* * *
When she woke, Meriel blinked in confusion, wondering why she was alone in the bed instead of sharing it with her maid, and why the hangings were rich blue, not faded gray. She sat up, and so many sore muscles complained that memories of the previous day flooded back: her hawking, the accident in the forest, releasing Chanson, and the stern earl who brought her to Warfield Castle.
The sun was just coming up and the household would be stirring soon. She pushed aside the wool blanket, wondering who had covered her during her exhausted slumber. Gingerly she set her feet to the floor, and was grateful to find that her injured ankle gave no more than a twinge or two. Besides the massive bed and the chest at its foot, the room contained a small table and two stools, clothing pegs, a plain screen concealing a wooden bathtub, and a finely carved crucifix hanging on the wall. The rushes on the floor were clean and sweetly scented.
Most surprising was a fireplace built into the wall. Meriel examined it with interest. She had heard that the French had such luxuries, but had never seen such a thing in England. Lord Adrian clearly believed that his castle should have all modern comforts as well as impregnable fortifications.
The two narrow slit windows overlooked water. Apparently this wall of the castle was built on a sheer cliff rising directly above the wide river. It might be the Severn, but she wasn't sure. This country was as foreign to her as the wilds of Ireland, though it lay only half a day's ride from her home.
As she absently watched a brilliant blue kingfisher hover above the water, a key turned in the door and she looked up to see a maid enter with a tankard of ale and hunk of fresh bread. "Good morning," the girl said as she set the tankard and bread on the table. "My name is Margery. Are you feeling better? I saw you arrive yesterday and you looked poorly."
"I'm very well, thank you. All I needed was rest. But tell me, are suspected lawbreakers always treated so hospitably?" Meriel gestured around the chamber.
"Nay," Margery said cheerfully, "usually you would have been put in the dungeon, but just now it holds a couple of drunken louts and likely Lord Adrian thought a female would not be safe with them."
"Thoughtful of him," Meriel said rather dryly, thinking it would have been more thoughtful yet if he had let her go.
Deaf to nuance, the maid agreed, "Aye, he's a good lord."
"Who is the lady of the castle?"
"There is none," Margery said regretfully. "They say Lord Adrian is on the verge of contracting himself to a great heiress, Isabel of Rouen. I'll be glad when they are wed. 'Twill be good to have a lady here."
As she had asked Ralph the day before, Meriel now asked the maid, "I was brought here as a suspected poacher, though I am innocent. How do you think the earl will judge me?"
"Since it was naught but hares, he'll just scold you and send you home. Lord Adrian went out this morning, but doubtless this afternoon he will see you. He's not one to keep folk idle." Margery cocked her head to one side curiously. "Mistress Adela, the housekeeper, said I'm to ask if you need anything."
That was definitely not the sort of question most prisoners were asked! Uneasy, Meriel started to refuse, then stopped, deciding to take advantage of Margery's offer. "Would it be possible to have a bath?"
"A bath?" Margery was startled, but after a moment she shrugged. "I don't see why not. I'll bring up hot water and towels." She eyed the visitor. "And a comb."
Margery was as good as her word, and half an hour later Meriel was happily immersed in steaming water scented with tangy herbs. The warmth soothed her bruised muscles and she leaned blissfully against the wooden staves until the water cooled.
She washed her hair, but reluctantly decided not to do the same to her clothing since the woolen garments would take hours to dry. Still, shaking and brushing her overtunic with her hands removed the worst of the caked mud and the garment's dun color concealed most of the rest. By the time she was clean and dressed, her hair combed straight and drying around her shoulders, she felt quite respectable.
After eating the midday meal that Margery brought, Meriel knelt before the crucifix to pray. Usually her prayers were praise and thanks for her many blessings, but today she also prayed that the people of Avonleigh would not be too distressed by her absence. For herself, Meriel asked for strength and wisdom to face what might come.
