by Speer, Flora
Brian lifted her hand from the stone surface between them and brought it to his lips. He kissed her fingers slowly, one by one, lingering over each, while Branwen held her breath and felt her heart beat and beat and beat. He opened her hand and turned it over and pressed his mouth upon her palm. His tongue was hot and moist on palm and wrist, and then along her lower arm. Her sleeve fell back, and the inside of her elbow was his next target.
Branwen could not move. She sat immobilized while Brian’s hand slipped up her arm, under her loose sleeve to caress the bare shoulder beneath the wool. Her heart stopped when his lips touched her throat. She moaned as it began beating again, faster now, and harder. She found it difficult to breathe.
Confused by her own reaction, she tried to pull away from him, and found herself sliding slowly over the moss and down the side of the rock, until she lay in the soft grass and leaves at its base. Brian followed her. She, Branwen the strong, was suddenly too weak to rise or to push him away. She could only lie there, uttering soft little cries as he pulled the round neck of her grey robe down as far as it would go and kissed her throat, then her neck and her ears. She turned her face aside, but he found her lips at last.
He was not gentle, not half afraid of her as Alfric had been. Nor did he display the calculating, cautious passion Sir Edouard had once shown toward her. Brian claimed her mouth triumphantly, with a fierce possessiveness that told her he would not let her go until he had taken everything she had to give him.
She forgot Alfric. She forgot Sir Edouard. She was aware only of Brian and of her own cold heart, frozen for so many years, now slowly thawing under his passionate caresses, beneath the long, sure stroking of his hands on her limbs. He lifted her gown over her shoulders and away, and she lay naked on the grass while he removed his own garments. She saw his hard, battle-scarred body, and for the first time in her life felt true desire stir deep in her belly, an emotion untarnished by guilt or gratitude. She raised her arms over her head and stretched, shifting her body on the grass with voluptuous pleasure, awaiting him with an eagerness that astounded her.
She was an ice-locked river that had lain cold and lonely through a long, bitter winter, and Brian was the sun. She melted under his warmth as snow melts in spring. She was a river in full flood, boiling, seething, unable to stop the wild churning as he took her, and she smiled into his dark Welsh eyes and knew he was her destiny. They were together. That was all that mattered. They belonged to each other. They always would. They both knew it.
Afterward, they lay still naked, totally unashamed in each other’s sight, talking sweet nonsense and eating the berries she had gathered earlier until their mouths were red and he kissed the juice from her lips, and Branwen thought she had never in her life been so happy.
Branwen daily grew softer and gentler, often wearing a beautiful, secret smile. Meredith thought she looked years younger. She was pleased for her aunt, but Branwen’s obvious happiness only put a sharper edge on Meredith’s own loneliness. It was months since she had seen Guy. She heard from both Thomas and Brian how hard he worked, what long hours he spent in management of his estates, how he drove himself and Reynaud, the masons, the carpenters, and the other workmen, to finish the tower keep.
“He is determined it will be completed by the time this building season is finished,” Brian said. “It’s an impossible task. He’s like a man possessed.”
Meredith knew when Guy left Afoncaer at summer’s end to attend to business on his English lands and to make a personal report on the progress of Afoncaer to King Henry, and she knew when he returned in the spring, pleased to find the masons had begun the new season’s work in his absence. She heard tales of the marvelous furnishings arriving at Lady Isabel’s orders.
But she never saw Guy himself. He had not returned to the cave. She wondered if he had forgotten her. She probed cautiously, questioning both Brian and Thomas, trying to discover if there was any plan for Guy to marry. She was relieved, if guilty about her own prying questions, when Brian declared there was no hint of such a thing. Sometimes she feared she would never rest her eyes on Guy’s beloved face again. But fate, carelessly prodded by Lady Isabel, had other plans.
