Rhuddlan (53 page)

He didn’t move. He spoke
quietly but imploringly. “I swore I would protect you, Gwalaes, and
I meant it. I don’t know what’s going on; I don’t know what Chester
was talking about up there. I just want you to stay with me.” She
didn’t respond; she wouldn’t even look at him. He rushed on.
“Please, Gwalaes. It’s more than just the gratitude of the man
whose life you saved. Chester is right—I
am
genuinely fond of you. I love you!
Please stay with me.”

“I can’t…” she whispered.

“Why not? That story he was telling—is it
true? Are you truly the countess of Chester?”

She nodded wearily. “I am, but it’s not by
choice and I wouldn’t care if I never saw Chester castle
again.”

“Then stay,” he urged. “We can petition the
Church for an annulment of your marriage—and mine, for that matter.
We can be married, Gwalaes. Just stay here.”

“I can’t, Lord William.”

He was confused. “I don’t understand. He said
you could—”

“He said it because he knows it’s impossible,
Lord William!” she said angrily, as if she were frustrated with his
ignorance. “He’s taken my daughter!”

“Bronwen? But why?”

“Because as it stands now, Lord William,
Bronwen is his only heir.” To his look of bewilderment, she added
impatiently, “She’s his daughter, too! Oh, yes, he’s very generous.
I can stay behind at Rhuddlan and go on as before, or I can go to
Hawarden with him and see my daughter again!”

Longsword was silent, considering the
implications of Chester’s offer.

“Bronwen means everything to me, Lord
William,” she continued less stridently. “Surely you can understand
that. I’ve seen how eager you are for Gladys’ baby to arrive.”

“But the earl is the richest man in the
empire,” Longsword said. “He can give Bronwen anything she
wants.”

“She’s been happy this long without him. She
has no need of him or his wealth.”

“But she’s his heir, Gwalaes! Heir to
Chester! Do you know everything that means? A patrimony stretching
back more than one hundred years! The right to a marriage second
only to that of one of the king’s daughters! Do you really want to
deny Bronwen her heritage? Her fortune?”

She said quietly, “I had the same once, Lord
William. A title and wealth. I discovered they mean nothing
compared with happiness.”

“Don’t be a fool, Gwalaes!” he answered
angrily. “They mean everything. Take it from someone who’s been
denied them all his life and is no happier for it!”

She stared at him. “Bronwen
is
my
daughter.”

“Yours in flesh, Gwalaes, but not in law,” he
said.

Wordlessly, she maneuvered around him. She
walked away with a quick step. He called after her desperately but
she didn’t stop. He started after her.

“Will!”

Delamere’s urgent voice checked him. He
turned around and waited wordlessly as the other man descended the
last several steps.

“Are you all right?”

“You knew,” he said flatly.

Delamere nodded slowly. “Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I only found out yesterday, Will. I’m
sorry.”

Longsword felt a surge of anger. “For what?
For not telling me? For making me look like a fool before Chester?
Everyone in that room knew the truth except me!”

“You didn’t look like a fool, Will—”

“I imagine Haworth and Chester are having a
good laugh over it right now,” Longsword said, snorting. “It’ll
make a great story at Hawarden.”

“The earl isn’t going to say anything, Will.
You slept with his wife. You’ve humiliated him. Believe me, it’s in
his own interest to keep quiet about the whole thing…”

But Longsword wasn’t in a mood to be
mollified. He knew his conversation with Gwalaes had gone terribly
wrong—he knew he had said things she didn’t want to hear—and he was
angry. “How did you find it out?”

“It doesn’t matter, Will. It’s all over.”

“I want to know!”

Delamere said firmly, “I can’t tell you.”

Longsword stared at him, outraged. He could
feel his throat tighten; his fists clenched impotently. “You’ve
never approved of Gwalaes, have you?” he demanded. “You blame her
for the peace with Llanlleyn.”

“Shouldn’t I?”

“No! That was my decision, Richard, and no
one else’s!”

“Do you really expect me to
believe that, Will? I
know
you!”

There was a brief silence. Then Longsword
said stiffly, “I’ve always held you closer than my own brothers,
Richard. I never thought there would come a time when you would
begrudge me a little happiness.”

