by Regan Walker
She waited until she heard the men’s heavy footfalls on the stone floor.
“I will see you to the hall as I must pay a trip to the privy before I stand watch for the next hours,” spoke the gruff voice.
“With all that wine in my belly, I will join you,” said Marcel.
Their voices faded as they ascended the stairs. She took her candle and left the small room. Continuing down the corridor, she found a large chamber some distance from the others. Peering through the grate, she glimpsed a man chained to the wall. Straw had been loosely strewn about the floor.
She no longer had the light of the candle, but the moonlight falling into what she realized was a prisoner’s cell revealed a man clothed in a frayed red tunic, chained to the wall. Tall, blond and bearded, he sat on a bench leaning against the stones, his eyes closed. He may have been sleeping, she could not tell.
“Are you Gruffydd ap Cynan?”
The prisoner opened his eyes. “I am.” He seemed to study her face for a moment. “Have you come to peer at the earl’s prisoner, my lady?”
“Nay, King of Gwynedd. Fi yw ffrind i ffrind. I come as the friend of a friend.”
He sat up, giving her his full attention. “And who might your friend be?”
“Iorwerth ap Bleddyn, My Lord, though I call him Rhodri.”
He struggled to rise from the bench, his chains rattled and he strained against them. In a tone that spoke of hope, he said, “He and his brother, Cadwgan, are my allies.”
“I know Cadwgan’s son, Owain.” She did not tell Gwynedd’s king that she had just sent Owain away, rejecting his suit.
“Are you their messenger? Are they here to free me?” the Welsh king inquired.
“Nay. I am alone but if I can, I will free you.” Trying the door, she found it locked, a bar across it held firmly in place. “The guard will soon return to his post. What can I do?”
“In the years I have been here,” the blond Welshman said, “I have heard the guards speak of keys kept on a hook behind a tapestry in the hall.”
“I will find them.” She started to go and he called her back. “Beware the guard and the earl’s men.”
“There is only one guard and he is in the privy. The earl and his men, or most of them, are away.”
“Then hurry, for the guard will certainly return.”
She set down the candle, turned and ran, racing up the stairs, glad for the lanterns that lit her way. As she neared the top, she slowed, listening. Hearing nothing, she peeked around the corner, her heart pounding. But the guard had not yet returned.
Behind the tapestry closest to the stairs, she found a ring of iron keys she had not noticed before. Carefully, she lifted them from the peg and pressed them close to her body so they would not jingle.
When she returned to the King of Gwynedd’s cell, she fumbled in the dim light of the corridor, trying three keys before she was able to locate the one that freed the crossbar. Lifting it, the door opened.
Gruffydd stepped as far away from the wall as his chains allowed. “Good lady, you have done it!”
She hurried to his side and handed him the ring of keys.
In short order he had the fetters unlocked. “Go quickly and I will follow. Speak loudly of the weather should you encounter the guard.”
Merewyn picked up the snuffed candle and slowly retraced her steps. As she climbed the stairs, she listened for any sound. But for whatever the reason, the guard did not appear. Then she thought of the hounds she would have expected to see lying about. The earl must have taken them with him. And for that, she was grateful. She was certain the Welsh king would kill any guard or hound that got in his way. After years as the earl’s prisoner, she could hardly blame him.
Behind her she heard his faint footfalls.
She froze, seeing someone moving in the hall. A servant woman swept across the large room blowing out candles.
Merewyn stepped into the light. “ ’Tis a gloomy night with snow on the way. Might you leave some candles lit?”
The woman of middle years, judging by the face beneath the head cloth, started. “Oh, my lady! Ye gave me a fright. I did not see ye. Are ye alone?”
“Yea, the countess retired. I was just admiring a tapestry, but I am on my way to my chamber now.”
“Here,” said the servant, lighting Merewyn’s candle with one of her own. “Yer candle has gone out. I will return later to snuff the ones we do not keep lit for the night.”
