‘We shall need help,’ he resolved.
Maelgwn took time readying himself; he was not looking forward to confronting his father, meeting this woman, or being united with his long lost brother. He tried briefly to meditate in the hope of becoming centred and calm, but without Tory to guide him it was useless.
‘I need her on my side.’ He scolded himself as he marched down the long hall, the doors to the gallery in his sights. ‘I must make my peace with her before this day be over.’
As his hand came to rest on the handle of the large door, he could hear the murmurs of those who awaited him. He held his pendant of the Dragon and took a deep breath.
The Prince entered the gallery to find most of the knights in attendance, along with his father’s officials and personal guard. The ladies of the house, with the exception of Lady Gladys, were standing by the tall, slender windows. Maelgwn spotted two ladies who were unfamiliar to him, one of whom he assumed was his bride to be. He spied his brother, Caradoc, in the corner, engrossed in conversation with Cadogan. I should have known they’d seek each other out, they always were as thick as thieves, he thought. This was a worry. Maelgwn had hoped to keep Tory a secret from Caradoc, so he summoned Madoc.
‘Can I help thee, Majesty?’
Maelgwn urged him closer. ‘Get Cadogan away from Caradoc, I do not trust them.’
Madoc quietly agreed.
‘Send him on an errand of some description … I want him gone for at least a few days.’
Madoc nodded and went about his bidding.
‘Maelgwn, my boy.’ King Caswallon held out his hand to his son.
The Prince’s expression was solemn as he went down on one knee before the King. ‘Father.’ He kissed the ring on his father’s hand. ‘I be comforted to see that thou hast returned to us in good health.’
At this the King laughed. ‘I was in no danger, I assure thee. And I must say, thou art appearing exceedingly well thyself.’
But Maelgwn was not so convinced of his father’s safety. ‘I need to speak with thee at once. Alone.’
‘Later. Percival hast already spoken to me of thy concern, but now I insist thee meet thy bride before thee raise an objection to her.’
It will not make any difference, Maelgwn thought, though he nodded in accordance with his father’s wishes.
Tory studied her image in the mirror with reservation. She was dressed in an outfit that had once belonged to the late Queen, who had been small of frame like herself. The linen dress, or kirtle, was pale green and simple in design. It hung from her shoulders in soft waves and looked rather like a long nightshirt. Over it she wore a thickly woven tunic, or gunna, which had sleeves to the elbow, and fell to her knees. It was of a very deep green, almost emerald, which nicely complemented her eyes. Tory fastened the gunna in tight at the waist with her black leather belt. The women wore no undergarments at this time of year, but Tory wasn’t too comfortable with that idea. She chose to wear her T-shirt, jeans and steel-capped boots underneath, which were well hidden by the dress.
‘Goodness, I almost look like a lady.’
‘What doth thou mean, almost?’ Lady Gladys replied. She’d braided strands of hair from each side of Tory’s face and fastened them in the centre at the back, leaving the rest of her hair loose. When she’d finished, she paused to view the result. ‘Thee appears as refined as Queen Sorcha herself once did, bless her soul. Hast Maelgwn not told thee that thou bears a likeness to her?’
Tory didn’t know if this was good news or not. ‘He never mentioned it, no.’
‘Maelgwn absolutely adored her, everyone did.’ She paused briefly as the memories came flooding back, then sighed. ‘If the King dost not take an instant liking to thee, I shall be very surprised.’ Lady Gladys was struck by a thought. ‘In fact, we had best couple thee with someone, save Caswallon or Caradoc do take a fancy to thee.’
Tory’s eyes opened wide in horror as Lady Gladys concocted a strategy. A smile crossed her face as she made haste for the stairwell. ‘Calin.’
‘Lady Gladys, what art thou thinking?’
She turned back to Tory, taking up her hands in her own, ‘Thee must trust me, little one.’
The Prince was having great difficulty engaging Vanora, his intended bride, in conversation. The girl was barely eighteen years of age, ten years younger than himself. Her hair, as dark as his own, fell in tight curls around her face and over her shoulders. She had a round yet delicate face and ivory skin, flushed rose red in her cheeks and mouth. She was taller than the other young maidens and her body was long and slim like a reed. The Princess, however beautiful, had eyes as cold and dark as ebony, and Maelgwn thought her a poor compensation for the bounty he’d forfeited that morning.
