Everlasting

by Charlene Cross

  “Out of my way, Priest,” the first one said as he shoved a startled Father Jevon aside.

  “Rhys?”

  The query came from Alana, her surprise evident. Paxton stared at the man. Beside Rhys stood each of his sons, Dylan included. Behind them was Aldwyn.

  “Aye, Niece. I am here,” Rhys stated. “I could not let this travesty go forth.” Then he looked to the area at large. “Where is Henry?”

  Henry’s voice boomed through the tent, as he asked, “Who inquires?”

  “Rhys ap Tewdwr,” Alana’s uncle announced. “I have come to give testimony on my niece’s behalf.” His gaze ran over both Alana and Paxton. “It appears I have arrived just in time.”

  “Come forward, Rhys ap Tewdwr,” Henry declared. “You men”—he motioned at Alana’s and Paxton’s guards—“bring the condemned.” Once everyone was standing before him, he eyed Rhys as though gauging him. “I have made my decision in this matter. Your niece has confessed to killing my vassal, Gilbert FitzWilliam. She has been found guilty of murder and is sentenced to be hanged. Your testimony is too late.”

  “Not too late,” Rhys said, “just delayed. Or are you the sort who is unwilling to admit he has erred in his judgment? If so, you will be putting an innocent person to death simply to avoid acknowledging your mistake.”

  Henry glared at Rhys. “The previous testimony offered against her is what convicted her. You may speak, but I warn you this: If you do not convince me of her innocence, she will be hanged.”

  Rhys arrogantly inclined his head. “You might be king of England but you are not king of Cymru,” he said, referring to his country in his own language. “Since I am not one of your subjects, I intended to speak with or without your permission.”

  For a third time the tent was a cacophony of gasps, then dead silence. As Henry and Rhys stared at one another, neither man backing down, everyone held their breath, waiting for Henry’s infamous temper to erupt.

  They were disappointed, however. For reasons known only to him, Henry appeared to respect Rhys’s tenaciousness. “Your point is well taken, Welshman,” he said at last. “We shall address this man-to-man and on an equal level. But when I make my decision, it will be as king, for we are on English soil, and Gilbert FitzWilliam was my vassal. Now have your say.”

  “Rhys, no,” Alana interjected.

  “Hush, Niece,” he commanded, turning on her. “This time you will hold your tongue.” He again faced Henry. “Alana did not kill Gilbert. I did.”

  “And I,” Dylan stated.

  “As did I,” Meredydd confirmed.

  “I, also,” Caradog added.

  “A lie,” Alana chimed.

  “Be quiet,” Henry ordered at her intrusion. He looked back to Rhys. “Why did you set yourself on my vassal?”

  “He attempted to murder my niece.”

  “She has said as much, except she claims she killed him.”

  “Unlikely. She just pulled herself from a raging torrent after being shoved into its current by Gilbert FitzWilliam. With what little strength she had, she dragged herself across a footbridge and hid in the wood. She was found by one of her kinsmen and brought to me. She told me all that had transpired. Your fool of a vassal erred when he came to us with the story that his ‘beloved’ Alana had drowned. For his treachery, he received his due.”

  Henry was quiet. “Did you see Gilbert shove your niece into the river as she has claimed.”

  “Nay,” Rhys stated. “They were alone.”

  “Then there is still no proof that Gilbert attempted to murder her.”

  “And why is that?” Rhys questioned.

  “There is no reason for his wanting her dead.”

  “There is a reason,” Rhys countered. “It came to my three sons and I in the form of a name. It was the last utterance Gilbert ever breathed.”

  “And what name is that?” Henry inquired.

  “Gwenifer.”

  All eyes turned on the woman who had been quietly listening to the exchange. “Nay! ’Tis not true!” she cried, bounding from the bench on which she sat.

  “They were lovers,” Rhys accused. “What better reason is there for a man to want his wife dead than that of his wanting to marry his whore?”

  “’Tis a lie,” Gwenifer insisted as two of Henry’s knights approached her, ready to take her prisoner.

  “Hold,” Henry commanded of the men just as they started to grasp her arms. “Gilbert could not have married this woman. The Church would have prohibited such a union. She would be too closely related. She is after all his wife’s cousin.”

