Castle of Dreams

by Speer, Flora

  Branwen glanced around the hall before replying, to assure herself that her words would not be overheard. All of the men had gone back to their various chores and duties after the midday meal, and Joan had shooed the female servants into the kitchen or the women’s quarters, then had disappeared herself. Reynaud, Brian, Branwen, and Meredith were the only ones remaining in the great hall. Branwen sat on a bench facing Reynaud and pulled Meredith down beside her.

  “I have not so much an idea as information,” she said. “I will tell you a story, on condition that you do not repeat my tale to anyone. I know I can trust Meredith and Brian to keep silence. Have I your promise, Reynaud?”

  “You have,” he said without hesitation. “Tell me your story.”

  “My grandfather ruled the old Welsh fortress that stood on this spot before the first Normans came. I have always hated the Normans,” Branwen said. “They killed my family, and because of them I had to flee Afoncaer and hide in England, living like a villein, in fear of my life.

  “Meredith is the child of a Norman baron’s lust, more reason for me to despise such people. Her father cared nothing for her or he would not have left her unacknowledged, to be raised for twelve years by villeins. But lately I have learned not all Normans are murderers or rapists. Thomas was the first. He was kind-hearted and he loved Rhys and treated Meredith and me with respect. Lord Guy deals fairly with the people he rules. I have heard kind words spoken of you, Master Reynaud, that you have tried to learn of our old ways without judging us, and have even learned to speak a few words of Welsh. And there is Brian – Sir Brian, I mean.” Branwen stopped, blushing.

  “And what,” asked Reynaud softly, “has all of this to do with saving Thomas?”

  “Walter fitz Alan,” Branwen nearly spat out the name, “That same Walter who is responsible for the death of my friend and cousin Rhys ap Daffydd, holds Thomas in his manor house at Tynant, a half-day’s journey from here.”

  “And?” Reynaud waited patiently to hear what Branwen would say next.

  “I know that place well. When I was a child, before the Normans came to Afoncaer, Tynant belonged to my father’s younger sister. I lived there for more than a year and with my cousins played there and ran wild through the hills and forests surrounding it.”

  “It must be much changed now, from the house you knew,” Reynaud said. “There is a Norman structure recently added to the old dwelling. Being a builder myself, I noticed how secure and easily defended the entire manor is, and how well manned. Sir Walter will take no chances with his hostage. If you are thinking of entering in some disguise to find Thomas, I am certain it would be impossible. The gates are too well guarded.”

  “There is a secret entrance into the storage cellar,” Branwen said.

  “What?” Reynaud sat forward on the bench, staring at her.

  “Is this true?” Brian exclaimed. “Branwen, why haven’t you said anything before this?”

  “Because I hoped Reynaud would convince Sir Walter to let Thomas go,” Branwen said. “But after what Reynaud has told us today, I believe Sir Walter will never free Thomas. I will do anything I can to help rescue that boy and bring Sir Walter to justice.”

  “This is wonderful.” Brian stood up, striding about the hall in barely contained excitement. “We can lead a group of armed men through this secret entrance into the manor house, overpower the guards, and bring Thomas out of there. And we will also bring Walter and his bitch of a wife back to Afoncaer in chains. I’ll go to the chapel and tell Guy right now.” He started for the door.

  “No, wait a bit, Brian,” Reynaud cautioned. “You are too much the soldier. If you and your men were discovered in his house, the first thing Walter would do would be kill Thomas. We must think of a more subtle way.”

  Brian, his hand already on the door handle, stopped, thinking.

  “You are right,” he said, coming back to the fire. “I am not a man of great wits, Reynaud, but you are. How could we best use this information of Branwen’s?”

  Meredith had sat silently while her aunt spoke, holding Branwen’s hand tightly and doubting not one word. Everything Branwen said fit with the little Meredith already knew of her aunt’s history. Now an idea was forming in her mind. She and Branwen had always worked well together. She knew Branwen would agree. All she had to do was convince Brian and Reynaud and Guy, when he heard of it.

