Memories of the Heart

by Marylyle Rogers

  The creaking of metal hinges was so loud that it would’ve betrayed his flight had anyone been near enough to hear. Fortunately for Lloyd, since there’d never been an escape from Westbourne’s dungeon, guards were rarely posted within.

  The rescuer’s flickering candle showed the way as the pair crossed the dungeon’s broad expanse filled with empty cells that hosted naught but scattered straw gone fetid.

  Only as they approached the corner steps did it occur to Lloyd to wonder how their departure through an always crowded stairwell could possibly go unnoticed. Was his flight doomed to so rapid an end?

  “Here, put this on.” Simeon’s order was brusque but still much quieter than the cell door’s clangorous opening had been.

  A bundle of coarse dark cloth was thrust into Lloyd’s hands. He lost no moment in shaking out the folds to reveal a simple, hooded cloak long enough to reach his toes and well able to ensure that both his face and form would blend into night shadows. By this Lloyd realized the hour must be late—a logical time for such an attempt. The castle would be quiet and likely few would be about to stir the deserted stairwell’s silence. There would be guards but in the black garb provided, he and Simeon would pass unseen.

  * * *

  In dim predawn light, Ceri slipped through a still sleeping castle to reach the alcove shared with her aunt. Ducking though the curtains lending it privacy, she came to a shocked halt.

  “The hour for rising is near upon us.” Vevina’s expression was as stern as her voice. “By the fact that you failed to tarry the night here, I assume you spent it in a far different, more comfortable bed—Lord Taliesan’s?”

  Ceri’s immediate nod had less to do with the fact that she’d been caught completely unprepared than the honesty of her nature.

  “Did I not warn you of the anguish you tempt with such actions?” Vevina’s tone changed to pained concern for the misdeed’s likely result.

  “Aye, you warned me but I knew that danger even before I journeyed here to Castle Westbourne.” Sincerely sorry to have caused her aunt this obvious distress, with a penitent smile Ceri reached out to gently clasp the older woman’s hand while settling down near her on the down-filled mattress.

  “But, Aunt Vevina, I also have a knowledge that only I and Gran Mab possess.”

  Vevina’s cheeks, nearly unmarked by age, went pale while clouds of concern darkened her gaze. This was ominous. She knew very well the nature of her mother’s skills and also what dangers they too often courted. Pray God, Ceri would never be called to pay their too steep price.

  “It began when Lord Tal was wounded—” Ceri embarked on a tale that proved considerably more difficult to relate than anticipated. “Nay, it actually began long before that.”

  Ceri realized that, although Aunt Vevina politely held her tongue, the older woman was clearly losing patience. She promptly corrected her false start. “It started when as a child I first saw our Lord Taliesan riding through Dyffryn.”

  Once launched into her tale with this opening, Ceri wasted no further moment nor unnecessary word in sharing the full story behind her arrival at Castle Westbourne.

  Unaware of the figure hovering just beyond the alcove’s closed drapes, Ceri succinctly told her aunt how she had begged Gran Mab to cast a spell. She also confessed the days of delight it brought her … followed by the completely empty space left in Lord Tal’s memory after he moved beyond the limited sphere of her grandmother’s power.

  Vevina was stunned. Conflicting reactions filled her from vexation with her mother for having agreed to Ceri’s daft plea to sympathy for the leaden weight of loneliness it must have left in Ceri. A loneliness Vevina was far too familiar with herself.

  This new knowledge explained much of Ceridwen’s reasoning for doing something so irresponsible as to blithely spend the night with their lord. But it also increased Vevina’s serious concern over the bitter anguish she had no doubt that doomed dreams would bring. The poor girl was gazing through the same rose-hued window on the world that had been shattered for Vevina by Lloyd’s infidelity.

  In the corridor landing beyond alcove drapes, Blanche smiled. Motivated by a scheme to ensure that a message be dispatched to her brother in Bendale Keep unknown to others in the castle, she had noiselessly reached the alcove on bare feet.