  “Perhaps in England you abide by such edicts from the Church. In Cymru, we intermarry all the time. ’Tis to ensure our blood isn’t tainted by outsiders,” Rhys said with a sneer. “With Alana in her grave, Gilbert would have married Gwenifer, and no one would have objected. As I said, he erred. Alana still lives, and Gilbert is dead, payment for his faithlessness.”

  Henry pinpointed Gwenifer with his harsh gaze. “Is this true, woman? Were you Gilbert’s lover?”

  Paling, Gwenifer shook her head.

  “Do not lie to me,” Henry thundered. “The proof is easily delivered to me. An examination by my own leech should tell us whether you are a virgin or not.”

  When Gwenifer didn’t respond, Henry ordered the man forward. “Nay!” she yelled on his approach. “Do not come nigh!”

  “Your refusal impeaches you, woman!” Henry shouted. “’Tis true: You were Gilbert’s lover!”

  “Yes!” Gwenifer fairly screamed the word, then she pointed her finger at Alana. “But she killed him!”

  Alana was stunned by Gwenifer’s confession and subsequent accusation. Then the realization came: The friendship between Gilbert and Gwenifer was far more than it appeared. Remembering all the occasions on which she saw them together—Gilbert smiling at Gwenifer, his laughter ringing freely, hers doing the same—Alana now knew that they were in fact lovers. How very stupid of her not to have known sooner.

  “You both wanted me dead,” she said to Gwenifer. “You knew Gilbert had schemed to kill me, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, I knew,” Gwenifer said, struggling against the hands that now held her arms. “We arranged the plan together.”

  At Henry’s nod to the men who held Alana, her arms were released. She stepped toward Gwenifer. “You would kill me simply to marry Gilbert?”

  “I loved him and he loved me. But nay. Not ‘simply’ to marry Gilbert. I wanted revenge.”

  “Revenge? Why?”

  “Because of what your father did to my father. I hated Rhodri for killing my sire. But I avenged Hywel’s death by making certain his murderer met his own end.”

  Alana stared at her. “You! But you were nowhere near my father when he fell from his horse.”

  Gwenifer raised her chin. “’Twas no accident that he did. I cut the cinch to his saddle. That is why he fell. That is why he broke his deceitful neck.”

  Alana recalled how each time Gwenifer came for a visit something terrible occurred. Her father’s death was the first of three such happenings. The second was Alana’s near drowning, and Gilbert’s subsequent death. And now this. As to the first, that Gwenifer blamed Rhodri for her own father’s demise was madness, pure and simple.

  “Hywel died because of his own treachery, Gwenifer. He was dissatisfied with the portion left to him on our grandfather’s death. He tried to usurp his own brother’s inheritance and incited a fight between them. Rhodri had no choice but to defend himself. It was Hywel’s greed that killed him. Naught else.”

  “That land was my father’s,” Gwenifer insisted, obviously unwilling to accept the truth. “Just as it now should be mine. You stole it from me. I hate you for taking all that I ever valued: my father, the land, Gilbert. But in good time I made certain you were found out.”

  The piece of tunic, Alana thought. Gwenifer was the one who placed it on the bed. “How did you come by Gilbert’s clothing?” she asked.

  “I saw
Madoc leave the castle after he helped you prepare Gilbert’s body for burial. I followed him into the wood and watched as he tried to burn the evidence. The rain came, drowning out the fire. He buried the remaining scraps, which I unearthed the moment he disappeared from sight. I saved the most damning piece, waiting for the right time to deliver it into the proper hands. Your Norman husband suspected you from the start. I thought it only fair to present it to him when you both appeared so very happy. It worked, for I shall soon see you hanged. ’Twill even the score, Cousin.”

  “Nay!” Henry interjected, and all eyes turned his way. “Based on the new evidence presented here, Alana of Llangollen will not hang. You have perjured yourself in your testimony, young woman. You lied with the intent of seeing an innocent person put to death. You and Gilbert connived to kill his wife. You have also confessed to murdering your own uncle. Gilbert received his deserts.” He looked at Rhys. “Which, I might add, was fair and just.” He turned back to Gwenifer. “But you have yet to receive yours. Therefore, by my command, the sentence that was once passed on your cousin is now passed on you.” He waved his arm. “Take her to the gallows!”

