by Speer, Flora
Isabel’s deep blue velvet gown was muddy at the hem, and water-spotted on the sleeves, but it seemed nothing could dim her pleasure in the day. She sat at the head of the table between Walter and Guy, her new gold wedding ring gleaming on her finger, and ate of every dish presented to the bridal couple.
The banquet was magnificent. A dozen suckling pigs had been turning on spits since before dawn, and there were stuffed game birds, meat pastries, and dishes of meats chopped up with onions, cloves, and saffron, then cooked and sprinkled with costly sugar before being served. There was stewed mutton, dozens of roasted capons, mountains of fine white bread. Wine mixed with herbs and spices was freely poured, as were cider and perry, both made from Afoncaer ‘s own apples and pears. There were enormous fruit tarts and custards made with ground almonds and dried rose petals. Thomas personally served his mother and new stepfather.
Guy watched as Walter bent toward Isabel. Walter’s brilliant red silk tunic, heavily trimmed in gold, caught the light with a fiery glitter. Guy could not hear Walter’s words, but Isabel blushed, and he saw her hand tremble as she set down her goblet. Guy thought he could imagine the subject of Walter’s conversation. The barely restrained desire between the two had become more and more obvious as their wedding day approached. It made Guy uncomfortable.
In spite of his determination to keep her out of his mind, he thought of Meredith. It must be the wedding and all the talk of bridal nights that kept her image returning to him on this day. No, not just this day. She had been in his thoughts constantly, ever since his arrival at Rhys’s graveside. She had gone into his arms and it was as if he had found a part of himself that had been missing for all the months when they were apart. He could feel her still, her small, softly rounded body pressed against his. He could smell the sweet fresh scent of her red curls, hear her gentle, low-pitched voice, and at the memory he felt his body’s instant response.
He was no better than Walter and Isabel. He pretended to have his passions under control when the truth was he wanted Meredith as he had never wanted any woman before. It was something more than mere physical desire. If it were only that he could take her, as so many lords took women living on their lands, and slake his lust and be done with it, not caring that he had hurt her irreparably. As it was, he could not hurt her however much he wanted her, and after seeing her again he knew he could take no other woman to bed, not even to end his physical torment. He wanted Meredith and no one else. And so he sat, a man unhappily chaste at a wedding feast, listening to jokes about bedding and loving while the bride and groom whispered and murmured to each other and touched hands beside him. His nephew’s young voice broke into Guy’s troubled thoughts.
“Uncle Guy, my mother says we must leave now if we are to reach Tynant before dark.” Thomas did not look happy.
“It’s only for two weeks, Tom,” Guy said, rousing himself. “You will be back at Afoncaer before you know it.”
They were interrupted by Isabel, chattering nervously, thanking Guy for his care of her and for letting her marry Walter, and then they were all outside the great hall, and Walter lifted Isabel onto her palfrey, and they rode out through the castle gates and onto the road toward Tynant. Through the mist and rain Guy saw Thomas’s pale face turned back toward Afoncaer one last time.
He raised his arm to wave to the boy before reentering the inner bailey and making his way to the cheerful warmth of the great hall. Brian thrust a cup of wine into his hand. Guy stood sipping it, watching as Joan quietly directed the kitchen maids in the removal of food and dishes.
“We will need more fighting men,” Brian said, “Walter has taken away the dozen who came here with him.”
“I agree,” It was good to talk about warfare for a change, instead of marriage and dowries. “You will have to train some of the local fellows to use swords, Brian. I may be on friendly terms with Chester right now, and I know he is pleased that I freed Walter to enter his service, but he remains a power we must watch and guard against.”
“I’ll begin working with the men tomorrow. Let us hope Chester stays in Normandy with the king until we can finish training them. Will you knight Geoffrey?”
“Soon,” Guy nodded, “He’s more than old enough, and I’m certain he will stay on as my man. After that, I will need a new squire or two to replace him. I have sent for some fighting men from my estate at Adderbury, and have asked the seneschal there to recommend likely candidates for squires.” Guy took one more mouthful of wine before setting down his cup.
