Memories of the Heart

by Marylyle Rogers

  Suddenly from where one side of the barrier had been a moment before the single inhabitant of Farleith Keep Tal had wanted to see was gazing down at him—finally. He’d had begun to wonder if the man’s second oath of loyalty was as unreliable as his first.

  “Thought by now you’d be in need of this.” Lloyd dropped a crude homespun sack to the earthen cellar’s uneven floor. “Must be, considering your captors’ complete disinterest in keeping you healthy—or even alive.”

  “Food? You brought food?” Tal’s disgust was clear in the brief, derisive glance he cast toward the edibles spilled from the bag.

  “And water—” Lloyd wryly added. “Clear water rather than the brackish liquid given prisoners—and seldom at that.”

  Irritated by this waste of valuable time, Tal curtly demanded, “Help me out of this vile prison and I’ll secure my own.”

  Lloyd went solemn. “I would’ve come to free you much sooner if the deed were that easily done.” When a low growl rumbled from his lord, Lloyd asked, “Would you have your freedom at the cost of many innocent lives?”

  “What?” Dark brows crashed in a deep scowl.

  “Lord James has taken as captives many serfs from Westbourne’s outlying villages and farms. Should you escape or the warriors from your garrison lay siege to the keep, one by one they’ll be killed and their dead bodies displayed on vicious pikes lining Farleith’s palisade wall.”

  “Surely after the time you’ve spent standing as ally to my enemy you can aid in their liberation?” Despite his question, Tal’s hope for the rescue of any among Westbourne’s own was dwindling. A bleak prospect for the earl who strived to be an honorable lord worthy of his people’s loyalty.

  “Would that I could,” Lloyd answered. “But the prisoners are divided between many sites and each gaoler knows the position of only his own. Sir James alone possesses the secret to where all are imprisoned, and he never shares with anyone, not even his staunchest supporters.”

  The steady golden light in Tal’s gaze penetrated the gloom while he quietly asked, “In exchange for my future, my very life, what does Farleith demand?”

  Lloyd’s response was prompt and succinct. “Lady Angwen’s complete surrender of Westbourne to King Stephen.”

  With clenched hands and gritted teeth, the powerful warrior and great tactician that Tal was snarled his frustration against this impossible situation.

  “Be calm,” Lloyd hastily cautioned. “Ceri, Vevina, and even your mother have agreed with Mabyn upon a fine scheme which with my help will safely set you free without endangering the lives of others.”

  Tal frowned. Three Welshwomen, his mother, and this man of questionable loyalties thought to rescue him without paying his freedom’s price with the blood of many others?

  Before Taliesan could demand an explanation, distant sounds muffled by darkness intruded. The opening overhead slammed shut and an instant later the metal bar was shoved back into place.

  * * *

  At the end of the second full day after Tal’s capture by a knight of no honor, an uneasy cloud of ever-increasing tension hovered over Castle Westbourne. Impatiently waiting warriors were ready with weapons well honed in anticipation of the moment for their use—a moment at last very near.

  Tom had journeyed to meet Lloyd yet another time at Grendel’s Tor. And the beautiful flask filled with a potent, berry elixir had been delivered before he returned with news of the specific hour for launching the final blow.

  When Lady Angwen and the three generations of Welshwomen who’d become her near constant companions stepped into the castle’s largest chamber, garbed in black cloaks, the people realized that the appointed time had finally arrived.

  Wearing proud dignity like fine armor, Angwen led the way through the stone tunnel to exterior steps and then down into the courtyard where saddled horses awaited. The grinding noise of the drawbridge’s chains was soon followed by the thunder of hooves thudding across its wooden surface.

  While Westbourne’s armed force set off through the night on their desperate mission, the inhabitants of Farleith Keep toasted their success by lifting a wide variety of vessels from crockery mugs to goblets of chased gold. It was an action often repeated since their victorious return with the hostage earl. But this time the drink was expected to be even more intoxicating, more potent because the wine had been enhanced with small drops of an elixir which Lloyd swore he’d stolen from Lady Angwen herself.

