A cannon was fired from the castle battlements. The noise and commotion from without ceased. “I think it’s over,” Simon said, “but it’s probably best that we sleep down here tonight.”
“Thank you, Simon, for keeping me safe. You are like a brother to me,” Rhiannon ventured.
Simon gave her a wry smile. “You are welcome, Sister,” he replied.
* * *
In the morning, Rhiannon was awoken from her slumber by a loud, insistent knock at the house door on the street above. She was alone. She sat bolt upright in the makeshift bed and heard Simon go to the door of the house and open it.
“We have reason to believe you are harbouring an enemy of the King,” a stern voice shouted.
Rhiannon froze. She heard no response from Simon.
“We have a warrant to search these premises.”
Rhiannon felt sick and faint. If she stayed put she was sure to be discovered. Hurriedly but silently, she rose from the floor and tiptoed across to the hatch that gave access to the cellar from the street above. She waited until she heard the soldiers entering the house.
Quickly she undid the bolt to the hatch and pushed it up a little: she could see no sign of anyone lying in wait. She must move fast. She opened the hatch and scrambled to the street.
Nobody had noticed her. Rhiannon ducked down the side street and made haste, keeping her head bowed low.
On reaching a back alley, she turned into it and ran along its length. As she came to the end of the alley, a soldier stepped out and grabbed her, saying, “I arrest you in the name of the King.”
* * *
Rhiannon stood in the courtyard of the castle, a guard either side of her. She’d never before entered a castle and had never been surrounded by the English. Under other circumstances, this experience would have been thrilling but, accused of treason as she was, her only sensation was terror.
A nobleman appeared and called to the soldiers. “Bring the woman into the hall.”
Rhiannon was led up some steps and into a huge banqueting hall, with wooden floors and a large, wooden table stretching along its length. The nobleman stood at the head of the table, with half a dozen soldiers milling around him.
“Bring her to me,” he told the guards who held Rhiannon.
They urged her forward.
As she walked the length of the great hall, Rhiannon registered the richly-coloured hangings and drapes about her. Their deep reds, vivid blues and opulent golds left Rhiannon’s head reeling as she was pulled on.
“So this is the Welsh wench with aspirations to be a lady,” the knight mocked as Rhiannon approached.
Rhiannon stood in front of the nobleman. She looked at the floor.
“Turn around,” he said.
Rhiannon stood stock still.
“Turn and bend over,” he instructed.
Rhiannon didn’t move.
“Do as I say.”
Rhiannon tensed her body and stood firm. Although she did not look at him, she sensed the knight’s fury at her resistance.
“I merely propose to grant you what you ask; I am just the lord to make you a lady,” he said sarcastically, stepping forward, turning Rhiannon and pushing her, so that her fall was only broken by her hands grasping the edge of the banqueting table.
The doors of the great hall flung open. Firm footsteps entered the great room and then stopped. “Sir Arnold,” a strong, deep voice called, “I sincerely hope my eyes deceive me.”
Rhiannon’s abuser was silent. She sensed him trembling behind her. The authoritative voice recommenced. “If you are in the act of insulting this woman you do yourself and our nation a disservice.”
The voice grew louder. Rhiannon heard steady footsteps approaching. Looking to her right she saw a strong pair of legs halt alongside her. She sensed a tall, well-built figure there.
“Array your tunic, Sir Arnold,” the voice instructed, “and know that you are demoted and shall be confined for your despicable conduct.”
Sir Arnold remained silent.
“Stand up young woman,” ordered the lord.
Feeling dizzy and weak, Rhiannon stood upright. She looked ahead, down the length of the table, nervous to behold the man who’d saved her.
“Turn around,” said he.
Rhiannon made a quarter-turn to face him but kept her eyes downcast.
“No, turn to face Sir Arnold,” he corrected.
She did so.
“Sir Arnold, you owe this young woman an apology,” said the authoritative man.
“I’m sorry,” Sir Arnold said tiresomely to Rhiannon, without looking at her.
