Castle of the Wolf

by Margaret Moore - Castle of the Wolf

  As Lord DeLac spluttered, Broderick shook his head. “Tsk-tsk, my lady! There’s no need for such harsh recriminations! Granted, your uncle is not a generous man, but it’s not as if he’s condemning you to hell. I am, after all, a wealthy man, and you’ll be better off in Dunborough bearing my sons than you would be living in this ruin with a man who barely has enough to pay his garrison. Indeed, to show you how kind and generous I can be, I am willing to forgo a trial today or any other day, provided you honor the betrothal contract and marry me.”

  “I would rather die!” Tamsin declared. At the same time, Gareth and the men of Cwm Bron took a step forward, their hands on their weapons. Broderick’s men shifted closer, too, likewise gripping the hilts of their swords, and they watched Broderick as if awaiting his command to attack.

  The Norman held up his hand, signaling them to stay where they were. “A useless threat,” he said calmly, although she could see the fury in his eyes. “I can always marry your cousin, and take the matter of the broken betrothal and Rheged’s part in it to the king. I have no doubt John will rule in my favor, and Sir Rheged will pay a heavy price.”

  “I could beat that lout on my deathbed,” Rheged called out hoarsely.

  Tamsin whirled around to see her beloved standing at the bottom of the stairs leading to the keep, Gilbert and Hildie hovering anxiously behind him. His pale face shone with the clammy sheen of feverish perspiration and he held on to the railing so tightly his knuckles were as white as his face. In his other hand he held his broadsword.

  Despite his obvious illness, there was a stern resolve in his expression that told her why they hadn’t been able to keep him in his bed.

  “You’re too sick to fight anyone, Rheged,” she said, starting to go to him.

  “Not him,” he rasped in reply, pushing away from the steps and walking forward with a slow, deliberate pace, all but dragging his sword, his glazed eyes fixed on Broderick.

  “He’s going to lose one way or another, my lady,” Broderick said with a sneer, “so if he wants to fight today, I have no objections.”

  “I do!” Tamsin cried, grabbing Rheged’s arm to prevent him from going any farther.

  Gareth and his men took another step forward. Broderick’s men slid them sidelong glances but didn’t move.

  “I also object,” Sir Algar declared as he went to stand in front of them. “It wouldn’t be just and you know it, Broderick. Nor would it be wise. You may have influential friends at court, but so do I. I don’t think either you or Lord DeLac should be anxious to find out who holds more sway over the king.”

  “It wouldn’t be you.”

  Although Broderick’s tone was bold and mocking, Tamsin saw a shadow of doubt in his eyes that told her he wasn’t as confident of the king’s support as he maintained. “Then let us take the matter to the king,” she proposed.

  “No,” Rheged growled. “This ends today. I’ll win.”

  “But you’re not well!” she insisted, holding his arms and looking into his feverish eyes. “You mustn’t fight today!”

  “Isn’t that touching?” Broderick jeered. “Charming, even, how the lovers cling to each other.”

  Her whole body alive with righteous indignation, Tamsin whirled around to face him. “The kind of love we share is something you will never know, Broderick. Even if you kill Rheged, I will never be your wife. I’d rather join a convent. Or die fighting you myself!”

  “You? You would challenge me?”

  “If I must.”

  “Impossible,” Sir Algar said firmly. “Broderick, as an honorable—”

  “He’s not honorable!” Tamsin interrupted. “He’s a cheat, an arrogant bully, a little boy in a man’s body—”

  “How dare you speak to me that way?” Broderick demanded.

  “I dare because you’re a coward!” Tamsin retorted. “I dare because you sicken me. I dare because you’re a disgrace. I dare because you don’t deserve to be a knight, let alone any woman’s husband.”

  His cheeks fairly quivering with rage, Broderick drew his sword. “You must be mad—and the world will be well rid of you both!”

  “Put up!” Sir Algar ordered, raising his hand as he came to stand between them. “This is no—”

  Broderick’s sword came down hard and fast. Blood gushed from the huge gash sliced through Sir Algar’s cloak and the flesh beneath and he fell, groaning, to the ground. Crying out with dismay, Tamsin knelt beside the fallen nobleman and helplessly tried to stanch the flow of blood from his shoulder with her bare hands. Behind her she could hear the movement of men and the jingling of their mail, and the sound of swords being pulled from their scabbards.