Meredith, Meredith. What are you doing now?
Brian asked him another question about armed men for Afoncaer, and Guy put the gentle memory away. Meredith was not for him. He had to be strong. He must drive her from his mind and think only of manly concerns.
At Tynant, Isabel dismissed Alice, and got into bed. As she waited for Walter she thought of her first wedding night at Westminster fifteen years before, how excited she had been, how stupidly innocent. After all that had happened in the intervening years she was not much more knowledgeable about bedroom matters now. Her passionate afternoon in the forest with Walter had left her basically unchanged once the physical pleasure was over. Walter, on the other hand, had deluged her with delirious, half-mad pleas that she should return to the forest glade with him and there relive the afternoon when he had attained his heart’s desire. She had refused, not trusting herself to carry out her plan if she should become as foolishly enamored of Walter as he was of her. She must keep her wits about her. Since Walter adored her so completely she could easily use him to gain wealth and title and enjoy herself while she did so, for during that one brief interlude with him she had tasted hitherto unknown delights. The thought of what they would shortly do together made her squirm with impatience. She reminded herself not to feel too much.
Walter appeared in the doorway. He was wearing a deep red robe, and for one terrifying moment Isabel was transported back to that other night, when Lionel had come to her in a red robe and in one agonizing act had destroyed all her hopes and dreams. But this time it was different. It was Walter walking toward her, lean and dark, his face and eyes alight with joy and tenderness. Walter loved her. She felt a slow tingle of expectation begin as he tossed his robe aside and lay down next to her. He had a beautiful, long body, tight-muscled and thrillingly masculine. Isabel repressed the desire to put her hands on him. Let him come to her.
“Now,” Walter said, his voice deep and throbbing with emotion, “I have you, my love. No clothing between us, no protestations, no fear. It is only the two of us, Isabel, and our love.”
She moved her legs, stretching them out as she lay back, feeling an almost painful burning ache between her thighs. Walter would tend to it. Walter would quench the flame.
She opened her arms to him and he pressed himself closer to her and made love to her with the tenderness she had once dreamed of and never enjoyed before, and in that long wedding night of rapturous passion, Isabel came as close to real love for a man as she would ever know. Walter took her along paths of pleasure such as she had never imagined existed, trying in his love and desire for her to teach her to be a true woman. She followed him, hesitantly at first, determined always to keep her head and stay in control, and then more and more willingly when he persisted in the loving duel he was waging for her heart.
When he slept for an hour, she lay wide awake beside him, weeping at first, as she regretted all the wasted years of her youth, realizing it was now too late to repair the damage of those years. Then she dried her tears, thinking that it was better as it had been. For if she had known about this while she was still wed to Lionel, if she had even dreamed of the pleasure a man could give her, what follies she might have committed in the need to fulfill her desires. Now that she was safely wed to a man who loved her, would do anything for her, she could indulge herself, sate herself and him with lust and flesh and that ecstatic, gasping sensation that Walter drove her to.
She reached for him again greedily, waking him, p
ulling him on top of her as she let him blot out all thought of the plan they had made to win Afoncaer for themselves, and of the danger it meant to both of them.
Chapter 27
The day came when, two weeks after his mother’s wedding, Thomas was due to return to Afoncaer. On the appointed day a messenger from Walter appeared at Afoncaer bearing a letter.
“Well?” Guy asked impatiently as Reynaud scanned the parchment. “Is Thomas ill, or injured perhaps? Reynaud, for God’s sake, tell me why he has not come with the messenger.”
“Let Reynaud read, Guy, then he can tell you what has happened,” Brian urged. A moment later he forgot his own advice and burst out, “Come on, man, you read faster than that. I’ve seen you. What is it? What’s amiss? You are paler than the parchment.”
“My lord, you will not like this,” Reynaud said, looking anxiously at Guy.
“Never mind whether I’ll like it or no, just tell me if Thomas is well or ill,” Guy demanded.
