by K. C. Helms
An idea came to her. Running out to the bailey, she gazed up at the high stone wallwalk, where men-at-arms ranged along the narrow ledge. ’Twas a mighty fall if one were to slip.
Or to leap.
Would death come swiftly? Would she feel pain? Fear prickled Katherine’s skin. She shuddered in revulsion.
If Lady Adela were present, she could request an herb to end her misery. Dare she venture to Myton to seek out the herbalist?
“Oh, Saint Winifred, help me, I beseech you!” she cried. She feared the pain, but a greater anguish held her fast. She would be damned for eternity. Her soul would never rest in peace if she took her own life.
She went to the chapel. Crossing herself, she bowed her head and clasped her hands. In the cold chamber she bargained with Saint Winifred, offering up more coin and goods if she would intercede on her behalf.
She prayed to the saints, to the Blessed Virgin, to anyone who would heed her entreaties. Hope and courage faltered as her desperate words filled the chamber.
For hours she remained on her knees. Finally, she lifted her head. With an aching heart she stared at the cross on the stone alter. A narrow shaft of light drifted down from the leaded glass window high in the wall, striking the gold metal. Surrounded by an ethereal aura, the cross glowed brightly. Her eyes widened in astonishment. ’Twas divine tidings descending to offer her calm assurance.
“Sweet Jesu,” she breathed. Saint Winifred’s message was clear.
With new energy, Katherine arose and departed the chapel. Another sacrifice, other than death, must be the means to her salvation.
* * *
The late afternoon hush exploded with the blare of the castle trumpets. Riders approached Bereford, sending men-at-arms into a flurry of activity along the stone ramparts. The castle guard stood at the ready, with notched arrows strung to long bows.
But the approaching horsemen presented no threat, merely royal soldiers bearing news. Natheless, they diverted everyone’s attention. Katherine and Anne sat with the queen and her ladies at the far end of the great hall and listened to the king’s angry response.
“’Tis more a matter betwixt Welsh princes!” Edward stomped back and forth past the newly arrived messenger, shaking a missive in his huge fist. “We have more unrest along the Scottish border than in the west country. And mine eye is on Scotland, not Wales. I do not desire to be drawn into their wretched squabbles!” He crumpled the parchment and flung it away. “But how is warfare to be avoided when they persist in attacking our people?”
“One prince, more than the rest, seeks retaliation for the execution of his countrymen, sire,” replied the messenger with a bow.
“As I feared. Is it Gruffydd ap Maredudd?” Edward ground out, pausing to look at the young soldier. “Tell me, tell me what you know.”
“From all indications, ’tis Prince Llwelyn who spearheads the unrest. Many Welsh princes flock to his standard. They demand satisfaction under their Welsh law.”
“A perfect excuse for aggression!” growled Edward. “Our laws conflict with theirs.”
“Hawarden was attacked by an armed band. Many of Sir Roger’s companions were slain.”
“And Clifford?” Edward asked sharply.
The messenger shrugged. “’Tis uncertain what befell him. He was last seen being dragged from his bed.”
“You say Oswestry was also attacked?”
“Yea, sire, but the details are sketchy— ” The soldier seemed reluctant to continue.
Katherine held her breath, certain the news could not be pleasant.
“Let me have the truth without further ado,” demanded Edward, beckoning with an impatient hand.
“The—the constable of Aberystwyth was taken prisoner by Gruffydd ap Maredudd—”
“By my soul!” The king’s face flushed a brilliant red.
The soldier swallowed nervously. “’Twas a ruse. He was invited to dine— ”
“God’s thigh!” Edward exploded. Slamming his fist into the palm of his other hand, he swung toward his chamberlain. “Send for de Grey and Mortimer! We needs convene a council. Writs must be issued for a muster. By all that is holy, we will put a quick end to this uprising.” He stomped to the table. “And get Robert de Tibetot. I have need of him. I’ve mine own score to settle. This persistent strife shall cease!” Pausing, forced to draw breath, he finished with a growl, “Summon all knights who tarry herein. A counter offensive needs be devised.”
