Castle of the Wolf

by Margaret Moore - Castle of the Wolf

  “Well, if he’s so foolish, our men’ll be up to it,” Rob replied stoutly. Then, clasping his hands loosely, resting his elbows on his knees, he sighed and shook his head. “I never thought I’d see Rheged lose his head over a woman, though, or risk everything for one, either.”

  “I wouldn’t have said it likely, either, once upon a time. But she’s a rare woman, you have to admit.”

  “Rare enough I hope I never meet another like her. Give me a woman who knows her place and stays there.”

  “That might do for you, Rob,” Gareth said with a grin, “but never for Rheged. He needs someone to match him strength for strength, and I think he’s found her. Now, me, I like a quiet woman.”

  “You like a woman if she’s between eighteen and forty,” Rob returned. “But truly, Gareth, do you think Rheged would give up Cwm Bron and his title, even his life, for that woman?”

  “Aye, I do.”

  “Well, then, that’s enough for me. I’d still be dragging stones for that lout of a mason if he hadn’t offered me a place here. What do we do if that Broderick loses and comes back with more men? What if he wants a fight?”

  Gareth’s smile was as grim as Rheged’s could be. “We give him one.”

  * * *

  Tamsin awoke with a start, then lay still. It was only a dream and she was in bed with a living Rheged, warm and safe. The cock crowed beyond the walls, and the dim light of early dawn shone through the crack in the shutters.

  A new day, and such a day! Of hope and dread, of triumph if Rheged won, and horrible despair if—

  He must win! He would win!

  “Rheged, wake up,” she said, gently nudging him. “The sun is rising, and so must we.”

  His only answer was a mumble before he reached out and brought her hand to his chest.

  “Rheged,” she repeated more firmly and pulling herself free. “Wake up!”

  He stirred and began to sit up, then fell back upon the pillows, his breathing raw and rasping. She saw at once that his face was pale and perspiration dotted his forehead and upper lip. Although his eyes were open, they were glassy.

  “Rheged!” she cried. “What’s wrong? Are you ill?” She put her hand on his forehead. “You’re burning!”

  Ignoring the slight ache in her leg, she rushed to the washstand to wet a cloth. She wrung it out quickly, then hurried back to put it on his forehead. “Are you in pain? Your stomach? Your head?”

  “Throat. Head. Both,” he croaked, starting to shiver.

  She wrapped him up in the blankets as best she could, then swiftly pulled on a gown. She rushed to the door and down the stairs. Several soldiers and a few of the servants were stirring, and she spotted the groom seated at one of the tables shoving a crust of bread into his mouth. “Dan! Fetch Gilbert!”

  The groom sat stunned, staring at her.

  “Not for me, for Rheged. He’s sick!”

  Tossing the bread to one of the ever-present hounds, Dan leapt to his feet and ran from the hall, passing a startled Hildie who was coming in from the kitchen entrance.

  “Hildie, bring cold water and more linen—small squares. Quickly!”

  She didn’t wait to see if her orders were obeyed but immediately went back to the chamber. Rheged had thrown off the covers and managed to sit up, his bare feet on the frigid stone floor.

  “What are you doing?” she cried, her fear making her sound shrewish. “You must lie down!”

  He tried to stand and nearly fell. “Got...to kill...Broderick,” he said, his voice so thick and hoarse it was nearly unrecognizable.

  She ran to help him sit again. “You can’t even stand, let alone fight! Get back in bed.”

  He swallowed hard, or tried to. “Water. Parched.”

  “Get back in bed and I’ll bring you some water,” she promised.

  For a moment, she thought he was going to fight off her helping hands and insist on standing again.

  “Water,” he rasped, and she hurried to fetch the only water she had—the clean water in the ewer for washing.

  He lifted the jug to his lips and some got into his mouth, but more splashed down his chest and he almost dropped the jug. She caught it just before it hit the floor.

  “Please, Rheged, lie down,” she pleaded, shocked at how weak he’d become. “Gilbert will be here soon.”

  Rheged wet his lips and then with effort, his voice hoarse, spoke a single word. “Poison.”

