Everlasting

by Charlene Cross

  “Are we ready for that milk?” she asked, then headed for the door.

  “Indeed,” Gwenifer said, drawing up alongside Alana. “I hope you will ponder what I said about approaching your new overlord and befriending him.”

  They were now out on the gallery. Minding the differences between Paxton and herself, Alana questioned whether they could ever be friends.

  “I’ll think about it,” she said, knowing that was all she’d probably do.

  “Are you certain that I have your permission to befriend him myself?” Gwenifer asked near her ear.

  Over the railing that edged the gallery, Alana could see Paxton standing not far from the hall’s entry. He was talking to Sir Graham. As though he were somehow aware that the cousins would soon be descending the stairs, he looked up. But his eyes were on Gwenifer not on her.

  A hollow feeling suddenly settling inside her, Alana dragged her gaze from the hall below. “I have no interest in him, Gwenifer. You are more than welcome to the rogue.”

  “You’re certain?” Gwenifer asked again.

  Was she? Alana wondered. Paxton was the only man to light a fire in her blood. But he was Norman and she was Welsh. Then there were the lies about Gilbert’s death. Too much stood between them.

  Alana glimpsed the floor below and the man standing there. His gaze was still on Gwenifer. And apparently so was his masculine interest.

  “Aye,” Alana said. “I’m certain.”

  CHAPTER

  9

  Alana stood at the castle mews. Scraps of raw meat lay inside a bowl that she held in her hand.

  She chose one of the morsels, then taking care to keep her fingers well back, she shoved it through a vertical break in the cage.

  The trained falcon snatched the meat in his sharp beak. With its talons pinning the meal to its perch, the bird tore at the flesh, swallowing it greedily.

  Alana turned to Madoc. “They should be allowed to fly,” she said of the five hawks and four falcons. “They haven’t hunted for weeks.”

  Not receiving a response, she studied the man. His brow furrowed into deep lines; he looked to be a far way off.

  “Madoc… did you not hear me?”

  He blinked. “Milady?”

  She viewed him a bit longer. “You seem pensive. Is something troubling you?”

  “Aye. But you don’t like anyone to be critical of your cousin, so I’ll hold my tongue about her.”

  “You refer to her attentiveness toward our new overlord, correct?”

  Madoc’s lips drew into a tight line as his eyes narrowed. “Aye. In the two days that she’s been here, she has chased the Norman from one end of the yard to the other.”

  “And he has done the same with her,” Alana interjected. With her words, an odd sort of pain settled in the middle of her chest. “They apparently hold an attraction for each other.”

  “That may be, but if she had any loyalty toward her own kind, she’d not be running after him in such a bold manner. ’Twas the same with your husband, always talking and laughing with him. Such actions do not sit well with her kinsmen, especially when they look upon this particular Norman as their enemy.”

  “Why this particular Norman?” she asked as she shoved another piece of meat between the bars of the next cage. The hawk seized its meal and tore into it the same as the falcon. “Did they feel any differently toward Gilbert?”

  “We accepted him because you chose to marry him. You did so, hoping to protect us. But you and I both know that was a mistake. That he paid for his treachery with his life is only justice. As for this Paxton de Beaumont, we hold no liking for him whatsoever. He meant to injure you with the whip and would have done so had we not returned when we did. Your kinsmen cannot forget that, milady. Nor can they abide their kinswoman behaving like the Norman’s whore. Something has to be done, and done soon, else tempers will erupt. I fear the consequences if they do.”

  And so did Alana. “I was unaware that they felt so strongly about this. Madoc, you must speak to them and tell them for me that I do not hold any malice against Paxton for what almost happened. I was not harmed, and he did say he was relieved that he didn’t have to use the whip. As for Gwenifer, I was the one who encouraged her to make friends with Paxton.”

  “You?” Madoc cried, eliciting a screech from one of the hawks. “Why would you do that?”

  Alana looked around to see if anyone had heard him. “Because I thought that if his interests were elsewhere, such as on Gwenifer, he’d stop delving into Gilbert’s death. If he ever learns the truth, we’re all doomed.”

