Chapter 31
April, 1177
Rhuddlan Castle, Gwynedd
Longsword’s mood was blacker than even Richard Delamere had ever seen it. He had needed an enormous amount of persuading to receive Chester and when he’d finally, reluctantly assented, had behaved churlishly, responding impolitely to the earl’s little speech of thanks for welcoming him and his men to Rhuddlan, and asking the earl straight out how long a visit he was planning.
As they’d argued with each other in the council chamber, Delamere had seen his friend’s insecurities and delusions of persecution resurface after half a year of blessed quiet. Longsword was convinced Chester had come to gloat at him because after all his efforts on behalf of his father, his reward was nothing greater than the governership of Rhuddlan, while the treacherous earl’s only penalty had been a few years’ worth of comfortable confinement and the seizure of one of his castles. Chester was still the wealthiest peer in the realm; all his lands and revenues remained untouched. They’d had him at Dol, they’d taken his wagons full of treasure and his oxen and had precipitated the surrender of the fortress and his capture but it hadn’t mattered at all because he still had wealth beyond imagining while Longsword was lucky if his lazy Welsh villeins could provide him with enough fish from the nearby sea to get Rhuddlan through Lent. Chester was fortunate to have escaped Normandy with his life; he could go anywhere he wanted to go—except Chester Castle, Delamere had put in, but Longsword was too busy shouting to listen—but the king’s bastard was stuck in this insignificant heap of stone in the middle of a watery plain where nothing ever happened. And Longsword had wanted to snub him and not admit him because if a man in the earl’s position hadn’t come to gloat, then that man was an idiot.
Delamere knew Longsword had to be in an extremely foul temper to refer to himself as the king’s bastard.
After the earl had been admitted and they had gone down to the ward to greet him, Longsword as unenthusiastically as possible without actually telling him to leave, Delamere started to wonder if would have indeed been smarter to have risked extreme animosity with Chester rather than to ensure it with his friend’s atrocious behavior. When Longsword angrily asked the earl what possible reason had brought him to Rhuddlan, the man answered mildly that as the only Normans in Gwynedd, he’d considered it advisable that they should meet—“And under more favorable circumstances than our last meeting,” he added gravely.
Delamere was certain Longsword was thinking that he could have very well gone through the remainder of his life without ever having met the earl of Chester again, regardless of the circumstance; he just held his breath and hoped he wouldn’t say it. But he wasn’t quite as certain what to make of this excuse to invade Rhuddlan; the earl’s voice was bland enough but Delamere would have sworn there was the glint of mockery in his eyes.
He winced inwardly. He was becoming as paranoid as Longsword.
A small figure standing with the on-lookers at the perimeter of the ward caught his eye. Bronwen. He winked at her and she raised her hand in solemn acknowledgment. He lifted his gaze but didn’t see her mother. When the party of visitors and hosts began slowly making its way to the keep, Delamere paused for a moment by the child and bent his knee. “Have you come to see the horses, Bronwen?” he asked.
She nodded. “And the pretty men.”
He laughed and stood up. “Well, remember that your mother doesn’t want you too near the beasts,” he said, and put his hand on her head. He laughed again and added, “That includes the pretty men, of course!”
Longsword had turned around to find him and was giving him a look that was a mixture of murder and pleading. Delamere nodded and started following after him, but immediately felt a tug on the end of his tunic. “Lord William is calling me, Bronwen,” he said.
“Sir Richard, I only want to know if I may ride your horse again,” she said.
“Perhaps later, not now, Bronwen.”
“All right, Sir Richard, but later when we go, can I leave the castle like Gladys did?”
“That depends on your—” he stopped abruptly, and frowned. “What did you say? About Gladys?”
“Gladys went out of Rhuddlan on a horse and I want to do the same.”
He knelt in front of her again. “Gladys left Rhuddlan? That’s impossible, Bronwen; she can’t ride a horse.”
“I know that!” the little girl scoffed. “She wasn’t alone. One of the grooms was in front and she held on to him from the back.”
From the corner of his eye, Delamere could see Longsword waiting impatiently; loath to be on his own with the earl. Chester and his men were watching him as well, and he could well imagine what they must have been thinking about a knight who stopped to talk to a small child.
“When did this happen, Bronwen?”
She smiled broadly. “It was the same day the loud knight fell off his horse.”
That would be fitz Maurice; Delamere remembered the incident because it had provided almost a whole evening’s entertainment in the telling and retelling. Fitz Maurice’s horse had been startled by a scampering squirrel and the Norman, who had just taken one boot out of the stirrup to show off to de Vire the new spurs the smith had made for him, had lost his balance and tumbled backwards into a bed of nettles.
Where was Gladys now? He was sure he had seen her moping in the hall just the other night. Or had he? Longsword would be angry to know that she was jostling up and down on a horse in her current state—even angrier that she was apparently cavorting with another man. Delamere wondered…this news cast everything in a different light. Was it possible that Longsword wasn’t even the father of Gladys’ baby?
“Have you seen Gladys, Bronwen?” he asked. “Do you know where I can find her?”
The little girl shook her head.
“Well,” he said, rising to his feet, “better, anyway, to wait until the earl’s been settled before calling her before Lord William. Thanks, Bronwen.”
He was about to walk away when he felt that tug again on his tunic.
“You can’t call her, Sir Richard,” Bronwen informed him. “She isn’t here. She never came back.”
