“I daresay you need to confess,” he replied. “Very well. I shall send Lord Gervais’ chaplain.”
“I have heard there is another priest here, an infirmarer from St. Christopher’s?”
“What of it?”
“I cannot sleep. Perhaps he could also prepare a sleeping draft for me.”
Roger eyed her shrewdly. He didn’t doubt that somehow Madeline had discovered who Father Gabriel was, or where he was from. Perhaps she wanted to see the holy man to have the pleasure of talking with someone who knew the Welshman, or perhaps there was more to it. “I meant what I said, sister,” he warned. “I will kill your lover, if I find him, for the dishonor he has done my family, and me.”
“I know, Roger. Besides, what could I say, except that he was right about you all along?”
Roger bit back a curse for the sly Welshman who had seduced her. “Explain yourself, Madeline.”
“He warned me that I did not understand the Normans, that I didn’t understand you. I thought I did. I have discovered how terribly wrong I was. Now leave me, Roger.”
“Madeline, I—”
“There is nothing you can say to me that I wish to hear. Leave me.”
Roger sighed wearily, knowing that there was little point to argue further. He paused on the threshold and glanced back at her, truly unhappy to be viewed as the cause of her pain. Someday, surely, she would understand.
Chapter Fifteen
It was an awkward leave-taking, Father Gabriel thought, as he approached Lady Madeline to say goodbye. She was dressed in a sumptuous gown of red and gold, her dark hair was brushed and perfumed, her quarters the most luxurious wealth could provide, and yet, when Father Gabriel looked into her lovely blue eyes, he knew he had never seen a more sorrowful and pitiful young woman in his life.
Did Sir Roger de Montmorency not see what he was doing to his sister?
Lady Madeline obviously cared a great deal for the Welshman. Father Gabriel did not doubt that a forced marriage would finally prove to be the death of her. She was frail enough now; another month in such a weakened condition, and she could become seriously ill. If she died, it would be natural causes, but her brother and the unfortunate groom might just as well have murdered her.
At the moment, Sir Roger sat as immovable as stone and seemingly as compassionate, too. He didn’t know what Sir Roger had to fear from a priest, but it was quite evident that the Norman knight had no intention of leaving the chamber, just as he had stayed in the room the last time Lady Madeline had spoken to him.
“I came to say farewell and Godspeed,” Father Gabriel said quietly to Madeline.
“Thank you, Father,” she replied softly, coming closer. “I am grateful for all you have done for me. And for Dafydd, too.”
Father Gabriel gave Sir Roger an apprehensive glance, but perhaps he did not hear, for he said nothing. Or more surprisingly, perhaps her brother was choosing to ignore her reference.
“I will pray for your health, my lady,” Father Gabriel said, taking her thin hand in his. She was much too thin, and too pale. Indeed, he could see a change even from the previous day, and she was now quite different from the ruddy-cheeked young woman he had met on her arrival. His prayers would be needed if she continued to starve herself as he suspected she was doing, whether by accident or design. “I will pray for your happiness, too,” he said, and so concerned was he for her health that he did not feel the small piece of sheepskin she put into his hand.
She smiled, a winsome, pathetic smile with more of sorrow than of mirth about it. “I will need your prayers, Father, although happiness, I fear, will be impossible. Nevertheless, it will be a help to me to know that you are thinking of me, and trying to help me.” She withdrew her hand very slowly and it was then Father Gabriel noticed the parchment. Her glance flicked to it, then back to his face. A secret message?
For her sake, he clasped his two hands together, hiding it. “Farewell, my lady.”
“Your horse and escort are waiting at the gate,” Sir Roger said.
Startled, the priest replied, “I thank you kindly for the loan of a horse, but I have no need or wish for an escort.”
“There are many dangers on the road,” the Norman observed.
“Perhaps, but I am a man of peace and faith. God will see me safely home.”
“And you have no desire to be any more beholden to the cold, cruel Sir Roger, eh?”
Father Gabriel was rather taken aback to hear his motive put in such a way, although he could not argue about the truth of it. “There is no need to take your men from other duties.”
“Father, in this one thing, I must agree with Roger,” Lady Madeline said sincerely. “Please accept an escort.”
“I shall lose sleep worrying about you if you go alone,” Sir Roger said sarcastically. “I must insist you take at least one soldier.”
So that you can be certain I head straight for the monastery and do not speak to anyone, such as a stray Welshman who might be lingering in the vicinity, Father Gabriel thought as he looked at the two people, so alike and yet in some ways so dissimilar. “Very well. One man,” he agreed reluctantly. “Goodbye, my lady.”
“God go with you, Father Gabriel.”
“Farewell, Sir Roger.”
The Norman’s final response was a curt nod.
Father Gabriel hurried out of the room and along the corridor until he came to a small alcove. Once there, he opened the folded piece of parchment. It was a note, written in the hand of a woman convent-reared, which said: Father, D. will go to St. C. Please tell him I cannot come to him and I am doing what I must to save his life. But I shall love him, and only him, forever. M.
Father Gabriel refolded the parchment and sighed deeply. If only there was some better way than being a messenger that he could help these two desperate young people!
