“He’d have to find me first.”
“I know the man, Dafydd, and you must believe me when I say that no matter where you went or how you hid, he would find you. Madeline understands that, too. Sir Roger de Montmorency is a very vengeful man, I think, and you have upset his plans greatly.” The priest coughed delicately. “There is also the threat of scandal. I think Sir Roger fears his plans are not secure even now. If Lord Chilcott finds out about Lady Madeline’s...adventure...alone, with a man, for days and nights...”
“Then the marriage contract will be broken,” Dafydd said with some measure of satisfaction.
“I would not be so certain of that, my young friend. Sir Roger is also a powerful man, and from what I have heard of Chilcott, I believe Sir Roger might be able to persuade the fellow to marry Lady Madeline anyway. In fact, given the possible scandal, he may consider the marriage even more necessary.”
“If Chilcott knew everything—” Dafydd began hotly, then stopped himself.
“Knew what, my son? That the lady doesn’t want him? I think Sir Roger could convince him to overlook that.”
“Madeline’s already my wife, if not in the eyes of the Church,” Dafydd said after a moment’s hesitation.
Father Gabriel frowned. “There would be some basis for a scandal, then?”
Dafydd nodded. “So you see, Father, she and I are already more than pledged to each other. I want only to have her back, and I mean to have her safe with me as soon as possible.”
“It would be rash foolishness to attempt to attack Sir Roger or his men,” the priest warned.
“We’ve thought of that. It’s Chilcott we’ll go for.”
“To what end?”
“To convince him that it wouldn’t be wise to marry Madeline,” Dafydd said.
“Even if you were able to do that, do you think Sir Roger would set Madeline free to marry whomever she wishes?”
“What else can I do?” Dafydd demanded desperately. All he could see in his mind was Madeline, alone and vulnerable at the hands of her forceful brother. His expression grew grimly determined. “We must save her and soon.”
“As much as I dislike conflict, in this instance, I quite agree. It is not right to force any young woman into a marriage she does not want.
“Of course, once she is returned to you, you must marry her with a proper blessing. It is not right to make love outside the bounds of holy matrimony, either, Dafydd. It is right that you should make your relationship a legal one, as well as a physical one.”
“Of course.” Dafydd eyed the priest. “I must confess I am surprised to find you so firmly on my side, Father,” he remarked. He pulled up some grass and twisted it in his fingers. “What if we `detain’ Chilcott? Madeline can be very persuasive. It could be that if she had more time, she could convince Roger to stop the wedding.”
“You have never met Sir Roger, have you?” Father Gabriel asked.
“We have to do something. I don’t want to hurt Chilcott, but I suppose I will do what I must,” Dafydd murmured.
“I do not wish to see harm done to any man, my son.” The priest also pulled up some grass and stared at it pensively. “If only I had a better idea of what sort of man Chilcott is, I might be able to help you think of something to stop the marriage. Unfortunately, nobody knows him, not even Baron DeGuerre, or so I hear. Chilcott has spent most of his life in Sicily, on his estate there. The abbot has met him. He stayed in Sicily while on a pilgrimage, but he didn’t say anything about him, really.”
“Sicily?” So far away. Nobody here knew the man....
Suddenly an incredible, wonderful, probably impossible idea burst into Dafydd’s head, a plan such as Madeline herself would devise. “Nobody knows him?”
“His father, brothers and half sister live on his English estates, but they are far to the southeast. I understand they are not expected at the wedding because of the father’s illness.”
“What of the other wedding guests?”
“None but the abbot have met him, I would venture to say. Or even seen him. He has come directly from Sicily.”
“Do you know anything of his looks?”
“I believe he is dark haired. Nothing more.”
“Height, build?”
The priest shook his head. “I don’t see—”
Owain appeared from a shadowed place in the trees nearby, where he had obviously been eavesdropping. Dafydd forgave him when he heard the youth say, “I know what he looks like. My Norman master took me to Sicily once.”
“Describe him,” Dafydd ordered excitedly.