Chapter 24
Mid-June, 1105
The quarrel had gone on for nearly an hour. When Guy had stormed into the women’s quarters all of her servants, including Alice, who had finally arrived at Afoncaer to replace Meredith as personal maid, had fled the chamber, leaving Isabel to deal with him alone. She stood before him now, white-faced, her blue eyes snapping furiously, both at his accusations of ever-greater extravagance and at the way he brushed aside her explanations.
“I have warned you and warned you,” Guy raged. “You refuse to listen and have repeatedly disobeyed me in this matter. As of this day, you may send no letters or messengers out of Afoncaer. I have given orders to Reynaud, who will personally inspect the papers carried by any couriers who leave here.”
“Are you making me a prisoner?” Isabel spoke through tightly drawn, white lips.
“No, not a prisoner. But you will order no more luxuries, whether they be for yourself or for the castle. We do not require hundreds of wax candles and you do not need any more dresses.”
“I detest tallow dips. They are filthy and they reek of kitchen fat. Candles give much better light, I don’t care if they are expensive. Reynaud, of all people, with all his reading and writing at night, should have appreciated that and not told you. And as for myself, I need proper clothing. Would you have me look like a peasant?” Isabel challenged him, a dangerous glint in her eyes.
“You have a wardrobe that would suit an empress. Look at this.” Guy strode about the room, pulling gowns and cloaks and shoes out of overflowing chests. Isabel followed him, frantically trying to fold up and replace what he had tossed into disarray. “You don’t have space for all these gaudy trifles, Isabel. You even have extra clothes chests standing in the great hall, and still you order more and more.”
“Stop it! You’ve torn my best blue silk. Just look at this mess. Guy, I have tried and tried to do what you want. I stayed here last winter while you were away enjoying Christmas at court, and hardly complained at all. I have managed your household, and very well, too, and organized your feasts, and helped Reynaud and Captain John with the new buildings, but…”
“Helped?” Guy gave a sarcastic laugh. Isabel went on as though she had not heard it.
“Nothing I do pleases you. I will send another message, Guy. To the queen. She is still my friend. When she hears how cruelly you have treated me she will speak to the king and he will command you to allow me to return to court, which is where I truly belong. I will leave Afoncaer,” Isabel finished dramatically, “and I will never return.”
“Have you no wits at all? Don’t you understand, Isabel? I have not said it outright before this because I know how proud you were of that friendship and I had no wish to hurt you. It is the queen herself who wanted you removed from court. Your wild extravagances while you were in her service were so distressing to Queen Matilda that she begged the king to send you away. That is why King Henry put you into my charge and ordered me to bring you to Afoncaer, and it is why you were not allowed to go with me when I went to make my report to the king.”
“Not a word you say is true. The queen is my friend,” Isabel repeated, a note of childish despair creeping into her voice. “She is. She is.”
“She was your friend, until you forfeited that friendship by your own conduct. I have been far too lenient with you, but now my patience is at an end. I repeat, Isabel, you may send no letters, no messages of any kind, and your personal servants must remain at Afoncaer.” Guy saw Isabel’s stubborn chin lift, but she said nothing. She did not even cry. Guy, realizing that his sister-in-law’s humiliation was too deep for her to use even this favorite artifice, took pity on her and softened his voice. “It is nearly time for Vespers. Will you come with me, Isabel?” He held out his hand. She turned her back on him. “Whatever you may
think, I am concerned for your welfare. Can we not forget our differences and try, to be friends?”
“I cannot,” Isabel said. “You have taken away all my pleasures, you keep me in this desolate place against my will, and now you tell me the queen is no longer my friend. You have left me nothing at all, Guy. I will find a way to pay you back for the pain you have caused me. I will avenge this latest insult, and all the others, too.”
“There is nothing you can do,” he replied gently. “I am your guardian. You have no choice but to submit to my rule. Now, will you come to the chapel?”
“Not just yet. I need a few moments to compose myself. I’ll be there later.”