  And then Rheged’s voice, harsh and raw. “Stay back, all of you!” he ordered. “I’m going to kill this dog.”

  Still trying to stop the bleeding, Tamsin started to stand. Rheged could not fight. Must not fight. Yet already a pale and sweating Rheged, hunched over so that the tip of his blade nearly touched the ground, was circling Broderick like a wolf sizing up its prey.

  Gareth and his men moved to form a circle around them, blocking Broderick’s soldiers as the two knights faced each other.

  Someone lifted her hand from Sir Algar’s bloody shoulder.

  It was Gilbert, kneeling on the other side of the injured knight. He pressed his hand over the long, terrible wound. “I’ll tend to him, my lady,” he said softly.

  Tamsin straightened just as Broderick lunged at Rheged with his broadsword. But even sick, Rheged was too fast for his opponent. He dodged the blade and lashed out with his own, trying to strike Broderick’s legs below the edge of his chain mail.

  He missed the man’s shin, and when Broderick spun away, Rheged followed him, his sword dipping as if it was too heavy for him to hold.

  She must stop this!

  Before she could intervene, Rheged raised his sword and brought it down, missing Broderick again. He tried to raise his sword, but it was stuck fast in the space between two cobblestones. As Rheged tried to work it free, Broderick kicked him in the jaw, sending Rheged sprawling.

  “For shame!” Tamsin cried as she hurried to help her lover.

  Gareth was beside her in an instant, and the rest of the men Cwm Bron surged forward, muttering with anger and disgust.

  Rheged waved them all back. “No!” he hoarsely shouted. “This is my battle to win.”

  Gareth and his men stayed where they were, although every face made it plain that they wanted to disobey.

  Kneeling, Rheged tried once more to free his sword.

  “It’s your battle to lose,” Broderick snarled like the beast he was.

  Ignoring him, Tamsin didn’t take her eyes from Rheged. “This is my battle, too, Rheged, and I won’t let you die.”

  “Out of the way, bitch!” Broderick ordered before pushing her aside. He kicked Rheged hard on the shoulder, knocking him sideways to the ground. Then he raised his sword, ready to bring it down on Rheged’s neck.

  With a cry of rage, Tamsin threw herself at Broderick, tackling him and landing so that he was flat on his back and she was atop him. His sword flew from his hands and clattered on the cobblestones. He tried to push her off with one hand while he went for a dagger hidden in his wide sword belt with the other. Tamsin grabbed the wrist of his hand holding the dagger, squeezing and twisting as hard as she could, trying to make him drop the blade or at least push the weapon lower. Grimacing, Broderick tried to shove her arm away. He was strong, but she was desperate, and with the strength of desperation and a cry to heaven to help her, she gave his arm another mighty push.

  His mail had bunched higher on his legs, and the dagger plunged into his groin.

  With a screech, Broderick bucked her off. Staggering to his feet, he yanked the dagger from his thigh. “You bitch! You damn, stinking bitch!” he cried as blood poured from the wound onto the ground below.

  Broderick fell to his knees while Tamsin, panting, struggled to her feet. Broderick’s men broke through the barrier
the men of Cwm Bron had made and surrounded their fallen leader. Meanwhile Gareth and several of his soldiers hurried to help Rheged stand, and to support her, too.

  In all the commotion, her uncle managed to climb onto his horse and turn it toward the gates.

  “The judgment is for Rheged,” Tamsin called out. “You will bring no charge against him, and Mavis and I are free of any marriage agreement you’ve made!”

  “Be free, then, and be damned, you and that Welshman!” her uncle shouted as his horse snorted and pranced beneath him. “But Mavis is still my daughter and that you cannot change!” he cried, then punched his heels into his horse’s side and galloped out of the gate.

  Tamsin hurried to the exhausted Rheged being supported by Gareth and Rob. Some of Broderick’s men had lifted the nobleman onto their shoulders and were carrying him to his horse.

