Lord of Secrets

by Gillgannon, Mary

  He reached up to stroke her silky brown hair, combing his fingers slowly down to undo the disheveled plait that held the thick strands away from her face. The silky, wavy tresses fanned out over her shoulder and down her arm. He did the same on the other side, until her hair fell like a gleaming dark veil over her bare shoulders.

  “I want to make love to you again. This time with your hair down. I want to feel it soft and cool against my skin.”

  She smiled, her perfect lips curving into an even more perfect shape. “In a while. I want to enjoy this moment. I want to remember you like this.”

  Her words evoked a twinge of warning. What did she mean, remember him? But of course it was no different than the way he felt, wanting to hold onto the memory of what they shared. To relish the magic of this experience and to know how very blessed he was.

  He drew her down for another kiss. The spell broke as a woman’s voice called from outside the cottage. “Healer Rhosyn, are you here? You are needed.”

  Their eyes met, sharing their dismay and regret. Rhosyn called, “I am here. Give me a moment.”

  Rhosyn scrambled to dress while William did so more slowly, trying to not get in her way. When she finished, she sat on the bed to rapidly plait her hair. But she could not find the ribbons to bind it. He sought to help her, but she shook her head and having found one ribbon, fastened her hair in one long braid down her back.

  When she was finished, he drew her near for a kiss. Then she slid past him and started down the ladder. He waited in the loft as she greeted the person outside the door. He could hear the words “fell from the tree.” Then soft, rustling sounds as Rhosyn gathered her healing things and left the cottage.

  William resumed dressing, thinking it would always be like this with Rhosyn. People who were injured or sick would call her away and she would leave to tend them. Unless there was another healer at Higham. Amara had taken care of Golde’s son while Rhosyn was gone. Perhaps Amara could be trained to do much more. Then Rhosyn would only need to deal with the most serious illness and injuries.

  Of course, he was trying to imagine how things would work if Rhosyn was his wife and lived at the castle and she had not yet agreed to wed him. He should have used this time to talk to her about marrying him. Instead he had given into his lust and spent the precious moments alone making love with her. He was a coward; he dreaded bringing up the subject because he was afraid of what her answer would be.

  But next time he had a chance to speak to her alone, he would do it, he would ask her to marry him. He would risk having his heart broken.

  *

  “Hearne has disappeared, and it seems unlikely he will return.” William paused and looked around at the villagers, gathered in the common grazing area. This was the first time he had called them all together and asked for their aid. Something he should have done when he first arrived. But he’d been too uncertain then, too uncomfortable in his new role as lord. He’d feared that by asking for their help, he would seem weak and easily manipulated. Perhaps they would still think that. It didn’t matter. Now he had no choice. He was desperate.

  He scanned their faces again, trying to show them he was on their side. He didn’t just want the demesne to prosper, he wanted them to prosper. “We need a reeve. There are many things that must be done before winter and we need someone to organize these tasks. Someone who has lived here through many autumns and is experienced with what must be done.

  “I don’t have that knowledge. Nor do any of my men. I must depend on someone else to advise me and make decisions. Most of you have dwelled here all your lives. You know each other and what skills and abilities each of you possess. I’m charging you with choosing who should be reeve.”

  “How long do we have to make this decision?” a man named Osbert asked.

  “I need your answer by tomorrow. I will return then.” William started to walk away. He didn’t want to be around when they discussed who to choose. He wanted them to feel they could speak freely.

  “Milord!” Someone called. He turned back.

  Young Ned’s blue eyes fixed on William, looking troubled. “What about the Welsh? Do you think we need worry about more raids?”

  “I don’t know. ’Tis still uncertain who was the behind the attacks. We are continuing patrols at night.”

  He waited a moment, wondering if there would be other questions. A man whose name he didn’t remember spoke. “Is it true Hearne was behind the raids?”

  William started to say this wasn’t certain either. Someone else called out. “Nay, it was Sir Rollo. He was the one who planned everything.”

