“It is quiet, so I thought you must have banished them,” Brian said, his gaze shifting from Biagio to Sasha.
“I banished the chaos instead. You have news?”
“Aye. Monks from the abbey bring ale and wines they say were purchased by Gareth and ask payment.”
“Owain will attend that.”
“He sent me for you. There seems to be a discrepancy.”
It was annoying that myriad details seemed to require his attention when he wished to lend his energies to resolving the matter of princes and his inheritance, but the days had been full of distractions. He turned to Sasha.
“Stable your horse where you think best, but do not leave the castle. It is not yet safe.”
“I yield to your wishes, beau sire,” she said demurely, and her gaze went briefly to Brian before returning to meet his eyes. “With your leave, I will return to my chamber ere I tire too easily.”
“You should not have left it so soon.” He looked at Biagio. “Do not overstep, whelp. I’ll blame you if she comes to harm. And keep that dog in check.”
With that, he left, knowing full well that his warnings would not be heeded. He had seen in her eyes that she planned mischief. He would set a guard to watch her. If she was false, it was best to know soon.
Chapter Fourteen
“PRINCE JOHN MADE a devil’s bargain with Gareth,” Sasha said as she and Biagio returned to the keep. “Will he keep that pact now that Glamorgan has failed?”
“Princes do not keep pacts they regret, bella. And John is more false than most.”
“Yea, so I know well. Yet I have something of value to the prince should he launch an attack on Glynllew.”
Biagio glanced at her, frowning as they climbed the circular stairs. “You would bargain on the knight’s behalf?”
“I certainly would not bargain on behalf of Gareth.”
“Since you cannot read the knight, I presume you delved into the Irishman’s thoughts. He is not a reliable source of information.”
“But he cares fiercely about Rhys. He would do nothing to harm him though he seeks to draw him away from me. A messenger has brought word about Prince John’s intentions.”
“So there are no monks arriving with wine and ale? A pity.”
Sasha reached the top step and put a hand against cool stone to steady herself. She didn’t want to admit weakness, but she was not at full strength after her ordeal. “Monks are here with ale and wine, but one also brought the message. Oh, and Sir Brian thinks you are a wolf’s-head.”
Biagio grinned. “He is not wrong. I am an outlaw by choice.”
“It can be dangerous.”
“Not as dangerous as keeping a prince’s secret.”
It was true. Prince John was notorious for killing those who annoyed him, and if not for her Gift, they would be in prison or dead. They had barely escaped as it was; if he found them, they may not be so fortunate again.
“John fears no one alive, save King Richard,” she said at last. “He knows the king has the power to see him slain and will not hesitate should he learn of John’s treachery.”
“The king is hardly fool enough to trust John.”
“Yet the king has many enemies, and he is far away. England and Wales are not a great concern to him. From what I know of King Richard,” Sasha said as they entered her chamber, “he is not a man to relinquish what is his. Should the prince steal what he wants, Richard will not be very forgiving. Should he learn of a plot—”
Elspeth looked up as they entered, then her gaze fell upon the dog. She shuddered. “That great beast will kill us all in our sleep.”
Biagio laid his hand atop the dog’s head. “He has more manners than the Welsh. Or the English, to my mind.”
Narrowing her eyes, Elspeth put hands on her hips to glare at him. “You are rude. I do not know why we ever allowed you to follow us from Italy.”
Biagio sauntered to the chair by the small table and sat in it, slinging one leg over the carved arm. “I do. If not for me, you would not have escaped Verona alive.”
Eying the dog that curled next to the chair, Elspeth shook her head. “That is not quite the way I remember it. You fled your master before he could give you a well-deserved beating.”
“Perhaps, but I showed you the way through the city walls so we were not stopped, did I not?”
“If we had been stopped, we would have been executed for helping you escape. Bah!”
Elspeth waved her hand at him, and the dog fixed his eyes on her. Sasha, get that beast out of here before he attacks, she begged silently.
Sasha perched atop the chest that held her clothing and personal items. She studied the dog for a few moments, letting his spirit flow into her, assessing his nature. “He will not attack without provocation,” she said, “but Biagio will take him with him when he leaves.”
“Child, you should not have left your bed. Why did you let him drag you out to the stable when you should be recovering? Here, I will help you undress and get back into bed.”
“I can take a hint.” Biagio stood up. “We will talk later, bella.”
As he left, the dog at his heels, Elspeth poured water into a shallow bowl and took pots of soap from the chest. It wasn’t long before she had Sasha comfortable and tucked into the high bed. Closing the shutters over fading light, she lit candles and lamps, scolding, “Do not let him talk you into a wild scheme, child. He always has ideas, that one, and few are good, although he did manage to do well this time. And all he does is boast about it, as if he stormed the keep with sword in hand—you will not do something foolish, Sasha?”
When Elspeth turned to stare into her eyes, she could not lie. “You do recall Prince John and how devious he is? Aye, well, it seems he is determined to play one against the other to take Glynllew for a favorite who will do his bidding.”
“Do not involve yourself,” Elspeth said quickly, coming close to the bed and lowering her voice as if afraid the walls had ears. “It will not end well. Did we not learn that well enough? He is a faithless man and cannot be trusted.”