  “Men-at-arms may be suspect,” Meredith said, “but serving women are not, not even in a storage cellar. The Lady Isabel has surely added many new servants to that household since her marriage. Two more will not cause suspicion.”

  Branwen squeezed her hand more tightly than before, and Meredith knew her aunt had understood her intent.

  “Yes,” Branwen said. “I will go with you gladly.”

  “Oh, no,” Brian’s wits were sharper than he believed, for he had understood, too. “It’s much too dangerous for a woman. I won’t allow either of you to risk your lives, and neither will Guy.”

  “We won’t tell Sir Guy,” Reynaud said. “In fact, it is essential that he not know. Only the four of us will know what is really happening. If I perceive your plan correctly, Meredith, you and your aunt will enter Walter’s manor house by the secret way. Posing as servants, you will find Thomas and release him. Then the three of you will leave the way you came.”

  “And Walter will discover them and kill all three,” Brian exclaimed.

  “Not if you are distracting him, Sir Brian.” Reynaud smiled, apparently enjoying the devising of this plot. “I have failed at negotiations with Sir Walter, but you are an old friend to both him and our own baron. What more natural than that Sir Guy should send you to Walter to make one more attempt to convince him to release Thomas?”

  “So I, and the men I take with me, will be inside the manor house when the rescue attempt is made?” Brian nodded, more enthusiastic now. “That is a good idea, Reynaud. That way we could help Branwen and Meredith if they should be recognized. You are a clever man, Master Fox.”

  “You will be disarmed before you are admitted to the house. My men were,” Reynaud warned.

  “That won’t stop me from picking up and using another man’s sword if necessary.” Brian grinned in anticipation. “I’d like to meet Walter with a sword in my hand.”

  Meredith felt Branwen shudder beside her.

  “Brian, you could be killed,” Branwen said.

  “So could you, my love. Will that stop you from trying to help Thomas?”

  “No.”

  “Nor me. And after Thomas is free and Walter is punished as he deserves,” Brian grinned again, “I can ask Guy for a reward of land. Then I shall have to find your nearest male kin, my brave lady, and ask him an important question.”

  “I have no kin left, Brian. Rhys was the last of my family, save Meredith.”

  “Then I’ll ask you directly, and pray you say yes. But first we’ll carry out our little plan.”

  “Your chief problem,” Reynaud said to Branwen, “will be to find Thomas. I was permitted to see him only once while I was at Tÿnant. It was in the great hall and we did not have time to exchange more than a word or two. I could not discover where he is being kept. All the servants are afraid of Sir Walter and would not talk to me.”

  “I think the biggest problem will be explaining our absence to Lord Guy,” Meredith said, uneasy at deceiving her love. “I really think he should know about this.”

  “If he knew, he’d forbid you both to go,” Brian said. He’d had time to think a little, and could see what Reynaud had been getting at. “Guy is so consumed with guilt for letting Thomas go with Isabel he’d refuse to have you two women on his conscience, too. If we tell him about the secret entrance he’ll use it to try to rescue the lad himself, and should Walter capture Guy – well, I leave what will happen then to your imagination.”

  “Exactly,” Reynaud agreed. “For his own safety we cannot tell Sir Guy what we are doing. You understand, Meredith, that he is being forced to make an imp
ossible choice – -betray his king’s trust or allow his nephew to die. He can’t bear to do either, and so he delays. He will welcome Brian’s request to talk to Sir Walter because it will take time, and during that time, we, unknown to him, will relieve Sir Guy of his intolerable dilemma by rescuing Thomas. Then Sir Guy can attack Sir Walter with a free mind.

  “Now, here are my instructions. Branwen and Meredith, you will return to your home in the forest tomorrow afternoon before dark. I am at Afoncaer once more, so you are no longer needed here to read any letters that may come from Sir Walter. That is what we will tell Sir Guy. He is totally preoccupied by the problem of Thomas. He’s not likely to leave the castle long enough to visit you, so he will not notice your absence from your home. Brian, can you arrange horses for these ladies?”

