Chapter 32
April, 1177
Rhuddlan Castle, Gwynedd
He had Gwalaes in his arms. Her hair was soft and endless and he pressed her close and buried his face in her neck, letting the fine strands fall across his head. Her skin was warm and pulsed beneath his cheek. He moved his lips towards her mouth…
Suddenly he felt her body stiffen. He glanced up. The earl of Chester stood in the doorway to the bedchamber, his expression, as usual, unreadable but there was no mistaking his intent when he slowly pulled the sword from his belt. Gwalaes gripped his arm. “You swore to protect me…” she whispered.
He took up his sword and suddenly he and Chester were exchanging swipes and cuts. When their swords met, the clangs reverberated off the walls; the sound became deafening and began to echo in his head; from far away, a voice called his name—
Longsword awoke with a start. Someone was pounding on his door. A faint light filtered in through the edges of the closed shutters. He looked down but he was alone. Still, even if the dream wasn’t fresh in his mind, he would have remembered the night.
“Come in, for God’s sake!” he shouted at the door.
It opened quickly. Ralph de Vire appeared on the threshold. “My lord, are you all right?” he asked, concern apparent on his face.
The question seemed strange to Longsword. He flipped the rumpled cover back and swung his bare legs over the edge of the bed. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
De Vire grinned at the familiar, querulous tone and relaxed. “It’s just that you’re always up before any of us. We thought perhaps the wound…Well, anyway, there’s the hunt today.”
Longsword’s hand involuntarily reached up to press the side of his neck and the small ridge of the scar which adorned it. Almost two months had passed since he’d been shot. The spot was numb if he touched it directly but the pain caused by moving his shoulder had gone. Although he felt so good this morning he doubted he would feel a thing if Rhirid shot a whole slew of arrows into him.
“I overslept.” He stood up, stretched with his arms straight up in the air and yawned. “Toss me that tunic on the floor, will you? Where’s Richard?”
De Vire stooped to pick up the various bits of clothing Longsword had discarded haphazardly the night before. “Sir Richard also overslept, my lord. He’s sitting at the table with a pitcher of weak ale and cursing every time someone speaks too loudly.”
“The earl?”
“He and Lady Teleri attended Mass not long ago and have just sat down to breakfast.”
Even that bit of information failed to rouse his ire, despite the fact that not once during their marriage had Teleri joined him at Mass. But the mention of his wife’s name reminded him of an important matter.
Everything was falling into place, he thought with satisfaction as he left his chambers. He finally had Gwalaes and he knew where Gladys was. All that remained was to get rid of the earl, his scowling captain and their score of retainers. Teleri would once again keep to her suite and then he would be a very happy man.
He felt content enough this morning at any rate; well-rested and fresh. He thought he must have slept like a dead man for the first time since he was a boy. He felt so good that he whistled a tuneless air as he jogged down the stair and entered the hall. De Vire hurried to keep up with him, perplexed by behavior he’d never before witnessed from his master.
Longsword had never stood on ceremony which required the ebb and flow of the castle’s activities to follow his habits so the tables and benches had long been set up for the morning meal. There was a hasty shuffle of feet as everyone scrambled to stand up when he appeared. His gaze went immediately to the high table. Delamere nodded to him and sat down again heavily. Teleri and Chester had not risen and watched him imperturbably. His wife’s head was tilted up; her face bore a mocking smile. Longsword wanted to laugh out loud. Did she honestly believe he could be made jealous by any attention the earl of Chester might pay to her?
He stood next to her chair and nodded to the earl. “My lord, good morning,” he said and Hugh responded in kind. “Teleri, I would like a word with you,” he said to his wife.
She speared a sliver of cheese with her cutting knife. “Of course. When I’ve done with my meal.”
“Now, if you don’t mind.”
“I do mind. I’m eating.” She glanced at the earl, and although Longsword couldn’t see her face, he saw what surely must have been Chester’s sympathetic smile in response.
He leaned close enough to her to whisper into her ear. “If you don’t get up from this chair right now, I’ll grab your arm and drag you off just like the animal you claim I am.”
She glared at him. “Very well. I’m listening.”
“In private, Teleri.”