Longsword didn’t believe any of it. Delamere knew the turmoil of the earl of Chester’s visit was taking up most of the room in his friend’s head but he’d thought Longsword would have welcomed the diversion. Besides, the evidence was, if not damning, then certainly compelling. Longsword waved it away irritably. No, he didn’t remember the last time he’d seen Gladys, but he wasn’t complaining because her attitude in the past month almost made him wish he’d never see her again. Always looking at him accusingly, always bent over as if she were about to vomit. Good God! he burst out, if his son turned out as disagreeable as Gladys had become, he wasn’t sure he wanted it after all!
Delamere told him to stop thinking about himself and if the baby had a foul temper it was more likely than not to have come from its father, whose history of foul tempers was already noted, and not its mother.
Over the rim of his cup, Longsword glared. He swallowed a mouthful of wine. The idea that Gladys had gotten on a horse and ridden out of Rhuddlan was ludicrous. Only a fool would take the word of a two-year old child.
Four-year old, Delamere corrected him. And of course he’d checked her story. According to the stablemaster, there was indeed a cob missing and one of the grooms hadn’t been seen in a week. He’d spoken to some of the other Welsh. No one could remember seeing Gladys recently. He’d questioned Bronwen’s mother, who hadn’t seen Gladys either, and who swore that her daughter had a keen eye and wasn’t prone to inventing tales. But if Longsword didn’t care…
Longsword hesitated. Not for a moment did he believe anything was amiss but Delamere had that look on his face with which he was all too familiar. Delamere getting angry and riding home to Olwen and leaving him alone with Chester wasn’t a pleasant prospect. He relented.
“Of course I care! It’s just Chester has put me out of sorts and I can’t think about anything else. Of c
ourse I care,” he repeated, in case he hadn’t sounded sincere enough to Delamere the first time. He sighed resignedly and put his cup down on the side table. “It’s too late in the day to send out searchers…”
“I’ve already arranged it for tomorrow morning,” Delamere said, mollified. “I think our best bet is the abbey. I can’t imagine any other place she could go.”
“Did you check under Teleri’s bed?” Longsword said humorlessly. “She probably murdered the girl.”
“Be serious, Will!” He continued outlining his plans for the next day but it was soon obvious that Longsword wasn’t paying any attention to him. “What is it now?”
“Did you question Teleri?” Longsword demanded abruptly.
“Of course not! What would she know—”
“I want to question her. Have someone bring her here and tell him I will not be refused. She must come if he has to use force.”
Delamere was mystified but Longsword’s stern expression brooked no argument. Two men were delegated to confront Teleri, in case she turned violent.
“She gave me warning,” Longsword said when Delamere returned. “On the day she told me Gladys was pregnant, she insisted I get rid of the girl and when I refused, she swore that I would regret my decision.” It was plain he now believed the entire story. He believed Gladys had disappeared. “I’ll kill her,” he added grimly.
To Delamere, it didn’t sound like an idle threat. “It doesn’t make sense, Will. She was just talking. How could she possibly get rid of Gladys?”
“I’m telling you—she’s behind Gladys’ disappearance,” Longsword insisted.
Footsteps approached the open door of the council chamber and then stopped. They heard Teleri’s voice in the hall but she didn’t appear on the threshold. Delamere thought she had cleverly sized up the summons and refused to put herself in any physical jeopardy by entering the small, closed chamber to meet with her husband.
Longsword immediately strode into the hall. Because of the turmoil and curiosity surrounding the earl of Chester’s arrival, there was a larger number of men there than usual for the time of day, standing in groups, idly talking. All eyes snapped to Longsword when he appeared and all voices gradually stilled. Teleri waited a dozen paces from the council chamber, flanked by her servants. Her face was angry and suspicious but not fearful. Because she was petite, she looked almost like an outraged child confronting an obtuse adult who had just debunked some favorite myth. Delamere felt the stirring of sympathy for her; men had plenty to keep them happy, if not in the home then outside it, but women had only their marriages and their children. Teleri’s marriage was a political bargain between a prince and a king and not any source of satisfaction for her and the likelihood of children emerging from it seemed more remote with every passing month.
But he immediately discovered there was no cause to feel sorry for Teleri. She was quite able to defend herself. She turned on Longsword before he could even open his mouth, a tactic which Delamere applauded as admirable because the accuser was now the accused.
“My lord husband! I demand to know the reason I have been confronted by your men in my private chambers and threatened with injury if I did not show myself before you at that instant!” she said furiously. “I know I must live under the same roof with you but I did think I might find some peace in my own rooms!”
Longsword ignored the tirade. “Gladys is missing. I think you know what’s happened to her.”
Teleri stared at him, her expression astonished. “Missing?” she echoed. “Do you mean you can’t find her? Have you had your men try breaking down her door and bullying their way into her room? She’s probably cowering under the bed!”
“Of course we searched her room, Teleri!” Longsword snapped, oblivious to her sarcasm. “She’s not in Rhuddlan; she’s taken a horse and disappeared—with someone’s contrivance!”
“I see—you think that someone is me. Why should I help your whore, my lord husband? We’re not exactly friends.”
Delamere felt the confrontation his friend had initiated slipping away in Teleri’s favor. He could see confusion now mingled with the anger on Longsword’s face. The man was not equal to a battle of wits with this woman.
“You would do it because it would punish me!” Longsword said.
Teleri smiled. “I can think of more personal ways to punish you, my lord husband. It’s news to me she’s disappeared. Not that I blame her, of course; if I had half the chance, I’d run off, too.”
Longsword muttered something incoherent.