“Not good enough,” said the lord. “Young woman, look your assailant in the eye. Sir Arnold, look at the lady you thought to abuse when you apologise and sound as if you mean it.” His tone was becoming increasingly short-tempered.
“I am sorry, dear lady, for humiliating you and threatening to compromise your virtue,” Arnold said grudgingly.
“It falls short of what’s necessary, of course, Arnold, but I’m sick to my heart of the sight of you, so go,” the lord ordered dismissively.
Sir Arnold walked away.
“In fact, all of you go,” the lord said to the remaining soldiers and attendants. “I will speak to this injured woman in private.”
* * *
Rhiannon still hadn’t looked at her lord but when they were left alone he stepped into her vision.
He looked just as his voice and step had given her cause to imagine. A man taller than average, with a strong build, strong features and dark hair.
He stared at her. “I am led to believe that you have been planted in the house of the Merchant John, to aid the Welsh rebels in their attack on the garrison,” he said, looking Rhiannon steadily in the eye. “Is this true?”
“No my lord,” she replied.
“Then explain your presence in the town, please.”
“Like I’ve said before, I entered the town of my own free will because I was curious and because I want to be a lady–”
“Then why were you seen in Merchant John’s house?”
“I forced entry to the house when the merchant was abroad, to take food and shelter there, my lord.”
“You say the merchant had no knowledge of your presence?”
“No, my lord.”
“And you would have me believe that your only desire is to be a lady?”
“Yes, my lord,” Rhiannon said, looking away from his gaze.
“Look at me,” he insisted.
Rhiannon looked him straight in the eye.
“You certainly don’t have the demeanour of a criminal,” he said, looking Rhiannon up and down before fixing his eyes upon hers again.
Rhiannon noticed the pupils of his dark, brown eyes dilating. What she felt now was not sickness but some other strange sensation in the depths of her being.
“As a suspect you must be detained under lock and key. Come with me,” he said, taking her arm.
* * *
The lord led Rhiannon up to the second floor level of the castle and into a room with a glowing fire and large bed. “You shall lodge in my quarters,” he said as they entered the room. “You’ll be kept under lock and key but you may take rest and I’ll have food brought to you.”
Rhiannon was speechless at the grandeur and comfort of her prison cell. Like the great hall before, the chamber was richly furnished by many fabric hangings and drapes. Rhiannon seemed to have entered another world; such was the contrast between the customary browns and greens of her everyday life and the rainbow decoration of the castle.
“Do you require anything else?” her captor asked.
“No my lord,” Rhiannon replied.
“Very well, I shall leave you to rest–”
“Thank you, my lord,” Rhiannon said, “for your kindness. It’s more than I deserve, foolish as I have been.”
“No matter,” he answered, his composure floundering slightly. “Goodnight fair lady,” he said and with
drew, locking the door behind him.
Alone in the chamber, Rhiannon lit three candles from the fire and set them about the room to illuminate it. She wanted to find evidence of the name of her protector. Below the window of the room there stood a dresser, strewn with parchments, and Rhiannon, sifting through these, found one addressed to Edward.
Lord Edward. She opened a closet and discovered his clothes hanging inside: a tunic as fine as the one he wore – she ran her finger down its piped arm; a fur cloak – she enfolded herself in its warmth.
Last of all, his bed. Rhiannon pulled back the covers and stroked the sheets where Lord Edward must have lain. She undressed, blew out the candles and slipped in between the bedclothes, pulling the covers that must have touched his skin back over herself.
Rhiannon lay, looking into the fire, wondering whether Lord Edward would return. Where would he sleep tonight? Rhiannon ran her hands down, over the thin cloth of her chemise, sensing her body beneath, imagining his hands in place of her own. She closed her eyes.
* * *
Rhiannon was woken by the sound of the fire being stoked. She looked over the bedclothes and saw Lord Edward tending it.
He turned, sensing her movement. He looked nervous. “They brought food,” he said, “but you were sleeping.” He put down the poker and threw a log into the fire. He walked to the long dresser, lifted a tray from it and brought it over to the bed. Sitting down on the bed, he asked Rhiannon, “Will you eat something?”
