She gritted her teeth and pressed on. ‘I know that we are only distantly related, but I implore you to have pity on us and take us in. If you don’t, Lord knows what will become of the children. I am not penniless, but I cannot provide my brother and sister with the security they need.’
She alone of her party had been ushered into the solar, a fine, tall chamber with soaring beams which married in the lofty apex of a steeply slanted roof. She was standing in front of a high, wood-panelled window seat. The window with its four narrow lights overlooked the ocean, a crow’s nest of a window, for Sir Gregor’s manor was built on a spit of land jutting into the sea. Its shutters were open to admit the pink afterglow of the sinking sun. Two steps led from the solar floor to the window seat, which had been made welcoming by two gorgeous silk cushions, upon which some wizard with a needle had emblazoned the most exquisite satin flowers. Ensconced on these cushions, opposite each other, sat Sir Gregor Wymark and his wife. As the apricot rays from the sunset spilled into the solar, they drew saintly haloes round the heads of the knight and his lady. Because of the light, Gwenn was unable to make out either her relatives’ features or whether they regarded her with any sympathy or not.
Sir Gregor and Lady Wymark’s solar was unlike any she had ever seen. Its walls were lined with richly coloured hangings. At the house in Vannes, Raymond had once recounted the Romance of Tristan to her, and Gwenn imagined King Mark’s pavilion would resemble Lady Wymark’s solar: all silk and satin and bright shimmery colours, with not a sharp corner in sight. It was hot too, for though a breeze floated gently through the seaward window and twitched the billowing wall-hangings, the fire was piled high with blazing logs and the heavy scent of burning pine filled the room.
After the hardships and uncertainties of the flight from Kermaria, this solar seemed like heaven. The children would be safe in this womb of a place, for Lady Wymark had to be like her solar – warm and welcoming.
Gwenn’s eyes could not linger on the furnishings, however exotic. She was waiting with bated breath for her relatives to reveal their hearts as well as their faces. She clasped her hands tightly to quell an almost irrepressible desire to play with her girdle.
‘You poor child!’ Lady Wymark murmured half rising from her seat, but a sharp, chopping movement of her husband’s blunt hand had her sinking back to her place.
‘You claim to be Izabel de Wirce’s grandchild?’ Sir Gregor asked. He had a deep, gravelly voice.
‘Aye, sir,’ hope warmed Gwenn’s breast, ‘but when my grandmother married, her name became Herevi.’
The knight scratched an ear. ‘Herevi...can’t place it. Don’t think I’ve heard that name before.’
‘No, sir. There’s no reason you should. Gwionn Herevi was only a squire when he married Grandmama.’ There was a few moments’ uncomfortable silence, enough to crush the faint hope which had stirred briefly in her breast.
‘A squire?’ Sir Gregor echoed, and though Gwenn did not know him, she could not miss the disbelief in his tone. ‘You’re telling me that Izabel de Wirce married a squire?’
Lady Wymark leaned forward, plump fingers twisting the hem of her veil. ‘That is true, my love. I recall my mother telling me that story. I believe there was quite a scandal at the time. Why–’
‘Peace, wife,’ Sir Gregor rumbled, waving for silence. Gwenn was beginning to feel as though she were a plaintiff in court. She was on trial. ‘And you maintain you are Izabel’s grandchild?’
‘I am.’
‘Can you prove it?’
‘P..prove it? Why, I...I don’t know. I have nothing in writing, sir.’
Sir Gregor swung stiffly down from his perch and walked round her, and Gwenn had her first clear sight of him. He was squat, and strong-thewed, a wall of a man a yard broad. He had the build of someone who relished exercise. Most of his might lay in his shoulders and arms, and it looked a solid, immovable kind of strength, with no give in it at all. Sir Gregor was in his early fifties. He had thinning grey hair, and a certain inflexibility in his gait warned of incipient rheumatism. Hairy eyebrows drooped over mud-coloured eyes, and though at the moment he was eyeing Gwenn narrowly, Sir Gregor’s eyes were deeply set in a face criss-crossed with laughter lines. He was not, Gwenn sensed, a harsh man, but his grating voice and that stolid toughness made him the type of man about whom she would think twice before crossing.
‘My...my travelling companions will vouch for me,’ she stammered.
