Castle of Dreams

by Speer, Flora

  “Isabel.” Guy’s voice was scornful. “Isabel thinks of nothing but herself.”

  He pulled her into his arms again. She tried to avoid the embrace, but he was stronger than she and she soon found herself pressed against his chest.

  “You shouldn’t be ashamed of your hair. You should be proud of it. It’s beautiful. Pay no attention to my sister-in-law.”

  “I can hardly ignore her. She is my mistress.” She raised her head to meet his eyes and he kissed her again with a flaring passion that made her blood pound and her head spin. He drew back suddenly.

  “This must stop,” he said. “I promised Rhys no one would harm you while you live at Afoncaer and I will not break my word.”

  “You have not hurt me,” she said.

  “But I would, very soon, if I continue to hold you this way.” Blue eyes looked deep into silver-grey ones for a long moment before he let her go.

  Stooping, she retrieved her linen kerchief from the floor and with shaking hands pulled it over her braids and tied it.

  “That only dims the fire a little.” When he smiled at her she knew the fire had been dimmed not at all. “You had better go, Meredith.”

  She ran all the way across the inner bailey to the women’s quarters.

  Chapter 21

  Walter fitz Alan and Brian of Collen were due to arrive at Afoncaer in mid-autumn, but with unusually bad weather delaying them, it was December before they actually came. Except for Lady Isabel, who seemed increasingly nervous and irritable, a growing excitement about the expected visitors was shared by nearly everyone at the castle. There was little enough entertainment once the harvest was over. The winter nights were long, cold, and dull. Any diversion was welcome, most especially one that would bring fresh faces to Afoncaer and also inspire extended feasting and drinking.

  “I care not if they are late,” Guy said after receiving the weary messenger Walter had sent ahead, “so long as they come safely. At least they will be in time for the Christmas feasting.”

  “I wish,” Lady Isabel said pointedly, “That they were coming directly from court so they could escort my new maid here. I grow tired of waiting for her, Guy.”

  “You have Meredith to attend you. Be patient,” Guy advised.

  “Meredith is not a well-trained maid, and she is entirely too proud and independent to make a good servant,” Isabel snapped crossly.

  Meredith felt her color rising. She was finding it increasingly difficult to keep her temper when Lady Isabel criticized her. She would have made a sharp response to her mistress’s remarks, but Guy was smiling at her as if to take the sting out of Isabel’s harsh words, and so Meredith kept still.

  When the day finally came, Meredith stood beside Isabel in the inner bailey, watching Guy’s friends being formally welcomed. It was cold, the mid-afternoon sun shining with little warmth, the wind whipping Meredith’s cloak around her body. She was tired and in a bad mood after being required to dress Isabel in three different outfits before one was at last found to be satisfactory. The women’s quarters were strewn with cast-off shifts, stockings, gowns, and shoes, all of which would have to be picked up and put away.

  “Leave this,” Joan had whispered as Isabel went out the door into the great hall. Joan took a pair of shoes out of Meredith’s hands and tossed them on the floor. “We’ll straighten this later. I want to see the guests arrive, and you do, too.”

  “Why is she so nervous?” Meredith asked.

  “You’ll see soon enough,” Joan promised, pushing Meredith before her through the door.

  And so, shivering and trying to catch the blowing edges of her cloak and hold the garment more snugly to her, Meredith watched the newly arrived guests.

  “My dear friend!” Walter fitz Alan, white teeth parted in a wide smile, leapt off his horse to embrace Guy. He pounded Guy enthusiastically on the back. “I never dreamed you had been exiled to such a place. What a wilderness! I thought we’d wander forever and die of the cold before we found you.”

  Meredith disliked Walter at once. She did not know why. She watched his face freeze for an instant as he turned from Guy and saw Isabel. At the same moment Meredith heard Isabel draw in her breath sharply. Then Walter’s smile deepened, and his voice rang out again.

  “By my faith, a rose, blooming in this desolate land. Lady Isabel, I dared not hope you were here.”

  Walter was holding Isabel’s hand, looking into her eyes. Meredith noticed how Isabel’s slender form leaned forward, toward the tall, dark man who was pressing his lips to her fingers.

  “Sir Walter. You look well.” Isabel’s voice quavered, and Meredith understood why her mistress had earlier been so distraught about her costume for that day.