Merewyn waited until the woman left the room before turning to face the Welsh king. “There will be guards at the gate and men in the bailey,” she whispered. “How will you get past them?”
“Leave that to me. You have done the impossible. What is your name, my lady?”
When she told him, he said, “You have risked much to free me, Merewyn. Be certain Iorwerth will know of this.”
Merewyn moved aside, allowing him to go before her. He moved like a shadow, skirting the edge of the hall, before disappearing through the door that led to the kitchens.
Never would she have believed she could free Gwynedd’s king imprisoned for so long. She was both excited for what she had done and afraid. What would Alex think of her treachery against Earl Hugh and England’s king? But after all Rhodri had done for her, how could she have done otherwise?
* * *
Alex had just defeated Guy in a second game of chess when Merewyn opened his chamber door. “Still playing?” she asked.
Her face was flushed as if she’d been running, making her unusual eyes all the more striking. When he looked at her more closely, she averted her eyes. Now what has she been up to?
“Alex is having a good night of it,” said Guy, beginning to gather the chess pieces off the board. “Took my queen with his rook.”
“I was able to beat him once,” said Rory, who had been watching their game.
“Want to play?” Alex asked her.
“Nay. I just finished two games with the countess,” she said, closing the chamber door. Again, Alex wondered what had left her ivory skin so flushed. Her breathing was more rapid than normal, her chest heaving slightly.
Guy put away the chessboard and set the pieces in their velvet-lined box. Rory rose from the bench he’d been sitting on and stabbed at the coals in the brazier.
“We will come for you at dawn’s light,” said Rory. “I will make sure the horses are saddled.”
“We cannot leave soon enough for me,” said Alex. “I am tired of lying about. Besides, I want to be gone before the earl returns. He would only pester us with questions we do not want to answer.”
As his friends departed, Merewyn walked to the window. “Do they leave us alone because they believe we are wed?”
“Possibly. I have told them it is so. Or, they might have done it because they know I would wish to be alone with you.” The rose gown fit her well, reminding him of the curves beneath the silk that were now his. Her breasts were fuller with the child. He longed to have her join him in the bed, but he sensed she was pondering something.
She opened the shutters, letting a blast of cold air into the room. The fire in the brazier flickered.
“Tell me what you see,” he said.
Her face lit like a small child’s. “Snow is falling,” she said excitedly. “The white flakes make the village appear like a fairy land. It seems lit from within, even though it is night. The last of the castle’s servants are leaving through the gate, no doubt heading for their hearth fires.” Raising her head, she gazed outward. “The woodland in the distance looks like a sack of flour has been shaken over it.”
He studied her profile, the upturned nose, the lips that never failed to entice him and the proud but delicate jaw. There was not another woman in England he would have chosen above her.
She closed the shutters and turned to face him. “ ’Tis an early first snow.”
“Mayhap the sun will rise tomorrow and melt what remains.” He hoped it would be so. “Our travel north will be muddy in any case, b
ut we must go, no matter. I do not care to spend the winter here.”
“Nor I,” she said.
He held out his hand.
She walked to the bed and took his hand. He pulled her down where he could reach the rest of her. She was chilled from her time at the window. “You are shivering.”
“And you are like a great brazier, a warm fire on a cold night,” she said, a subtle smile spreading across her face.
He circled her with his arms. “Then let me warm you.” He did what he had wanted to do since she entered his chamber and pulled her into his lap. His heart thundered in his chest as he held back the desire to take her hard and fast. She was new to this and there was the child to consider. His child. The thought pleased him greatly.
Gently cupping her face in his hands, he brought her mouth to his and savored the taste of her. Raising his head, he looked into her passion-glazed eyes. “I would take you over and over until you are fevered,” he said.
“But your leg!” she softly protested.
“I am certain the pleasure will outweigh the pain.”
He turned her so he could unlace her gown. Soon they were naked beneath the cover.
