by Speer, Flora
“Walter’s brother Baldwin would ransom him,” Isabel said, suddenly moving out of the shadows at the side of the wardroom. “Send to Brittany, Guy, and ask Baldwin. Then Walter and I will go away and bother you no more.”
“Oh, my lord, please.” Father Herbert was on his knees before Guy. “I implore you to do as Lady Isabel asks. The king will listen to you if you plead for Sir Walter’s life. Let not blood spilled in vengeance-taking be upon your hands. I have been told young Thomas is unharmed. Let this day see an end to this unfortunate episode.”
Meredith stepped forward, brushing aside the restraining hand Reynaud put out as she moved past him. She faced Father Herbert squarely.
“Thomas is not unharmed,” Meredith declared. “He has been grievously ill, and even now his mind and heart are sorely troubled by all he has endured.”
“I can bear witness to that,” Reynaud spoke to Guy. “Thomas might well have died, my lord, had Meredith not been here. She has cared for him as if he were her own child.”
“Thank you,” Isabel breathed. “Oh, Meredith, I do thank you. I was so worried about him.”
“Worried?” Meredith stared at her in astonishment. “Worried? You unnatural mother, you never took a moment’s concern for Thomas! Your only care was for yourself and your position in the world.”
“I helped him escape,” Isabel declared boldly. “I saved his life.”
“You?” Meredith cried, and then found herself unable to speak further, for the anger choking her.
“Never!” Geoffrey shouted. “You betrayed us all to Sir Walter. I saw you speaking to him.”
“I did not tell him Thomas and the women had gone to the cellar,” Isabel insisted. “It was the guard who did that.”
“You lie, lady.” Geoffrey’s face was red with rage.
“I do not. Walter may never forgive me for what I did to help Thomas.”
“Be quiet, all of you,” Guy commanded. “There will be time enough to sort out the blame here. You, Father Herbert, get off your knees. I mean you no harm, but I will keep you confined for the present. You will be taken to a guest chamber on the floor above this one, and there you will remain, with a guard at your door, until I decide what to do with you.”
“I am not subject to secular law,” Father Herbert stated, drawing himself up.
“You are in my castle, under my rule, because you were consorting with traitors.” Guy’s voice was dangerously soft. “Go with my guards, Father Herbert.”
“Reynaud, tell Lord Guy he cannot do this!”
“I think you’d be well advised to do as you are told.” Reynaud’s voice almost matched Guy’s for softness. Father Herbert, realizing he would find no help from the builder, gave up and allowed himself to be led away.
“And now you.” Guy turned to Isabel. “I believe it was your idea to use my brother’s son as hostage, was it not?”
“I knew you would not let him die. You love him too dearly. I knew you would give up Afoncaer in exchange for his life.”
“You misjudged me, Isabel. I would never have betrayed King Henry’s trust.”
“I don’t believe you.” But Isabel’s face had gone as white as her silk wimple.
“Because of you and Walter, my dear friend Brian is dead, and six good men of mine besides, and Meredith’s Aunt Branwen is dead, too. She was a woman worth twenty of you.”
“What will you do with me now?” Isabel whispered. She was trembling visibly. Her hands were clasped together and pressed tightly against her bosom to still their shaking. Her deep blue eyes were wide, but there was no sign of her usual tears. It was instead the maid Alice, along with the other maidservant, Margaret, sheltered behind Isabel, who wept copiously.
“Until I decide,” Guy answered Isabel, “you, like Father Herbert, will be confined to one of the guest chambers above. I pray God that Afoncaer does not have many guests like you three in the future.”
“Please, Guy, just let me explain. I can make you understand. I know I can.” Now, at last, Isabel’s great weapon, her tears, began to fall. “Pity me. Pity Walter. You can help us if you will.”
