Rhuddlan (49 page)

“I—” he started.

“I suppose it’s not enough that you must make
a fool of yourself before the earl,” she said in a vicious voice,
“but you must humiliate me as well!”

“I wasn’t trying to humiliate you,
Teleri.”

“Weren’t you? Last night you
interrupted my very interesting conversation with the earl by
spilling your wine in a pathetic attempt to gain attention. This
morning you threatened to make a scene if I didn’t immediately
leave my guest to attend to you. And you don’t think any of that
humiliates me? By some quirk of bad fate I happen to be married to
you. I’m sure the earl imagines you are a cross, brutish,
ill-educated oaf, no better than one of the peasants who tills his
land, and I’m
quite
sure he feels a great deal of sympathy for
me
—he’s said as much to me and if you
doubt it, you can ask him yourself!”

“I don’t give a damn for the earl’s opinion,
Teleri,” he said.

“Nor for anyone else’s. I really can’t
imagine how Sir Richard can bear to spend so much time in your
company. It must be maddening to be around someone as selfish as
you—”

“That’s enough!” he cut in sharply, taking a
few steps in her direction. He had tried, but it was impossible for
him to keep his patience with her.

“Are you going to threaten me again, my lord
husband?” she sneered, but positioned herself so that Longsword’s
great chair was between them. “Hit me? I swear that if you harm me,
my uncle will hear of it!”

“And do what? You’re my wife, Teleri—I can do
whatever I want with you.” He dropped his eyes from her enraged
face to her chest. “Even things we haven’t done in a while,” he
added in a quieter voice. When she didn’t respond, he glanced up
and grinned. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with your mouth
shut.”

“I curse the day you came to Gwynedd! You’re
a mean-spirited, cruel man and I don’t know why you couldn’t have
just died when Rhirid ap Maelgwn shot you!”

Longsword nodded. “That’s more like it.”

“Let me out of this room!”

“Not so fast. Why did you send Gladys to the
Perfeddwlad?”

It was a risky question—he
wasn’t even positive Gladys
was
at the prince’s court—but it had the strangest
affect on Teleri. It was plain she was completely taken by
surprise; her eyes widened and her mouth dropped slightly; for a
moment she stood stiff and motionless as a statue, and then she
lifted her chin.

“So my uncle will know how you treat me!” she
said angrily. Her eyes glistened. “That you sleep with whores and
get children on them and humiliate me in my own house!”

So it was true…He stared at her. “I’m a man,
Teleri! I have to sleep with someone! And you made it very clear
that you didn’t want to be that someone! You’ve no one but yourself
to blame!”

“Are you saying your adultery is my fault?”
She wiped her eyes and gave him an incredulous look. “That’s
ridiculous—and I can promise you my uncle won’t see it that
way!”

“Do you think I care for Dafydd’s
opinion?”

“You’d better pray he doesn’t kill her, my
lord,” she retorted, “for the insult she’s done me!”

The words hit him like a blow to the stomach.
Without thinking, he leaped towards her, shouting incoherently, his
arms stretched out and ready to seize her. Teleri screamed and
gripped the back of the great chair as if holding on for dear
life.

The door to the chamber burst open. Richard
Delamere took one look at Longsword and dived after him, somehow
managing to grab him around the waist and check his forward
impetus. Two of Teleri’s women stood anxiously in the doorway,
wringing their hands and wailing.

Delamere was yelling. “William! Will!
Stop!”

“Let me go, Richard!” Longsword shouted,
struggling mightily to escape his friend’s grasp. “You have no idea
what she’s done!”

“He’s mad, Sir Richard! He wants to murder
me!” Teleri shrieked.

“I swear before God, Teleri, if any harm’s
come to my son, you’ll pay for it!”

Teleri’s women wailed on. The noise,
Longsword’s powerful strength and the fact that he’d drunk too much
the night before all started Delamere’s head pounding at twice its
earlier rate. He was losing the battle to contain Longsword and his
stomach didn’t feel right, either. So he did the only thing he
could think of under the circumstances: he told Teleri to flee
while she had the chance, and she did, her women falling in on
either side of her as she reached the doorway to spirit her
away.

