Memories of the Heart (14 page)

“Lady Blanche of Bendale Keep.”

Ceri went still, clutching the near empty pitcher to her breasts as the seneschal stepped aside to motion this newly arrived visitor to enter. A tall, willow-slender beauty of golden hair and azure eyes gracefully skirted the central firepit to glide down the open space between lower tables and approach the dais.

“Lady Angwen, I have come to accept your gracious offer to welcome my visit when last we met.” Lady Blanche's smile was blinding but her attention almost immediately shifted from Angwen's face to settle on her handsome son.

Angwen was quick to smooth away the frown instantly summoned by this claim of a past invitation. She didn't remember having ever made such an offer—something she was exceedingly unlikely to forget. A strong woman herself, Angwen neither trusted nor welcomed the company of another. Further reason to be certain she had never invited the woman to visit Westbourne.

“After my recent devastating loss—” Blanche's smile seemed to crumple into a woeful grimace, an undeniable expression of lingering sorrow. “I am sorely in need of the type of gentle company to which I fear my brother's home will never be host.”

This forlorn reference to her serious reversal of fortunes made it nearly impossible for Angwen to heartlessly send the woman away. Acknowledging this unpleasant reality, Angwen painted a tight smile on her lips and replied.

“You have our most sincere sympathies.”

Tal watched the uncomfortable scene playing out before him. Somehow Blanche had inherited all the strength of will that her younger and only brother so seriously lacked. The question was where did her loyalties truly lay? Her now deceased husband had been a loyal supporter of the king, but Tal knew Blanche well enough to realize that such political union was no true indicator of her choice.

No matter, he signaled the steward to lay another place at the high table just beyond the other lady guest on his left.

In the hall still unnaturally quiet Blanche promptly took her assigned seat with a small but charmingly grateful smile.

“I assume you already know Lady Edith of Farleith Keep?” Tal asked, motioning Blanche's attention to the younger woman.

“I'm sure we must have met although I don't remember when.” Blanche spared a slight, insincere smile while critically studying the child for long moments before returning attention to the earl with a query meant to seem surprised from her lips.

“Tal, surely you can't believe this pale and plainly bloodless child able to survive the blaze of
your
passions?”

Eyebrows rose to accompany the rush of gasps and hushed whispers that immediately flowed unimpeded throughout the hall while Blanche's smile curled into one more suggestive and coyly seductive.

In the shadows between two wall sconces along one side of the massive chamber, Ceri's pained moan went unnoticed. The blatant intimacy in this new guest's observation had driven a dagger of pain straight through her heart.

In that same moment the young guest from Farleith awkwardly rose from her seat and after hastily begging leave to retreat, rushed from the hall. As Edith passed on her way to the corner stairwell, Ceri caught a glimpse of tears glowing on pale cheeks. She recognized the pain Lady Blanche's words must have caused this young girl and, sharing her distress, quickly followed.

Ceri caught up with Edith a few steps up the stairwell where she'd paused in the privacy of its gloom. Without speaking, Ceri reached out to encircle the girl's shaking shoulders with the comfort of her arms.

“I can't escape the lady of Bendale,” Edith whispered between gasping sobs. “In a castle with no empty bed chambers, we're certain to share the same one, so I've nowhere to hide.”

“Come,” Ceri quietly said. Having made an instant decision to lend all solace possible, she led the badly shaken girl up stone steps to the alcove shared with her aunt. There she urged Edith to settle on the downy softness of the waiting mattress which filled its floor area.

“I must return to my duties in the kitchens while my aunt will be kept busy by Lady Angwen—but you are welcome to remain here so long as you like.”

*   *   *

Several days passed during which Ceri saw Taliesan only from a distance. She caught brief glimpses of the earl either leaving or returning from patrols and duties owed elsewhere on his demesne. And each evening while serving at lower tables she saw him feasting at the high table with Lady Angwen on his right, Lady Edith on his left, and beyond her the one who coyly demanded and easily held his attention—Lady Blanche.

