Memories of the Heart (18 page)

In the center of the courtyard stood a small structure. Built over and around a deep well, it protected vital waters against being fouled either accidentally or purposefully.

As Ceri approached, she was startled to hear muffled laughter within—youthful and merry. Upon opening the door the merest crack, she peeked inside and found a curious sight. Tal's squire, Thomas, sat on one side of the well's stone rim while a young girl much the same age sat on the other. Edith, somber
Lady
Edith, had joined Thomas in giggling like the children they still nearly were.

Ceri was pleased for the girl and stepped into the building, letting the door shut behind. However, Edith was clearly embarrassed to have been caught lost in undignified mirth. The girl jumped awkwardly to her feet, cheeks burning bright as a rosary slipped from her hand. Ceri bent to retrieve the lovely article. But after she handed the sacred item to its owner, Edith clasped it to her breast. Then, with a desperate glance containing a wordless plea (seeking forgiveness or silence?), she bolted from the wellhouse.

Tom also rose to diffidently face the intruder. He wouldn't flee and have it seem a wrong had been done where there was none.

“I pray that you won't speak of this innocent encounter to anyone.” His proper request was asked with stiff formality but in the youth's expressive eyes lay a silent entreaty.

“Rest easy.” Herself a victim of unjust gossip, Ceri promptly responded, “I would never betray the innocent secrets of another.” Ceri saw no good purpose to be met by sharing with Thomas the fact of a friendship already built between herself and the young lady guest who might prefer that it remain unknown.

Despite the whirlwind of suspicion that surrounded the Welsh enchantress, as Tom directly met honesty in a green-mist gaze, he couldn't help but believe her sincere. At the same time her openness compelled him to explain that his time with Lord Tal's bride-to-be represented no insult to his lord.

“Lady Edith misses her brothers.” With these words Tom gave Ceri a rueful smile. “She says I remind her of the one who is her twin.”

“Lady Edith has a twin brother?” Ceri was momentarily surprised. The next instant she realized how little she or any among the people of Westbourne knew about the young bride-to-be. It was a fact emphasized by the complete absence of kitchen gossip devoted to the girl which in turn was a glaring contrast to the apparently limitless supply of intriguing rumors and tales involving Lady Blanche.

“Aye,” Tom quickly confirmed, pleased to be one of the few to know something others didn't. “His name is Eldon and for months he's been at foster in King Stephen's court.”

Though aware that his lord had come to distrust an instinctive approval of Ceridwen, Tom found to his own amazement how easy it was to talk with her. And by this personal contact, Tom soon began to wonder if he hadn't been wrong in unfairly judging Ceri too perfect to be trusted.

“Edith sorely misses Eldon but he's not her only brother.” In response to the other's slightly arched brows, he nodded and added, “There are others beside—but no sisters.”

“No sisters?” Ceri's warm smile had a rueful twist. “Despite that lack, Lady Edith is more blessed than me for I have neither brothers nor sisters.”

“Weren't you lonely?” Tom found the notion of being an only child distasteful.

Silver sparks brightened Ceri's green-mist eyes. Strange how both Tal and his squire had questioned the same deficiency in her childhood.

“Nay, I couldn't miss what I had never known.”

Ceridwen's logic earned Tom's biggest grin and returned a sparkle to his eyes.

“I am glad that Edith found you. She clearly needs friends in this place of strangers.” The sweet smile that Ceri gave Tom was praise in itself. “It was nice to hear Edith laugh. I had feared her too lost in prayers to commune with such mere mortals as the husband she is destined soon to take.

Again Tom nodded, this time in agreement with Ceri's concern for the overserious girl who had so recently taken flight. “When I arrived Lady Edith was already here and lost in prayer.”

“Here?” Ceri was surprised. “Praying here?”

Another grin flashed as Tom explained, “The family chapel is being refurbished to host the betrothal ceremony one sennight from today. And between workmen and their supplies there's no uncluttered space left for Edith to worship.”