  The faint whisper of voices had easily waylaid her on a path to meet the Bendale guardsman she’d ordered to await her a pace within the dark tunnel at the top of the castle’s exterior stairway. It was then that, by the stealth of her journey, she’d won an unexpected boon. She had heard the whole of Ceridwen’s admission of witchcraft—a most useful morsel of damning information. One she felt certain could be wielded to great effect.

  The sound of another drawing near sent Blanche into a hasty retreat. She slipped back into the bedchamber shared with the Westbourne’s younger lady guest. Even while retaking her position in the chamber’s high bed, Blanche accepted the fact that the dispatch of a message to her brother Morton must be postponed. However the disgruntled frustration it caused was eased by her delight in the confession overheard.

  The aunt and niece within the alcove, too, heard the rapid approach of footsteps. They abruptly announced the coming of a young houseserf even before she spoke from beyond the cloth wall.

  “Vevina, Lady Angwen is calling for you,” Mary anxiously spoke to the cloth wall, uncomfortable with this duty to bring distressing news. “The prisoner, your friend from Llechu, escaped in the night.”

  The two inside the alcove’s small haven gazed at each other, thunderstruck.

  After a moment’s shocked silence, Vevina responded. “I will come directly, Mary.”

  These few words were sufficient to promptly send the messenger scurrying back to the kitchens while Vevina immediately began plaiting long dark hair almost devoid of silver.

  Ceri liked their messenger, but was glad to have privacy restored. Once alone with her aunt again, she hastily asked, “Why didn’t you share news of your heroic deed with me at the outset?”

  “What deed?” Vevina’s fine brow furrowed in puzzlement.

  “Lloyd’s timely deliverance from the dungeon’s threat.” Despite her aunt’s apparent confusion, Ceri didn’t for a moment doubt the woman’s involvement in this courageous feat.

  Shaking her head in denial even while securing thick braids on its crown, Vevina flatly responded, “I had no part in that action.”

  “But if not you—” Ceri’s bewildered frown was even deeper than her aunt’s. “Then who?”

  “Would that I knew.” Vevina donned a gown of green linen which had been yet another gift from her lady and when added to the many others bound her ever more firmly to the countess’s side.

  Quickly, before her aunt could leave, Ceri asked a further question, one born from an intimate conversation during the morn’s earliest hours.

  “Why was I never told about your betrothal to Lloyd?” Time severely limited by her aunt’s imminent departure to answer Lady Angwen’s summons, Ceri posed the query with less finesse than was her wont.

  A blank expression quickly shielded the pain flashing across Vevina’s face while her lips compressed into a flat line.

  “What need could there be for you to know of a relationship so long dead and consigned to the distant past?”

  With that response, the older woman rose to her feet and silently departed, leaving Ceri behind even more confused—and curious.

  * * *

  As another long day progressed several unpleasant realities became abundantly clear to Ceri. Someone had helped Lloyd escape. That was an undeniable fact. But worse, Ceri feared, was the certainty that she was the one person widely deemed the most likely source of that treacherous aid.

  How, Ceri desperately wondered, could she defend herself against these silent accusations? Even were anyone brave enough to question Aunt Vevina about her niece’s whereabouts during the night, an honest answer would bring more condemnation than vindication. She certainly couldn
’t claim her innocence was proven by the fact that she had spent the dark hours of night in their earl’s arms—the arms of a lord soon to be betrothed to another.

  While in the great hall trestle tables were assembled for the evening meal, Ceri toiled in the kitchens, burdened by sly glances and whispers that followed her every move. She longed for the day to be done, longed to flee into the alcove and hide as she’d helped Lady Edith to do the previous evening.

  Ceri was handed a platter hosting the spring berries and slices of sharp cheese that composed the meal’s last course. Taking a firm grip, she made her way to the great hall overcrowded with the members of its own garrison and the full contingents of guardsmen who had accompanied two lady guests.

  As Ceri slowly moved up the far line of tables now hosting feasters on either side rather than the usual outer edge alone, she drew unwelcome attention.

  “Ah, the young witch returns,” Blanche called out with a mirthless smile. “I caution leastwise my own guardsmen to beware what they eat from that damsel’s hand. Who can know what poison she may have strewn over seemingly tasty berries?”

