by Speer, Flora
Isabel flounced away, pouting, and Guy went back to Reynaud’s plans. He had a pretty good idea where Thomas had disappeared to every day or so for the past few weeks. He had let it go on, knowing Thomas was lonely and upset by his enforced move from the familiar royal court to the strangeness of Afoncaer, but the boy ought to be over it by now, and he ought not to neglect his duties as page to his mother. Guy would have to speak to him.
“I can’t help it. Uncle Guy,” Thomas told him. “I just want to visit the cave as often as I can. I like talking to Rhys. He knows wonderful stories, and Meredith is fun.”
Guy could see he would have to do something more about Thomas. He could well imagine what would happen should Father Herbert grow curious and decide to follow the boy one day. He waited until Thomas was occupied at weapons practice before he started for the cave. He met Meredith before he reached it.
He did not recognize her at first. Her glorious hair was completely covered by a linen scarf and she was on her knees on the ground, digging roots, which she threw into a flat basket beside her. Seeing her from behind he thought from her clothes that she was an old woman, a villein, and he was about to order her out of his forest when she raised her head and he saw her lovely, innocent face and her silver-grey eyes, and at that instant his firm resolution to forget her flew out of his mind as if he had never made it.
“It’s you,” he said, unable to think of anything else to say, as though he were an inexperienced page.
“My lord Guy.” He was the last person Meredith expected to see. She tried to hide her muddy hands behind her back, aware that her old dress, which she wore only for this dirty work, was too short. She had grown several inches since it was made soon after she had come to the cave, and she owned a new one now that fit her better. She wished she was wearing it, instead of this ill-fitting, soiled one.
“I was going to the cave to see Rhys,” Guy said, “But I think I’ll talk to you instead. What will you do with those?” He indicated the roots.
“Hang them up until they dry and then grind them into powder. Rhys uses the powder in his medicines. It has a soothing effect. First I have to wash the mud away.”
When she started to stand he leaned forward and took her elbow to help her. She felt the warmth and the strength of his hand for just a moment before he drew back, but the touch was enough to send the blood to her face. She saw he had picked up the basket.
“To the stream?” he asked.
She nodded wordlessly and led the way. He sat down on the bank of the stream and watched her as she cleaned the roots and then, when she had finished that task, tried to get the dirt off her hands. She wiped them on the skirt of her robe, knowing his dark blue eyes were following her every movement.
“Why did you want to see Rhys?”
“Rhys?” His expression was oddly soft as he studied her. “Oh, yes, Rhys. It’s about Thomas. He has been neglecting his duties. His mother is disturbed by his absences. I suspect it is because he goes to the cave to see Rhys. And you. He’s very fond of you. I can see why.”
Meredith dropped her eyes, unable to bear his close examination of her face. She sat twisting her hands together, her head bowed. It was happening again, just as it had the other times she’d seen him. Her heart was thumping so loudly he must be able to hear it, and she could hardly breathe. No one she had ever met before had made her feel like this.
“I thought,” Guy said, “that Rhys might suggest that Thomas not visit the cave so often.”
“You are Thomas’s guardian and master. Why do you not simply order him to stay away and threaten to punish him if he disobeys?” That, Meredith reflected, was what one would expect a Norman lord to do. But she knew by now that this man was very different from the Normans Branwen had so often warned her against, and she wanted to hear what he would say.
Guy did not answer her at once. He drew his knees up and rested his arms on them, then put his chin down on his arms and stared across the stream into the green thickness of his forest. Meredith felt he was struggling with some inner problem. As Rhys had taught her to do with their patients, she sat quietly beside him, waiting patiently until he was ready to speak.
“When I was a boy,” Guy said at last, “I had an older brother.”
“Lord Lionel,” she supplied, and he nodded, his eyes still on the trees.
“Lionel,” he said, “was our parents’ great hope, their means of improving their position in the world. Their lives centered on him, though they had no real love for him. They demanded and urged and pushed and forced and sometimes beat him to make him do what was expected of him, whether Lionel wished it or not.