She always imagined the Father, Son, Holy Spirit, and Blessed Mother as points of light in the center of her heart. As she prayed, the light expanded, flowing through her body and soul, smoothing away knots of guilt and sorrow and fear until her whole being glowed with harmony.
When Meriel was done, she felt such peace that it was impossible to believe that any dreadful punishment would be inflicted on her. She drew a stool beneath one of the windows and sat with the breeze gently stirring her long damp hair as she considered what was likely to happen.
Meriel herself gave justice at Avonleigh when Alan was away, and from her experience she guessed that the earl would question her informally. She would say that she was Welsh, on her way to visit relatives in Lincoln, and that she had caught her game in the open wasteland, not the royal forest.
Apart from concealing that she was Norman and lived at Avonleigh, she would speak the truth rather than risk becoming trapped in lies. Both Ralph and Margery had assured her that Lord Adrian was a just man, so when he saw that no crime had been committed he would release her.
Looking at the events of the previous day, Meriel reached the rueful conclusion that if she had not loosed Chanson in such a provocative manner, she would not have been taken into custody. It was hard now to recall exactly why she had been so fearful the day before. Doubtless her accident had scrambled her wits.
In spite of the civility with which she had been treated, Meriel still thought it wise not to draw the earl's attention to Avonleigh, for while he might be just, he was the empress's man. The most important thing was to avoid speaking Norman.
She was amazed that the earl spoke English flawlessly and Welsh very well; most of the great lords spoke only Norman, and perhaps a few simple English commands. It was different for Meriel, who had learned Welsh from her mother and who had grown up on a manor so small that most of her playmates had been English. For the same reason Alan was adept at languages, and his ability was one of the reasons Lord Theobald valued him.
Peaceful in mind, she sat quietly with her hands folded in her lap, her mind drifting in much the same way as the clouds outside the window. She was half-dozing when a serving man entered and said, "The earl will see you now."
Aroused to full alertness, Meriel stood, instinctively raising a hand to her head. "It will take me but a moment to braid my hair."
"Nay, come along now," the man said briskly. "The earl does not like to be kept waiting."
It served her right for daydreaming, Meriel thought with amusement. Now she would receive justice with her hair loose about her like a child. Doubtless at the sight the earl would not be able to get rid of her soon enough.
The servant led her to the door at the far end of the hall, ushered her inside, and left. Meriel stood just inside the door and examined the large room with interest.
Rather than a solar for the whole household, this appeared to be the earl's private chamber and it was a place such as she had never seen before. The bed and hangings were not unusually lavish, no more so than Lord Theobald's, but beneath her feet was a brightly colored carpet such as Alan had once seen in Normandy and described to her. A carved wooden case full of books stood against one wall, its shelves holding as many volumes as Lambourn Priory had possessed. And in the far wall...
Meriel was so astonished that she forgot etiquette, forgot that she was here to be questioned, forgot everything but the huge window opposite the door. It was not open to the air, but filled with glass like the brightly colored windows of a great church. Here, however, only a band across the top was colored. The rest of the pieces were clear and let in so much light that the chamber was as bright as the world outside.
>
Mesmerized by the sight, she crossed the room and knelt on the wide cushioned seat set in the wall beneath the window. Rectangles of glass were held together by thin lead strips, and she touched a joint curiously. Most of the glass was somewhat wavery, distorting the outside world, but the piece directly in front of Meriel was almost as clear as air. Like the guest chamber, this room also overlooked the gray-green river, and in the distance she saw the rugged profile of the Welsh mountains.
"The view is very striking, is it not?"
The soft voice was that of Lord Adrian and the sound brought Meriel back to her circumstances with a jolt. Whirling, she saw that he was seated behind a wide carved desk, a faint smile lightening his stern features. The earl had the inward-looking face of a scholar or cleric, yet even in relaxation he had the indefinable air of readiness that marked a knight, plus a quality of cool control that was very much his own.