  “Not without raising questions with Guy. Preoccupied or not, he’s well aware of what is going on at Afoncaer.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Branwen said. “If we walk to Tÿnant, we can more easily arrive unseen. I know the way through the forest. We can leave at dawn the day after tomorrow and be there shortly after noon.”

  “Good,” Brian said. “I, too, will leave here the day after tomorrow, and plan to arrive at Tÿnant about mid-afternoon. That same night, while I and my men are there, you will enter the manor house, find Thomas, and spirit him away. I can tell Guy we will need spare horses in case we need to send him messengers, and I’ll leave three of them for you at a prearranged place, so you can get away from Tynant as quickly as possible and bring Thomas here to safety. You had better tell me how to get into this secret entrance, in case of emergency.”

  They talked on, making their plans rapidly, until first Joan and then Guy came back into the hall. Meredith thought Joan might have overheard them, but when questioned, she only shook her head.

  “Meredith, I have heard a lot of secrets in my day,” Joan said, “especially when I was maid to Lady Isabel. I have learned to hold my tongue. It is safer for me if I don’t speak of what I hear.”

  Reynaud was talking to Branwen again, explaining about the history he was writing.

  ‘‘Will you tell me,” Reynaud asked, “more about the things that happened at Afoncaer when you were young?”

  “I would rather forget.” Branwen’s eyes were dark pools in her pale face. Then she nodded agreement. “When I am gone, no one else will remember. I will tell you about Rhys, too, and about Meredith’s childhood. They are also part of Afoncaer’s history. I will tell you about my brother Griffin.” Branwen’s mouth twisted as she spoke the last sentence, making her look as though she had just bitten into an unripe and very sour fruit.

  “Come with me.” Reynaud led her away to his room in the tower, where they spent the rest of the day talking.

  That evening Brian approached Guy.

  “Walter and I were friends once,” Brian said. “Let me go to him. At the very least it will gain a little more time, during which your reinforcements from Adderbury may arrive.”

  “I don’t know what you could suggest to Walter that Reynaud did not,” Guy replied, “but, yes, we need the extra time, and your idea will give it to us. I’ll send a messenger tomorrow, telling Walter to expect you the following day. It will be a dangerous mission, Brian. Walter was forced to respect Reynaud’s safety because of his connection to King Henry, but you are only my man.”

  “That’s good enough for me.” Brian grinned. “We will win over Walter, never fear. Thomas will be safe.”

  “I pray God you are right,” Guy said fervently.

  Later in the evening Brian, as he had done each night since she had come to stay at Afoncaer, took Branwen to one of the tiny guest chambers that were built into the thick stone walls of the keep. That first night Branwen had gone with him without question, putting her hand in his and letting him lead her where he would. She trusted Brian as she had trusted no man in her life before except Rhys. She had not needed to ask where he was taking her. Now, on this their last night together before beginning their dangerous undertaking, she knew the way and smiled to herself in the darkness while side by side they silently crossed the inner bailey from the great hall.

  Brian had the freedom of the castle. No one stopped them when they entered the tower and climbed part way up the spiral stairs to the room they had made their own. When he closed and bolted the door behind them, Branwen felt completely safe. This room was lower in the tower than Guy’s bedchamber, and thus more vulnerable to enemy arrows, so the single window was only a slit, just large enough for a defending archer to aim and shoot out through it. Brian closed the shutter over the window. Near one wall was a straw pallet and a pile of furs and blankets, neatly folded, undisturbed since they had left the room that morning.

  “I’ve brought food and wine,” Brian pointed out, reaching for a flask and removing the stopper.

  “But only one cup.” She took it from his offering hand and tasted it. “We will drink from the same cup, my love.”

  “Always. Whatever it contains.” His hands were on her shoulders. She held the cup to his lips and watched him drink. There was no shyness between them. They had been lovers for more than a year now and they knew each other well. Branwen lifted her lips and met his, the wine cup caught between them.

  “This will spill,” Brian said a while later. He took the cup and set it down, then reached for her again, untying her corded sash and pulling it off so her gown flowed loosely about her until he removed that, too, leaving her in her coarse linen chemise and stockings.