Delamere’s face was taut and his jaw was set.
He moved as close to Longsword as he could get without stepping on
his feet. “You’ve got a lot in your life to make you happy,
William,” he hissed, “but you’re too self-pitying to see any of it.
Let me tell you that you’d better start appreciating what you have
before it slips through your fingers and leaves you clutching—too
late—at nothing!”

He turned on his heel and stalked off in the
direction of the stairway. Longsword watched him disappear up the
steps; as usual, slightly daunted by his vehemence. But it was only
a momentary diversion; he quickly remembered his need to find
Gwalaes and convince her, somehow, to stay.

The sight which greeted him when he entered
the hall, however, stopped him in his tracks. There was Gwalaes—and
standing by her side, his arm tight around her shoulders, was Alan
d’Arques.

Alan urged Eleanor outside, away from curious
eyes. She was shaking so violently that he couldn’t understand the
words coming from her mouth. They made their way to the quiet
confines of the kitchen garden and by then Eleanor had calmed down
enough to speak coherently. Her worst nightmare had come true, she
told him in a trembling voice; the earl had found out the truth
about Bronwen. He had snatched her away from Richard Delamere’s
manor and only God knew where the child was now. Her only hope of
seeing Bronwen again was to leave with Chester in the morning…

Her face was pale and distraught. Alan said
gently, “Perhaps it’s for the best, Eleanor.”

“To go back to him? How can you say that,
Alan?”

“Because you’re a countess. You ought to be
living in a great castle, Eleanor, not a rustic abbey and Bronwen
ought to be growing up with all proper honors, not running around
with barefoot children.”

“He hasn’t got a castle anymore,” she said
bitterly.

“I’ve heard his men say Hawarden is quite
remarkable.”

She wiped her eyes. “I can’t believe you
would take his side, Alan…”

“I’m only thinking of what’s best for you and
Bronwen,” he insisted, feeling vaguely frustrated by her refusal to
see sense. “The earl is still a powerful presence in the empire
despite his treacherous action during the war. And who knows what
will happen with Chester Castle in the future. Henry can’t live
forever and the earl was one of the Young King’s primary allies.
You might well find yourself back behind those walls, Eleanor. And
you’re young yet—you’ll have more children—God willing, one or two
a boy.”

She shuddered. He started to speak again but
saw that she was suddenly preoccupied with the neckline of her
rough gown. Her fingers fumbled until they managed to extricate
something which she presented to him. “Do you recognize this?” she
asked.

He held out his hand and she placed the
object on his palm. He stared down in confusion at the twisted
weaving of wire he had called a brooch when he’d given it to
Gwalaes. “Of course I do,” he answered. He looked up at her.
“Didn’t Gwalaes want it any longer?”

“It was her most prized possession, Alan.
Poor Sir Roger, he was unlucky the night he murdered her! It
dropped from her body as he carried her through the postern gate at
Chester.” She was impatient with his lack of reaction. “I lied to
you when I told you Gwalaes returned to Oakby, Alan. There wasn’t
anything you could do, so I thought I would spare you the truth.
But the truth is my husband—the very man with whom you think I
should once again share a bed—had Sir Roger kill Gwalaes because
she was my friend. He never had much use for me and after my
brother died, he began to hate me. He took away everything that was
precious to me and that included Gwalaes. Now can you understand
why I left, Alan? Why I wanted to flee when I saw him enter
Rhuddlan two days ago?” Her voice broke and tears welled in her
eyes. “Why I’m so frightened for Bronwen?”

“Lady Eleanor, why didn’t you tell me this
when the earl arrived?”

“I’m sorry, Alan; I had to protect
Bronwen.”

“But Lord William was just looking for an
excuse to refuse Chester entrance!”

“I’m sorry,” she repeated. She dabbed at her
eyes with the wrist of her gown, confused by his sudden anger. “I
thought I was doing the right thing, Alan.”

He was chastened by her obvious agitation.
“Oh, don’t mind me, Lady Eleanor,” he said. He rubbed his face
tiredly and stared down at the brooch in his hand. Gwalaes’ most
prized possession…and he had barely given her a passing thought
since the day he’d left Robert Bolsover’s service.