She was already remarkably calm for Isabel. He had expected tears, tantrums, perhaps a few thrown dishes. He shrugged off the uneasy feeling her sudden coolness generated in him. Women were unpredictable creatures, given to strange moods. Except one. Meredith had always been pleasant and sweet-tempered. He must not think of her. She had gone from Afoncaer and from his life.
He had found women for his entertainment while he was away from Afoncaer, but they had left him feeling empty and more lonely than ever. When King Henry had once again broached the subject of marriage, Guy brushed it aside, saying he had too much work to do in Wales. Henry called that a flimsy excuse, and Guy knew he was right, but he did not want a wife.
When Guy had left her, Isabel stalked back and forth across the crowded women’s quarters. She kicked aside a cushion that had fallen onto the floor, then stubbed her toe as she swung a foot at a chair.
“Curse him!” She stared at a pile of cups and trenchers on the table, longing to dump them all onto the floor with one grand sweep of her arm. That would make her feel better, especially if something broke. It would also bring servants running from the great hall asking questions. She did not want people around her, she needed to be alone, to think.
She had tried her best to make dreary Afoncaer into a pleasant place, but Guy did not appreciate her efforts. Not one word of thanks had she ever heard from him. And now this: restrictions, reproaches, insults.
“He’ll pay for this,” she muttered. “He can’t keep me a prisoner here like this. Not even a new gown for the next feast! I’ll get even with him, but how? How? There is no one to help me.”
She stopped pacing. Actually, there was someone. Walter fitz Alan was half mad with wanting her. She had given him no encouragement, fearing to damage her social position even further by an affair with a poverty-stricken knight, but he had never stopped flattering her and entreating her to take pity on him and love him.
It had been a relief to Isabel when he had gone to England with Guy, but he was back, as devoted as ever, and she had to admit she had missed him and the attentions he paid her. Walter had once said he would do anything for her. And he was ambitious. With Isabel and a title as joint prizes, what would he not do?
The plan came into her mind all at once, every detail clear. Walter would serve her well, but Thomas was the key. Guy loved the boy, as she had hoped he would, and he would give up everything he had rather than let harm come to Thomas. She would use all of them, and when she was done, Walter and Isabel would rule Afoncaer and Guy would be forced to take Thomas and leave his former castle. He would ride away and never dare come back because the king would blame him. Thomas would be unhurt, but she, Isabel, would be rid of that evidence of her weakness and shame, and never have to see her son again. And then, with wealth and a title and a husband who would do whatever she wanted, she could leave Wales and return to court where she belonged. She would be the Lady of Afoncaer, but she need never return to the place again.
She felt certain she could depend upon Father Herbert’s support, too. The priest heartily disapproved of what he called Guy’s “lax attitudes” toward the Welsh and the strange people who lived in the forest, and he had made no secret of his dislike of Reynaud, who had opposed him on several occasions when he had tried to discipline the Welsh workers at the castle. Father Herbert, like Isabel, would be glad to leave Afoncaer in triumph.
What she needed to do now was get Walter alone just long enough to let him sample, but not consume, the delights she would promise him in full once they were married, and then make him swear to follow her plan. To her surprise, she felt a flicker of excitement at the thought of teasing Walter into a state where he would be pliable enough to agree to anything in order to make love to her. She had never held power over a man. It should be an interesting experience. It was with some difficulty that she composed herself enough to go to Vespers with a calm face.
Isabel finally decided how to speak with Walter in privacy, but she had to wait for two impatient, irritating days while it rained. On the third morning the mists parted at last, and a benign June sun broke through the clouds, warming the damp Welsh air and turning wet trees and grasses into a glittery diamond and emerald landscape. As usual, Walter walked close to her when they left the chapel after Mass and headed toward the great hall and their morning bread and ale.
“How I would like to ride on such a day,” she said to him, being careful that no one else heard her. They had to go alone. With Guy’s trusted friend Walter in attendance, she would have no difficulty passing the guards at Afoncaer’s gates, and no one would think it odd if they took no servants along.
