Castle of the Wolf

by Margaret Moore - Castle of the Wolf

  Hildie brought a basket of fresh, fragrant bread to the table, and another, more bashful maidservant ladled a thick, rich beef stew into the trenchers before them.

  “You should have seen him, my lady!” Sir Algar continued as they started to eat the best beef stew Tamsin had ever tasted. “His armor was the most motley collection of metal I’d ever seen.”

  “It was all I could afford.”

  “So naturally all the other participants in the tournament assumed that he’d be as poorly trained as his armor was made. If they’d taken a good look at his horse, they might have known better, eh, Rheged?”

  “I spent my last coin on Jevan, and he was worth every penny.”

  “Now perhaps, but then? The poor beast had been half-starved. He was nearly as skinny as you were, Rheged.”

  “I wasn’t skinny.”

  “You looked like you hadn’t had a decent meal in months. Anyway, there he was, in his collection of bits and bobs of armor, seated on a most unimpressive mount, facing some of the finest young nobles—”

  “Richest,” Rheged interjected. “Not necessarily finest.”

  “Very well, richest young nobles in the land,” Sir Algar amended, “and everyone expected him to fall in the first tilt. Instead, he hits his opponent’s shield one blow and off the fellow tumbles. Who was that?”

  “I don’t recall.”

  “Whoever it was,” Sir Algar continued, sopping up some of the thick gravy with his bread, “down he went with a crash. Broke his shield in the fall and was knocked right out. After that, it was a different story, although nobody thought Rheged would win the day.”

  “Nobody else had so much to gain.”

  “Or lose, eh?” Sir Algar replied, reaching for more bread while Tamsin took a sip of wine that wasn’t nearly as fine as the bread or stew. “I tell you, my lady, you never saw such tenacity. He sat on that saddle like his life depended on it and never did get unseated. But that’s not the best part. The best part is at the feast that followed. Rheged appears without even a scratch—”

  “I had plenty of bruises.”

  “Not on your face,” Sir Algar noted. “The young ladies were like bees to flowers, and a few of the older ones, too. Naturally the young noblemen were not well pleased, especially when they’d not only been defeated, but had to pay to get their horses and arms and accoutrements back from Rheged. So one of them finally insulted Rheged to his face—who was that again?”

  “Sir Francis Bellegardie.”

  “What exactly did he say to you?”

  “He questioned my parentage and suggested I didn’t belong there.”

  “Not like that,” Sir Algar chided.

  “His exact words aren’t fit for a lady’s ears.”

  “I’ve met Sir Francis,” Tamsin said, remembering the young guest of her uncle’s who’d tried to back her into a corner. She’d managed to evade his clumsy groping, but only just. “He’s a most vain and stupid fellow, so I can imagine the sort of thing he’d say.”

  “Rheged laid him flat with one blow, right there in the hall. Didn’t say a word, just hit him, then apologized to the host for disturbing the peace of his hall, sat down and drank his wine like nothing at all had happened.”

  She wished she could have seen that.

  “I was tired, or I would have ignored him.”

  “That wasn’t all,” Sir Algar continued gleefully. “When it came time to dance, who was the most anxious to dance with you? Who hovered around you all night until you practically had to shoo her away?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “If you don’t, I do—Lady Angelica, Sir Francis’s own sister! And you should have seen the way she looked at the other women he danced with! I was afraid there’d be a murder done before the night was out. How many times did you dance with her? Two times? Three?”

  “I’d rather fight than dance.”

  “What a thing to say with a lady present!”

  “Nevertheless it’s true.” Rheged slid from the bench and rose with the same athletic grace with which he’d drawn the bow. “Now if you’ll both excuse me, I need to speak to the commander of my garrison. One of my shepherds found three of his flock dead, their throats and bellies torn open, on the far pasture on the ridge. We’ll be fox-hunting tomorrow as soon as the rain lets up.”

  “You’re sure it was a fox?” Sir Algar asked. “Not wolves or outlaws?”