“Why wouldn’t you blame her for running off, Lady Teleri?” Delamere asked. “You make it sound as if she imagines Lord William has injured her in some way.”
Teleri’s eyes slid to Delamere. She stared appraisingly at him and he wondered if he were clever enough to tangle with her. He suspected she would use any weapon that came her way in her battles with her husband, and he knew he was one of the biggest. He could not permit himself be fooled by her mien of physical vulnerability; he could not allow his oaths to be compromised in such a way that Longsword would start to doubt his loyalty.
“I shouldn’t think she’d have to imagine anything,” she said slowly. “Not with my beloved husband mooning over the latest addition to his household.”
There was a brief silence. Then Longsword said quietly, “What are you talking about, Teleri?”
“Not what but who, my lord husband. The healer. Gwalaes. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed that you’re besotted with her.”
“You—”
“Will!” Delamere put a restraining hand on Longsword’s arm.
Longsword angrily shook him off. “That’s enough of this nonsense! I know you had something to do with Gladys’ disappearance, Teleri! I don’t want to compliment you in any way, but you probably have the quickest wit of anyone in this fortress, save Richard. So…? I don’t even care how you managed to contrive it. I just want to know where she is!”
“I don’t—”
“Don’t lie to me, Teleri!” Longsword suddenly roared.
Teleri backed up a few steps. Longsword pressed his advantage and began walking slowly, menacingly towards her.
“I swear before God and all these men, Teleri,” he continued in a voice that seemed all the more threatening for its quiet after the loud outburst that had preceded it, “that if I do not get my son back, I will make you suffer such torments that Hell itself would be ashamed. If any ill befalls my son, you will pay for it in kind. Now do yourself a favor and start remembering…”
There was a pause. Then Teleri lifted her chin. “You don’t care about her at all, do you?”
Longsword frowned. “Care about who?”
“Gladys. You don’t care about her, only the baby. She’s already suffered these torments of which you boast but you don’t care at all. You’re worse than an animal, William fitz Henry,” she hissed. “Whatever’s happened to Gladys now is probably the finest thing that’s ever happened to her in her miserable life!”
Without thinking, Longsword’s right hand shot up in the air. Teleri didn’t flinch. Her women cried out in protest.
“Will!” Delamere said sharply. He quickly inserted himself between the two combatants but he faced Longsword. “Don’t do it, Will,” he said, more calmly, persuasively. Longsword didn’t look at him; his eyes were locked in Teleri’s steady stare.
A tense moment ensued. The crowd in the hall was silent, waiting. Teleri’s servants wrung their hands nervously. Neither husband nor wife moved.
“Lord William, may I have the pleasure of an introduction to your beautiful wife?”
The words were polite, the speech unhurried and the inflection made it clear the speaker found the situation before him amusing. The earl of Chester stood with his arms behind his back, his lips slightly curved. All eyes swiveled to him. Longsword dropped his arm slowly and turned around.
“When I was a guest of Prince Dafydd, he spoke often about his lovely niece at Rhuddlan,” Hugh
continued, coming forward. “I confess I found it difficult to believe there could be a woman so perfect, one who possessed such beauty, intelligence and spirit that she put all other women to shame but, my lady,” he said with a bow to Teleri, “I can see the prince did not exaggerate.”
Longsword’s initial anger at being interrupted when he was on the verge of discovering what had happened to Gladys, gave way to incredulity. He had never heard such drivel before, even from Delamere, who knew the right words to send any woman into a swoon. For the first time in his married life he waited expectantly for Teleri’s sarcastic comeback.
Teleri stared uncertainly at the earl. Was he making fun of her or was he serious? His face, pleasant and open, appeared serious. Nobody had spoken to her like that since she’d been forced to leave her uncle’s house and marry the uncouth lout who’d raised his fist to her before all of Rhuddlan. She lowered her eyes. “Thank you, my lord,” she murmured.
Hugh stepped past Longsword and took Teleri’s hand, raising it to his lips. “I am Hugh fitz Ranulf, earl of Chester.”
“My lord,” she said, and curtsied gracefully.
“My lady, you must promise me the honor of sitting beside you tonight at supper.”
She glanced up, her eyes flickering to Longsword. His plainly shocked expression decided her. Except for her wedding feast, she had never taken a meal with her husband and his men. She smiled at Hugh. “It would be my pleasure, my lord. If you will excuse me?”
She brushed by Longsword with a triumphant look, collected her women and disappeared into the stairwell at the far end of the hall.
Teleri was determined to punish her husband for humiliating her in such crude fashion in full witness of so many people. Now that she had successfully gotten rid of his slut, she felt near to invincible. She was well aware, from the buzz surrounding the earl’s arrival, that Longsword disliked and distrusted Chester; these would be her weapons.
She sat at the high table between her husband and the earl, who had insisted that she have the place of honor, which was his seat, at Longsword’s right. She had taken a great deal of care with her appearance, dressing in her best gown, wearing the jewels her uncle had bestowed on her and covering her shining hair with the sheerest of veils. When she’d entered the hall, the noise level had dropped dramatically as everyone had stared in admiration at her, hardly believing that this was the same shrew about whom their master constantly complained. The earl’s compliments were by then superfluous but gratifying to one who had gone without for so many months. She didn’t look directly at her husband, but could feel his amazed stare.
She had planned to devote all her attention to the earl and shame Longsword before his men. She hadn’t planned on finding the earl so attractive.