Rhiannon noticed that he didn’t look at her directly. She remembered, with embarrassment, her final thoughts before sleep. Here was Lord Edward himself.
Rhiannon sat up, pulling the covers with her. “I’d like some bread,” she said.
Lord Edward moved the tray from his lap onto the bed, broke a piece of bread from the crust on it and lifted it to Rhiannon’s mouth.
Rhiannon took it.
“There is broth too,” he said, “although cold.” He took a spoonful and slipped it into her mouth. “I’m sorry to have disturbed your sleep,” he said. “I came to fetch my possessions before I repair to the soldiers’ quarters–”
“I have taken your bed, my lord,” Rhiannon said guiltily.
“It’s no matter–”
“You shouldn’t sleep amongst your soldiers–”
“One night will do no harm. Besides, it means you have your wish to sleep as a lady,” he added light-heartedly.
‘If I were a lady, I would sleep beside my lord,’ Rhiannon thought but hadn’t the boldness to say.
Lord Edward scooped another spoonful of broth and held it to her mouth.
Rhiannon took the spoon in her mouth and slowly drew her lips back over it, looking into his eyes all the while. She drank the cold broth and then asked him, “Are you Lord Edward?”
“Yes,” he replied. “How’s the soup?”
“Not bad,” she said.
Edward took a spoonful himself. “Cold!” he declared critically.
Rhiannon smiled. “You could sleep here, Lord Edward – there is really no need for you to go to the soldiers’ quarters. I’m so sorry I took the liberty of sleeping in your bed,” she continued hurriedly, “but I was exhausted. I’ll happily sleep on the floor so that you may have your bed.”
Edward didn’t reply. He stood up and took the tray from the bed, placing it on the dresser. Returning, he stood over her. “Tempting as your offer undeniably is, fair maiden,” he said with a playful smile, “tragically for me, I have a code of chivalry to observe.” He then walked over to the door. “But fortunately for you, it means you shall have a good night’s rest. Goodnight Lady Rhiannon,” he wished her warmly as he withdrew.
She’d blown it. She’d probably be hung, not only for treason but also for impertinence, now.
* * *
When Rhiannon woke next morning, daylight had flooded the room. She sensed a presence and hoped it was Lord Edward but looking about her she saw only an old woman tending to things. “Good morning young lady,” the woman said with a hint of sarcasm. “High time you were up and about; we have work to do.”
Rhiannon’s consciousness increased as the woman flung her clothes onto the bed and pointed at them. “His lordship –in his infinite wisdom– has decreed that you shall assist me in the keeping of house about these parts. Lord knows, I will keep as close an eye on you as any guard.”
Rhiannon had not yet stirred.
“Good heavens, get up girl!” the woman chided. “Get up, get dressed and washed and report to me in the great hall anon. There I shall give you your orders.”
Half an hour later Rhiannon –with some trepidation– entered the great hall. To her relief it was empty, save for the presence of the old woman at the far end. “And about time too,” the woman called upon detecting Rhiannon’s presence. “I’m Meg, by the way,” she continued as Rhiannon approached her. “They call me Old Meg but that’s not my doing – I prefer Meg.”
Within the hour Meg had set Rhiannon to work, polishing the great table. As Rhiannon was bending over, putting all her energy into the task, Lord Edward entered the hall. The sight of Rhiannon made him smile.
Rhiannon jumped to hear Lord Edward remark, “I see Old Meg has you hard at work.”
“Yes, my lord,” Rhiannon replied, flustered. She stood upright and wiped her hair from her brow with the back of her hand, sensing beads of sweat upon it.
“Physical exertion becomes you, Rhiannon; your cheeks are positively rosy.”
Rhiannon half-laughed, feeling distinctly unattractive in her state of fatigue. “I am accustomed to it, my lord – it’s my lot in life.”