‘And who might they be that I should give them ear? A couple of mercenaries, and one of them, by your own admission, has married you. You wear no ring. You could be a group of travelling players out for an easy living for all I know. You’ll have to do better than that.’
Gwenn was bone weary. Gazing straight ahead of her, she kept her head high and sucked in some air, and with it, hopefully, some endurance. ‘As I explained, there was no opportunity to buy a ring.’ She met the knight’s eyes boldly. ‘Sir, if you’re not going to help us, please say so. I’ll take my leave and not trouble you further. As I said, I have money. Look.’ She drew out Waldin’s purse which, foreseeing this very objection, she had taken from Ned. She tore it open, grabbed Sir Gregor’s hand, and poured a cascade of coins into the wide palm. ‘Take it. Take it all, sir, and put it towards the cost of our upkeep.’
Giving the money no more than a glance, Sir Gregor said, gruffly, ‘You could use this to bring up your brother and sister yourself.’
‘Aye. But I couldn’t guarantee my brother’s safety in the same way that you could if you took us in. I have no way of knowing the Count’s plans. I have been honest with you, sir. There may be danger in taking my brother in.’
‘Has this de Roncier had you followed here?’ the deep-timbred voice asked.
‘I don’t know. We’ve seen neither hide nor hair of him since leaving the monastery, but I cannot swear he’s forgotten us. He’s Herod reborn, and we might be bringing danger to your gates; but you have this fortified manor, and your men, and I could not provide all that.’
Lady Wymark stood up. She was short, with a full figure. ‘I believe she is telling the truth, Gregor,’ she said. ‘I believe we should let her stay. Poor lamb.’
‘Wait, Alis, you are always a mite hasty in your judgements.’ The knight tipped Waldin’s money into the wallet. ‘Is there no way you can prove you are Gwenn Herevi?’
‘Gwenn Fletcher. I am married to my father’s Captain of the Guard.’
‘Poor child.’ Lady Alis gave an expressive shudder. ‘Forced to marry a mercenary!’
‘No, my lady,’ Gwenn said, firmly. ‘You mistake the matter. I was not forced. Ned is a good man.’
Lady Alis could not have heard for she continued shaking her head. ‘Poor child. A mercenary!’
Sighing, Gwenn caught Sir Gregor’s muddy eyes on her. They were not unsympathetic. She turned to the table where she had placed her bundle and unwrapped the Stone Rose. ‘Sir, I am able to offer you more, if the money is not enough.’ As she folded back the linen and lifted the Virgin out, she heard Sir Gregor’s sharply indrawn breath. ‘Sir?’
‘Hand that over,’ the crusty voice ordered.
The statue shrank in his sinewy hands. After a lengthy examination, Sir Gregor lifted his head. ‘This stone is local to these parts,’ he said.
With a rustle of voluminous skirts, Lady Wymark approached her husband, and her plump, beringed fingers caressed the child sleeping in the Virgin’s arms. ‘I believe you’re right, Gregor,’ she said, stooping shortsightedly over the holy infant. She had brooding blue eyes, and when she bent her head, a double chin that her wimple could not contain. Wisps of light-brown hair escaped confinement, and baby-fine curls framed her face. Where her husband was solid and immovable, she was all softness and give. ‘There are rocks like this scattered all over the peninsular.’
‘To whom does this statue belong?’ the knight asked.
‘It was my grandmother’s.’
‘It was Izabel’s!’ Lady Wyma
rk cried, dimpling sunnily at Gwenn. ‘Gregor, if this icon belonged to Izabel de Wirce, then you have the proof you need. This girl is whom she claims.’
‘Quiet, woman!’ Sir Gregor growled. The untidy brows twitched upwards. ‘Was this Izabel’s, Mistress Gwenn?’
‘Aye, sir. I understand it was her mother’s before that.’
The knight’s face crumpled into a smile that was as warm as his wife’s. ‘It would appear, Gwenn, my dear, that you have brought your proof with you. Welcome to Ploumanach.’
Overwhelmed with relief, though far from understanding what had brought about this sudden volte-face, Gwenn felt the tears rise. Lady Alis opened her arms and enveloped her in a perfumed embrace.
The knight’s grating voice penetrated the swathes of scented linen. ‘It was your great-grandmother, my dear, who was a Wymark,’ he said.
