Rhuddlan (50 page)

Longsword’s self-control was hanging by a
thread by the time the hunting party galloped into the ward, just
before the storm broke, a victim of the earl’s continuing
inquisition. Chester had not given up his questioning even at a
gallop, and his stallion was more than equal to the punishing pace
set by Longsword. Try as he might, Longsword hadn’t been able to
shake the man and had finally shortened his reins and allowed the
rest of the group to catch up with him just to be able to put
several horses and riders in between them. “He’s obsessed with
Gwalaes,” he told Delamere as they brought their mounts to the
stables. “And his damned captain—all day I could feel his
distrustful eyes on me. Me! As if he didn’t trust me not to murder
a guest of my home. I don’t know which one of them is worse!”

“Why would he care so much about Gwalaes?”
Delamere said curiously.

“Who the hell knows?”

They stopped in the barracks so Longsword
could remove his hauberk. He leaned forward as Delamere pulled at
the sleeves and muttered something indistinct as the heavy mail
closed over his head.

“What did you say?”

Longsword rolled his shoulders, feeling
pounds lighter. “I said it’s as if he knows her.”

Just then Alan d’Arques walked in. After
having to endure Chester’s never-ending questioning about Gwalaes,
the sight of her lover, d’Arques, was particularly offensive to
Longsword and he approached the younger man angrily.

“Where were you this morning?”

“I’m sorry, my lord, I—”

“I had a job for you; you were told about it
last night!”

“I know, my lord; I thought I would be back
in time, but my horse went lame and …”

Longsword stepped close to d’Arques. “I don’t
want to hear stories!”

“I’m sorry, my lord, I—”

“I want men who will obey my instructions, do
you understand? If you don’t think you can do that then perhaps you
should approach the earl of Chester and ask if he will take you
on!”

Alan d’Arques looked stricken. “Please, my
lord—”

Delamere put a hand on Longsword’s arm and
pulled him back. “Will, come into the hall…”

Longsword shook him off. “I’m not through
here!”

In a low voice Delamere said, “I think I’ve
figured out why Chester’s so interested in Gwalaes; it explains why
she speaks Norman French so well.”

Longsword looked at him suspiciously.
“Why?”

“You said it’s as if he knows her. Maybe he
does. Maybe she’s a runaway villein from Chester. A piece of the
earl’s property and he’s not at all pleased to see her here.
Perhaps he thinks you know—”

“How would I know something like that!”

“What if he wants her back?”

To Delamere’s surprise, the other man’s face
turned purple. Delamere was well aware of Longsword’s infatuation
with the healer but he had obviously underestimated its depth.

“He can’t have her,” Longsword snapped. He
spun around and left the barracks. Delamere exchanged a glance with
d’Arques and followed.

The rain had started spattering down in fat,
hard drops. Longsword was halfway across the bailey and Delamere
had to jog to catch up with him.

“Will…” Delamere started cautiously. “Maybe
it’s time Gwalaes went back to the abbey.”

Longsword spun around. “Why?” he
demanded.

“Three reasons. First, there’s no longer any
danger from Rhirid. Second, her presence here is wreaking havoc in
your household—”

“I don’t give a damn about Teleri and as long
as my son is safe I don’t care if Gladys stays at the Perfeddwlad
forever!” Longsword interrupted. He glared at Delamere. “The earl
can bleat all he wants but he won’t take Gwalaes away from me and
we don’t even know where Rhirid is, let alone know if he’s no
longer dangerous! It’s idiotic to speak of sending Gwalaes away!
She saved my life! I owe her, Richard!”

“Very well.” Delamere took a deep breath.
“There’s the third reason. Last week she asked me to persuade you
to release her. She told me she wanted to return to the abbey.”

For a long moment Longsword just stared at
Delamere while the rain beat on their heads and ran down the sides
of their faces. Then he said calmly, “That was last week.”

“Will, you’re being—”

Longsword ignored him, and turned back
towards the keep.

Delamere sat in a corner of the hall, nursing
a cup of wine and fuming. Longsword would not listen to reason.
Teleri’s accusation that he was besotted with the Welsh healer had
been dead-on. Delamere couldn’t understand it—he would never let a
woman influence him the way Longsword was doing. Of course, it
wasn’t Longsword’s fault; after all, what did he know of women?
This notion that he owed her something because she had saved his
life was ridiculous. Certainly it didn’t mean he had to make peace
with the very people who had tried to kill him or cross one of the
most powerful men in England, whom even the king hadn’t dared to
strip of his lands or titles.