  “Did you tell her what actually happened that day?”

  “Nay.” Alana hated that she was using Gwenifer in this way. Especially since it was besmirching her cousin’s character. “’Tis as before. Of all here, only you and I know.”

  “Then she is in fact attracted to the Norman,” Madoc muttered.

  “She is attracted to men in general,” Alana defended. “Because she had the misfortune of being born a female, Hywel paid her little heed when he was alive. Her stepfather shows her no interest now. That she seeks a man’s attention speaks for itself. Besides, she is beautiful. Men are naturally drawn to her. It has been that way all her life. Because she feels at ease with a man and is able to speak to him freely does not mean she is his whore. Nor should anyone here think that. Whether it is true or not. I want you to pass the word that Gwenifer is assisting me by having befriended the Norman. Let them know that, whatever it is he tells her, she brings the information to me.”

  “And does she?”

  “She is unaware that she does, but yes, she tells me much about him.”

  The truth was that Alana was becoming annoyed with Gwenifer’s constant chatter about Paxton. Each night when she and Gwenifer retired to Alana’s chamber, for Alana would not allow her to sleep in the hall with the others, her cousin went on and on about the knight.

  So far the one-sided conversation lent itself to how wonderfully charming, how exceptionally handsome, how very virile Paxton was. It got to the point that Alana felt she might retch if Gwenifer were to say his name one more time. Believing the ache that grew inside her was naught but indigestion, Alana ignored the unsettling feeling altogether. And though it vexed her, she allowed Gwenifer to babble on, hoping at some juncture she would learn something of consequence.

  “Will you do this for me?” Alana asked.

  Madoc drew a long breath. “Aye. As long as what she does is intended to benefit her kinfolk, I see no reason why she cannot continue behaving in the same manner that she has. I’ll tell them that it is all a ruse. But if I were you, milady, I would try to temper her a bit. If her itch for the Norman should get out of hand and it is discovered that he’s bedded her, there’s no telling what will happen.”

  The concept that Paxton and Gwenifer at some point might find themselves in the throes of passion, whereupon they made love, disturbed Alana far more than she wanted to admit. Save for Gwenifer’s reputation, the prospect shouldn’t really bother her. Should it?

  “I’ll keep watch over her, Madoc. You can be assured of that.”

  “And I will help you.”

  “Good,” she said, then finished feeding the remaining hawks and falcons. She set the empty bowl aside, retrieved a scrap of cloth, and wiped her hands. “While you go about spreading the word, I also have something I must do. I’ll meet you later in the hall.”

  Tossing the cloth into the bowl, she set off to find Paxton. If peace were ever to prevail inside the fortress, Alana knew it had to begin with her.

  “You are forever asking about Alana and Gilbert,” Gwenifer stated as she inclined her head. “Why are you so interested in the pair?”

  Paxton looked down on Gwenifer as they idly strolled the courtyard.

  The construction had been put on hold for the time being, for not much would be accomplished until the strained relations within the castle had eased.

  The Welsh were still angry with him over Alana�
�s near whipping, and Paxton understood that, with their attentions held other than on their work, accidents might occur while arguments could arise.

  He’d not risk any harm coming to even one of them, for it was certain to invite further dissension.

  With his days free, he had plenty of time to entertain Alana’s cousin, probing for answers as he did so.

  Apparently he was being far too obvious with his questions. Believing that subtlety would have served him far better, he decided it was a bit late for that now. Then maybe not.

  “Why am I so interested in the pair?” he repeated, then saw her nod. “Because Gilbert and I were friends. We knew each other from the time we were pages. He died far too young, and I was just wondering, in the years since I last saw him, if he was happy. I’d like to believe he was. It would ease my mind if you were to confirm such.”

  “I’d think Alana could answer your question better than I. The last I saw of her, she was by the mews. Why don’t you go ask her?”

  Paxton knew where Alana was. He’d glimpsed Madoc and her through the opening between the buildings as he and Gwenifer had ambled close by the area. But the responses he wanted had to come from Gwenifer.