“Loving you is unlike anything I have ever done,” he whispered, feeling her breasts against his chest. He pulled her hips against his swelling groin. “Can you feel my body’s need to have you?”
She responded by running her hands through his hair, then over his shoulders. “Aye.”
He slid his hand between them to the soft nest of hair at the juncture of her thighs. “And can you feel your body is ready for me?”
“Oh, yes, sir knight.”
* * *
The next morning, Merewyn descended the stairs to the sound of men’s raised voices. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she saw guards clustered around the countess.
“Escaped?” Ermentrude asked.
Merewyn cringed. This had been her doing. She had not told Alex the night before that when she looked out the window of his chamber into the snow, she had seen the King of Gwynedd slipping past the guards with the villagers on their way home. She fretted for the concerned countess, but she was glad Gruffydd had got away.
“I do not understand,” the countess continued. “How can that be? Was the prisoner not guarded at all times?”
“He was, my lady,” insisted a swarthy mail-clad knight. She recognized the voice as the one called Marcel. “But sometime during the night, Sir Drew fell ill and spent some time in the privy. When he was able to return to his post, all seemed well. The prisoner’s absence was not discovered until this morning when a servant brought him food.”
Merewyn wondered if the man had truly been ill or if this was a story to cover their drinking while serving guard duty.
“The keys?” asked the countess.
“Still on the peg where they are always kept, my lady” said Marcel.
“My husband will not be pleased to hear of it,” said Ermentrude. “The man could not simply vanish. He was chained! Do you think someone intentionally made Sir Drew ill?”
“I cannot say, my lady. He will be disciplined for leaving his post, of course.”
“You can hardly punish a man for being ill.”
Merewyn saw a flicker of relief in the man’s eyes. He, too, knew the countess to be kindhearted.
The countess looked up just then and saw Merewyn, who was trying very hard to keep her face calm.
Ermentrude gave some order to the swarthy knight and then came toward her. “I see you wear again the archer’s clothing.”
Knowing Alex intended to leave, Merewyn had changed her clothing and her hair was confined to one long plait down her back. Over her bowman’s attire, she wore her warm winter cloak. She carried her bow and quiver of arrows and the gown she had been wearing when she was taken from Talisand. “You have been kind to us,” she said, her guilt niggling at the back of her mind. But she had no regret for freeing King Gruffydd. By treachery he had been captured and by treachery he had been freed.
“It was my pleasure to have you,” said the countess. “If you are seeking your companions, they are helping Sir Alex in the bailey. They want to leave before more snow descends upon Chester. I have had the kitchen wrap some food for your travels. The package lies on the table there.”
Merewyn retrieved the package of food and walked with the countess to the bailey where Ceinder waited.
Alex was already mounted on his great black stallion and the countess went to stand next to him. “Will you be all right?”
“Fortunately, I am not walking,” Alex said. “I am well enough to ride and the pain will keep me awake. I thank you for your kindness.”
Merewyn secured the package and her bow and arrows to Ceinder’s saddle and mounted.
The countess looked at them with anxious eyes, her face full of worry. “Have a care in the woods. The earl’s prisoner escaped last night.”
Alex thanked her and soon they were riding out of Chester’s gate and crossing the River Dee.
The sun glistened on the newly fallen snow. Where the bright rays fell on the white patches, it had begun to melt. Only the snow lying in the shade of the trees was still unaffected. The horses found their way through the thin white coating left on the path well enough, but it was cold and she drew her cloak around her.
Flicking her plait to her back and pulling her hood over her head, Merewyn eyed Alex, watching his face for signs of pain. He winced whenever his stallion’s hooves encountered a rough patch of ground requiring him to brace his right foot in the stirrup, but otherwise, he voiced no complaint. She expected none from a knight who had survived many battles. She had observed the scars on his naked body which, by this time, she was beginning to know well. The wound in his leg was not the first one he had suffered.