She hesitated for only a moment. Then, with a stony face, she dropped her knife and pushed back her chair. She turned towards Hugh and with a brief, dazzling smile excused herself from the table, and then she marched off towards the council chamber without a second glance at her husband.
Longsword closed the door and stood with his back against it, watching Teleri come to a halt in the center of the room and turn around very deliberately to face him. Not once in all the time he’d known her had she ever seemed afraid of him and now was no exception. Her chin was lifted and her expression was angry. If he admitted the truth to himself, he was a little afraid of her; he had a strong suspicion of people who were quick with words. He didn’t relish the prospect of another argument, not after the pleasant night he’d had and certainly not with someone who always seemed to beat him but if Gwalaes’ speculation was true, then he wanted to know the reason behind it.
“I—” he started.
“I suppose it’s not enough that you must make a fool of yourself before the earl,” she said in a vicious voice, “but you must humiliate me as well!”
“I wasn’t trying to humiliate you, Teleri.”
“Weren’t you? Last night you interrupted my very interesting conversation with the earl by spilling your wine in a pathetic attempt to gain attention. This morning you threatened to make a scene if I didn’t immediately leave my guest to attend to you. And you don’t think any of that humiliates me? By some quirk of bad fate I happen to be married to you. I’m sure the earl imagines you are a cross, brutish, ill-educated oaf, no better than one of the peasants who tills his land, and I’m quite sure he feels a great deal of sympathy for me—he’s said as much to me and if you doubt it, you can ask him yourself!”
“I don’t give a damn for the earl’s opinion, Teleri,” he said.
“Nor for anyone else’s. I really can’t imagine how Sir Richard can bear to spend so much time in your company. It must be maddening to be around someone as selfish as you—”
“That’s enough!” he cut in sharply, taking a few steps in her direction. He had tried, but it was impossible for him to keep his patience with her.
“Are you going to threaten me again, my lord husband?” she sneered, but positioned herself so that Longsword’s great chair was between them. “Hit me? I swear that if you harm me, my uncle will hear of it!”
“And do what? You’re my wife, Teleri—I can do whatever I want with you.” He dropped his eyes from her enraged face to her chest. “Even things we haven’t done in a while,” he added in a quieter voice. When she didn’t respond, he glanced up and grinned. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with your mouth shut.”
“I curse the day you came to Gwynedd! You’re a mean-spirited, cruel man and I don’t know why you couldn’t have just died when Rhirid ap Maelgwn shot you!”
Longsword nodded. “That’s more like it.”
“Let me out of this room!”
“Not so fast. Why did you send Gladys to the Perfeddwlad?”
It was a risky question—he wasn’t even positive Gladys was at the prince’s court—but it had the strangest affect on Teleri. It was plain she was completely taken by surprise; her eyes widened and her mouth dropped slightly; for a moment she sto
od stiff and motionless as a statue, and then she lifted her chin.
“So my uncle will know how you treat me!” she said angrily. Her eyes glistened. “That you sleep with whores and get children on them and humiliate me in my own house!”
So it was true…He stared at her. “I’m a man, Teleri! I have to sleep with someone! And you made it very clear that you didn’t want to be that someone! You’ve no one but yourself to blame!”
“Are you saying your adultery is my fault?” She wiped her eyes and gave him an incredulous look. “That’s ridiculous—and I can promise you my uncle won’t see it that way!”
“Do you think I care for Dafydd’s opinion?”
“You’d better pray he doesn’t kill her, my lord,” she retorted, “for the insult she’s done me!”
The words hit him like a blow to the stomach. Without thinking, he leaped towards her, shouting incoherently, his arms stretched out and ready to seize her. Teleri screamed and gripped the back of the great chair as if holding on for dear life.
The door to the chamber burst open. Richard Delamere took one look at Longsword and dived after him, somehow managing to grab him around the waist and check his forward impetus. Two of Teleri’s women stood anxiously in the doorway, wringing their hands and wailing.
Delamere was yelling. “William! Will! Stop!”
“Let me go, Richard!” Longsword shouted, struggling mightily to escape his friend’s grasp. “You have no idea what she’s done!”
“He’s mad, Sir Richard! He wants to murder me!” Teleri shrieked.
