by Shari Anton
Alberic gave a short burst of humorless laughter. “I have had dealings with Connor. There is more to this than a sudden wish to play the good uncle to Nicole!”
“Certes, there is. Connor is also mindful of her Pendragon heritage. According to him, the line can remain strong only if there is a Welsh branch. He knows the king means to marry her to a Welsh noble but fears which one the king might choose.”
Alberic again leaned forward. “So it is as I guessed. Connor wishes to use Nicole for his own selfish reasons.”
Rhodri fought to keep his sudden ire under control. “Did not your king intend to do the same, without consideration to either you or Nicole? If Connor chooses Nicole’s husband, then at the least, the decision will be made in an effort to unite Wales and further the cause of peace! The same cannot be said of Stephen.”
“Or the marriage may give Connor’s choice of her husband ill-founded notions of greatness and cause more jealousy and strife than already exists. Has Connor a man in mind?”
Probably, though Connor hadn’t said who that might be.
“Not that he confided to me,” Rhodri admitted, wishing he knew so he could put Alberic’s concerns to rest.
All this talk of giving Nicole to another man, no matter who that man might be, soured Rhodri’s stomach. No matter how much it saddened and sickened him that she was but a pawn in political affairs, there was naught he could do to stop it. He would be forced to deal with his personal distaste for her arranged marriage when the time came.
For now, all he could do was convince Alberic not to take Nicole into his custody, and the best reason had naught to do with England or Wales, king or princes, war or peace.
“My lords, I realize neither of you approves of Connor’s scheme. I have my own reasons for not liking it, either. But we have come too far for Nicole to go back. The earl of Oxford will not allow her to return to Bledloe Abbey. Should she fall into his grasp, in the guise of protecting her, he will lock Nicole away at either Oxford or Headingham.”
Anticipating Alberic’s counterargument, Rhodri continued. “I grant you, the king might allow you to keep her in your custody. ’Tis known you are loyal to Stephen where other magnates are not, and Camelen is a well-fortified, ably garrisoned fortress. A safe place for Nicole to reside. But you cannot, in good conscience, ask that of her. ’Twould be the cruelest of tortures.”
The baron’s countenance turned stormy. “Torture? To be reunited with her sisters? To live among those who care for her? How so?”
Alberic couldn’t be that unfeeling or dull-witted! Or perhaps he didn’t realize how severely Nicole suffered.
Rhodri flung a hand in the direction of the stairway. “Did you not just send her away from you? To see you is to suffer. William batters at her defenses even now! How much stronger will his ranting be at the place of his burial? How long can Nicole hold out against him before he drives her to insanity and she picks up a dagger and aims it at your heart? Whether she aims true or no, she will hate herself for the rest of her days!”
His fervor overflowing on Nicole’s behalf, Rhodri’s fist hit the table. “You cannot do that to her, Alberic! By the saints, you cannot subject her to constant suffering and still profess to hold her in affection! I will not permit it!”
Rhodri knew he’d gone too far, his sensible argument had turned too passionate, his tongue had run on too long.
Alberic backed away, not in retreat, but in preparation for battle, with the assuredly single-minded goal of lopping off Rhodri’s head—until Darian clamped a staying hand on Alberic’s shoulder.
The mercenary asked, “Rhodri, when did Nicole tell you of her ability to hear spirits, of William in particular?”
Grateful for the man’s interference, still wary of Alberic’s next move, Rhodri answered, “She told me in Oxford. We damn near got caught because some spirit asked for Nicole’s aid and she gave it. When she explained why she had wasted so much of our time, she also told me about William, and how he’d goaded her into trying to kill Alberic. I did not realize until this morning how horrific her brother’s attacks on her could be.”
Darian nodded, as if satisfied on some point. He cupped a hand to the ear of a still-angry Alberic and whispered urgently, leaving Rhodri to wonder if he’d saved his skin or sounded his death knell by revealing what he knew of Nicole’s unusual abilities.