Once again there was pounding on his door,
only this time he wasn’t dreaming about holding Gwalaes and
crossing swords with the earl of Chester—he had stayed up nearly
all night trying to dissolve the hard lump in his stomach with
wine, ale, small beer and even the foul-tasting mead the servants
always insisted on placing before him at the board and which he’d
never before ventured to drink—anything. But none of it had worked
and finally, he’d simply passed out on his bed.

The pounding woke him from a deep sleep. He
opened one bleary eye. The chamber was still dark; he hadn’t
overslept. So why was that idiot thumping at the door?

“Come in!” he shouted angrily, raising
himself to a sitting position in the bed. Or rather, on the bed. He
looked around. Apparently he had just stripped himself and
collapsed onto the linens.

“My lord!” Ralph de Vire stuck his head
inside the room. “Sir Richard asks if you can come quickly to the
stables! There’s a fight! One of ours and one of the earl’s
men!”

Richard had marvelled once that he could
drink all he wanted and never suffer for it in the morning but it
was the truth. He was dressed and hurrying through the keep in less
time than it would have taken another man in a similar condition to
merely roll out of the bed.

In the relative stillness of the early
morning, he could hear the clash of swords while he was still a
good distance from the stables. “Strange place for a sword fight,”
he growled over his shoulder at de Vire, who was struggling to keep
up with him.

“The earl’s men were readying their horses
for departure, my lord; that’s why everyone’s at the stables,” he
panted.

“Is Chester there?”

“He ought to be by now, my lord. Sir Richard
sent to him, as well.”

They rounded the corner of the stable block.
The noise of the fight grew louder. Longsword saw the earl in front
of him, standing with his arms crossed over his chest, several of
his men surrounding him.

Delamere was standing four or five yards away
from the earl, with other Rhuddlan knights. Longsword’s heart
jumped when he saw that Delamere was holding Gwalaes by the arm—and
then it wouldn’t stop pounding. He almost didn’t want to—he was
afraid if he took his eyes from Gwalaes, she would disappear—but he
glanced at the two combatants circling each other in a small,
cleared area. One was Roger of Haworth.

The other was Alan d’Arques.

Longsword promptly forgot
that Gwalaes was close by. When he saw Alan, all his small
jealousies came rushing in on him. All he could imagine was that
Haworth had made some offensive comment about Gwalaes and Alan, her
lover, had jumped to defend her honor. The sight of Alan duelling
with Haworth enraged him far more than had any of the occasions on
which he’d seen Alan and Gwalaes engaged in conversation. All he
could think was that perhaps
he
ought to be doing what Alan was doing.

“Lord William!” Gwalaes’ desperate voice
called out to him and he was brought back to reality. “Lord
William, please do something! Please stop this fighting!”

He looked at her; she was straining against
Delamere’s grasp. He missed Alan’s sudden leap towards Haworth, the
downward slash of his sword and Haworth’s effortless block. He
heard the clang of metal and Gwalaes’ scream. In that instant, she
managed to extricate herself from Delamere’s hold. She rushed to
Longsword and threw herself at his feet, and pleaded with him again
to stop the fight.

Chester loomed behind her. “Get up, Eleanor!”
he said angrily. “You’re making a fool of yourself!” He glanced at
Longsword. “There’s no reason to call a halt to it. It was d’Arques
who issued the challenge. Sir Roger is only defending his
name.”

“Lord William, please! Sir Roger will murder
Alan!”

As if he hadn’t thought of that probability
the moment he’d seen who was fighting.

Delamere came up and raised Gwalaes to her
feet. She never took her eyes off Longsword but she had fallen
silent. She looked at him with an uncomprehending expression, as if
she couldn’t understand his lack of reaction. He didn’t quite
understand it himself. He didn’t trust himself to speak.

Then came a series of noisy clashes. Gwalaes
shrieked again and lurched in the direction of the fight. Delamere
barely managed to hold her back. Irritated, he snapped at the earl
for God’s sake, remove the countess from the site because the
commotion was distracting Alan d’Arques.

Chester smirked. Everyone present knew the
outcome was a foregone conclusion, whether or not the countess
remained. “But I suppose she must collect her belongings because,
of course, we’ll be leaving right after sunrise.”