“I was more fortunate. I was only the younger son, and though I knew I must never disgrace our family honor, still I had more freedom, I could dream my own dreams. Did you know my brother?”
“No,” Meredith said. “We kept away from Afoncaer while Lord Lionel ruled there. I never even saw him.”
“When Lionel was Thomas’s age he was still as good and innocent as Thomas is now. Our parents’ ambitions, and later his own, which they had planted in him, shriveled Lionel’s soul until he was changed into something ugly and vicious.
“Thomas’s mother is every bit as ambitious as my parents were. Had they both stayed at court, she would very soon have begun to use Thomas as my parents used Lionel. I did not want that to happen, and since I am now his guardian, I was able to convince King Henry to let me bring Thomas here. I want him to have time to go off by himself and dream or explore or do whatever he wants to do. But his absences are too frequent. His mother complains loudly about this, and there are those at Afoncaer who speak of lawbreakers who insist upon pursuing the old ways. Those people would be most interested to know where Thomas goes and who he sees. That interest could be dangerous to you and Branwen and Rhys, but more important to me, it could be dangerous to Thomas.”
“What you want,” Meredith said softly, “is for one of us to tell Thomas to stop visiting the cave, so you won’t have to tell him yourself.”
“Not stop, only not visit so frequently. I believe it will come more kindly from Rhys or you, or even from Branwen, than from me. I don’t want to hurt him by ordering him. He has enough pain to bear already – his father’s death, loneliness for his friends at court, and his mother’s indifference.” This last was said very softly.
“You love him,” Meredith said.
“Yes, I do.” At last he looked at her, the intensity of his gaze shattering the calm she had managed to achieve despite his nearness. “Thomas is all I have, all of my family that’s left. I wish I could keep him safe.”
Her heart went out to him anew as she saw in his face pain over his brother’s wicked life and too-early death, and fear that the same thing would happen to his nephew.
“I will tell Rhys what you have said,” she promised.
“Thank you.” He lifted his hand, cupping her chin with a gentle touch. “How sweet you are. How lovely.”
Before she could protest the familiarity or move away, his lips brushed hers, very lightly. His face was so near it was blurred to her sight. She closed her eyes as he kissed her again, and again, and then once more, barely touching her lips each time, one hand still cradling her face while his mouth teased and enticed and lured her until her own opened. With his free hand he caught her against his chest, and this time his mouth was hard and firm and the kiss went on and on until the blood was pounding in her ears and she was breathless, and his tongue touched hers with fire. She cried out, but the sound was smothered by his mouth. When he let her go at last her head was reeling. She saw the flame in his eyes and knew he would push her back onto the soft green moss at the stream’s edge and kiss her again. She had no idea what would happen after that, but she wanted that next kiss. She saw him bending closer, then pulling back as a twig snapped behind him.
“Uncle Guy, what are you doing here?”
“Talking to Meredith,” Guy said, turning away from her to look at his nephew. “
I thought you were at weapons practice.”
“I finished,” Thomas said. “I’m going to see Rhys.”
Guy got to his feet, sending Meredith a look full of meaning, and she came to his aid.
“Rhys is away from home today, Thomas,” she said. “Shouldn’t you spend more time with your mother and not so much with us?”
“She never spends time with me, she just sends me on errands,” Thomas said, his disappointment so evident that Meredith could have cried. “Very well, Uncle Guy, I’ll go back with you.”
When they had left her, Meredith picked up the basket of roots and trudged back to the cave where Rhys waited for her, the wonder and joy she had found in Guy’s kisses completely vanquished by the weight of the lie she had just told Thomas.
Thomas did not come to the cave again for nearly three weeks. When he reappeared, he was obviously struggling with some grief.
