Memories of the Heart (6 page)

“By the amazing arts of Dyffryn's aged wise woman I am nearly healed, and I have no doubt that with Mabyn's potions Sir Alan soon will be, too.” Tal gave his overly protective mother a long-suffering grin warmed by honest affection.

Behind a bland smile Angwen hid the sharp pang of extreme uneasiness delivered by her son's oblique mention of Mabyn—the witch already old when last seen three decades and more past. Though an arduous task, over the past fifteen years Angwen had built an invisible barrier that successfully blocked the intrusion of so little as the slightest thought or smallest memory of that frightening woman. Now with iron determination she struggled to repair the tiny crack Tal's words had opened in that wall of forgetfulness.

“The recovery of only two out of three assaulted,” Tal continued, “means that it's the lost Cedric's wife and children who deserve our concern.”

“'Struth,” Angwen immediately agreed, while fearing her son's soft heart might someday bring more danger and pain than either of them could easily bear. “I've already taken the matter in hand to see that Sir Cedric's family will never suffer from any lack that can be filled from our storeroom or coffers.”

Angwen turned aside from her son to crisply issue orders to her waiting minions for Sir Alan's good care and the safe ensconcing of Tal in his own bedchamber. Not that she fooled herself for an instant that Tal was likely to stay abed for long.

While houseserfs hastened to do their lady's bidding, young Tom dismounted nearby. He had watched and listened to this exchange between his foster father and the castle's mistress. He still wondered, but would never dare question his lord, about the magical beauty who he would swear by the Holy Cross he had seen in that cottage amid the village of Dyffryn—only to have her vanish without a word.

Lord Tal had just spoken of an elderly wise woman but nowise could that describe the ethereal figure Tom's arrival had so badly startled. The boy had began to seriously fear for his sanity.

Had that magical being been merely a figment of the admittedly overactive imagination that everyone teased him about? Could be … and yet Tom truly didn't think even his finest fantasies had ever been or could ever be so well honed as to envision an image of such complete perfection.

*   *   *

On that same day in the Welsh land of Llechu, a disconsolate Ceri wandered through forest shadows and over a path unmarked yet familiar to her. It led upward through the wildwood's densely grown trees and tangled undergrowth. Moving safely past stumble-holes hidden amid thick vegetation of soft grasses and plentiful wildflowers whose fragrance filled the air, she at last reached her goal. This was a favorite retreat and haven of privacy where, free from curious eyes, she could relive lost dreams and ponder the bleak horizon of her lonely future.

Parting the drooping branches of a willow, Ceri stepped into the green shadowed cavern beneath. Secure in believing that here she'd remain unseen by any who might chance this way, Ceri settled comfortably on the moss-softened bank of a slow flowing brook.

Peering out from between dangling withes, Ceri watched their green tips gently float atop idly moving water. Within her grew fear that their aimless journey to nowhere was a just comparison for her bland and meaningless life to come.

Ceri realized that by remaining safe under her grandmother's watchful eye she could ride unharmed above perilous undercurrents and—with no risks taken, no dangers dared—avoid being painfully smashed against life's hidden rocks.…

Absently she reached for a limber branch and twined its pliable length around one hand, even the tip still soaked with stream water.

Along with this meaningless action she silently acknowledged that by yielding to the false comfort of Gran Mab's loving tether holding her securely on the surface of life's stream she would also forfeit far more. In truth, to remain was to accept restraints that would prevent her from ever again experiencing the soaring delights and sweet contentment that her aching heart neither could nor would forget.

The tip end of the branch Ceri had abused came off in her hand. Staring down at the green fragment of a mighty tree, she thought how well this piece once securely joined to the towering tree represented her and promptly tossed it out into the stream. As if caught in some wild dance of freedom, the twig swirled and bobbed wildly while quickly floating out of sight.

The odd image inspired Ceri. She, too, must break free from the safe tether of her grandmother's loving restraints and dare whatever risks were necessary to bravely seek and hopefully win her goal of a brighter, happier future.