  Poison? He thought he’d been poisoned? By Broderick, no doubt. “How? When?” she whispered as her terror grew. “We were together—”

  A knock sounded on the door and she rushed to open it. Hildie stood here, linen in one hand, another ewer of water in the other. Her mouth open, she stared at the bed and the still-naked Rheged.

  “Get more water,” Tamsin ordered as she took the ewer and linen. “And a goblet. Go! Now!”

  Hildie instantly obeyed. Tamsin hurried to dampen another cloth to put on Rheged’s forehead. For now, Rheged could stay naked under the blankets.

  He began to shiver, his teeth chattering. She tucked the blankets more closely about him and, feeling completely, utterly helpless, fetched another cool, damp cloth.

  He struggled to rise again. “Must...get...up,” he muttered, sounding as if every word tore his throat. “Must...fight.”

  “Not today,” she said firmly. “Lie down and rest, Rheged. Your opponent has yet to arrive. The combat can’t begin until he does, so lie back and rest.”

  “My armor—”

  “Never mind about that now.”

  “Jevan—”

  “Rheged, you must rest!”

  His protests seemed to have taken what little energy he possessed, and he finally lay back, panting heavily.

  And then—thank God!—the physician arrived.

  “He’s feverish and his head and throat hurt,” Tamsin said to Gilbert as he set down his medicinal chest and swiftly examined Rheged. “He’s had chills, too. He can barely talk and he’s very weak. He thinks he may have been poisoned.”

  “Poisoned? With what?”

  “I don’t know! But this illness did come upon him suddenly.”

  Gilbert glanced at her sharply. “Did you eat the same things he did last night?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “What about the wine?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t remember. Isn’t there something you can give him to ease his suffering and make him well?”

  “I shall do my best, my lady, whatever ails him.”

  “Never...get...sick,” Rheged rasped.

  “So you say, my lord,” Gilbert replied. He opened Rheged’s mouth and peered inside while Tamsin hovered anxiously behind him. “Any trouble swallowing, my lady?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  Gilbert rose and faced her. “I don’t think he’s been poisoned. It looks more like an infection in the throat. A serious one, but not from poison.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  Gilbert went to his medicinal chest and drew forth a small clay vessel covered with waxed parchment. “Is there water? Oh, yes, I see it. I’ll prepare a potion from willow bark that should lower the fever, dull the pain and help him rest more comfortably.” He poured some white powder from the vessel into a goblet, then added a little water.

  “You’re sure he wasn’t poisoned?”

  “Not unless someone has created one that infects the throat first and foremost.”

  “How long will it take for your potion to work?”

  “Soon, I hope. He should also gargle with salt water, if he can. Most of all, he should rest.”

  “No!” Rheged growled, proving he was awake and well enough to understand. “Must...fight...today!”

  “Impossible, my lord,” Gilbert decisively declared. “You’re not fit enough to fight, unless you want to lose.”

  “I...won’t!”

  “Then rest while you can,” Gilbert replied in a more placating tone, yet the look he gave Tamsin told her Rheg
ed simply could not fight that day.

  If he did, he would surely lose.

  “He will not rise from his bed today,” Tamsin said firmly. “The contest must and will be postponed.”

  Surely a man as proud and vain as Broderick wouldn’t want to claim victory over a sick man, no matter how desperate he was to win.

  An anxious Hildie appeared at the threshold of the chamber. “My lady,” she announced in a whisper, “Sir Algar is here.”

  Although nothing could relieve her fear completely until Rheged had recovered and the combat was over, Hildie’s news was welcome. “Thank you, Hildie,” she said before addressing Gilbert. “I must tell Sir Algar what’s happened, and then I shall return.”

  She left the chamber and hurried down the stairs, to find Sir Algar waiting for her, his expression full of sympathy and worry. “What is this I hear? Rheged is ill?”

  “Yes, he’s very sick, with an infection in the throat. He’s in no condition to fight. There must be no combat today.”

  “Of course not!” Sir Algar exclaimed. His white eyebrows furrowed. “Perhaps you shouldn’t stay where there is sickness. You’re welcome to come to my castle until he’s better.”

  “Thank you for the offer, my lord, but I can’t accept. My place is here, with Rheged.”

  She smiled in spite of her worry. “He’s asked me to be his wife. Nothing would make me happier, my lord, except to see him well.”

