Castle of Dreams

by Speer, Flora

  She could not speak. She leaned against him weakly, her head snuggled into the warm curve between his chin and shoulder, his arms holding her more gently now. His breath came hard, and his heart still pounded. She could feel it against her own and knew the same storm raged in his blood, too, knew he felt the same demanding urge to blend his body with hers. He let her go after a while, setting her away from him and holding her by the shoulders until she found her own balance.

  “No,” she protested softly, reaching out her arms toward him to draw him close once more. She felt the caress of his large, square hand along her cheek.

  “I have promised Rhys no harm will come to you while you are at Afoncaer,” Guy said. “At this moment I deeply regret that promise, but by my honor, I will not break it.”

  “How can there be harm?” She stopped. She wanted to say, how can there be harm in loving you? But she knew without asking and without being told. He was a noble and she a fatherless girl, a servant, nothing. There would be no harm to him in it, but great harm to her. He was protecting her. He cared enough for her, and for his promise to Rhys, to restrain himself. Branwen had always said Norman barons did whatever they wanted. Here was one who did not, and his self-control made her love and want him all the more. She put out one hand, and he took it and kissed it tenderly.

  “Leave me,” he said, his voice tight. “Please, Meredith. I beg you. Go.”

  She pressed hot, feverish lips on the hand still holding hers, then tore herself away. It was like tearing herself in two.

  She lay on the straw pallet in the women’s quarters, burning with need of him. She could still feel his body pressed to hers, feel his arms around her. His lips – ah, his lips. She stifled a moan. On the floor beside her, Edith, the kitchen wench, stirred at the sound, and in the big wooden bed, Lady Isabel turned over restlessly. Meredith lay stiff and quiet, not wanting to waken anyone.

  She loved him. She had loved him with all her heart and soul since the first moment she had seen him, and it was hopeless, hopeless, hopeless. She wept hot, bitter tears, not even daring to sniffle, lest someone waken and question her. Then she would have to speak and they would know she was crying. She lay awake until the first faint grey light of dawn crept around the edges of the door to the bailey.

  Chapter 22

  In a burst of generosity, Lady Isabel sorted through her wardrobe, choosing garments she no longer wanted and giving them to her servants.

  “Wear this for the Christmas feast,” she said, handing Meredith a short dress of deepest blue-green silk, with a long undergown of lighter green wool for warmth. Isabel piled more garments into Meredith’s arms. “Give these others to Edith and Margaret. Joan, nothing of mine will fit you, but you may have this shawl, and I did give you that piece of good russet wool last summer.”

  “You did, my lady, and I have made it into just the kind of dress I have always wanted,” Joan said. “Here, Meredith, let me see that. Yes, look here, it can easily be let out. When we have finished altering this, no one will ever know it wasn’t made for you.”

  Joan was as good as her promise. The remade dress fit Meredith perfectly. The deep, glowing color was extremely becoming, the paler green underdress a lovely accent where it showed at the curved neckline and at the wrists, where the tight sleeves extended below the wider, shorter sleeves of the silk overdress. Meredith took a quick look at herself in Lady Isabel’s hand mirror, glad her mistress had finished her own toilet and gone into the great hall to supervise the laying of silver cups and plates on the high table for the Christmas feast that would begin immediately after Holy Mass. Meredith was afraid Isabel would regret her gift if her servant made too rich an appearance, and she did not want to be told to remove the gown. She liked it, and liked the way wearing it made her feel.

  There was a hairnet, too. It was not gold mesh – Isabel would never have cast off anything so valuable – but rather a netting of yellow silk thread that looked almost like the rich metal. It had been torn, but Joan had kindly mended it, and now she insisted Meredith wear it.

  “No, I have to keep my hair covered,” Meredith protested, picking up the piece of coarse linen she always used. Joan snatched it out of her hand.

  “That everyday linen does not suit a silk dress,” Joan said sternly. “Everyone in Afoncaer is dressed in his or her best for this day’s feast. So should you be.” She swished the woolen skirts of her own new russet brown gown and touched the fine linen of her headdress.

  “But Lady Isabel will complain about my hair.”

  “If she says anything about your appearance, just bow and meekly thank her for her great generosity in giving you these lovely garments.” Joan had a twinkle in her warm brown eyes. “You are too straightforward, Meredith. You must learn to be a little more devious. Come on, now, let me help you, or we’ll be late for Mass, and then we’ll both be in trouble.” She began to bundle Meredith’s hair into the net.

  It did look pretty. Another glance into Isabel’s mirror showed that. The net held her hair up at the sides and back of her head in a softer style than her usual tight braids. The mesh let the rich, dark red color show. Except for a few stray curls, the back of her neck was now bare above the wide shallow neckline of her gown. Meredith had never in her life felt so elegant, or so exposed.

  She wore her grey wool cloak to that morning’s mass, the hood demurely pulled over her head, so it was not until she returned to the women’s quarters to discard the outer garment and then went into the great hall to attend Isabel that anyone noticed her new costume. Geoffrey saw her first and complimented her in the warmest, friendliest way. Then Thomas appeared to tell her she looked beautiful, followed by a young guardsman who was a close friend of Geoffrey’s and who had regarded her with awe ever since she successfully set Geoffrey’s broken leg. By the time Meredith got to the firepit and Lady Isabel, her initial nervousness had almost completely vanished.