“Your height, skinny as a stick, dark hair like the priest says. An overdressed, pompous fop,” he finished with disdain.
“Wonderful! The abbot—when was he due to arrive at de Montmorency’s castle?”
“I was not privy to his exact plans, but I believe he was to get there the day before the wedding.”
“Excellent! Better and better!” Dafydd cried, his eyes glowing with all the excitement he felt.
“I don’t understand—” the priest and Owain said in unison.
Dafydd jumped to his feet. “Alcwyn!” he called out, then he knelt in front of the confused priest. “A wedding is planned. Let there be a wedding!”
“But my son—!”
“Nobody but the abbot knows what the bridegroom is supposed to look like. If the groom and the abbot are waylaid and replaced by the right man and a priest with Madeline’s best interests in his heart, then let the wedding proceed!” he finished triumphantly.
“Dafydd!” The priest stood up and eyed the excited young man dubiously. “Let me understand you. You are proposing that you and I replace Chilcott and the abbot?”
“Yes! Alcwyn and some of his men—ones who can keep their mouth shut—can take the place of the soldiers. It need not be for long—I can say I was delayed getting to Sir Roger’s! It could work!”
“But so much could go wrong. What if somebody recognizes you?”
“What Normans are going to know...?” He paused and frowned. “Morgan. Fitzroy. They would know me, if they are invited to the wedding. Your escort would know about Fitzroy.”
“Hu Morgan will be overseeing Lord Trevelyan’s lands while he is attending the wedding,” Father Gabriel said slowly. “I heard Sir Roger and Sir Albert discussing the guests and the necessity of advising them of the slight delay in their return to his castle. Are they the only people who might identify you?”
Dafydd’s eyes twinkled with more happiness than he had felt since leaving Madeline. “The only Normans. Not cultivated any others’ acquaintance.”
Father Gabriel cleared his throat nervously. “Forgive me for saying so, my son, but I must point out that you are not a Norman nobleman. Do you truly expect to pass for one?”
Dafydd grinned mischievously. “I had the best teachers for the language in the monastery and lots of practice since with Madeline,” he said, “and Owain can teach me the manners and etiquette on the way to Sir Roger’s castle.”
“Your scheme still seems very risky,” the priest said.
“I’ll take the risk.”
“What of Alcwyn, Owain and the rest? Will you risk their lives, too?
Dafydd suddenly felt as if his heart had plummeted back to the dull earth from the glories of heaven. “No. No, I suppose I can’t.”
“And let us miss the chance for some real wealth?” Alcwyn charged, stepping out the trees. “God’s wounds, Dafydd, thought you’d been attacked, you sounded so excited. Now, what is this about you not risking us? Why, this is the chance of a lifetime, boy! Chilcott’s baggage alone will be worth a fortune, if he’s as rich as I hear. And think of all the portables waiting to be snatched at the wedding, too. One chalice would keep a family in food for months. We could all settle down for good. By God’s holy blood, Dafydd, if you’ve got the guts to walk into Sir Roger’s castle, you can wager we’ve got the guts to follow you! And if you can pass yourself off as a Norman, we can learn a little Sicilian.”
> Dafydd smiled his heartfelt gratitude and turned to Father Gabriel. “Will you help us, Father Gabriel?”
“Only if I have your word that no one will be harmed.”
“Treat the abbot and Chilcott as gently as newborn babes, we will, won’t we, Alcwyn?” he replied. “After the wedding, we’ll all slip away into the mists of Wales. Then the abbot and Chilcott can go—for a fee, of course. That would be only fair to Alcwyn and his men.”
“Not needing to bother with a ransom, Dafydd,” Alcwyn said quickly. “The baggage and what we can lift from the castle will be plenty, without the danger of lingering about to bargain with Sir Roger. When we’re ready, we can send a ransom note, then leave the abbot and Chilcott and their men. They’ll be found soon enough, and in the meantime, we can be halfway to Snowdonia.”
“The abbot will feel most humiliated,” Father Gabriel noted, and for a moment, Dafydd doubted the priest, until Father Gabriel smiled with rather a lot of devilment for a holy man. “But then, humility is good for the soul.”