  “Had you forgotten me after all these years?” Walter asked, still holding her hand.

  “No. Never.” Isabel’s cheeks were stained bright red. She snatched her hand away from Walter’s and looked around as though seeking some distraction. “Guy, I have not met your other friend.”

  “This is Brian,” Guy told Isabel. “We were Walter’s squires together and were knighted on the same day.”

  The greeting between Guy and this second man had been quieter than his meeting with Sir Waiter, but Meredith thought there was more real warmth between these two. Brian of Collen was short, dark, and wiry, with pale skin. He was a few years older than Guy, and his plain face bore several scars, evidence of a life spent in warfare.

  “I am happy to meet you at last, Lady Isabel. I was never so fortunate at court. A poor squire was far below your notice,” Brian said, carrying her hand to his lips. Unlike Walter, he let her hand go at once and turned his dark, liquid eyes on Meredith. “Lady,” he said, bowing, though he must have seen by her clothes that she was nothing of the sort.

  “This is a servant,” Isabel responded tartly.

  “A lovely one,” Brian told her.

  “Yes, indeed,” Walter agreed, his dark eyes on Meredith. “Wales has its delights, I see.”

  “Shall we go in?” Guy suggested. “The feast will be ready soon, and I’m sure you will want to bathe first. You must be weary of riding after so long a journey.”

  Meredith had been told she must assist the knightly guests with their baths, but now Lady Isabel suddenly changed her mind.

  “You will remain with me, Meredith. I will need help directing the serving of the feast. Joan will see to the men’s baths. Take Thomas with you, Joan.”

  It was with considerable relief that Meredith saw Joan march off to the wooden shed that served as a bathhouse. She had not relished the thought of helping two strangers with their baths, though she knew it was the custom. From her brief encounter with him, she rather liked Brian, but Walter fitz Alan filled her with a strange, cold dread. There was something about him, something in the way he looked at Lady Isabel, that frightened Meredith, and, she thought, frightened her mistress, too.

  A holiday had been proclaimed in honor of the guests, and everyone at Afoncaer had been invited to the welcoming feast. There was scarcely room to move in the great hall as Lord Guy’s men-at-arms, masons, carpenters, townspeople, the armed guards who had come with the guests to protect them on their way, and even, at the lower end of the hall, simple farmers and stableboys, all jostled each other. Trestle tables had been set up in a U-shape around the firepit. The lord of Afoncaer sat at the center of the head table, together with his sister-in-law and his two friends, now freshly bathed and wearing clean garments. As hostess and the only woman of rank, Isabel sat at Guy’s right hand, presiding over the feast. Walter sat on Isabel’s right hand, Brian on Guy’s left. The other diners were arranged on either side of them in descending order of importance.

  Thomas, as page, was required to help with the serving before he could eat, and Meredith, too, was pressed into service to help carry in platters of venison and game birds, fish freshly taken from the river, rabbit, and boiled pork. There were several fancy pastries, stuffed with chopped meats, leeks, and expensive spices Gu
y had brought back from the East. The carver, stationed before the head table, was kept busy slicing roast meats into neat pieces and arranging them on silver platters. Thomas solemnly carried the first platter to Guy and his special guests.

  A troupe of acrobats and minstrels had come with the guests, willing to venture into the wilderness of the Welsh border under the protection of Walter fitz Alan’s guards and hoping for largesse not only from their host but also from the other revelers who did not often enjoy such entertainment. The acrobats performed in the open space bordered by the tables, and then, when they had finished, one of the minstrels carried a low stool to the center of the room near the firepit, perched himself on it, and began to sing, accompanying himself on his lute.

  Meredith, her serving chores finished for the moment, stationed herself behind Lady Isabel’s carved chair in case her mistress should want something. It was a good position. When she tired of watching the jugglers and acrobats she could look at Guy without anyone being aware of her interest in him. He sat just on her left, talking and laughing with Brian. Meredith could not hear what he was saying, but it was pleasant just to watch him. He had discarded his tunic and hose in favor of the long, full robe usually worn indoors. Guy’s robe was of finely woven blue-green wool, embroidered in gold at sleeve and hem. A heavy gold chain hung on his chest, bearing the badge of the baron of Afoncaer. His golden hair gleamed in the light of dozens of torches and candles.

