Rhuddlan (54 page)

He signalled two of his men forward. They
seized the young woman by either arm and pulled her away. Her pleas
and cries echoed in Longsword’s head long after she disappeared
from sight.

Now the men focused their attention on the
fight. Only a few ventured to make a wager, mostly encouraged by
the fact that Alan was younger than his opponent who, at this
point, merely appeared to be defending himself from his
provocations.

Still, it was a very able defense. The
younger knight lunged, but Haworth easily pushed his sword aside.
Alan twisted around and took a swipe at his opponent’s upper body,
was blocked, ducked low and tried to jab up at Haworth’s abdomen
and was rebuffed again.

Hugh said to Delamere and Longsword, “He’s
waiting. Can’t you see how much more work your man is doing than
mine? Young or no, d’Arques can’t keep up this pace forever. He’ll
get tired. And then Roger’ll finish him.”

Alan’s anger cleared under the force of the
exercise. He wondered at Haworth’s unwillingness to attack and came
to the conclusion that his opponent was old and no longer possessed
the edge which came from living under hostile circumstances. The
thought buoyed him. He had tossed and turned all night, imagining
every instant of this duel but when the other man had actually
pulled out his sword, he’d had a moment of sober hesitation. Now
the doubts disappeared. To his mind, he was getting the better of a
well-regarded knight. He became cocky and more showy, lunging and
twisting, dancing circles around Haworth until he found himself
heaving for breath.

He failed to notice that Haworth had suddenly
become very adept. He slashed with his sword at Haworth’s side one
last time; Haworth stepped back and as Alan’s momentum kept him
going forward, Haworth kicked him in the ribs with such force that
the young man fell onto his hands and knees. He never saw Haworth
raise his sword, and the pain which suddenly seared through his
neck was mercifully short-lived.

Richard Delamere rode at a fast clip to his
manor. He felt a pressing urgency to see his home and his family
and make certain everything had been left intact. The earl had
coldly assured him that Haworth hadn’t touched a hair on the head
of anyone at the manor—had even smirked and told him that women and
little boys were not to his captain’s taste—but Delamere wouldn’t
believe it until he saw it for himself.

He reached the manor at midday, halting in
the front yard and looked around with a sharp eye. He noticed
nothing unusual or disturbed. Perversely, the peace angered him. He
dismounted and tied the reins to a rail on the wooden stairs
leading to the entrance of the house. A movement caught his eye.
Olwen was standing at the top, smiling as if nothing had happened.
Had she simply handed the child to Haworth? He looked away.

Her first impulse had been to rush down the
stairs and jump into his arms but the angry expression on his face
killed her joy. She stepped slowly down to the ground and waited
for him to speak.

They stared at each other for a brief moment.
Delamere wondered why she didn’t greet him with a hug and kiss as
she always had before. “Where are the boys?” he asked gruffly.

That wasn’t what she wanted to hear. “They’re
inside. Until you came, I didn’t want to let them out.”

“They’re unharmed?” She nodded and could see
his relief. “And you?”

“I’m all right, Richard.”

He looked around the yard again and to the
shed to the side. “Everything seems to be fine.”

“Yes, it is. They were quick.”

“How many were they?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t have the chance to
count. But they were many.” She searched his face for sympathy as
she spoke but didn’t see any. He was fooled by the peace. “What did
it all mean?”

“It’s an unbelievable story. Bronwen is the
daughter of the earl of Chester, although neither one of them knew
it until yesterday.” A flash of impatience crossed his face and he
ran a hand through his hair tiredly. “I’ll explain it to you
later.”

“The poor child screamed as they took her
away. I can hear her still in my dreams…”

“There was nothing you could
do to hide her?” he asked. “Couldn’t you have told them she
was
your
daughter?”

Olwen was stung by his implication that what
had happened was her fault. “No, I told you they were quick. But
they had to rip her from my arms, Richard!”

“All right—I didn’t mean—” He gave up with a
sigh. “Never mind, it’s been a hell of a morning,” he said,
thinking of Longsword’s stoic silence and Alan’s death. “I’m
hungry. I left Rhuddlan without breakfast.”