Although badly discouraged, Ceri refused to surrender the quest to win in reality the same happiness earlier shared by magic. Besides there were other issues to be resolved. Dangerous issues. Someone was clearly intent on harming Lord Tal while Lloyd remained a prisoner in the dungeon below.

Having finished her assigned task of folding freshly laundered cloth squares for the nobleborn's use in bathing, Ceri promptly delivered them to the solar. After depositing a neat stack atop the corner shelves where they were stored, she welcomed an unexpected opportunity. Since neither her aunt nor their lady were here where they might be expected, she felt safe in daring to take the few moments required to see if Vevina could be located in another likely spot.

Ceri rapidly moved to the alcove they shared each night. It was empty. She was disappointed but not surprised as her aunt was rarely allowed to wander far from the demanding Lady Angwen's side. Still, she had hoped that with noble guests in the castle other matters would occupy their lady.…

Stepping through the archway onto the landing of the dark stairwell's highest level, a faint rustling caught Ceri's attention. It came from beyond the slightly ajar door of the family's tiny private chapel which was fitted into the alcove on one side. Glancing inside, she wasn't surprised to find the overfrail Lady Edith on her knees at the prie-dieu lost in earnest prayer. It was a sight become common in an amazingly brief time. Ceri found it troubling in considering that this bride barely more than a child was ostensibly here to learn important duties from Lady Angwen with whom she seemed to spend precious little time. And yet, the vast amount of time Lady Blanche demanded left little to spare for anyone or anything else.

As Ceri's aunt had warned, the castle gossip vines were plainly healthy and ever sprouting with new blooms of tasty scandal. By this means Ceri knew of the messenger which the bride-to-be had early dispatched to Farleith Keep.

Was the letter sent by Lady Edith a plea for her father to undo the arranged union? Nay, Ceri berated herself for that fool's hope. It was far more likely to be simply a lonely girl's contact with the family and home left behind. Asides, gossip held that should the arranged union falter, Lady Blanche would promptly supplant the child she had so publicly termed “bloodless.”

“Ceri—” This call, though quiet, instantly broke the preoccupation of the one summoned and drew a silver-mist gaze to the speaker. Vevina stood in the opening of drapes which normally closed the alcove Ceri had come to check in hopes of finding her aunt.

“Aunt Vevina—” Ceri hastened to the older woman's side. “I stole a few moments to see if I could find you but feared I'd failed.”

“Ah,” Vevina gently teased the tender girl proven lovable and worthy of trust. “But I've found you.”

“And pleased I am that you have.” Ceri's smile was so bright it near lit the dark corridor.

Head tilting in open curiosity, Vevina asked, “Why were you looking for me?”

Ceri's smile faded into a pale parody of the original as she carefully led the way into the relative privacy of their alcove. Once there, mindful of unseen but prying eyes and the possibility of straining ears, she spoke in a whisper.

“I wondered if from your trusted position with the lady of Westbourne you had heard news about the timing of Lloyd's appearance in the lord's court?”

Days had passed since Lloyd's imprisonment and with each passing hour Ceri's fear on his behalf grew in breadth and depth until she thought it might swallow her whole.

With the same inner strength necessary to tame her own fears for Lloyd, while slowly shaking her head Vevina pressed the fingertips of one hand against a stone wall so hard they turned white. “Nay, Lady Edith's arrival threw the schedule of our castle's normal routine completely off kilter.”

“When last we discussed Lloyd's situation,” Ceri tenaciously pursued the sensitive topic, “you suggested we seek further information about both the misdeed involved and its culprit. Have you learned anything toward that goal?”

“With the constant possibility of either Tal's bride being near or the intrusion of that
other
guest, it's been too difficult to broach the subject with Lady Angwen.” From the strain in Vevina's tone it was clear to Ceri that she and her aunt shared two emotional responses. First, they both found Lady Blanche objectionable and, second, their deep concern for Lloyd's safety had in no way lessened.

“Have you,” Vevina continued with faint hope, “overheard anything while serving at lower tables or learned pertinent morsels of gossip in the kitchens?”