Finally Delamere released Longsword. They
both breathed heavily from the exertion and Longsword was still
ranting. As far as Delamere could make out, Prince Dafydd was
holding Gladys at the point of a sword and all of Longsword’s army
had to be dispatched immediately to effect her rescue.

If she wasn’t already dead, which she
probably was.

“You’re going hunting with the earl,”
Delamere told him. “We’ll send someone else to the Perfeddwlad.
Will!” He grabbed Longsword’s shoulders when the other began to
protest. “You’d look like a fool chasing after the girl,” he said
in a low, strong voice. “The prince will wonder why you don’t have
the same regard for his niece. There could be trouble…”

“There already
is
trouble,
Richard!”

“Prince Dafydd isn’t the sort to go around
slaughtering young, pregnant women, Will! Lady Teleri just wanted
to provoke you and once again she succeeded admirably. She knows
exactly how to get to you, do you know that?”

“One day she’ll push too far…” Longsword said
darkly. He took a deep breath and exhaled noisily. “Very well,” he
said, his voice sounding calmer. “Send Alan d’Arques to the
prince.”

“Lene is the better choice. He’s actually
learned a few words of Welsh. Besides, Chester’s captain
specifically requested that Alan accompany us on the hunt. He said
they’re acquaintances from years ago. Remember? Alan was Robert
Bolsover’s squire and Chester married Bolsover’s sister.”

Longsword didn’t remember, nor did he care.
His intention was to separate Alan d’Arques from the latter’s too
frequent association with Gwalaes. “Send them both, it doesn’t
matter. Thwarting Chester is an added pleasure.”

But Alan d’Arques was nowhere to be found.
The stablemaster reported that the knight had saddled his horse
just before dawn and hadn’t mentioned the time of his return.
Longsword was furious but there wasn’t anything he could do other
than complain, which he did to Delamere’s increasing annoyance for
the remainder of the morning. The report angered Hugh as well until
he learned from Haworth that wherever d’Arques had gone, he’d
traveled alone because the countess was still at Rhuddlan. But Hugh
was no fool, and having finally found his wife, he wasn’t about to
lose her again. What if it was planned that d’Arques should snatch
her away the moment the hunting party had departed?

Haworth was torn between his desire to remain
behind to make certain that didn’t happen and his conviction that
he must attend Hugh on the hunt or some ill would befall him. In
the end he detailed two soldiers to watch over Eleanor’s movements.
The earl could always get another wife but Haworth could never have
another Hugh.

Eleanor herself appeared in the ward as they
prepared to leave.

It was an unfavorable morning for outdoor
pursuits. A steady wind blew in from the sea to the north, piling
massive dark clouds in the sky above the fortress. That a storm was
coming was obvious; Delamere darted frequent glances overhead and
hoped it would hold off until afternoon. He’d tried to persuade
Longsword to cancel the hunt without success. His friend was damned
if he was going to sit around and entertain Chester all day and he
didn’t mind getting wet. Delamere suspected that Longsword was
convinced if he showed the earl an arduous and uncomfortable few
days at Rhuddlan, the man would never return. Delamere, his
throbbing head and roiling stomach, would just have to deal with
it.

Longsword was waiting for his horse to be
brought up when he saw Gwalaes standing at the entrance of the
little alleyway which led to the maze of outbuildings behind the
keep. She stood straight and tall. The wind blew her gown against
her body, reminding him of the form he’d caressed the night before.
She was staring at him.

Without thinking, he went over to her,
suddenly feeling awkward and not knowing what to say. She dropped
into a respectful curtsy and he was embarrassed. It wasn’t right
somehow that she should bow to him. “Good morning,” he said.

“Good morning, my lord,” she answered. “You
are well?”

“I’ve never felt better,” he said fervently.
He glanced back and saw Delamere watching him with a frown. “Why
did you leave?”

She colored and looked away. “I—I thought it
best, my lord.”

He didn’t understand what she meant, but
didn’t pursue it. “Will you come this evening?” he asked instead.
Then, thinking he sounded too eager, added, “I would like to talk
to you, nothing more. Will you?”

He saw her hesitate, he saw her eyes focus on
a point beyond his shoulder, he saw her expression suddenly
clear…She looked directly at him—even smiled slightly—and answered,
“Yes, my lord.”