Besides his courtly manner, he had even addressed her in Welsh and when she expressed surprise that he knew her native language, explained that he had spent his early years in Chester, where hearing Welsh was almost as common as hearing English or French. He apologized for not being fluent; he seemed to have forgotten much of it, he said, but it wasn’t a language which came easily to a foreign tongue and he was sure that his poor accent was hopelessly butchering the little he did remember. Teleri was charmed, especially when he praised her own command of Norman French.
She liked this earl of Chester. She tested his name in her mind. Hugh. Not a very nice name; too simple-sounding. Earl Hugh sounded grander. She liked the look of Earl Hugh, as well. Next to Richard Delamere, he was the most handsome Norman she’d ever seen. He was well-dressed, his hair, only a few shades darker than her own, was neatly trimmed and combed, and his eyes were a vivid blue—and fixed, more often than not, on her. He didn’t laugh too loudly or shout across the tables as Longsword was wont to do. He was regal in all his movements and speech—quite unlike the shabby Longsword, who was the king’s bastard. She thought that if she had married this quiet, polite and attentive man, she wouldn’t have hated the Normans as much as she did.
She forgot all about Longsword, sitting on her other side, as she and Hugh discussed his recent visit to the Perfeddwlad. She was anxious to hear the latest news and he had evidently found much to admire and report on in the prince’s court.
Longsword fumed. The fact that he knew she was deliberately flirting with the Traitor did not lessen his embarrassment. Others wouldn’t see it that way; they would think that he, who had wanted to spurn the earl, was instead being spurned himself. He would be a laughingstock.
Delamere, seated on Longsword’s other side, leaned into him and said in a low voice, “I haven’t seen Chester’s shadow all evening. I expected him to stand behind his master’s chair and move his jaw up and down so he could chew.” Longsword, a frown creasing his forehead, didn’t respond. “Will! Are you listening to me?”
Longsword jerked to attention. “I can’t believe this, Richard!” he whispered furiously. “She hasn’t a fingernail full of shame! It’s turning my stomach!” To prove his point, he pushed his trencher away. It knocked into his cup, upsetting it and spilling wine onto the white tablecloth. Momentarily diverted, Teleri gave him a withering look.
“Is the meal not to your liking?” she inquired.
He glared at her. “I’ve had enough, Teleri!”
“Oh…Enough food…or wine?”
“You know what I mean!”
“Is something wrong?” Hugh asked politely.
Delamere saw that Longsword was about to lose his temper and said quickly, “My lord, we were commenting that we haven’t seen Roger of Haworth tonight.”
“No, Roger’s always working. Long, formal meals are not to his taste.”
“His reputation with the sword is well-known. I hope he can be persuaded to give us a demonstration tomorrow.”
“I’m certain of it,” Hugh said, smiling. “Roger is generally modest—except when it comes to showing off his skill at swordplay. I tell him he could make out very well in tournaments but he is nothing but loyal. He says he prefers serving me.”
After witnessing her daughter’s conversation with Richard Delamere, Eleanor decided they must leave Rhuddlan immediately. Bronwen was not a shy child who kept out of sight and Eleanor didn’t want the least attention drawn to her. But how to leave and where to go: these were the questions over which she brooded as twilight descended upon the fortress and the earl and all his men entered the keep for the evening meal.
The abbey was the easiest and most logical choice but it was rumored that Sir Richard believed Gladys had fled there and in the morning would dispatch a small group of knights to investigate. If Eleanor wanted to return to the abbey without Longsword’s knowledge, then she and Bronwen would have to wait until those men came back—which might mean days. A protracted wait was, in her opinion, too much of a risk.
And how to get there…She had faith in the ability of her own feet, but Bronwen was only a little girl; it would be impossible for her to walk such a distance without a great deal of aid. The journey would take several days at the child’s pace, exposing the two of them to the natural elements and perhaps even discovery by Longsword. Taking a horse—even one of no significance like that Gladys and the groom had taken—to speed the travel was similarly impossible. Since the discovery of the missing cob, the stablemaster was doubtless tending to his duty with an overzealous eye.
The situation loomed so hopeless that Eleanor almost cried in frustration. Then salvation presented itself in the form of Alan d’Arques, who suggested fleeing to Richard Delamere’s manor.
At first Eleanor was hesitant. Although he was grateful to her for saving Longsword’s life, Delamere never quite trusted her and she was certain he would be outraged to eventually learn that she was hiding on his property despite Longsword’s order that she was not to leave Rhuddlan.
But she really had no other option.
She and Alan stood close together under the shadow of the guard tower where Eleanor had gone to find him. In the murky light he looked reassuringly large and solid,
and she wanted to trust him.
“What of Sir Richard’s wife?” she asked. “Will she be angry having unexpected visitors thrust on her?”
“I’ve never seen Lady Olwen angry,” he replied cheerfully. “And I think she’ll like Bronwen. Sir Richard told me once she was disappointed their last child wasn’t a girl.”
“What about horses?”
“The three of us can easily ride on mine,” he said.
For the first time since she saw her husband ride into Rhuddlan, Eleanor breathed a little easier. “Oh, Alan, thank you! You don’t know how frightened I’ve been…”
“Are you certain you want to do this, Lady Eleanor? He’ll only be here a few days and I don’t think he’ll recognize you.”
“You did!”
“Yes, but…” He grinned suddenly, his expression sheepish. “I look at all the women, Lady Eleanor, especially newcomers. Chester won’t so much as glance in your direction, believe me.”
“I can’t chance it, Alan.”
“All right. It’ll take us a good half day to reach Sir Richard’s farm and I want to be back by nightfall. Can you be ready very early?”
