Magic in His Kiss (7 page)

“Do you know the whereabouts of Rhodri ap Dafydd?”

Lucy sighed. “Is it true this Welshman is a bard?”

Apparently, castle gossip spread as efficiently as ever, which Nicole hoped would work in her favor. “Aye.”

“A damn shame, then, that the earl ordered him locked up in the north guard tower. ’Twould be a fine thing to listen to a harp at supper.”

Nicole’s heart sank at the news she’d expected to hear but had hoped for better. Locked in a tower—not good.

“I need to see Rhodri. Can you take me to him?”

Lucy tied a strip of leather to the end of Nicole’s braid. “The guards are under orders to allow no one to see him but his lordship. If you can get the earl’s consent, then I can show you where the bard is being held.”

Nicole voiced her greatest fear. “Is he being treated well?”

“Cook says his platters come back to the kitchen empty.”

Which didn’t mean Rhodri ate the food sent to him. Soldiers were notorious for taunting captives. Eating Rhodri’s food might be the least of the soldiers’ abuse. A Welsh captive in Norman hands might suffer far more than most prisoners.

Nicole drank down the remains of the willow-bark tea, then stood to pluck stray hairs from her gown.

“Am I presentable enough for an audience with the earl?”

Lucy set the circlet in place. “You have the look of royalty about you, my lady. I do wish we had a gold belt to hang on your hips. A woman needs all the advantages she can muster when dealing with a man, be he field laborer or earl. Shall I inform the earl you wish to speak with him?”

“My thanks, Lucy.”

The maidservant sped out the door.

Needing to keep her hands busy for the few moments she must wait before following, Nicole put her comb back in the satchel and pulled out the dagger she truly should have sent back to Camelen years ago.

The dagger was a soldier’s unadorned weapon, solid and sharp, beautiful and deadly.

Nicole bit her bottom lip when the thought occurred to her that if she couldn’t convince the earl to release Rhodri, then Rhodri might be able to make good use of the dagger to effect his own escape. She hesitated only briefly before slipping the dagger into her boot, hoping she need not give it over.

She knew escape from Oxford Castle was possible. Everyone had heard the tale of how, in the early years of the war, Empress Maud and four of her knights had tossed a rope made of bed linens out a window and climbed down to escape King Stephen, who’d besieged the castle. Of course, that had been during winter when the river Thames, which surrounded the castle, had been frozen.

Certes, she wouldn’t needs climb down a rope of bed linens or swim the Thames. Surely the earl could be made to see reason and allow both her and Rhodri to leave.

She’d never begged favor of so high a ranking noble before but had watched Mother Abbess bargain with earls and abbots, bishops and barons, with a mix of flattery and sound reason.

Praying she would find the right words to set her and Rhodri free, Nicole scurried down the torch-lit passageway and the tightly winding stairs to the solar.

Both the earl and the castellan were seated at a heavily carved oak table, a large sheet of vellum spread out before them. Two knights—Sir Etienne, one of the earl’s men, and Sir Walter, the captain of Oxford’s household guard—stood behind their respective lords. All of the men wore somber expressions, as though they’d received ill tidings.

Had the messenger the earl awaited already come, then? Likely not, or Lucy would have said somewhat of the messenger’s arrival.

Nicole squared her shoulders and crossed the room, her boots clicking softly against the stone floor. The earl saw her first, and once he took notice, so did the others. Their bold stares made her insides squirm until she ventured close enough to recognize signs of admiration.

Her rank, proclaimed by the circlet, might account for some of their regard, but Nicole suspected the snugness of her gown, leaving no female curve hidden, earned her the greater attention.

The earl rose from his chair, smiling. “Lady Nicole, ’tis pleased I am to see you rested and in full bloom.”

Ignoring the knights for the nonce, Nicole gracefully curtsied low to the highest-ranking men in the chamber.

“Greetings, Lord de Vere, Lord de Chesney.” Rising, she smiled at the castellan of Oxford Castle, her host. “As always, your hospitality is above reproach, my lord. Pray give my compliments to your housekeeper and cook for providing excellent bed and board, particularly when they are forced to accommodate a guest without warning.”