“I would be happy to accompany you, my lady,” Walter offered, as she had known he would.
“Surely you have duties,” she protested, giving him one of her sweetest smiles.
“Nothing that could not easily be put aside if I may serve you,” he replied, arching one brow to let her know he understood this was just a game and that she was only toying with him as she always did.
“Is that so?” Isabel stopped walking. “Would you ride with me? Ah, Walter, I feel like a prisoner here. There are always walls around me, shutting me in. And restrictions. How lovely to be free of all rules for just a while. Today I would like to mount my steed and ride and ride until I need ride no more.”
“My lady.” The surprise on Walter’s face was quickly masked; the tremor in his voice was not so easily suppressed. “I do not know what you plan, but whatever it is, I will willingly go with you, to the end of the earth if need be. When shall we leave?”
“As soon as we have eaten,” Isabel said, delighted that her plan was working so easily. When Alice and Joan both protested that she should not go out without another woman along, she spoke to them sharply and gave them extra chores to do before she returned, chores that would, she knew, keep them too busy to carry the news of her ride to Guy, who would most likely spend the morning at the tower with Reynaud. Exactly one hour after her first words to Walter they were galloping wildly down the castle road. Isabel wanted to put as much distance as she could between herself and Guy before she began to work her scheme on Walter.
They drew up at last and walked their horses along the road, letting them cool down.
“Do you feel better now?” Walter asked, laughing at her.
“A little, but I’m thirsty. Help me down, Walter. I know there must be a stream among those trees. Let’s find it.”
She could tell by his expression that he thought she was behaving very strangely, but he did as she asked. Once she was on the ground he took both their horses’ reins and led them through the trees, following her.
She had to search a while before she found a suitable place, an inviting moss-covered bank, well hidden from the road, as private as any lord’s sleeping chamber. Isabel knelt on the moss and cupped her hands in the water, drinking as gracefully as she did everything else. Walter put his face in the stream and drank as though he had just crossed a desert.
“What a pretty place this is,” she said, standing and shaking out her blue wool skirts.
Walter wiped the water from his face with one sleeve and looked at her.
“Why are we here?” he asked.
“I was thirsty. Weren’t you?”
“Thirsty? Parched. For you.” He reached for her, but she
evaded his arms, moving to lean against a tree. She lifted her face to the sunlight that filtered through the leaves and filled the glade with soft green light. “Isabel, why do you play with me so heartlessly when you know how much I long for you?”
“Am I heartless? Perhaps I have been.” She looked at him with wide, innocent eyes. “Guy is so strict with me.”
“Guy.” He made a motion with one hand, dismissing his friend.
“I am so lonely, Walter.” She looked into dark eyes unfocused with his desire. He came nearer and this time she did not slip out of his grasp. His arms went around her. His mouth came down on hers.
It was shattering. Isabel had never before been kissed passionately by a man who knew exactly what he was doing. She had planned the appearance of eager response, certain she would feel nothing. She had guarded her emotions so carefully for so many years, surely nothing would happen when Walter kissed her.
There was nothing feigned about her response. Her arms were around his neck, her fingers stroking through his thick black hair, he was forcing her mouth open, his hands were on her breasts. What in heaven’s name was he doing to her? She pushed against his shoulders, forcing him to let her go.
“No,” she gasped. “Please, Walter, let me think.”
“You thought before you led me here,” he said. He unfastened his cloak and spread it on the ground with a swirling flourish, then knelt and lifted one hand. “Will you sit, my lady?”
“I don’t think I should.” What if he kissed her like that again? How would she remember what she meant to say to him, how convince him to go along with her scheme? By letting him kiss her, of course, while feeling nothing herself. That, after all, was what she had planned to do. She would make herself feel nothing.
“Isabel,” Walter said, “sit down.”