She told him to go up into the house and she
would bring him food. But she was outraged further. Did he imagine
that the ordeal hadn’t been the least bit horrifying for her?

Delamere ate in thoughtful silence, oblivious
to the chattering voices of his children and the low whispers of
Olwen and her servants. He was suddenly concerned with his manor’s
relative lack of security. He didn’t care about his livestock or
the small garden but he’d been unnerved to learn how easily Haworth
and the earl’s men had been able to accomplish their task. Several
male laborers and a handful of female servants were no match for
trained, armed men. A few stout dogs and men-at-arms were
needed.

Thinking of the dogs reminded him of the
gruesome sight he’d come across on his way home. It had been a dark
shape laying motionless on the path. Dismounting, he’d discovered
that it was the body of Bronwen’s dog, Kigva. The animal had been
pinned to the ground with a javelin and had evidently been the
feast of the previous night for the nocturnal creatures of the
forest. He’d pulled out the javelin, broken it across his knee and
thrown the pieces into the woods and then picked the remains of the
body up by the tail and heaved them out of sight.

Olwen fumed steadily as the day wore on.
Richard hadn’t even paid much attention to the children and finally
she had put them into the big bed behind the partition at the end
of the hall, the eldest by the wall and the baby next to him. When
he went out to settle his horse for the night, she quickly
undressed and slipped into the bed, curling up on her side facing
the baby. She had never thought him capable of such callousness.
She told herself she hated him, and when he came to bed and put an
arm over her waist and his lips close to her neck, she pretended
she was already sleeping.

Chapter 34

April, 1177

Hawarden Castle, Gwynedd

He’d had more than usual to drink that night
but instead of feeding his rage, it had merely made him tired. He’d
gone outside to clear his head with a walk down to the bailey and
back but it hadn’t helped. Haworth, who accompanied him, was
strangely garrulous but Hugh had often noticed that brisk activity
seemed to invigorate some men while in his case it only slowed him;
anyway, he supposed Haworth had done enough in the last week to
invigorate himself: stealing away a child, killing Alan d’Arques
and making a quick return to Hawarden.

It was Haworth who had encouraged him,
earlier in the day, to confront Eleanor and punish her for running
off and causing so much trouble all those years ago. Since their
return, she had been confined to two rooms at the very top of the
castle tower with only one woman to serve her. She had been silent
and expressionless during the journey but the instant the horses
had ridden through the gate, she had demanded in a cold, sharp
voice to see her daughter. When her request was curtly refused, she
would not dismount and had to be pulled protesting and struggling
from the horse she shared with one of Hugh’s knights, and then
half-dragged and half-carried into the keep and up to her prison.
Hugh had been startled; he couldn’t remember such aggressive
behavior from her during their marriage and it had taken a little
off the edge of his anger.

Haworth had fixed a guard at her door, which
was proved warranted the very first time the servant had entered it
with a tray. Eleanor had practically knocked the woman over in her
zeal to escape and the guard had had to wrestle her back inside.
After that there had been no more trays, no more food or drink or
someone to cart away the waste bucket. For more than a day she
could be heard even in the farthest reaches of the castle,
screaming for Hugh, screaming to be released, screaming for her
daughter…until at last, she had fallen eerily quiet and everyone
had wondered if she’d died.

“Save us all a lot of
trouble if she
is
dead,” Haworth had declared. “Would you like me to go and
see?”

“No, no,” Hugh shook his head. “I can’t deny
myself the pleasure.”

But inside himself he wasn’t so confident.
Although he knew he was in the right, Eleanor’s bizarre behavior
made him imagine that she’d lost her wits while in the Bastard’s
keeping and there wasn’t a man alive who could predict how an
insane woman would react to the slightest provocation.

“Though you need an heir,” Haworth continued
thoughtfully. “A daughter isn’t much use; she can’t be earl. You
need a son, and then you can be rid of the Bolsovers forever.”

