.” To this Tal added a sincere plea. “I pray you will aid me in rescuing Ceri from the fiends who stole her away and who, I fear, mean her greater harm.
“For love of my daughter, I’ll gladly take any risk to see her safely delivered from danger.” Lloyd promised his unstinting support in the task. Yet now while their actions must wait until the castle settled for the night he uneasily embarked on his long planned and only slightly altered speech.
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