Men-at-arms raced from the hall. Their urgent shouts reverberated through the bailey. Within moments, the chamber began to fill with armed warriors.
Queen Eleanor retired to the relative quiet of the solar, taking Lady Joice and the ladies of the court with her.
Forced to dance attendance to the royal lady, suppressing tears of frustration, Katherine sat down on a bench beside Anne in utter misery. Soon, she must needs return to Haughmond. With war looming, Rhys would ride with the king. He would ride out of her life as easily as he had ridden into it, and her existence would never be the same. As the afternoon hours lengthened, she had only her tormented thoughts to occupy herself. ’Twas natural she should dwell on Sir Dafydd. How she despised him. Being a loyal knight of the realm, he deserved reward for his years of devoted service. But—
Blessed Mary, why must it be Haughmond? Why herself? Taking a stuttering breath, she clamped her trembling lips betwixt her teeth and refused to listen to the chatter of the queen and her ladies.
At long last, the trumpeter announced the evening repast. Raucous noise greeted them in the hall. Arduous planning required hearty sustenance and the king and his knights were primed for the evening banquet.
Servants came bearing ewers, basins, and towels for hand washing to those worthy of the splendor of the high table. The rest of the assemblage made use of the basins by the door. Nobles and knights and royal officials of the shire sat down above the salt, their loud voices filling the room as they jostled for seats at the tables.
Starting toward a table, Katherine halted. Several fully armed knights loitered by the doorway. One was Sir Dafydd. Her jaw hardened as, belatedly, she realized his gaze was settled on her. He nodded in acknowledgement.
Her lips thinned into an angry line but she refused to be the first to look away, refused to be daunted. The knight’s reaction was impossible to determine. His long moustache hid his mouth and from so great a distance, she could barely detect his eyes beneath his shaggy brows.
He turned and bowed to Edward, then strode from the hall with the other two knights trailing in his wake.
Katherine released her breath, not realizing she held it. How she detested the man!
Some moments later Rhys entered the hall and took a seat well below the salt.
She hurried over to him. “What do you here?” she demanded in confusion.
He stood and bowed stiffly. “I am the defeated combatant. ’Tis meet I should endure this insult.”
“Nay,” she protested. “You were injured and unable to defend yourself. You are yet a noble and honorable knight. Do not shame yourself by sitting in the back of the hall.”
Rhys frowned. “My lady, I am unable to remain standing for a lengthy discussion. Thereto, I have no wish to debate the matter. Go and enjoy your repast. Pray, leave me to my solitude.”
“I shall do not such thing!” Katherine scowled her defiance. Stepping around the bench, she sat down. “We shall not desert you in your time of need.”
With an unhappy frown, Anne sat down beside her.
Scrubbing at the sparse hairs of his blond beard with the back of his hand, Rhys heaved a sigh that sounded more like a groan before settling himself on Katherine’s other side.
She had no time to wonder at his reluctance, for the castle priest intoned the grace and the pages paraded out their platters.
Pheasants with tail feathers and peacocks served in their plumage were presented to the king and queen at the high table. From his silver trencher, Edward plunged into his meal and con
tinued to discuss the Welsh problem, talking around his food.
Joy at being in Rhys’s company replaced the melancholy and frustration that had been Katherine’s companions throughout the day. Starved for his company, she feasted her eyes on the knight and bestowed him with her undivided attention.
Her laughter came easy. Sharing tasty tidbits from her trencher with Rhys, she heeded not the speculative glances of those seated nearby. These moments with Rhys were too precious.
Great quantities of wine and ale came from the cold storerooms to wash down the hearty fare, while yet another procession of pages and squires entered the great hall, bearing the next course.
New platters were presented to the king. Edward waved aside a sweet pie of eggs and prunes and chose a subtlety of pastry and marzipan. He sliced off a generous morsel to share with the queen, then turned with a tidbit for the goshawk perched behind him on a wooden frame.
’Twas during this course that word, leaping like wildfire, reached Katherine’s table. The king and his knights were quitting Bereford Castle. All able-bodied fighting men were to ride out on the morrow’s first light.
