One with its chords having gone awry, Paxton thought, knowing he’d go altogether mad if had to listen to her for very long. She sounded like a fishwife!
Apart from that, there was something about her that inspired a wariness within him. Paxton didn’t understand the sensation nor could he explain why it had come upon him. Nonetheless the feeling was there.
“You,” Gwenifer stated, halting before him. “Are you this Paxton de Beaumont that Sir Graham mentioned to me?”
“I am,” Paxton replied, thinking, her temperament aside, she was even more lovely up close.
Her hair was the same color as Alana’s, a deep sable brown; her skin was smooth and creamy and without flaw; but where Alana’s eyes were the color of the rich dark earth, Gwenifer’s were a light hazel and speckled with golden dots of sunshine. Right now, they sparked with fire.
“I presume you have something you wish to say,” he finished.
It was Gwenifer’s turn to assess Paxton. He withstood her scrutiny as her gaze ran over him from head to toe. Then her eyes met his. What he read in their depths said she was pleased with what she saw.
“I do,” she stated, her abrasive tone having softened. “But it comes more in the way of questions, milord. Why is my cousin dressed in sackcloth? And why is there a whip lying close to your feet? Has she offended you in some way… so horribly, that you must punish her this brutally? I know Gilbert would at times become very angry with her, but never to the extent that he thought to beat her. What has she done?”
“She has done nothing,” Paxton returned. “The matter is now ended. Fortunately for Sir Graham, your cousin was not harmed.”
“Sir Graham?” she asked, her eyes darting between the two men. “What has he to do with this?”
“Come, Gwenifer,” Alana declared, coming upon the threesome. “Let’s go into the hall. I’ll explain everything while I dress.”
Paxton was aware of her approach, noted how Madoc trailed behind her. The man now peered over Alana’s shoulder at him, eyes flashing with malice. The look Madoc sent him indicated that Paxton might be soon wiping the man’s spit from his face.
Unable to hold Madoc’s gaze, Paxton scanned the yard. The Welsh had not yet dispersed. They watched and waited. It was as though they weren’t quite certain their kinswoman was safe. His attention then fell on Alana.
“No one is more relieved than I that this is over and that you are unscathed,” he said.
As was her habit, she elevated her chin in the same condescending fashion that he’d seen more often than not; then just as he anticipated, she bestowed on him a withering stare. Without reply, she turned away and urged her cousin across the yard.
As he watched them go, Paxton sighed inwardly, mindful that it would be a long while before she forgave him, if ever.
What had he expected? That she would fall at his feet in gratitude that he hadn’t beaten her?
With her face to the post, she had no way of knowing the whip had left his hand, no way of appreciating that he wouldn’t have followed through in chastising her, even if the group hadn’t returned.
In time he’d tell her these things. For now, though, he’d keep his distance. A wise choice, considering her mood. Not to mention her anger.
Paxton frowned.
Thoughts of Alana’s ire prompted him to remember something Gwenifer had said: I know Gilbert would at times become very angry with her.
He hadn’t realized the significance of her words when she’d first uttered them, but he did now.
What exactly was it that prompted Gilbert’s anger? Moreover, did his displeasure with his wife somehow lead to his death?
His friend’s demise was one of the main reasons he’d been sent to the castle. Because of his worry over Alana, and whether or not he’d have to punish her, he’d nearly forgotten that.
With his concerns at last put to rest, how Gilbert died was again at the fore of his mind, and Paxton was suddenly determined to discover if there in fact might be something to this small bit of news that Gwenifer had handed him.
That, coupled with Alana’s slip of the tongue about Gilbert’s selfish use of her in their marriage bed, was beginning to paint a picture about the couple’s relationship. The portraiture was still hazy, but it appeared that all was not wedded bliss.
He needed answers, and of those here, Gwenifer might be the most willing to divulge the information he sought.
Unless he was mistaken, which he doubted, her eyes did say that she held a certain feminine interest in him. If he were to apply his masculine charms to advantage, he could very well succeed in getting at the truth.