“Take her to her room.” Guy nodded to his guards, and one took Isabel by the arm. She shook off his hand and walked out, her head high. The heavy wardroom door slammed upon her, and upon Alice’s sniffling and Margaret’s distressed, frightened face. Guy took a deep breath and faced Meredith. “I must now confirm what you already know. We found Branwen dead in the secret tunnel, and Brian lying close beside her. He had taken six of Walter’s men, vengeance for our own who were killed, before his wounds stopped him. We buried them side by side in the old burying ground, on the hill overlooking Tynant. We had a priest come from Llangwilym Abbey to say the mass for them.”
“Branwen was happy there as a child,” Meredith said. “I am glad she will rest at Tynant, and glad Brian is with her. Thank you.” She had no tears left.
“What now, my lord?” Reynaud asked.
“My men hold Tynant in the king’s name. I expect no opposition from the Earl of Chester now that Walter is defeated. For the moment there are no other threats to Afoncaer. Tomorrow we can begin building again. But for tonight,” Guy moved his shoulders, stiff with fighting and riding and bearing the weight of chain mail, “for now, after Geoffrey has unarmed me, I want a bath to ease my aches, and a good meal and a night’s sleep. Is Thomas still in my room?”
“Yes, but he’s well enough to be moved,” Meredith assured him.
“He’ll not take kindly to the women’s quarters,” Reynaud advised. “He’s growing a bit irritated with all this coddling.”
“Put him by the fire in the great hall,” Geoffrey suggested. “And I’ll watch over him.”
“And I,” Reynaud added.
Somehow, in the bustle of moving Thomas out of the lord’s chamber and bringing in Guy’s bath water, they overlooked Gwyn until after the evening meal was finished.
“I haven’t seen her anywhere,” Thomas said as they settled him on a pallet by the firepit. “I don’t think she would come into the hall, because of the dogs.” Thomas nodded toward the hounds who ranged freely around the hall, picking up bones or scraps of meat after meals.
“Don’t worry, she’s probably still in the keep. I’ll take a bowl of milk to her,” Meredith offered. Leaving Thomas to Reynaud and Geoffrey, she went to the kitchen for a small pitcher of milk and a bowl, and then made her way to the keep. The guard at the entrance was the same man who had stood outside Thomas’s sickroom door two days ago.
“For the lad’s cat?” he asked, laughing as he noticed what Meredith was carrying. “I saw the beast run up the stairs a while ago as I came on duty. It’s probably looking for Thomas.”
How Gwyn had gotten into the lord’s chamber Meredith did not know, but there she lay, curled before the fire. She did not move until Meredith had poured out the milk. Then she bestirred herself and came to sniff at the bowl.
The door opened, and Guy came in, followed by one of his new, younger squires, freshly arrived from Adderbury.
“Are you waiting for me?” he asked. His eyes never left her face as she explained. She felt her cheeks reddening under his steady, and distinctly hungry, look.
“Robert,” Guy said to the squire, “take the cat to Thomas, and then go to bed yourself. I won’t need you any more tonight.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Guy barred the door after the squire had left.
“My lord,” Meredith said, “I should go, too.”
“So formal? Are you not pleased to see me?” As he advanced toward her she backed away until she reached the bed. He grinned.
“Just,” he said, “where I wanted you. Will you welcome me home properly, Meredith?”
She had no doubt of his meaning. His hands were on her shoulders, pulling her toward him. She felt his warm breath on her cheek, just before his lips found hers. She tried to fight the desire welling up in her but could not. She did not really want to struggle against it, whate
ver the consequences for herself. She had feared for him, and here he was, her own dear love, safe and whole, and she wanted him.
“Meredith,” he murmured, “I saw the room where Thomas was held. I know how many guards Walter had and what a terrible risk you took to rescue Thomas. How brave you were, and how completely foolish.”
“I had Branwen to help me,” she said, a catch in her voice at the thought of her aunt, “And Brian and his men. I was not the only courageous one.”
“That tunnel,” he said, crushing her against him as if he feared he would lose her to the black dampness of the place. “When I found Branwen and Brian there – Brian had crawled to her at the last and rested his head on her shoulder – Meredith, I could only think that might have been you lying there. It could so easily have been you.”