Eleanor nodded, relief flooding through every nerve in her body. “I don’t think I’ll sleep at all tonight…”
He gave her arm an encouraging squeeze and watched her walk swiftly away, pulling her cloak close around her shoulders. He turned to go back into the guard tower, and almost crashed into Roger of Haworth.
“Alan d’Arques, isn’t it?” the man said pleasantly.
“Yes…” His voice sounded shaky, he thought. He tried to remember exactly what he and Eleanor had said and at the same time wondered how much Haworth had heard. “Good evening, Sir Roger.”
Haworth smiled without showing any teeth. “So you’ve been exiled to this outpost of the empire as well, have you?”
“I’m one of Lord William’s household knights,” the younger man replied, somewhat defensively. “It isn’t exile.”
Haworth made a show of looking around. “Still, it’s not the most prestigious assignment. I’m surprised the king couldn’t do better by his son, even if he is bastard.”
“Lord William is content enough.”
“That’s good,” Haworth said. He inclined his head and started past Alan. “Perhaps I’ll see you tomorrow on the practice field.”
He was moving in the same direction Eleanor had taken, which might have meant nothing—or everything. Alan called after him hastily. “Are you looking for some place in particular, Sir Roger? If so, I can direct you.”
The other knight turned around. “Just wandering…” He grinned suddenly and to Alan’s frantic mind, maliciously. “When I’m in a strange place I like to know where everything is. Good evening…”
One of Longsword’s knights escorted Hugh back to the chamber he would never have been able to find again on his own. Particularly in his current, inebriated state. Also in his current, inebriated state, the young knight looked tremendously appealing; well-built, slender, unblemished complexion and an untidy mop of dark golden hair…very much like Robert Bolsover. He had insisted the man lead the way, instead of walking behind and directing him, just so he would be able to watch his shoulders and hips move.
“This is it, my lord.”
Hugh halted. “Thank you. What is your name?”
“Ralph de Vire, my lord.”
“Thank you, Sir Ralph. I have to admit I’ve a terrible sense of direction.”
“This place rambles quite a bit, my lord,” de Vire said cheerfully. “It takes getting used to. Can I help you with anything? Or do you have someone to attend to you?”
Hugh was tempted to take up his offer. He would have been justified, after all; where had Haworth gone? Not for a moment had Hugh believed his claim that he had business to tend to. No—it had been the realization that he would have had to share Hugh with Lady Teleri at the supper board that had prompted his disappearance. Haworth seemed to be able to tolerate the presence of women only if they were anonymous servants or meek, invisible wives.
But it had been a long day of riding and duelling verbally with Longsword and he was tired. “I imagine Sir Roger will be up shortly.”
De Vire bowed slightly. “Good night, my lord.”
Hugh opened the door to his chamber but lingered outside, looking after de Vire until the man was gone from view. With a sigh—of exhaustion as much as regret—he went in.
“My lord.” Haworth’s deep voice greeted him. It was amazing the degree of accusation he could put into two small words. But Hugh was too drunk and too tired to feel irritated.
He forced a grin. “Roger! Thank God, some sound company! The Bastard’s wife is more than I’d bargained for. She was beginning to get on my nerves. Fortunately, the Bastard’s captain has proposed a hunt for tomorrow, to which she is not invited. I don’t think she’d be stupid enough to go anyway; I can envision the Bastard happily chucking a javelin into her and calling it an accident.”
A strange look came over Haworth’s face and he forgot his previous jealousy. “My lord, do you think that’s what they intend for you?”
Hugh laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous! A little Welsh girl is nothing; they’d have more explaining to do with a peer of the realm, for God’s sake—especially when Henry’s taxes don’t arrive.” He went to the side table and poured himself a cup of wine. “Where were you all evening?”
“I was on a hunt of my own.”
“What do you mean?”
Haworth’s whole demeanor changed abruptly. He looked very self-satisfied and even grinned. “My lord, the countess is here.”
“The countess?” Hugh repeated. A picture of his mother sprang into his head.
“Your wife, my lord.”
Hugh was further confused. He put down his wine cup, suspecting that too much drink had addled his mind. “What are you talking about, Roger?”
“Countess Eleanor is here, my lord!” Haworth said in an eager voice. “I’ve seen her. She’s dressed in common clothes, but it’s her, I’m certain of it. I saw her face when we first arrived and tonight I saw her walk and heard her voice.”
“I don’t believe this!”
“It’s the truth, my lord! You know I have a good memory for people. The height she can’t disguise even with the rough clothing. And I heard her! I was in the ward and I saw Alan d’Arques speaking with a woman near the gatehouse. I only caught the end of their conversation. They were making arrangements for her to leave Rhuddlan.”
Hugh sobered. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” he asked and, when Haworth nodded, felt the wine sour in his stomach. “But it’s impossible!”
“De Gournay never found her body. Only her cloak.”
“It’s impossible…” Hugh repeated but with less conviction. He frowned. “This Alan d’Arques. Why does his name sound familiar?”
“He was squire once to Robert Bolsover.”
“Oh, yes—a relative of some sort, I think. Of course he would know Eleanor. But this is unbelievable!” He looked at Haworth, his eyes burning. “Are you absolutely certain, Roger? I don’t want to be made fool of in front of William the Bastard. Might it not be simple coincidence? A Welsh girl who has the misfortune to resemble Eleanor?”
“Then why should this girl want to leave Rhuddlan, my lord, if not for fear of discovery? She said to d’Arques, what if he recognizes me? She meant you, my lord!”