“I swear before God, Teleri, if any harm’s come to my son, you’ll pay for it!”
Teleri’s women wailed on. The noise, Longsword’s powerful strength and the fact that he’d drunk too much the night before all started Delamere’s head pounding at twice its earlier rate. He was losing the battle to contain Longsword and his stomach didn’t feel right, either. So he did the only thing he could think of under the circumstances: he told Teleri to flee while she had the chance, and she did, her women falling in on either side of her as she reached the doorway to spirit her away.
Finally Delamere released Longsword. They both breathed heavily from the exertion and Longsword was still ranting. As far as Delamere could make out, Prince Dafydd was holding Gladys at the point of a sword and all of Longsword’s army had to be dispatched immediately to effect her rescue.
If she wasn’t already dead, which she probably was.
“You’re going hunting with the earl,” Delamere told him. “We’ll send someone else to the Perfeddwlad. Will!” He grabbed Longsword’s shoulders when the other began to protest. “You’d look like a fool chasing after the girl,” he said in a low, strong voice. “The prince will wonder why you don’t have the same regard for his niece. There could be trouble…”
“There already is trouble, Richard!”
“Prince Dafydd isn’t the sort to go around slaughtering young, pregnant women, Will! Lady Teleri just wanted to provoke you and once again she succeeded admirably. She knows exactly how to get to you, do you know that?”
“One day she’ll push too far…” Longsword said darkly. He took a deep breath and exhaled noisily. “Very well,” he said, his voice sounding calmer. “Send Alan d’Arques to the prince.”
“Lene is the better choice. He’s actually learned a few words of Welsh. Besides, Chester’s captain specifically requested that Alan accompany us on the hunt. He said they’re acquaintances from years ago. Remember? Alan was Robert Bolsover’s squire and Chester married Bolsover’s sister.”
Longsword didn’t remember, nor did he care. His intention was to separate Alan d’Arques from the latter’s too frequent association with Gwalaes. “Send them both, it doesn’t matter. Thwarting Chester is an added pleasure.”
But Alan d’Arques was nowhere to be found. The stablemaster reported that the knight had saddled his horse just before dawn and hadn’t mentioned the time of his return. Longsword was furious but there wasn’t anything he could do other than complain, which he did to Delamere’s increasing annoyance for the remainder of the morning. The report angered Hugh as well until he learned from Haworth that wherever d’Arques had gone, he’d traveled alone because the countess was still at Rhuddlan. But Hugh was no fool, and having finally found his wife, he wasn’t about to lose her again. What if it was planned that d’Arques should snatch her away the moment the hunting party had departed?
Haworth was torn between his desire to remain behind to make certain that didn’t happen and his conviction that he must attend Hugh on the hunt or some ill would befall him. In the end he detailed two soldiers to watch over Eleanor’s movements. The earl could always get another wife but Haworth could never have another Hugh.
Eleanor herself appeared in the ward as they prepared to leave.
It was an unfavorable morning for outdoor pursuits. A steady wind blew in from the sea to the north, piling massive dark clouds in the sky above the fortress. That a storm was coming was obvious; Delamere darted frequent glances overhead and hoped it would hold off until afternoon. He’d tried to persuade Longsword to cancel the hunt without success. His friend was damned if he was going to sit around and entertain Chester all day and he didn’t mind getting wet. Delamere suspected that Longsword was convinced if he showed the earl an arduous and uncomfortable few days at Rhuddlan, the man would never return. Delamere, his throbbing head and roiling stomach, would just have to deal with it.
Longsword was waiting for his horse to be brought up when he saw Gwalaes standing at the entrance of the little alleyway which led to the maze of outbuildings behind the keep. She stood straight and tall. The wind blew her gown against her body, reminding him of the form he’d caressed the night before. She was staring at him.
Without thinking, he went over to her, suddenly feeling awkward and not knowing what to say. She dropped into a respectful curtsy and he was embarrassed. It wasn’t right somehow that she should bow to him. “Good morning,” he said.
“Good morning, my lord,” she answered. “You are well?”
“I’ve never felt better,” he said fervently. He glanced back and saw Delamere watching him with a frown. “Why did you leave?”