Ceri would swear she felt a leaden heart dropping to her toes. The next instant she chided herself for the foolishness of being caught so ill-prepared by this mention of an upcoming ceremony much discussed by her fellow laborers in the kitchens. A wry smile lent an odd twist to soft lips as Ceri recognized a paradox in the fact that it was the unpleasant distraction of Lady Blanche's accusations she must thank for diverting bleak attention from the rites ahead.

Tom thanked Ceri again for not spreading the tasty morsel of gossip involving his chat with Edith. He then wished his companion good fortune, and departed. Alone in the well house's shadowy interior, Ceri slowly lowered one of the buckets lined up along the walls and vigorously worked the crank to draw up a full measure of the chill water she'd been sent to fetch.

While toiling, Ceri acknowledged a sad truth. The prospect of success in her quest for happiness looked dim. Although the earl hadn't directly challenged her, he clearly questioned her loyalty. And it was equally clear that the people of Taliesan's demesne thought her a threat.

The death knell to her dreams would assuredly ring with the tolling bells proclaiming betrothal oaths exchanged.

*   *   *

“Aye.” From just inside a bedchamber's closed door, Mary nodded to the seated Lady Blanche. “It really was most strange. Only by chance did one of the guardsmen on patrol along Westborne's border with Bendale discover scraps of a letter. Somehow they had become tangled on thorns amongst the undergrowth to one side of their pathway.”

“'Struth, most strange.” Blanche maintained an idly curious expression to hide avid interest in the answer to her question about a morsel of gossip overheard. She was never loath to quietly glean tidbits of information while moving through crowded areas. It was thus that she'd caught whispered suspicion of a letter involving Bendale when passing the kitchens to reach the garrison's chamber on its far side and talk with one of her guards.

“What did these scraps reveal?” Blanche prodded the other woman from Bendale to learn more.

Mary gave her head a brief, disgusted shake. “Precious little for all the uproar they caused amongst castle inhabitants.”

“Uproar?” Blanche repeated with a wryly amused smile.

“Well, perhaps not uproar—” Mary sheepishly shrugged yet almost immediately went on to excuse her claim in small measure. “But here where little else occurs to liven the people's daily routine, those pieces of parchment assuredly roused intense curiosity.”

“What could they possibly have said to inspire such interest?” Though Blanche's tone remained gentle, steady azure eyes firmly demanded an explanation.

Mary uneasily shifted from one foot to the other. “Only two words clearly:
Bendale
and
welcome.
” Meeting the other's gaze directly, she added, “It was the royal seal that fired wild rumors.”

“A royal seal?” Blanche's delicate brows arched. “And on a missive that mentions Bendale? Odd, indeed, as I am certain my brother has had no personal contact with the king.”

While carefully maintaining her expression of casual curiosity, inside Blanche was amused. Plainly this was what had happened to her missing letter of condolence from King Stephen. Addressed to her at Bendale, it had contained a brief assurance that the widow of a supporter slain in his defense would always be welcome at the royal court. But who had taken the letter for this unsavory purpose and why?

“But, tell me—” Blanche smoothly shifted the focus of their conversation. “Have you been happy here in Castle Westbourne? Happy in your marriage?”

“In truth, I bless the day I wed and am most content with my lot here.” A wide smile brightened and added honest beauty to Mary's plain face. “Only do I wish that my husband were not so long delayed by endless border patrols.”

“Endless?” Again Blanche wryly questioned Mary's choice of words.

“Nay.” Mary blushed. “Not endless and Lord Tal demands far less of his guardsmen than he does of himself. They near always return by dusk while the earl is often required to continue much later in performing various duties of the demesne's lord. 'Tis why he's so often delayed for the evening meal.”

Mary was interrupted by a rapping on the door to which Blanche responded by promptly issuing a brisk order to enter.

Ceri stepped into the chamber expecting to find the ever unpleasant lady of Bendale. But Ceri was startled to meet Mary's guilty gaze which she unhappily interpreted as proof that this woman, too, suspected her to be a witch.

“I was sent to retrieve the small bag containing Lady Edith's favorite needles.” With the words, Ceri motioned toward the leather packet laid neatly atop a trunk on one side of the bed.

“Then take it and begone,” Blanche sternly commanded with a condescending glare. “And Mary, I thank you for bringing the cool water requested. I pray it will ease my throbbing head.”