  While those already served jerked away from the portion on their trenchers, Ceri froze. She knew that castle inhabitants, already fed suspicion of her likely involvement in a prisoner’s escape, would be quick to accept as fact this suggestion of her participation in even blacker wrongdoing.

  “Mayhap—” Blanche turned the pointed glare of azure eyes upon the target of her accusations. “Ceridwen need merely cast a secret, deadly spell to turn the fruits’ sweet good to harm?”

  Suddenly the focus of every gaze, Ceri began to shake. The tremors rapidly increased in severity until the platter slipped from her suddenly icy grip.

  “By now surely the whole castle knows Ceridwen spent the night in your bed.” The casual tone of Blanche’s words made their truth clear. “But, Tal, you must realize her wanton behavior can only have been taken to advance the scheme to see her friend—and doubtless cohort—freed.”

  Tal’s gaze went to black ice. Were these words confirmation of his earlier fears?

  Although aware that she was the center of attention, it was the weight of Taliesan’s frowning gaze that hit Ceri like a well-aimed blow. Abandoning the fallen platter and scattered remnants of its load, she dashed for the corner stairwell.

  Ceri raced upward through the gloom until she tripped and crashed painfully down across stone steps. Suffering outer bruises to match inner wounds of the spirit, Ceri sat up and buried her face into cupped hands while tears flowed unhampered.

  Clearly Lady Blanche, even more than the countess of Westbourne, was determined to see her discredited, if not destroyed. Ceri was so caught in this bleak recognition of unpleasant dangers looming near that she failed to hear the approach of another.

  “You are not a witch.” Edith reached out to take Ceri’s hands into her own gentle clasp. “I will always know that to be a certain truth no matter the groundless fears Lady Blanche rouses in others.”

  Ceri warmly responded to this unexpected support with a grateful smile while Edith gently urged her into standing.

  “No one hosting the black heart of a witch—” Edith went on to lend deeper comfort by expressing her earnest belief in Ceri’s innocence of the vicious charge. “Could possibly have shown the compassion you earlier gave me for the pain I suffered under that wicked woman’s hurtful words.”

  As she spoke, Edith led Ceri up toward the same alcove to which Ceri had in the past led her to recover a shattered composure. Once there Edith prompted the quietly weeping woman into settling atop its soft mattress.

  “I will go and speak to the seneschal.” Edith gently provided Ceri the gift of additional solace. “I’ll tell him that you are unwell but likely will be much improved by the dawning.”

  Ceri was touched by this thoughtful gesture which would excuse her from the remainder of the evening’s labors yet she felt it necessary to decline. “I must return to my duties.…”

  “Nay!” The meek child revealed an unexpected streak of determination. “You must not give that creature any further excuse to attack you—not tonight.”

  Although years younger, Edith gave wise counsel to the one who seemed a true friend. “Should you return while still sapped by Lady Blanche’s vile charges, you’ll be unable to withstand a fresh barrage. And each time she robs you of the strength to prevail against her assault, she wins.”

  Edith reassuringly squeezed Ceri’s fingers. “I haven’t the fortitude to defeat Lady Blanche, but after a night’s rest you’ll again possess it. Don’t let her win by returning to face her too soon.”

  Before Ceri could argue further, Edith stepped back, pulled the drapes closed, and departed.

  Ceri was torn between her duty to return to the kitchens and longing to accept Edith’s gift of a night’s peace. At first intending to linger only long enough to compose disordered emotions, soon she was lost in bleak thoughts.

  The obvious disapproval of nearly the whole of the castle’s inhabitants was deeply unpleasant yet etched into Ceri’s memory was another vision infinitely more distressing.

  Even with eyes wide open, Ceri could plainly see clouds of doubt darkening the golden gleam in Tal’s gaze. Clearly he’d wondered if their intimate time together had merely been her way of diverting his attention, of fogging his defenses and enabling others to more easily commit the crime.