Lady Gladys entered the room, and the Prince excused himself politely then left to pursue his aunt who had taken a seat by the King. Over the rest of the conversations going on in the room, Maelgwn heard Lady Gladys inform the King that she wanted to introduce a special guest who was presently residing at the house.
The doors opened and Maelgwn turned to see Tory enter on Brockwell’s arm. He felt his temperature begin to rise. Have they gone mad? He should have been furious but his heart leapt at the sight of Tory dressed thus, and he felt compelled to fall to his knees; she looked so much like his mother, the Queen. This resemblance didn’t go unnoticed by the older members of the court, and their voices were hushed as Brockwell proudly led her to the King.
Caswallon was stunned as he stood to greet her. ‘Sorcha,’ he uttered under his breath.
Lady Gladys wore a cool smile of satisfaction as she rose to introduce her guest. ‘Majesty, this be Tory Alexander, a traveller left stranded on British soil.’
Tory was nervous, aware that everyone in the room was watching her, and she didn’t dare venture a look in Maelgwn’s direction. Instead, she curtsied, her eyes lowered as she’d been instructed.
‘Thy son saved her from Saxon cutthroats in the south-east,’ Lady Gladys informed the King.
He extended his hand to Tory and she went down on one knee before him, kissing his ring.
‘Arise, dear girl,’ he instructed, drawing her up by the hand, completely enchanted. ‘She be so pretty, Maelgwn. Why did thee not tell me of this find?’ Caswallon looked at Maelgwn who was at a loss for words. The King turned his gaze back to Tory, a million memories flooding his mind. ‘Afraid I might snatch her up for myself, no doubt.’
Tory smiled at the King, who was tall like the Prince and no doubt very handsome in his younger days. ‘Thee flatters me, Majesty.’ Tory flirted ever so slightly.
Maelgwn became concerned by the way his father was looking at Tory, and also noticed his brother coming forward to eye her over. It was Brockwell, however, who stepped in to reclaim her.
‘Thou art too late, Majesty. She be well spoken for.’
As Tory gave Brockwell an affectionate smile, Maelgwn’s blood began to boil.
‘Do sit down and tell me all about thyself.’ The King motioned her to the seat beside him, choosing to ignore Brockwell’s claim.
Tory spied Sir Gilmore studying her with a rather curious expression, as he came to stand behind the King. ‘I have been recovering from my ordeal in the north tower, and have not yet had the opportunity to meet everyone.’ Tory hoped this might explain why she hadn’t met the man who ran the house in the King’s absence. ‘Thee must be Sir Gilmore.’ Tory stood and held out her hand to him. ‘I believe I have much to thank thee for.’ The knight’s brow was drawn in curiosity and so she explained, ‘Art thou not the tutor in swordplay and battle to my saviour?’ Tory motioned to Maelgwn, who couldn’t help but smile at the way she so easily charmed everyone.
Sir Gilmore took up her hand and kissed it. ‘Forgive my staring, lady, but for a moment I thought thee the ghost of our dear departed Queen.’
Maelgwn relaxed slightly when he realised this was Gilmore’s only concern.
‘’Tis a remarkable resemblance, I must say,’ Lady Gl
adys commented, giving Tory a wink of approval; she was obviously enjoying herself immensely.
‘How do we know thou art not a simple commoner? Any woman can look like a lady in the right dress.’
There was such evil in this voice, so deep and harsh, that Tory turned to view the speaker whom she assumed to be Prince Caradoc. He looked much like the other males of his family, but he was not as well groomed. His hair was very long with braids here and there, and he obviously took pride in being the black sheep.
‘Prince Caradoc, I presume?’ She tipped her head to him slightly. ‘I have heard so much about thee.’
‘I do not doubt it.’ Caradoc looked to Maelgwn, who was watching him closely.
Tory sensed the malice between these two, and decided she’d have to discover the cause of their falling out.
‘Tory possesses an instrument the like of none thou hast ever heard. It be simply beautiful, Majesty,’ Lady Gladys announced, to break the feeling of ill will. ‘We must have her play for us this evening.’