With these dismissive words, Blanche dipped a cloth square into the basin filled from a pitcher Mary had carried into the room. This she wrung out and folded into a tidy pad, placing it against her brow as she laid back atop the bed.

*   *   *

After the evening meal's completion, the seneschal dispatched Ceri along with Mary to the great hall to aid in the completion of one further duty.

Ceri led the way through the portal and into the vast chamber. There, she found another unusual sight. A lone trestle table remained assembled in the vast hall. The benches lining either side were filled with Lord Tal's knights while he sat at one end in a chair brought down from the dais to accommodate him.

Mary held a platter hosting chunks of cheese along with shelled nuts which she shyly offered to each man in turn. Ceri followed, carrying a heavy crockery pitcher full of ale, methodically pouring a measure of amber liquid into each waiting mug.

While the two women dutifully performed their tasks, Ceri couldn't help but hear what was said. And as she leaned forward on a corner at Tal's elbow to furnish him with ale, she was caught in the thrall of his nearness but not so addlepated that she failed to comprehend what was said.

“Waste no more time in combing forest paths,” Tal commanded guardsmen already overly wearied by pursuing that course. “Lloyd won't be found once he's made it into the wildwood.”

Tal glanced up as he spoke and realized that it was Ceri who'd come to serve the ale. On meeting the tempting power of her silver-green eyes, he paused for an endless moment. They seemed to hold honesty and sweet compassion but too many questions had been raised and from too many sources to be simply dismissed.

The next instant Taliesan was assailed by a guilt very rare to him. What if her apparent emotions were true and he was the fool for doubting her character?

The suspicious mutterings of men seated on either side woke Taliesan from his momentary trance. He slowly turned a cautionary gaze of glittering black ice upon these observers openly daring his rarely roused but dangerous temper.

Ceri's breath had stopped as Tal's eyes locked with hers but her cheeks warmed with bright color when his abruptly shifted attention broke that bond. She was grateful that his had been the last vessel to be filled, granting her the right to have quit of the great hall. Though wanting to madly flee, she tamed the impulse and gracefully walked from their company with proudly uplifted chin.

*   *   *

In a great hall considerably smaller than the one on Castle Westbourne's second level Lloyd shared a simple trestle table with three other men. While his companions were preoccupied with their own petty quarrels, he silently reviewed the amazing recent events which had brought him here.

Safe escape had been achieved not merely from the dungeon but, with Sir Ulrich's unexpected aid, they'd moved through a secret postern gate in the outer bailey wall and out into the countryside beyond. Although Lloyd would rather have disappeared into the forests alone, he had spent the first day of his freedom with Simeon in an abandoned forest hovel. His liberator had deemed it unwise to risk known threats with a journey into Farleith until after the shield of another night's darkness descended.

“Surely you see that the time to act has come—and nearly gone?” As Simeon spoke to the stout leader across the table's bare planks from himself, his never sweet voice fairly dripped with even more derisive acid than usual.

“Soon,” Lord James said, lifting a pudgy hand and motioning his too tall and angular cohort to subside. “But not on the morrow.”

“Then when?” These brusque words were the first spoken by Sir Ulrich since the four of them had settled in this chamber quickly emptied of others by the baron's command.

Simeon had led Ulrich to believe that they were gathered here to discuss strategies for achieving their common goal of seeing Westbourne conquered. But now it seemed irritatingly clear that Lord James meant to share nothing of these matters with anyone.

While his three companions clashed in an odd, silent battle, Lloyd watched and listened intently. He'd been surprised to find Westbourne's guard captain a part of his rescue. Never had he suspected this man was a traitor to Lord Taliesan. Yet it was true that without Ulrich's help his escape would've failed. Unfortunately, for that boon these Normans would assuredly expect a great deal from him … and he no longer had any wish to cooperate. But that was a fact best kept to himself, at least for the moment.

“When?” Lord James's voice was layered in icy disgust. “When I am prepared to command that it be so. Until then, hold yourselves ready—but waste no more of my valuable time with questions whose answers only I need know.”