Rhuddlan (36 page)

Now it was doubly hard to remain in her
rooms. She felt so isolated, cut off from the important business of
the castle and she didn’t like it at all. She stood on the
threshold of her antechamber. She no longer had to strain her ears;
she could hear quite plainly the sound of uproar in the hall two
storeys below.

“Fetch my cloak!” she ordered, whirling
around on the balls of her feet. “I’m going out! Hurry!”

The women looked up from their sewing with
blank expressions, having no idea of the drama unfolding beyond
their walls. One of them protested that the sky was almost dark and
there was a sharp chill in the air. The other asked her why she
wanted to go out. Old women! She decided she didn’t need a
cloak.

By the time she reached the hall it was
empty. Instead, a small crowd was pressed into the double doorway
which led out onto the landing above the ward. But everyone moved
aside when she came up and she went straight to the head of the
stair.

Sir Richard was standing in the middle of the
great expanse, surrounded by four other knights and Gwalaes, the
healer. Gladys was nowhere in sight. At this distance their voices
weren’t clear but the unexpected shriek from the healer surely
reached to the farthest ends of the fortress. Teleri leaned over
the wooden railing with interest. Now Gwalaes was ranting
hysterically, her words unintelligible but her distress plain. She
rushed up to Sir Richard, still ranting, until without warning he
grabbed both her arms above the elbows and thrust her backwards
into the secure grip of one of the other knights.

Because she had no idea what was happening
but her conscience was guilty, Teleri’s imagination ran wild.
Obviously Longsword was dead and the healer implicated. Why else
would Sir Richard hold her captive in such a manner? Perhaps he’d
already killed Gladys—she could quite easily picture him slicing
his sword down through Gladys’ hapless neck—and in the meantime the
healer had sought to escape, only to be recaptured. But what had
Longsword’s death to do with the riders who’d just ridden in? She
had no idea…

But then Sir Richard was staring up at her.
The soldiers with him looked up also. Her heart began thudding
rapidly and before she could stop herself, she’d taken a step
backwards. She felt the skin on the back of her neck prickle and
she knew from the sudden silence that the crush of people that had
been standing behind her was no longer there. How could they
possibly suspect—

Sir Richard was coming towards her, almost
hurrying. The healer must have told him everything! Well, if he
wanted to accuse her she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction
of an audience to watch her humiliation. He could confront her in
her chambers and perhaps by the time she’d gotten back upstairs,
she would have thought of some innocent sounding alibi.

She turned around as casually as she could
manage it under the circumstances and nearly jumped out of her
skin. Standing right behind her was her husband.

Even though he was leaning heavily on one of
his men, Longsword felt as if he would sink to the ground. It had
been folly to get out of bed. Gladys had tried to stop him but her
efforts were feeble. Still, if she hadn’t rushed out ahead of him
and somehow made his man understand that he needed help urgently,
he probably would have ended up tumbling down the twisting steps.
He was angry with his body for not doing what he wanted it to do.
He’d felt a little lightheaded sitting up in bed and gesturing for
Gladys to put the tunic over his head and push his feet into his
deerskin slippers but he was able to stand so that she could drape
his robe around him and belt it, and he’d been confident he could
make it to the hall and find out what it was that had so alarmed
Richard.

And the woman who had saved his life. He’d
been lying in his bed, tired out by Gladys’ zealous ministrations,
when Richard had come in, fresh from the hunt, or rather not so
fresh but reeking of horse and blood. Delamere had taken one look
at Gladys and had exploded, shouting questions at her so rapidly
that she hadn’t been able to answer. She’d started crying so
naturally he had tried to come to her defense, but his friend was
having none of it. He’d shouted a bit longer at a now sobbing
Gladys and then spun around and out of the chamber.

Longsword had been bewildered. His head ached
from the noise and confusion. Gladys was no help; even if she could
have spoken his language, she was crying too hard to be coherent.
Her sobs had quickly started to grate on him but he couldn’t tell
her to stop and risk upsetting her—and his baby—even more. He
wondered where the other woman was, the calm one who had gotten
angry when he’d wanted to stand up earlier in the day. He felt
certain she would know what to do and would be able to explain
everything to him.