  If she put out her hand she could touch his smooth head and run her fingers along the edge of his jaw. She remembered his kisses, the feeling of his burning lips on hers, and the careful way he had avoided her ever since that night in the unfinished tower.

  She must not let herself think of such things. She made herself think of Lady Isabel instead. She picked up a pitcher and refilled Isabel’s wine cup and then Walter’s. She stood behind and between their chairs now, deliberately not looking at Guy. The minstrel was singing a low, mournful song, not entirely audible over the voices of the diners.

  Meredith could hear Isabel and Walter quite clearly. At first she paid no attention to their conversation, but the mention of Guy’s name caught her ear.

  “Guy is fortunate,” Walter was saying. “King Henry is fond of him, and Lionel died most conveniently. Would that the king could see fit to make me a baron and grant me such rich estates.” Walter gave an exaggerated sigh.

  “Guy earned the right to rule Afoncaer by his loyalty to Henry before ever he became king,” Isabel said.

  “Yes, I know the story, sweet lady. Guy is my friend, don’t forget. He was clever to absent himself from the scandal around Lionel and King William until Henry had succeeded his brother on the throne. There’s nothing like a voyage to the Holy Land to make a man appear spotless and free from sin. Guy is uncomfortably pure, don’t you think? He doesn’t even have any illegitimate children.” Walter grinned, apparently unaware of the deep flush that suddenly spread over Isabel’s face and throat. “No bastards that I know of, at any rate. Even in Byzantium, that city of unspeakably delicious vices, Guy lived a blameless life. Or if not, he was too discreet for me to find out what he was up to.”

  “He was on crusade. His thoughts were undoubtedly on heavenly concerns,” Isabel said, her dainty nose in the air.

  “So was I on crusade,” Walter said. “Guy went to earn a little credit with heaven for making the journey, while I – I went to try to forget your beautiful blue eyes. Unfortunately, even the pleasures of Byzantium did not help my quest. I never succeeded in forgetting you.”

  “You should not say such things to me,” Isabel protested.

  “Why not? You are no longer married. A lovely widow, freed of the burden of a loathsome husband, may hear compliments from any knight without fear. How fortunate for me that Guy brought you to Wales with him.”

  “I am an unwilling exile. I detest this place.”

  “I’m sure you have found some method of extracting gold from your brother-in-law so that you may continue your extravagant ways.”

  “I am not extravagant,” Isabel declared. “I am helping Guy. He needs someone of refined taste to see to the decoration and furnishing of his new home. He is a wealthy baron now, no longer merely a knight and a younger son. He should live in a manner befitting his new station.”

  “And you will help him to do that? And bankrupt him while you are at it, I’ll wager. Guy was always too generous and kind-hearted. Does he pay for your gowns, too?” Walter lightly touched Isabel’s silk sleeve.

  “I have no wish to look like a peasant,” Isabel said sharply. “I have nothing else to divert me in this miserable country.”

  “No? Poor Lady Isabel.” Walter gave her a sly smile and leaned closer. “Ah, my love, if only I were a wealthy baron like Guy, I would ask the king to give you to me for wife. I would give you all the gowns and jewels you wanted, and I’d keep you diverted, I promise you. Especially at night.”

  Isabel swallowed hard and did not answer.

  “Would you not like to be mistress of a castle such as Afoncaer, wife to a strong lord? Would that please you, Isabel?”

  “It would please anyone.” Isabel was blushing again. “I have little dowry, Walter. I know your situation as a younger son. You must marry an heiress.”

  “And love you only from afar, Isabel?”

  “It can’t be helped. Guy would never let me marry a poor man, even if I wanted to, which I don’t.”

  “Would you marry me if I were rich?”

  “You should not be discussing such matters with me. If you wish to ask for my hand, talk to Guy.”

  “In my present situation he would refuse me, and that would end our friendship. Then I would be forced to leave Afoncaer, and if that happened, I could no longer see you. But I ask you again, Isabel, if I had prospect of becoming a great lord, would you accept me then?”

  Isabel’s gaze locked on Walter’s, and his hand covered hers where it rested on the table. He bent toward her.

  “I would do anything for you,” Walter whispered hoarsely. “Anything.”