“Oh, Guy.” She could think of nothing else to say.
“They were happy together,” Guy went on, “while we denied ourselves.”
“Your reason was a good one,” she reminded him.
“Now I am home safe, shall we dissolve our earlier agreement, Meredith?”
She pulled her head back to look at him, amazed by the question. He had insisted on mutual agreement that they would stay apart from each other, and now, when he could have taken her with no discussion at all, he held back, wanting joint consent. She was filled with love and tenderness.
“Yes, my lord,” she whispered, lifting her face for his kiss.
She felt his hands moving across her back, and then down to cup her buttocks and press her against his hardness and hold her there, and all the while his tongue was in her mouth, searching, teasing, driving her wild with skillful strokes. She was clinging to him, her fingers in his golden hair, too happy to attempt more speech. With her body awakening and clamoring for his remembered touch, she surrendered completely. When he began to pull off her gown, she helped him, and then, once freed of the garment, tugged at his long indoor robe as he buried his face in her breasts, breathing in the sweet smell of her soft skin. His hands covered their high, round fullness.
A chill draft blew through the shutters over the western windows. In spite of the warmth growing inside her, Meredith shivered a little.
“Are you cold?” he murmured, running his hands along her arms to her shoulders. “Come, my sweet, come under the covers with me. We will stay snug there until spring.”
“You’ll be hungry long before then,” she teased gently, burrowing into the furs and quilts he was drawing over them.
“Only for you.” He wrapped strong arms around her, holding her close.
She was warmer now, exquisitely warm, his arms a safe shelter from the wind rattling the shutters, his mouth a delicious torment. Her limbs suffused with a honeyed, aching languor, she welcomed his caresses, returning them with a slow, tender fierceness that roused him to a peak of excitement so intense he cried out as he entered her, and then again, almost immediately, as flaming passion took them both, and Meredith knew once more that near-miraculous merging of her spirit and his. They were one in mind and heart and body, and whatever lay outside his chamber door, whatever the future might bring, mattered not at all. Only Guy mattered, her golden, constant, eternal love.
On the third day of her imprisonment, Isabel asked to see Guy. He was busy with Reynaud, laying out the final plans for the building of the new great hall. He sent the messenger back with word he would come when he could. Deliberately, he let her wait two more days, and when he went, he took Reynaud with him.
“After we have spoken with her,” Guy said, “include our conversation in the report on this affair that you are writing for the king.”
Isabel looked years older, lines showing at the edges of her deep-circled eyes and around her mouth. She wore a dark grey gown, severe as a nun’s, and no jewelry save her marriage ring. Her hair was bundled under a white linen coif, without her usual gold circlet. Guy, regarding her with fascination, wondered where she had found such a costume. She certainly looked like a martyr, and he suspected that was the role she was prepared to play. He decided to take the offensive at once.
“Well, madam,” he said, “I have a few free moments to grant you before I am needed elsewhere. I hope you wanted to see me to tell me you have repented of your crimes.”
“Tell me about Thomas,” Isabel said, interrupting him. “Has he recovered from his illness? The guards will tell me nothing.”
“Do not try to convince me you care about Thomas’s welfare,” Guy scoffed. “I do not recall that you have ever shown any concern for him before.”
“How could I? Because of him I was sent away from court, to live alone, to bear him without family or friends nearby.”
“He is your own son, madam. You seem to need reminding of that fact.”
Isabel’s laugh was harsh. She started to say something, then changed her mind and said something else.
“You don’t know what it was like, being married to Lionel – the humiliation, the viciousness. He was an abominable man, and I an innocent, trusting girl, prepared to love my husband.” Isabel sniffed delicately, and Guy felt the irritation he usually did when she began to cry. He spoke coldly, before she could continue.
“There is no excuse for what you have done to Thomas or to me and my friends, or most of all, against the king’s interests,” he told her. “And you have ruined Walter. You used his love for you to seduce him into breaking his knightly vows.”
“Walter.” Isabel shrugged with callous indifference.