He’d taken a handkerchief from his tunic and now wiped her brow gently, saying, “You should fasten back your hair while you work; you’d be cooler.”
Rhiannon was aware of the colour rising to her cheeks. She’d not anticipated such attention from Lord Edward. No one else was present in the great hall.
“I have some braid in my pocket,” he continued. “I’ll tie up your hair.”
Standing behind Rhiannon, Edward took her long, dark tresses in his hands and smoothed them into a bunch, around which he wound the braid. As he did so, he looked upon her bare neck and felt the strongest urge to bury his head in its nape. “There,” he said, resting his hands on her shoulders, with his thumbs pressing into her flesh, his lips primed for the deed they dare not do.
“I thank you, Lord Edward,” Rhiannon said breathlessly, longing for his hands to explore her frame further.
Lord Edward became aware of a party of nobles entering the hall. “I understand you are to tend my quarters so we may, perhaps, meet there some time,” he whispered to Rhiannon.
“Yes,” Rhiannon replied softly.
“I must away now,” Edward said apologetically, recognising those who had entered the hall and not wishing to be seen by them. His hands, he realised, were still welded to Rhiannon’s shoulders despite his best efforts to remove them. Remembering himself, Lord Edward left Rhiannon without looking her in the face again.
As Lord Edward departed, Rhiannon turned to study his retreating form. Upon reaching the doorway of the hall, Lord Edward turned back to steal a last glimpse of Rhiannon, only to find that she was watching him. They held one another’s gaze for some moments, neither one wanting to break the bond.
* * *
After three weeks of cleaning and ordering Lord Edward’s quarters, whilst never being blessed with an audience with the lord himself, Rhiannon was informed in passing by Old Meg that he was to be away from the castle for the night. When her duties of the day came to an end Rhiannon, for reasons for which she couldn’t clearly account, surreptitiously took the key to his room from Meg’s cupboard.
Late at night, when the castle was quiet, she crept from her own sleeping quarters, beside Old Meg’s bunk, up through the castle, and into Lord Edward’s room. Locking the door behind her, she glanced around the chamber, lit only by the moonlight shining through the window, to ensure that nobody else w
as present. It was as she’d anticipated; Old Meg had tidied his lordship’s quarters to a state of perfect order. Once satisfied that she was safe, Rhiannon undressed, climbed into Lord Edward’s bed and fell instantly asleep.
Upon waking at an early hour in the morning, wary that she must quit the room before people began to stir about the castle, Rhiannon was alarmed to find that the bedclothes beside her had been disturbed in the night. She was certain she’d not slept fitfully, so much at peace had she been in Lord Edward’s chamber.
Rising, Rhiannon saw clothes she knew to be Lord Edward’s strewn about the furniture, along with some of his belongings. Rhiannon stood naked, paralysed with anxiety as she realised what must have occurred during the night. How could she ever account for her presence in Lord Edward’s quarters?
She dressed feverishly and stealthily left Lord Edward’s room, tiptoeing her way back to the kitchens and replacing the key in Meg’s cupboard. The rest of the day was spent in dread of encountering him or, worse still, being summoned to speak with him. By seven o’clock in the evening, however, Rhiannon had neither seen nor heard anything of her lord.
She was about to finish her work for the day when Old Meg called her over to the key cupboard, saying, “I have one more task for you to complete before your duties are done, Rhiannon. His lordship has been abroad since the crack of dawn. Too tired to eat in company, he’s asked that a tray be taken to his quarters. Cook knows about it and should have prepared a meal by now. Nip down to the kitchens and fetch it up to Lord Edward – you’ll be saving my feet – there’s a good girl.”
Rhiannon didn’t move.
“Run along, young lady; you’d think your bones were as old as mine,” Meg chided. “Or that I’d asked you to visit an ogre,” she added, noting the pale face of her young assistant. “Strange girl! Lord Edward will be nothing but smiles upon seeing you – everyone knows you’re his favourite. And it will cheer him to set eyes upon you once more before his long journey.”
Three Medieval Romances Page 5