  “It’s the work of a fox to kill and leave the bodies lying. Wolves or wild dogs would have eaten more of what they’d killed. Men would have taken the carcasses and the shepherd would have found only blood and maybe footprints, if he found anything at all.”

  “And you’re equally certain the rain is going to stop?”

  “Before dawn, my lord, so we’ll be riding out at first light. Would you care to join us?”

  “God save me, no! I hate riding in the wet.”

  “Then good night, my lord. My lady.” Rheged bowed, then went to join the man without an eyebrow.

  “That’s Gareth,” Sir Algar explained to Tamsin. “He and Rheged served together for years. After Rheged was knighted and I gave him this estate, he sent for Gareth and offered him the command of his garrison.”

  “He’s a Welshman, too?”

  “Yes, and like Rheged, born a peasant.”

  There was no need for her to know more about Rheged, and yet she wasn’t able to completely subdue her curiosity. “How did the son of peasants become a knight?”

  Sir Algar twisted the stem of the goblet in his long, slender fingers. “It’s rather remarkable, really. He was a foot soldier in the king’s army in France and they were besieging a castle. The siege had dragged on for days until Rheged scaled the wall in the dark, alone. He got a rope around a merlon so others could follow before he was discovered. The castle fell to John’s troops and the king was suitably grateful.”

  She shivered as she envisioned Rheged climbing up a wall with a coil of rope around him, his face intense with concentration while he sought hand-and footholds. “It’s a miracle he didn’t fall to his death.”

  “He was wounded in the side during the fight and took several weeks to recover. After that, he left the king’s army and returned to England. He was poor, but he had a knighthood and enough money to pay for a license to participate in tournaments. That’s how I met him, at that tournament in Kent. He was clearly better than any other man I’d seen that day and I had an estate that needed an overlord, so I offered it to him if he swore allegiance to me. He agreed before he even saw the fortress, provided he could name it what he wished. I have no objections to the name he chose, although we aren’t in Wales.”

  Sir Algar raised a hand as if he thought she was about to speak. “I warned him the place was in sad disrepair, but he didn’t hesitate. Nor have I regretted making the offer. I would do the same again even after his abduction of you, I must admit.” He smiled. “Otherwise, I’d never have met you.”

  “You said you knew my mother. Did you know my father, too?” Tamsin asked, seizing a rare opportunity to talk about her parents.

  “Not well. Did your mother ever tell you why she and her husband never visited your uncle?”

  “I knew they were not on friendly terms, but that was all I knew.”

  “Your uncle didn’t approve of their marriage, and neither did your grandfather. He had made a betrothal agreement for your mother, you see, and your uncle was all for the match. It would have created a valuable alliance and given the family more influence at court.”

  As her own marriage would.

  “Then your mother told them she loved another. They were angry but thought they could compel her to marry whoever they wanted, until she told them she was with child.”

  Tamsin stared at him in dismay. “Me?”

  Sir Algar regarded her with equal distress. “Forgive me, my dear. I should have spoken with more care.”

  She reached out to touch his arm. “It’s all right. It explains something my uncl
e said to me the last time we spoke. And other things, too.”

  Like the way he’d scowled at her the first day she arrived at Castle DeLac and many times since, and seemingly without reason, or at least not one that she could fathom.

  Sir Algar put his hand over hers. “Unfortunately, instead of making her father and brother release her from the betrothal, that only made them angry. They tried to force your mother to tell them who her lover was, but she wouldn’t. She was so beautiful and charming and sweet, she’d had no end of suitors, and it could have been any one of them. Not that her virtue had ever been in question, not until then. She treated all her admirers the same, or so it seemed. So her father beat her and locked her in her chamber, intending to keep her imprisoned until she told them everything. One night she escaped and one of her admirers, a visiting knight named Sir Renard de Salacourt—”

  “My father!”

  “He risked his life for her—and when I say he risked his life, my dear, he did. Your grandfather and your uncle would surely have killed him if he’d been caught. He was a very brave fellow, Sir Renard de Salacourt.”

  “I wish I could remember my parents better,” Tamsin said softly, trying to picture her parents and failing. “My uncle would get angry if anyone even mentioned them.”

