Exercising his considerable willpower, Tal returned attention to matters which had prompted him to arrange this private meal with his mother. He gazed at the carefully coiffed beauty she took pride in continuing to be while she settled into a chair across the small table from him. Lady Angwen maintained a relaxed facade, but to him who knew her so well it was clear that she definitely was not.
During this private meal together Tal had intended to share news of the peculiar item found while on the day’s long border patrol. He was curious to learn his mother’s interpretation of the fragment’s purpose and the meaning behind terse words scrawled on tattered parchment.
Tal felt the position of its discovery had been too deliberately arranged to have been a product of mere chance. And this, viewed alongside the treacherous Welsh assault from which he was still recovering, deepened a tangled morass of disagreeable questions and even less welcome suspicions. Cautioning patience, he reminded himself that these difficult issues were so serious that they shouldn’t be judged by anyone unable to give them undivided attention.
Angwen feigned a smile but while her handsome son seemed lost in his own concerns she, too, was caught in unpleasant thoughts. Even before the deliverer of their wine could possibly have had time to reenter the kitchens, Angwen was certain precisely to whom the girl had been referring when saying she’d come to visit her aunt.
An aunt from Llechu? And a girl with Mab’s eyes? Angwen forced tense fingers to relax before the goblet in her hand shattered beneath their unwarranted pressure. Clearly that aunt was her own long-trusted companion, Vevina.
Although Vevina was Mab’s daughter, over the many years they’d both spent in Westbourne, Angwen had successfully barred that distasteful fact from her conscious thoughts. But now …
“Pray pardon, Tal.” Angwen feigned an easy smile for her son while pushing her heavy chair slightly away from the table. “I have just remembered an important deed promised but left undone.”
“Will you be back?” Here in their private retreat, Tal would wait if there was hope for an opportunity to seriously discuss the thorny issues of loyalties sworn and potential treacheries looming.
“Nay, I think that once my chore is complete, I will retreat to my bedchamber and hope for a peaceful night’s rest.” Abandoning her wine nearly untouched, Angwen rose to leave the solar.
Tal nodded acknowledgment of his mother’s decision as she departed from the chamber. He’d recognized in her a tension so brittle he’d feared she might snap. That strain had appeared only after the wine arrived.
What then was there about the damsel newly arrived from Wales that so upset Lady Angwen? Couldn’t be so simple as the fact that the damsel was a native of Llechu. After all, his mother had come to Westbourne as the heiress of its dying prince.
A half-smile of self-mockery tilted Tal’s mouth in recognition of how easily breached had been the wall purposefully erected to deflect invading thoughts of that tender beauty bearing wine so briefly seen and quick to retreat. Aware that he should force his mind back to the defeat of looming dangers, still Tal’s attention returned to her ethereal figure, the image he’d believed merely born of his night fantasies. The question of how that could possibly be true chased further consideration of other matters into scattered unimportance—for the moment.
While Tal was lost in the remembered dreams of recent nights, Angwen reached the private alcove she’d provided Vevina as added inducement to keep her near. With that gift she had hoped and in the end succeeded in preventing Vevina from yielding to Lloyd’s lures. Her Welsh betrothed had begged Vevina to return and marry him at home in Llechu.
Governed by irritation, Angwen abruptly parted the tapestry curtains which closed this small recess in solid stone into a private haven. She was gratified to find Vevina within and alone.
“This eve your niece was sent to the family solar,” Angwen announced in a voice so taunt it was clear that this event had been unwelcome.
Having bent down to first smooth and then neatly fold bedcovers back, Vevina was startled by these unexpected words spoken from behind. Vevina awkwardly whirled about, nearly tripping and falling to the mattress—a reaction which would have ruined all her good efforts.
“You’ve met Ceri?” Vevina managed to ask while regaining her balance. She was disconcerted to learn that the encounter had occurred before she found an opportunity to prepare Lady Angwen for the shock that it doubtless had been.
“Ceri?” Angwen made the word sound as unlovely as possible. “Is that her name?”