‘Izabel’s mother?’ Gwenn emerged from his wife’s stifling hug.
‘Aye, Andaine Wymark. She was sent south to marry into the de Wirce family, a sound, political marriage, but it’s possible she had no wish to leave Ploumanach, for she had this statue carved out of the local granite as a keepsake.’
‘It is very beautiful here,’ Lady Wymark said. ‘I can see why she might not have wanted to leave. I wouldn’t want to leave, and I wasn’t born here. It must have been very hard for your ancestor to be torn from her roots and sent south.’
‘Enough, Alis. Curb your tongue, will you?’ Sir Gregor said in his harsh voice, but Gwenn suspected that his harshness masked a deep and abiding affection for his wife. Sir Gregor went on, ‘You have seen the rocks outside, my dear?’
‘R...rocks?’
His smile enlarged, and the wrinkles radiated from his eyes till his ruddy, sun-browned face came to resemble a withered pear taken out of winter storage. ‘Aye. You can’t miss them, gigantic boulders which God dropped on these northern shores when He created the world. The whole place is coloured by them, even the sand on the beach – all like your statue, all salmon pink.’
‘Salmon pink? But, Sir Gregor, I thought...’ Gwenn knotted her brows. ‘Do you mean that it wasn’t the sunset that drenched the rocks with colour? Are you telling me that everything here is this colour naturally?’ She indicated the Stone Rose which was, as Sir Gregor had said, that same rosy hue.
‘Wait till tomorrow,’ Lady Wymark said. ‘You’ll see then.’
‘You’ll permit us to stay?’
Lady Wymark glanced longingly at her husband, and on receiving a confirmatory nod, she said, ‘You and the children must stay.’
Gwenn sagged with relief. ‘My thanks. I can’t tell you how much this means. You won’t regret it, I’ll see to that. I can sew, and make medicines, and help with the household. I’m not afraid of hard work, and Ned is a good soldier.’ At mention of Ned, Lady Wymark frowned, but Gwenn was so content to have found a haven for Katarin and Philippe that she did not notice. ‘Shall I bring the children up, Lady Wymark, that you may meet them?’
The good lady beamed. ‘Please do. I’m longing to meet the children,’ she said, with strange emphasis which again Gwenn missed. ‘We’ve not been blessed with children of our own. Bring them up. I suspect you’d like a bath before we eat?’
‘A bath?’ Gwenn echoed, with a longing she could not hide. ‘Oh, could we, my lady?’
Lady Wymark smiled. ‘I’ll have the tubs filled. And, Gwenn, dear? Call me Aunt Alis, will you?’
Gwenn smiled back. ‘Of course...Aunt Alis.’
With a light step, Gwenn ran down the turning stairs to fetch her siblings. It had not been necessary to offer her relatives the gemstone, and while she would not have begrudged parting with it if it bought safety for Katarin and Philippe, she was glad the Stone Rose still housed its secret treasure.
***
Having seen Gwenn and the children accepted by Sir Gregor and Lady Wymark, Alan put his personal feelings aside and confirmed his intention of leaving at daybreak the following morning. He found it more difficult than he had anticipated.
Initially, his host and hostess had been frosty in their manner towards Ned and himself, and Alan had deemed it politic to let fall that he was high in the service of the Duke of Brittany, and was expected by the Duke at Rennes. Thereafter, Sir Gregor and Lady Wymark had thawed, and Alan had been prettily thanked for his assistance. He had been well fed, and comfortably housed on a pallet in the hall, as was the custom. And Ned had received similar treatment, although by rights he should have been allocated a place in what served as married quarters.
Accommodation for married couples varied from establishment to establishment. At the Wymark manor the southern range of the hall had been set aside for their use. Curtains ran along that wall, and at first Alan had taken them for wall-hangings, for during supper they had been looped back behind great brass hooks. Once the board was cleared, however, the curtains were released, and with a few token gibes from the unattached members of the household, the married couples went into retreat behind them. There were no alcoves as such, but the curtains hid the modest from prying eyes, and provided more privacy than Alan had seen in most halls.
***
Alan woke as the first fingers of light slid into the hall. ‘I’m for stretching my legs before I spend another day in the saddle,’ he told Ned who was yawning beside him. ‘I’d like a word. Coming?’