Mulling the concept over, Paxton decided it was worth a try.
“How long has he been here?”
Alana poked her head through the neck of her chemise to see Gwenifer trailing her finger over the top of the table. “He who?” Alana asked, kicking the crumpled sackcloth away from her feet.
Gwenifer looked at her fingertip. Finding no dust, she allowed her hand to fall to her side. “You know who. Paxton de Beaumont, of course.”
Alana would rather forget she knew him at all. “Three weeks, I suppose.”
“You suppose? Don’t you know?”
“I’m not in the habit of marking off the days as each one goes by. Much has happened since his arrival. Truly, I cannot remember when he came. I do, however, wish he’d go away.”
“I take it you don’t like him, then,” Gwenifer said.
An understatement, Alana thought. “Let’s just say he annoys me.”
“Why?”
Alana studied Gwenifer closely. Was her cousin interested in Paxton? She pictured the pair together, both perfect human beings in the physical sense. They would make a striking couple. For some reason, the thought nettled. “Because he’s Norman,” she snapped. “Why else?”
“Gilbert was Norman. You married him, didn’t you?”
“Aye, but I am now widowed, and thus I shall stay.” Alana inclined her head. “Why the questions, Gwenifer? Are you taken with him?”
“Nay. It’s just that he seemed very contrite about his almost having whipped you… well, I was wondering why you were so angry with him when he expressed his relief that he hadn’t caused you injury. You would have been scarred, you know. You may have died had your wounds taken the poisoning. At the very least, you should be thankful he held off as long as he did.”
On their way up to her chamber, Alana had told Gwenifer about Sir Goddard’s attacking her, informed her of Paxton’s edict and his use of the Welsh as a means of protecting Sir Graham and his two companions as they made their way to and from Offa’s Dyke. She’d also apprised her cousin of the time limitation imposed on the group for their safe return to the castle.
Some of this Gwenifer had apparently gleaned from Sir Graham as the group traveled toward the castle. At first, her cousin had been very sympathetic, but now Alana thought she was acting rather odd.
“Are you saying that you think I should fall at his feet and thank him for not beating me?” she asked incredulously. “If so, Gwenifer, it shall never happen.”
“I didn’t say anything of the sort. What I’m suggesting is this: If you hope to keep our kinsmen and his knights from each others’ throats, I think it would be wise to make peace with your new overlord. Did you not see the hatred in our kinfolks’ eyes. I did, and you had been released from the post, unscathed, by the time I rode into the courtyard.
“Think about it, Alana. The less strife there is among those here the easier it will be for us all. Only you have the power to see that everyone stays calm. Therefore, swallow your pride and offer him your friendship.”
Alana wondered what Rhys would think of Gwenifer’s proposal. Not much, she decided. But then anything that passed from her cousin’s lips would meet with his disapproval.
Rhys disliked Gwenifer with a passion. He’d never told Alana just why he harbored such an aversion toward her cousin, but he’d warned Alana against Gwenifer, saying
she was not to be trusted.
Alana had disagreed with Rhys, for Gwenifer had never shown any malice toward her, not even after the terrible family tragedy when Hywel ap Daffyd, Gwenifer’s father, was slain by his own brother Rhodri, who was Alana’s father. There had never been anything between the two cousins but affection.
Reviewing Gwenifer’s words, Alana had to admit her cousin was right. “And how do you suggest I make friends with a man whom I can barely abide without it appearing as though I’m betraying my own kin?”
“Betraying your kin?” Gwenifer chimed. “Really, Alana, you sound as though you think that by showing the man some common courtesy or that by working with him in mutual accord to ensure peace between both sides it would be received in the same manner as if you were to become his whore. Everyone here knows where your loyalties lie. You don’t have to fawn over the man. Just proceed in an amicable fashion, and I’m sure the tension within the castle will soon abate.”
Most times, Gwenifer was wise to a fault, but she was yet unaware that Paxton doubted Alana’s account about Gilbert’s death, which in itself was bound to keep the uneasiness between them churning.
