Lord of Hearts

by Gillgannon, Mary

  Marared clenched her jaw. “Then he should have married some Saeson bitch.”

  “What does that mean to you—Saeson bitch?”

  “Someone like him!”

  “But what is he? Is he English? Norman?”

  Marared shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. Either way, he’s a foreigner. He doesn’t belong here.”

  “Do you know why they call him Gerard of Malmsbury?”

  “Never thought about it.”

  “It’s because he’s a bastard. He can’t use his father’s name.”

  Marared was startled. “He was born on the wrong side of the blanket? I thought among the English that meant the child had no rights, no inheritance.”

  “Aye. That’s exactly what it means.”

  Marared was curious now. Among her people, legitimacy at birth wasn’t terribly important. If a man recognized a child as his son, that was all what mattered. But she knew being born within wedlock was extremely important to the English. Even if you were the king’s bastard, you were still a bastard. You could never inherit or claim any of the rights given to the man’s legitimate children.

  “If that’s true, how did he ever end up as a lord?”

  “He worked his way up. And got lucky in that his own overlord is also a self-made man. Fawkes de Cressy earned his position and wealth by serving beside King Richard at Acre. Before that, de Cressy was also a landless knight, like thousands of other men.”

  “And because of de Cressy’s relationship with Richard, he gained control over Tangwyl Castle?”

  “Actually, it was King John who gave de Cressy the honor of Tangwyl. When the last lord of Tangwyl died without an heir, John chose de Cressy—who has a formidable reputation as a warrior—to take control of the demesne. I think he thought de Cressy would be a good man to keep the Cymry in line.”

  Marared made a face of contempt.

  “But de Cressy didn’t want to leave his family. Not to mention, he’s already wed. So he chose Malmsbury from among his knights as the man to rule Tangwyl.”

  Learning these things about Malmsbury made Marared uncomfortable. She liked to think of her unwanted bridegroom as privileged. A man who’d had everything in his life handed to him. Clearly, that was not the case.

  Even as she felt a stirring of sympathy for Malmsbury, she quickly brushed it aside. He’d been sent here for the express purpose of subduing and controlling her people.

  She faced Llew defiantly. “Do you hope by telling me these things, you can soften my outlook and get me to accept him?”

  “’Twould be better for everyone if you accepted this marriage.”

  She narrowed her eyes at Llew. “You’re a knight and used to following orders. But I was brought up to be proud of my heritage. I would never betray it.”

  “I’m not asking you to betray your heritage. Only to see your husband as a man, rather than your enemy.”

  “I can’t change what he is!” Marared felt the familiar, reassuring anger rush through her. “He is the enemy, and naught can change that!”

  Llew shook his head, his eyes sorrowful. Then he inclined his head to Marared and left the garden.

  Marared remained on the bench. She could feel the cold of the stone seeping through her heavy cloak. It seemed to penetrate her body all the way to her heart. She’d never felt so alone, so miserable. Why had she refused to have Aoife come along? It would have helped so much to have her here, so she had someone with whom she could share her anger and grief, without feeling like she was being weak and childish.

  Of course, maybe she was weak and childish. All she’d done since arriving at Tangwyl was mope. That’s what a child did. She was a woman and a Cymraes. She had more pride than that. Nay, the thing to do was take action. Find a way to change her circumstances.

  But what? She couldn’t fight the whole castle. Everyone here, even Llew, one of her countrymen, was on Malmsbury’s side. What she needed was an ally. Someone from outside the castle who understood that her husband was her enemy.

  She thought of her cousin, Rhys. He’d once told her he’d rather die than give in to the evil Saeson. Unlike her father, Rhys didn’t want peace. He wanted to make the enemy’s life so miserable they finally left the Cymry in peace.

  But how was she to contact Rhys? He was probably at his father’s farm, or with his small band of warriors up in the hills. How could she possibly get word to him? If she’d had a proper wedding, with all her father’s client farmers in attendance, she would have had a chance to speak to Rhys. But everything had been so rushed. She’d been caught completely unaware.

