“You are too kind. I hope our arrival so early in the day will not cause any difficulties. You must forgive an impatient bridegroom.”
“Not at all.” Roger headed for the hall, making his way through the crowd of men, servants and horses and waiting for Chilcott to fall into step beside him. As he did so, he surreptitiously studied his future brother-in-law, who was not at all what Roger had expected. DeGuerre had hinted that Chilcott was a rather vain, conceited fellow of no great distinction except for his family name. If this man was vain, Roger thought, he had some reason for being so. He was tall, very muscular, handsome, and carried himself with a bearing that was at once noble and natural. No conceited coxcomb, although he was somewhat overdressed. More surprising, his accent was rather strange and his manners a trifle forced. “Guiseppe? That’s an odd sort of name for a squire, isn’t it?” Roger asked when Chilcott joined him.
“Not if one’s mother is Sicilian,” Chilcott replied coolly, surveying the castle fortifications with a very shrewd expression.
Roger had nearly forgotten that Chilcott had spent most of his life in another land, although that undoubtedly explained the man’s rather odd accent. Perhaps he would want to return there, with Madeline. The notion was far from pleasing. Of course, he had been living apart from his sister for years, but he had taken comfort in the fact that she was not that far away.
Chilcott did not seem quite the simpleton DeGuerre had led him to expect, either. Maybe Madeline would be more reconciled to this marriage once she had met the groom, and maybe her brother’s choice for her was not so clever. Somehow he couldn’t see this fellow giving in to anyone completely, let alone a woman. “Ah, yes, Sicily. It is quite lovely there, I hear.”
“No better place in the world, if you don’t mind the heat,” Chilcott replied with conviction. “Charming country, delicious wine.” He leaned closer to Roger and winked. “The women are all hot-blooded, too.”
Roger barked a short laugh that caught the attention of his servants. Roger de Montmorency’s laughter was so rare, it was some moments before they returned to their tasks.
“I trust your sister has recovered from this nasty business?” Chilcott asked.
Roger cleared his throat before replying. He had sent no word about Madeline’s recent experiences. How had Chilcott heard? Probably gossip. Some nobles were worse than servants in that regard. “She is quite well. A trifle pale, perhaps, but nothing serious.”
“Good. I would hate the ceremony to be delayed. Oh, and I should tell you, so that you can inform your servants, that my men are a rather quick tempered lot and had best be left alone.”
“Really?”
“Quite. They’re the best fighters money can buy.”
“Indeed?”
They entered the hall, a large, impressive room hung with tapestries, lined with trestle tables laid with fine linens that had not been taken down after breaking the fast, and a raised dais at the far end. Because one wall was part of the castle’s outer wall, the room had a curved shape such as Dafydd had never seen before. He had never seen a stone fireplace, either, such as had been built into the wall. He realized he was staring, and turned his attention to the stone stairs beside the dais that led to a second floor.
And there he saw Madeline, gliding down the stairs at the far end of the hall with a beautiful smile on her lovely face.
Every particle of his body yearned to run to her and gather her into his arms. He even took a step, then halted. Roger was there at his elbow, so Dafydd had to content himself—and very poor contentment it was—with simply watching her progress.
As she drew near, she kept her eyes lowered, except for one brief instant when Roger turned to a servant to order him to bring wine. She looked up at Dafydd then, and he saw the delight in her eyes that matched the happiness in his heart.
But how pale she looked! How ill! Father Gabriel was indeed right to be worried about her health.
“This is my sister, Lady Madeline de Montmorency.”
“I bid you welcome, Lord Chilcott,” she said, her voice frigidly, wisely formal. He had known he could count on Madeline to be clever enough to guess what he was doing.
Dafydd made a deep bow that had taken him hours to master. “I am so completely charmed, my lady,” he said, rising.
Roger’s gaze went from one to the other, and Dafydd suddenly hoped he wasn’t grinning like an idiot. If he stayed near Madeline, he might betray his feelings. Although it was difficult, he decided he had better leave her presence for the moment.