“It’s Agnes, my mother’s personal servant,” he said in reply to Meredith’s question. “We thought she had only a cold in her chest and it would go away, but she got sicker and sicker, until yesterday she died. I wanted to come here and ask Rhys for some of his medicines, but my mother wouldn’t let me out of her sight, and Uncle Guy has been so busy with Master Reynaud that I could not talk to him alone and ask his permission, and now poor Agnes is dead.”
Meredith put her arms around him. At first Thomas stiffened at this affront to his youthful masculinity, but then his grief took over, and Meredith felt his arms go around her waist as he laid his head on her bosom and wept. Over his golden head she saw Rhys smile and nod at her.
“Agnes was always kind to me,” Thomas said when he had regained a little self-control. “I wish I could have helped her. Uncle Guy says she died partly because she was so old.”
“Your uncle is right,” Rhys said gently. “There comes a time when even the best medicines will not help and life must end. To the old, that is not so horrible as it seems to the young.” Rhys sat rubbing his left side, and Meredith knew he had the pain at his heart again and that his words were for her as much as for Thomas.
“Remember your friend with love,” Rhys said.
“I will.” After a moment Thomas added, “My mother is very angry. Agnes’s death leaves her without a personal servant and she says the other women are clumsy dolts and don’t know how to wait on her properly. I tried to comfort her, but she said I was a silly child and to leave her alone. Perhaps,” Thomas sighed, “when I’m a squire, I’ll know what to do to make a lady feel better.”
Branwen, who had been quiet during this outburst, now offered him a wooden bowl filled with early apples, and a wedge of cheese and some brown bread.
“The first apples are always the sweetest,” she said. “Tell me what you think, Thomas.” Branwen’s hand lightly brushed Thomas’s hair as he reached for the largest apple.
Thomas, munching hungrily while trying to keep Gwyn the cat from eating his cheese, agreed with Branwen about the apples. When he left the cave near dusk he was in a much happier mood than when he had come.
“Thank you,” Meredith said to her aunt. “I think he needed comforting.”
“The boy needs a mother,” Branwen said roughly.
The following day Guy appeared while Branwen was away and Rhys and Meredith were compounding a mixture for one of Rhys’s patients. After greeting them both, Guy spoke bluntly.
“I need your help.”
“Is something wrong with Thomas?” Meredith thought her heart had stopped in fear, but it resumed beating when Guy shook his head and spoke again.
“Thomas is in perfect health. It’s his mother who is troubling me. Her maidservant has died, and Isabel says she cannot get along without her. She is most unhappy.” Guy did not add that he, too, thanks to Isabel, had been made unhappy over the loss of poor Agnes, because he wanted Meredith to agree to his proposition. It would not do to let her know how difficult Isabel had become. He took a deep breath and plunged on. “Isabel has had a letter sent to one of her friends at court requesting that she select a servant trained to attend a highborn lady and send her to Afoncaer, but it will be weeks, perhaps months before a woman can reach here. In the meantime, Isabel needs a maid, and I thought of you.”
“Me?” Meredith felt anger rising in her. “I am a healer, not a servant. I know nothing of waiting on ladies, and even if I did, I would not go to Afoncaer.”
“Please.” Guy took her hand. “It would be a great help to Thomas. And to me.”
Meredith knew full well that the lord of Afoncaer never had to beg for anything – no Norman baron did – and yet he was pleading with her now. He was doing it a little unfairly, too, by mentioning Thomas and implying that Thomas’s life would be more pleasant if Lady Isabel were less unhappy. Meredith knew another brief flash of anger until Guy squeezed her hand and smiled down at her, and her irritation began to evaporate.
“It would only be for a short time,” Guy said, “just until the new maid comes. You need not reveal who you are or where you have lived. We will think of something to satisfy Isabel’s curiosity about a stranger who speaks such good French.”
“I can’t.” But her hand was still in his and her voice was less certain this time.
“Meredith,” Rhys said, “it is a good idea.”
“Surely you can’t want me to go? And Aunt Branwen would be furious.”
“You cannot live in this cave all of your life.”
“Of course I can. You and Branwen do.”