  “Shall I do the same for you?” Branwen asked lightly, working at the buckle of his wide leather belt. He had to help her, but together they got it off, and then his tunic.

  Branwen rested her head on his bare chest for a moment, feeling his strong muscles and the thick scars of his old battle wounds. Brian’s body was hardly beautiful. He was only a little taller than Branwen, with a barrel chest, mighty arms, much black hair, and all those scars, but she loved every inch of him. She felt his warm breath as he bent his head to kiss her shoulders and her neck. His arms tightened.

  “How I love you,” he breathed. “Branwen, my own, you are the only woman for me.”

  She raised her head and looked at him. She could just see him. The single tallow dip gave only weak, flickering light, but Branwen knew well enough what he was.

  “You are my only love,” she said.

  They sank down upon the bed he had made for them on the stone floor. Slowly, not caring that the room was chill, for they had their own inner fires to warm them, they removed what clothing they still had on. Brian’s hose and linen under breeches, piled carelessly on the floor, disappeared beneath Branwen’s chemise and stockings. Branwen never braided her hair, she only twisted it into a knot beneath her linen headscarf, and now the dark curls tumbled loosely about her face and shoulders.

  I’ll soon grow so used to making love in a building,” she said, teasing him, “that I won’t want the forest any more.”

  “Does it feel different?” he joked. Then, more seriously, “You deserve a palace, Branwen. I wish you need not live as you do. When Walter is vanquished and Thomas is safe then I’ll make a home for you, but it won’t be as fine as you ought to have.”

  “Hush,” she said, kissing him. “I have all any woman could need. I have my love and know that he loves me. I want nothing more.”

  Then she gave up thinking and talking and concentrated on what she was feeling. Brian was always a little rough with her when they made love. He was a warrior, he had never learned to be gentle, and yet his ways suited her admirably, for once he had begun to touch her, her own desires flamed into impatient urgency. She writhed beneath his large, calloused hands, moaning in delightful misery, touching him in return until neither of them could bear any more delay, and she wrapped her arms and legs about him as they joined together, throbbing into complete fulfillment with a great cry, their voices mingling then dying away into soft sighs of release.

  Brian rested his head on her belly
and she stroked his dark hair, contented and peaceful at last.

  “I wish we could lie like this every night,” Brian said, his voice quiet in the dim room.

  “Would anyone stop us?” Her fingers tugged playfully at his hair. “We are not naughty children, my love. We are both middle-aged and what we do is no one else’s concern.”

  “You will always be young.”

  “I am thirty-three. I’m five years older than you, and well I know it.” Branwen sighed. “You and I have lived a lifetime in the last year.”

  “I’ve no regrets.”

  “Nor I. Whatever happens.” Her hands stopped their stroking motion and lay still upon his head. Brian rose on one elbow to look at her.

  “What is it, my love?”

  “Nothing.”

  “No, it is something. Tell me, Branwen. Rhys had ways of knowing things, and so have you. I want to know what disturbs you and makes you shiver.” He pulled a fur over them, tucking it about her with rough tenderness.

  “It’s more feeling than knowing,” Branwen said. “Something about Tynant. I have such a feeling of foreboding when I think of that place.” She stopped, shivering again.

  “Branwen, don’t look so far away. Come back to me.” Brian watched while Branwen shook her head and then smiled at him.

  “It may be nothing,” she said. “I am not the adept Rhys was. And I am nervous about going to Tynant. Anyone would be.”

  “We don’t have to do it the way we’ve planned. I can go by myself.”

  “Do you think I would stay here waiting while you go into danger?” Branwen said. “I will go, too. I love Thomas. I must try to save him. And I want a part in bringing Walter fitz Alan to justice. For Thomas, and for Rhys.”

  “We can do it,” Brian declared. “I know we can. Two or three nights from now you and I will be here again, in this room, holding each other once more.”

  “Well, until then,” Branwen put her arms around his neck, “until then, my love, feed me and give me wine to drink and love me again. Let no moment go to waste when we could be loving. Kiss me, Brian. Now. Now.”