He swirled the wine in the cup absently,
looking out onto the pandemonium in the hall but not really seeing
it. He was worried about the situation with Longsword. They had
known each other for twenty years and had never fallen out over
anything. He did not want to fall out over an inconsequential Welsh
healer—

“Excuse me, Sir Richard…”

A woman’s voice interrupted his thoughts. He
looked up with a polite smile. The voice belonged to one of
Teleri’s servants, the one who was invariably dispatched to convey
orders from her mistress to the rest of the household. Although she
rarely left her rooms, Teleri had gradually taken control of the
running of Rhuddlan from an indifferent Longsword and had proven
herself an efficient chatelaine.

“What is it?”

“Lady Teleri, Sir Richard. She asks if you
would pay her the honor of a visit to her chamber.”

Delamere raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Of
course,” he answered. “Tell her I’ll be right up.”

The woman nodded briefly and left him.
Delamere tipped the cup towards his mouth and swallowed the last of
the wine thoughtfully. He couldn’t think of any reason Teleri would
want to see him but suspected it had to do with Longsword. He just
hoped he wouldn’t come away from the interview with a greater
headache than Longsword had already given him.

The door to Teleri’s antechamber was open and
he heard the sound of what was surely a hundred women all talking
at one time. He smiled wryly to himself; it was precisely the same
sound he heard whenever he walked in on Olwen and her servants in
his own house. He paused at the doorway. He could see Teleri
sitting on a cushioned bench pulled up close to the crackling fire
in the low, wide brazier, speaking to a boy he recognized as the
stablemaster’s son. Beyond her, on another bench, sat three of her
women, chattering away. Apart from the noise, which was only
slightly less offensive to the ear than the tumult in the hall
below, it was a heartening scene. The sole window in the room had
been shuttered against the rain but there was more than enough
light from half a dozen thick beeswax candles judiciously
distributed about the whitewashed walls. A pleasant scent of
lavender filled the air and all the women were neatly dressed in
finely woven cloth. It struck Delamere that his friend was a fool
to ignore this enticing haven of domestic calm in favor of the
rough charms of a woman who didn’t even want him.

Teleri spied him just as he raised his hand
to knock on the door frame. She dismissed the boy, who scooted past
Delamere, and rose from her seat, at the same time beckoning to the
knight to enter.

The sight of Richard Delamere never failed to
start her heart beating just a bit faster. It was the collective
female opinion that he was the handsomest man at Rhuddlan, although
there was considerable argument whether it was his green eyes,
curling hair or sensuous lips which made him so. For a moment,
Teleri was flustered and at a loss for words. She quite envied
Olwen.

“I hope I’m not inconveniencing you, Sir
Richard,” she said.

“Not at all, my lady,” he replied, bowing
respectfully and coming up with an indulgent grin. “A summons from
a beautiful woman is never an inconvenience,” he added, flustering
her further. She was normally self-assured and opinionated and a
lifetime spent in her uncle’s house meant she was comfortable
dealing with any man but Richard Delamere made her nervous not
merely because he was so good-looking but because he was invariably
deferential, despite the fact that he was her husband’s closest
friend and advisor.

To cover her nervousness, she commanded her
women to bring Delamere to a bench and to serve him sweet mead, and
during the ensuing activity she resumed her seat and collected her
thoughts.

Getting rid of Gladys had not satisfied her
craving for revenge upon Longsword because he was still humiliating
her with his affair with the healer. She knew that the pair had
spent most of the previous night together and had barely been able
to contain her fury on the subject when Longsword had forced her
into the council chamber and accused her of engineering Gladys’
departure. His audacity was staggering. She desired nothing more
than to see him suffer as much as he was making her suffer.

She had information she thought would do it,
too. She didn’t quite understand all of it—probably there were
pieces missing—but what she did know was certain to be of interest
to her husband. And his new whore. But Longsword wouldn’t listen to
her; she needed Delamere’s assistance. She never doubted he would
give it to her, either. He hated Gwalaes almost as much as she
did.