  “Does that mean, now he is dead, the raids will stop?” This was Golde. As the smith’s wife, she had more authority than most women.

  “That is merely rumor,” William said. “Sir Rollo never admitted to working with the Welsh, and they were the ones who killed him. That suggests he was not a part of it.”

  Again, William turned to leave. Behind him he heard someone murmur, “The healer, Rhosyn, she is Welsh. Perhaps she knows who is behind the raids.”

  He faced the gathering. “Healer Rhosyn has kin in Wales, ’tis true. But I have met with her cousin, who leads her clan, and he is eager for an alliance. And almost all of you have been treated by Rhosyn or know someone she has cared for. Why should she be a part of any attack on Higham when she has always aided the people who live here?”

  His gaze lingered on the villagers standing nearby, daring them to dispute his words. Rhosyn was at the back of the crowd; he did not look at her.

  No one spoke. He and Baldwin left. As they walked along the trackway to the castle, Baldwin asked, “What will you do about Rhosyn?”

  “You mean the villagers’ concern that she is a spy for the Welsh? You and I both know that is witless.”

  “I wasn’t asking about that. I was asking… ’tis clear there is something between you and the healer. Do you mean to acknowledge the relationship? If you did so, that might remove the suspicions of her.”

  “Acknowledge it? As in, marrying her?”

  “Well, I doubt that you can wed her. The king would have to approve that, wouldn’t he? Nay, I was thinking that if you made it clear she was your mistress, it might ease some of the rumors.”

  William knew he needed to formalize his relationship with Rhosyn. Making it clear she was his mistress was not enough. In order to protect her, he must make her his wife. But would she agree? He dreaded asking her. But he must. He could delay no longer.

  *

  William scanned the apple trees, looking for ripened fruit that the village youths had missed. The more agile and daring boys had climbed high in the trees and shook the boughs so the apples they couldn’t reach would fall to the ground. But there were so many apples this year; there must be some that were missed.

  He remembered doing the same thing when he was a boy. Wandering through the orchards at Raimbeau, seeking fruit for himself and windfall apples for Shadow, his pony. But a windfall apple wouldn’t do for Rhosyn. For her, he wanted to find the ripest, sweetest, most perfect of fruits. He spied an apple half-hidden among the foliage and stretched on tiptoe to reach it. It would do if he didn’t find another that was better. After putting it in the pile of almost-good-enough apples, he continued his search.

  He’d decided to have Rhosyn meet him here, away from the prying eyes of the villagers and away her cottage, which evoked intoxicating memories of making love to her. He didn’t want that distraction. Although maybe it would be good for her to be reminded of the fiery passion that blazed between them. Maybe that would sway her to give him the answer he sought. He took a deep breath, trying to ease his tension. The apple in his hand grew sticky with sweat; he wiped it on his tunic.

  “William?”

  He turned. “I didn’t hear you approach.”

  She smiled, and the familiar feeling of tenderness rose like a bubble in his chest. He waited until it burst over him and he could breathe again. He opened his mouth to speak.
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br />   She motioned. “Let us walk. This place is too close to the village.”

  He nodded. There was no guarantee of privacy here. Anyone could pass through on their way to the river. He went back to his pile of apples and chose the finest one for her and another for himself. He handed her the apple, then followed her through the orchard and across the hay meadow to the woods beyond.

  The trees were just beginning to turn, gradually starting their transformation from bright green to myriad hues of yellow, red and bronze. Black bryony berries glinted red and purple along vines twined among the branches of holly and hazel bushes. The sunlight trickled through the foliage to make spangles like sparkling golden coins scattered on the ground. The air smelled of moss and earth and newly fallen leaves.

  They made their way to a small clearing where late daisies and purple loosestrife swayed among the green-gold grasses. Rhosyn paused and turned towards him. Despite his earlier resolve not to touch her, he could not help wondering if the ground here was dry enough to lie upon. The urge to make love with Rhosyn was overwhelming.