She colored and looked away. “I—I thought it best, my lord.”
He didn’t understand what she meant, but didn’t pursue it. “Will you come this evening?” he asked instead. Then, thinking he sounded too eager, added, “I would like to talk to you, nothing more. Will you?”
He saw her hesitate, he saw her eyes focus on a point beyond his shoulder, he saw her expression suddenly clear…She looked directly at him—even smiled slightly—and answered, “Yes, my lord.”
The sound of thudding hooves reminded him of the hunt; the saddled horses were arriving. He bade Gwalaes farewell and turned back towards the ward to find the earl of Chester’s narrowed stare piercing through him.
The party which ventured out into the swirling weather in the forest behind Rhuddlan was largely silent and brooding, following the lead of its two primary members. Longsword could not erase the image of Chester’s burning eyes from his mind; he’d known immediately that Gwalaes hadn’t exaggerated when she’d said she feared the earl and wanted protection from him: there was something between the two of them, and he wondered what it was.
As for Hugh—never before had he felt such a rage. Eleanor hadn’t lied; she and Longsword were lovers. He’d seen it quite plainly when she had looked at him over the Bastard’s shoulder with a level expression. It wasn’t enough, was it, that the king had confiscated his favorite castle but now the king’s son had taken his wife!
After midday, the dour party halted for a rough meal and, leaving Haworth to hobble his horse, Hugh moved casually to Longsword’s side. The young knight he’d admired last night, de Vire, was gutting one of the deer they’d taken, tossing the offal to the panting dogs which had accompanied them. Longsword was watching the grisly proceedings with uncharacteristic studiousness; a blatant atte
mpt, Hugh thought angrily, to avoid speaking with him.
He wrinkled his nose against the rising stench and made some inane comment on the morning’s activities to which Longsword responded briefly and monosyllabically. “I hope this exercise isn’t too much of a strain on you,” Hugh added.
Longsword thought he was being slighted. “What do you mean?” he demanded.
“At the prince’s court I’d heard you’d been injured—almost fatally,” Hugh said.
“I’m perfectly fine,” the other man retorted. He didn’t like having his weaknesses laid bare, particularly before his enemies. “I’ve been riding now for weeks. I hardly feel it.”
“One of your men told Roger you caught an arrow in a bad spot…”
“Yes,” Longsword answered grudgingly. But, like most people, he found it difficult to keep from bragging about his wounds, even to a man he despised as much as he did the earl. “A chance shot from the trees. It actually took me here,” he said, indicating the joint of his neck and shoulder. “It was seen to almost immediately but one thing after another happened and fever set in. That’s what nearly killed me, not a Welsh arrow.”
“You were lucky, then. Fevers are tricky things to cure. You must be indebted to the one who saved your life…”
Longsword gave him a sharp look. “I am. She’s under my care and protection.”
“Yes, Roger was told it was a woman who healed you. Rather unusual, isn’t it? The funny thing is, the woman was pointed out to me and she looks very much like someone I once knew. Do you think that’s possible?”
“I doubt it, my lord. Gwalaes is a simple Welsh woman, quite unlike the fine ladies with whom you’re acquainted.”
“You must know that at Chester there are many Welsh working in one capacity or another,” Hugh said pleasantly. “And a woman so tall makes an impression. How long has she been with you?”
Longsword didn’t want to answer any other questions. He no longer believed Chester’s interest in Gwalaes had anything to do with Alan d’Arques but until he knew the true reason behind it, he thought it wise to keep his mouth shut.
He gained a reprieve when Richard Delamere came up to them with a worried face. “I think we ought to turn back, my lords,” he suggested. “The sky looks heavy and the wind has picked up again.” Involuntarily, they all glanced upward. “If we go now, we might be able to outrun the coming storm,” he added. “It looks to be a wild one.”
Indeed, it was the wildest storm in living memory. Strong gusts tore down heavy tree branches, sheeting rain flattened the grassy fields and made mud of the cultivated ones, the wind and rain together disoriented sheep and cattle just settling into their summer pastures, scattering them far and wide and the Clwyd overflowed its banks, carrying off more than one coracle.