He recalled that Owain had said Chilcott had a liking for fine horses and said, “I daresay Lady Madeline has much to do before our wedding. I suggest we leave her to it. I hear you’ve got some excellent horses, Sir Roger. May I see them before the noon meal?”
“Of course,” Roger replied. “We shall join you later, Madeline.”
“Very well,” she said flatly, turning to go. They watched her for a moment as she went back toward the chamber stairs.
“I say, Roger, is your sister quite all right?” Dafydd asked.
“Yes. She’s not been sleeping very well. It’s nothing more.”
“Good. Shall we go to the stables, then?”
* * *
Something strange was going on, Roger thought later at the evening meal as he leaned back in his chair and sipped his wine.
Perhaps it was just that Chilcott was not at all as he had anticipated. In the stables, the man had asked several perceptive questions, although he didn’t seem to know anything about the new breeds popular in Europe. In the weapons store after the noon meal, he had taken one of the finest swords in Roger’s arsenal and hefted it with great admiration. He had made some practice swings that bespoke experience of battle, yet Roger understood that Chilcott had never fought in his life, not even in a tournament. Of course, it could be that the fellow had simply had fine teachers.
But Baron DeGuerre thought Chilcott would never make a good commander. That was truly puzzling. Chilcott’s men watched his every move with expressions that bespoke concern and devotion. Only the most worthy of nobles were able to command such respect from their men.
And what was he to make of Madeline? She no longer seemed so adamantly opposed to the marriage, although she had not said otherwise. His opinion came more from a change in her manner. She was polite, of course, and had conversed with Reginald Chilcott several times during the meal, although she seemed tense and edgy still. But there was something...something more in Madeline’s eyes when she looked at him. Maybe Chilcott had impressed her, too. Of course. That had to be the explanation. And maybe, too, she had finally come to realize that her brother was right about the impropriety and problems of marrying beneath her.
His gaze roved over the high table, passing over Madeline and Chilcott and taking note of who had arrived later that day for the wedding—Lord Gervais, older and not looking very well, and Trevelyan, happy to be a grandfather. The two noblemen were having yet another argument about training squires. Albert was sitting farther down the hall, trying to engage one of Chilcott’s men in a conversation without much luck.
The musicians arrived and the servants began to push the tables back for dancing. Roger thought it undignified to dance, but the others might enjoy it, so he had arranged for music. He noted sourly that a minstrel, a slender fellow with a girlish face, was among them. If the man tried to sing a ballad about lost love or regained love or any kind of love at all, he would put a stop to it at once!
Lord Gervais and Lord Trevelyan rose, still arguing, and moved to seats closer to the enormous hearth. Others, their voices raised in excitement, conferred about the type of dance they wanted. “Lady Madeline!” Albert called out, “you must decide, and lead the first dance.”
Madeline smiled at Albert and glanced at Chilcott. “Lord Chilcott is too fatigued for dancing tonight,” she said, “and me, too.”
“Yes, I must beg to be excused,” Chilcott said with a bow in Roger’s direction. “The exci
tement of the day has exhausted me. With your leave, I should like to retire.”
“As you wish,” Roger replied, nodding his head in acknowledgment. “Good night, Lord Chilcott.”
“You must call me Reginald,” the groom replied. He turned to Madeline. “Adieu, sweet lady. Until the morrow.”
Roger watched him go as Madeline resumed her chair and the dancing began. Chilcott moved with a supple poise that was very impressive, although as he walked, he kneaded his shoulder slightly, as if it hurt. Perhaps he had strained it in the armory. It must not be anything serious, or he would have said something, surely.
Roger faced his sister with a rare, wry smile on his face. “You seem reconciled to this match,” he noted quietly.
“He is not what I expected,” she replied, and he heard her sincerity.
“Your musicians are very good.”
“I’m glad you think so.”
“Lord Chilcott is not the only one fatigued, Roger. If you’ll excuse me, I believe I’ll retire for the night.”
“A wise idea, Madeline. You will have even more to do tomorrow, I daresay.”
“Yes, I will,” she said, rising and heading for the stairs.