“Mead has an unusual taste,” he said,
startling her from her thoughts. He raised his cup to her. “But,
like Wales herself, a man can learn to like it very much.”

“I remember that Olwen’s was always
superior,” Teleri said politely. “She used to spice it a particular
way.”

“Is that so? Unfortunately, I’ve never
sampled Olwen’s recipe. We only have honey in the house if I
remember to bring it from Rhuddlan and certainly not enough to use
to brew mead.”

“She doesn’t keep bees?” Teleri asked,
surprised. A good supply of honey was a mark of a well-stocked
manor. “My uncle’s bees are known across Gwynedd for the quality of
their produce. I insisted on bringing several hives with me when I
came here. Tell me next time you go to Olwen and I’ll see you have
more honey than she can use.”

“That’s kind of you, my lady…”

“Not at all.” She added lightly, “If I had
known Alan d’Arques was traveling there today, I could have given
him half a dozen pots to carry along.”

A sudden gust of wind slammed into the wooden
shutter, making it rattle. No one spoke. The rain outside slashed
against the wall and the window. The fire in the brazier crackled.
The other women in the room, having attended to Delamere, were
silent and watchful. Teleri watched the flickering lights of the
candles.

Delamere said, “Alan d’Arques went to my
manor this morning?”

“Yes, Sir Richard.”

The knight’s voice became sharp. “How do you
know? Did he tell you? He had no answer for Lord William not long
ago when he was questioned.”

“No, Sir Richard, he didn’t tell me,” she
answered. “Someone overheard him speaking and reported the
conversation to me.”

“Why?”

She was surprised at the question. “I spend
most of my time in these chambers, Sir Richard, but I know what
goes on in this fortress just as well as you or Lord
William…possibly even better,” she said. “We are all Welsh here,
you see. People tell me everything. I know, for instance, Alan
d’Arques went to your manor…and I know with whom.”

“Who told you this, Lady Teleri?” he
demanded.

“That boy who was here. Cynan. He was roused
from sleep and ordered to ready Sir Alan’s horse just before dawn.
Sir Alan then told him to find Gwalaes, Gwalaes bade him take
Bronwen out of Rhuddlan through the postern and when Sir Alan
arrived on his horse, he gave up Bronwen and received a plain
dagger in thanks.” She smiled. “Or payment.”

“And Alan and Bronwen went to my house?”

“Yes, Sir Richard.”

Delamere fell silent. Teleri experienced a
moment of panic; she hoped the story was indeed accurate. The boy
from the stables was quick but few people who weren’t born to it
could understand a foreign tongue when spoken rapidly.

A noise caught her attention and she looked
over at Delamere. He was chuckling. “I think you’re making too much
of a mystery out of this, Lady Teleri. Bronwen likes our horses.
She begged me for a ride only the other day. Obviously Gwalaes
talked Alan into doing it and he was too embarrassed to admit to it
later.”

“But they went to your manor—”

“No, no,” he shook his head. “The boy must
have misunderstood. A quick ride, perhaps in the direction of the
manor, that’s all. Why would Alan take a child that far with the
sky as it was this morning? A blind man could have felt the storm
coming.”

His smile was benevolent and, to her mind,
pitying. She was angry. Obviously he believed that she was a
solitary and lonely woman, prey to gossip and rumors. He did not
look so handsome anymore.

“I would agree with you, of course, Sir
Richard,” she said politely, “but for one question. Why didn’t
Bronwen return with Sir Alan? Because according to Cynan, Sir Alan
came back alone. Gwalaes met him at the stables and asked him if
all had gone well.”

The smile disappeared from his face. His
green eyes bored into hers; she stared back unblinkingly.

“Why are you telling me this, Lady Teleri?”
he asked softly.

“Doesn’t this little escapade prove to you
something’s not quite right with Gwalaes? First she manipulated
Lord William and now one of his knights. She claims to be Welsh but
has a horrendous accent, which you probably didn’t notice, yet she
speaks impeccable French. Why am I telling you this, Sir Richard?
Because I want to get rid of her. I think she’s a threat to
Rhuddlan, not only to me but to the status quo. What would happen
to Lord William, Sir Richard, if his men deserted him?”