“The letter says he is as yet unharmed.”
“As yet? What the devil does that mean?”
“Sir Walter writes that he is holding Thomas as hostage,” Reynaud reported, rereading the letter as if he was not sure he had understood it the first time. “Sir Walter requires you to hand over Afoncaer at once or your nephew Thomas dies. ‘All of your property in Wales and all persons belonging to the lands of Afoncaer,’ is the way he puts it.”
“He dares?” Brian’s dark face was suddenly red with anger. “The man is mad. I’ll kill him if he harms Thomas, I swear I will.”
“I am with you, Sir Brian.” Geoffrey had been listening, and now he stood squarely behind Brian’s shoulder. “I, too, care for Thomas, and this insult to my lord Guy must be avenged.”
“Stop it, both of you. Be quiet and let me consider this.” Outwardly, Guy was calm enough. Inwardly he knew a cold, deadly rage. The anger he felt was directed against himself first, and only secondarily against Walter, his erstwhile knight. Guy cursed himself bitterly. He had been a fool to trust Walter, and a greater fool to let Isabel cajole him into turning Thomas over to her for even a few days. They must have planned it together. Isabel had not forgiven Guy for the restrictions he had placed on her extravagance, and she knew how much Guy loved Thomas. This was her revenge, to turn her son over to Walter to use against Guy.
How could a mother, even a vain, shallow one such as Isabel, use her own son in such a way? He knew the answer to that. It was not uncommon. His own parents had used Thomas’s father for their own political ends. And only a few years before, the son of an embattled knight had been taken hostage by the knight’s younger brother. When the knight had refused to turn over his castle and had retired behind its walls to prepare for a long siege, the younger brother had disregarded family ties and used his unfortunate nephew as ammunition in one of his catapults.
The aim had been remarkable. The boy’s body had landed at his father’s feet. The incident had been the subject for weeks of horrified discussion at court. Walter knew that Guy, though he had not been in England when it happened, had heard of it, for they had once spoken about it. Guy was sure Walter expected him to remember. He knew he had to fight back the fury he felt, and his fear for Thomas, in order to think clearly.
“Walter knows,” Guy said slowly, trying to feel his way through the working of Walter’s mind to discover the center of this plot, “he knows perfectly well that I hold Afoncaer from King Henry and cannot in honor turn it over to anyone else without the king’s permission. Is that Walter’s plan, to insist upon a condition I cannot fulfill? What purpose would that serve? You told me once, Reynaud, that Walter is not a simple man. Tell me now what you think of this cruel trick.”
“There is more, my lord,” Reynaud said, referring to the letter again. “Sir Walter claims to have the Earl of Chester’s backing in this. Now we know another reason for Walter’s wishing to swear allegiance to Chester. It was not merely a manor house and a few acres he expected to receive from his new patron.”
“Yes.” Guy was beginning to understand. “Chester, who is so strong he is nearly an independent ruler, can step into a private war between Walter and me and take Afoncaer for himself without fearing a royal reprisal. He will tell King Henry it was to preserve peace on the Welsh border, since I was incapable of holding the castle. Once Chester has Afoncaer, he will turn it over to Walter to hold it as his vassal. Walter is so madly in love with Isabel, so eager for lands and a title to lay at her feet, that betrayal of an old friend would seem a small matter to him beside Isabel’s approval.”
“Chester has found a way to dishonor you, of whom he is jealous, and to take your castle without the expense of warfare,” Reynaud said, “while at the same time appearing to serve the king’s interests in Wales.”
“And Isabel will be the Lady of Afoncaer, wed to a wealthy, titled man, and so allowed to return to court at last,” Guy added. “She would sacrifice her own son for that.”
“Perhaps,” Geoffrey offered, “the Lady Isabel was unaware of the plan.”