  “To our benefactress—” Lord James loudly proposed once the new mixture had been served to the whole company. “We’ll enjoy her unintentional gift more than ever she could.”

  The toast brought rowdy laughter that in nowise slowed the quaffing of vast draughts by the many crowded into the hall.

  “How is it that our guest of honor is absent?” Ulrich asked the question certain of its response and anxious to gloat over the proud captive brought low. “Shouldn’t the earl have the privilege of watching us consume this exceptional nectar from his mother’s private stock?”

  No sooner had the query been posed than a group of noisy guardsmen too sotted for sense slipped outside to open the cellar, bind, and drag Lord Taliesan into the midst of their ongoing revelry.

  Abruptly jerked into a bright, crowded chamber, Tal rapidly blinked against the assault of massed candleflame on eyes that had seen little light for hours—or was it days? Squinting, he glanced painfully at his surroundings, making no effort to shield his disdain for this unpleasant gathering.

  “Here your lordship—” A drunken warrior with an overfull mug in his hand chortled as he stumbled close to the bound hostage left standing while most sat comfortably at tables burdened with remnants of a feast. “Have a taste of what was plundered from your castle.”

  The mug’s rim was thrust against Tal’s lips. Someone else jerked black hair from behind, harshly pulling until the earl’s face tilted upward. Tal gasped and a portion of the liquid gushed into his mouth. He sputtered, but swallowed a small measure, too—a sight which earned a barrage of boisterous laughter.

  Once robbed of their joys by their impassive target, the drink-befuddled crowd grew weary of their fruitless game of ridicule. After their initial gambit with the forced toast, the earl continued to stand motionless while launching a powerful counterattack of silent scorn. He focused the invisible force of his penetrating eyes on tormentors showing signs of an end to their merriment. Annoyed by his refusal to yield, they pushed Tal into a sturdy chair and tied him there.

  To Tal’s disgust he soon learned that their sotted state hadn’t impaired his captors’ skill in tying secure knots and tight restraints remained. Thus he was forced to sit and watch the wretches make even bigger fools of themselves than by nature they already were.

  With the passage of unmarked time, Tal saw something strange begin to occur. Though heavy drinkers often dropped into involuntary sleep, these men looked to be more than merely drunk. They seemed disoriented … confused … dazed as if knocked senseless by a pounding blow to the head.

  Or was it him? Tal shook his own head while trying to clear it of the thistledown that seemed to have filled his thoughts, his vision, his …

  Mentally wandering aimlessly through pleasant mists tinged with pink and gold, Tal caught glimpses of precious visions. His angel gazing down at him while soothing his brow with cool liquid. His angel’s sweet curves pressed against his side in a Welsh cottage’s bed. Tender words spoken, oaths given that sadly earned naught but a wistful smile.…

  * * *

  “There,” Sir Alan announced, pointing to a distant silhouette against the night sky host to a myriad pinpricks of light. “That’s Farleith Keep.”

  Angwen nodded. “Seems they are indeed enjoying a fine celebration—one enhanced by altered wine poured from my flask.”

  “We can but hope it’s true,” Ceri gently reminded the others that this opportunity to undo a wrong had been secured by that potion.

  The desperate but uncertain hope for victory had
made the planning of this rescue attempt difficult. But the tension of waiting for the hour to come had been more arduous still.

  Lady Angwen led the way with Sir Alan at her side. Ceri and Vevina came next while, in honor of risks already taken on his lord’s behalf, Thomas rode beside Mabyn. Behind them followed the full force of Westbourne’s warriors.

  Having never been nor ever wanted to be any part of a vicious battle, for Ceri their silent approach to the keep was accomplished far too quickly.

  To secure Tal’s freedom Ceri would dare anything, risk all, yet dread of the unknown and fear for what cost failure might demand from Tal were a near crushing burden.

  As the arriving army halted in the last forest shadows on the outer edge of the keep’s fertile fields, Tom slid from his mount intent on performing his assigned task.