But when she finally came, it was at the end
of Delamere’s arm. He was dragging her behind him, into Longsword’s
chamber, and then he started in on his shouting again, pointing
from her to Gladys and back again. He’d pointed a few times at
Longsword, as well, which was disconcerting but still
unhelpful.

Then, apparently having exhausted his supply
of Welsh, Delamere switched to Norman and Longsword finally
understood the gist of his friend’s anger, which concerned the calm
woman leaving Gladys in charge despite strict instructions against
it. Rather than bursting into tears as Gladys had done, the other
one tried to defend herself but Longsword could have told her to
save her breath. It wasn’t often that Delamere got angry but when
he did it was best to put up with it quietly and just wait for him
to calm down.

The shouting had only ended when fitz Maurice
had jumped into the room with some fantastic message which had the
effect of propelling Delamere and the healer from his bedside like
arrows from a finely stretched bowstring. After a quick bow to him,
fitz Maurice had chased after them, and Longsword had been left
alone with the still sobbing Gladys.

Some of the pain and dizziness left him when
he came upon the strange spectacle of a nearly empty hall and the
press of people by the doorway. Curiosity overwhelmed the screaming
nerves in his neck, at least for the moment, and he and his human
crutch made their way forward.

He was surprised to find Teleri at the head
of the crowd. She was staring back at him with a white face,
obviously equally surprised. He couldn’t help but grin. She must
have been holding her breath these last few weeks, waiting for word
to be brought to her of his death. She quickly recovered her
composure and inclined her head as slightly as etiquette permitted
but she did not leave.

Delamere had taken the stair two steps at a
time. “Will! What are you doing?” he exclaimed. “Have you lost your
mind?”

“I’m fine, Richard, fine,” he answered
testily, because he wasn’t really fine but felt exhausted by his
exercise. “What’s happened?”

“Rhirid’s burned the abbey down. De Vire and
fitz Maurice saw the smoke from miles away and they went to
investigate.”

“Why would he do that?”

Delamere shrugged. “It’s a poor man’s
retaliation. Because of Llanlleyn and because the sisters had taken
you in after you’d been shot. In fact, de Vire said the abbess told
him Rhirid specifically demanded Gwalaes be brought to him.”

Simultaneously, they looked down into the
ward at the healer, a blatantly anguished captive. “Well,” said
Longsword, “it’s lucky for her that she’s here.”

“Perhaps not. He took her daughter
instead.”

“She has a child?”

“Yes. And there’s more. One of the sisters
died from the shock. But it’s murder. It’s as if Rhirid had killed
her with his bare hands.” Delamere paused. “Will, I can handle
this. You shouldn’t be—”

“Sir Richard!”

The shout had come from the ward. Delamere
strode to the edge of the landing in time to see a horse shoot
through the open gate, out of the fortress. “Who was that?” he
called down.

“The girl!” fitz Maurice answered. “She swore
she’d be calm, so I let her go. But instead she jumped on my horse!
The grooms—”

“Never mind about that! Go after her!”
Delamere roared.

Teleri slid into the spot next to her
husband’s side abandoned by Delamere. Longsword looked down at her,
teeth gritted into what he hoped resembled a careless grin. “Didn’t
expect to see me again in an upright position, did you?”

Once more Teleri experienced that
instantaneous moment of panic, imagining her scheming had been
found out, but then she realized that Longsword was simply needling
her. She relaxed and smiled back at him. “It is indeed unfortunate,
my lord husband,” she said in an equally good-natured tone. “I will
just have to pray harder next time.”

Delamere waved off several offers and helped
Longsword back upstairs, an even more torturous procedure than
coming down, himself. “How do you feel?” he asked his friend
anxiously once Longsword had been returned to his bed.

“Like I’m a thousand years old. It’s a damned
inconvenience…”

“Does it hurt much?”

Longsword struggled to think of a flippant
reply but the pain was too great and his mind was too fuzzy. He
settled for the monosyllabic truth because it was the easiest
answer. “Yes.”

“When Gwalaes gets back, I’ll have her brew
some of that tea that kills pain.” If she ever came back. By now it
was pitch black outside. “In the meantime I’ll have mulled wine
brought up.”