Gwenifer, like everyone else who had been at the castle the day Gilbert was pulled from the river, believed Gilbert had drowned, and Alana never told her otherwise.
From childhood, they had shared many of their most private thoughts with each other. Gwenifer even knew that Alana’s marriage was not the most stable. She also knew that the union was loveless.
But in order to protect her cousin, Alana had purposely kept the truth about Gilbert’s death from Gwenifer. It was one secret that her cousin would never learn.
“What are you thinking?” Gwenifer asked.
Alana shrugged. “Nothing of consequence.”
Gwenifer laughed. The light musical sound filled the room. “Come now. Do you really believe Paxton de Beaumont is of little consequence?”
“I wasn’t thinking about him. But, aye. He is of little consequence.”
That was the second time she’d lied to her cousin. The first was when she’d said that she could barely abide him. In one way that was true. But in another…
God’s blood! Why did the blackguard intrigue her so?
“He is quite handsome,” Gwenifer said, a bemused light shining in her eyes.
Becoming annoyed with all this talk about Paxton, Alana snapped, “You believe that of every man.”
“Not every man. Just of those where it’s true. Paxton de Beaumont is one of those men.”
Alana inclined her head and studied her cousin. Gwenifer was angling for something. Had she somehow ascertained the truth… that in actuality Alana was fascinated with Paxton? If her cousin was hoping to extract a confession to that end, she’d not get it.
Then another thought struck.
Though Gwenifer had denied any interest in Paxton, she may have done so because she feared she’d be intruding on her cousin’s domain. Alana held no claim to Paxton, and as far as she was concerned, Gwenifer was welcome to him.
“Gwenifer,” she said. “A second ago you told me that you weren’t interested in the Norman. But by the way you keep talking about him, I detect you weren’t exactly telling me the truth. If in fact you are attracted to him, and if you wish to pursue a relationship with him—though, for the life of me I cannot conceive why!—I tell you that you are free to do so. But I caution you this: From my own experience, I think you would be happier with a man of your own ilk. The differences between Gilbert and me were insurmountable. For your own sake, make certain that you choose wisely when you choose your husband.”
Gwenifer again laughed. “My husband? Alana, please. I have no intention of marrying Paxton de Beaumont. I simply find him attractive. Besides, after the way I behaved on my arrival, I have a feeling he’ll now keep his distance.”
“You were a bit shrewish,” Alana offered.
“Only because I was appalled at what I saw. It unsettled me more than you can imagine when I became aware that you might have been put under the whip. Were we but a moment or two later in arriving, you would have suffered unmercifully. And I would have blamed myself that you had.”
“Why would you blame yourself?”
“If Sir Graham and the others hadn’t come upon us in the wood, offering assistance because of that broken cart wheel, they would easily have been here yesterday.” Tears sprang to her eyes. “It pains me so to think of what might have happened to you. I just cannot bear it.”
Alana moved to Gwenifer’s side. “Do not fret, Cousin,” she said, placing her arm around Gwenifer’s shoulders. “Saint David was watching over me.”
Gwenifer sniffed. “How do you know that?”
“’Tis as you’ve said. Paxton held off far longer than most men in his position would have. He gave an edict, promised to punish me if it wasn’t obeyed, then was forced to follow through on that pledge. For some unexplained reason, he waited. And because he did, the group came just in time, you with them, everyone being safe. I cannot look upon all this as a mere coincidence. Saint David was watching over us all. I’m certain of it.”
“If you believe that to be true, I suppose I should also.”
“You should,” Alana said. “As for the illustrious knight himself, unlike myself, Cousin, you are able to build a rapport with every male you come upon. I see no reason why you cannot do the same with him.”
Gwenifer pulled from Alana’s hold and slowly walked to the window, where she stared down on the courtyard. “You refer to Gilbert, don’t you?” She paused. “Are you angry with me because he and I were friends?”
