by Rue Allyn
“You jest, surely. The man is Welsh.”
“Nay, ’tis no jest. He has papers from the king, proving him a student of James St. George d’Esperance, and explaining why he was sent in the master builder’s place.”
“And who saw these papers, Soames?”
“Your lady, sir. She read the papers and confirmed what they said.”
Would she save his life only to plot treason beneath his nose? A worry niggled at the back of Haven’s mind and was immediately denied. Nay, the woman who shared his bed last night, the woman who had nursed him and defended him, that woman couldn’t possibly do so. Gennie’s word would suffice. He would not ask to see the Welshman’s papers.
Aware that Soames waited, Haven nodded. “Then he must stay.”
“Shall I bring him to you?”
“Nay. I will speak with him after I deal with the peasants.”
“As you wish, sir.” Soames snapped a salute, then left the keep. On his way, he spoke to the Welsh engineer. The man in turn spoke to his workers, who put their tools down and followed Soames out of the building. The engineer stared at Haven as the masons filed past. Haven wondered exactly what that intense gaze meant.
Gennie followed Pwyll from the gatehouse at a run. She could not believe what Pwyll had told her. After all the work the Welsh had done, Haven would not cast those people to the elements. The man she had come to love could not be so cruel.
But it seemed he could. From the bottom of the main tower’s stair, she saw Owain standing before the keep with Haven. The Welsh gathered before them in the bailey. Haven was saying that King Edward had forbidden the Welsh within one hundred paces of any castle held by the English. Haven was sorry, but they would have to leave.
Grumbles came from the crowd before Owain finished translating.
“Nay!” She would stop this foolishness now. “Husband, I have given these people my promise. Would you shame us both?”
“You should not have given your word. You did not have the right.”
“I had the right every goodwife has to support her husband.”
“Aye, and for your intentions I thank you. Nonetheless, the king’s orders must stand over your promise.”
“Even when the king’s wishes will cause more war? War is costly. Surely Edward will see the benefit in saving both money and lives.”
“No one knows better than Edward the cost of war and the benefits of peace. Should he change his mind, I will welcome these good people to Two Hills Keep at your side.”
“Edward will change his mind all the faster if he is shown the error in his thinking.”
“’Tis too great a risk; besides, even now the king sends one hundred loyal English families to populate this holding. With winter less than a season away, and no crops or supplies in our stores, how will we care for them, let alone all these Welsh?”
Gennie faced defeat. She could not let Haven remove the Welsh. “I do not know, husband. I can only pray that God will provide, as I pray you will recognize a greater good than absolute loyalty to your king.” Having loosed all her arguments, Gennie turned and walked away.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Haven watched her leave. She held her shoulders straight and her steps even. He could imagine her just so, leaving her home in the rain after Dreyford’s disgrace. She would find a place to pray and then act on her prayers, as if God’s answer were a foregone conclusion.
He looked at the people who stood before him. Many shook their heads. Some mumbled curses, clear from the accompanying gestures if not the Welsh words. One by one they drifted away, following his wife’s path.
Haven sat where he had stood and cradled his head in his hands. His wife’s course had nearly cost her life, for it hadn’t prevented her first husband’s treason, nor had it softened Edward’s heart. As Haven thought back, he could not recall that any of Gennie’s frequent prayers had been for herself. She had prayed for him, for her son’s safety, for many, many people, but never for herself.
Her reward for such sacrifice had been stoning and marriage to himself. A man who had betrayed a friend.
No wonder she felt no respect or love for him. It was a daunting thought, and shame gnawed at his soul.
His own loyalty to Edward over Roger had sent Gennie penniless into the rain. Could he do so again? This time it wouldn’t be a lone woman with a small band but hundreds of men, women and children who would be homeless. He owed his life, so he had been told, to one of those people. He owed his shelter to many others. The evidence of their labor stood at his back.
The Welsh had worked not out of loyalty or any other compelling reason. They had worked for a promise, given by one determined woman. A woman who, even after the death of a treasonous husband, held fealty to him. Despite whatever loyalty to Roger that Haven felt and the friendship they once shared, he could no longer deny the truth: He loved Gennie more than life itself.
For the love he bore her, if for no other reason, he would not let her promise be foresworn. He knew not how, but he would find a way to convince Edward to change his policy. Mayhap Gennie was right, and the proof of trusting the Welsh lay in the doing. Gennie trusted them and had her trust rewarded. Haven decided he could do no less.
With that small hope, Haven raised his head to find himself alone. The sun was sinking behind the curtain wall, and the bailey lay deserted. Where had everyone gone? Regret buzzed in his mind. It saddened him greatly that the Welsh had accepted his dictates so quickly. But his men’s absence surprised him more. Their departure murmured of reproach. Of all those concerned, they could best understand why he had acted as he had. Perhaps he should not be surprised by their lack of faith in him, since he was about to enact a more grievous lack of loyalty to his king.
Regardless, he would humble himself however he must in order to get the Welsh to return to work. Guilt muttered loudly, urging him upward. He moved into the bailey, discovering that the sound of chorused voices was not the prompting of his conscience, but real.