“I find that hard to believe,” Guy scoffed. “She was too insistent upon taking Thomas away with her. I knew it was odd of her to want Thomas with her when she was but newly married, but I let myself be convinced because I wanted to believe she cared for Thomas. If I ever have Isabel under my power again, I will devise a punishment for her that will be long and terrible. I should punish myself, too. I am to blame for this. I should never have let Thomas go with her.”
“It is too late for self-recriminations,” Reynaud said.
“Unnatural mother,” Brian grated, “to let her own son be killed so shamefully.”
“Not killed,” Guy told him. “That’s just the point, my friend. Both Walter and Isabel must believe I would never let that happen. Until I have a son of my own, Thomas is my heir, and more important, they know how much I love him. They believe I will forget both honor and duty to the king and concede to their demands.”
“We can raise an army and march against Walter,“ Brian suggested. “We can free Thomas. Walter lives in a manor house, not a castle.”
“Raising an army would take too long,” Reynaud objected, “and when Sir Guy’s army appeared before Walter fitz Alan’s gates, he would then be obliged to kill Thomas.”
“What shall we do?” Brian looked from the cleric to Guy to Geoffrey and back to Guy again. “Have you any ideas, Guy? You know Walter better than the rest of us.”
“I fear it is up to you alone, my lord,” Reynaud said. “The king is too far away to help you.”
“True, but he needs to know of this.” Guy’s mind was beginning to function again, very calmly and clearly. “Reynaud, you will write a letter to King Henry, telling him what has happened. Include a copy of Walter’s letter to me, especially the part about Chester’s involvement in this. Let Henry see what his vassal is doing behind his back. Send the letter by our fastest courier.”
“It will take weeks to reach the king in Normandy,” Reynaud objected, “and with the weather so uncertain at this time of year, any reply may be delayed for more weeks before the courier can safely cross the Narrow Sea back to England.”
“I know that, but send it anyway. Then you, Reynaud, will go to Walter and try to negotiate Thomas’s release. Even with Chester’s support, Walter would not dare to harm or refuse to speak with a cleric who is also King Henry’s man.”
“I am at your service, my lord, but my absence from Afoncaer will leave you with no one who can read, and should I need to send you a message, what will you do?”
“Branwen can read,” Brian said quietly.
“Who is Branwen?” Reynaud’s pale eyes rested on Brian. It was Guy who answered.
“A woman who can be trusted,” he said. “Go to her, Brian. Tell her what has happened.”
“This Branwen,” Reynaud rose from his usual seat at the trestle table before the firepit, “this woman who can read is one of the healers who live in the forest, isn’t she?”
> “What of it?” Brian challenged him. “I’ll hear no talk of witchcraft, Master Reynaud.”
“There will be none. I am not Father Herbert. The most important matter to concern me just now,” Reynaud went on, “is that Sir Walter and his wife are plotting to usurp the power of one of King Henry’s barons with the Earl of Chester’s help. That we cannot allow, nor would I see one hair on young Thomas’s head harmed if I could prevent it by any means whatsoever. I will make no objection to help from this Branwen of yours.”
“That’s more like it,” Brian breathed, watching Guy clasp Reynaud’s hand in silent thanks.
Reynaud spent the rest of the day writing letters. The first one went to King Henry, as Guy had ordered. The second letter was dispatched to Guy’s seneschal at Adderbury, requesting more men and supplies as soon as possible. The third letter was sent to Walter with his returning messenger.
“I have written,” Reynaud told Guy and Brian, “that I am preparing to leave on the morrow to discuss with Sir Walter in person the arrangements for Thomas’s safety and the disposition of Afoncaer.”
“You make it sound as if Guy is just going to hand the castle over to Walter without a fight,” Brian grumbled.
“My chief concern is to keep Thomas alive and well,” Guy replied. “So long as Walter believes he might get Afoncaer without a costly battle, I think Thomas will be safe. Whatever you do, Reynaud, give Walter no reason to break off negotiations. You can always say you need to ride back here to consult with me, and thus gain extra time.”
“I understand, my lord. I will also insist upon seeing Thomas, to ascertain that he is being well treated, and I will send regular reports to you.”