“Would that I had,” Ceri solemnly responded. “But, like you, I've found that the arrival of two very different yet noble guests completely distracted everyone from thoughts of the assault and the assailant. I've heard nothing from anyone about either.”

“Unfortunately—” Vevina painfully acknowledged an unpleasant fact. “Lloyd's charged wrong will not be so easily forgotten. Time before that wretched trial grows ever shorter while, lacking a miracle, we have little hope of seeing him escape the punishment levied against him.”

*   *   *

“Lord Taliesan—” A soft voice spoke from stable shadows.

Surprised by this interruption while leading his own destrier into its darkness after this late return from a distant farm, Tal turned to dimly view the silhouette of his young squire. In the few days since the arrival of two uninvited guests, he had taken to finding excuses to delay his return home for as long as possible. By this tactic Tal limited the hours he must spend caught between the coldly disapproving child-woman and the all too warm admiration of the second lady guest.

“Thomas,” he gently scolded, “you shouldn't be here while surely everyone is at table for the day's last meal.”

Taking a deep breath for courage, Tom launched into the speech he'd carefully rehearsed again and again in recent days.

“I should have told you before—wish that I had—and am determined to speak of it now.”

Having noted the boy's need to bolster his usually daring spirit merely to share information, Tal listened with great curiosity. What could this earnest youngster possibly know that was so important and yet posed such a threat as to justify this kind of alarm?

“On entering that cottage in Dyffryn when we arrived to fetch you back home to the castle, I saw you, of course.…”

Tal nodded, urging the boy to hasten beyond such obvious facts.

Valiantly meeting his lord's steady gaze, Tom said, “But you were not alone.”

“I wasn't?” Tal was startled. Still he quickly recovered his balance while offering the explanation he assumed must be true. “You must mean that the old wise woman responsible for mending my wound tarried somewhere near?”

“Not somewhere near.” Tom slowly shook his head. “And not an old woman.”

“Then who did you see and where?” Tal's penetrating gaze narrowed on his squire.

“A magical figure like a enchantress or sorceress or…” Tom's voice trailed off into embarrassment for sounding a moonstruck witling. “But now I know that it was the niece of your mother's companion. Ceri was there with you in the cottage.”

“With me?” Rarely caught unprepared, Tal was annoyed that he had no response to give. He knew Thomas well and was certain that boy wouldn't lie, assuredly not about facts he plainly viewed as being important enough to warrant serious concern.

“She was there when I entered.” A lock of sun-streaked hair fell forward across Tom's forehead as he nodded. “But while I helped you dress, she simply vanished.”

“Vanished.” Tal was irritated with himself for sounding like a toddler first learning to speak by repeating every word. “She vanished?”

“Vanished without a sound,” Tom nodded once more. “And I didn't see her again until the Welshman now in the dungeon below boldly brought her to Castle Westbourne.”

A deep scowl settled over Tal's dark gaze. What did it mean that Ceri was with him in Dyffryn but he had no memory of it? Was there so much as a grain of truth in his mother's tales of Mabyn's magic? Worse, were Ulrich's warnings of treachery from Ceri and her guardian, Lloyd, a reality?

He couldn't bear the thought of the incredible damsel source of such sweet compassion being both untrustworthy and, more lamentable, his enemy.

Chapter 12

Taliesan's tardiness for the evening repast provided him with an excuse to gently urge his mother and their lady guests to retire from the high table once finished with meals nearly done when he arrived. After they withdrew to either the solar or bedchambers above he was free to release the many lower born impatiently seated below, unable to rise and be about their duties so long as nobles lingered. Then as they scattered to take up tasks undone, Tal was left to eat in relative peace while awaiting the opportunity to seek an important meeting best won without three noblewomen to observe.

From his vantage point at the center of the dais, Tal watched as houseserfs scurried over the hall, retreating with heavy loads of empty mugs and platters of meat-stripped bones. Others disassembled trestle tables, leaning plank surfaces against stone walls and braced them with crossed trestles while benches were lined up in front.