Roger lifted his chalice to his lips, a self-satisfied smile on his face as he watched Albert and some of the others dancing in a circle. His gaze roved over those who only watched. The man Albert had been trying to speak with observed the dancing with a slightly contemptuous smile on his face. Maybe dancing was considered unmanly in Sicily.
Now if only the abbot would arrive when he was due, the wedding could proceed with no further problems. Roger sighed and leaned back in his chair, well satisfied with his plans, and with himself. Except for a little niggling doubt about Chilcott that would not go away.
Chapter Nineteen
After the maidservants left Madeline, she put back on her purple gown and waited impatiently for the moment she could venture unseen from her chamber. It seemed hours, and in fact was approaching midnight before she deemed it safe enough.
Cautiously she peered out the door and down the corridor. The torches flickered from the chill breeze that blew from the upper walk. Below in the hall she could still hear the faint sounds of music and men’s laughter. All of the female guests and servants would surely have retired by now. As for the men, they might stay in the hall until nearly dawn, celebrating. Roger’s wine and ale were the very best.
With stealthy steps she crept along the corridor. She knew which chamber had been set aside for the bridegroom. For a moment she hesitated, wondering if what she was about to do was too dangerous to attempt.
Her heart decided for her and she hurried along the rough, uneven stones, keeping watch lest any sleepless servant see her and prayed that Dafydd, her glorious, foolish, reckless love, would not have locked his door.
When she came to his chamber, she didn’t knock or make any sound. She simply slipped inside, to see Dafydd wakeful, standing by the window. He turned, simultaneously pulling out a dagger. Quickly she whispered his name. He stared, then, avoiding the carpet, he sprang toward her and enveloped her in his arms.
For a long moment, nothing else mattered. No danger, no fear, no wondering how it had come to pass. She was in his arms again, safe and loved. With fervent passion she kissed his lips, his eyes, his cheeks, laughing with joy. He took her face in his strong, capable hands and pressed heated lips to hers.
“Madeline,” he murmured, pulling back so that she had to look at him, had to think and not simply feel. “What are you doing here? This isn’t safe.”
“Who are you to talk to me of safety?” she chided softly. “And what are you doing here, pretending to be Lord Chilcott? I thought you would be far away by now, safe in Wales.”
“I couldn’t leave you to marry someone else,” he said, his eyes full of devotion. “You are not the only person capable of imitating others.”
“But how—?”
“After I left you in the woods, I met some old friends of mine who were willing to help me. Your brother may find items missing from his castle, and Chilcott’s not going to get his baggage back, but I thought it was a small enough price.”
“You’ve managed to fool everyone, Dafydd,” she noted happily. “But you had best take care you don’t make a mistake.” She glanced at the carpet. “You can step on that, you know.”
“Truly?” he answered, shocked. “I...I wasn’t sure what it was for.”
“You did very well at dinner, though. I was most impressed.”
“That’s good. I thought I would go mad not being able to touch you. Or kiss you.” He did so now, passionately. Then he gave her an aggrieved look. “What were you thinking, to marry Chilcott to save me? Did you think I would agree to such a thing?”
She laid her head against his chest. “I could see no other way. I might have guessed, though, that you would not let me have my way in this, too.” She looked at him, her eyes twinkling. “I’m glad you didn’t follow my plan this time, Dafydd. Tell me, how did you learn to be such a fine Norman?”
“I’m not sure I should be flattered to be called that,” he answered pensively. Then he grinned. “I had a good teacher. My `squire’ was trained by the Normans. Him it was told me what to do.”
“Guiseppe? Is he really from Sicily?”
“Not unless Powys has moved a considerable distance south. His real name is Owain.”
“He looks very familiar.”
“He should. He’s the one took you from your brother.”
She stepped back and stared. “What?”
“No need to look like he’s come to assassinate you. He’s hotheaded and bitter for his treatment, but not totally unreasonable. It was ransom he was after, not to hurt you.”
“And the others, are they Welshmen, too?”