That was when Hugh decided he needed a bit of
fresh air. He didn’t like to hear Haworth speak disparagingly of
Robert Bolsover, even indirectly. Despite the passage of five
years, the affair still rankled on Haworth and he was becoming
increasingly vocal about it.

To his dismay, Haworth had insisted on
accompanying him outside. The man was displaying a new confidence
that was beginning to grate on Hugh’s nerves, which was odd
considering Haworth’s former subservience had also irritated him.
Of course, if anyone had a right to a sudden infusion of confidence
in his own ability, it was Roger of Haworth; indeed, if it hadn’t
been for Haworth’s keen eye, Hugh would have eventually remarried
and unknowingly produced a bastard. He supposed he ought to feel
grateful to Haworth but he didn’t. He felt strangely dismayed that
the past had been stirred up and cast into his face again just when
he’d finally managed to put it all behind himself.

Or perhaps he was starting to tire of his
lover.

He turned abruptly and went back into the
keep. He called for Eleanor to be brought to him. “I think, Roger,”
he said carefully, “I will see her privately.”

Haworth looked injured. “My lord, I can
help—”

“Yes, I know, Roger, but I—” he thought
quickly, “—I can’t expect you to do everything for me, can I?
You’ve done too much already these past few years. And—” he
continued as Haworth started to protest, “—I remember what you said
about needing an heir…”

The other man nodded immediately and Hugh
sensed his relief that there was no slight intended against
him.

He was sitting alone when
Eleanor was brought in. She stood where she was placed, in the
middle of the small chamber, in front of his chair. She wore the
same clothes in which she’d arrived; probably, he thought,
wrinkling his nose, the same clothes she’d had on the day she
landed at Rhuddlan. Her long hair hung lank and unbound down her
back, her face was white and gaunt with dark shadows below her eyes
and her lips were pressed shut in a thin line. Her eyes betrayed
the only spark of life in her: they stared at him with unblinking,
burning hatred and for the first time in their relationship, he was
actually a little bit afraid of
her
.

“If you swear to me that you won’t attempt
another escape, I will be more than happy to restore your servant
to you,” he said loudly, to cover his sudden discomfort.

She didn’t answer. But her eyes never left
his face.

“Did you hear what I said? You must be
starving by now. I can have food sent up to you as soon as you
leave me if you give me your word you won’t try to escape.
Otherwise—” he shrugged.

Still she said nothing. He frowned,
discomfort changing into irritation.

“Well? If you’re trying to play games with
me, Eleanor, be assured that I will always win—”

“I believe you already have, my lord,” she
interrupted in a sharp voice.

“What do you mean?”

“You haven’t any intention of permitting me
to see my daughter, have you? You never had, even back at
Rhuddlan.” Her lips twisted wryly. “I should have guessed, of
course, but I was in such a panic…”

He smiled slowly then, feeling the
uncertainty ebb away and the current of power flow towards him.
“No, my lady, you’re correct. You will not see the girl.” He stood
up abruptly. She took an involuntary step backwards and he smiled
again. He moved past her to a table and poured out a cup of wine.
“Did the Bastard treat you well? He looks even more miserable than
I remember at Dol. There’s a man who will never be content. The
only flash of agreeableness he showed was when he spoke about you.
How you saved his life. Did you see him? He had his sword out. He
was ready to kill me just to keep you.” Hugh lifted the cup to his
lips and swallowed. He didn’t know why he was drinking; he didn’t
feel like drinking and the wine was beginning to turn in his
stomach. He lowered the cup and set it down hard on the table. “Do
you miss him?”

“I don’t care about him,” she answered. “What
have you done with my daughter?”

“Your daughter! It’s always your daughter!
She’s mine as well, isn’t she? She’s my heir!”

“She’s your daughter only in blood,” Eleanor
snapped angrily. “A mere twist of fate! I’m the one who has
provided her shelter and food. I’m the one who has raised her—”

“You never gave me the chance, did you? You
contrived your death and disappeared—”

“I saved you the trouble of it.”

He paused, narrowing his eyes. “What do you
mean?”