The weight the size of an anvil sprang free from Katherine’s breast. Praise Saint Winifred, her prayers were answered! There would be no wedding ceremony in the coming week. She was free of Sir Dafydd! Happy laughter spilled from her.
“Lady Katherine!”
The king’s formidable and thundering tone brought an immediate hush to the assemblage.
Her happy smile fled. Dismayed, she turned to face the high table. Edward had abandoned his subtlety and sat scowling at her. It did not bode well that a deep, rosy flush suffused his complexion and that his mouth was etched in a grim line.
Fear gripped her. What had she done to draw the king’s wrath? She sought Rhys’s reassurance, but was further shattered by the alarm on his face.
Making haste to get her feet beneath her, Katherine rose with a grace she was far from feeling. With her knees trapped betwixt the trestle table and her bench, she bowed as best she could.
“Alas, Sir Dafydd has deserted us for a greater cause.” Edward’s hearty pronouncement rushed across the chamber. “He will not be available for the marriage ceremony.”
Katherine sighed in relief. The king was but displeased with the tide of events. She bestowed on him her brightest smile.
“Be not dismayed, lady!” Edward called, his sarcasm not quite hidden beneath the severity of his voice. “Haughmond’s future is secure. You have my leave to return to your holding and fortify the castle against the Welsh.”
Katherine opened her mouth to reply.
Edward cut her off, his voice rising to a command. “Lady Katherine, do you assist me in this matter? Does my writ yet run north of the Wye?”
“Yea, sire, Haughmond is ever at your command.” Her clear answer came amid a ripple of laughter at the king’s humor. It was a well-known fact that the Marcher lords did not always respond readily to royal demands.
Edward called out again, “Sir Rhys!”
Katherine threw a guarded look at the knight. Her breath deserted her at the panic on his face. As he came slowly to his feet, his features grew wary. Her mouth went dry. Most sure, some perilous event was unfolding. Some royal intrigue?
Politics! How had they stumbled into this baleful knot? ’Twould not be surprising if Sir Geoffrey were responsible for it. With a wilting heart, she stood tall and unmoving, knowing she must endure whatever the king saw fit to mete out.
Side by side, they faced the king’s unconcealed ire. Squires and pages paused in their labors. Every knight, lady and men-at-arms eyed them with undeniable interest.
“Yea, my liege?”
Mercy, was that a quiver in Rhys’s voice? She clasped her hands tightly together.
“When you are fit, will you join me against Wales?”
“Willingly, sire.” Rhys’s reply rang clear.
“’Tis good.” Edward’s lips twitched as the reddish hue darkened his lean cheeks. He pushed his chair back and stood. Resting his fists on the linen covered table, he leaned forward. “But first, sir knight, I require a task of you.”
“Yea, my liege.” Rhys’s voice was barely audible.
Katherine glanced at him, saw dread etched in his face. The palms of her hands grew clammy. Her gaze flew back to the dais.
Beneath his dark scowl, a hard glitter shone in the king’s eyes. His voice rumbled across the stillness of the chamber. “Lady Katherine is not to be in want of a husband. Hence, Rhys of St. Quintin, on the morrow you will stand as proxy for Sir Dafydd.”
Chapter Fifteen
The vanquished would proxy the winner? The castle inhabitants and the royal retainers digested this startling tidbit in an excited buzz. No troubadour’s tale could ever be so delectable.
Edward regained his seat at the high table. Indicating the musicians should resume their entertainment, he watched the feverish gazes shifting betwixt himself and the couple at the back of the hall. Heads came together and voices flooded the chamber. His subjects tried to maintain decorum in his presence, but so besotted were they with the beguiling dictum, ’twas impossible for the assemblage not to grow giddy on the gossip.
He laughed to himself. Did they know the half of it, naught else would be worth tittle-tattle for months to come.
Even Eleanor cast a startled frown at him, as though he provoked the knight, rather than it being the other way around.
Had the Welsh problem not distracted him, he would have used better judgment when Sir Dafydd requested a proxy for the marriage ceremony. The foolish knight claimed ’twould ease Lady Katherine’s torment if the other stood in his stead. ’Twas a chivalrous consideration, given the lady’s preference. And ’twas difficult to gainsay a favorite such as Sir Dafydd.