Having left the manor, the cousins wandered in companionable silence along a slender path which snaked through vast boulders the wind had sculpted into nightmarish shapes. Ned looked at the twisted formations in awe. ‘They have the shape of monsters,’ he said.
The breeze threw Alan’s hair into his eyes. Pushing it back, he agreed, ‘Aye. You’re happy to stay here, cousin?’
‘If Gwenn is.’
‘Listen, little cousin–’
Ned grinned. He topped Alan by a good two inches, and yet Alan insisted in calling him ‘little.’
‘Sir Gregor has a small force,’ Alan continued, ‘but as his holding is built on a peninsular, it should be easy to defend if de Roncier renews his interest. But I am beginning to wonder whether he will. He would surely have struck before now if he that was his intention. If his men had been tracking us, they would have found us. We left a trail a mile wide, and could have been attacked at any time – while we ate, while we slept. I don’t know why de Roncier should decide to hold back now, but when I leave here, I’ll go south and make enquiries at Kermaria.’
‘Is that wise? I thought you were expected at Rennes?’
Alan had not told his cousin of Duke Geoffrey’s commissioning of a survey of Kermaria, and he did not plan to tell him. ‘I’m owed leave, and I’ll be discreet. I’ll see what I can dredge up concerning our old friend’s activities, and if you can attend the King’s tournament, I’ll let you know what I discover. In the meantime, you should be safe here. God knows, it’s a remote enough spot.’
Alan had some misgivings with regard to Sir Gregor and Lady Wymark, but they were minor ones concerning Ned, not Gwenn or the children, and he resolved to keep his counsel on that score. Sir Gregor and his wife would care for St Clair’s children, and that was what mattered. There was no point in worrying Ned or raising doubts on the basis of a brief impression gained over one meal in Sir Gregor’s hall. He might be making a mountain out of a molehill over the fact that Gwenn had been given different accommodation to that of her husband and had slept with the family and the unmarried women on the upper floor. Perhaps there had not been the time to find a space in the married quarters. Or perhaps Gwenn had chosen to remain with the children on their first night here. Lady Wymark had been insistent the children were lodged upstairs, a sign to everyone, and a generous one, that she was accepting them as part of her family. Alan might be mistaken in his impression that Lady Wymark looked down on Ned, and disapproved of him as Gwenn’s husband.
He pushed his misgivings aside. It had been but one night, and everyone was in disarray. In any case, it was not his business to speculate on how G
wenn and Ned conducted their marriage. She was his cousin’s wife, forbidden fruit to him. God, but it was not easy to go.
He shoved his hand at his cousin, and spoke more brusquely than he intended, ‘I’ll bid you farewell, Ned. Will you say goodbye to your wife on my behalf?’
‘Won’t you say it to her in person, Alan? I’m sure she would like to thank you for escorting us here. We wouldn’t have reached here without you.’
‘No,’ Alan disclaimed all credit, ‘I think that you would.’
‘It would have taken us twice as long and you know it. Gwenn will be disappointed to have missed you.’
Alan found himself looking at the sea. Whipped up by the morning wind, choppy, foam-crested waves lapped a distant islet, and rode past the island as far as the horizon. With a sudden lurching of his senses that he put down to homesickness, Alan realised that on that horizon, just out of sight, lay England. Did the white-tipped waves touch England’s shores? He focused on the rose-coloured rocks nearer to hand. It was beautiful, this rock-strewn shoreline. Gwenn would like it here. Would she like England, if ever she saw it? ‘No fuss, cousin,’ Alan said. His homesickness had put a catch in his throat. He was glad he’d never felt homesick before – he didn’t much like it. ‘Please bid her farewell for me.’
‘I will. Alan, are you alright?’
‘Aye. I suddenly missed England, that’s all.’
‘Did you?’ Ned’s eyes, blue as forget-me-nots in the morning light, were understanding. ‘I miss home too, Alan. One day I shall take Gwenn to England.’
Alan stared at a boulder shaped like a rabbit.
‘Farewell, cousin,’ Ned gave Alan’s shoulders an affectionate squeeze. ‘God go with you.’
With an effort Alan roused himself. ‘And with you. Don’t forget the grand tournament. I might have dug up news concerning de Roncier, and I shall certainly make mention of his villainy to the Duke; but in any event, it would be good to see you there. I missed you these past two years.’
The Stone Rose Page 43