Coloring from embarrassment, she dropped into a deep curtsy. "Forgive me for my distraction, my lord. I have never seen such a window, nor even heard of one."
"There may be no other like it anywhere." The earl set down the piece of parchment he had been perusing. "It occurred to me that what could be done in a church could be done in a castle, but with clear glass, so that more light might come through."
All that glass must have been incredibly expensive. Most noblemen preferred the more obvious extravagance of gold and jewels, but Meriel was learning that Earl Adrian was not obvious. She glanced at the window again, fascinated by the flood of sunshine and the stunning view. "During a siege, might not arrows and stones be hurled through?"
"Shutters can be hung across the glass. The width of the river is also a defense."
Meriel turned her gaze from the window to the earl and was again struck by how simply Lord Adrian dressed for a man of his rank. His dark blue tunic was of fine fabric but very plain, with only a narrow border of silver embroidery. Perhaps he did not believe in ostentation, or perhaps he knew that he did not need gold or jewels to compel attention.
She crossed the room and stood before the desk, casting her eyes down modestly. "You wished to speak to me?"
The amiability he had shown when discussing the window fell away and he became the judge seeking information. "Do you have any name other than Meriel?"
She almost answered "de Vere" before remembering that the answer would brand her as Norman. Instead she said, "In Wales we do not use family names, my lord."
"Where is your home?"
Meriel hesitated. Her mother's family lived near Kidwelly in the Norman-controlled south of Wales and she knew that area well, but it would be no kindness to direct unwelcome attention toward her kin. As her silence stretched, the earl said, "You do not know where you live?"
" 'Tis a small place, my lord, you would not know the name. It lies in the north of Wales, in the country of Gwynedd," she said hastily, plucking names at random. "Perhaps you have heard of Dolwyddelan, which is not far from my father's farm."
"How did you come to fall and injure yourself yesterday?"
"My horse was frightened by a boar and threw me."
"You were riding?" Lord Adrian said, surprised.
What a fool she was, for not thinking that a peasant girl was most unlikely to be mounted. "It was a sorry beast, my lord, too old to till the soil," Meriel improvised. "My father let me have it for my journey."
"Yet it was healthy enough to bring you from Wales to England," he murmured. "Where were you going?"
"To Lincoln." That didn't seem like enough answer. Why would she be going to Lincoln? After a moment's quick thought, Meriel added, "My sister will be lying in soon and wanted me to be with her."
"You were carrying a falcon all the way from Gwynedd to Lincoln?" he asked incredulously.
"I... I brought her to hunt game on the way." When the earl's golden brows rose in patent disbelief, she continued, "And because I thought this journey a good opportunity to further her training." Even to Meriel, her explanation sounded nonsensical.
"You were traveling alone?"
"Yes, my lord."
"What kind of father would let a pretty young girl travel across the width of Britain alone?"
"In truth, my father recently died and my brother's wife did not want me to stay on the farm," she said, drawing on her own history. "I took the horse, knowing that my sister would let me stay with her in Lincoln."
"No doubt she will need help with the new baby," he remarked, "What is your sister's name?"
Spinning a believable tale was far harder than Meriel had thought it would be. She had never been interrogated like this, and she found that under the earl's skeptical gaze her wits worked slowly. There was a dangerous, too-long pause before she thought of a suitably Welsh name. "Bronwen, my lord."
"You have no other kin in Wales? You were so desperate that you risked your life on a journey through country torn by civil war and robbers?" The satirical glint in the earl's eyes did not augur well for his belief in her story.
"I did not realize how great the distance was, my lord," Meriel admitted, then could not resist adding, "However, I met with no danger until I encountered you."
His mouth quirked up with fleeting amusement, conceding her the point before he turned his queries in another direction. "Did your sister marry a Norman knight?"
"Of course not, my lord, he is but an English cobbler," she said, widening her eyes as if astonished by the question. "Though in a good way of business."