Ceri lingered in the willow's peaceful haven to give calm thought to her bold decision and consider possible actions to take in seeing it accomplished, as well as the steps necessary to put the whole into motion. At length she rose even more determined to refuse to make the payment in anguish without a fight to prove it unnecessary.

Gran Mab would not be happy with her choice. And yet Ceri strongly suspected that some uncanny instinct had already forewarned the older woman to expect more of her granddaughter than an easy, servile acceptance of any limitation.

*   *   *

“I refuse to allow it!” Mabyn's eyes flashed with a potent ire undimmed by the cottage's smoky gloom. “You cannot leave Llechu and venture into the wildwood's endless dangers. No more than you dare go to the castle uninvited.”

“But to Westbourne I go,” Ceri calmly stated while standing in brave opposition to meet the older woman's intimidating gaze without flinching. “And I have no more doubt than should you that my Aunt Vevina will welcome me into the safety of its stone walls.”

“Tch.” Mab gave her head a sharp shake. “This ill-considered action would allow your mother's twin little choice, no matter the direction of her true feelings on the matter.”

Mabyn moved a step closer to the granddaughter who with this determined goal was proving the unwelcome fact that beneath her ever gentle exterior lay a resolute spirit of tempered steel. “But Vevina will be forced to devise a reason to excuse your arrival to her mistress, the Lady Angwen.”

“But as Lady Angwen is a native, nay, the princess of Llechu,” Ceri immediately argued against the logic of that statement. “Surely she, too, will be amenable to my plea for shelter.”

Mab's lips twisted into a distinct sneer of derision. She knew too well just how bitter Angwen had become since the payment for her beseeched boon had come due. Armed with that knowledge of precious lives lost Mab very much doubted the woman capable of enduring any reminder of her Welsh past. Aye, Angwen would be incapable of enduring and far less be willing to permit the continued close proximity of someone whose eyes alone would be an unpleasant reminder of all she wanted to forget.

When her grandmother failed to answer, Ceri squared her shoulders and uptilted her chin to firmly announce, “I would rather have your blessing but if you refuse, I will go without.”

“Tch…” Mab clicked her tongue in disgust yet because she had no doubt but that her granddaughter would boldly follow through with her threat, she did a thing almost never in her life done. She yielded to another's will.

“I cannot give you my blessing for an action that fills me with dark clouds of ill-boding.” There were tinges of both regret and sadness in Mab's solemn words. “But if you'll postpone your doomed quest's departure till the morrow's dawning, I will do all in my power to see you protected leastways over the pathway through the forest.”

Ceri knew how rare it was for Gran Mab to yield on any point, on one concerning her only grandchild rarest of all. Greatly relieved that the expected response of ominous warnings was not forthcoming, Ceri gladly nodded her agreement to delay her leavetaking through the hours till dawn.

Ceri spent the rest of the afternoon packing her clothes and a pitiful few belongings into a sturdy leather satchel. While she neatly folded and carefully stowed these items, Gran Mab summoned one of the children ever playing in open spaces between the village's widely scattered cottages. Then to the young Gethin she gave very particular instructions, but in a voice so low Ceri couldn't hear the words.

Mabyn and her granddaughter had settled at a trestle table pushed up against one wall to share their simple meal of rye bread and cheese, along with a few of the spring's first wild strawberries, when a steady knocking pounded against the door.

“Enter,” Mab promptly beckoned, staring at the iron-bound barrier of oak as it slowly swung open under a firm hand.

“You called and I have come.” Lloyd sounded none too pleased but it was unclear whether in distaste for the summons or its source.

True to her brusque nature, Mab wasted no time on polite preliminaries but rather glared up at the man come on her demand and launched immediately into the purpose for her call.

“Ceridwen is determined to set off on a journey to Westbourne Castle with the morrow's dawning—despite my earnest cautions against dangerous beasts lurking on the path and skulking within castle walls—both two legged and four.”