“I am old, and what Branwen has seen of life has made her content to remain here. But you are young. It is time for you to leave.”
Guy, pleased at this unexpected support, squeezed Meredith’s hand again.
“You see,” he said, “Rhys agrees with me. You must come.”
“No.” She pulled her hand out of his and put it firmly behind her back, certain that if he was not touching her she could think more clearly. The temptation to say yes, so that she could be in the same place with him and see him every day was nearly overwhelming. She fought it valiantly. “I want to stay here with Rhys and Branwen. This is where I belong.”
“How can you know that,” asked Rhys, “until you have seen some other place first, or met people who are different from Branwen and me?”
“You need me,” Meredith declared with a note of desperation in her voice, “to gather herbs and plants and to dig the roots.”
“I expect Branwen can manage,” Rhys said dryly.
“Why are you doing this?” Tears of hurt confusion threatened to overcome her. She did not want to leave the safety of the cave, and yet at the same time she did, oh, she did, if she could be with Guy. “Why do you want to send me away?”
“For your own good.”
“I want to be a healer!”
“So you are, and so you shall be again, in time. But now, do this. Do it in the same spirit in which a boy leaves home to become a page, to learn to serve others with patience and dignity, for the good of his soul.” Rhys regarded Guy out of cool grey eyes. “I trust you will see to it that Meredith is well-treated and that no harm comes to her. From anyone.” He strongly emphasized the last two words, and Meredith had a sense of some understanding between the two men to which she was not a party.
“I give you my word,” Guy said. “Meredith will be as safe at Afoncaer as she is in this cave. Perhaps safer. Certainly warmer, with winter coming.”
“I doubt that.” Rhys’s smile was frosty. “There are no drafts here.”
“I don’t want to go.” Meredith made one last weak protest.
“I will not command you,” Rhys said. “The choice is yours, to make for yourself.”
There was a long moment of silence during which Rhys fixed his eyes on hers, and she could feel him willing her to agree to Guy’s plan. Meredith knew Rhys sometimes had the ability to foresee things. It had nothing to do with magic, it was no wizardry, it was simply a quality of Rhys’s mind. Branwen had it too, though in lesser degree. Meredith had
long ago accepted this odd characteristic in both of them and put it down to something inherent in their Welsh blood. When she once asked Rhys about it, he had laughed and said he was very observant, so that he saw things others did not. Now, while Rhys looked deep into her eyes, Meredith knew he had a good reason for wanting her to go to Afoncaer. Rhys foresaw something that required her presence at the castle. She knew her going would change everything about her life. It was a terrifying thought, but she would do what Rhys wanted. She admitted, in her deepest, most secret heart, that it was what she wanted, too.
“Very well,” she said at last.
“Come to Afoncaer at mid-day tomorrow and ask the guard at the gate for me,” Guy said. “You need bring nothing with you. I will see that you have suitable clothes.”
After he left Meredith turned to Rhys.
“I’m frightened,” she said.
“Do you remember the first time I let you mix a salve, how terrified you were? You thought you would make some terrible mistake, yet you went ahead and tried. There was nothing wrong with the salve, and the next time was easier, and the time after easier still, and now there are few mixtures you will not attempt.”
“I have made mistakes.”
“Everyone makes mistakes.”
“This is different.”
“You will find,” Rhys said, “That when you are afraid, your heart is telling you something. Fear is a sign you should press on and face the thing that terrifies you, until the fear is gone. If you turn and run from everything that frightens you, you will never be whole, and in the end you will despise yourself for a coward.”
“I don’t want to leave you, Rhys.”
“I will be here when you return. I will live for a while yet. There will be time to learn all I still have to teach you, and you will be a better healer for having done this.”
With his words, the greatest fear of all was gone, and Meredith reconciled herself to the change. She reminded herself that once she was living at Afoncaer she would see Thomas every day. And Guy. He was so far above her that she knew she could never mean anything to him, but the thought of being near him, of hearing his low, quiet voice, of seeing his smile, filled her with joy.