Viewing her cousin’s back, Alana had to concede that she had been somewhat jealous of Gwenifer’s skill to engage Gilbert in conversation. But then Gwenifer’s temperament was far different from her own. This morning was possibly the first time she’d ever heard her cousin’s voice raise in ire. It may very well have been the last.
She and Gwenifer were quite the opposites in that vein. Where one was calm the other was most volatile. Unfortunately Alana knew herself to be the latter.
There was no denying that her biggest fault lay with her own inability to curb her emotions. When she was angry, she let the world know. If she was truly sad, she allowed her tears to flow.
Conversely, Gwenifer always appeared to be in control. Perhaps it was because Gwenifer held such confidence in herself. And why not? She was close to being perfect.
More often than not, Alana had envied her cousin’s composure. Yet the question always arose: If Gwenifer carried the same burden as Alana did, would she still be as poised?
Unlike Alana, she wasn’t responsible for the welfare of her kinsmen nor had she married Gilbert for all the wrong reasons, making her own life miserable as a result.
Which brought Alana back to Gwenifer’s inquiry.
“Angry with you because you and Gilbert were friends?” she asked. “Nay.” It was the truth. “At least you were able to make him laugh, something I could never do.”
Gwenifer turned around with a smile on her face. “You know, after my journey, I find I’m exceptionally thirsty,” she said while loosening the strings to her cloak. “Once you’ve finished dressing, what would you say to our going down to the hall and having ourselves a cup of milk together?”
“I say that would be quite nice.”
Alana donned her white linen chainse and a bliaud of deep blue flannel. She was not as brightly nor as finely dressed as Gwenifer, but then simplicity and modesty were more suited to Alana’s tastes.
“How is your mother?” Alana asked, hoping to put all talk of Paxton de Beaumont aside.
“She’s in good health.” Gwenifer patted the brooch that she’d attached to Alana’s mantle. “There. I believe we are ready.”
“And your stepfather—is he also in good health?” Alana asked as she drew on her headrail, her braid bound around her head.
“He’s as hale as ever,” came Gwenifer’s reply. “They are both very happ
y living beside the River Clwyd. I believe they will be satisfied to live out the rest of their years there.”
Alana remembered how after Hywel’s death Rhodri ap Daffyd had looked after Gwenifer and her mother, Rhodri’s sense of duty and remorse over slaying his only brother the reason. Besides, mother and daughter had no place to go. But Marared was forever resentful, and no one ever faulted her for her feelings of bitterness, but life with Marared around was not easy.
After a year of the woman’s constant haranguing and badgering, everyone’s nerves were on edge. Fortunately, through contacts of Rhodri’s, a marriage was arranged for his widowed sister-in-law, one that was considered a good match.
Marared accepted the proposal, and she and Gwenifer left Rhodri’s protection and began a new life by the River Clwyd, which was well north of the fortress. Gwenifer, showing no revulsion for her father’s kin the way her mother had, visited often over the years. Though she came unannounced, she arrived at the most momentous of times.
Gwenifer had been here when Alana’s father had tumbled from his horse, the fall killing him. She’d come shortly before Gilbert’s demise and sought to console Alana, believing her cousin was truly grieved.
Why Gwenifer would think that her cousin actually lamented Gilbert’s loss, Alana couldn’t say. Gwenifer knew their was no love between the couple. In fact, as Alana recalled, it was Gwenifer who shed the most tears. But then she and Gilbert were friends, therefore Gwenifer’s tears were genuine, where Alana’s were not.
And Gwenifer was here now, at another time of tribulation for Alana. A godsend, Alana thought. For if Gwenifer, with her exceptional beauty and poise, could capture the interests of Paxton de Beaumont, maybe he’d forget all about delving into Gilbert’s death, which would alleviate Alana’s fears and worries.
“I’m glad to know your mother is again content,” she said, wondering just how she could foist Gwenifer off on Paxton.
Considering Gwenifer’s beauty, Alana doubted she’d have to play matchmaker for the pair. Awed, Paxton would no doubt approach the irresistible Gwenifer without any prompting. For her own sake, Alana prayed that he did.
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