They had traveled for what seemed like an hour, riding through the dense conifers in Chester’s hunting forest, when suddenly the canopy of trees exploded with the sound of hissing arrows shooting across their path and thudding into the bark of the large trees.
Ambush! Merewyn’s heart fled to her throat as she reached out to calm Ceinder. Should they seek to run from the outlaws? She looked to Alex for guidance but he was settling his great stallion as his eyes searched the woods. He drew his sword.
Merewyn pulled her bow from the back of her saddle and nocked an arrow.
Ahead of them, Rory and Guy tightened the reins of their horses to halt them from running. The horses tossed their heads and then stilled under the practiced hands of the knights.
A voice came from a tree in a Welsh accent. “Do not think to charge forward, Normans, or you will find our arrows in your backs. We are many and some of us are ahead of you.”
A man’s head emerged from the branches above them. His shoulders and arms were attired in the green and brown of a Welsh bowman. “Look lads!” he shouted. “Norman fruit, ripe for the picking!”
From the trees around them she heard other Welshmen respond to their leader. From their voices and what she could see, she guessed there might be a dozen.
Alex moved his stallion close to Ceinder but, surrounded on all sides, there was no way he would be able to shield her. “We only wish to pass,” he said to the place where the first bowman had appeared. “We are not among those who fight the Welsh.”
“Shall I kill them now?” One of the Welshmen flung the question at an older archer.
“Mayhap,” he replied. “A few of Chester’s men might be a fitting present for the king’s homecoming.”
“We do not serve Chester!” insisted Rory.
The first man pulled back his bowstring and took aim at Rory. “But you came from the castle in Chester.”
Rory said defiantly, “Welsh dogs!”
Another bowman pulled back the string of his bow.
“Aros!” Merewyn screamed. “Peidiwch â saethu. Yr ydym yn ffrindiau!” In Welsh, she had told them to wait, that they were friends.
The one with the arrow aimed at Rory pause
d.
“Friends?” asked the older man in accented English, tossing her a smirk. “That one,” pointing to Rory, “calls us ‘dogs’. What would you know of our friends, small archer who speaks our tongue?”
“Merewyn, do not—” Alex began, but she cut him off.
“We are from Talisand to the north and friends of Iorwerth ap Bleddyn,” she said loudly, not knowing which of them was in charge.
The first bowman stuck his head out of the thick branches overhead, his eyes examining Ceinder and then roving over her tunic and leather jerkin. “You are a woman, yet you ride a Welsh pony and dress like one of us. Who are you?”
“My name is Merewyn,” she said. “If you serve the King of Gwynedd, I am known to him.”
The leader returned her a disbelieving stare. After a moment, he said, “I know the name.” A hasty conversation ensued among the Welsh bowmen in their tongue. She understood they were discussing her and their king, but she did not catch all their words.
With a grand gesture, sweeping his arm down the road, the older one said, “You may go, Merewyn.” Then he shouted to the trees ahead, “Allow them to pass!”
Slowly, they rode forward, Merewyn expecting an arrow in her back at any moment, but none came. The archers in the trees did not question their leader’s change of attitude but their eyes never left her as she passed in front of them.
Once they were clear of the Welshmen and some distance away, Alex pulled rein and turned to her. “Would you like to explain what exactly happened back there?”
Rory and Guy turned in their saddles waiting for her response.
“Last night I freed Gruffydd ap Cynan, the King of Gwynedd, from a cell in Earl Hugh’s castle. Before he took his leave, he asked me for my name.”
Alex glared at her, the shock of what she had done clear on his face. “You are the cause of all the excitement this morning? You set the enemy free?”
“I did. After all, Gruffydd was captured by treachery. Why should he not be freed in the same manner? Besides, he was not my enemy. Given all the Welsh have done for me… and what Rhodri means to Lady Serena and Talisand, it seemed the right thing to do.”
Rory and Guy stared at her, open mouthed.