Filled with self-disgust for the fact that limits to his own physical abilities were to blame for the escape of a dangerous foe, Tal yielded to Ceri’s persistent tugging and hobbled back to bed.
When once more her beloved patient laid beneath the bedfurs, Ceri redonned her loose-fitting gown before returning to close the cottage door—and safely bar it, too.
She realized how difficult it must be for this man whose form demonstrated formidable strength to suddenly find his natural skills even temporarily lessened. She had seen the bloodstain rapidly spreading over the cloth strips binding Tal’s injury and by that telltale sight knew wounded flesh had reopened.
What action ought she take? Should she go waken Gran Mab? Ask her grandmother to bring fresh bandages and the herbal solution assuredly able to slow the bright red flow?
Tal watched as delicate brows knit with honest concern. Again he was struck by the warm compassion of this dainty creature moving back to hover near with earnest concern.
“I will fetch Gran Mab,” Ceri announced but as she turned to suit action to words, Tal’s hand flew out to catch her delicate wrist and halt her flight.
“Nay—” The golden sparks in Tal’s dark gaze seemed to have turned it to a molten honey that held Ceridwen enthralled. “I promise to lay still and then the bleeding will stop. No need to disturb your grandmother’s rest. She will be here soon enough.”
As he spoke, Tal slowly drew Ceri down to rest against his side. “Stay with me. There is more healing power in your presence than in all Mabyn’s herbal ointments and magical potions.”
Quashing the guilt in knowing that she agreed to his request for purely selfish reasons, Ceri gladly yielded while Tal once more settled her securely within the circle of his powerful arms. Resting her soft cheek against his firm shoulder, Ceri savored anew the sweet delight of this intimacy although with an aching heart aware it would too soon be lost forever.
But the memory of their intimacy brought recognition of a greater danger. Any renewal of the passionate loveplay in which they had earlier indulged would all too likely further aggravate Tal’s wound. In truth she couldn’t be certain that their initial heady embrace wasn’t responsible for damage already done to the mending process. To forestall that danger, she asked the first question that came to mind.
“But who would attempt such a wicked deed? Who would intrude here with such black intent?”
The dainty angel’s sincere indignation not only calmed Tal’s ire but warmed an appreciative smile with devastating charm as he responded.
“’Tis the very question I have asked myself a thousand times since arrows flew through a peaceful spring morning to wreak mayhem upon an unsuspecting me and my two fellow hunters.”
Despite Tal’s potent smile, Ceri could feel his attention shifting from her to this unhappy subject. It was positive proof that her tactic had worked—yet also a sad demonstration of how he was destined to forget her completely.
“The king and his supporters are fully occupied with a siege at a site far distant from here,” Tal flatly stated and then promptly went on to explain why he felt that he had no reason to fear dangers looming on two fronts.
“Heretofore Llechu has created a safe buffer at Westbourne’s back. To the south lies Earl Robert’s well-fortified borderlands of Gloucester while on the north is Worcester, another of the earl’s loyal supporters.”
When Tal paused, Ceri nodded her understanding of these facts as silent encouragement for him to continue, utterly unaware that with the action her ebony hair brushed Tal’s cheek like warm silk.
Tal knew this magical creature’s seductive action was unintentional. And after having recognized her attempt to divert his attention from intimate thoughts, he bent to her unspoken rules as personal penance for claiming her virtue without giving promises the innocent damsel deserved. They were oaths to which he would gladly swear … as soon as he could return home and clear her pathway into the center of his home and his heart. But until then … Tal forced himself to focus on the issue of possible assailants.
“Therefore, it seems that the source for looming threats must be either Bendale to the northeast of Westbourne or Farleith on the southeast. However, since the baron of Farleith is currently occupied with the king’s siege against foes elsewhere he is unlikely to be guilty of either the plotting or executing of these misdeeds.”
Tal chose to avoid the need for a complicated explanation by not mentioning another and more important reason why Lord James of Farleith would be best served by leaving Westbourne untouched. It was the largest barrier that must be removed to open Ceri’s route to Westbourne.