  She could send Rhys a message. But there was no one at Tangwyl she could trust to carry it to her cousin. Not to mention, ’twas unlikely Rhys could read. Although she’d chafed at her mother’s insistence she learn to read and write, she could certainly see the usefulness of the skill now. She wondered if Malmsbury had ever learned to read. Not likely, given his humble beginnings.

  Another advantage she had over him. The thought eased some of her sense of helplessness. But only for a moment. Then she again faced how trapped she was. A pawn in this game of power and strategy waged by her father and Malmsbury.

  So much of her life, she’d been able to do whatever she wished. She’d never truly appreciated how much freedom she’d had. Because of that freedom, she’d always felt in control of her life. But the harsh truth was she had always subject to the will of her father, exactly as her mother had been. They’d both been married off to men not of their choosing.

  Llew’s revelation about her parents’ marriage unnerved her. She’d always thought of her parents’ relationship as a love match. But clearly it hadn’t been one in the beginning. Leaving the gentle climate of Ireland to come to the wild highlands of Cymru must have been a serious shock for her mother. In that sense, things were worse for her mother than they were for her. Although she loved Caer Brynfawr, it had few of the amenities of Tangwyl Castle. The keep here was spacious and beautifully furnished, and the whole castle amazingly organized and efficient. Everyone seemed to know exactly what they needed to do. Hilda was a marvel, rivaling Marared’s mother in her ability to anticipate what needed to be done and make certain it happened.

  Clean linen? Why, of course. The weavers had woven it months ago, and it had been washed and put away in a storage chest. Fine beeswax candles? Dozens had been made last summer. The honey from the honeycomb had been stored away as well, to use to sweeten fruit, cakes and other treats, such as they’d had at the fancy meal when she first arrived.

  Hearty food for the lean spring months? There was a whole storage cellar full of baskets of dried beans, peas, and apples, as well as sacks of ground wheat and barley, and dozens of hams hanging from the ceiling. Bunches of dried herbs were arranged on hooks on the walls, and there was a huge sack of salt from the coast. The amount of work and planning involved in setting in all those foodstores boggled Marared’s mind. She’d dealt with many of the domestic details at Caer Brynfawr. But the thought of being in charge of a household as large and complex as Tangwyl made her stomach tie in knots.

  Although Malmsbury hadn’t given her any indication he expected to her to take over running the keep. He seemed to expect her to live like some pampered, useless pet. Like a captive bird kept in a cage for the sake of its lovely song and pretty feathers.

  At the thought, Marared’s gloom deepened. There was no place for her here, other than as a broodmare for Malmsbury. A role she was determined she would never fill. She had to find some means of escape. Come up with a plan to thwart Malmsbury. If only Aoife was here. Between the two of them, they would surely be able to devise a way to end this marriage.

  That was it! She would write to Aoife. Although Aoife couldn’t read, she could get Father Idwal to tell her what was in the message. But she could hardly write to her cousin for advice on how to thwart Malmsbury. If she mentioned anything regarding that, Father Idwal would immediately tell her father. But if she could arrange to meet with Aoife, they
’d be able to talk freely.

  The weather was gradually warming. By the time Aoife got the message, it would be well into spring and traveling would be much easier. They could meet at Abergavenny. The village was about a half day’s journey from both Caer Brynfawr and Tangwyl.

  Excitement flooded Marared as her plan came together. At last she was doing something. At last she had a plan of attack.

  Chapter Seven

  Gerard glanced up at the clear blue sky and let out a sigh of satisfaction. Finally the weather had cleared and he could pursue his plan. Since the moment they’d wed, Marared had reminded him of a wild creature in a cage. Today he meant to set her free. With luck, once she got away from Tangwyl and all the reminders of her circumstances, she would start to relax. Then he could try again to convince her he truly cared for her happiness. He must make her realize he was a friend and not a foe. That was the only way her attitude toward him would ever thaw.