  Agile and quick, Tom raced onward afoot and reached the palisade wall in remarkably little time. Concealed by his black, hooded cloak, he stealthily moved unseen along that barrier’s dark outline. Then after boldly slipping past guards apparently sleeping, slumped at their posts on either side of the gate, Tom strode to the wooden structure perched atop a manmade hill and peered through the keep’s open door.

  “Are they fools to take so little precaution?” The watching Lady Angwen sharply demanded. “Or are we the fools for lingering too long to come and rescue my son, your Lord Taliesan?”

  Sir Alan dared to press his forefinger against pursed lips, motioning his lady into silence even as Thomas began energetically waving the agreed signal for Westbourne’s warriors to approach.

  On seeing Tom’s wide grin, the Welshwomen—including Angwen—exchanged equally broad smiles of relief. At least the first step of their strategy had found success.

  Considerably less care was taken to limit noise as Lord Taliesan’s determined rescuers spurred their horses to reach the waiting goal with all good haste.

  Ceri swung down from her mount and was nearly the first of Westbourne’s people to reach the keep’s door. Only Thomas was already inside, muttering self-recriminations for having left his dagger behind while struggling with tight knots holding his lord restrained.

  “Here,” Ceri offered, rushing forward. “Let me help.”

  Despite Ceri’s honest intent to aid in the chore, Tom was left to do the deed once the melting gold of her beloved’s eyes swept her into their thrall.

  Not until after as many of Westbourne’s full contingent as could crowd inside the keep had entered did Ceri even think to break that thrilling bond and glance around to see evidence of the tiny berries’ handiwork.

  Deeply sleeping bodies littered the floor, sagged across tabletops, or sprawled against benches. Farleith’s sinister army lay defenseless and unharmed except for the monstrous thumping sure to assault their suffering heads on the morrow. That and the permanent blot of shame for being utterly defeated without a single blow struck.

  Released from his bonds, Tal stood behind his compassionate angel and wrapped her in the loving protection of his arms. He’d no doubt that she had played a major role in devising this strategy for victory without bloodshed.

  Gladly nestling back against Tal’s powerful form, Ceri delighted in the joy of knowing him safe and unharmed.

  While savoring the pleasure of cradling in his embrace the angel he’d feared to never see again, Tal visually searched for the wretch responsible for this villainy and found Lord James just in time to glimpse a most satisfying scene.

  Though seated at the high table, the baron’s face lay atop the congealed remnants of food in his trencher—until the splashed contents of a water pitcher roused him to a semblance of wakefulness. Yet it was the sharp point of Lloyd’s dagger pressing against his vulnerable throat that delivered a most effective, thoroughly reviving bolt of terror.

  James’s eyes went wide while the blade’s deadly threat prevented even the tiniest sound of protest or slightest defensive movement.

  “To save your own worthless neck,” Lloyd demanded, “tell us precisely where you have wrongly imprisoned all of your innocent hostages.”

  In the room gone silent while all intently watched this unfolding scene, an unexpected voice suddenly rang out.

  “Go ahead. Kill Lord James, kill him now.” Blanche callously laughed before announcing, “Not even to save own his pitiful life can the man reveal to you where the hostages are today.”

  Attention instantly shifted to the cold beauty brazenly standing a step within the keep’s open doorway, flanked by warriors holding daggers at the throats of terrified serfs.

  “As you can see, with me are two—but there are many more.” Cold moonlight falling through the opening at Blanche’s back lent her fair hair an icy outline. “All are well hidden and at my mercy.”

  “What possible goal do you think to win with such violence?” Tal demanded even while inwardly acknowledging how wonderfully different his compassionate beloved was from this heartless woman willing to commit any vile act to win whatever she sought.

  “Why you, of course,” Blanche’s smile was venomous. “With you as mate I’ll be secure, wealthy … and a countess.”

  The disgust in Tal’s expression remained as his face hardened into stone. “Don’t you fear I would kill you in your sleep?”

  Blanche shook her head while her chill laughter seemed to shatter and spread shards of ice across the room. “You are far too honorable for such a dastardly deed as the murder of any helpless woman—least of all your own wife, the mother of your heirs.