Haven pursued the noise around the arc of the building. There, where the roofless walls of the new chapel abutted the tower, knelt the Welsh in prayer. Owain, Soames, all of Gennie’s band, even Thomas, had dropped onto the muddy ground before the chapel’s closed doors.
As if a mighty fist slammed into his chest and stole his breath, the sight halted Haven at the last rank. He had determined to put away pride. But when he had imagined himself on bended knee, it had been before a disdainful people who would stand in judgment on him. Joining them in prayer had been the farthest thing from his mind.
Gennie could swear she heard angels chanting. A glance behind revealed the building to be empty. She had no idea how long she had been kneeling before the chapel’s makeshift altar, but a look upward through the exposed rafters showed only the evening sky dim with an oncoming shower. So where had that sound come from?
She bowed her head once more, determined to complete her supplications, but she had lost her concentration. She shook her head, crossed herself. As she stood, the noise came again, as if storm winds rose up, ready to visit nature’s wrath upon the homeless. She could not let that happen. Haven would have to listen to her. Barring that, she would simply defy him and call the workers back into the keep on her own.
She hurried from the nave. If she would keep the Welsh from being lashed by the elements, she must act quickly. The scent of the damp summer evening assailed her as she opened the chapel door. No storm then, yet the thunderous sound continued. Not thunder, but prayer. A hundred voices and more raised in desperate hope. The force of so many Ayes and Paternosters halted her on the chapel steps and surprised her to speech. “Oh, my.” Gratitude overwhelmed her and her voice fled.
A few of the folk near the steps heard her surprised utterance. Looking up, they ceased their praying at the sight of her. One by one the voices stopped, as each person became aware of his neighbor’s silence. Until, finally, a single voice remained raised in supplication to the Lord.
The cr
owd slowly parted, and Gennie looked into the face of her husband. His eyes were closed in fierce concentration. His voice, strong and steady, pleaded with God for forgiveness and a solution to the many problems that would stem from asking the Welsh to remain. Gennie’s heart went out to Haven at the same moment that she found her voice. “Husband.”
Haven’s eyes sprang open, alight with fierce emotion.
“Have you changed your mind?”
He stood, swept the kneeling crowd with his glance, then stared at Gennie. “I will protect these people with my very life. This I swear before God.”
The crowd greeted his oath with a rousing cheer. Both he and Gennie were lifted on the shoulders of the men and women and carried into the tower. Not until Gennie stood in front of one of the two newly constructed fireplaces, her hand held securely in Haven’s, did she believe in his miraculous change of heart.
Someone struck up a tune. Men and women danced, shouting joyfully before her. Haven pulled her close. “Can you forgive my stubbornness, wife?”
“Can you forgive mine?”
“I think not.”
Worried, she studied his face.
He smiled. “How can I forgive when there is no need? You said and did what you believed was right.”
“We have many problems to overcome.”
“Aye, but we have many hands to help us.” He looked out at the celebrating crowd.
“Oui, we do.”
“We will start working on those problems later. Now we should join our people in celebrating.” He pulled her toward the dance.
Gennie hesitated long enough to say a silent prayer for the protection of this man who risked so much for so many, then followed him with all her heart.
She danced on joyful feet, meeting and parting from her husband only to rejoin him as the pattern of the dance required. They stopped to rest, and Gennie ordered ale brought up from the cellar. Haven arranged for a calf to be roasted. He watched indulgently as Gennie danced with half the men in the castle. When she showered smiles on Arthur Pwyll, Haven quickly took the engineer’s place. He wanted those smiles for himself, and himself alone.
Much later, exhausted and laughing, he escorted Gennie to the chamber they shared. They paused on their way to look in on Thomas, who lay curled up with his puppy. The boy was happy and hale. In him Haven saw the promise of his own children. Children he would have with Gennie.
What better time to start those children than tonight, when his love for Gennie shone fresh and new in his heart. He had already danced half the night away and perhaps taxed his wounds enough. Regardless, he would make love to his wife, for surely her touch would heal him more than the sleep he would find before dawn. But first he had to rid himself of the shadows cast by Roger Dreyford.
“Come, wife.” He held out his hand to her.
She looked at him, remembering another time when he had held his hand just so. She arched a brow at him. “Do we have much to do, husband?” She placed her hand in his, and he led her along the battlement.
“Aye,” he said as they walked. “Should it please you, I will keep you busy all night.”
She felt hope glimmer in her heart. “To be busy with you, husband, always pleases me.” She spoke quietly, afraid to reveal too much, afraid not to reveal enough.
They reached their chamber, and Haven drew her into his arms. “Gennie, I have refused to let myself love you.”
She felt the pain of his refusal and tried to draw away. He grasped her arms to keep her in place. “Nay, hear me out. I felt that my love for you betrayed my promise to Roger, to protect his family. And you were so loyal to his memory, I feared you would hate me if I confessed my feelings. I worried that you would see my love for you as a further betrayal of my friendship for Roger. I can no longer deny what I feel. I can only pray that my love for you will be a stronger protection than any sword or influence I could wield.”