The sound of thudding hooves reminded him of
the hunt; the saddled horses were arriving. He bade Gwalaes
farewell and turned back towards the ward to find the earl of
Chester’s narrowed stare piercing through him.

The party which ventured out into the
swirling weather in the forest behind Rhuddlan was largely silent
and brooding, following the lead of its two primary members.
Longsword could not erase the image of Chester’s burning eyes from
his mind; he’d known immediately that Gwalaes hadn’t exaggerated
when she’d said she feared the earl and wanted protection from him:
there was something between the two of them, and he wondered what
it was.

As for Hugh—never before had he felt such a
rage. Eleanor hadn’t lied; she and Longsword were lovers. He’d seen
it quite plainly when she had looked at him over the Bastard’s
shoulder with a level expression. It wasn’t enough, was it, that
the king had confiscated his favorite castle but now the king’s son
had taken his wife!

After midday, the dour party halted for a
rough meal and, leaving Haworth to hobble his horse, Hugh moved
casually to Longsword’s side. The young knight he’d admired last
night, de Vire, was gutting one of the deer they’d taken, tossing
the offal to the panting dogs which had accompanied them. Longsword
was watching the grisly proceedings with uncharacteristic
studiousness; a blatant attempt, Hugh thought angrily, to avoid
speaking with him.

He wrinkled his nose against the rising
stench and made some inane comment on the morning’s activities to
which Longsword responded briefly and monosyllabically. “I hope
this exercise isn’t too much of a strain on you,” Hugh added.

Longsword thought he was being slighted.
“What do you mean?” he demanded.

“At the prince’s court I’d heard you’d been
injured—almost fatally,” Hugh said.

“I’m perfectly fine,” the other man retorted.
He didn’t like having his weaknesses laid bare, particularly before
his enemies. “I’ve been riding now for weeks. I hardly feel
it.”

“One of your men told Roger you caught an
arrow in a bad spot…”

“Yes,” Longsword answered grudgingly. But,
like most people, he found it difficult to keep from bragging about
his wounds, even to a man he despised as much as he did the earl.
“A chance shot from the trees. It actually took me here,” he said,
indicating the joint of his neck and shoulder. “It was seen to
almost immediately but one thing after another happened and fever
set in. That’s what nearly killed me, not a Welsh arrow.”

“You were lucky, then. Fevers are tricky
things to cure. You must be indebted to the one who saved your
life…”

Longsword gave him a sharp look. “I am. She’s
under my care and protection.”

“Yes, Roger was told it was a woman who
healed you. Rather unusual, isn’t it? The funny thing is, the woman
was pointed out to me and she looks very much like someone I once
knew. Do you think that’s possible?”

“I doubt it, my lord. Gwalaes is a simple
Welsh woman, quite unlike the fine ladies with whom you’re
acquainted.”

“You must know that at Chester there are many
Welsh working in one capacity or another,” Hugh said pleasantly.
“And a woman so tall makes an impression. How long has she been
with you?”

Longsword didn’t want to answer any other
questions. He no longer believed Chester’s interest in Gwalaes had
anything to do with Alan d’Arques but until he knew the true reason
behind it, he thought it wise to keep his mouth shut.

He gained a reprieve when Richard Delamere
came up to them with a worried face. “I think we ought to turn
back, my lords,” he suggested. “The sky looks heavy and the wind
has picked up again.” Involuntarily, they all glanced upward. “If
we go now, we might be able to outrun the coming storm,” he added.
“It looks to be a wild one.”

Indeed, it was the wildest storm in living
memory. Strong gusts tore down heavy tree branches, sheeting rain
flattened the grassy fields and made mud of the cultivated ones,
the wind and rain together disoriented sheep and cattle just
settling into their summer pastures, scattering them far and wide
and the Clwyd overflowed its banks, carrying off more than one
coracle.

The inhabitants of Rhuddlan huddled inside
their tenuous dwellings and held their breath every time they heard
the roar of the wind and felt the tremblings of their walls. Those
in the keep were more relaxed, secure behind stone; the atmosphere
was almost carnival-like as they drank, swapped stories and burst
into impromtu song…there was even a mock battle being fought in one
corner and everyone had to shout to be heard over the persistent,
ringing steel.