  “And—” Blanche moved a pace further into the keep. “I will provide you with sons. But then I couldn’t, wouldn’t deny either myself or you the pleasure of their getting.” Her gaze moved suggestively over the handsome earl’s powerful form, only partially hidden by the dainty figure he held protectively near. “You do remember the fires we lit not so very long ago?”

  Ceri literally felt the reverberation of the mighty chest at her back as a deep growl began and rose up from Tal. Instinctively acting both to save her beloved from a union he would plainly despise and to rescue unjustly held hostages, she pulled from Tal’s arms to step forward and bravely confront the arrogant Blanche.

  “You were responsible for my abduction. You intended to see me dead.” Ceri held the icy blue of her opponent’s gaze unwavering. “You knew that I stood then, as I stand now, in the way of your goal.”

  Pure spite seemed to flow from Blanche to Ceri like a steady barrage of poisonous arrows.

  “In exchange for the innocent people you hold, I offer myself.” Ceri met the invisible assault unflinching. “Take me captive, execute me, if you will … but release the people of Westbourne whose lives or deaths can’t possibly be as valuable to you as mine.”

  While a malicious smile slowly spread across her lips, Blanche motioned for one of her warriors to set his hostage aside and take the young Welshwoman instead.

  “No!” Tal roared as he leaped forward and with a single blow laid the errant warrior flat.

  As if that deed was an unannounced signal, Westbourne’s guardsmen immediately followed their lord’s lead. Blanche’s other warrior was attacked before he could react to his cohort’s fall. Thus the second hostage was also freed and the one holding him captured.

  It was Blanche who came closest to winning escape. She had turned to flee from the keep almost before her first warrior dropped to the floor. But she could neither outrun nor evade the mass of her determined pursuers.

  Once Blanche lay atop the struggle-crushed grasses covering cold ground, firmly restrained with stout ropes, Tal approached.

  “I won’t tell you where the other hostages lay and they’ll all die!” Blanche cried out a desperate last threat.

  “No,” Tal coldly agreed. “You won’t tell but your weak brother will.”

  * * *

  The group who had ridden to Farleith Keep and returned victorious were finally able to seek long delayed sleep, sleep at last free from worries over looming dangers.

 
When they rose very late the next morn, it was to learn that the tale of Ceri’s willingness to sacrifice herself for the common folk of Westbourne had fairly burned gossip vines with the haste of its spreading. And under the people’s rapidly, radically changed opinion of Ceridwen, Angwen realized that there was a duty she must see done with all haste.

  Angwen was more pleased than surprised to find Ceridwen in the solar and seated across the small table from Taliesan.

  “I’ve been wrong in blaming you for the same wrong which I have for so long unjustly accused your grandmother.” Angwen began speaking the moment she stepped into the chamber. “I know the deaths of neither my oldest son nor husband were your grandmother’s doing. For that sin I have sought and been given Mab’s forgiveness.”

  Angwen’s expression, years frozen, had melted under her natural but long stifled warmth. “I come now to seek from you that same gift—and to assure you that I, along with the whole of Westbourne’s people, realize how extremely fortunate my son is to have won your love.”

  Ceri earnestly nodded her immediate gift of forgiveness and softly smiled her pleasure in Lady Angwen’s hard-won approval.

  Lady Angwen, certain the young couple would prefer privacy, slipped away.

  When again alone, Ceri glanced up at Tal and saw lingering pain on his face. She instinctively knew that his mother’s talk of two loved people lost too soon remained in his thoughts.

  “Do you blame my grandmother for the deaths in your family?”

  “Nay!” Tal blinked in surprise. “I blame myself, as I always have.”

  “Yourself?” Ceri reached out to soothe the clenched hand resting on the tabletop. “How could you possibly be responsible?”

  “Perhaps not for my father’s suicide—” Tal responded with a grim smile while opening his fist to gently claim her fingertips. “But certainly for Will’s deadly fall while he stood easily within my reach.”

  “You didn’t push him,” Ceri confidently said.