“I know that very well. Yet I own his secret, and he knows not where it is kept.”
Trembling, Elspeth whispered, “People have died cruelly for far less.”
“Yea, but I did not ask for nor want to know what I do. It was the only way for us to be able to flee Windsor—you do see that, do you not?”
“If he has learned you have it, he will come after us. He will find out, and then we are not safe. Sasha, child—let us go to my village. No one knows of it, and we can live quietly there, safely.”
Nodding, Sasha lay back against the bolster. It cradled her head. The headache she’d had since waking had faded, yet now teased at the fringes of her vision, blurring her sight. Elspeth was right. She should not bring them to Prince John’s attention again. Yet, she knew he wouldn’t forget the threat she represented. A chance moment, a brief encounter, a secret that could bring the prince to ruin, and they had fled for their lives. An evening of entertainment for a prince had altered to mind-numbing danger. Her only surety against death lay in the prince’s own hand, sealed with his mark. And if she chose, she could use that information to save Glynllew should it become necessary.
“Drink, child,” Elspeth coaxed and held a cup to her lips. “I can see your head aches. We will talk more tomorrow. Tonight you should rest.”
Sasha sipped from the cup, the bitter potion promising ease for her head and a dreamless sleep. Tomorrow she would sort out the choices she could make.
RAIN BEAT AGAINST the shutters. A fire burned in a brazier to ward off the chill. Sasha tied her hosen at the knee and smoothed her skirts down.
“I feel much better,” she answered Elspeth’s query. “I slept two days away. Are you certain I have been requested to eat in the hall?”<
br />
“It was more like a command to my way of thinking, but I could misjudge. Do not let that wild boy coax you out to the stables again. Your strength has not returned.”
“He was concerned about Beyosha, and with good reason. The lord bade me stable her in a place of my choosing, so I found a small patch of grass that has not yet been trampled into mud and put her and Socrates together. They are safe now.”
“Would that we had that same assurance,” Elspeth murmured as she dug into the wooden chest of clothes and keepsakes.
“We are safe here, I think. But I am not convinced that eating in the hall will suit me. I will be pleasant if possible. The red silk circlet will do best, I think.”
Elspeth fit the woven, braided crimson silk atop her head so that it held back her loose hair. She had braided it on the sides and wound ribbon through the plaits; the loose ends trailed over her shoulders. She wore her only other suitable garments, a fine linen chemise under a rose-colored bliaut. The sleeves were long and wide at the wrist but did not trail the ground as some; a girdle of knotted silk wrapped twice around her middle. Her last pair of shoes embroidered in tiny silk flowers were a bit threadbare but serviceable.
Sighing, she murmured, “I am come to poverty in my garments, I fear. It is ridiculous that I am unsettled at the thought of being in the hall again. My last visit was unpleasant.”
“I was told it took two days to clean out the fouled rushes and replace with fresh, and herbs and flowers are sprinkled among the new. Gareth of Glamorgan took no care of household needs, the servants say. Those I could understand spoke of slovenly ways.”
“Servants always know. Am I presentable?”
Elspeth smiled. “You are beautiful, so do not beg for flattery. I still say a barbette is more fashionable, but the circlet is lovely. While you are gone, I shall go to the chapel and say a prayer for humility for you. Your sin of pride is rampant of late.”
“I shall leave that grace to you.”
Dinner was usually the largest meal of the day in England, and she suspected it was the same in Wales. This keep had been built with the bedchambers above the kitchens and buttery, so that the curved staircase fed into the space between them. She saw Biagio in the buttery, filling a pitcher from a butt of wine. His thoughts were on a serving wench not far from her, and she was not surprised.
“Bella,” he said when he looked up and saw her. “You are well?”
“My head no longer aches.”
He searched her face, thinking, Do not let him intimidate you, bella. He will try. It is his nature.
Then she knew why he warned her, as Lord Rhys approached. She felt him before she saw him, the raw energy of him emanating as a palpable presence.
“Demoiselle,” he said, his low, husky voice seeming to reach deep inside her, vibrating as if he had struck a bell. “You are to sit at my table.”
She had seen enough of English customs to know only honored guests were seated at the lord’s table. “It will earn me enmity from those who dislike my presence, my lord.”
“And you fear that?” Gray eyes like smoke regarded her candidly. He wore a red surcoat emblazoned with a gryffin over his tunic; a wide leather belt circled his waist, and supple boots laced to his knees. No longer a hedge knight, but now the lord of Glynllew, indeed.
“No,” she answered honestly. “I find it inconvenient. I grow impatient with those who pretend amity to my face while sharpening their tongues behind my back.”
To her surprise, he smiled. “You are blunt when I expect you to dissemble and evade my questions when I expect frankness. It seems you are always a revelation, demoiselle. Now come. The tables are up and wine pitchers are full. Let us begin.”