Alberic didn’t like what he was hearing, but slowly he relaxed. When Darian backed away, Rhodri began to believe he might live to see sunset.
“You are sure?” Alberic asked Darian.
Darian tossed his hands in the air, a gesture of exasperation. “Were I not, would I have said so?”
With an aggrieved sigh, Alberic crossed his arms. “Hellfire! Then I must allow Nicole to go to Wales. Gwendolyn and Emma will not be pleased, Darian. You will own up to your part in this.”
“I like it no better than you, but aye, Nicole must be allowed to go with Rhodri.”
What the devil had Darian said to convince Alberic? Stunned, thoroughly confused, Rhodri could only gape at the baron, who placed his palms on the table to push himself off the bench.
“There is a horse in the stable that we brought for Nicole’s use. Take it.” Alberic reached for a string around his neck and pulled a small leather pouch from under his tunic. The pouch landed on the table in front of Rhodri, the sound of jingling coins unmistakable. “Use it wisely.”
Alberic’s eyes narrowed, and he wagged a threatening forefinger. “Tell Connor that Nicole is not to marry without her free, wholehearted consent. If I find out—and I will find out—that she was denied approval, I will consider the deed an act of betrayal and invade Wales myself, with the sole purpose of cutting out Connor ap Maelgwn’s black heart!”
Then he stormed off, to inform the innkeeper that there would be pork on the nooning trenchers or he would tear the inn down with his own hands, no doubt.
Darian’s smile wasn’t comforting. “Time to play your harp, Rhodri, or Alberic’s foul mood will spoil our meal.”
“What the hell did you tell him?”
The disconcerting smile widened. “I feel that you and I are fated to meet again. If you have not guessed by then, ask me and I will tell you. For now, best you play and sweeten his mood lest Alberic changes his mind.”
Nicole woke to a light hand on her shoulder.
The bright face of a girl barely past childhood, and most likely the innkeeper’s daughter, peered down at her.
“Beg pardon, milady, but ’tis nearly time for nooning. The baron said I should come help you get ready.”
“My thanks,” Nicole said, still a bit sleepy but oddly clear minded.
She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, amazed she’d slept so long, so peacefully. Quieting William the second time today had been harder than the first, and she’d feared that as soon as she fell asleep he would wake her with his demands.
He hadn’t. Her defenses had held while she slept.
Suspicious of her success, she looked inward, at the barrier at which William should be pounding with both fists, making it hard for her to think. Not a sound could be heard, not a ripple of hatred felt.
How odd, and how very welcome!
Nicole didn’t understand why her brother had granted this unexpected reprieve, was just grateful. Not that she intended to lower her defenses to test their strength. No sense inviting William to rant at her, which he would surely do if given the opportunity.
On the other side of the room, the girl was pulling a brown woolen gown from out of a leather satchel that looked familiar.
“From where came this?”
“The baron, milady. He said the things in here are yours.”
Not hers. But then Nicole smiled, realizing the gown the girl held up was one of Gwendolyn’s, who must have sent it with Alberic. Delighted, Nicole rummaged through the satchel to find a heavy winter cloak, a fine-linen shift, a bar of lavender-scented soap, a handful of colorful ribbons, and a comb.
Thank heaven for thoughtful sisters!
And for a thoughtful brother-by-marriage who’d sent up the girl, along with a pitcher of warm water for the basin.
“Oh, the bard plays again,” the girl said, her delight clear in both voice and expression.
Indeed, from the taproom below came the dulcet strains of the harp, making Nicole smile, too.
“How long has Rhodri played?”
“Not long enough, to my mind. Father hopes the bard plays right on through supper. ’Twould be good for business!”
’Twould be good for her and Rhodri, too, if he could earn a bit of coin to make this journey easier.
Eager to hear what Alberic, Darian, and Rhodri had talked about while she’d enjoyed a refreshing sleep, Nicole stripped out of the highly soiled blue gown and shift to take advantage of Gwendolyn’s largesse. All through changing, washing, and braiding of hair, Nicole considered what options were open to her, if any.