The inhabitants of Rhuddlan huddled inside their tenuous dwellings and held their breath every time they heard the roar of the wind and felt the tremblings of their walls. Those in the keep were more relaxed, secure behind stone; the atmosphere was almost carnival-like as they drank, swapped stories and burst into impromtu song…there was even a mock battle being fought in one corner and everyone had to shout to be heard over the persistent, ringing steel.
Longsword’s self-control was hanging by a thread by the time the hunting party galloped into the ward, just before the storm broke, a victim of the earl’s continuing inquisition. Chester had not given up his questioning even at a gallop, and his stallion was more than equal to the punishing pace set by Longsword. Try as he might, Longsword hadn’t been able to shake the man and had finally shortened his reins and allowed the rest of the group to catch up with him just to be able to put several horses and riders in between them. “He’s obsessed with Gwalaes,” he told Delamere as they brought their mounts to the stables. “And his damned captain—all day I could feel his distrustful eyes on me. Me! As if he didn’t trust me not to murder a guest of my home. I don’t know which one of them is worse!”
“Why would he care so much about Gwalaes?” Delamere said curiously.
“Who the hell knows?”
They stopped in the barracks so Longsword could remove his hauberk. He leaned forward as Delamere pulled at the sleeves and muttered something indistinct as the heavy mail closed over his head.
“What did you say?”
Longsword rolled his shoulders, feeling pounds lighter. “I said it’s as if he knows her.”
Just then Alan d’Arques walked in. After having to endure Chester’s never-ending questioning about Gwalaes, the sight of her lover, d’Arques, was particularly offensive to Longsword and he approached the younger man angrily.
“Where were you this morning?”
“I’m sorry, my lord, I—”
“I had a job for you; you were told about it last night!”
“I know, my lord; I thought I would be back in time, but my horse went lame and …”
Longsword stepped close to d’Arques. “I don’t want to hear stories!”
“I’m sorry, my lord, I—”
“I want men who will obey my instructions, do you understand? If you don’t think you can do that then perhaps you should approach the earl of Chester and ask if he will take you on!”
Alan d’Arques looked stricken. “Please, my lord—”
Delamere put a hand on Longsword’s arm and pulled him back. “Will, come into the hall…”
Longsword shook him off. “I’m not through here!”
In a low voice Delamere said, “I think I’ve figured out why Chester’s so interested in Gwalaes; it explains why she speaks Norman French so well.”
Longsword looked at him suspiciously. “Why?”
“You said it’s as if he knows her. Maybe he does. Maybe she’s a runaway villein from Chester. A piece of the earl’s property and he’s not at all pleased to see her here. Perhaps he thinks you know—”
“How would I know something like that!”
“What if he wants her back?”
To Delamere’s surprise, the other man’s face turned purple. Delamere was well aware of Longsword’s infatuation with the healer but he had obviously underestimated its depth.
“He can’t have her,” Longsword snapped. He spun around and left the barracks. Delamere exchanged a glance with d’Arques and followed.
The rain had started spattering down in fat, hard drops. Longsword was halfway across the bailey and Delamere had to jog to catch up with him.
“Will…” Delamere started cautiously. “Maybe it’s time Gwalaes went back to the abbey.”
Longsword spun around. “Why?” he demanded.
“Three reasons. First, there’s no longer any danger from Rhirid. Second, her presence here is wreaking havoc in your household—”
“I don’t give a damn about Teleri and as long as my son is safe I don’t care if Gladys stays at the Perfeddwlad forever!” Longsword interrupted. He glared at Delamere. “The earl can bleat all he wants but he won’t take Gwalaes away from me and we don’t even know where Rhirid is, let alone know if he’s no longer dangerous! It’s idiotic to speak of sending Gwalaes away! She saved my life! I owe her, Richard!”
“Very well.” Delamere took a deep breath. “There’s the third reason. Last week she asked me to persuade you to release her. She told me she wanted to return to the abbey.”
For a long moment Longsword just stared at Delamere while the rain beat on their heads and ran down the sides of their faces. Then he said calmly, “That was last week.”
“Will, you’re being—”
Longsword ignored him, and turned back towards the keep.