‘Indeed, I shall look forward to it,’ the King replied.
For the rest of the afternoon the King ignored the bickering of his sons, finding solace in the company of the women of the house.
Tory met Maelgwn’s intended bride during the course of the afternoon, and strangely enough they took an instant dislike of each other. It was not only Princess Vanora’s expression that made her appear so sombre; a menacing presence seemed to overshadow her whole demeanour. Tory considered it a pity that the Princess and Caradoc weren’t betrothed, as they seemed well suited.
Later that evening everyone was treated to a feast in the banquet hall. As Brockwell’s assumed lady, Tory was seated between him and Madoc; thankfully well away from Caradoc and Vanora.
A seemingly neverending stream of food was brought in and laid on the tables before them: meats, fruit, vegetables, bread, cheese, nuts and mead, which flowed freely throughout the evening.
Brockwell had been wonderful company, steadily drinking Tory under the table. Katren was in her element, pleased to be attending her lady in the court banquet hall. Tory made a point of properly introducing her to Brockwell, knowing that Katren had a soft spot for the knight.
‘Calin, thee remembers Katren,’ said Tory, directing his attention away from herself to the maid. Katren curtsied politely, hiding the admiration she felt as Brockwell eyed her with a look of approval.
‘Well, well, well. Who would have thought thee would scrub up so nicely.’ Brockwell sat back in his chair to view her better. ‘A true rose.’
Though her heart was set aflutter, Katren didn’t let her excitement get the better of her. ‘May I say, Lord, that I am a great admirer of thee. Thy heroic deeds these past years be both numerous and notorious.’
‘That thee may.’ Brockwell watched her depart, thinking that she was as cheeky as her mistress. He took up his goblet. ‘What shall we drink to this time?’
‘To friends,’ Tory replied.
‘To lovers.’
‘And enemies,’ she cautioned. ‘May we be granted the foresight to know the difference.’ Tory clinked her goblet against his.
Brockwell could only smile; it seemed she had an answer for every advance.
Tory was quite tipsy when the time came for her to perform for the King. Selwyn, who was to accompany her, had collected her saxophone from her quarters. She took a short time to explain to King Caswallon how the instrument worked before taking up her place by the harp. The dulcet tones of the two instruments came together to create an atmosphere of bliss, keeping the audience spellbound throughout the performance. All bar the Prince, that is, whose enjoyment was disturbed by Caradoc who was sitting nearby.
‘Thy little find appears mighty palatable from here,’ Caradoc goaded, as he turned an evil eye to his brother. Though Maelgwn clearly disapproved of his connotation, he simply focused his attention on the players. Caradoc laughed at his brother’s restraint, delighted to have found an obvious weakness.
When the music was finished, Tory and Selwyn were overwhelmed with applause. Selwyn held Tory’s hand as they took a bow and his face beamed with satisfaction.
The hour was late and the moon was full, thus the knights enticed young maidens to stroll in the moonlight. Maelgwn had been urged by his father to accompany Vanora, and for the first time in her life Tory felt a twinge of jealousy. She looked at Brockwell who was slouched in his chair quietly watching her observe everyone else. ‘Well, I am history thanks to thee.’ She slapped his knee. ‘And so I should retire.’
‘I shall escort thee, then,’ Brockwell offered in a drunken but friendly manner, getting to his feet.
‘Good, because I be totally lost.’ They both laughed. Once Tory had stood up, Brockwell locked her arm firmly around his own and they bid the royal party goodnight.
As soon as Tory reached the privacy of her quarters, she stripped down to her T-shirt and jeans and flopped back onto the bed. With all the mead she’d consumed, however, the room began to spin and she was impelled to sit straight back up. She opened her eyes as she regained her composure, and was startled to find Brockwell staring down at her. ‘Damn thee, Calin, thee scared me!’ Tory scolded. ‘I thought thee had gone to bed.’
‘But I am not tired yet.’
Brockwell slumped onto the bed beside her in an intoxicated state, and Tory couldn’t fail to notice how amiable was his mood. ‘Now Calin, thou hast had much to drink …’ she began her good-sense lecture, getting up off the bed and opening the doors to let some fresh air into the room. ‘And despite how fond I am of thee, I will have to inflict real pain if thou art up to mischief.’
