Sharon Schulze - L'eau Clair Chronicles 03

by Heart of the Dragon

  She appreciated Ian’s support, though she’d have managed without it, if she’d had to. She nodded, and Ian knocked on the door.

  “Come in,” a woman called.

  Ian opened the door and motioned for Lily to precede him and Swen into the chamber. She stopped just inside the chamber, scarcely leaving enough room for the men to enter.

  Lily paid them no mind. All her attention was focused on the scene before her.

  A finely dressed woman sat in a chair beside the hearth, some sewing in her lap, her head thrown back in laughter as she gazed with obvious affection upon the chubby infant sitting astride a man’s back as he crawled on hands and knees across the rug-strewn floor.

  The woman looked up at the sound of the door swinging closed. “lanl” Tossing aside the sewing, she ran across the room and launched herself into his arms.

  “Rannulf, do get up,” she called.

  “Ian is here.”

  She kissed Ian on both cheeks, her hands touching his arms and shoulders as she stepped back a pace and looked him over from head to toe.

  “You need rest, I can tell. You haven’t been taking proper care of yourself. What have you been about?” she asked.

  The man reached around and swung the child up in his arms as he came to his feet.

  “Perhaps if you’d stop chattering like a magpie, my love, he could tell you.” He tugged his shirt collar out of the baby’s mouth.

  “He’s brought guests.” He stepped closer to Lily and held out his hand to her.

  “You’ll have to excuse my wife—she hasn’t seen Ian in months. Please, milady, come in and be comfortable.”

  She placed her hand in his and allowed him to lead her to a seat by the fire. She felt as though she were watching everything through thick glass, the colors vivid but remote, distanced.

  Dear God, Gillian looked like their mother, startlingly so. Her coloring was similar, down to the dark, coppery braids draped over her shoulders.

  But she’d never seen that expression of contentment on her mother’s face.

  Gillian released Ian and smoothed her hands over the skirt of her dark green gown. A tinge of pink stained her face.

  “I beg your pardon. Ian, please introduce our guests.”

  “Rannulf, Gillian—this is the newest member of my household, Swell Siwardson,” he said, motioning Swen farther into the room. A typical grin on his face, Swen came forward and made his bow, lingering over Gillian’s hand until the blush of color on her cheeks deepened.

  Lily cast a quick look at Gillian’s husband—her brother-by-marriage—to gauge his reaction to the flirtatious Viking’s attention to his wife. She was pleased to note that he simply smiled at the byplay. He’d obviously taken Swen’s measure already.

  Ian then crossed the chamber and stood at Lily’s side.

  He reached down and slipped the hood back from her hair, draping the material over her shoulders. She leaned into his touch, grateful for it now, when her nerves felt so raw.

  Her stomach had been twisted in knots ever since l’Eau Clair came into view; it was a struggle to keep from simply giving in to the urge to jump up from her seat and race from the room.

  Courage, she told herself. She’d faced down the Dragon himself, more than once, and survived to tell the tale. She felt Ian’s gaze upon her face and glanced up to find him waiting patiently. She reached up and touched his hand before he spoke again. He squeezed her fingers reassuringly.

  “And this is my wife, Lily.”

  Rannulf immediately swept into a bow, graceful despite the child clinging to him.

  “I am honored, milady.” He took her hand again, this time raising it to his lips.

  “Welcome to the family.”

  She could see why he hadn’t seemed to find anything amiss in Swen’s greeting. His own manner charmed her, the expression on his handsome face making her feel special.

  Lord Nicholas had been the same; perhaps it was a Norman trait, or else they simply had more refined manners than the few Welshmen she’d met.

  “Trying to entice my wife with your courtly ways, Fitz Clifford Ian asked dryly.

  ““Tis the least I can do, considering the greeting you received from my wife when you walked through the door,” Rannulf retorted, laughing.

  “She didn’t even notice anyone else was here.”

  Lily stood when Gillian approached her, dropping into a deep curtsy. ““Tis a pleasure to meet you at last,” she told Gillian.

