Tal pulled back to quickly strip off his own clothes before gladly yielding to tender arms lifted in willing surrender. With feverish need Ceri longed for him to carry her deeper into passion’s consuming fires. Tal answered her unspoken demand for the final step in their erotic dance by moving to settle above her. Then, arching his back, he slowly joined his body to hers.
Ceri watched as in that moment golden sparks exploded and nearly obscured the dark of his eyes. Those ravenous fires stoked smoldering heat building in Ceri as he rhythmically rocked himself against her in a primitive dance as old as time. Seared by the hungry flames in his golden eyes, she shared an ever more intense heat while clinging desperately to its source, kindling to feed a hotter blaze.
At last, after endless moments at the pinnacle of the hottest blue flame, Ceri’s cry of sweet anguish twined with the thunder of Tal’s groan as the growing pyre burst into a glittering shower of golden pleasure. It carried them gently down through the wafting smoke of sweet satisfaction.
Later rousing from a state of blissful lassitude, Ceri became aware that though she lay content on the banked coals of a fiery love, there were confusing questions left unasked.
“Lloyd was here, does that mean…” Ceri allowed the softly whispered question to trail off against the firm flesh of Tal’s shoulder.
“After Lloyd learned of your abduction, he fetched Mabyn from Llechu and brought her to Westbourne to offer their aid in your rescue.” Banked fires still burned in Tal’s eyes while he gently smoothed the tangles from ebony curls. “It was a dangerous action for an escaped prisoner to risk.”
Ceri rose on one elbow to gaze earnestly into Tal’s handsome face. “But he was here and not locked in a dank cell.”
“Lloyd was here.” Tal nodded. “He confessed his part in the first attack in Llechu and renewed his oath of fealty, swearing in the same breath that as penance he would gladly follow through with plans already laid.” Tal traced the smooth curve of her throat from chin to the dip at its base. “I watched from the doorway as he set off for Farleith Keep where—to see us stand prepared—he will linger, listen, and report on Lord James’s plans for the inevitable confrontation ahead.”
“Lloyd is in Farleith Keep?” Ceri flatly repeated, worried for his safety.
“Soon.” To lend what comfort he could for the tender angel’s concern, Tal repeated the honorable purpose for her father’s deed as he drew her back down into his arms. “Lloyd will seem to remain their ally with the hope of being able to warn us against approaching dangers before they strike at Westbourne.”
Warmed by Tal’s attempt to ease her fears, Ceri slightly shifted the focus of their words. “Then we were right from the outset to believe that Farleith rather than Bendale was the source of looming dangers and culprits involved in ominous events?”
“In truth—” Tal’s potent grin flashed. “That source isn’t simply either Farleith or Bendale—but both.”
Ceri was surprised yet also relieved. Although she had known of Farleith’s wicked schemes since learning of Edith’s role as spy, she’d feared her instinctive mistrust of Bendale born merely of personal dislike for Lady Blanche.
“Lord James’s greedy motives are clear—” Ceri spoke quietly. “But from reports traveling gossip vines I wouldn’t have thought Morton possessed sufficient strength of will to risk conflict with Westbourne.”
“The driving force behind Bendale’s actions isn’t Morton but his sister. After Blanche was widowed she lost little time in traveling to Westbourne thinking to secure me for her next mate.
“Once in the castle, Blanche found Edith no threat to either her scheme or her vanity—but you were.” Tal’s dark eyes were filled with melting golden lights as he turned his potent smile on the earnest damsel so intimately near. “Particularly after she recognized my love for you.”
“Lady Blanche thought me a threat?” Stunned by the mere notion, Ceri began absently brushing fingertips across the firm planes of Tal’s powerful chest.
“’Struth,” Tal answered while gently trapping Ceri’s fingers between his palm and the flesh above his heart. “Blanche plotted to have you killed, doubtless intending to comfort my loss while actually attempting to rekindle old fires.”
“Old fires?” Dreading the answer, Ceri’s pulse pounded uncomfortably, and she nibbled an already passion-bruised lip.