The earl’s smile faltered, but the castellan’s widened. Apparently he understood and approved of her attempt to discomfit the earl. Had she found an ally in de Chesney? Would he aid her cause?

“You must know the servants hold you in affection, Lady Nicole, so they do not mind providing for you for as long as you may be with us.”

“’Tis my hope their service shall not be required long.” A slight shift of stance faced her square before Aubrey de Vere. “My lord, while I appreciate your kindness in the lending of Lady Julia’s garments, I must protest the necessity. Truly, my habit, though old and unfashionable for so esteemed a court, would have done me fine.”

The earl crossed his arms. “You are the first woman I have heard protest the gift of a fashionable gown, and certes, the time has come for you to put aside the habit.”

“You may be right, my lord,” she conceded, mindful of not angering the earl. Calmly presented reason would carry the day, as it had for Mother Abbess. “However, I am uneasy over leaving Bledloe Abbey without the king’s consent. ’Tis where he has commanded I reside, and I have yet to discern an urgent reason for my displacement. Though I am not averse to residing in Lord de Chesney’s care, I fear we may all suffer the king’s displeasure over my removal from the abbey.”

De Vere sank back down in his chair. “You are kindness itself to concern yourself over my good standing with the king, but I believe he will understand my unease over leaving you in the care of the nuns, unprotected. I would be remiss in my duty to our sovereign if I did not take action to assure your safety.”

“Safe from what threat, my lord?”

“Your Welsh uncle, my lady. And his bard.”

The bard whom de Vere had locked up in a guard tower. Who was denied his freedom because she’d unwisely wished time to consider her uncle’s offer of refuge in Wales, even though she’d known she couldn’t possibly accept.

“My Lord de Vere, I do not make light of your concern. However, you must consider that Rhodri, truly, is merely a messenger from my uncle Connor. Indeed, had I not asked Rhodri to play his harp for Mother Abbess, and had not Sister Claire requested he also do so at the burial, Rhodri would have come and gone the previous day without incident. I beg you not to hold him at fault for consenting to my whim.”

“Lady Nicole tells the same tale as ap Dafydd,” de Chesney said, and Nicole was so grateful for the castellan’s support she could have hugged him. “I still believe we should have left Lady Nicole to the nuns and allowed the bard to go his way.”

Apparently the earl and castellan had argued over this earlier, given the tension she now sensed between the two men who usually got on well together.

The earl shook his head. “I cannot ignore the disturbing presence of a Welshman within the walls of the abbey, no matter his intent. Faith, the king’s negotiations for Lady Nicole’s marriage are in a delicate state. She should not be allowed within ten leagues of any of her kin, most especially the Welsh.”

Not any of her kin? Not even her sisters? Sweet mercy, whom was the king planning to marry her off to that necessitated such secrecy? Nicole bit her bottom lip to halt the question de Vere had said yesterday he wasn’t at liberty to answer, determined to first gain the concessions of foremost importance—her return to the abbey and Rhodri’s release.

Before she could utter another plea for mercy, de Chesney leaned toward the earl.

“No harm was done,” he said. “Making prisoners of them both makes no sense.”

The earl sneered. “Does it not? I cannot be assured the encounter was, as you say, innocent. But even if it was, the situation has changed. I dare not allow Lady Nicole to return to a place where I can no longer feel certain she is safe. As for the bard, if I allow him his freedom, he will but return to Wales and inform Connor ap Maelgwn of the king’s intentions, who will in turn inform the prince of Powys. That man will do his utmost to cause mischief with the negotiations, and that is a risk I dare not take.”

Now de Chesney shook his head. “The Welsh have known for years that King Stephen intended Lady Nicole for marriage to a Welsh prince, or at least a high-ranking noble. What matter if they know our sovereign now makes good on that intention, so long as they do not know the identity of the groom?”

“Perhaps, but until I receive word from King Stephen to do otherwise, both the lady and bard remain in our custody.”

Vexed with the stubborn earl, Nicole pondered over what to do next. Good manners and sound reasoning hadn’t moved him, but she doubted he would be budged by tears or a fit of temper, either, ploys she hadn’t used since childhood and refused to resort to now.