  He strode across the castle yard, feeling more optimistic than he had in days. At the garden gate, he paused and took a deep breath. He must be very careful in what he said and how he said it. If he let Marared see how much he wanted to spend time with her, she might refuse to go riding with him out of simple obstinacy and spite. He must bring up the subject casually, as if it made no difference to him whether she accompanied him or not.

  Proceeding into the garden, Gerard found Marared in her usual spot. The garden and the stables seemed to be the only places she felt at ease. Both Llew and the ostler, William, had mentioned her spending time with the horses, especially Gwenevere, her lovely pale gray palfrey. Although she ostensibly went there to groom the animal and feed it dried apples, both men had overheard her talking to the mare. It appeared the mute beast was the only creature at the castle with whom she felt comfortable confiding her thoughts.

  As he approached her, Marared turned. For once, her beautiful green eyes were bright and her expression cheerful.

  “Good day, Marared. And it is a good day, isn’t it?” He motioned to the clear sky above them. “Finally, the weather has cleared.”

  She nodded agreeably. “Aye. The sunshine is very welcome.”

  Her attitude encouraged him. Maybe this wouldn’t be so tricky after all. “It seems a waste to stay inside on a day like this. I’ve decided to go riding. I wondered if you would like to accompany me.”

  “Riding? Where?”

  “No place special. I heard there was a waterfall up the valley. I thought I might try to find it.”

  She nodded again. “Aye. That sounds pleasant.”

  His mood lifted even more. “I’ll have William get our horses ready and meet you outside the stables.” He started to leave and then turned back. “I would advise you to take your warm cloak. Although the weather is balmy now, it could change at any moment.”

  She immediately bristled. “I grew up in the mountains. I know all about changeable weather.”

  “Of course. I didn’t think.” How easy it was to set this woman off. She seemed to look for insults in everything he said. He would have to weigh every word before he spoke. A daunting thought, but the potential prize of making his beautiful wife smile seemed worth it.

  *

  She shouldn’t have been so sharp with him. Not when her plan was to gain his favor so he would agree to this meeting with Aoife. She would have to remember her goal and be on her best behavior.

  Besides, even if she was forced to share his company, the thought of getting away from the castle and going riding thrilled her. Being trapped here inside this last sennight had made her feel as if she was suffocating.

  She hurried up to the bedchamber to fetch her cloak and pattens. Although the wooden-soled shoes weren’t comfortable, they were essential for walking on muddy ground.

  By the time she reached the castle yard, Malmsbury was waiting for her. Gwenevere nickered as soon as she saw Marared. She patted the mare’s neck. “I’m sorry, girl. I don’t have any apples today.” She risked a quick glance at Gerard and saw he was amused. She was prepared to defend wasting food on a horse, but it seemed Malmsbury didn’t care.

  Once again, Marared found doubts nibbling away at her resolve. Malmsbury was always so easy-going and indulgent. He must think if he remained patient and pandered to her every whim, she would relent in her hatred of him. He was treating her like a child. But she wasn’t a child, and she wouldn’t give in so easily.

  He helped her onto the mare and mounted his own fine chestnut gelding, called Hearthfire. Whatever else you might say about the Saeson, they had splendid horses.

  They rode through the castle gate. Marared felt as if she was seeing the area for the first time. When they’d arrived a sennight ago, it had been late in the day and she’d been too resentful and anxious to pay much attention to her surroundings. Now, she saw how pretty the valley was. The grass and budding leaves of the trees seemed to glisten in the sunshine. The gorse on the far hills was in full bloom, creating patches of blazing yellow against the velvety green.

  Near the river, she noted strips of newly-tilled fields alternating with fallow land. Several black cows grazed on the tall, thick grass of the commons. Clustered nearby were more than a dozen thatched houses with gardens behind them. As they neared the river, she saw the mill. Behind it, the surface of the millpond shone silver, like a newly polished blade. They followed the trackway along the river. Beneath the budding trees, bluebells spread out in a haze of purple, broken only by flashes of yellow from primroses peeking out here and there in the bracken.