“In truth, Ceridwen for the Welsh goddess of poetry.” Vevina realized that in explaining this to a Welsh princess she was babbling like a goosewit, but the additional moments thus secured were badly needed to school her thoughts into rational order.
“Why didn’t you tell me of the invitation for your niece to visit here?” This was undeniably more of a condemning accusation than simple question.
“I had no forewarning of Ceri’s coming but I earnestly welcomed her arrival.” Vevina met her lady’s scowl unflinching. “Moreover, Godfrey has accepted her aid to toil in the kitchens.”
“You knew I—” Angwen started to flatly refuse the girl’s presence in her castle. But Vevina quickly cut her lady off before the words could be spoken.
“I knew you would grant me the joy of a family member’s nearness after I’ve given so many years to the care of you and yours.” Though hasty, Vevina’s statement was as steady as the penetrating gaze she fixed on the other.
Rather than respond, Angwen’s lips closed into a tight, thin line. The next instant she turned and stomped away. She’d been neatly trapped by the only person in her life, save Tal, whose goodwill she cared to keep.
Chapter 8
At midmorn two days after her arrival, Ceri sat with Vevina in relative privacy during one of the brief quiet moments which she’d learned were exceedingly rare in this ever bustling castle. Her aunt, as companion to its lady, occupied a high status in its hierarchy of inhabitants from guardsmen to servants and those in supervisory posts.
They’d been granted the use of a crude table in one dark corner of the smoke filled kitchen only because it was Vevina who’d asked. Ceri was also aware that this boon had been gladly given as much for honest liking as cold respect for Vevina’s position.
“Have you become accustomed to the rhythm of life in Westbourne?” Vevina smiled gently at the girl plainly weary yet still amazingly lovely—both without and within. The latter was a fact learned, unfortunately, not from personal knowledge but from the seneschal’s reports. By his account Ceri happily labored without complaint and had easily taken the first steps toward friendship with even the most critical of her fellow workers.
“Aye, the pace of events in a single day here is much faster than even a fortnight in Dyffryn.” Ceri’s bright grin lit the dim chamber. “It’s also far more exciting.”
“And you’re young enough to find that excitement thrilling while to someone of my advanced years its merely tiring.” Vevina lifted one slender hand palm out to forestall Ceri’s immediate instinct to deny the claim of vast age. Without a moment’s pause she went on to the matter which had drawn her from Lady Angwen’s side and brought her down to this stuffy chamber in search of Ceri.
“Since you appeared I’ve tried to arrange an opportunity for the two of us to visit alone.” They’d had little time together beyond the hours of night. And each night Angwen found reasons to keep Vevina near until the hour was very late and Ceri was lost in the sleep of one totally exhausted. “But it seems we’re both too burdened with responsibilities to spare daylight moments and so weary at night that the insistent need for rest prevents us from becoming better acquainted.”
Delighted to hear that her aunt desired to know her better, pleasure softened Ceri’s face. She had feared that by suddenly imposing her presence on Vevina, she might have placed an invisible wall of resentment between them.
“I’ve worried that my inability to
spend more time in your company might result in further trouble for you. My anxieties revolve around what might happen by a failure to warn you of the many dangers a great fortress like this inevitably hosts—particularly when, as now, treachery flows across the land like flood waters fouled with the poison of hatred.”
Going solemn in response to Vevina’s earnest concern, Ceri wished she knew what to say to lessen the older woman’s distress on her behalf. But her aunt continued speaking before Ceri found the words.
“I’ve prayed that you endure no further difficulties with Sir Ulrich.” Though not phrased as a question, in these words Ceri recognized a query whose answer might calm her aunt’s worries.
“No further difficulties,” Ceri promptly responded. “But I take care to stay beyond his reach. Mary offered to trade positions with me if ever the two of us are sent to serve in the great hall again. Her husband is a guardsman, and she believes Sir Ulrich wouldn’t attack her.