  “Broderick lost,” she assured her beloved, for Rheged looked too tired and sick to comprehend all that had happened.

  He proved her wrong. “Take me to Algar.”

  Taking Rob’s place, she put her shoulder under Rheged’s arm to help him, and with Gareth’s help, they made their way to the fallen man. Out of the corner of her eye, Tamsin saw Broderick’s men put him down and stand back, as if they feared contagion.

  The man’s face was pale, his eyes closed, his mouth slack, his chest unmoving and given that great red trail of blood... he was dead. By her hand. She had killed a man. An evil, cruel man, but a man nonetheless.

  She turned away. She would deal with her guilt later. For now, her attention must be on Rheged, and Sir Algar lying so gravely wounded where he’d fallen. The physician’s medicine chest sat open nearby, and Gilbert had covered the wound with a thick bandage. Still the blood seeped through, and more blood had puddled around Sir Algar’s neck and head.

  Gilbert didn’t have to tell them that time was fast running out for the wounded man.

  Kneeling beside Sir Algar, Tamsin took his hand and pressed a kiss upon it. She could feel the pulse in his wrist, faint and very slow.

  Algar opened his eyes and turned his head toward her. “I—I loved her,” he gasped. “Your mother.”

  “I know,” she whispered.

  He shook his head and swallowed. “But I was a coward...not brave enough to fight for her.”

  “It doesn’t matter now,” Tamsin assured him.

  “That’s...not...all. She was with...my child...when she fled. You.”

  Tamsin stared at him in stunned disbelief. It couldn’t be true. Even if her parents hadn’t told her, surely she would have known...felt...

  He nodded and grimaced with pain. “You’re mine. My daughter. My heiress. She loved him, too...the man you think...your father. But not as she loved me. My priest...and attorney...they know. They’ll swear to it. I went home to get...I brought my will...so you would see...and believe.”

  He turned his head toward Rheged. “You deserve her. You are...the son I never...so you both have my blessing and...now I die...content.”

  Whether or not he was her father, Tamsin knew there was one gift she could give the dying man, one that only she could give. “I love you, Father,” she whispered, bending to kiss his cheek.

  Algar’s lips trembled with a smile as his eyes clouded over. Then, with a sigh, he died.

  “Oh, Rheged!” Tamsin murmured, turning to him.

  To find him lying unconscious in Gareth’s arms.

  * * *

  Despite the morning’s chill, Mavis paced the wall walk of Castle DeLac, seeking any sign of her father and his escort on the road. Whatever had happened yesterday, whether Broderick had triumphed or Rheged, the men from Castle DeLac would have had to overnight at an inn or tavern somewhere along the road home, so she had spent a sleepless night and come to look for them at the first light of dawn.

  Wrapping her cloak more tightly about her, she remembered standing in this very place with Tamsin the day of the tournament, in spite of Tamsin’s fear of high places. She recalled how they had watched for the returning knights and squires, and Tamsin’s curiosity about Sir Rheged. And what she’d said about cutting his hair. She’d thought of that conversation many times in the past few days, and every time came more and more to believe that perhaps Tamsin had admired the Welsh knight. Maybe it was even possible that she wanted—

  A rider came into view.

  She leaned out in the crenel between the merlons, trying to see who it was. It looked like her father’s horse. Yes, that had to be him—she recognized his cloak. But he was alone, save for two soldiers riding behind him. Tamsin wasn’t with him, nor Sir Broderick and all his men.

  Did that mean Broderick had lost? Or won?

  As the cry went up to open the gates, Mavis ran down the steps, her heart pounding.

  Nor was she the only one anxious to find out what had happened. The faces of servants were visible at several windows, and more of the soldiers were in the yard than was usual for that time of day.

  She reached the gates just as her father rode through them, nearly knocking her down.

  “Father!” she cried as he pulled his horse to a halt. “What happened? Where is Tamsin? And Broderick?”

  “Wine! I want wine!” he shouted, all but falling from his horse, his hair disheveled, his clothes little better.