“Blanche and I knew each other well a decade and more past—” Tal nuzzled Ceri’s satin cheek and rubbed a whisper-light kiss across her eyelids as, to ensure their relationship never again threatened by secrets, he admitted an unpleasant one from his past.
“We were both young and Blanche only beginning to refine her seductive powers over men. I was easy prey. But as I came to know the flinty being at her core, soulless passion went to cold ashes.”
“Then you don’t…?” This time Ceri bit down hard on her lip to stifle the unworthy question.
“Blanche has long been repugnant to me. Even more so when compared to the warm light you are, but then next to you every other woman fades into insignificant shadows.” Tal kissed the tip of Ceri’s nose. “And I swear that once the looming firestorm of danger has been reduced to smoldering coals, I will see you acknowledged as the very heart of my soul which truly you are.”
Ceri went still, hardly daring to breathe although the slight smile on her lips brightened with soul-melting warmth. Did her beloved really mean all that this seeming declaration implied? Despite gloomy clouds of danger, was a brilliant dawn of success for her quest hovering on the horizon?
By a lip nibbled to berry-brightness and green gaze gone dark, Tal realized that Ceri feared to believe his words and promptly sought to erase that needless distress. “I love you and I promise that once Farleith is defeated we will share a joyous wedding celebration unlike any Westbourne has ever seen.”
With the granting of her dream, Ceri melted against Taliesan, whispering, “And I love you—have loved you since first I saw you ride through the village—and will love you forever.”
The flame of their loving passion was rekindled to blaze anew.
Chapter 20
As Tal motioned Ceri to precede him up Castle Westbourne’s exterior steps, the fierce heat of brilliant sunlight from the day’s nearly cloudless sky had begun easing into the cooler comfort of late afternoon’s lengthening shadows. They’d barely entered the entrance tunnel when the echo of Godfrey’s stave striking the stone floor announced his approach. He rushed toward them, anxiously waving his lord into the great hall where a stern-faced messenger from Farleith Keep impatiently waited.
The vast chamber was deserted save for a lone serf sprinkling fresh herbs over the rush-strewn floor and the unwelcome visitor dispatched by Lord James with a harsh message to be delivered directly to the earl of Westbourne.
“My master is weary of the games it seems you would play.” The man refused to offer his arm in response to the one extended toward him in greeting—an insult Tal chose to ignore.
“Lord James will lead his full garrison here in one day’s time.” This statement lacked any hint of emotion but the speaker’s mouth curled with obvious distaste. “In that hour either the betrothal will be performed or the lord of Farleith will demand a blood payment for the insult you’ve done him.”
“Tomorrow?” Ceri repeated, aghast at the sudden prospect of time rapidly disappearing, time necessary to prepare for the inevitable conflict. “Lord James will come tomorrow?”
The visitor curtly nodded—an action Tal mirrored in acknowledgment of an event that could be delayed no longer.
As the cold messenger spun and strode briskly from the hall and the castle, Ceri lifted anxious eyes to Taliesan.
“There’s no help for it,” Tal said with a grim smile but reassuring gaze. “I must go to meet with my garrison, lay plans for the morrow’s difficult confrontation, and secretly appoint a trusted few to execute our evening plan for Edith’s happiness.”
“Go first to assure your Aunt Ve
vina and grandmother of your safe return but then seek out the dedicated nun soon to be.” Tal solemnly ordered his beloved but in a gentle tone.
Knowing there was no time to waste in further discussion of details, Ceri merely nodded. “I will reassure my family and then promptly share with Edith both the plan and the hour for her to secure the destiny she seeks.”
Before they could retreat to begin performing their tasks, Godfrey reappeared.
“Milord,” the seneschal formally started. “There have been changes to the castle’s roster of guests since your departure yestereve.”
Tal met the vague news with a mocking smile. Considering Ceri’s escape, he could guess the identity of departing guests but waited for Godfrey to announce it with proper decorum.
“Early this morn a message from Bendale arrived, apparently of dire concern as Lord Morton and his sister soon took their leave.”