  The blood drained from Gwenifer’s face; she appeared to faint. Holding her limp form between them, the two knights dragged her to the bench and laid her upon it. While one sought something with which to fan her, the other went in search of some water. It was then that Gwenifer sprang to life.

  Her knife drawn from its sheath at her waist, she bounded from the bench. Her once beautiful face was contorted with rage, her eyes glassy and wild. “I hate you!” she screamed, the blade aimed straight at Alana’s heart.

  Alana stood rooted to the spot as she watched her cousin come at her. Behind her Paxton shouted her name, then cursed the men who yet held him. From the side, she felt Rhys’s and Dylan’s hands attempting to jerk her aside. Then before her, she saw Gwenifer falter. Her eyes widened as her features became a frozen mask of disbelief. In a trice, Gwenifer fell face first in the dirt at Alana’s feet, a quarrel protruding from her back.

  Her heart hammering in her ears, Alana looked to the man who had cast himself directly behind Gwenifer. Henry’s stance was firm, his jaw set. He slowly lowered the crossbow from his shoulder.

  “Woman, thy treachery is met,” he said, gazing at Gwenifer’s lifeless form. Then he looked at Alana. “Though either means of her delivery might be considered by my hand, she sustained a far easier death this way than she would have by hanging. She will be given a proper burial.”

  Handing off the crossbow to another, Henry motioned to the two knights who had once restrained Gwenifer; Alana turned away as they lifted her cousin’s body and carried it from the tent, Father Jevon following after them. Wanting to feel her husband’s arms around her, Alana gazed beseechingly at Paxton. But he could do naught to comfort her, for he was still held fast by his guards.

  “Release my knight and untie his hands,” Henry stated from behind her. “And untie his lady as well.” While the leather bindings were removed, he motioned to Sir Graham, who had come from the rear of the tent. “You, there, pick up those spurs and bring them here,” he ordered, his hand outstretched and waiting.

  Once Sir Graham complied, Henry commanded Paxton and Alana forward, ordering everyone else back. After removing the straps from his own spurs to replace those that were cut away on Paxton’s, Henry knelt before Paxton and began restoring the symbols of knighthood to his vassal’s heels.

  Henry looked up at Paxton as he worked. “You called me a fool and questioned my wisdom before everyone here,” he said for Paxton’s and Alana’s ears only. “I could still have you hanged for treason, sir. But I will not. You believed in your lady. You were even willing to die for and with her. I admire that sort of faith. However, know this: Based on what was told me, I had no choice but to find her guilty. Fortunately her uncle arrived and exposed the lies that were uttered by your lady’s cousin. Know this also: I am always interested in justice, thus the change in my verdict. I am, therefore, restoring your spurs, myself. I also forgive your error in denouncing me. But do not make me strike your spurs again, for there will be no mercy from me a second time.” He rose to meet Paxton face-to-face. “Is that clear?”

  “Aye, sire,” Paxton declared. “’Tis perfectly clear. My actions were those of a desperate man. That I’ll admit. I am gladdened you have forgiven me. But you should know that whether it is in defense of my wife, my king, or some lowly serf, if the circumstances are such again, I will react in the same manner with the same sort of conviction. ’Tis a matter of loyalty to what one believes in.”

  Henry searched Paxton’s eyes. “You are honest, sir. ’Tis a virtue I wish all my vassals possessed. I am also pleased that you have included me in those to which you extend your loyalty.” He patted Paxton’s shoulder. “You have always served me well, and I can truly say I am honored to have you as one of my knights. All that I once promised you is now yours. I wish you a long and happy life, Sir Paxton. Your lady as well. And since you insist it is possible, may your marriage be blessed with many sons and daughters. Now, my friend, whenever you are ready, you may take the Lady Alana home.”

  Bowing to Henry, Alana and Paxton squeezed each other’s hands. When they looked to the man again, they saw his blue eyes twinkling with mirth.