Hugh had to sit. His head was spinning but he doubted it was because of the wine. De Gournay had never found her body…Could it really be possible?
“Where is she?” he asked grimly. “I want to see her.”
“Shall I bring her to you?” Haworth’s voice was eager.
“No. I don’t want the Bastard to know that I know anything just yet. Because if he’s been harboring her, I’ll have a sweet revenge. No, take me to her.”
Longsword and Delamere had retired to the council chamber after supper, tired, disgruntled and morose. They sat spra
wled out in chairs, drinking wine and watching the flames in the brazier settle into a dull glow. From time to time, one of them would throw out some off-hand comment and the other would grunt in response, but mostly they just sat and drank and stared with an increasing lack of focus into the fire.
There was a sudden rap at the door which made both of them jump. Ralph de Vire entered the chamber. “All’s well, my lord—he’s in for the night. Past drunk; you won’t see him again until the morning.”
They grunted simultaneously and de Vire withdrew. Longsword felt exhausted, as if he’d spent the entire day in battle. There was a dull ache in his neck which he hadn’t felt in a week or more. What a day it had been…he was still annoyed that Teleri had bested him at supper.
Thinking of his wife reminded him of Gladys. Delamere was certain she was at the abbey and had told him to forget about questioning Teleri further—it would serve no purpose but to aggravate him even more.
He thought about Teleri’s accusation, that Gladys had left Rhuddlan because he didn’t care about her any longer and his affections had turned in Gwalaes’ direction. Although it was true, he thought he had kept it his own secret. Certainly he’d never acted on his feelings, except for refusing to permit Gwalaes to return to the abbey. Delamere suspected, partly because he knew Longsword so well and partly because of the argument they’d had concerning peace with Llanlleyn. But he would have sworn no one else even imagined such a thing, until Teleri had practically shouted it before the entire population of the fortress.
What did it matter, anyway? The healer avoided him. He rarely saw her, either within the keep or without, unless their paths crossed coincidentally. And even then, she wouldn’t look at him except for a quick, polite smile and a hurried curtsy.
Longsword could sum up the reason Gwalaes avoided him in two words: Alan d’Arques. He believed she was in love with the young, cheerful knight. Richard had seen the two of them together many times and he himself had heard others talking about them. Delamere could have given him advice; told him the right words to say to get her away from d’Arques and into his bed, but Delamere was still too annoyed at the peace he’d agreed to with Llanlleyn to be rational on the subject of Gwalaes. That was becoming a sore subject with Longsword as well, because considering what he had done for her, he had expected a little more gratitude in return than he’d so far received.
“Bloody women!” he muttered.
Delamere stirred. He opened one eye just enough to squint in his friend’s direction. “What?”
“Do you realize that when we were part of the king’s entourage and traveled with him from here to there to there and back again, women were never any trouble?”
“That’s because you didn’t have very many,” Delamere said sleepily, closing his eye and shifting into a more comfortable position.
Longsword went on. “But three years in one place and look at all the problems: Teleri’s jealousies and schemes, Gladys’ misperceptions—”
“Misperception?” Delamere snapped awake. “Are you referring to what Lady Teleri claimed was the reason Gladys was so eager to leave Rhuddlan?”
“We don’t even know if that’s true,” Longsword answered evasively. “That’s only what Teleri says. Who knows? Teleri herself might have murdered her and left her body for the wolves.”
“Will, if your wife were to murder anybody, it would be you.”
“I don’t see why you’re having such a joke at my expense,” Longsword retorted. “Last time you came back from a visit with Olwen, your mood was none too good.”
Delamere hmmphed. “Olwen’s the finest woman I’ve ever known but she’s a woman all the same and she’s got that trouble common, it seems, to most women: she thinks I can read her mind.”
It was fortunate, Longsword thought, that Gwalaes couldn’t read his mind. On second thought, perhaps she could. Perhaps that’s why she avoided him.
Suddenly he was sick to death of them all: Teleri, Gladys, Gwalaes, Olwen and even the large-bosomed red-haired woman who always seemed to press herself against him whenever she leaned over to place something on the supper board. He got up from his chair, rolled his shoulders and twisted his neck from side to side. The cup from which he’d been drinking was still in his hand and he heaved it across the small room where it crashed with a grating metallic screech against the wall. Delamere looked up in surprise.
“I don’t care about the lot of them,” Longsword informed him. “I just want my son.”
Delamere grinned. “The way your luck is running, Will, I expect you’ll have a daughter.”
Eleanor pushed in the chapel door hesitantly. “Alan?” she whispered into the gloom. When there was no response, she stepped over the threshold and raised her voice. “Alan?”
Hugh moved into the faint light cast by the holy flame which burned day and night on the altar. Although Haworth had ultimately convinced him, it was shocking nevertheless to see her standing right in front of him. For an instant, his mind was blank.
Eleanor gasped, and that broke the spell. All at once it came back to him…her fear of him…the physical power he’d had over her…the unbearable truth that she was alive while her brother was not…he felt the familiar hatred rise in him.
Seeing her reminded him of Chester, which he had also lost.
A flash of light suddenly cut through the shadows. Haworth, who’d been waiting outside the chapel, loomed behind Eleanor with a torch. As he brushed past her to fit the torch into a sconce on the wall, she shrank away from him, the fear apparent in her face.
Hugh studied her in the yellow light. Although not dressed as finely, she looked much the same as she had the last time he’d seen her, almost five years ago. Still drab, still ungainly. The undyed, coarse homespun she wore only worsened her appearance. Every time he looked at her, he found himself amazed that this was the sister of one of the most handsome, charming men he’d ever known.