“And Bendale’s master—” Tal concluded his review of possible foes. “Is incapable of loyalties sufficiently strong to be the source of these stealthy attacks directly against me.”
Because these facts were already so well known, Ceri felt they were useless in uncovering the identity of the culprit responsible for the wrongs committed against Tal. Indeed, she feared he’d struck closest to the truth when with his final words acknowledging that these assaults had been launched not against Westbourne but against him personally.
But although Tal had carefully considered neighboring lords—whether political friend or foe—he had suggested no one harboring a personal hostility. And Ceri knew that a man holding the earl of Westbourne’s position and power must be the focus of resentment for many less successful rivals.
While Ceri sought tactful words to point this out she failed to note that the lure of slumbers rudely interrupted had renewed their siren call to Tal. When at last prepared to suggest that Tal look more deeply or perhaps nearer for those burdened by personal grudges or burning with jealous spite, Ceri glanced up to find him slipping into sleep’s gentle haze. And despite lingering concern over his looming peril, wisps of the same sweet mist soon enticed her into precious dreams lent thrilling power by sweet memories.
* * *
“Lord Taliesan—” An ungainly adolescent noisily burst into the cottage, plainly excited to be a part of this rescue mission. “We’ve come back for you.”
Startled, Ceridwen whirled so quickly that an unfortunate measure of liquid sloshed over the rim of an overfull mug and spilled down the front of her gown. To quench Tal’s thirst she had moved to fetch a mug of fresh well water and added to it a drop of Gran Mab’s healing elixir.
“Aye, Thomas, so it would seem.” Tal was pleased to see his wheat-haired squire, always earnest and now plainly anxious to demonstrate himself worthy of trust. In the next instant amusement set golden lights to dancing amid Tal’s dark eyes. The flustered youth was plainly thunderstruck by the discovery of an unexpected beauty alone in the cottage with his master.
Ceri was all too aware of being the focus of attention and extremely uncomfortable in being stared at so intently by this youngster of no more than fourteen summers. Why? Surely it couldn’t be some lack in the neatness of her appearance—laces wrongly loosened … stains … rips.…
At dawn while her grandmother changed Tal’s bandages, Ceri had slipped away to the other cottage for morning ablutions. There she had removed the green gown creased when carelessly tossed aside in their haste for sweet delights, and then she’d replaced it with this favorite one in a warm berry hue.
“By we,” Tal gently summoned a return of the boy’s attention, “I assume you mean that others from the castle have accompanied you here to Dyffryn?”
“Oh, aye,” Cheeks gone bright pink, Thomas sheepishly turned to his lord. “A full contingent of guardsmen ride with the covered cart we’ve brought to carry you home. I rode ahead to assure you of their soon arrival.”
“For your greater effort in bringing me that advance notice I thank you.” Tal nodded his gratitude and then with a wry half-smile added, “I would be glad of your aid in helping me prepare for their coming.”
Because this was a natural request to make of his squire, Tal didn’t realize what an invisible blow Ceri would suffer under his seem
ing forgetfulness of her presence.
Already it has begun. Ceri took a deep breath, and willed threatening tears not to fall. Soon Tal will have no memory at all of me or our time together.
The fire of liquid pain withheld burned the back of Ceri’s throat as she helplessly watched the newcomer move to the table and lift her patient’s neatly folded clothes. She had conscientiously laundered and repaired them while Tal was caught in an unnatural sleep during their first hours in the cottage.
As the youngster dropped the fine linen of a white tunic over Tal’s dark head, Ceri put the earthen mug down with care unnecessary after having lost most of its contents. Then while Thomas shook out the deep brown chausses with a nearly invisible patch covering the spot where an arrow had torn a hole, she quietly slipped away.
Because of his despised weakness, the task of dressing required more time and effort than Tal could handle with his usual good humor. By the time this chore was complete, the incoming cart had noisily drawn to a halt outside the cottage door.