  Isabel had her back to Meredith while she gave last minute serving instructions to Joan. Guy, Walter, and Brian stood talking nearby, Reynaud hovering in the background. Brian saw Meredith and gave her a big grin in clear appreciation of her appearance. Walter turned to see what Brian was looking at, and his eyebrows went up. Reynaud looked his approval, too. Then Guy saw her, and at the expression on his face Meredith forgot everything and everyone else. She did not hear Isabel’s sharp exclamation or see Joan’s nod of satisfaction. For Meredith, there was only Guy. He held both her hands in his and lifted them, one after the other, to his lips.

  “How lovely you are,” he breathed, so softly only she could hear him. She thought she ought to curtsey to him, but instead she stood there looking at him, glorying in the open admiration on his dear face. This much at least she could have.

  “What’s this?” That was Isabel, startled but not yet jealous that someone else was getting the attention owed to herself. Out of the corner of her eye, Meredith saw Joan nod at her from behind Isabel’s back and remembered the advice Joan had given her earlier. Deciding to follow that advice, Meredith took her hands out of Guy’s and made her curtsey, not to him, but to Isabel.

  “My lady,” she said sweetly, “This is the gown and headdress you so kindly gave me to wear for Christmas. I have never before had anything so beautiful. I do thank you again for it.”

  “Isabel.” Guy stood so close to Meredith that they were almost touching. She thought she detected muted laughter in his voice. “You did this for Meredith? How generous of you.”

  “She did more, my lord,” Meredith said. “She gave all of the women servants clothing.”

  “The Lady Isabel is always most generous,” Father Herbert intoned, appearing out of the shadows to take his place by his lady’s side. “A sweet lady this, kind in all her ways.”

  “Who will now replace everything she gave away with even richer clothes at my expense,” Guy murmured. Fortunately, Isabel did not hear his cynical comment, or Reynaud’s appreciative chuckle. She was listening to Walter’s extravagant compliment
s and seemed to have forgotten Meredith.

  Since more servants had arrived from Guy’s English estates, Meredith no longer had to carry platters of food to the diners but could sit at table and be served. She was well down the board, between Geoffrey and Thomas, when he was finally able to sit and eat, but she could see Guy at the head table and she enjoyed Geoffrey’s earnest conversation. It was a pleasant afternoon, until, as the day wore on into evening, Isabel signaled to her and then asked her to get a shawl from the women’s quarters.

  The eating was done and people were moving about the hall, some going outside to relieve themselves, others simply trying to get a better view of the tumblers who had devised new feats of agility to celebrate the holy day. Meredith knew Walter was just behind her, but she thought nothing of it until he followed her through the door into the women’s quarters.

  “You should not be here, Sir Walter,” she said, trying to sound like Joan at her sternest. She picked up Isabel’s shawl from the bed and made for the door. “This chamber is for women only.”

  “It seems to be the only place I can find you alone.” Walter blocked her passage. “You are beautiful, Meredith.”

  “I must take this to Lady Isabel.” Meredith held the shawl up before her as if it would protect her from what she feared was coming.

  “I never realized how beautiful until this evening.” Walter spoke as if he had not heard her. He raised one hand to caress her throat. Meredith flinched. “What, will you not grant me at least a part of those favors you bestow so willingly on Guy?”

  “I thought,” Meredith said, shocked and beginning to be a little frightened, “That your favors were for Lady Isabel. If you truly care for her, how can you look at another woman?”

  “Because I am a man. That is all a game, the compliments and public devotion. It is fashionable for a lady to have a devoted knight. Everyone knows it means nothing.”

  “I think you are lying, Sir Walter. I have seen you look at Lady Isabel. It’s more than a game to you. You are very serious.”

  “You are remarkably observant, Meredith. Perhaps you are right, but while I wait for Isabel to come to her senses and accept me, I want someone to relieve my needs. You are most desirable. I think you will do nicely.” Walter looked as though he expected some delighted answer to this blunt statement.

  “Let me pass. Lady Isabel is waiting for me.”

  “I would be grateful, Meredith. I would reward you.” He caught her wrist, twisting her arm behind her as he drew her to him, “Oh, how I need a woman. Here, on the bed.”

  “That is Lady Isabel’s bed. How can you think of such a thing?” She saw his dark face close up, and his mouth. She did not want his lips to touch hers. Only Guy should kiss her. Only Guy. “Shame on you, Sir Walter. For shame.”

  “I need you.” Walter thrust himself at her. She felt his male hardness and thought she would be sick with revulsion.

  “You disgust me.” She got her wrist free while his hand groped for her buttocks, and then she gave him a shove to get him away from her. She made for the door, fleeing to the light and safety of the great hall. She ran right into Reynaud. He caught her by the shoulders and set her gently aside. Then he faced Walter.

  “What are you doing in here, Sir Walter? You know men are forbidden in the women’s quarters unless they have Lady Isabel’s express permission.”