  “To see your mother’s face you need only look at your own reflection, my dear,” Sir Algar replied with a gentle smile. He toyed with his goblet a moment before speaking again. “I hope you can overlook Rheged’s abrupt manner. He’s a little unpolished, but he has a loyal heart, and a good one. That’s how I know he hasn’t touched you, other than to tend to your wound and bring you here.”

  Except that he had touched her, and kissed her, too—but Sir Algar didn’t need to know about that. “No, he hasn’t hurt me.”

  “And you are adamant about returning? Blane is not a good man, or a worthy one.”

  She didn’t want to discuss her future husband. “I don’t relish the prospect of marriage to Sir Blane, but I won’t go back on my word.”

  “No, no, of course not. I understand completely. And so does Rheged.”

  Chapter Ten

  “So it’s only one fox, you’re thinking?” Gareth asked as he rode beside Rheged the next morning. The newly risen sun made the wet grass and bracken glisten, and puddles dotted the well-worn path up the wooded ridge.

  “Probably,” Rheged replied.

  They rode on in silence, and so did the men behind them. Only the hounds were noisy, barking and yipping with excitement as they strained on their leashes.

  “Sir Algar didn’t want to come?” Gareth asked, his tone carefully noncommittal.

  “He doesn’t like to ride in the wet.”

  “Aye, there’s that, I suppose.”

  “What else?”

  “The lady.”

  Rheged darted a glance at his friend. “What do you mean?”

  Gareth regarded him with wide, apparently innocent eyes. “Nothing, except she’s a damn sight more pleasant to look at than me or these louts, and it’s likely a lot more enjoyable to sit by the fire with her than riding about chasing a fox.”

  Rheged knew Gareth well enough to realize exactly what he was implying and be appalled by it. “Sir Algar’s old enough to be her father!”

  “She’s lovely and keeps a good household, or so I hear, so who could blame the man for wanting to wed? He’d have a nursemaid in his old age, if nothing else, but not being dead, he’s likely thinking of something else, too. And Sir Algar’s rich, so it’d be a good match for her. Better than Blane anyway, from all I’ve heard about the man.”

  “You’re mad.”

  “Just practical, and there’s no need to glare at me like you’re a poked bear in a cage, Rheged. I see what I see, that’s all, and you’re not planning to marry her, are you?”

  “I’d never wed a relative of DeLac’s and I need a woman with a large dowry to make Cwm Bron strong. DeLac’s a miser.”

  “So you’ll be looking for a wealthy merchant’s daughter or widow perhaps, is it? Well, that’d surely be easier than courting some Norman nobleman’s daughter. Or niece.”

  “Nothing I’ve gotten has ever come easy, Gareth. You know that.”

  “Aye, Rheged, aye, I do. And all the better for it when you get it, eh?”

  The hounds suddenly leapt on their leashes and started to bay.

  “Let them go!” Rheged called to the huntsmen, at the same time spotting a flash of red fur among the rocks higher on the ridge.

  The fast-moving, lithe fox led them an exhausting chase over the rough terrain. It easily slipped under and around rocks and fallen trees and more than once they seemed to have lost it completely. Fortunately the dogs caught the scent again, until they finally had it cornered in a narrow crevice between some rocks on the riverbank a few miles from the mill. The dogs, tired but still excited, surrounded the crevice that was too narrow for them to enter. Some of the dogs were in the front, while others crowded at the sides and the far end above the opening.

  There was no doubt the fox was there, though. The eyes of the cornered animal gleamed in the shadowy darkness and they could hear it snarl.

  There was no doubt about what had to be done next, either.

  Rheged dismounted, took his hunting spear and made his way through the pack of panting, barking dogs. He straddled the crevice and plunged his spear into the darkness. There was a brief yelp from the fox, and the deed was done.

  He twisted the shaft of the spear, then waited a moment to be sure the beast was dead before he drew out the body. The large fox’s slack mouth gaped and blood dripped from the wound in the back of its neck. Despite that, the fur could still be used, perhaps for the collar of a lady’s cloak—a gift to Tamsin as a way to make amends for bringing her to Cwm Bron.