  “You and Rheged...married!”

  “Yes, my lord. As soon as he’s better and the threat from my uncle and Broderick no longer exists.”

  “Nothing would please me more,” Sir Algar replied. “And he will win, my dear, whenever this contest takes place.”

  “With God’s help,” she answered. “Now you must excuse me, my lord. I need to be with Rheged.”

  Sir Algar held her back. “I should explain why I left here yesterday.”

  “Later, my lord,” she replied, her worry about Rheged overwhelming any other concerns.

  The door to the hall flew open and Gareth charged into the chamber, coming to a halt when he spied Tamsin and Sir Algar. “What’s this I hear about Rheged being sick?”

  “His head hurts and he can hardly speak, his throat is so painful,” Tamsin replied.

  Gareth stared at them with dismay. “I can’t believe it! I’ve never seen him sick, not in all the time I’ve known him. Not even when he’s been cold and wet through.”

  “We’ve sent for Gilbert,” Tamsin said, starting for the stairs.

  “It’s got to be poison. That oaf’s tried it before. By God, I’ll kill him myself!” Gareth declared, fury in every word.

  “No!” Sir Algar cried so fervently Tamsin halted and turned back.

  “No,” the older man repeated, his tone more calm but strong nonetheless. “This must be between Rheged and Broderick.”

  Tamsin knew he was right, and said so. “Otherwise my uncle would be within his rights to attack Cwm Bron,” she explained.

  “We can beat him—and anyone else they send against us!”

  “At what cost?” Tamsin returned. “How many would die? And if the king should become involved, Rheged could lose all even if you win a battle, or hold Cwm Bron against attack.”

  “The lady speaks the truth, Gareth,” Sir Algar said. “We shall speak to Lord DeLac and Sir Broderick and seek a postponement of the combat until Rheged is well again.”

  “And if he dies?”

  “If he dies, the lady will need another champion.”

  “Rheged isn’t going to die!” Tamsin exclaimed, refusing to admit that possibility, even to herself. “My uncle will agree to the postponement and Rheged will recover,” she finished as she hurried to the stairs.

  As soon as she was out of sight, Gareth looked at Sir Algar, his eyes full of fire and resolve. “If Rheged dies, I’ll kill that Norman.”

  “If Rheged dies, I’ll help you.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  When Tamsin reached the bedchamber, she found Gilbert and Hildie trying to hold down a struggling Rheged. A dented metal goblet lay on the floor beside the bed, the contents spilled.

  “Must...fight!” Rheged croaked, kicking and twisting.

  Tamsin hurried to his side and, taking his perspiring face between her hands, spoke firmly, hiding her own desperation. “Not today, Rheged. You cannot fight today. Lie still and rest, the better to fight tomorrow.”

  He settled for a moment, his eyes darting about wildly before coming back to her. “For you, I must,” he said hoarsely.

  “Tomorrow,” she repeated, although she had no idea when he would be well enough to face Broderick.

  Rheged’s eyes closed and his breathing began to slow. Sighing, Tamsin let go and moved back, and Gilbert and Hildie released their hold on his arms.

  “By all that’s holy, he’s a strong man,” Gilbert said, running a shaking hand over his sweating face. “I tried to give him a draught to sleep, but—”

  “I know,” Tamsin said while Hildie picked up the cup.

  As the maidservant was going to get a rag to wipe the floor, the door to the chamber opened and Gareth hurried inside, coming to a halt when he saw Rheged, pale and feverish, in the bed.

  But he recovered quickly and looked at Tamsin. “They’re coming, my lady.”

  He didn’t have to say who.

  “I leave Rheged in your capable hands, Gilbert. And yours, too, Hildie,” Tamsin said as she followed Gareth from the room.

  Muttering what was either a prayer or a string of Welsh oaths, Rheged’s friend led the way down the stairs. “Never seen him sick before, my lady, and that’s the truth,” he added as they walked swiftly through the empty hall.

  “Sir Broderick will agree to a postponement,” she said firmly, telling herself it must and would be so.

  Gareth put his hand on the latch of the hall doors and paused to regard her with grim eyes. “If it comes to a fight, my lady, we’re ready. Every man here will die for Rheged.”