  And why shouldn’t Taliesan question her morals? After all, Ceri hadn’t been virginal the past night.… And the end to Gran Mab’s spell had ensured that Tal couldn’t remember how she’d already given her innocence to him.

  A flood of tears returned, frustrating Ceri who rarely permitted herself the luxury of unrestrained emotion. Stretching out on the soft mattress, she buried her face into the clump of bedfur clutched between her hands. Once her eyes at last ran dry, she drifted into restless dreams.

  Chapter 14

  The kitchen’s almost constant dull roar was punctuated only occasionally by the sharp clang of metal against metal as vats were stirred and pots bumped together.

  Ceri performed her duties with the same cheery smile and willing spirit that had proven her habit since arriving at Castle Westbourne. Unfortunately over the past two days it had become increasingly difficult to continue. The endless accusations of Lady Blanche, the expanding weight of prying eyes, and the rising pressure of suspicious whispers had grown ever more arduous to bear, seeming to slow Ceri’s movements until time itself lagged.

  “Ceri—”

  At the call Ceri immediately turned to meet the seneschal’s kindly gaze with a warm smile. In him, near alone among the castle’s inhabitants, she had seen no distrust. She’d come to know that a gentle heart beat beneath the stern exterior of this aging man, standing straight and tall with the aid of his staff.

  “What task would you have of me?” Ceridwen quietly asked, feeling as if his trust in her lightened the burden of unfair accusations.

  “Fetch a bucket of fresh water from the courtyard well,” Godfrey solemnly answered. “The water there is cool and more conducive for seeing leeks remain crisp even after they’re diced.”

  Doubting that cool water was any such thing, Ceri recognized Godfrey’s command for the generously bestowed gift that it was. It provided a chance to evade constantly watching eyes while exchanging the smoky darkness of the kitchens for the bright sunshine and fresh breezes outside.

  For his thoughtful boon, Godfrey was rewarded by a grin near as radiant as the shining orb unseen but assuredly riding high in the blue sky beyond stone walls. The seneschal’s normally austere mask cracked. He couldn’t help but respond with a smile of his own while waving the girl off on the task which in reality was completely unnecessary.

  After ascending the dark stairwell and negotiating her way out through the tunnel, Ceri blinked rapidly against the blinding daylight at the top of exterior’s flight of wooden steps. She took a deep breath of fresh air, pausing until her eyes adjusted to the
brilliance of the sun before starting downward.

  In the center of the courtyard stood a small structure. Built over and around a deep well, it protected vital waters against being fouled either accidentally or purposefully.

  As Ceri approached, she was startled to hear muffled laughter within—youthful and merry. Upon opening the door the merest crack, she peeked inside and found a curious sight. Tal’s squire, Thomas, sat on one side of the well’s stone rim while a young girl much the same age sat on the other. Edith, somber Lady Edith, had joined Thomas in giggling like the children they still nearly were.

  Ceri was pleased for the girl and stepped into the building, letting the door shut behind. However, Edith was clearly embarrassed to have been caught lost in undignified mirth. The girl jumped awkwardly to her feet, cheeks burning bright as a rosary slipped from her hand. Ceri bent to retrieve the lovely article. But after she handed the sacred item to its owner, Edith clasped it to her breast. Then, with a desperate glance containing a wordless plea (seeking forgiveness or silence?), she bolted from the wellhouse.

  Tom also rose to diffidently face the intruder. He wouldn’t flee and have it seem a wrong had been done where there was none.

  “I pray that you won’t speak of this innocent encounter to anyone.” His proper request was asked with stiff formality but in the youth’s expressive eyes lay a silent entreaty.

  “Rest easy.” Herself a victim of unjust gossip, Ceri promptly responded, “I would never betray the innocent secrets of another.” Ceri saw no good purpose to be met by sharing with Thomas the fact of a friendship already built between herself and the young lady guest who might prefer that it remain unknown.

  Despite the whirlwind of suspicion that surrounded the Welsh enchantress, as Tom directly met honesty in a green-mist gaze, he couldn’t help but believe her sincere. At the same time her openness compelled him to explain that his time with Lord Tal’s bride-to-be represented no insult to his lord.