  The dark man grinned and shrugged, his glance moving from Reynaud to Meredith and back again.

  “Do you want her, too?” Walter asked. “I’ve noticed your interest in her, Reynaud.”

  “I have taken a vow of chastity and I keep it,” Reynaud said in a tone that allowed no doubt of his sincerity. “Meredith is under Sir Guy’s protection. He has promised her guardian that she will come to no harm while she is at Afoncaer. As you are his friend and his guest, do not cause the breaking of that promise. Never touch Meredith again.”

  “You, a mere cleric, dare to speak to me in such a voice?” Sir Walter’s knightly pride and his wrath showed in his narrowed eyes and in the menacing step he took toward Reynaud. Meredith was glad he was not wearing a sword, else she would have feared for Reynaud’s life at that moment.

  “Do you really want to quarrel with Sir Guy?” Reynaud asked softly. “I think you do not want him to know you laid hands on Meredith, and I think there is another person in Afoncaer whom you do not want to know of this incident.”

  “I have no desire to offend my host.” Walter backed down as gracefully as he could. He gave Meredith a quick little bow. “I did not realize you were under Guy’s special protection. It won’t happen again. There are enough other women here to entertain me.”

  “See that the woman you choose is unattached and willing,” Reynaud said. Walter left the room without another glance at Meredith. She sagged with relief when he was gone.

  “Reynaud, I’m so glad you came when you did. I was afraid if I cried out, and Sir Guy came in, there would be a sword fight. Normans always…” She stopped, embarrassed.

  “Always fight, on any provocation? How many fights have you seen at Afoncaer since you’ve been here?” Reynaud laughed. “Sir Guy is wiser than that, though I must admit, I could have killed Sir Walter myself when I saw what he was doing. But we should remember that he has been drinking heavily. This is a holy day, a time of peace. I am glad we have not had to desecrate it with swordplay, so long as you are unharmed.”

  “Only a little frightened,” she assured him, putting one hand on his black woolen sleeve. “Thank you, Reynaud.”

  There followed an oddly tense moment of silence before Reynaud cleared his throat. “Let us say nothing about this to anyone,” he advised. “There’s no need to cause trouble unnecessarily. I am sure Sir Walter won’t bother you again.”

  “I agree with you.” Impulsively, she added, “I didn’t like him even before this. There is something about him, I can’t say what it is, but I feel it. It’s as though he is biding his time, waiting for something.”

  “The man is untrustworthy by nature,” Reynaud said. “It’s his falseness you recognize. That, and the lustful passion he can barely keep under control.”

  Meredith’s gaze flew to his. Even in the dim light she could see the look in his eyes and knew he had read her thoughts. Words trembled on her lips, but she did not say them.

  “Let us not speak her name,” Reynaud said, and Meredith sighed, feeling relieved of responsibility. At least someone else beside herself and Joan, someone with authority, had noticed Walter’s obsession with Lady Isabel, an obsession that went beyond chivalrous gallantries. All her senses told her that, unlike Walter, Reynaud could be trusted.

  “We should return to the hall,” he said, “before we are both missed.”

  She went ahead of him into the crowded room. Walter was seated next to Isabel, one hand on the arm of her chair, talking and laughing. He did not even glance up at Meredith when she handed the shawl to Isabel, and Isabel, engrossed by his clever conversation, did not bother to acknowledge Meredith’s presence.

  Ten days after Twelfth Night ended the Christmas feasting, Branwen came to the castle. She looked thin and drawn, her dark eyes wide and circled in her pale face. She wore a heavy woolen shawl wrapped about her head and shoulders. A few wisps of curly black hair had been torn loose by the wind and whipped around her face, adding to her wild appearance.

  “You must be cold after walking all this way in the snow,” Meredith said. “Come inside the kitchen by the fire. Cook won’t mind.”

  “No.” Branwen drew Meredith away from the great hall and into the center of the bailey so they could speak without being overheard.

  “Rhys is ill,” Branwen said, “and we have little food.”

  “But you were always given food by the folk you tended,” Meredith exclaimed. “We have never wanted for anything since we came to Wales.”

  “It’s not the same any more,” Branwen said bitterly. “More and more people are putting themselves under Lord Guy’s protection and ar
e leaving their old homes to settle near the castle or in the town itself, to work on the castle or tend the fields here, and they all listen to Father Herbert preach and take his words to heart. They are forgetting the old ways too quickly. Fewer people come to the cave these days.”

  “I’m sorry,” Meredith said. “I didn’t know.”

  “Rhys was right to send you here. At least you will eat. Meredith, could you give me a little bread? I can eat what I gather in the forest. Even now there is a little cress beginning to grow in the stream, and there are always the roots, but Rhys needs something more substantial, and all our cheese is eaten.” Branwen looked as though she might cry. Meredith knew that for a woman as proud as her aunt, begging was the ultimate humiliation. Branwen would never have done it for herself. Only for Rhys would she have humbled herself to ask for food.

  “I’ll talk to the cook. Wait here.” Meredith returned a short time later with a heavily laden basket slung over one arm. It contained a portion of the food always kept for beggars who came to the castle gates.