Rhuddlan (97 page)

There was a scrape outside the open door and
she turned around. Hugh crossed the threshold, followed closely by
the guard.

“You may leave,” she said to the man. “Shut
the door behind you.”

“My lady—”

Her voice was sharp. “Must you argue with me
over everything?”

The door closed.

She returned to her chair and sat down, and
for the first time since he’d entered the room, looked up at Hugh.
He was watching her, his expression amused. She flushed. “If I were
a man, he wouldn’t even have thought of questioning me,” she
said.

“They underestimate you,” he said. The smile
vanished. “As I did.”

She considered him for a moment and then
asked curiously: “Did you really think your scheme would
succeed?”

He seemed surprised at the
question. “Yes, of course, Lady Teleri. Why else would I risk so
much? And despite your…
betrayal
, I believe it still would
have succeeded had Lord William not returned to Gwynedd. Don’t look
surprised. I know everything. Men get bored guarding an empty
hallway and a closed door. I’ve had some nice chats with your
guards. And last night one of them told me about your messenger’s
arrival and recounted his story.” He smiled again, wryly this time.
“I always said the Bastard had the devil’s own luck—I’m sorry; I
shouldn’t speak so crudely of your husband in front of
you.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she shrugged.

“No,” he said agreeably, “given what you’ve
told me about him, I’m sure you’ve hurled your fair share of curses
at his back.”

She didn’t want to discuss her relationship
with Longsword and said quickly, “If you’ve been speaking with my
men, you know, then, that Lord William is on his way. He should be
here late tomorrow or thereabouts. What do you think he’ll do with
you?”

“I really don’t know, my lady.” But he didn’t
sound concerned.

“You know that Richard Delamere is dead.”

He nodded.

“If for no other reason, I think my husband
will want to kill you for that. Sir Richard was the person closest
to him. They were inseparable.”

“I understand my man, Haworth, is also dead,”
he said in a low voice.

“Yes…however, I don’t think that will matter
to Lord William.”

“Probably not,” he agreed and dropped his
eyes to the floor.

The next part was embarrassing. She rose from
the chair and walked slowly away from him, so that he couldn’t see
her face. “I was thinking, my lord…what would happen to me once my
husband has had his revenge on you?”

“I don’t know…”

“I think he might pursue your wife—your
widow, she would be—again. And if it ever came out that your son is
actually his son, I think he might succeed in his petition for
annulment.” She turned around.

“It’s possible…” He looked up. “Would you
really care?”

“Yes,” she said without emotion.

He waited but she said nothing further. He
raised an eyebrow. “Then, according to your thinking, we have a
problem,” he said slowly. “How have you decided to solve it?”

Chapter 59

June, 1178

Rhuddlan, Gwynedd

Longsword was exhausted. The travel that day
had had a quicker pace than previously; there was an undercurrent
of eagerness running through the lines which had seemed to propel
the men, on foot and on horse, towards Rhuddlan as though it were
an oasis and they’d been without water for days. Despite the toll
on his body, Longsword hadn’t the heart to hold them back. They
reached the fortress as the shadows began to lengthen and the light
in the sky turned purple and rose. It was a small consolation, he
thought as he was helped down from his horse, face contorted,
holding his breath as if this would blunt the pain, that he would
at least not have to sleep another night on the hard ground.

And that proved to be the only consolation he
received that night for his hard travel. Guy Lene was visibly
agitated when he greeted the arrivals and practically dancing in an
effort to contain himself. Longsword had wanted only to change out
of clothing he’d been wearing so long he half-suspected was fused
onto his skin, make a quick appearance at the supper board and then
crawl into his bed with enough wine to override the pain in the
entire right side of his body and knock him into oblivion. But
Lene’s need to share his burden scuttled those plans. Before
Longsword had even reached the steps leading up to the hall, Lene
told him that the earl and the men who’d been captured with him
were gone.