She stood nervously, clutching her elbows in her hands, her eyes averted. Her breathing was rapid. Was it fright or just the shock of seeing him again? In the last month of their relationship, right before he’d gone off to join the Young King’s rebellion, she had seemed to have lost her fear of him. If he had approached her, she hadn’t cowered; if he had struck her, she had taken the blow silently. The lack of response had lessened his power over her.
Certainly she shouldn’t have been shocked by the sight of him. She knew he had come to Rhuddlan to see Longsword; the fortress wasn’t so big that news of a visitor wouldn’t reach the furthest corner. And Haworth swore she’d been making plans with d’Arques to leave because he was there…
So…it was fright. He felt a surge of confidence.
“The last I heard,” he said to her, “you’d been torn apart by a pack of wolves. Your recovery is a miracle, to say the least.”
She did not respond.
“I was assured by de Gournay that everything had been done to find you,” he continued. “Apparently, he never thought to look as far as Rhuddlan. I’m sure he, above all others, will be pleased to learn of your resurrection…If he does not already know it.”
She raised her head at the insinuation. “Whatever report Sir Miles made to you was the truth as far as he knew,” she said in a quiet voice. “I didn’t need his help to get here.”
“No? Then why don’t you tell me how you did get here.”
She was silent for so long that he thought she wasn’t going to answer the question but then she said, “I walked.”
“Walked?” he echoed incredulously. “You walked from Chester to Rhuddlan? I don’t believe it!” He laughed a little at the notion. Even Roger of Haworth’s dour face twisted itself into something that might have been a grin.
“Perhaps I’m a bit more clever than you think, my lord,” she said.
He eyed her thoughtfully. “Does the Bastard know who you are?”
“Lord William knows who I am,” she answered. “But not who I was. No one here knows and that’s fine wi
th me, my lord. As far as the world is concerned the countess of Chester is dead. You may ride out of here and live the rest of your life a free man.”
“How very kind of you to give me advice,” he said. “There’s only one problem. The countess of Chester quite obviously is not dead and while she lives I can’t remarry. That means I can’t get an heir. And I must, Eleanor, have an heir. If I simply walked away from Rhuddlan, pretended I never saw you here, remarried and had a child with another woman, that child—my heir—would be illegitimate. Perhaps that doesn’t matter much to you or to the Bastard, but I’ll be damned if I’ll permit my earldom to pass into the hands of the Crown after everything Henry’s taken from me already!”
His voice had risen sharply with each angry sentence. Once, his explosion would have been enough to send her cowering into a corner. But her reaction now was startling. With every sentence, her posture became a little straighter, her gaze a little bolder. By the time he was through, she no longer seemed at all fearful of him.
“That doesn’t matter to me, my lord,” she said at length. “I live in Gwynedd now. I will never go back to England.”
“You are my wife—”
“Not anymore, my lord!” she interrupted. Her voice trembled because she had never before dared to cut him off, but she did not back down. “I—I belong to another now.”
There was a moment of shocked silence. Behind them, Haworth sucked in his breath.
“What?” Hugh asked softly. “What did you say?”
She lifted her chin. “Lord William will not let me leave.”
His eyes burned into hers until finally, she looked away. “Are you telling me that you’re the Bastard’s whore?” he demanded angrily. She didn’t answer. He took a deep breath and tried to consider the prospect rationally. It didn’t make sense to him. Longsword was just too unappealing. “I don’t believe you,” he said to her in a calmer voice. “You’re bluffing. The Bastard wouldn’t know what to do with a woman if she threw herself into his arms. His own wife told me that. But—” Without warning, he reached out and grabbed her wrist, pulling her up close to him so that their faces were barely inches apart. It gave him pleasure to hear her cry out as she had often done in the past. “But if I find out you’re not,” he added menacingly, “I swear to God I’ll kill you.”
The door to Longsword’s chamber was closed. He stared at it and frowned. He would have sworn he’d left it open; it was always left open. He swayed slightly as he pondered what the closed door might mean and then his brow cleared. Of course! With the current influx of strangers at Rhuddlan, some well-meaning servant must have shut it to ward off curious eyes. Or maybe the earl of Chester was waiting within, having found him much more attractive than Teleri. The idea was so preposterous he laughed aloud, and was still laughing when he pushed the door open so hard that it hit the inside wall and bounced back almost enough to hit him.
The grin died on his face slowly. There she was; she was there. Standing in the middle of the floor, hands clasped, face anxious. Her hair shone from the reflection of the candlelight from the nearby tripod, her dark, somber eyes were fixed on him…Was it a dream? He couldn’t help but blink several times…
Gwalaes curtsied hastily. “My lord, I apologize for coming—”
“What are you doing here?” Then, realizing he might have sounded brusque, added, “Is everything all right?”
“I needed to speak with you privately, my lord,” she said, ignoring the question. Her voice was quiet, nervous. “I’m sorry; I’m sure you’re tired, but it’s important…”
He stared at her, feeling suddenly calm although, strangely enough, his heart was thudding strongly. “No, I’m fine. What is it?”
“I think I know where Gladys is,” she said.
“Oh?”
“I think she’s in the Perfeddwlad.”
“The Perfeddwlad?” His eyes narrowed. Teleri! Hadn’t he known all along she was behind this? “Why do you think that?”