With an inward sigh, Nicole conceded she had no choice but to await the king’s decision, which might not come for several days even if the messengers were swift. For herself, she could abide, being in no immediate danger. But Rhodri was locked in a tower cell, and she wanted him out and on his way back to Wales before anyone discovered that the reason for his visit hadn’t been as innocent as they were claiming.

Too, this matter of her marriage wasn’t right. The king should have, at the least, informed her brother-by-marriage, Alberic. Camelen bordered Wales, so Alberic should have some say in the matter of any proposed alliance with a Welsh noble. Neither the earl nor the castellan would be willing to allow her to send a message to her family, but if she could help Rhodri escape he might be willing to carry a message to Camelen before returning to Glenvair.

Her brother’s dagger weighing heavy in her boot, Nicole gathered her composure once more.

“My lords, since I am at your mercy in this affair, I ask a boon. I am concerned for Rhodri’s welfare, as I am sure he is concerned for mine. Might I be allowed to see him, for a few moments only, to banish our common fears?”

The men looked to each other, silently debating the wisdom of granting the request. De Chesney shrugged a shoulder, as if to say he saw no harm in granting the boon, but left the decision to the earl.

De Vere rubbed at his chin for a moment before relenting. “I shall grant the boon, but do not linger. Walter, pray escort Lady Nicole to the Welshman’s cell, and ensure she returns in short order.”

“As you say, my lord.” The captain of the castle guard waved a hand toward the door. “My lady?”

Nicole curtsied to the earl once more, hoping her delight in his concession didn’t show overmuch. “My thanks,” she said before scurrying out of the solar.

Short of stature, round of build, Sir Walter had always reminded Nicole of a bear, rather lumbering in his movements and lacking in social graces. All thought of judging him ineffective, however, had ended when she once observed him in the practice yard. As with a bear, one would not wish to come up against Sir Walter without warning or in the dark. And as captain of the guard, he expected his men to match his high standard of physical ability and proficiency with weapons.

Walter said not a word as he arrowed across the bustling bailey on this brilliant afternoon, the air warm and redolent with the odor of the earth beneath her feet and of horses and hay from the stables. Nicole clutched her skirts, hiking them up to avoid soiling the hems of either shift or gown, but not high enough to expose the hilt of the dagger.

Heads turned as they passed, and she noted the surprised looks on those few who recognized her in her new finery. Later, she might visit the gregarious blacksmith and the always amusing stable master.

Too, she must arrange another meeting with the earl. Nicole consoled herself by remembering that Mother Abbess hadn’t always won battles during the first foray into the field. Sometimes several skirmishes were necessary before gaining an opponent’s surrender. She just had to think of the most effective argument to gain the most advantage.

But for now Nicole shifted her focus to her destination, the northernmost guard tower along the high, thick curtain wall.

While still in the bailey, Nicole heard the sound of a harp and, from the unholy noise, knew the harp’s master didn’t play it. Her ire pricked, she entered the circular tower, where a rotund guard sat on a stool, his filthy, untalented fingers abusing the silver strings of Rhodri’s precious harp.

Furious that the guard dared to toy with the harp, she snatched the heavy instrument away from the stunned guard.

“A toad could play better!” she snapped. “By whose leave do you possess it? Most certes you have not permission from the harp’s owner!”

The guard’s eyes widened as he stood, his mouth agape. “Uh, my lady, uh—”

Nicole cradled the harp with one arm, holding it firmly against her hip, and pointed to the floor. “Give me the sack.”

The guard obeyed swiftly, and not until she’d covered the harp and pulled the sack’s strings securely shut did she notice neither the guard nor Walter had said a word while she completed the task.

She glared at Walter. “Well?”

Mercy, milady, mercy!

Nicole’s breath caught at the sound of a male voice intruding into her thoughts. Gor, she had no time now to converse with a spirit but couldn’t ignore the man’s wrenching plea for mercy.

Who are you?

Thomas Thatcher, milady. I beg your aid!

Sir Walter waved at the stairway that hugged the tower’s wall. “Lady Nicole is allowed a short visit with the prisoner. Unlock the door.”

The guard’s eyes narrowed. “The earl said not to let anyone in there but him or Lord de Chesney.”

“The earl will be pleased to know you remembered your orders. He will also be very displeased if you do not allow Lady Nicole entry. Good God, man, would I give you an order you could not obey?”