He escorted her into the hall; a screen had been set up at one end, shielding kitchen and buttery from sight. The lord’s table sat on a dais, where last she had seen Gareth in his tall-back chair. White cloths draped on tables set perpendicular to the lord’s table; trestle tables were taken down after meals and stacked against the walls. A fire burned in the massive fireplace at the opposite end, and with the kitchens behind, it remained warm even on a chilly, dismal day. Clean rushes covered the stone floors, still fragrant with herbs and the scent of new-cut river grass. She detected fleabane and henbane, as well as rosemary and mint sprinkled on the long reeds. Each step released a pleasant scent. The hem of her garment occasionally caught on the end of a reed, but was quickly freed with a slight tug. Woven tapestries had obviously been cleaned and hung back on the walls, shifting in the errant drafts. Wax candles replaced the tallow, emitting light without smoking and dripping or the stench of animal fat.
“A pleasant transformation,” she observed as a servant seated her to the left of Rhys, in the place of an honored guest. “‘Twas overrun with vermin on my past visit.”
“Do you refer to my cousin, demoiselle?” He took the chair next to her bench; the high-back was carved in the shape of a gryffin at the top.
“I referred to fleas and rats, so he can be included in the latter. I trust he has learned by now to feed the rats who share his cell, unless he wishes to be bit. They are most insistent.”
He was silent for a moment, then reached over to put his hand atop hers; as her hands were in her lap, no one at the tables facing the dais would notice. Not that it mattered. They had their own thoughts as to the relationship; she caught phrases here and there if she opened her mind to it, fragments of Norman French and English among the unfamiliar Welsh words.
“It dismays me that your first visit to my father’s home was so disagreeable,” Rhys said to her, and she looked up at him.
“It was my own fault. I can be stubborn. I should have listened to you.”
A faint smile touched one corner of his mouth. “It is not easy to know whom to trust in these perilous times.”
“Indeed, it is not, my lord.” It was on the tip of her tongue to ask if he still distrusted her, but the sewer belatedly arrived with a bowl of scented water and dry cloths for their hands. She washed, then draped her napkin over her left wrist. There had not been many dinners where she was an honored guest instead of entertainment or one of the rabble who ate in the halls or kitchens, yet she still remembered her mother’s lessons in English courtesies, even if she could not recall all the details.
After a prayer was said by the chamberlain, a man vaguely familiar to her from her brief meeting with Gareth, servants brought in platters of meat; wine was poured, sauces in bowls put on the tables, plates for the lord’s table and guests, trenchers for the lower tables. Salt nefs divided the guests by class. More accustomed to lentils, peas, carrots, onions, and garlic than platters of meat, Sasha ate sparingly from the plate she shared with Rhys. Wooden plates were more common than pewter or silver, although she had once dined on gold plates in France. It had amused her eccentric host to treat the entertainers as royalty, and he had insisted his favorite dog be seated in a chair at his side. Thinking of that made her smile, and Rhys leaned close.
“What amuses you, demoiselle?”
“I was recalling a dinner with a dog seated next to our host,” she said, and he regarded her with a faint smile.
“Is that a tale for comparison to this evening, or a fable?”
“Neither. It is just a memory of France.”
“Ah. France. That explains it.”
“You may be intrigued to hear what the French think of the English.”
“Spare me, demoiselle. I have heard it firsthand a time or two. Not that I always disagree, but it can put one in a difficult position.”
“Because you are Welsh?”
“I was born here, but given young as hostage to King Henry and lived in the household of an English baron. I have more memories of England than I do Wales.”
“Do you find it much changed?”
“In truth, I feel a str
anger here. Stones replace the timber keep I remember, there was no moat nor a second bailey, and even the stables are different from how I remember, although in the same place. I must learn it all as if new, yet somehow remind people I am my father’s son and heir to Glynllew.”
Sasha wondered how she would feel to return to her home and find it greatly changed and her cousin in her father’s place. That their situations were so similar lent sympathy to her regard of Rhys; she was certain she would feel much the same. She nodded.
“It must be difficult, but they will soon adjust, my lord. You are rightful heir, and so your position must be respected.”
“It may not be that simple. Do you not care for the roasted beef, demoiselle?”
“I have no eating knife, my lord.”
“A lamentable lack. Use mine.” He gave her his dagger; it was heavier than hers, crafted for a man’s hand, and bulky to handle. So he speared a piece of meat and held it out; she took it gingerly as it was hot, and found it more tasty than it appeared on the plate. Rhys fed her several pieces with the point of his dagger, and she wiped her fingers on her napkin after each morsel. It was juicier than she anticipated, so she dabbed her mouth often.
“In Persia,” she said, “they have an eating utensil with two prongs. It is quite useful to eat meat and turnips without having to wipe your fingers so often.”
“A novel idea. You are a fount of intriguing information, chérie.”
“Am I?” She smiled up at him. “Not many have said that of me. Should I be honored?”
“Aye, you should be. I do not give praises easily.”
There was something in his tone and eyes that made her heart beat a bit faster, and she drew in a deep breath. Conversation flowed around them in several languages; servants ranged along the perimeter of the hall, replenishing platters, and light from candles and lanterns wavered over the assembly. It could be any hall in any country, the differences only in the food, clothing, and language, but the laughter and shared conversations common to all. Flirtations, gossip, jests bandied about were familiar.
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