“However, for the most effective protection, I believe I’ve Godfrey to thank. He must have been told about the first incident because he has taken great care to ensure that I am never sent to serve the guard captain.”
Startled, Vevina nodded. Ceri must be cautioned to show the aging seneschal proper respect by never being so impertinent as to use his proper name. As for the man’s response to the situation, of course, he had heard about the scene.
It was the seneschal’s responsibility to know everything that occurred within the castle and most particularly all events involving those who served at his direction. Moreover, a pitcher had been broken and, though only formed of crude pottery, its loss would be reported and the one responsible noted.
Hoping to cover her momentary distraction, Vevina quickly said, “I’m glad the seneschal gave particular attention to the guard captain’s misdeed. And I am relieved that he means to protect you from ever again being easy prey for Sir Ulrich who, as I earlier warned, is a most dangerous enemy. Once provoked, he never forgives or forgets.”
This talk of the unnerving knight too often sidling into her path as if to catch her unawares reminded Ceri of a question she’d wanted to ask someone who would know, someone she could trust.
“Why does Lord Tal permit his guard captain to deal so unjustly with others, particularly the men serving under his command?”
Ceri hadn’t spoken to Tal since that first night in the solar yet their paths had often crossed. The earl was never so blatant as to openly stare, but Ceri frequently felt the thrilling weight of his dark gaze.
Despite having spent only a short time in Westbourne, Ceri had learned a great deal. From her fellow workers she had overheard sufficient gossip and easy banter to know how proud they were of the lord who had valiantly fought at Earl Robert’s side time and time again.
Ceri had also observed Tal in easy command of his fiefdom. The high esteem in which people throughout Westbourne held him for his evenhanded dealings, whether in gratitude spoken or punishments meted out, supported the admiring conclusions she had earlier reached while watching him in Llechu.
Vevina’s brows arched in surprise over Ceri’s impertinent question. No one in the maid’s position should ever think to question the actions of her lord. But that surprise was soon overshadowed by Ceri’s next observation.
“Lord Tal is a man of honor, a lord who fairly judges all and wouldn’t unjustly punish the innocent. So how is it that he permits Sir Ulrich to remain in his position over the garrison?”
First the pointed question and now this personal observation led Vevina to wonder if Ceri somehow knew Westbourne’s earl rather better than could be easily explained.
Vevina feared Ceri’s familiarity must have something to do with the days Lord Tal had spent laying injured in the village of Dyffryn. She wanted to instantly ask Ceri but the girl was called back to her labors before the question could be posed.
* * *
“Lady Blanche sent a message to me?” Mary asked as brown eyes the same quiet brown as her hair widened in amazement. She had been familiar with the lady of Bendale, sister of its baron, since childhood. But Mary had been a mere freeborn servant and so far as she knew the arrogant noblewoman had barely been aware of her existence.
“Oh, aye.” The obsequious peddler repeatedly nodded a head sparsely covered with hair more gray than brown. “She said there was an old friend in Castle Westbourne and would I take a message to her.”
“A message for me?” Mary shook her head in disbelief.
“’Tis but a few simple words.” The gaunt man of undetermined age leaned nearer to whisper, “I think Lady Blanche has been a mite lonely since her husband was killed in defense of the king.” With clearly feigned concern, he asked, “You know she was forced to flee back to Bendale once her spouse’s lands were confiscated by Earl Robert’s forces?”
Mary was tenderhearted and immediately sympathized with her former lady over so grievous a loss. It was understandable for the widowed Lady Blanche to feel abandoned.
“What message did she send?”
“Lady Blanche said as how you were an honorable servant and good friend to her until you left to wed a guardsman from Westbourne’s garrison. She hopes you are happy in your new life and as pleased with your marriage as she was with hers until…” The peddler grimaced as his words trailed away.
Mary felt Lady Blanche’s pain as if it were her own while at the same time feeling flattered that the other woman had spoken so highly of her.