  “Well, that’s one less nuisance,” Gareth remarked, holding the fox while Rheged cleaned his spear. “Not the most thrilling hunt I’ve ever been on, though.”

  “The fox is dead and that’s all that matters,” Rheged replied as he took the fox and went to his horse. Meanwhile, the huntsman began gathering the dogs and leading them back to Cwm Bron, joined by the other men who’d accompanied them.

  When Rheged tossed the dead fox over his saddle, Myr whinnied in protest and tried to back away. He kept a firm hand on the reins and murmured a few words to quiet the gelding before mounting and heading for home. Gareth rode with him, keeping up a stream of meaningless chatter about more exciting hunts he’d been on, narrow escapes he’d had and the wild boars and stags he’d killed almost single-handedly. Since Gareth needed no encouragement to keep talking, Rheged was free to think about other things.

  Including things he would rather not think about.

  Like Tamsin. At least when he was chasing the fox, she hadn’t been in his thoughts. He hadn’t been remembering how regal and beautiful she looked in the green gown that clung to her shapely figure like water flowing over a rock, or haunted by the memory of her slender body in his arms.

  As for Sir Algar’s reasons for staying behind, Gareth had to be wrong. The older man just didn’t want to ride in the wet and the mud.

  It wasn’t that Rheged was jealous of his overlord and what Sir Algar could offer a woman like Tamsin. He’d meant what he said to Gareth. He needed a woman with a sizable dowry to prosper, to be safe and secure in this dangerous world, and Simon DeLac would surely never give Tamsin a penny if she were betrothed to him or any Welshman.

  If she would even consider the idea, which she surely wouldn’t.

  “That was the last time I tried that, I can tell you. I suppose you’ll be saying I was a fool to even think of... Rheged, have you heard even one word I’ve said?” Gareth demanded as they rode through the gates of Cwm Bron.

  “I heard...” Rheged began, then fell silent as he surveyed the courtyard.

  Across the yard, that pretty, quiet serving woman named Elvina stood at the well, turning the handle as fast as she could while another serving woman wait
ed with empty buckets at her feet. Smoke churned out of the kitchen chimney as if it were aflame, or Foster had decided to feed the entire county. Despite the woman’s hasty drawing of water at the well, the kitchen couldn’t be on fire, or more people would be in the yard with buckets, although there were certainly more people there than usual. Three men with mortar and stones knelt by one of the large holes in the cobblestoned yard, filling and repairing it. An old man—one of his soldier’s fathers, he thought—was seated on a stool near a storeroom making what appeared to be a broom. Other servants rushed about carrying baskets and bundles and tools as if they were about to be besieged.

  Gareth, too, reined in his horse. “God save us, what’s going on?” he muttered.

  As Rheged and Gareth looked around in confusion, Dan came hurtling out of the stable, and Hildie appeared at the door of a storeroom. Her head down, her arms full of linen, she began to hurry across the yard as if she were pursued by all the hounds of hell.

  “What’s going on here?” Rheged demanded of the groom as he dismounted and lifted the fox’s carcass from the saddle.

  His voice low as if he feared being overheard, Dan nodded in the direction of the keep, which was a good thirty yards away. “Nothing’s amiss, my lord. No attack or anything. It’s...it’s her.”

  There was only one possible person to whom he could be referring. Nevertheless Rheged said, “I assume you mean Lady Thomasina?”

  “Aye, my lord.” Dan looked about furtively, then leaned forward and whispered, “The moment you were out of the gates she comes down to the hall and starts giving orders right and left. You didn’t say whether we was to obey or not, but she weren’t taking no for an answer, if you follow me, so we all thought we’d better do as she says.”

  Rheged called out to Hildie, who hurried over to him. “Yes, my lord?”

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m to wash this linen, my lord. All of it,” she added incredulously. One would think she’d been asked to wash every piece of linen in England.

  Gareth started to laugh, until Rheged silenced him with a look.

  This was his home, by God. His castle, his hall, his servants, earned with his blood and sweat and risk. She was a guest here, not his wife or chatelaine.