  She looked so beautiful. Her eyes were like polished dark jewels. Her lips, lush and rosy. He longed to reach out and trace the delicate curve of her cheek. Or to undo her braids, so her silky hair fell over her shoulders like a glossy brown waterfall. But he forced himself not to touch her. He must remember his purpose and ask the fateful question.

  Using the words he had near memorized, he began. “You will have heard the talk, Rhosyn. Because you are Welsh and new to Higham, some people think you might be spying for the raiders.” He half-cringed at repeating the witless gossip. “And then there are the rumors about us, our relationship. Which are, of course, true.” He took a breath before continuing. “I would do anything to protect you, Rhosyn. And I feel the best way to do that is to make you my wife.”

  How coldly practical his words sounded. As if he was wedding her solely to keep her safe. “Of course, that is not the real reason I want you to be my wife. The true reason is I love you and can’t imagine life without you at my side.” He had bared his heart. Laid it out in front of her, exposed and vulnerable.

  She lowered her gaze. He waited for breathless seconds, desperate for her to speak. Her eyes met his. “I love you as well, William. Which is why I don’t think I should wed you. You need a wife of your own kind. A noblewoman trained in running a large household. A woman who can sit beside you, clothed in fine garments, displaying perfect manners. Speaking fluent Norman French. Greeting guests with confidence. A woman to bear your heir and other children and raise them to adulthood.”

  She frowned, looking pained. He wondered if she had practiced these words much as he had memorized his own.

  “You need a woman who doesn’t have her own calling. A woman who will not be asked at any time of day to treat a wound. Or provide remedies for a sick child. To soothe someone dying. Or bring a babe into the world. A woman who has not been trained from when she was a small girl to know what herbs are used for different ailments and when and how to gather, store and prepare them. I am a healer. ’Tis who I am. Not a noblewoman. Not a wife.”

  Although he’d told himself he would not touch her, he could not help himself. He reached out and drew her close. The feel of her body against his increased his determination. He would not give her up. “I don’t care about any of that. I had a wife. She was a noblewoman. She could do all those things you mentioned, or would have, if she had lived. But I didn’t love her. She didn’t hold my heart. Or my soul. Only you do that. I want you for my wife. No other woman will do.” Rhosyn watched him intently, but he could not tell what she felt.

  Remembering his plan to sway her with reason, he continued, “Elspeth is learning to run the castle household and I am training Baldwin so he can act as steward. Between the two of them, they can see to most of the tasks a chatelaine would manage.”

  “But what will your family think, William? What will the king think? You hold Higham as John’s vassal. You have a duty to him. You swore an oath.”

  “I have thought of that. Owen’s suggestion makes perfect sense. By wedding you, I ally myself with a Welsh prince. ’Tis exactly what John did when he married his daughter to Llywelyn ap Ioworth.”

  Rhosyn looked skeptical. “A dubious connection. My uncle is ailing and Owen has yet to prove himself as chieftain, let alone prince. What if you can’t convince the king of the wisdom of your choice? He could strip you of Higham or force you to disavow the marriage.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Even if I must give up Higham to have you, ’twill be worth it.”

  “Then what would we do? What would you do? Become a knight in some other lord’s train? Hire on as a mercenary? I might never see you then. And what happens to the people of Higham if John takes it away from you? The king will give the demesne to some other man, a lord who might be far less generous and fair.”

  He released her and ran his hand through his hair in frustration. She had so many arguments against his plan. ’Twas as if she was trying to think of every possible reason it would not work. “Don’t you want to wed me? Don’t you want to try for happiness?”

  Her eyes were tender, and deep with sorrow. “I’ve learned that happiness is a rare and fleeting thing. It seldom lasts. Life crushes it. Destroys it. ’Tis far better to be practical and to accept life as it comes.”

  “Better? Or safer?” He could not help getting angry. Why did she insist on clinging to her stubborn practicality? Why could she not take a chance on happiness? “How can you deny what we share? How can you toss aside our love so easily?”