Surely Alberic planned to take her back to Camelen. Then what? Would Alberic feel obligated to alert King Stephen to her whereabouts? Possibly. Hard to say where she might then be sent.
Another nunnery? The thought did not appeal. Worse, the king might demand she reside at his court. After the shunning and trials Emma had suffered while in the king’s custody, Nicole cringed at having to endure the same.
Or Stephen might allow her to remain at Camelen. While the prospect of going home and seeing her sisters appealed, William would surely cause her no end of grief about Alberic.
William was quiet now, but as soon as she went downstairs he would again sense Alberic’s nearness and surely begin another assault on her defenses. He’d broken through once today, and she was resolved not to allow him to do so again. For a day or so she could do battle and come away merely bruised. If she went home, she wasn’t sure she could survive constant attacks.
William had also ordered her to go home, and following her brother’s order couldn’t be wise. She’d inadvertently done so when she’d left the abbey but wouldn’t willingly follow another!
Nicole slipped on her boots. The innkeeper’s daughter opened the door. Music floated in uninhibited, forcing Nicole to admit to one of her foremost inducements for going on to Wales.
Rhodri. She wanted to stay with Rhodri ap Dafydd for as long as she could.
Their becoming lovers might be overly swaying her common sense, but sweet mercy, she simply didn’t want to give him up as yet. Even knowing the day would come that he would leave Glenvair to pursue his goal of becoming a pencerdd, or that she would someday be forced to marry for the sake of family or country, didn’t alter her feelings.
If she were to have him for only a short time, then she desperately wanted these next few days when they could be alone, free to be together whenever they wished.
She walked out the door to the rhythm of Rhodri’s song, the scent of lavender soap giving way to the mouth-watering aroma of roasted pork, fair pulling her quickly down the stairs.
Rhodri sat on a bench near the hearth, fingers plucking at the strings, his whole being centered in the music. He, too, had washed. Someone had given his tunic and breeches a hardy brushing, and no mud marred his boots.
His raven hair flowed down in waves to brush his wide shoulders, and she fought the urge to run her fingers through those now shiny locks. Perhaps tonight—but they might not be together tonight. Might not ever have another night of passion if Alberic insisted she go to Camelen with him.
Alberic and Darian sat a table, ale in their tankards, chunks of roasted pork and yellow cheese on their trenchers of brown bread, listening to Rhodri play. On the table sat a similar trencher, likely meant for her. She headed toward it, passing by the balding innkeeper, who smiled broadly, as well he should. Several patrons sat at tables or on benches placed along the walls, enjoying both victuals and music.
And still William remained silent, even when she sat on a bench across from Alberic, and the why of it was becoming bothersome. Had she, at long last, convinced him to move on? Oh, that would be a blessed day! But she doubted that day had come yet.
Then what was different? Had she somehow become stronger, or had William weakened?
Were William alive, she would blame his seemingly contented state on Rhodri. Certes, everyone else in the inn happily relished the harp’s music.
Sweet mercy, could music have a calming effect on spirits, too?
“Charming,” Alberic said, the compliment interrupting her ponderings on William’s strange behavior.
She slid onto the bench. “You have no notion how wonderful are clean garments and the use of a comb. Gwen’s doing?”
“Aye. Had I known you would not be coming to Camelen, I would have brought more. No matter. Rhodri now has enough coin to purchase whatever you may require.”
A piece of warm pork in her fingers, her hand stopped halfway to her mouth, almost afraid to believe what Alberic inferred.
“You allow me to go to Wales?”
“Is that not your wish?”
“Aye, but—”
“You will be leaving soon after you finish your meal. Is the pork to your taste?”
She plopped the chunk into her mouth and nearly sighed with delight. “The pork is lovely! I have craved it for days, ever since Rhodri tried to capture a pig for me.” The memory of that event, with no lasting harm done to Rhodri’s ankle, brought back her smile. “He missed but gave good effort. Did he tell you the tale?”
Alberic and Darian exchanged a look she didn’t understand.