  “Most times,” he said, “those closest to a situation cannot answer objectively, while those who stand at a distance can.” He shrugged. “’Tis not important. I simply thought you might be able to confirm that what I had hoped for Gilbert was in fact true.”

  “I believe Gilbert was happy. As for Alana… well, I have my doubts.”

  “And why is that?”

  “The difference in their heritage… her loyalty to her kin. It was not easy for either of them. Then there’s Alana’s temperament. She can be quite emotional at times. She is quick to anger, which can be most worrisome to a man. Gilbert felt the force of her ire, more than once. She never was able to contain herself, which may have added to her unhappiness. But then that is Alana. What more can I say?”

  Yes, that was Alana, Paxton reasoned in silence, remembering how she’d turned on him. Her fury was like a raging tempest, wild and untamable. But the challenge was there. Which in itself made her all the more enticing.

  As he viewed Gwenifer, whose hair in the sunlight shimmered like the finest silk ever woven in the farthest reaches of the Orient and whose skin was so smooth and creamy one would think it could belong only to an angel, he conceded she was beautiful, both in appearance and in manner. Her poise alone would impel many a man to seek her as a wife.

  For Paxton, though, Gwenifer lacked the one element that to him was the most vitally essential. She was lost to the sort of fiery inner passion that could make his blood burn and cause his whole body to ignite in an inferno of desire. She was lost to the one thing that Alana possessed.

  He wanted Alana more than any woman he’d ever known. But the same question kept gnawing at him: Could he trust her?

  “Did my response ease your mind any?” Gwenifer asked as she spun around in front of him.

  Hell no!

  Paxton felt like shouting the words, but he managed to keep them inside—just barely. Gwenifer’s statement about Gilbert being happy while Alana was not had given rise to more queries that needed answering.

  And this matter about the dissimilarity in their heritage, along with Alana’s loyalty to her kin—if these were two of the main obstacles that stood between Gilbert and Alana, what made him think it would be any different between Alana and him?

  Like Gilbert, he also was Norman. And Alana’s loyalty to her people was as strong as ever. Possibly stronger. A fine mess, Paxton thought.

  “I’m glad Gilbert was happy,” he said, though doubting it was true. A man who took delight with his young wife would not treat her so coldly when bedding her. As for Alana, he was aware of her sentiments, for she’d been the one who’d let that piece of information slip. “But I’m also grieved that your cousin was deprived of joy. Was it always so between them?”

  Gwenifer pursed her lips. “You know, it is a lovely day… the sort of day that we Welsh aren’t always blessed by, since it most often rains. Why can we not enjoy the sunshine without all this wearisome talk about Alana and Gilbert?”

  Paxton was becoming chafed by the issue anyway. There would be time to question Gwenifer further. A slow smile spread across his face. “So what do you propose?”

  “A walk in the wood, perhaps?”

  He took her arm in his. “Whatever the fair Gwenifer desires.”

  Alana had taken two turns around the courtyard and still couldn’t find Paxton. She’d even peeked into the hall, thinking he might be there. He wasn’t. As she presently made her way toward the garrison, she saw Aldwyn crossing the yard. Calling out to him, she motioned him to her.

  “Milady?” he inquired when he came upon her.

  “Have you seen Sir Paxton?”

  Aldwyn’s jaw tightened. “Aye.”

  Alana waited but that one word was all that broke from his lips. “Well?”

  Jerking his head in the direction of the side gate, he said, “He and Gwenifer went out into the wood together.”

  Alana noted a tinge of discord in his voice. She placed her hand on his arm. “Aldwyn, please don’t be upset by what you see. Gwenifer is, in actuality, assisting me. Her association with the knight is meant to help us all in the long run.”

  “Are you certain of that?”

  Alana nibbled at her lower lip. Was she certain? Or was her use of Gwenifer to keep Paxton occupied merely done in order to save her own skin?