Delamere sat in a corner of the hall, nursing a cup of wine and fuming. Longsword would not listen to reason. Teleri’s accusation that he was besotted with the Welsh healer had been dead-on. Delamere couldn’t understand it—he would never let a woman influence him the way Longsword was doing. Of course, it wasn’t Longsword’s fault; after all, what did he know of women? This notion that he owed her something because she
had saved his life was ridiculous. Certainly it didn’t mean he had to make peace with the very people who had tried to kill him or cross one of the most powerful men in England, whom even the king hadn’t dared to strip of his lands or titles.
He swirled the wine in the cup absently, looking out onto the pandemonium in the hall but not really seeing it. He was worried about the situation with Longsword. They had known each other for twenty years and had never fallen out over anything. He did not want to fall out over an inconsequential Welsh healer—
“Excuse me, Sir Richard…”
A woman’s voice interrupted his thoughts. He looked up with a polite smile. The voice belonged to one of Teleri’s servants, the one who was invariably dispatched to convey orders from her mistress to the rest of the household. Although she rarely left her rooms, Teleri had gradually taken control of the running of Rhuddlan from an indifferent Longsword and had proven herself an efficient chatelaine.
“What is it?”
“Lady Teleri, Sir Richard. She asks if you would pay her the honor of a visit to her chamber.”
Delamere raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Of course,” he answered. “Tell her I’ll be right up.”
The woman nodded briefly and left him. Delamere tipped the cup towards his mouth and swallowed the last of the wine thoughtfully. He couldn’t think of any reason Teleri would want to see him but suspected it had to do with Longsword. He just hoped he wouldn’t come away from the interview with a greater headache than Longsword had already given him.
The door to Teleri’s antechamber was open and he heard the sound of what was surely a hundred women all talking at one time. He smiled wryly to himself; it was precisely the same sound he heard whenever he walked in on Olwen and her servants in his own house. He paused at the doorway. He could see Teleri sitting on a cushioned bench pulled up close to the crackling fire in the low, wide brazier, speaking to a boy he recognized as the stablemaster’s son. Beyond her, on another bench, sat three of her women, chattering away. Apart from the noise, which was only slightly less offensive to the ear than the tumult in the hall below, it was a heartening scene. The sole window in the room had been shuttered against the rain but there was more than enough light from half a dozen thick beeswax candles judiciously distributed about the whitewashed walls. A pleasant scent of lavender filled the air and all the women were neatly dressed in finely woven cloth. It struck Delamere that his friend was a fool to ignore this enticing haven of domestic calm in favor of the rough charms of a woman who didn’t even want him.
Teleri spied him just as he raised his hand to knock on the door frame. She dismissed the boy, who scooted past Delamere, and rose from her seat, at the same time beckoning to the knight to enter.
The sight of Richard Delamere never failed to start her heart beating just a bit faster. It was the collective female opinion that he was the handsomest man at Rhuddlan, although there was considerable argument whether it was his green eyes, curling hair or sensuous lips which made him so. For a moment, Teleri was flustered and at a loss for words. She quite envied Olwen.
“I hope I’m not inconveniencing you, Sir Richard,” she said.
“Not at all, my lady,” he replied, bowing respectfully and coming up with an indulgent grin. “A summons from a beautiful woman is never an inconvenience,” he added, flustering her further. She was normally self-assured and opinionated and a lifetime spent in her uncle’s house meant she was comfortable dealing with any man but Richard Delamere made her nervous not merely because he was so good-looking but because he was invariably deferential, despite the fact that he was her husband’s closest friend and advisor.
To cover her nervousness, she commanded her women to bring Delamere to a bench and to serve him sweet mead, and during the ensuing activity she resumed her seat and collected her thoughts.
Getting rid of Gladys had not satisfied her craving for revenge upon Longsword because he was still humiliating her with his affair with the healer. She knew that the pair had spent most of the previous night together and had barely been able to contain her fury on the subject when Longsword had forced her into the council chamber and accused her of engineering Gladys’ departure. His audacity was staggering. She desired nothing more than to see him suffer as much as he was making her suffer.
She had information she thought would do it, too. She didn’t quite understand all of it—probably there were pieces missing—but what she did know was certain to be of interest to her husband. And his new whore. But Longsword wouldn’t listen to her; she needed Delamere’s assistance. She never doubted he would give it to her, either. He hated Gwalaes almost as much as she did.