  “Ian has told me much about you.”

  “Then you have the-advantage over me, milady,” Gillian said, her eyes questioning as she examined Lily’s face.

  Whatever she found must have met with her approval, for she nodded once and smiled.

  “When did you marry, Ian?” she asked, her gaze still fixed on Lily’s face.

  “And why were we not invited?”

  Ian nudged Lily to sit, then stood behind her chair, his hands resting on her shoulders. She reached up and touched his hand once again, gaining comfort from the contact.

  She didn’t know what to say, what to do. Ian hadn’t told them anything, and Gillian continued to observe her.

  Mayhap she would be thus with any woman Ian brought to them; from their surprise, it seemed he’d never brought anyone here before.

  ““Tis a long and strange tale,” he said.

  “It could take a while in the telling.”

  “Then sit and be comfortable,” Rannulf said. He went to the door and called for the child’s nurse, then sent a servant for food and wine.

  They spoke of inconsequential things until the supper arrived and everyone had been served. Then Rannulf motioned for Ian to begin.

  “What I’m about to tell you might be difficult for you to hear, Gillian,” Ian said.

  She sent him a questioning look.

  “I thought ‘twas your tale, and Lily’s.”

  “It is. But it begins before our marriage. Indeed, it begins before Lily’s birth.”

  Ignoring the food before him, Ian stood and prowled the room with a restless gait. Lily met his gaze and smiled reassuringly. Smiling in return, he appeared to steel him self for the task ahead, taking up his goblet of mead and drinking deeply of the brew.

  “Lily and I met when I discovered her clinging to the curtain wall round Dolwyddelan.”

  Gillian gasped; Rannulf looked interested. Swen, as usual, just grinned.

  Lily stared down at her hands, clasped nervously in her lap. She didn’t want to watch their faces after all, she decided.

  “Twas too difficult to try to interpret their reactions.

  And what if she saw disgust in their faces?

  “After I pulled Lily the rest of the way up the wall, she told me–eventually–her reason for attempting such a desperate feat. She needed to see Llywelyn. When she couldn’t get in to see the prince by more conventional means—such as through a door,” he added with a wry smile, “she thought to climb in and find him herself.

  She’s fortunate she didn’t get herself killed.”

  “Sounds like something you might try, my love,” Ran-huff said to Gillian, grinning when she sent him a disgusted glare.

  “I locked her up in a cell, since she appeared to be so dangerous.” Ian paused behind Lily’s chaff and bent to place a kiss on the top of her head.

  “I went to Llywelyn and told him what Lily sought, why she’d been so desperate to talk with him. He seemed completely uninterested in her tale, and claimed he knew nothing about her.”

  “But what did you wish to know?” Gillian asked.

  “What was so important you were willing to risk your life to gain it?”

  Lily looked up.

  “I wanted to know who I am.”

  Gillian seemed puzzled.

  “Do you mean to say you’ve lost your memory? I’ve heard of such.

  “Tis a terrible thing!”

  “Nay, milady. It’s just that I’ve lived all my life behind the wails of Saint Winifr
ed’s Abbey. I knew nothing of where I’d come from, or who I am. I escaped that prison to seek the answers to those questions, and to see something of the world.”

  Ian placed his hand on her shoulder.

  “I helped Lily to find the information she sought. What we discovered will be important to you, Gillian, as well as to Lily.”

  Lily felt as though someone were examining her. Scanning the faces surrounding her, she found Rannulf gazing at her, then his wife, with a curious expression on his face.

  When she offered him a slight, nervous smile, he stared more intently at her.

  “Get on with it, Ian,” Rannulf said, his voice vibrating with suppressed excitement.

  Running his hand through his already disordered dark curls, Ian sighed.

  “I don’t know any other way to tell you this but straight out. Gillian, when your mother left here all those years ago, she did not die, as Llywelyn told your father. Instead, the prince took advantage of her confusion at the time, and told her that both you and Simon were dead. He took her to live as a boarder at Saint Winifred’s Abbey. Your sister was born there six months later.”