The newcomer's already cold expression hardened. Although he would prefer to thwart this old woman, source of far too many unhappy events, Lloyd instantly responded with the promise she had yet to demand but unquestionably sought.

“I will accompany Ceri, guard her path against all peril, and see her safely delivered into her Aunt Vevina's care.”

Mab's penetrating eyes narrowed. She had summoned Lloyd to her cottage to extract this very oath. But now, because too many issues muddied the waters surrounding his words, she was uncomfortable with the haste of its giving.

“On the morrow, Ceri,” Lloyd almost purred as he turned to study the unique beauty who he could see was plainly anxious to be gone by the fact that her bag was already packed.

Lloyd wished the two women a peaceful rest and promised to return in good time for the planned departure. With a last nod toward the table, he quietly slipped from the cottage. He had known and helped care for Ceridwen since babyhood but the sight of her glowing with anticipation lingered in his mind.

In all save the color of her eyes, Ceridwen was the image of Lloyd's lost beloved, and he meant to see Ceri safely into the castle but still he feared what might await the tender maiden inside the daunting strength of its unyielding walls.

Chapter 6

The sun had passed its midpoint in the sky while in the woodland below a steady thudding of horse hooves lent rhythm to tedious hours of drudgery for Taliesan and his contingent of Westbourne guardsmen. This riding of the northeastern border with Bendale was both an important responsibility and a necessary chore. It was also a task filled with boredom, but Tal was wise enough to thank Providence for a lack of the sort of dangerous threats which would go too far in livening matters.

In the lead, Tal ducked beneath a branch half-broken by some past storm to hang low across the path. With the motion his attention was caught by a silvery flash amongst the woodland's dark greenery. He peered more closely to find that its source was merely a stray gleam of sunlight sparkling over remnants of the past night's rainwater as it slowly, steadily dripped from the foliage of a towering tree.

Still Taliesan's heart pounded as he inwardly acknowledged that every night since his return from Wales, his dreams had been invaded by the same thrilling flash. But in his sleep that bewitching gleam emanated from the incredible eyes in a compassionate face of ethereal beauty … a magical being utterly unlike anyone he had ever known.

Fool!
Tal silently castigated himself. Even here in broad daylight he was haunted by that fantasy figure. But how else when her gaze contained a piercing silver surely able to delve into the soul yet cradled in a comforting green the same shade as the forest's gentle morning mists?

“Milord,” called Martin, a young guardsman clearly as pleased as startled. “How did you know something was there?” He spurred his steed to move forward, almost to his leader's side. “What clue did you see that we did not?”

Perplexed by the odd questions, Tal reined his horse to a halt while Martin swung down from his own. The younger man took two long steps into the thick undergrowth and reached down at the point just below where Tal had seen a flash of silver.

From the ruthless clutches of a small but healthy holly bush Martin carefully freed a ragged strip of parchment that waved like a warning flag in the day's slight breeze. After briefly glancing over this strange discovery, the young guardsman's face darkened, and he immediately retraced his steps to place the fragment into his lord's waiting hand.

Tal's usual good humor, too, drained away as he closely scrutinized the recovered item. The impassive expression that remained revealed no hint of his actual response to the treachery it suggested. Although only a tattered scrap apparently torn from the middle of a single short message, parts of scrawled words remained:
Bendale
on one line,
welcome
on the next, and a partial seal below—clearly a royal seal. It was obvious that King Stephen was its originator but what it truly meant was less evident. Tal suspected that it had been carefully torn from the original to present a view of Bendale as the one wooed by the king to attack and defeat Westbourne but was it true or yet another ruse? …

Although incomplete with only half the seal remaining, it raised ominous questions that cast doubts on oaths sworn and tokens of loyalties given. And what folly had allowed any portion of so important a document to settle here? As a well-informed lord, Tal was certain that its apparent recipient never journeyed over these half-hidden trails.

Not well versed in either tact or the dangers dared by openly raising any question that came to mind, Martin boldly stated his too hasty assumptions and the flimsy reasoning behind them.