Only as Thomas reached out to lend him physical support to the waiting transport did Tal urgently glance around looking for his dainty angel. Ceri had vanished without a word.
Tal’s first instinct was to dispatch a group of his newly arrived guardsmen to search for Ceri, but he almost as quickly thought the better of it. Such an impulsive action would only rouse crude jests and knowing leers. All the sort of insults that he couldn’t bear to see the tender damsel, innocent but for his wrong, forced to endure.
Nay, it was best that his men should know nothing of Ceridwen until he could clear the way for his return to escort her into Westbourne Castle as his honorable bride.
Once beyond cottage door, Tal was met by several sturdy guardsman who rushed to lift and settle him atop a straw-filled pallet piled with homespun blankets in the rear of the covered cart.
“Waste no time on my comfort,” Tal urged even before he’d been hoisted into place. “Go back into the cottage and from beside the hearth fetch Sir Alan who lays still lost to right senses.”
The well-armed force from the castle wasted no time lingering in Dyffryn. Rather they almost immediately set the cart back into motion on the return journey to Westbourne.
Ceri overheard a member of the rescue party speak of their desire to cover as much of the homeward path as possible before nightfall. To Ceri their haste seemed a personal rejection despite the fact that none save the young squire even knew of her existence. Oh, those who had come hunting with Tal might have seen her somewhere in the distance while passing through the village but she was certain few of the arrogant Normans would waste time on the likes of her.
Peering through cracks in shutters closed across her grandmother’s window, Ceri watched her beloved’s departure with a heart so heavy she’d no doubt that regret had turned it to lead. With the horses’ every stride and every circuit of the cart’s wheels, the web of magic Gran Mab had spun around Tal weakened. She stared out intently until the contingent was completely swallowed by woodland shadows. Soon now, very soon the spell would fade into nothingness.
But although Tal would be freed by the vanishing web, Ceri knew her fate, the price she would pay for her moment of joy would not change. Without Tal she would never again be heartwhole or free to be happy.
Chapter 5
With an inelegance unnatural to her, Angwen rushed from the castle to wait in the courtyard for the arrival of a cart only just passing beneath the sharp teeth of an upraised portcullis. She stopped at the bottom of a wooden stairway descending from the castle’s second-level entrance. Though nearly vibrating with impatience, she stood immobile while waning sunlight glowed over silver threads now outnumbering the black in braids tightly coiled atop her head.
Then as the guardsman holding the cart’s reins signaled a halt and wooden wheels creaked to a stop, Angwen hastened forward.
“Tal, why are you sitting up?” The beauty of Angwen’s youth remained yet seemed to have hardened a face that only ever gentled for her beloved son, Taliesan. “You should be laying down, not tempting the wound to fester and go foul.”
“By the amazing arts of Dyffryn’s aged wise woman I am nearly healed, and I have no doubt that with Mabyn’s potions Sir Alan soon will be, too.” Tal gave his overly protective mother a long-suffering grin warmed by honest affection.
Behind a bland smile Angwen hid the sharp pang of extreme uneasiness delivered by her son’s oblique mention of Mabyn—the witch already old when last seen three decades and more past. Though an arduous task, over the past fifteen years Angwen had built an invisible barrier that successfully blocked the intrusion of so little as the slightest thought or smallest memory of that frightening woman. Now with iron determination she struggled to repair the tiny crack Tal’s words had opened in that wall of forgetfulness.
“The recovery of only two out of three assaulted,” Tal continued, “means that it’s the lost Cedric’s wife and children who deserve our concern.”
“’Struth,” Angwen immediately agreed, while fearing her son’s soft heart might someday bring more danger and pain than either of them could easily bear. “I’ve already taken the matter in hand to see that Sir Cedric’s family will never suffer from any lack that can be filled from our storeroom or coffers.”
Angwen turned aside from her son to crisply issue orders to her waiting minions for Sir Alan’s good care and the safe ensconcing of Tal in his own bedchamber. Not that she fooled herself for an instant that Tal was likely to stay abed for long.