She bit her lip. “I don’t want to say…”
“Well, I want you to say!” He walked around her and sat on the corner of his bed. He bent over and started unlacing his boots, cursing his wife underbreath. When Gwalaes didn’t answer, he looked up expectantly. “Well?”
“It’s—it’s just a feeling I have, my lord.”
“Did Teleri say anything to you?”
“That Gladys was there? No, my lord.”
He pulled one boot off and tossed it into a far corner of the room. He leaned forward, hands on thighs. “So why do you think it?”
Gwalaes hesitated. He was on the verge of telling her to forget it, he didn’t need to know because he was so mesmerized by her steady gaze. He felt as if he had known that face all his life. He remembered how soft and soothing her hands had been when he’d lain helpless in that same bed, how patiently she’d spooned broth into his mouth, how encouraging the words she’d spoken to him…He had to break the stare and bend over his other boot before he embarrassed himself in front of her. His head spun; all the wine he’d drunk at supper and with Delamere was now asserting itself and he had to fight to keep from giving in to it and taking her in his arms—
“Lady Teleri was the first one to notice that Gladys was missing,” she said finally. “And she’s been melancholy lately; unable to sleep, moping in her chambers…Her women have told me she’s homesick. I just thought, why would she be homesick if she hadn’t been thinking a lot about the Perfeddwlad, and why would she be thinking about the Perfeddwlad if she hadn’t arranged for Gladys to be taken there?” She looked a little embarrassed. “I could be wrong, of course…”
Longsword pushed off the second boot with his foot and kicked it across the room. “Damn it!”
She came to stand before him, her expression earnest. “Please, my lord, you won’t confront Lady Teleri, will you? I don’t know for certain that anything I’ve said is true—”
“Yet you believe it or you wouldn’t have told me!” he said.
“I do believe it, but I’m telling you for a different reason.”
There was a subtle change in her tone, something which took her from hesitant and deferential to resolved and urgent. Even her eyes had changed; her gaze was now intense.
“What is it?”
“My lord, I need your protection. I’m offering you this information about Gladys in exchange for it.”
He was startled. “Protection from Lady Teleri?”
She seemed to catch her breath. “No, my lord.”
He frowned, puzzled. “Who then?”
“The earl of Chester, my lord,” she said quietly.
“Chester!” Longsword repeated. He stared at her. “Why?”
She held his gaze. “I have good reason to believe he means me harm, my lord. On my own, I can’t fight him but with your protection I think he’ll leave me alone.”
“I don’t understand how this is possible, Gwalaes! The man only just arrived—and has spent most of his stay so far in conversation with my wife!”
“My lord, he lured me into the chapel tonight by sending me a message said to have come from Sir Alan d’Arques,” she said.
His jaw nearly dropped. D’Arques again! He hadn’t known she was used to meeting him in the chapel. “Oh? What did he want?”
“He—he gave me warning, my lord.”
Had the earl found out about her meetings with the young knight and wanted to put a stop to it—because he had designs on Alan d’Arques himself? Was this the reason he wanted to harm Gwalaes? “Warning about what?” he asked, his voice suspicious.
She wouldn’t look at him. “I can’t say, my lord.”
Longsword was no longer bewildered, only angry. He wanted to ask her why Alan d’Arques wasn’t good enough to protect her from the earl but despite himself was flattered she had asked him to do it. Obviously she was uncertain of d’Arques’ ability but confident in his. He felt calmer, a bit more secure. It wasn’t much but it was something…
Then he r
ealized that he was, of course, the most logical choice for role of protector; he was the one in charge at Rhuddlan. Nearly all his good will drained away then, leaving just the anger behind. He’d been a fool. What he had wanted to believe she’d done out of affection, she had really done out of duty. It was Alan d’Arques whom she loved, not him.
“I can’t see what possible harm Chester can do to you,” he said stiffly, “but if you want my protection, you have it.” She smiled and started to speak, but he held up his hand to forestall her effusive thanks. “However,” he added, “I expect more in payment than this—this guess as to Gladys’ whereabouts. You believe she’s in the Perfeddwlad; Richard is equally certain she’s at the abbey.”
“Sir Richard may be correct,” she agreed cautiously. Her face was sober again. “What other payment can I give you, my lord? I haven’t any money; nothing even to barter with…”
He stood up. The blood pounded in his ears. “I want you,” he said.
She didn’t move. She said nothing for a moment and when she finally spoke her voice was strained. “I don’t understand…”
He almost relented when he realized she was frightened. But the image of Alan d’Arques flashed ruthlessly through his mind and he hardened his heart. She was asking him to do something for her; why shouldn’t he get a bit of what d’Arques got in return?
“It’s simple enough,” he said. He thought he ought to have felt ashamed of what he was asking but he didn’t because he wanted her so badly. He couldn’t stop staring at her, couldn’t stop imagining what her dark hair would look like when she removed the band, loosened it from its braid and it fell around her face, couldn’t stop thinking about her long legs, her fingertips, the heat of her skin…He walked up to her and put his hands on her shoulders. He felt her body tense but she didn’t pull away. He bent his head and covered her lips with his own.
It felt as good as he’d always suspected. What other evidence did he need to prove she was meant for him? He broke away, the taste of her lips potent in his memory. He stared into her eyes. “This is what I mean,” he whispered hoarsely.
He waited for her to decide; there would be no joy in it otherwise, although he had to fight the urge to just rip away her gown and carry her to the bed. His breathing was heavy. He didn’t know how much longer he could wait.
And then…then, her face composed and blank, she reached up her arms and clasped her hands together behind his neck…and pulled his head down to hers.