“From here I journey to Farleith Keep but then I intend a return to Bendale.” The peddler saw no good to be gained by admitting his first stop would actually be Bendale. “So, if you would care to send Lady Blanche a response, I’d be honored to carry it there for you.…” Because he’d been handsomely paid to carry this message, he was certain a greater reward would be given for an answer.
In answer Mary promptly gave the peddler a simple greeting to eventually be delivered as he made his endless rounds.
“Bid Lady Blanche all good fortune and give her my gratitude for the kind thoughts sent to me through you.” Mary’s gentle smile appeared. “Assure her that I am happy with both my marriage and my new position here in Westbourne although I cannot but fear for my husband while he daily rides patrol with Earl Taliesan on the Bendale border.”
Knowing Lady Blanche had once had her sights set on Lord Tal for spouse, Mary’s smile deepened to a shy grin along with the addition of one small tidbit that she believed her former lady would find interesting.
“Tell the lady of Bendale that gossip hereabouts would have it that Lord Taliesan will soon be allied to Farleith through bonds of marriage.”
* * *
Threatening clouds had gathered to block the bright sunlight of late afternoon as Vevina descended the castle’s exterior stairway to hasten across the courtyard on an errand for her lady.
With grey eyes darkened by the weight of an aching heart, Lloyd watched from the shadows of the stable where he’d slept nightly since his arrival. When Vevina passed, unaware of his presence, he stepped forward to catch her hand.
Vevina knew without looking behind just who had taken her fingers in this gentle yet firm grasp. She turned at a slow, deliberate pace and spoke before Lloyd could.
“Why did my mother urge you to bring Ceridwen to Westbourne?”
“Because Ceri insisted on coming.” Lloyd gazed steadily into Vevina’s wary eyes, earnestly wishing he could roll back the years to claim this tender woman hurt pride had stolen from him. “Indeed Ceri threatened to make the journey alone.”
Vevina was horrified by the thought of Ceri taking such risks. “There are far too many perils for a woman to travel the route unaccompanied.”
Everyone was aware that since the struggle for the English throne had erupted into open conflict, no road was safe. Even during King Henry’s more peaceful reign desperate people had lurked in woodland shadows to take by force what elsewise could never be theirs. Now with anarchy spreading its murky fingers across
the land such dastardly deeds went unpunished and their numbers had increased manyfold making it foolhardy to journey anywhere without an armed guard.
“Mab perceives the risks full well.” Lloyd was quick to defend his part in the mission. “That’s why she pressured me to escort Ceri safely here.”
“But why did Ceri insist on coming here?” Vevina persisted, anxious to understand the determined deed. “Why now?”
Gray daylight caught at the silver strands in dark curls as Lloyd shook his head. “I truly don’t have that answer though at Mab’s bidding she spent a deal of time caring for the wounded Normans.”
Vevina recognized in his belittling use of the term Normans a refusal to acknowledge Tal as lord and was uneasy with the heat of his disavowal.
“Ceri could’ve been our daughter,” Lloyd said, gazing directly into his beloved’s doubtful face. “If you had returned with me when I came to fetch you home, she would’ve been.”
Vevina cringed under this verbal assault but promptly responded with a counterattack even more fervent. “Aye, Ceridwen would have been ours … had you waited for me and not rushed into my sister’s arms to give her the baby that should have been ours!”
Anguished remorse turned Lloyd’s eyes so dark they were nearly black. “’Tis a wrong I’ve regretted every day, every hour for almost two decades.” He gently tugged her fully around to stand facing him. “It wouldn’t have happened if your precious Lady Angwen hadn’t entreated you to remain at Westbourne and help raise her fatherless son rather than return to Llechu and bear children of your own.”
“You blame Lady Angwen and Lord Tal for the troubles between us?” Vevina was honestly surprised—not surprised that Lloyd blamed their Norman masters but by the depth of his resentment. It raised an ugly suspicion in her mind, one she struggled to suppress. Surely Lloyd couldn’t, wouldn’t have assaulted his own feudal lord in the forests of Llechu?
Memories of the Heart Page 7