She stared at him, her mouth open in surprise.
“Gennie?” Concern colored his voice. “Are you all right?” He gave her a little shake.
Her mouth snapped shut, then open again. “You love me?”
“Aye, that is what I said.”
She launched herself at his chest.
His arms closed around her. Haven stumbled backward and landed on the bed.
“I love you too.” She thumped him on the chest with her fists. “How dare you have such feelings for me and not share them.”
He clasped his hands around hers. Her fingers uncurled and linked with his. “I told you as soon as I could.” He smiled.
She smiled back at him. “I never loved Roger.”
“Truly?”
“Vraiment. I was his wife, and I gave him the fealty that my marriage vows required. But I never loved him, and I don’t believe he ever loved me.”
“Really?”
“He never made me feel as you do.” She ducked her head, feeling shy and uncertain.
“And how is that?”
“Sick with dread that you might never love me. Giddy with passion that you do.”
“Passion, hmm?”
“Yes, passion, you knightly oaf.” She worked one hand loose of his grip and thumped his chest again. Then she rubbed the spot.
Haven produced a satisfied growl in response.
Gennie continued, “Roger’s touch never brought me pleasure, and his preference for whores gave me much shame. And I never wanted to caress Roger like this.” She pulled up Haven’s tunic, baring his chest. She stroked her hands over him and leaned across his torso to lave his nipples with her tongue.
Haven pulled her up onto his body, kissing her eyes, cheeks and nose. “Roger was a fool. Only a fool could want whores when he had you in his bed.” His lips settled on hers, plucking with tender nibbles, begging her to open for him. Their tongues twined. She tasted his unique flavor, licking at him, showing him what she wanted. She pushed away from him, straddling his hips as he lay there. “Father Jonas said that lust could lead to an everlasting love. I pray that this is what happened to us.”
“Gennie.” His voice hoarse, Haven began to remove her gown. “I promise that I will never dishonor you.”
Gennie’s heart soared at his declaration.
Much later, as Haven lay snoring softly beside her, Gennie found her mind not yet ready for sleep. She could hardly believe Haven’s actions this day. He had accepted her counsel, choosing to honor her promise to the Welsh, though it defied the king’s direct orders. The responsibility for his decision lay heavily on her shoulders. She knew Haven had made the right choice, but how would Edward see it? Would he brand his true and perfect knight a traitor? Would he think Gennie had led two men to treason? She moved closer to Haven. Was their fledgling love strong enough to withstand a king’s assault? She vowed it would be. For surely they had at last laid Roger’s legacy of treason to rest and could build on the love they had declared for each other.
Even several weeks after leaving his sickbed, Haven was exhausted. Each day he joined one or the other of the work parties, clearing rubble, hunting food, cutting timber: the tasks were endless. Gennie was no less busy. She organized the women, the laundry, the meals, the search for berries and roots to supplement the meat brought home from the hunt. She instructed young girls in the care of the children. She furnished the tower, now that it had solid walls. Haven marveled at her achievements and boundless energy.
In a few days the keep’s upper floor would be ready. Haven looked forward to sharing the new solar with Gennie. It had a stout door, which could be barred from the inside against untimely interruptions.
Each evening, after supper, they would sit by the fire with a few others and review the day, making plans for the next day’s work and watching Thomas play with the other children of the castle. The group around the fire included Soames, Owain, Pwyll, Gwyneth, and one or two others who would join from time to time as various needs and concerns arose among them.
Across the great hall, young people would gather t
o laugh and entertain themselves. It did not escape Haven that Watley and Rebecca often sat together. Nor did it escape Haven that his wife paid particular attention whenever Pwyll chose to speak.
This night she leaned close and argued fiercely with the Welshman over the best ways to expand the castle to provide for the coming English families. While Haven debated with his men ways of acquiring supplies for the winter, he listened with half an ear to Gennie and Pwyll. Their conversation had devolved to the complications of storing supplies for close to two hundred and fifty people or more.
Gwyneth, who still preferred Welsh to English, would occasionally look up from her knitting to interject a comment that Owain would translate about the medicines and herbs she needed and how they should be preserved. Unless some source of food could be found, Haven worried that all their planning would be moot.
The hunting parties were able for the time being to supply the current need, but almost all the food was consumed and very little preserved against the future.
Worse, Soames reported that someone had broken into the small stores they had assembled on the keep’s dungeon level. Nothing had been stolen, but a sack of precious grain had been split open and a few spare crocks tossed about and broken. Why anyone would do anything so senseless was beyond Haven’s ken. Still, he meant to keep watch himself for the next few nights.
“What think you, Sir Haven? Should we add to the outbuildings or should we increase the space in the dungeon? Many of the men who help construct walls and roofs are miners by trade. Excavation would prove fairly easy and a more effective use of their skills.”
Pwyll’s words pulled Haven from his thoughts.
“I favor expanding the space belowground in the tower.”
“But, husband,” Gennie objected, “we have so many needs for storage. Surely it would be best if supplies were stored by purpose near the buildings where they will be used. ’Twould reduce the amount of traffic and disturbance within the tower.”