But who was the greater fool? At the moment, Edward was sure ’twas himself, and he liked it not.
Only when Sir Rhys had appeared at table did he grow suspicious of the inducement behind Sir Dafydd’s entreaty. Only then did he realize he had been misused, but he would have the last word. Two could play this gambit.
And though Sir Dafydd richly savored the redress, ’twas unfortunate Lady Katherine should be caught in the cross fire. With mischief afoot he would not account for any discomfort his tactics might cause. His displeasure exceeded any pang of conscience.
From across the hall, Edward met Sir Rhys’s glower. Wounded and angry, sufficiently daunted. Well and good, foolish knight! How dare he attend this feast when he had been dismissed. ’Twas an ambush and it did set him on edge.
But he was well practiced in the art of defense.
From the looks of Sir Rhys, his arrogance was dashed. He’d seen that look of helplessness ofttimes—on a battlefield, on prisoners’ faces.
Forsooth, his knights were an irascible lot, ofttimes a mite dangerous. Sir Dafydd must needs know his negligence of truth would not be tolerated, that it demanded reparation. His knights must know their limits.
And by all that was holy, his own power must not be slighted.
Natheless, he was a man of his word. Sir Dafydd would enjoy his reward as lord of Haughmond Castle. But he would be held accountable for his share in the intrigue. Was he a particeps criminis with the nun? Had Sir Dafydd abetted the good sister in her public rebuke of Geoffrey de Borne?
Another hobble.
Lady Katherine collapsed onto the bench behind her. Edward watched her with keen interest. The fall must have jarred her no small whit. ’Twas good her sister did comfort her. Vexed, he eyed the defeated knight. War would be a pleasant diversion from court intrigue.
Sweeping up his goblet, he tossed down an ample portion of the fine wine. He should pity Lady Katherine. Except she had all she required. How many could claim suchlike? Forsooth, not himself.
He turned his attention to Eleanor. A kind-hearted woman, Eleanor was everything he wanted or needed in a wife. ’Twas rare when she showed her displeasure with him, and he liked not the frown that p
resently marred her dark beauty.
She met his gaze and offered him a gentle smile, along with a spoonful of her almond-flavored subtlety.
Staring into those beloved eyes, Edward took the concoction into his mouth and gave a wink in return.
Eleanor’s eyes sparkled and she laughed as she took back the spoon.
Yea, his queen was perfection itself. Regaining his appetite, he finished off the remainder of his subtlety with a flourish.
Eleanor placed her hand on the sleeve of his woolen tunic. “How came you to choose a proxy? Lady Katherine seems greatly affected.”
Edward leaned close and whispered into her ear, “’Twas not my doing. The knights act in concert in this scheme.”
She drew back in amazement. “Ah, that explains much. ’Tis an uncommon entertainment how Sir Rhys dights us, my lord.”
“Indeed!” He drummed his fingers on the tabletop and wished he could stop the hot flush of anger from rising up his neck. He spoke in a clear and deliberate voice, the better for the gossip to spread. “Both knights approve the proxy, my dear. What with his wounds, Rhys will be delayed in joining me on the battlefield. ’Tis a logical conclusion, do you not agree?”
Eleanor lifted a confused gaze. “Sir Rhys wishes to stand in Sir Dafydd’s stead?” Looking across the hall to Lady Katherine and her bowed head, she murmured, “’Twould seem the knight is set on breaking her heart."
“Mayhap ’tis the only manner in which he can attend to his duties, if the lady does hate him. Know you ’tis not as it seems, my dear. When once we are private, I shall tell you the story and you will be amazed.” He patted Eleanor’s hand in a consoling way and stood. “’Twill be some days before we are together. Let us not dally.”
Offering her an encouraging smile, he pulled his chere reine to her feet and lovingly tucked her hand into the curve of his arm.
* * *
“You agreed to this bridal?” Katherine gritted out, staring up at Rhys where he yet stood, his hard gaze rooted on the empty high table. Her shock made her voice throb with emotion. With the king’s departure, the excited undertones had become intense buzzing, spreading the mortifying gossip throughout the hall.