* * *
Much had changed at her old home, Madeline reflected listlessly as she rode a short distance behind her brother’s horse and they approached the walls of her family’s castle. It was not nearly as huge or imposing as the strongholds of Lord Gervais and Trevelyan. Her parents had seen no need to enlarge the circular wall of the old castle. Instead, they had added to the size and comfort of the interior buildings, so that visitors often remarked that Montmorency Castle seemed more like a big manor house than a fortress. Unfortunately, it looked more like a prison to her now.
The village around the castle walls had grown, and she wondered how many people she might recognize if she cared to look about.
How happy she would have been to come back here under different circumstances! If Roger had come for her with no talk of an arranged marriage, it would have been cause for celebration to be home again. If she were coming to be married to Dafydd, she would have rejoiced.
Now, however, she felt more sadness than anything else. Here she would give herself to another man, and not even the knowledge that doing so would save Dafydd could make her anything less than miserable.
Where was Dafydd now, she wondered, as she had so often during the whole of the long, tedious journey from Bridgeford Wells. Was he safe? Was he already back at the monastery? Had Father Gabriel given him her message? Would he understand?
There was the portcullis and the gate. Long ago she had ridden beneath them, crying and begging Roger not to let them take her away. Did he remember, too, how he had run after her and had to be restrained by Lord Gervais, who kept telling him it was all for the best that she go to a convent?
He must not, for there was nothing of that boy in this nobleman in front of her, a man so determined to achieve his own ends at her expense.
And yet, when the entourage rode beneath the portcullis, Roger half turned in his saddle as if he would speak to her. She held her breath and waited, but he remained silent.
In the yard, servants hastened to take hold of the horses. An older man, finely dressed in a way that showed he was more than a servant, hurried up to her, a smile on his round face. “Little Lady Madeline!” he cried, and suddenly she knew who it was.
“Dudley!” she answered with true joy as she recognized her father’s steward. A trusted and loyal Saxon, Dudley had taken care of the estate until Roger came of age. “How good to see you again.”
“You’ve grown, my lady,” Dudley remarked with a chuckle. “Me, too, but only in age, eh?”
She smiled back, but instead of returning the smile, his eyes scanned her face and he frowned. “What’s the matter? Are you ill?”
“She is merely fatigued,” Roger said brusquely, striding toward them and glaring at Madeline. “She needs to rest.” With that, he firmly placed her hand on his arm and escorted her toward the hall.
Dudley watched them go, the girl he had dandled on his knee grown into a fine, beautiful young lady—the most unhappy young lady he had ever seen.
Although Sir Roger was not a man given to empty courtesies and meaningless pleasantries, he looked more aloof and harried than Dudley could ever recall, too.
Dudley remembered very well the old lord and lady of this castle. Fine people, kind and generous masters, who had been well and truly mourned when they died within days of each other. It had been an honor to oversee their estate until their son reached an age to take over the role.
When Sir Roger had returned from his training under Lord Gervais, he had not been the happy, carefree lad Dudley had known, but that was to be expected. He, and most of the other servants who had served Lord and Lady de Montmorency, had hoped that Sir Roger would become more his old self as time passed and he grew used to the duties and responsibilities of his life. They thought he had, to a small degree, although he seemed very concerned with pleasing his overlord, the Baron DeGuerre. No one questioned that, until the news of Lady Madeline’s betrothal. They had all thought Lady Madeline would come back to live at the castle and that perhaps things could be as they were in the old days.
No chance of that now, and Dudley’s hope that she would be happy in her marriage had dwindled to nothingness the moment he saw her face.
With weary steps and the sudden unhappy thought that perhaps he had lived too long, Dudley followed Sir Roger and his sorrowful sister into the hall.
Chapter Seventeen
With the stealth born of years of practice and training, Dafydd and the rest of the men moved through the wooded countryside that was a few miles to the south and east of Sir Roger’s castle, beside the road Lord Chilcott would use. They had been traveling five days, going slowly to escape detection, and to allow Dafydd time for Owain’s plentiful instructions. Only the knowledge that his future with Madeline depended on how well he learned gave him the patience to suffer through it.