“Thank you for promptly delivering the good news, Godfrey.” Tal nearly laughed aloud and Ceri grinned. Godfrey properly maintained his solemn facade but couldn’t quell the twinkle in his eyes.
What little of the afternoon remained passed in such a busy haze that Ceri barely noticed the continuing, even increased, distrust shown by other castle inhabitants. The evening meal’s atmosphere was nearly morose after rumors of Lord James’s threatened arrival on the following day flew through healthy gossip vines.
Ceri was strangely relieved when at last the moment arrived to set the first in a series of dangerous plans into motion. She slipped quietly into the family chapel where Edith was ostensibly spending the night before her betrothal in earnest prayers.
At even the faint sound of an opening door, Edith spun hopefully toward the portal now filled with a welcome friend bearing the serviceable symbol of a much desired gift.
“It’s nothing like as beautiful as yours, but I promise that it is warm enough to protect you from the night chill beyond bailey walls.” Ceri offered this gentle assurance while moving forward to settle the hood of a simple homespun cape over Lady Edith’s head. It would shield the girl’s unmistakable pale hair from too curious eyes.
Though years younger, Edith was of a height with the petite Ceridwen. Thus the latter’s garment fit and covered the other from head to toe. It was a disguise necessary to see Lord Tal’s plan reach its successful conclusion.
They stood alone in the chapel as darkness descended. Carefully chosen guardsmen would soon be waiting in the courtyard to escort Lady Edith to the nunnery at St. Basil’s. The convent lay just over the southern border and within the safe haven of the earl of Gloucester’s lands.
The mother superior there would welcome a new novice. More importantly, the religious house in Gloucester owed no loyalty to Lord James who was King Stephen’s staunch supporter. This meant that the baron of Farleith could not recover his daughter by any means short of open battle with the much more powerful Earl Robert and on the earl of Gloucester’s own lands.
“For your unearned kindness and aid in helping me secure my destiny—” As Edith squeezed Ceri’s fingers her eyes were damp but this time with tears of gratitude not anguish. “I will pray for your health and happiness daily.”
“God go with you,” Ceri sincerely wished the younger woman well on this secret journey and in the life she had chosen. Nay, as Edith said repeatedly, the life to which God had called her.
A brisk knocking on the door was a firm announcement to the two inside that the moment of departure had arrived. Ceri gave Edith an impulsive hug and turned her toward the portal as it opened to reveal a towering figure in its frame.
Stepping into the room and to one side to ease Edith’s path into the corridor, Tal spoke quietly to the chamber’s lone remaining occupant.
“What my mind recalls only through a haze, my heart remembers clearly.” With that cryptic comment Tal lifted Ceri’s hand and quickly pressed a kiss into her sensitive palm. “No matter the outcome of the morrow’s certain conflict, remember that you are now and will always be the precious center of my heart.”
With a nervous Edith at his side and waiting guardsmen doubtless impatient to be off, Tal could tarry no longer and promptly turned to escort the pious girl to join her armed escorts.
But even as the sound of retreating footsteps faded, Ceri felt cradled in the warmth of Taliesan’s love. While Edith’s dreams were about to be granted, Ceri’s own quest for happiness had won its goal in Tal’s declaration of love. Yet now she would take Edith’s place at the prie-dieu to earnestly pray that her happiness would not be short-lived.
* * *
A day both anticipated and dreaded had dawned. In Castle Westbourne the refurbished family chapel lay in readiness, and in that empty chamber the priest summoned to perform betrothal rites awaited the participants’ arrival.
In the solar not far away, Westbourne’s dictatorial countess stood immobilized by the control necessary to tame her temper.
“Where is Lady Edith?” Angwen demanded, coils of silver-streaked hair settled upon her head like a crown. “Lord James wishes to speak with his daughter before the rite commences.”
“I have not seen the future bride since the meal last eve.” By virtue of lengthy experience, Vevina met her lady’s glare unwavering.
“Well, someone must have.” Angwen was losing patience and spitefully added, “Find her friend, her only human friend—your niece—and send her to me.”