  Her eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them back. She wouldn’t have Broderick or her uncle see her crying. “I trust it won’t come to that, Gareth.”

  Then she pushed open the doors and went into the yard to stand beside Sir Algar, who was shifting from foot to foot. Gareth joined his men ringing the yard. She wished there were more of them, for in truth, she had no faith at all in Broderick’s honor, or her uncle’s, either.

  “Rheged?” Sir Algar asked under his breath as the approaching force announced their arrival and the thick gates began to open.

  “Resting better,” she said, hoping it was still so.

  Her concern did not lessen when the mounted party rode into the yard of Cwm Bron like a conquering army, with Sir Broderick at the head, her uncle beside him and fifty armed soldiers behind.

  As befit a man so obviously vain, Broderick’s helmet sported a tall scarlet plume and he wore the finest surcoat she had ever seen, made of scarlet velvet, his crest heavily embroidered in brown and gold. His mail and gauntlet gloves gleamed in the autumn sunlight. His prancing black horse was huge, taller and broader even than Jevan, and it tossed its head like a bare-knuckle brawler looking for a fight.

  Her uncle, meanwhile, looked like a jester playing at being lord. His cloak was rumpled, his hair unkempt, his horse’s trappings mud-stained and torn near the girth. Even when his horse stood motionless, Lord DeLac swayed in his saddle, suggesting he was already deep in his cups.

  “A fine day for combat, is it not?” Broderick said with apparent joviality. He raised his visor and scanned the cloudless sky before dismounting and approaching Tamsin. Her uncle slid off his horse, barely managing not to fall. Broderick’s soldiers likewise dismounted and stood in rows, as disciplined as any Tamsin had ever seen.

  “Where is your champion, my lady?” Broderick demanded, fixing his scornful gaze on Tamsin. “Fled before the battle?”

  “Sir Rheged is ill and cannot fight today,” she replied, keeping her voice calm. “T
he combat must be postponed.”

  “What’s this? Sir Rheged claims to be sick?” Broderick mocked. “How unfortunate, especially since this attempt to delay the combat will avail him nothing. If he cannot fight, he forfeits, and that’s the same as losing. He will be judged guilty and have to pay the price.”

  Tamsin regarded the man before her with disdain. “Are you truly so lacking in honor you would force an unfair fight?”

  “Apparently I must remind you that he started this when he abducted my father’s bride,” Broderick replied.

  “Sir Broderick, the lady is right,” Sir Algar declared. “This contest must be postponed until Sir Rheged is well.”

  “Of course you’d speak for your pet,” Broderick said, sneering. “I’m sure Lord DeLac agrees with me. DeLac!”

  Her uncle took a few staggering steps closer. His eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, and his mouth was slack.

  “What do you say, DeLac?” Broderick demanded. “Will you let this contest be delayed?”

  Her uncle stumbled to a halt and regarded them with stunned disbelief. “Delayed? No! Rheged must fight or be judged guilty.”

  “Today,” Broderick prompted.

  “Of course today,” her uncle replied peevishly. “This must be settled now, once and for all. I’m weary of riding and it’s too bloody cold.”

  “This is a matter of life and death, Uncle!” Tamsin protested.

  DeLac’s face reddened. “You should be grateful I agreed to let this matter be decided here at all! By law, you belong to Broderick, as I’ve already decided—and as your guardian, have every right to do!”

  Tamsin straightened her shoulders. “According to the law—”

  “The hell with the law or attorneys’ tricks! You will do as I say! For once you’ll be as obedient as a woman ought to be! You will know your place instead of trying to run everything and everyone around you!”

  She gasped as if he’d hit her. “If I took charge of your household, Uncle, it was only because I was trying to please you and make things comfortable for you so that you would love me at least a little. Do you think I enjoyed having to give all the orders and see that they were obeyed? That I liked having to watch every ha’penny, only to be chided for spending too much? Or that I was happy to spend my days making sure work was done while you sat in your solar drinking wine and eating sweetmeats, entertaining all your friends while I toiled like a servant? Yet in spite of all my efforts, you would gladly hand me off to a man who’ll surely make me miserable, and after he kills one of the finest men in England when he’s too weak to defend himself. You’re a selfish blackguard, Uncle, and I’m ashamed to be your niece!”