“They wanted to help, and they don’t plan to leave empty-handed.”
“It will serve Roger right.”
“I thought you wouldn’t worry about that. And if this plan goes well, we can all go home together, with no more need to steal.”
She reached out and ran her hands up his arms, enjoying the feel of his strength through the soft velvet of his tunic. “I’m grateful to anyone who helped you return to me. But Dafydd, this is so dangerous!”
“Not having to tell me,” he answered ruefully. “I’ve never been more frightened in my life than I was when I rode into that courtyard.”
“You? Frightened?” For all his talk of risk and danger before, she had never associated it with fear. It had seemed more a matter of prudence than self-preservation.
“I’m surrounded by Normans here, and I confess I hate it. Believe you me, Madeline, I will be glad when we’re well away.”
“Where is Reginald Chilcott?”
“He is enjoying Welsh hospitality some miles from here. Alcwyn’s men won’t let him go till they know we’re gone.”
She took hold of his hands and looked up at him. “What do you plan to do? Can we leave this place tonight?”
“We’re getting married tomorrow, remember?”
“Dafydd, is this a jest?”
“I assure you, Madeline, I am quite serious. Father Gabriel is arriving tomorrow at dawn for that very purpose.”
“Father Gabriel? What happened to the abbot?”
There was a glint of humor in Dafydd’s dark eyes when he replied. “Waylaid in the woods, poor man, by a band of terrible, fierce rebels. I...um...found Father Gabriel and wanted to ask him about you. When I thought of this, he agreed to give us the church’s blessing, instead of Abbot Absalom. Besides, the abbot’s met Chilcott, so we couldn’t let him come.”
Madeline had to smile, then she grew solemn. “Enough teasing. You know as well as I that we dare not stay in Roger’s castle a moment longer than necessary. To do so would be folly.”
“Don’t you want to marry me, Madeline?” he asked softly.
“With all my heart,” she answered, caressing his face.
“Good. Besides, if
we run off tonight, Roger will come chasing after us again, and I, for one, am tired of that. So you marry Chilcott, just as Roger wanted. The happy couple leave to go home, only a message will come requiring a ransom for Chilcott and the abbot. By the time Roger finds them and guesses what happened, we’ll be well away.”
“What about the ransom?”
“No need to bother. There’s more than enough for everyone in Chilcott’s baggage, with a few things from here.”
“Oh, Dafydd, it’s...it’s too incredible!” But she smiled, for despite her words, she believed his plan might indeed work. She would be his lawful wife, he her lawful husband, and there would be nothing Roger could do.
A burst of raucous laughter outside the door and drunken mumbles made them both start. “I had better go,” Madeline said regretfully. “It wouldn’t do to let anyone find us together, especially since I am not supposed to want to marry you.”
“I knew that was why you were acting so cold toward me,” Dafydd said, tugging her into his arms. “I’ve missed you so much.” His lips met hers in a deep, passionate kiss.
Maybe she could stay, she thought vaguely. They would be wed tomorrow. No. If this plan was to work, nothing suspicious must occur, nothing improper. And although it was night, who was to say that someone might not stumble into the wrong room and find them together?
Slowly she slipped from his embrace. “I will see you in the morning,” she said softly, moving toward the door. She glanced back at him with a warm smile. “Those clothes suit you, Dafydd. You look very much the Norman noble.”
“Insulting me, you are,” he replied with a low chuckle. “Go, if you must, and now, or I’ll pick you up and carry you to my bed.”
“The feather bed is the only thing I’m going to miss about this place.” Madeline flashed him a glorious smile and was gone.
* * *
“Any troubles?” Dafydd asked Owain in quiet Welsh at dawn the next morning. He had left his chamber and made his way to the courtyard, where he had already arranged to meet with Owain to make sure the ruse was not in danger of being discovered.
“So far, all’s well,” Owain answered. “The castle servants seem in awe of the men, thinking them from so far-off a place, so the men have had little enough to do with them. Things went well yesterday, I thought, although you have to remember to wipe your lips more daintily. You rubbed at them too hard.”
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