Warin fitz Maurice, who was standing on
Longsword’s left side, made an exclamatory outburst. The three men
stopped abruptly, which halted the progress of everyone else behind
them. After a glance at Longsword, fitz Maurice demanded to know
what had happened, who was responsible and what was being done
about it.

Guy Lene, flustered, appealed to Longsword.
“My lord, a half dozen of us were away from the castle, hunting,”
he said earnestly. “It wasn’t until we’d returned that I was
informed the earl had gone.”

“Escaped?” fitz Maurice interrupted.

Lene’s face was red. He hesitated, then shook
his head. “He was released, along with his men, quite openly.”

Longsword spoke for the first time. “By
whom?”

Another hesitation. “Lady Teleri, my
lord…”

Fitz Maurice swore. Longsword felt little
more than a flicker of annoyance, probably because he had expected
the answer. In another time, he supposed, he would have been
enraged beyond control with his wife’s action, but everything
seemed different now and anyway, he was too tired and too
uncomfortable to do more than grunt and nod and move off again
towards the steps.

“My lord,” fitz Maurice called softly after
him, and he paused and looked up at the landing. Teleri was
standing there, all alone, bereft even of the tremulous women who
always seemed to surround her. She was dressed very properly, in a
pale blue gown with a pleated skirt and an embroidered gold surcoat
trimmed with white. Her long auburn hair hung loose down her back
but the crown of her head was covered demurely with a thin golden
veil. She stood straight with her hands clasped before her, a model
of competency, efficiency and organization, and the undeniable
mistress of the castle.

Despite his exhaustion, he was impressed. She
stared back at him, her face composed and her expression unreadable
but he saw neither the familiar arrogant tilt of the head nor the
mocking twist of the mouth. In that moment he realized that her
solitary presence on the landing and her costume and posture had
been carefully planned for their confrontation over the earl’s
release. She had picked the place of battle and donned her gear.
Like a good soldier, her face bore no sign of apprehension or
boldness. She was tense and wary, but she was prepared to fight and
wouldn’t back down.

Lene spoke nervously from
his right. “My lord, I
did
ask the lady to confine herself to her rooms until
your return, but I didn’t feel it would have been appropriate to
keep her there by force.”

“Ha!” Fitz Maurice could not
restrain his incredulity and anger. “Appropriate? Obviously it was
necessary! This…
betrayal
is serious and may yet cost us many
lives!”

He spoke loudly enough for Teleri to hear.
Longsword, who hadn’t stopped watching his wife, saw her lips press
firmly together but otherwise she displayed no reaction. He was
surprised by his own reaction to her stoic presence on the landing.
She could have hidden in her chamber, she could have fled to the
sanctuary of the Perfeddwlad—hell, she could have gone with the
earl, but she had chosen to defend her action in the midst of a
group of hungry, tired and unfriendly men who had been made fools
of by the very person she had freed. She didn’t lack courage, he
thought with a measure of grudging respect. Her resolve was
appealing…or perhaps it was the waning light which made her look
attractive?

Without acknowledging either fitz Maurice’s
outburst or Lene’s distress, he proceeded up the steps alone. She
waited, as still as a statue. A small breeze suddenly blew over
her, rippling her veil and lifting the ends of her hair. He was
startled and stopped. He was a few steps down from the landing and
his eyes were level with hers. He nodded. “Teleri.”

Her voice was neutral. “My lord.”

He was surprised by her
tentative manner. He’d expected her to go immediately on the
offensive as had always been her habit but instead she watched him,
still unmoving, still expressionless. He wondered what was wrong
with her and then it came to him—she was confused and it was
his
strange behavior which
had done it. She had apparently assumed he would have a similar
reaction to the news of the earl’s departure as fitz Maurice; she
had expected him to shout at her, accuse her and berate her and
when he hadn’t done any of that, she was unnerved. How ironic: he’d
finally gotten the best of her and he hadn’t done a
thing.

She was frowning. “Does something amuse you,
my lord?”

He realized he was smiling, an expression
which deepened at the familiar, irritated tone. “No. I was just
thinking it’s good of you to welcome me back.”