“Mead has an unusual taste,” he said, startling her from her thoughts. He raised his cup to her. “But, like Wales herself, a man can learn to like it very much.”
“I remember that Olwen’s was always superior,” Teleri said politely. “She used to spice it a particular way.”
“Is that so? Unfortunately, I’ve never sampled Olwen’s recipe. We only have honey in the house if I remember to bring it from Rhuddlan and certainly not enough to use to brew mead.”
“She doesn’t keep bees?” Teleri asked, surprised. A good supply of honey was a mark of a well-stocked manor. “My uncle’s bees are known across Gwynedd for the quality of their produce. I insisted on bringing several hives with me when I came here. Tell me next time you go to Olwen and I’ll see you have more honey than she can use.”
“That’s kind of you, my lady…”
“Not at all.” She added lightly, “If I had known Alan d’Arques was traveling there today, I could have given him half a dozen pots to carry along.”
A sudden gust of wind slammed into the wooden shutter, making it rattle. No one spoke. The rain outside slashed against the wall and the window. The fire in the brazier crackled. The other women in the room, having attended to Delamere, were silent and watchful. Teleri watched the flickering lights of the candles.
Delamere said, “Alan d’Arques went to my manor this morning?”
“Yes, Sir Richard.”
The knight’s voice became sharp. “How do you know? Did he tell you? He had no answer for Lord William not long ago when he was questioned.”
“No, Sir Richard, he didn’t tell me,” she answered. “Someone overheard him speaking and reported the conversation to me.”
“Why?”
She was surprised at the question. “I spend most of my time in these chambers, Sir Richard, but I know what goes on in this fortress just as well as you or Lord William…possibly even better,” she said. “We are all Welsh here, you see. People tell me everything. I know, for instance, Alan d’Arques went to your manor…and I know with whom.”
“Who told you this, Lady Teleri?” he demanded.
“That boy who was here. Cynan. He was roused from sleep and ordered to ready Sir Alan’s horse just before dawn. Sir Alan then told him to find Gwalaes, Gwalaes bade him take Bronwen out of Rhuddlan through the postern and when Sir Alan arrived on his horse, he gave up Bronwen and received a plain dagger in thanks.” She smiled. “Or payment.”
“And Alan and Bronwen went to my house?”
“Yes, Sir Richard.”
Delamere fell silent. Teleri experienced a moment of panic; she hoped the story was indeed accurate. The boy from the stables was quick but few people who weren’t born to it could understand a foreign tongue when spoken rapidly.
A noise caught her attention and she looked over at Delamere. He was chuckling. “I think you’re making too much of a mystery out of this, Lady Teleri. Bronwen likes our horses. She begged me for a ride only the other day. Obviously Gwalaes talked Alan into doing it and he was too embarrassed to admit to it later.”
“But they went to your manor—”
“No, no,” he shook his head. “The boy must have misunderstood. A quick ride, perhaps in the direction of the manor, that’s all. Why would Alan take a child that far with the sky as it was this morning? A blind man could
have felt the storm coming.”
His smile was benevolent and, to her mind, pitying. She was angry. Obviously he believed that she was a solitary and lonely woman, prey to gossip and rumors. He did not look so handsome anymore.
“I would agree with you, of course, Sir Richard,” she said politely, “but for one question. Why didn’t Bronwen return with Sir Alan? Because according to Cynan, Sir Alan came back alone. Gwalaes met him at the stables and asked him if all had gone well.”
The smile disappeared from his face. His green eyes bored into hers; she stared back unblinkingly.
“Why are you telling me this, Lady Teleri?” he asked softly.
“Doesn’t this little escapade prove to you something’s not quite right with Gwalaes? First she manipulated Lord William and now one of his knights. She claims to be Welsh but has a horrendous accent, which you probably didn’t notice, yet she speaks impeccable French. Why am I telling you this, Sir Richard? Because I want to get rid of her. I think she’s a threat to Rhuddlan, not only to me but to the status quo. What would happen to Lord William, Sir Richard, if his men deserted him?”