While houseserfs hastened to do their lady’s bidding, young Tom dismounted nearby. He had watched and listened to this exchange between his foster father and the castle’s mistress. He still wondered, but would never dare question his lord, about the magical beauty who he would swear by the Holy Cross he had seen in that cottage amid the village of Dyffryn—only to have her vanish without a word.
Lord Tal had just spoken of an elderly wise woman but nowise could that describe the ethereal figure Tom’s arrival had so badly startled. The boy had began to seriously fear for his sanity.
Had that magical being been merely a figment of the admittedly overactive imagination that everyone teased him about? Could be … and yet Tom truly didn’t think even his finest fantasies had ever been or could ever be so well honed as to envision an image of such complete perfection.
* * *
On that same day in the Welsh land of Llechu, a disconsolate Ceri wandered through forest shadows and over a path unmarked yet familiar to her. It led upward through the wildwood’s densely grown trees and tangled undergrowth. Moving safely past stumble-holes hidden amid thick vegetation of soft grasses and plentiful wildflowers whose fragrance filled the air, she at last reached her goal. This was a favorite retreat and haven of privacy where, free from curious eyes, she could relive lost dreams and ponder the bleak horizon of her lonely future.
Parting the drooping branches of a willow, Ceri stepped into the green shadowed cavern beneath. Secure in believing that here she’d remain unseen by any who might chance this way, Ceri settled comfortably on the moss-softened bank of a slow flowing brook.
Peering out from between dangling withes, Ceri watched their green tips gently float atop idly moving water. Within her grew fear that their aimless journey to nowhere was a just comparison for her bland and meaningless life to come.
Ceri realized that by remaining safe under her grandmother’s watchful eye she could ride unharmed above perilous undercurrents and—with no risks taken, no dangers dared—avoid being painfully smashed against life’s hidden rocks.…
Absently she reached for a limber branch and twined its pliable length around one hand, even the tip still soaked with stream water.
Along with this meaningless action she silently acknowledged that by yielding to the false comfort of Gran Mab’s loving tether holding her securely on the surface of life’s stream she would also forfeit far more. In truth, to remain was to accept restraints that would prevent her from
ever again experiencing the soaring delights and sweet contentment that her aching heart neither could nor would forget.
The tip end of the branch Ceri had abused came off in her hand. Staring down at the green fragment of a mighty tree, she thought how well this piece once securely joined to the towering tree represented her and promptly tossed it out into the stream. As if caught in some wild dance of freedom, the twig swirled and bobbed wildly while quickly floating out of sight.
The odd image inspired Ceri. She, too, must break free from the safe tether of her grandmother’s loving restraints and dare whatever risks were necessary to bravely seek and hopefully win her goal of a brighter, happier future.
Ceri lingered in the willow’s peaceful haven to give calm thought to her bold decision and consider possible actions to take in seeing it accomplished, as well as the steps necessary to put the whole into motion. At length she rose even more determined to refuse to make the payment in anguish without a fight to prove it unnecessary.
Gran Mab would not be happy with her choice. And yet Ceri strongly suspected that some uncanny instinct had already forewarned the older woman to expect more of her granddaughter than an easy, servile acceptance of any limitation.
* * *
“I refuse to allow it!” Mabyn’s eyes flashed with a potent ire undimmed by the cottage’s smoky gloom. “You cannot leave Llechu and venture into the wildwood’s endless dangers. No more than you dare go to the castle uninvited.”
“But to Westbourne I go,” Ceri calmly stated while standing in brave opposition to meet the older woman’s intimidating gaze without flinching. “And I have no more doubt than should you that my Aunt Vevina will welcome me into the safety of its stone walls.”
“Tch.” Mab gave her head a sharp shake. “This ill-considered action would allow your mother’s twin little choice, no matter the direction of her true feelings on the matter.”
Memories of the Heart Page 4