Her mouth dropped open and he heard her catch
her breath.

He climbed the remaining steps. Fitz Maurice
and Lene caught up to him and together they proceeded to the
hall.

“My lord!”

He turned and looked at her blankly,
increasing her obvious discomfort. He was enjoying this. The
carefully smooth face she’d presented only a moment ago was gone,
replaced with an assortment of emotions ranging from anger to
wariness. She didn’t know how to react, he thought; she didn’t know
if he were simply controlling his own anger and was ready to erupt
at the least thing she might say.

“Isn’t there something you want to discuss
with me?” she asked.

“Not now,” he answered mildly.

“But—”

“Teleri, I’m tired. I’ll see you
tomorrow.”

For Teleri, sleep was impossible. She picked
at the supper sent up to her and paced back and forth through her
rooms, thinking. She sat by an open window and watched, unseeing,
the activity in the ward below until the torches were lit and
everyone went inside for the night. She absentmindedly allowed her
women to undress her and plait her hair and put her into bed but
she lay awake in the darkness, her mind churning too much to permit
her to fall asleep.

What was he up to? she thought, over and
over. Was it going to be the same as when he’d ignored her for days
after rescuing Olwen from Hawarden? She’d hoped to preempt that
sort of reaction by confronting him immediately. She had imagined
his rage would be great upon hearing the news of the earl’s flight,
and when he saw her he wouldn’t have been able to dismiss her
without a fight. But it hadn’t happened like that and she no longer
had the advantage.

There was more to it. She wanted to explain
why she’d done it and why she believed she’d had the right to do
it. She wanted him to know she knew he’d gone to Normandy to ask
his father to help him obtain an annulment. She wanted him to
realize he would never have Gwalaes or Eleanor or whatever she
called herself at the moment because the earl was alive and well
and then she wanted to tell him she was going back to her uncle’s
house.

It was funny. She’d spent the hours since
releasing the earl and his men hating her husband with an
incredible passion, just waiting for him to return so she could
confront him, say what she wanted to say and leave him for good. It
had struck her to the core—after all she’d done for him since he’d
agreed to give their marriage another chance, after sleeping with
him, making sure his clothing and his chamber were clean, taking
control of the servants—it had stung her that after all her
efforts, he’d tried to get rid of her anyway. And yet, it was funny
that when he’d smiled at her on the steps, her stomach had twisted
painfully and she had wished so desperately that there wasn’t any
bad feeling between them.

It was an unusally hot night. She kicked the
bedclothes down to her ankles and turned onto her side. What was
wrong with her? How could she even think such a thing? He’d never
been much of a husband; he’d flaunted two mistresses in front of
her, for God’s sake! It was true that on her side of the accounts,
she’d tried to persuade Gwalaes to kill him, she had sent Gladys
away and in doing so caused her to lose his baby and she’d fled
Rhuddlan for the camp of his enemy, Rhirid. To be fair, she hadn’t
been a very good wife. Perhaps it wasn’t the fault of either of
them. Perhaps they’d just started off on the wrong foot.

With a noise of impatience, she flipped onto
her back and frowned at the ceiling. This was the reason she’d
wanted him to confront her tonight: now all her unspoken words and
accusations were trapped in her head, spinning around and around
and keeping her awake. She sat up. There wasn’t any point in trying
to sleep; she’d twist and turn all night.

She got out of the bed. She would walk a
little in the cooler air outside; if the exercise didn’t tire her,
at least perhaps she might distract her mind. She shrugged a plain
dress over her shift and pulled on a pair of leather slippers. The
women in the next room didn’t stir as she moved silently past them,
opened the door and walked out.

Once in the alcove which marked the start of
the spiral stair leading down to the hall, she paused to take up
the oil lamp which burned in a niche above the first step. She
decided to go outside through the kitchens. There were certain to
be soldiers still awake in the hall and there wasn’t any need for
her to subject herself to their drunken accusations. That wasn’t
the confrontation she sought.