  His deep laughter rumbled forth. “Is that the best the two of you can do?” he questioned, cocking his head. “God’s wounds! You were staring death in the face, professing your undying love for each other at the same time. Don’t be shy. Show us the joy of that abiding affection you hold for one another, so we may share in it ourselves.”

  Paxton turned to Alana and gazed deeply into her eyes. “My king has ordered this. And it is with great pleasure I do his bidding.”

  With that, he pulled her into his embrace and kissed her with such depth of emotion that the effect streamed through Alana all the way to her toes. Cheers and roars erupted around them, stating the approval of all who watched. Then, beneath her hand, she felt the laughter rising in Paxton’s chest. Ending the kiss, he pulled back and let his merriment fly through the air.

  “Why such mirth?” she asked, smiling, for his joy was contagious.

  Lifting her, he twirled her around. “Because, my beautiful wife, I’m the happiest man alive.”

  “Rhys ap Tewdwr, come forward.”

  Henry’s voice rose above the din, once Paxton had set Alana to her feet. She watched as her uncle approached Paxton’s king.

  “I presume, sir,” Henry addressed Rhys, “that you traveled here under a flag of truce.”

  “Nay. I came prepared to fight my way in, if I had to. I had no intention of disguising my purpose under a false flag.”

  Henry arched his brow. “You showed great courage, Rhys ap Tewdwr, for you braved much to save your niece. I grant you safe passage back to your homeland, and I pray the next time we meet it will be in friendship and not in battle. If that were to occur, it would be a terrible reckoning for us both, I fear. Sir Paxton and the others will offer you their protection and escort you past Offa’s Dyke.”

  “Considering what is developing here, once in Cymru, the Norman and his men may be in need of our protection,” Rhys commented.

  “I will take it as a personal favor if you’d see to their continued good health.” Henry’s gaze swept the lot of them. “God’s speed to you all,” he said, and made for the entry.

  As Henry and his bevy of attendants and knights marched past them, Alana dipped a curtsy while Paxton bowed. Rhys, Dylan, Meredydd, Caradog, Madoc, and Aldwyn remained erect, their Welsh pride preventing any show of respect to the English king.

  When they were by themselves, Alana looked to Aldwyn. “I had never thought to see you again, let alone with my uncle. Where were you when I departed the fortress?”

  “He was dashing through the wood bent on alerting me as to what was happening,” Rhys stated.

  “But how did you know, Aldwyn?” Alana asked. “I told no one except Gwenifer
and Madoc, and they were both sworn to secrecy.” Slowly she looked to her servant and friend. “Someone did not keep his word.”

  “’Tis a good thing I didn’t,” Madoc announced. “Or you and your knight would be gibbeted by now.”

  She shifted her attention from Madoc to Aldwyn. “Thank you for seeking aid on my behalf. I appreciate your concern and care.”

  “Friends always help friends when in need,” Aldwyn announced.

  Alana hugged Aldwyn, then turned to her uncle. “If you knew about Gwenifer, all this while, why didn’t you tell me?”

  Rhys glanced around him to see if they were truly alone. “I didn’t know.”

  Alana frowned. “What are you saying? You told Henry that Gilbert died with Gwenifer’s name on his lips.”

  “I lied. Gilbert was too busy begging for mercy to say anything else.”

  “Then how—?”

  “While we were traveling here, Aldwyn questioned what Gwenifer’s true purpose was in insisting she journey with you to Chester. I responded by saying that I supposed she hoped to testify in your behalf. That is when Aldwyn said he distrusted Gwenifer’s motives, especially when she and Gilbert were more than mere cousins and friends. The lad saw them coupling in the wood, not long before Gilbert died.”

  “And you never told me,” Alana said to Aldwyn.

  “I didn’t want to cause you hurt,” Aldwyn replied with a shrug.

  “Well, I’m certainly glad you thought to tell Rhys about what you saw. I fear otherwise Paxton and I would have been hanged.” Again she looked to Rhys. “You never trusted Gwenifer yourself, but you never said why.”

  “Our countrymen’s nature is a passionate and vindictive one. You know as well as I that no affront, recent or past, goes unpunished. Considering what occurred between your father and hers, I always thought she was too quick to forgive. In other words, I didn’t believe she was playing you true. Obviously, she wasn’t.”