Vevina easily recognized this as the threat against Ceri which she and her lady each knew that it was. Ceridwen had been rescued and returned to the castle less than a full day past and thus was unlikely to know any about the missing bride.
“I will go in search of both Lady Edith and Ceridwen,” Vevina calmly announced before deliberately turning to leave the solar, back straight and chin proudly uptilted.
While Lady Angwen scowled and impatiently waited, Vevina started briskly down the corridor. She was intent on her plan for descending into the kitchens, there to either find Ceri or learn precisely where her niece had been sent.
Vevina’s intentions were abruptly altered when her path was obstructed by Lord Taliesan’s powerful form. She had no choice but to halt, curtsy, and wait to learn what he would have of her.
“Is my lady mother in the solar?” Tal’s flat tone betrayed no hint of the tension building in advance of the possible soon coming conflict which in actual fact no action he took could prevent.
Assuming Lord Tal meant to escort the countess of Westbourne to the betrothal ceremony, Vevina gave him a warm smile and promptly nodded. If mother and son retreated into the chapel, surely her current task would be unnecessary?
“Then by my command return to her side and ensure that she doesn’t put herself at risk by attending the fraudulent rites.”
“At risk? Fraudulent?” Vevina frowned but her lord’s attention had already shifted.
By Westbourne’s strong gossip vines everyone knew of Lord James’s threat that if the betrothal was not performed this day, a payment in blood would be demanded. Was Ceri, as the bride’s friend, actually a part of some foolish plan to prevent the rites? Though the past night Vevina had admired Ceri’s selfless insistence that her grandmother continue to share the alcove’s comfortable pallet, now she feared more lay behind the thoughtful gesture. In what perilous action was the girl involved?
Bewildered and worried, Vevina watched as Lord Tal briskly strode past her to reach the end of the hallway and turn toward the chapel built within the width of the corridor’s stone wall.
An extremely limited party of guests were crowded into the chapel too small to hold more. Taking up an unfair share of the chamber, the beefy Lord James scowled. He had asked to see his daughter before the ceremony but since Edith had yet to appear it was plain that his request had been most unjustly ignored—a further wrong to be added to his list of the earl of Westbourne’s many.
Lord James and his most skilled warriors from Farleith were lined up along one side of the chapel while their protagonists, the
earl of Westbourne and his knights, stood against the opposite wall. Tal was repulsed by the complete lack of reverence demonstrated by his opponent’s dispassionate plan to initiate violence in this hallowed chamber.
The tense silence of waiting grew ever more oppressive until, seemingly oblivious to the pressure of unspoken questions, Tal stepped into the sanctified room’s center. When he spoke his deep voice demanded and received the attention of all.
“Lady Edith of Farleith Keep—” Tal announced in precise words and a carrying tone. “Has chosen to retreat into the holy life of a nun. Thus, there will be no betrothal today.”
“Where is my daughter?” A furious Lord James demanded while stomping forward to face the erstwhile groom with naught but a perilous hand’s-breadth of space betwixt them.
“Well beyond your reach,” Tal responded with a cold and mirthless smile.
“You have no right to interfere between a father and his daughter!” James snarled.
“’Struth,” Tal nodded but gritted out more between clenched teeth. “And never would I have done so had you not sought to use your daughter in a menacing plot against me and mine.”
Face gone dark purple and sputtering with rage, Lord James was a fair way toward exploding. He had come to this site for a ceremony never meant to occur, come with his own shocking scheme only to be met by news of a dastardly misdeed. But, he heatedly assured himself, the bitter acid of Taliesan’s wrong would merely make the fine nectar of the earl’s planned destruction taste the sweeter.
Though their surprise attack had been too soon revealed, Lord James was still convinced that his warriors would win out. Their aggression was expected, yet he believed greater power and a more certain victory would be achieved by his choice to see the battle fought in a severely limited space.
The fuming baron signaled his followers to immediately launch an assault focused on one man. He was confident that by the earl’s death they would conquer the whole of Westbourne.
Memories of the Heart Page 20