  In one sense, she’d misled Madoc, and now, more explicitly, Aldwyn. Gwenifer’s purpose in pursuing Paxton was in no way meant to help her kinfolk, but was done for personal motives alone. Alana knew this and had encouraged such.

  Her biggest worry had always been Paxton’s unearthing the fact that Gilbert was murdered, for she feared that whatever retribution was meant to fall would descend not just on her but on all her kin. But now there was something of a larger concern.

  Except for Madoc, her kinfolk were unaware of Alana’s deception regarding Gilbert. And despite Madoc’s assurances to the whole that Gwenifer’s affiliation with Paxton was no more than a ruse meant to extract information from the knight, they might be unwilling to see anything save that a woman of Welsh blood was consorting with a Norman.

  The consequences of such could be grave if tempers were to erupt. A riot could ensue. What chance would her people have against Norman swords when they were armed with naught but rakes, hoes, and shovels?

  Alana was aware that this grand plan of hers had become unworkable. She needed to put a stop to Gwenifer’s association with Paxton. Or, at the very least, curb these intimate walks in the woods.

  Without further acknowledgment to Aldwyn, she headed toward the side gate.

  The woods had come fully to life.

  Hidden among the high branches of the oaks, birds twittered merrily. Below them, sunlight dappled the forest floor, its beams shining through the breaches among the unfurled leaves.

  Scattered alongside the path that Alana took to the river, wildflowers spread their petals, basking in the warm glow. Small creatures scurried into hiding at her approach, as quiet as it was.

  Midway to the stream, she heard laughter. Paxton’s and Gwenifer’s to be exact. The sound was heard to her left, and Alana veered from her original course to head in the direction of their voices.

  On nearly silent feet, she trekked through the trees, Paxton’s deep tones and Gwenifer’s musical responses drawing her onward.

  The voices became ever louder.

  Making her way around a large pine, Alana glimpsed the pair. Though she didn’t know why, she ducked back behind the tree. Pulling several boughs down, so that she could see the couple, she peered at them through the jutting needles.

  It never occurred to Alana that she was spying. Something inside her simply said she needed to watch. It wasn’t long before she wished she hadn’t pried at all.

  Across the way, Gwenifer, in all
her grace and beauty, reclined against the trunk of a tall oak, smiling up at Paxton. His hand braced against the bark near Gwenifer’s head, Paxton returned her smile as he leaned toward her.

  Alana couldn’t hear their words nor did she want to. It was unsettling enough to see Paxton lift Gwenifer’s hand, his lips brushing the tops of her knuckles.

  With her heart sinking like a heavy stone in water, Alana spun on her heel and made her way from the wood.

  Halfway up the path, she remembered why she’d followed them in the first place. She’d have been far wiser if she’d waited until their return. But in her constant desire to ensure peace between Welsh and Norman alike, she just had to rectify the situation then and there.

  Oh, why did she care what Gwenifer did?

  Her cousin was two months shy of her own age. Therefore she was old enough to make her own decisions.

  And all this worry over loyalty and prejudices and how the slightest little thing might be perceived between either faction within the castle was beginning to grate on her nerves. Why couldn’t they for once resolve their problems without involving her?

  Then there was Paxton—the insufferable rogue.

  First he was kissing her, then he was kissing Gwenifer. Didn’t he have any mores whatsoever? Or was this some kind of a lark for him, playing one cousin against the other?

  As far as Alana was concerned, he’d meet his end before she’d ever allow him to touch her again. Before she was supposed to hate him simply because he was Norman. Now she did hate him simply because he was Paxton de Beaumont, an unscrupulous lout!

  In truth she’d grown weary. She wanted—needed!—to get away from here, away from all this strife and turmoil. If it were only possible.

  Looking up, she saw she was two strides from the gate. In short order, the panel opened after she demanded entry. She crossed the threshold with such determination and with such speed that she almost upended Father Jevon, who was standing in her path.

  Steadying himself on his feet, he said, “My child, I’ve been looking for you.”

  “Why?”

  As Alana continued her march across the courtyard, the priest skipped alongside her. “I’ve been praying,” he stated.