  “’Tis not easy! This hurts me as much as it does you!” Her eyes glittered with tears and her chest heaved with feeling.

  “If you will not wed me, then where do we go from here? Do we continue on as lovers? Hope the raids cease and rumors about you being behind them die down? Hope the king is too busy with other matters to worry about marrying me off to some other woman?”

  She shook her head. “Those are frail hopes. I can’t put faith in them.”

  “Then, what? Where do we go from here?”

  “I’m going to leave Higham and go back to Wales. Stay at my uncle’s holding, for now at least. I think Owen is right. Bellame’s days as lord of Cardiff are numbered. Someday, he will be killed, or at least defeated and banished. Then I can return to Cardiff and resume my life the way it was before.”

  “And will you be happy in Cardiff? Is that the life you want?”

  “Of course it’s not the life I want. But it’s the life I’m meant to have. ’Tis my destiny.”

  Of all the arguments she might have given him, he wasn’t prepared for this. How could he refute her words? How could he make her choose happiness? Or at least risk a chance on it? It seemed hopeless. He let out a shaky breath. “When will you leave?”

  She glanced at him and he saw the agony in her eyes. “I don’t know. ’Twould not be safe for me to travel back to Wales on my own. I will have to send a message to Owen and ask him to come and get me. Or send an escort.”

  A tiny bit of hope flared inside him. He had a little time. It would take a few days for Owen to get the message and respond. All his arguments had failed, but he maybe he could still change her mind some other way. Convince her that it would be unbearable for them to be parted.

  He glanced around at the meadow. Nay, he would not make love to her here. She deserved soft, clean linen sheets and a bed. A large, comfortable bed. He would have to entice her to the castle. Think of some excuse to have her come to his bedchamber. Perhaps he could get injured again. Something minor. Something that would not interfere with his ability to pleasure her.

  She gazed at him expectantly, her eyes full of yearning. Let her yearn. Let her burn. For a day or two at least. Then he would give her the most magical experience of her life. After that, she would not be able to give up on their love and on happiness.

  He steeled himself to leave her. “I must get back to the castle and see to things there. And then I
must meet with Athelstan. I’m pleased the villagers chose him to be reeve. Although in fact, I think his wife, Golde, is better suited to the responsibility.” Her eyebrows shot up. “I know it’s a witless thought. No one would accept a woman as reeve. But I can see that Golde is more adept at influencing people and getting them to accept her ideas.”

  He paused, thinking of another way he might be able to sway her. “Too often, the abilities of women are ignored. It happens among your people as well. I’m certain your uncle has little use for your ideas. And ’tis already clear how your cousin thinks of you. To Owen, you are but a pawn, to be used as he sees fit. I would never treat you like that, Rhosyn. I would always listen to you and consider your opinions.”

  *

  Of course he would. Because William was the most extraordinary of men. One who treated women as his equal.

  Despair choked her. She must get away from him and leave Higham as soon as possible. Otherwise she would be torn to pieces by the awareness of all she was losing. You must remember who you are. You must remember your responsibilities. She could almost hear her mother’s voice in her head. It reawakened her resolve. “I must check on young Cynward. He fell out of a tree and broke his arm. I could not splint it right away as it was too swollen. But I should see how it looks now.”

  He nodded. She expected him to kiss her, but he did not. She gave him a tender smile and turned away.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Rhosyn glanced around her stillroom and tried to decide what to take. How much could she cram into a pack and two saddlebags? What herbs and treatments might she need the most urgently? She should select only the ones that were difficult to obtain, plants that would not be in season until next spring. By then, she would be settled somewhere and she would have a chance to replenish her supplies.

  Grief stuck her like a knife in the belly. She didn’t want to leave this cozy cottage, perfectly designed for a healer. It might be years before she was able to have a home like this one, so private and comfortable. But that was a tiny loss compared to… nay, she would not think about that.