Dafydd, Owain and ten others had come to intercept Lord Chilcott; another band of men, led by Alcwyn, were on the southern road, waiting for the abbot.
Dafydd reached a place that afforded a clear view of the way for nearly a mile. The area was heavily forested, and it was midmorning. Farmers and others who might be going to market in the village outside Montmorency Castle would most likely have passed by already, so they had nothing to do now but wait.
Dafydd crouched and silently signaled the men to deploy throughout the trees.
Mercifully, they had not long to linger before a nobleman and his entourage came into view. The nobleman and his servant were mounted; his armed soldiers followed on foot. A heavily laden baggage cart came at the rear.
Dafydd glanced at Owain, who knelt nearby. A slow smile spread on the youth’s face and he nodded.
Dafydd’s gaze returned to the man Sir Roger had wanted married to his sister, who was riding a splendid white horse bearing immaculate accoutrements. Chilcott himself was young, not unattractive and wearing the most extravagant of fashions. His ornately curled black hair was covered by an elaborately embroidered cap; his striped tunic of light blue and green had enormous oversleeves slashed to show a dark blue undertunic; his scarlet gauntlets were also embellished with intricate embroidery; and his long leather boots had been painted to match his tunic.
Chilcott was also obviously a fool, for his garments and equipment were so decorated and therefore costly, he would be a target for any thief within twenty miles. His body servant, riding a fine mare, was nearly as well attired.
Dafydd was disgusted to think Sir Roger or any man would hope to see his sister wed to such a coxcomb. That it was a woman of Madeline’s beauty and spirit made such a scheme even worse. Yet there was some gladness, too, in his heart, for this fellow seemed nearly his height, which would make his ruse that much easier. However, he could now see the whole of Chilcott’s troop, dressed in identical ensembles. They were stocky, fierce looking and well armed, so perhaps this fellow was not quite the fool he seemed at first.
Dafydd rose stealthily. “It’s time,” he whispered. “
Make sure you follow the plan,” he quietly admonished Owain, then he marched out of the shelter of the forest alone and shouted, “Hold!” Three chosen men, including Owain, joined him and they faced the nobleman, who reined in abruptly, a startled and frightened look on his face.
“What is the meaning of this?” Lord Chilcott cried, his voice shrill and his eyes reminiscent of those of a rabbit startled by torchlight.
“Sir Roger has sent us ahead to seek out Lord Chilcott.”
The nobleman relaxed visibly, and his expression became one of annoyance rather than terror. “I am Lord Chilcott. Well, what does he want? It had better not be another delay, by God! I have already put up with enough postponements.”
“We’ve been sent to show you a shorter route,” Dafydd said peaceably.
Chilcott ran his haughty gaze over Dafydd and his men. “You have? Who, may I ask, are you?”
“A guide. He has few men to spare, with the preparations for the wedding and the arrival of the guests.”
“Huh! What guests? It is my understanding that most of the important people won’t be there. Not even Baron DeGuerre, and this was all his doing. Something is not right about this, mark my words. I would have done better to stay in Sicily. Well, fellow, what are you doing standing there? Lead the way!”
“Yes, my lord,” Dafydd said with a bow. Then he proceeded to walk down the road toward a fork. One way led to Montmorency Castle, the other toward a village to the south.
“I never should have let DeGuerre talk me into this marriage,” Lord Chilcott grumbled. “I could have stayed in Normandy. It’s much more civilized, I assure you. Why, I couldn’t find a decent tailor in the whole of godforsaken London. And who are the de Montmorencys anyway? Minor nobility! That sister of his had better be as beautiful as they say!”
Dafydd had always thought of the Normans, except for Madeline, as an enormous gang of villains. He had supposed they had all considered themselves united by their alleged superiority to those they conquered. It was quite new, and even amusing, to hear one Norman disparage another.
Dafydd led Lord Chilcott and his men to the southern road.
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