Before he could give this order, there was a
knock at the door. Fitz Maurice, de Vire and several others walked
in, followed by Alan d’Arques and Eleanor.

Delamere wasn’t prepared for the change in
Eleanor’s appearance when she was pulled through the doorway and
stood trembling and sullen before him. Her hair had come loose from
its braid and hung disorderly and in knots around her shoulders and
down her back. Her gown was dirty and part of the hem was torn
away. Her face was smudged with dirt, her mouth was set in a grim
straight line and to Delamere it seemed her whole body was rigid
with tension.

“What’s happened to her?” he said to fitz
Maurice.

The man gave Eleanor a contemptuous look.
“She didn’t want to come. We practically had to drag her back. Only
d’Arques could handle her.”

“There’s a mark under her eye.”

“Sir Richard, she took my horse! It’s dusky
outside; even darker in the forest! She could have lamed it
galloping like an idiot over the rough ground, or worse!”

Delamere moved very close to him. “This woman
saved your lord’s life,” he said in a low voice. “I don’t think
King Henry would like to learn that you hold your damned horse in
higher esteem than his son, do you?”

The man’s gaze faltered and he glanced
nervously at Longsword. “No, Sir Richard.”

He dismissed the knight and turned back to
Eleanor. She didn’t look at him but stared stubbornly at the floor.
Before he could speak, another voice said urgently, “Sir Richard,
she was only concerned for her daughter!”

It was Alan d’Arques. The young knight’s face
was worried, as if he imagined Delamere was going to punish Eleanor
for stealing a horse.

He sighed, tired of conflict. “I know,” he
said calmly. “We’re all concerned—”

“That’s a lie!” she snapped, finally raising
her head. Her eyes blazed. “Don’t insult me by expecting me to
believe your lies!”

He was taken aback. Not only was her
appearance different but so was her demeanor. Her face was
bloodless and her hands clenched into fists as she confronted him.
“Gwalaes—”

“You didn’t care about her at the abbey and
you don’t care about her now!” she interrupted again, her voice
trembling with emotion. “Well, you no longer have any hold over me,
Sir Richard! Lord William has recovered. You’ve got the horse back.
Just let me walk out of here and find my daughter!”

“No.”

They stared at each other. Delamere’s face
was tight but expressionless. Eleanor’s was a mixture of disbelief,
hurt and fury. She felt as impotent as all those times she’d
endured her husband’s cold rages and she didn’t trust herself to
speak again without breaking down.

“Listen…”

Everyone turned in surprise towards the bed.
Longsword had spoken. His voice was now weak and his face very
pale. The excruciating journey up and down the stairs had obviously
exacted a harsh toll.

“You can’t go…without us,” he said. “This
isn’t anything personal against you despite the message; it’s a
declaration of war.”

“Lord William is correct, Gwalaes,” Delamere
said. “The Welsh want to finish the job they started when they shot
him. They know we’ve got you and that they can get to us through
you.”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t make sense.
Why would they think that? Why would they think I’m anything to
you? That you wouldn’t just throw me out and leave me to their
justice?”

“You’re right; they don’t know that,”
Delamere agreed. “But I’m certain they’re counting on it, otherwise
why not just kill Bronwen then and there? You see? It’s a matter of
pride. He’s taunting us with this kidnapping; he knows we won’t
stand the insult. Besides, it was a Norman abbey he attacked. We
have a moral obligation to protect it and to avenge the death he
caused.”

She looked unconvinced. The nightmare was too
fresh in her mind.

“He won’t harm her, Gwalaes,” he added
soothingly. “Rhirid needs her. And there are plenty of women at
Llanlleyn to look after her. You needn’t worry about Bronwen.”

A sudden jolt ran through her. For a moment
her chest was so tight she couldn’t breathe. Alan d’Arque saw her
distress. “Are you all right La—” he started.

“But there aren’t any women
at Llanlleyn—there isn’t any Llanlleyn!” she burst out frantically.
Her ears rang and she felt lightheaded. “Women and children—little
children, she said! He
will
murder her!”