“Are we to assume your passion for Sir Walter is finally spent?” Reynaud interjected quietly.
“He tricked me,” Isabel stated. Her voice was expressionless, her shoulders drooping. “Why should I deny it now? You probably know it all, anyway. The original plan was mine. I showed Walter how he could become Baron of Afoncaer. You had been rude to me, Guy, and insulted me, and kept me a near prisoner. I wanted to pay you back for my damaged pride. I knew how much it would hurt you to have to choose between Thomas and your loyalty to the king. I never dreamed you would decide to hold Afoncaer over Thomas’s life. And I swear to you, I did not know Walter would be cruel enough to actually kill Thomas. That’s why I helped Meredith to get Thomas away from Tynant. By then I knew if Thomas remained in Walter’s hands he was doomed.”
“You misjudged both men,” Reynaud said, “and nearly cost your son’s life as a result.”
“Be quiet!” Isabel turned on him, some of her old spirit reviving. “I don’t need you to tell me what I’ve done. And now I hate Walter, hate him! He lied to me and he has disgraced me by failing. I will never be received at court again. Guy, you will take me in, you will let me stay with you at Afoncaer, won’t you? I have no place else to go. I am your sister-in-law, after all, and you are the head of the family.”
“You ceased to be my sister, or my responsibility, the day you married Walter,” Guy told her. “You chose to marry him over my advice against your foolish passion, and now you will share his fate.”
Isabel plainly thought Walter’s fate could only mean one thing. Everyone knew what the penalty for treason was.
“No! Guy, please, please, help me.” She would have fallen to her knees, but he grabbed her elbows roughly and held her upright. “I loved him, I did. I’m a poor, weak woman. Is it my fault I was mistaken?”
“Love is unreal, a troubadour’s dream,” Guy said, and saw that she was weeping, as he had known all along she would do. He released her with a gesture of disgust.
“This forenoon I received a letter from King Henry,” Guy told her, and watched her tears stop. She regarded him fearfully. He had the feeling she was holding her breath. “His majesty has sent me a copy of a document he now holds at Westminster. The Earl of Chester has put his seal to it. The document releases Walter fitz Alan from his oath of fealty to the earl. Walter is now an unattached knight, charged with intent to seize a licensed castle from a king’s baron.” Guy did not voice his own deep revulsion at Chester thus detaching himself from his vassal�
��s treachery. Guy knew the wily earl and had expected something like this. Isabel gave a little gasp at the news but said nothing.
“Ordinarily,” Guy went on, “Walter would be sent to the White Tower in London to be tried before the king. However, since Chester has convinced his majesty that this affair is not a conspiracy against the king but rather a personal feud with me as its object, King Henry has delegated me to judge the case in his stead. Henry has written that he would prefer to have Walter beheaded so he can cause no further trouble, but I am to decide Walter’s punishment, and yours, using my own discretion.”
Isabel did not make her usual protest that the queen was her friend and would help her. She must have understood by now that that dearly held belief was only a fantasy. She stood quietly, still not speaking, her face a careful blank.
“Would you like Reynaud to read you the king’s letter?” Guy asked.
“That won’t be necessary. What will you do, behead us both?”
“I thought I would leave that up to you, Isabel. You recently gave me a bitter decision to make. Now I give an equally harsh choice to you.”
“What choice?” He could tell from the stiff way she spoke that she believed he was going to offer her a choice of ways to die. He hardened his heart against her. She had caused so much suffering, let her feel some pain now.
“Either Walter dies,” he said, watching her flinch as he spoke the words, though she claimed to hate Walter, “and you remain at Afoncaer for the rest of your life as a closely confined prisoner, or Walter lives, but you must go with him into permanent exile, and you will sign a document that Reynaud will prepare, swearing never to see or communicate with Thomas again.” As he spoke his nephew’s name, Guy knew he could not bear to have her live at Afoncaer. His anger against her was so deep and strong that at the first demand she made of him, or the first petty quarrel she began between them, he would very likely strangle her.