Brockwell, completely ignoring her caution, slowly approached Tory to trace a finger along the fading scar he’d left on her neck. ‘I deeply regret that I ever caused thee pain, Tory. This scar be a thorn in my side. Each time I see it, I am reminded of my rash and brutal judgement of thee.’
This resolve was most unexpected and Tory lowered her defences. ‘Please, do not feel guilty, I bear thee no malice. On the contrary …’ She took a step away, feeling uncomfortably intimate with him. ‘Thou hast been the best friend I could have asked for this day.’ Tory was in need of some air, and moved to the walkway outside.
Brockwell followed her into the moonlight, more than a little confused. ‘Then why dost thou keep such a distance between us? Doth thou find me so undesirable?’
She reached out and gently touched the face that was so familiar to her. ‘No, thou art very handsome.’
Brockwell took hold of her arms, anxious to know her mind. ‘Art thou in love with Maelgwn?’
Tory’s head was swimming. ‘It hast got nothing to do with him. I …’ Brockwell startled her with a kiss filled with passion. After all the mead she’d consumed, Calin’s attentions were hard to resist and she seemed to be involuntarily returning his advances. But, as angry as she was at Maelgwn for his deceit, Tory could not bring herself to betray him like this. ‘Calin. I am sorry, but I cannot do this.’
‘But it was going so well?’
‘Please, come inside, I have something to show thee.’
Tory produced a photo of herself and Brian from her wallet and handed it to Brockwell. The picture had been taken at the competition the day before Brian died; they had been so proud of each other’s win and it reflected in their faces.
Brockwell went quiet, glancing up from the picture to his own image in the mirror. ‘Was he thy lover?’ he asked.
‘He was my brother,’ Tory answered, trying to hide the pain of his loss. ‘He died a couple of years ago.’
‘Thee must miss him.’
Tory nodded her head in confirmation, and the tears began to roll down her face. ‘Every day.’
Brockwell stood to embrace her; he’d never been too good at consoling weeping women. ‘So thou art telling me I remind thee of thy dead brother,’ he surmised. ‘Well, no wonder thou art not swooning at my advances.’
Tory gave half a laugh. ‘I am s
o sorry, Calin. Under different circumstances I would be swooning, truly … well I was really,’ she admitted, embarrassed.
‘I should leave thee to thy dreams then.’
‘Calin.’
He looked back to her from the stairwell.
‘I do love thee.’
‘Now thee tells me,’ he rolled his eyes, throwing his arms in the air. ‘Women!’
Tory felt a warm comfort come over her as the door downstairs closed. It was the feeling one gets upon finding a new friend or, in this case, a very old one.
It seemed she’d only been asleep for a minute when Maelgwn came bursting through the doors from the wall-walk. ‘Tory! Thou art here?’ He peered through the darkness to her bed, sounding surprised for some reason.
‘Well where did thee think I would be at this hour?’
‘So, ’tis not thee with Brockwell in his room,’ he said, breathing a sigh of relief.
‘Brockwell hast a woman in his room?’ Now Tory was the one who sounded disturbed.
‘Aye.’ Maelgwn wondered why this should bother her. ‘Typical.’ Tory thumped herself in the head for being so stupid. ‘And may I say how nice it was of thee to think that I would take to Calin’s bed, in any case … I mean, what kind of a girl dost thou take me for?’
‘Well what am I to think when I see him carrying a woman into his room, and thou hast been the only one flirting with him this day.’
‘Flirting! I was covering thy royal butt. Perhaps thee would have preferred that I told thy father and thy bride of our encounter this morning?’
The Prince was not listening. ‘Why art thou so annoyed with Calin? Was he here with thee this night?’
‘That be my own affair.’ Tory’s head was absolutely splitting, and she didn’t have the patience to give him a detailed account at present.
‘He touched thee?’
As Maelgwn suddenly sounded quite hurt, Tory slowly shook her head. ‘We were both the better for drink, but nothing came of it. So, my pleasures art still very much my own. Happy now? Goodnight.’
The Dark Age Page 8