Darian answered. “He did not, but he informed us of your wish for pork. He has taken good care of you thus far, and we are assured he will continue to do so, otherwise we would not let you go.”
Alberic pushed aside his empty trencher. “You will write to Gwendolyn as soon as you reach Glenvair. She and Emma will not be pleased that Darian and I return without you. A letter from you will go far to ease their concerns.”
An easy enough request to grant, all considered. “I will, but I do not understand how this came about. I was prepared to give argument.”
Alberic folded his arms on the table. “Make no mistake, I do not like this, but after talking to Rhodri, Darian and I agree that allowing you to continue on to Wales is the best course. Rhodri has much to explain to you, and I have his oath that he will, later. For now, ’tis best you eat and leave before William causes you pain again.”
There was her answer. Reminded of how much pain William caused her, Alberic had decided not to take her back to where her brother’s power over her would be strongest.
“Aubrey de Vere will not be pleased. Will he cause you trouble?”
“Should he try, I will simply remind him of his error in removing you from the abbey. Damn earl should have tended his own concerns, not meddled in others’.”
And now that the time for parting was near, why was she loath to leave her brothers-by-marriage behind? Damn. She wanted to go, but she didn’t. Oh, she was going to cry when they said fare-thee-wells, she just knew it. But for the course of a meal, she could enjoy their company.
“William is quiet for the nonce,” she said, which greatly pleased Alberic. “I do not understand why, but he is.”
“And you have a serene look about you that I have never had the privilege to observe. I am glad, little one, but let us not rely on your brother’s unaccountable courtesy. Eat.”
So she did. To the accompaniment of harp music, they again spoke of her sisters, of the children, of Camelen, carefully avoiding, she noticed, any mention of kings or princes, of the state of the war, or even her looming departure.
As if her final quaff of ale were a signal, Rhodri ended his song with a distinctive flourish and rose to join them at the table.
Kill him! Kill—
Angry that she’d allowed her guard to slip, Nicole swiftly shut out William’s ranting. Again he pounded at her defenses, demanding attention she refused to give him.
All three men noticed her struggle, thei
r concern apparent.
Rhodri placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Time to leave, Nicole.”
She placed a hand over his, not yet ready. “One more song, Rhodri, I pray you.”
“But William—”
“One more. Please.”
Rhodri sat next to her on the bench, and again music filled the air.
To her amazement, the assault on her defenses faded, leaving only blessed, magnificent silence. Dare she believe William vulnerable to the music? To just Rhodri’s harp, or to any music?
With joy, she realized she might be able to go home one day. Rhys, Camelen’s bard, would certainly play his harp whenever she wished, giving her relief from William’s ranting.
She felt almost vile about withholding the suspicion from Alberic, who felt terrible that William’s desire for revenge had kept Nicole from seeing Gwendolyn more often.
But she dare not say a word until she was sure of her conjecture. Surely, before they reached Glenvair, she and Rhodri would pass a graveyard and she could test the effects of a harp on spirit voices.
If his music calmed one spirit, it would surely calm others. Would it not?
Chapter Fifteen
Nicole sat near the evening fire, huddled in her sister’s hooded cloak, not in need of either for warmth, because fury boiled her blood.
At the moment, she didn’t care if Rhodri’s harp could soothe spirits, or that just hours ago she’d yearned to be alone with him tonight and for many nights to come. Alberic had told her that Rhodri had a tale to tell but hadn’t said the truth might hurt so much she might never speak to Rhodri—or Uncle Connor—ever again.
And how very foolish of her not to realize Connor’s true motive in offering refuge before now.
“So Connor’s offer of refuge was but a ruse,” she complained, still suffering the sting of the revelation and the upset over of her lack of foresight. “All along he planned to use me for his own purposes!”
Having retreated to the opposite side of the fire, Rhodri poked at the embers with a stick, unforgivably unapologetic. “You are a Pendragon princess, destined to marry a high-ranking Welsh noble. Is it not better the choice of your husband be made by someone who holds you in affection than a man who knows you not at all?”