"Granted that in Wales you have the right to possess a falcon-gentle, what did you mean to do with the bird in England?" he asked. "Possession of a falcon is forbidden in the households of cobblers, even those 'in a good way of business.'"
"I did not know ownership was illegal in England until I was told yesterday." Meriel did her best to look apologetic. "You guessed correctly, my lord, I did not have my falcon for hunting, but because I did not wish to give her up. If I had left her with my brother Daffyd, I would never have seen her again."
The earl leaned back in his chair, elbows on the wooden arms and fingers laced together across his flat midriff. "Where did you catch the hares and fowl?"
"In the wasteland east of the royal forest, my lord." She spoke more confidently, sure of her ground. "A serf told me that no man owns it and that anyone might take humble game there."
"You say that you were traveling from western Wales to eastern England. Yet you claim to have caught the game east of the forest, then doubled back miles to the west?"
Once more using the truth, Meriel explained, "My falcon raked off into the forest after a magpie, so I went in pursuit. That is when the boar frightened my horse and I was thrown. You and your men found me not long after. I was hoping to find my horse along the path as I walked east."
"Being a sorry beast, it would not have run far," he agreed. His expression hardened. "There may be some truth in what you are telling me. Then again, your story may be lies from beginning to end. Can you give me any good reason why I should not lock you in the dungeon for poaching and theft?"
"Theft!" Meriel gasped, beginning to feel fear. "But I have stolen nothing, nor have I hunted illegally!"
The golden brows rose again. "By your own admission you stole your brother's horse. It must have been a decent beast to bring you safely from Gwynedd to Shropshire, if indeed you came from there, which I doubt. Yesterday I noticed that under the dishevelment of your fall, you seemed remarkably clean and neat for a woman who claims to have been traveling for days."
Curse the man for his keen eyes, which saw too much. Grasping at straws, Meriel explained, "I was not sleeping on the ground but staying in monastery guesthouses. And I did not steal the horse!"
"No, you 'took' it, which of course is a very different matter," he said, lightly sarcastic. "What are the names of the religious houses at which you stayed?''
Meriel's mind went blank. There were few monasteries in wild northern Wales, and she could name none on the road from Gwynedd except the one tha
t was so close that the earl could easily check her story. But even a feeble answer was better than none. "Two nights ago I stayed at the Benedictine abbey in Shrewsbury. The other houses were in Wales and very small. You would not know them."
"I think I would know them better than you appear to," he said dryly. "I wonder, will anyone in Shrewsbury remember you?"
Meriel shrugged. "The abbey is a very busy place and accepts many travelers. It is quite possible that a humble person such as I made no lasting impression."
"I shall be astonished if anyone does recollect you," the earl murmured. Returning to the attack, he said, "While you can't be charged with stealing a horse which no one else saw, there is still the matter of the falcon. The most likely explanation is that you either stole it or caught one that was lost, then released it so you could not be convicted of the crime. Did you know that the penalty for finding a lost falcon and failing to return it is that the bird be allowed to eat six ounces of flesh from the culprit's breast?"
Meriel had never truly believed that the matter would go this far, and she felt the blood drain from her face, leaving her pale and so weak she could barely stand. What she felt was less fear of punishment than revulsion that the earl should be treating a minor misunderstanding as a major crime. What manner of man was he?
A man capable of anything.
Seeing Meriel's expression, the earl said, "Don't worry, I would never impose such a penalty, even if I had the falcon in hand." His gaze flickered over her. "It would be a great waste." He switched to speaking Welsh, his words slow but accurate. "I will give you another chance to tell me who you are and where you come from. Will you give me the truth?"
Speaking in the same language, she said with dignity, "Most of what I have said is true, and that which I wish to conceal does not bear on your charges. I swear by the Blessed Virgin that I am innocent of poaching and theft, and if you are an honest man, you will believe me. You have no evidence that any crime has been committed."