  Unable to resist, Lily watched Gillian’s face as Ian told her. She saw confusion give way to anger, then dawning recognition. Scarcely daring to hope that it was acceptance she’d seen, Lily stood and waited until Gillian rose from her chair and came to stand before her.

  “You are my sister,” she said. She touched Lily’s cheek with a gentle hand and examined her face carefully.

  “She has the eyes, don’t you think, Ian?” She looked up at him.

  “They’re from the Welsh side, I believe, for yours are very similar.”

  Rannulf stood.

  “There’s more to the story than this, unless I miss my guess.”

  “Aye,” Ian agreed.

  “Thus far, I’ve only told you the happy news. Unfortunately, there is much more, and little of it good.”

  Gillian drew a chair nearer to Lily’s and sat beside her, glancing over at her as though to reassure herself that Lily was real.

  “We have much to talk about, you and I,” Gillian said.

  “There are many years to make up for.” She gave Lily’s hand a squeeze.

  Ian took another turn about the room, paused to poke at the fire.

  “The information I’ve learned gives an entirely new meaning to several things that have happened to members of our family these past few years. I believe that Llywelyn, despite his protestations of familial loyalty, and his professed outrage over Steffan’s despicable actions, has instead been doing his best all these years to gain possession or control of l’Eau Clair.” He laughed, but it was a mirthless sound, and his face was cold, bitter over this betrayal.

  “If he were the force behind it, much begins to make sense,” Rannulf said.

  “When Simon died, Llywelyn never came to Clian’s aid, despite her pleas—but Steffan did arrive here and try to gain access to the keep. And the times Steffan abducted our women–he escaped punishment for that, as well, until we meted out justice.”

  Ian nodded.

  “I’m so suspicious now that I could even believe Llywelyn set events in motion for Simon to find Lowri wandering, injured and confused, in the forest near here. The fact that they married has certainly served him well. He’s had a direct connection to a powerful marcher lord and his keep.”

  Gillian shuddered, and Lily noticed that her face had gone pale.

  “I always wondered how Steffan, that slimy worm, managed to avoid paying for his sins. Llywelyn never could give me an answer to that.” Her eyes flashed angrily.

  “Now I know why. Damn him!”

  Rannulf’s handsome face was set in stern lines.

  “And I can just imagine how this all goes together. Quite an elaborate scheme, I’ve no doubt. Tell me this, Ian–-are Gillian and I, and our daughter, meant to survive?” Lily heard Gillian gasp.

  “Or do you think some disaster will befall us, leaving the way clear for Simon’s other legitimate heir to step in and take up the reins of l’Eau Clair?”

  “With Llywelyn’s blessing,” Ian said evenly. Then he smiled, a dangerous dragon’s smile.

  “But we have beat him at his own game, I trust. A plan such as that depends upon Lily being wed to someone Llywelyn can control.

  It’s too late for that now,” he said, voice rich with satisfaction.

  “She’s my wife. I have absolutely no intention of leaving her a widow.” He stared into Lily’s eyes as he said the words, words that had the sound of a vow.

  Lily felt her heartbeat quicken at the promises he made with his intent gaze.

  “And that’s why you wed Lily?” Gillian asked. Lily thought she heard disappointment in the question.

  She awaited Ian’s answer even more eagerly than Gillian appeared to.

  Ian drew his finger over Lily’s cheek. ““Tis one of the reasons. One of many.”

  She felt a flush creep over her face and neck at his caressing tone. It made her remember this morning at the pool, and the things they’d done together.

  Her face burned even hotter.

  Gillian glanced from one to the other, her expression one of amusement—and understanding. She stood, garnering their attention.

  “I’m certain the remainder of this discussion can wait until everyone has had a chance to bathe and refresh themselves.” She turned to Swen, who sat observing everyone throughout the conversation.

  “I’ll call a maid to assist you, sir,” she told him.

  Lily nearly laughed at the way his eyes lit up. Swen Siwardson was a rogue, she thought to herself.