  “Father, please! What—”

  He glared at her, the fleshy folds of his cheeks quivering with rage. “Broderick is dead. Your damned slut of a cousin killed him.

  “That’s right, my girl,” he snarled, his breath already wine-soaked. “The man’s dead, and by your cousin’s hand. He was just about to finish the Welshman when she attacked him.”

  Tamsin had attacked Broderick and killed him? It seemed unbelievable, and yet, if she were desperate...

  “They claimed Rheged was too sick to fight. And they call me a cheat!”

  “But Rheged’s very skilled. He would have no need to cheat. No doubt he—”

  Her father gave her a backhanded blow that sent her sprawling to the cobblestones. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Denly and some of the other servants coming toward her as if they meant to interfere. She waved them back. Her cheek aching, her knees and palms painful, she began to stand.

  Her father hauled her upright and glared at her as if he hated her. “I’ll wager you think this is the end of it, eh? No more alliance for me in the north. Well, you’re wrong. No woman thwarts me! Not you and not Tamsin! Broderick has brothers, and by God, one of them will have you.

  “The rest of Broderick’s men are on their way back to Dunborough to tell them what’s happened. I don’t doubt Broderick’s brothers will be here soon, and whichever one wants you can have you, by God!”

  He shoved her away and started for the hall. “Bring me some wine!” he shouted, his words ringing through the yard.

  Mavis watched him go and promised herself that she would be gone before any more men of Dunborough came to Castle DeLac.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Scattered images came and went in Rheged’s mind. Tamsin, her hands red with blood. Broderick threatening. DeLac reeling like a sot in the saddle. Tamsin beside him, murmuring words of love. Heat, then cold, then burning. Tamsin helping him to drink. Broderick on the ground. Tamsin with a bloody dagger. Pain as he tried to swallow. Tamsin urging him to drink. Algar...Broderick...DeLac...Tamsin...

  Whoever else came and went, Tamsin was always there, like an angel, clear and visible, worried and gentle. Tamsin. His lover. Beloved.

  He opened his eyes and there she was still, a smile on her face and her eyes full of love.

  “He’s coming round,” she said to someone behind her waiting in the shadows of the dim chamber. She cupped his cheek, her touch tender and light. “How do you feel, Rheged?”

  He tried to swallow and discovered that while it wasn’t easy, it wasn’t painful, either, and when he spoke, he didn’t feel as if the words were ripping the flesh of his throat. “Better.”

  Gilbert appeared and gav
e Rheged a sympathetic smile, his gaze studious as he regarded the Welshman. In his long, slender fingers, he held a metal cup.

  “No more talking now, Sir Rheged,” he said, his voice like his mien—compassionate, but with iron behind it. “Drink this.”

  Rheged sat up and raised the cup to his lips. The medicine tasted so vile he nearly spit it out at the first swallow. Yet because Tamsin watched so worriedly, he did as he was told and downed it all.

  “Very good, my lord,” Gilbert said. “Now if you’ll open your mouth, I’ll examine your throat.”

  Rheged submitted as the man produced a twig scraped free of bark, placed it on his tongue and peered inside his mouth.

  “Excellent!” Gilbert declared, straightening. “You’ve made a remarkable recovery. I’m never seen a man so sick get well so quickly!”

  “I’m never sick.” Rheged started to sit up and found that more difficult than he expected. “I was poisoned.”

  “No, Rheged, you weren’t,” Tamsin said.

  She glanced at Gilbert, who came forward again. “My lord, you were ill with an infection of the throat, a serious one. The signs and symptoms were unmistakable.” He spoke with such confidence, Rheged had to believe he was telling the truth. And yet...

  “But I don’t get—”

  “Yes, you do,” Tamsin interrupted with a little smile. “You’re mortal after all, my love, and it’s no shame to get sick. Now eat some bread and soup. You need to regain your strength.”

  Hildie appeared at the foot of the bed with a tray bearing beef soup thick with peas and lentils, and a soft bread. It smelled wonderful and Rheged discovered his appetite had returned with a vengeance. Meanwhile, Gilbert packed up his medicinal chest. “I’ll leave you now,” he said softly. “Remember, my lady, he still needs to rest.”