  On the river, white anemone and yellow irises glistened among the reeds, and purple vetch brightened the dappled shadows along the pathway. In the willow and alder, robins and wrens trilled and chattered. A wild pear tree was in bloom, its white blossoms filling the air with fragrance.

  They crossed a meadow where a flock of sheep grazed. Several lambs frolicked in the thick grass as their mothers grazed contentedly. Marared drew her horse to a halt to watch the lambs’ antics. The sight of them reminded her keenly of home. She often helped with the lambing, holding the ewe if a lamb got stuck in the birth passage and had to be pulled, then briskly rubbing the newborn creatures with a cloth to get them breathing.

  “They’re quite appealing at that age aren’t they?” Ahead of her, Malmsbury had halted his mount and was also watching the lambs.

  “Aye, they are.” A pang of loss swept through Marared. Helping with lambing was something she would likely never do again, at least not while she was wed to Malmsbury. Ladies did not muck about in the lambing shed or have anything to do with livestock. The familiar resentment returned, followed by determination. She would find a way out of this marriage. She would.

  *

  What a mercurial creature his wife was. One moment she was smiling, her expression soft and tender as she watched the lambs. The next, she was back to scowling. Gerard’s determination wavered. How was he to ever break through Marared’s armor of resentment? How was he to ever get close to her?

  But she had smiled briefly, so taking her on this ride was definitely a move in the right direction. She clearly loved being outdoors and found delight in nature. He urged his mount forward, focusing on the landmarks that the castle steward, Alden, said would lead to the waterfall. If he blundered around and they didn’t find it, she would truly think him useless. She probably knew the way around her homelands as well as any of her father’s men.

  He pulled his horse to a halt and concentrated. Alden had told him to stay close to the river until they reached a great oak, the top of which had been struck by lightning. Where was the oak? Had they somehow passed it?

  She pulled up beside him. “What’s wrong? Why are we stopping?”

  He turned and smiled at her. “Trying to find my way. I’ve never been to this waterfall before.”

  Her auburn brows drew together in thought. “We might as well keep going. The waterfall must be off the main river, and we haven’t encountered any tributaries yet.” She motioned with her head.
“Maybe over that next hill.”

  It almost seemed like she was trying to be helpful. Perhaps being outside the castle boosted her mood so much that she was willing to be civil to him.

  The trail was steep, through thick bracken. They crested the hill and saw a stand of oak. Among them was a large tree with a blackened top. Relief flooded him. He might not look the fool after all. He turned his horse. “This way. The waterfall is supposed to be down in this valley.”

  They descended into the narrow ravine. Oak and ash grew thick, and the ground was laced with curling fronds of fern and tendrils of ivy. They found the little stream and followed it to a place where the foaming water tumbled over the rocks to form a small glistening waterfall.

  “I’m certain it can’t compare to waterfalls in your father’s territory.”

  “Even so, ’tis very pretty. I love the sound of it.”

  They both dismounted and let the horses drink. Marared made her way to the little pool that formed below the falls. Gerard followed, stepping carefully on the slippery rocks. She turned to look at him, her mouth quirking with mischief. “Be careful. This is a place of the Fair Folk, which means things aren’t always what they seem.”

  “Fair Folk?”

  “You know, fairies. The fey. They love water, especially swiftly moving water.” She gestured to the mossy bank on the other side, a spot that looked as if it could only be reached by swimming through the falls or flying down from the sky.

  “They probably come to dance there on a summer’s eve. Can you not see them, all dressed in their finery? The ladies with tiny bells on their wrists and ankles and woven into their long hair, the tinkling sound mingling with the voice of the water to make the music they dance to? They would all be wearing bright colors and gold and silver adornments and look as splendid as the ladies and gentlemen of the London court. Or even more so, since the Fair Folk possess a rare beauty not of this world.”

  “I thought fairies were supposed to be drab and nondescript and blend into the landscape.” When she gave him a surprised look, Gerard added, “I’ve heard a few tales of them from a knight I served with who grew up in Ireland.”