  “Twas a good thing he’d never tried to work his wiles on her, for she doubted Ian would stand for it. Of course, Swen was an intelligent man. He likely knew who he could safely flirt with, and who he’d do better to avoid.

  And Ian had made it very clear that he trusted Swen now, since the Viking was now privy to all their secrets.

  The maid who came to lead Swen away was a comely young lass. She seemed very pleased to be of service to Swen—he was a very attractive, brawny man, after all—and he followed her from the room with every sign of eagerness.

  Ian shook his head after Swen left.

  “Like a lamb to the slaughter.” He laughed.

  “Women fell all over themselves to get at him at Dolwyddelan. You’d best watch your maidservants,” he warned Gillian, “else you’ll reap a crop of young Vikings ‘nine months hence.”

  She joined his laughter.

  “Don’t worry, Ardyth is known as the biggest tease in the entire demesne. She’s saving herself for one of Rannulf’s soldiers, who’s off at Fitz Clifford at the moment. However, that hasn’t prevented her tying nearly every male over ten and under eighty into knots.”

  Rannulf came up behind her and enfolded her in his arms.

  “I’m glad you qualified that,” he said.

  “You’ll give your sister a bad impression of me, otherwise.”

  Lily could see that they were very much in love, a fact that surprised her. From things she’d heard—admittedly, not much—she’d formed the impression that the English, the Normans, did not marry for love, but for land, power, position. Or, as in her case, for protection.

  At least that was the reason Ian had wed her. He was a truly honorable man, more than willing to do whatever he must to help her.

  She only hoped he’d never regret his decision.

  That, she could not bear.

  Gillian led them to a spacious chamber and arranged for a bath to be set up in front of the fire. Lily nearly swooned at the thought of such luxury, though she doubted that this bath would be anything like the one she’d taken that morning.

  Unfortunately.

  Ian stepped out into the hall for a moment to speak with Rannulf, leaving Gillian alone with Lily.

  “I’ll have some clothes brought for you,” Gillian told her.

  “We’re close enough in height that my gowns should f
it you.”

  Indeed, Lily stood only an inch or so taller than her sister, tall for a woman.

  “Was our father a big man, or was he short?” Lily asked.

  “Our/nother was tiny. I never understood how I ended up so tall—too tall, I’ve always felt.”

  “Father was tall, with a sturdy build. He was old when I was born, nearly forty years, but he still was an imposing figure and a fearsome warrior.”

  Lily sank down on the bed, suddenly ready to drop with weariness, She yawned.

  “I beg your pardon,” she murmured.

  “These past weeks have taken their toll.” She pushed her hand experimentally into the pillowing softness of the mattress.

  “I never slept in a bed such as this until we stayed at Ashby a few days ago.

  “Tis decadent—and delightful.”

  Gillian smiled.

  “You’ll become used to it in no time, I’m sure. Ian’s keep at Gwal Draig isn’t as grand as this, but ‘tis a comfortable manor. And Catrin trained the servants well. It hasn’t been long since she was mistress there, so I doubt they’ve forgotten their duties.”

  Lily frowned.

  “I don’t know that Ian will be able to return to his home anytime soon.”

  “What do you mean?” Gillian asked.

  “It wouldn’t be safe. Even though Llywelyn can’t possibly know that Ian and I are married, evidently he suspects that Ian has been helping me to stay away from him.”

  Gillian looked at her, puzzled.

  “I can see that I should have waited to suggest leaving, until Ian told the rest of the tale. I’m confused. Why should you need to stay away from the prince?”

  “He held me prisoner at Dolwyddelan. Indeed, I first met Swen when he smuggled me away from the castle to remove me from Ian’s influence—at Llywelyn’s request.”

  “And you brought the Viking with you? Are you mad?”

  Lily held out a cautioning hand.

  “As Ian said, there’s more to the tale. Believe me when I say that Swell is no threat to either of us. He truly admires Ian and wishes to serve him. Indeed, if he’d done as Llywelyn ordered, I’d be back within the walls of Saint Winifred’s Abbey. I doubt that even the Dragon would wage war on a convent,” she added dryly.