  The food had been cleared away, the trestle tables removed. Those guests who did not routinely sleep in the great hall had gone home. Meredith had helped Lady Isabel undress and had seen her into bed before going to the kitchen, which was set a little apart from the great hall, to help with the last of the cleaning-up.

  “There are more servants coming from Adderbury,” Joan told her as they washed wooden or silver platters and drinking cups. “They should be here soon, and then you and I won’t have to do this kind of work. We came here with a minimal household staff. There was no place to house extra servants, and soldiers were more important than kitchen wenches or laundresses. But now, thanks to Master Reynaud, there will be beds for all in another week or two.”

  “He’s an odd man, isn’t he, yet he seems quite pleasant.”

  “He reads books,” Joan said. “People who can read and write are different from the rest of us.”

  Meredith started to say that she, too, could read a little, but then she thought better of it. She liked Joan, who was the closest thing to a woman friend she had ever had, and she did not want to put a distance between them by revealing something about herself that Joan would not be able to understand. Meredith had so far succeeded in hiding her true origins, she and Guy having concocted a story that she was the daughter of a Saxon farmer fallen on hard times, and she did not want to reveal her connection to the strange people who lived in the forest.

  With the kitchen chores finished at last, Joan settled down by the fire to chat with her friend the cook, and Meredith, bidding them goodnight, started back to the women’s quarters. The cold December air was bracing after the heat of the kitchen and the midnight sky dazzled her with stars beyond counting. Living in the forest and enclosed by trees, she’d seldom enjoyed a wide view of the heavens.

  Meredith stopped, breathing deeply, sharp cleanness filling her lungs. All around her Afoncaer slumbered after the feasting. Only the footst
eps of the sentry posted at the gate broke the dark stillness. She moved to the open space at the center of the inner bailey and looked up at the stars, then flung out her arms as if to embrace the entire sparkling firmament, spinning around and around, and then around once more, nearly dizzy with joy in the beauty above her, twirling, twirling, until a dark-cloaked figure coming from the direction of the gate caught her by one hand, stopping her.

  She did not cry out. She saw starshine on pale hair, heard a voice she knew in her heart’s core.

  “Meredith? What are you doing out here alone past midnight?”

  “Looking at the stars. I thought everyone was asleep.”

  “Everyone is. Except the sentry. I was just making certain of that.” Guy’s face tilted upward, lit by a silvery shimmer. “The stars are beautiful, aren’t they? The Saracens have names for most of them.”

  “How can they? There are so many.”

  He still held her hand, his fingers woven between hers. She could feel the warmth of his body across the narrow darkness that separated them. Her heart began to pound with an exaltation compounded of his touch and the glorious, star-filled night.

  “There are more stars than you can imagine,” Guy said. “There are stars we cannot see here in Wales for they are hidden below the horizon. You must travel far to the south to see them.”

  “To the world’s end?”

  “To the world’s end and back again, for the Saracens say the world is round.”

  She heard his soft laugh and turned toward him. She could hardly see him. His face, bent down toward hers, was in shadow. She felt his arms go around her. His mouth was cool at first, like the chill, distant stars. But not for long. The December night blazed with beauty greater than that of the heavens. It was as though the very act of touching her unleashed something nearly uncontrollable in him. It had happened before, the other times he had kissed her.

  Meredith did not know what it was that happened to him, she could only sense it, but she knew her own response, the melting, rapturous sensations, the desire to move closer and closer, until she and Guy were one being, united for all time. She was dimly aware of her hands sliding beneath his cloak, along the soft indoor robe he still wore, feeling the strong, hard muscles of his back as she pressed him toward her, holding him tighter, tighter. His arms, like heavy, corded ropes, held her against his chest so she could not move, while his mouth forced hers open and his tongue plunged into her. She gave a strangled cry then accepted him, feeling the hot, velvety thrust, meeting it with her own gentler surge, needing to meet him, to follow his lead, to learn all she could of his desires. Her fingers clutched convulsively at the back of his robe, kneading the wool. They stood thigh to thigh and thundering heart against trembling bosom while he stirred her senses to a ravishing, feverish pitch, until she could no longer hold herself upright but leaned against him for support. When he let her go at last the stars swirled about the heavens over her head in wild, love-crazed patterns, unseen and unimagined since the beginning of time.