“That isn’t going to happen—”
“But if it did? Would the king send him elsewhere? You see, Sir Richard, I don’t want to go elsewhere. It’s bad enough to be married to Lord William in Wales but I couldn’t bear to be married to him in some foreign place. Do you understand? I don’t want to leave Gwynedd.”
“You needn’t worry over that, my lady,” Delamere said. His voice was subdued. “The men aren’t about to desert Lord William. I think we all believe that this—this regard he has for Gwalaes will pass soon enough and he will send her back to the abbey.”
This time it was Teleri who chuckled. “Don’t fool yourself, Sir Richard. My husband is in love with Gwalaes and he won’t ever send her back. I have every reason to worry. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten that my uncle is prince of Gwynedd. He’s married to a Norman and is a great friend of King Henry. I know all about men deserting their leader, Sir Richard. I know that the biggest threat to Gwynedd isn’t King Henry’s might but my uncle’s brothers, who hate the peace he’s made with England. Do you see what I mean? His own people. And one more thing, Sir Richard,” she continued when he made no answer. “Sir Alan called Gwalaes by another name. A Norman name: Eleanor. Lady Eleanor, he called her. Cynan remembered it specifically because it is the same title you Normans give to me.”
It took Richard Delamere almost an hour to complete the puzzle. The missing piece, the piece Teleri had suspected was missing but didn’t know, was the earl of Chester’s acute interest in Gwalaes. As soon as Delamere added that to what Teleri had told him, he knew Gwalaes didn’t speak Norman French so fluently because she was a Welshwoman who had once been a servant at Chester Castle but because she was a Norman.
It was bizarre, to say the least. He couldn’t even begin to work out the hows and whys but, like most of his sex, he wasn’t really interested in them. He only wondered how the situation would affect Longsword because Longsword, of course, would have to be told. Oddly enough, having begrudged his friend the relationship from the start, he now felt a rush of sympathy for him. Longsword, he knew, would see it as just another unfair defeat for a man who had done nothing to deserve it.
Suppertime came and Longsword was in such a good mood that Delamere didn’t have the heart to broach the subject. Obviously Gwalaes—or should he call her Eleanor, now?—had visited Longsword’s chamber after he had left it. He remembered how his friend’s eyes had sought her out as soon as they’d entered the keep…
“I’d love to tell her she’s wasting her time,” Longsword said.
Delamere came back to the world of noisy conversation, noisier laughter and servants bearing trays threading their way in and out of the tables. “Who?”
“Teleri! Look at her talking the ear off Chester! I would pity the man if I didn’t despise him so much.” Longsword watched his wife and the earl while chewing his meat. He fished a bit of gristle out of his mouth and set it down on the edge of his trencher. “Perhaps she’s begging him to steal her away. She’s the reason Haworth doesn’t take meals with us, you know. Jealousy. He can’t bear the sight of other people speaking so intimately with his master.”
Delamere didn’t reply. He, too, watched Teleri and Chester. As far as he could see, the former was doing all the talking and the latter all the listening. Was she telling the earl the same story she’d told him? For a moment he was frantic—he wanted Longsword to know it before Chester—but he quickly relaxed. There was no reason Teleri would say anything about Gwalaes to the earl; she had no idea of the significance of the name Eleanor.
He wondered if he ought to speak to Chester rather than to Longsword. If he knew what the earl was planning, he’d be better able to deal with his friend when the axe fell.
“Whatever became of Chester’s wife?” he asked Longsword abruptly.
Longsword shrugged and mumbled incoherently through a mouthful of his supper.
“Robert Bolsover’s sister, wasn’t she?” Delamere said. “I believe her name was Eleanor. Do you remember that?”
Longsword swallowed. “No. You said this morning she was Bolsover’s sister but you didn’t say her name.” He lifted his wine cup and drank. Immediately the large bosomed, red-haired woman was there to refill the cup as it touched the table and to give him a lingering glance. Longsword grinned. “When it rains, it pours,” he murmured.
“Don’t be foolish, Will!” Delamere admonished sharply. “Haven’t your romances caused enough trouble?”
“I was only having a joke with you, Richard,” Longsword protested unconvincingly. “Of course I was referring to the weather.”