* * *
Alcwyn hurried into the clearing, a blowsy, pleasant-faced, buxom young woman at his side. Dafydd, sitting among the other members of Alcwyn’s band, watched with slight interest and wondered who she was. Alcwyn’s sweetheart probably. Alcwyn had said he was going into the town that morning, ostensibly to find out any interesting news. Dafydd suspected there was another reason, and here she was.
But they were not acting like lovers enjoying a brief tryst. They came straight for Dafydd and he suddenly realized they both looked very concerned. He rose swiftly, observing them warily. “What’s the matter?”
Alcwyn halted awkwardly. “Mildred works in the castle kitchen,” he said by way of introduction. “She’s heard something I think you ought to know.”
“What? Is it Madeline?” Dafydd asked, slivers of dread snaking along his spine.
Mildred licked her lips nervously. “She’s leaving today.”
Perhaps his fears were all for naught, if she was heading south toward the monastery, he thought. “Where’s she going?” he inquired casually.
“North, to her brother’s castle. For her wedding.”
Dafydd’s mouth went dry in an instant. “Her wedding?”
Mildred nodded and reached for Alcwyn’s beefy hand. “Yes. She’s agreed to marry Lord Chilcott.”
“It’s a lie,” Dafydd said at once. “Madeline would never acquiesce. It can’t be true.”
“Go easy, man. Mildred’s speaking the truth,” Alcwyn said softly. “She’s telling you the talk about the castle, and I heard the same thing in the alehouse in the town.”
“It could be that de Montmorency is trying to persuade her to give in, and still hopes to make it happen,” Dafydd said slowly, persuading himself that he had guessed Sir Roger’s scheme. His voice lowered. “How is she? How is Madeline?”
“Nobody’s seen her, except for the servants been taking her food these past days,” Mildred said.
“She hasn’t been in the hall?”
“Never once. I would have heard, because we’ve all been curious. You know, her being such a beauty, so they say. Sir Roger told Lord Gervais that she was too il
l to come to the hall.”
“Ill?” He stared at them helplessly.
“A priest from the monastery of St. Christopher’s, he’s been looking after her,” Mildred said with pity in her eyes.
“They’ve sent all that way?” Dafydd gasped. Part of him was glad Madeline would be under the care of one of the brothers who had helped him, but more, he was worried that her sickness was severe enough to warrant such trouble and expense.
“They didn’t send for him. He came with Sir Roger. Sir Albert had Sir Roger taken to the monastery after Alcwyn’s men wounded him.”
“They weren’t supposed to touch him,” Alcwyn muttered.
“His name’s Father Gabriel,” Mildred offered.
“Father Gabriel,” Dafydd said. “Then Madeline is having the best possible care. Why did he come here with Sir Roger? Was the fellow hurt that bad?” It didn’t seem possible, not when Roger had arrived at Lord Gervais’ on the same day they had. If he were seriously injured, he would still be in bed.
Alcwyn cleared his throat and gave Dafydd a shrewd look. “I heard they brought the priest to identify a man they seek. A thief, they say. The priest wasn’t terribly pleased by the idea, I gather, but Sir Roger wouldn’t take a refusal.”
“No,” Dafydd agreed. “A man’s holy office wouldn’t stop him from getting his own way, I daresay. I hope I haven’t caused Father Gabriel too much trouble.”
Alcwyn slapped his knee. “I knew it! I knew it was you! But you’re no thief, Dafydd. A rebel and a patriot, but not a thief.”
“I am now. I robbed the abbot’s cell before I left.”
“You robbed a monastery?” Alcwyn asked incredulously. “One as big as that?”
“I had no money, no horse, no clothes. Nothing but my sword, which was in the abbot’s cell. I had little choice.”
“Maybe this Father Gabriel’s searching for the thief,” Alcwyn suggested.
Dafydd nodded, but his expression was doubtful. “It could be, although I would never have thought Father Gabriel a vindictive man. Maybe someone else has forced him to seek me out. Maybe the abbot’s returned...no. Jerrald. I would lay odds it has to be Father Jerrald.”
“But nobody’s looking for you,” Mildred said. “Not Sir Roger, not Sir Albert, not the priest. No soldiers have been sent to search the forest or along the roads. I’d have heard about it if they had. Father Gabriel’s already gone back to the monastery. He left Castle Gervais this morning, just after he broke the fast.”
“What’s going on, then?” Dafydd muttered more to himself than to his companions. Madeline not yet free—that would be Roger’s doing, of course. She could easily have underestimated the amount of persuasion it would take to make her brother see how she felt. Was there any way, any way at all Roger could force her to agree to marry Chilcott? He didn’t think so.
Father Gabriel had been brought all this way to identify him—but was no longer necessary. Apparently the thief was unimportant, too, and not worth the trouble of pursuing. Maybe Madeline had managed to convince Roger to let him go. But how? A man like her brother was not easy to sway, especially where thievery and rebellion figured into the equation. What had she told him or given him to make him agree?
The answer struck Dafydd with the same force as Owain’s cudgel. Herself. She had agreed to the marriage in order to save him.
Dafydd straightened, the galvanizing force of conviction coursing through him as he reached for his sword. “I have to get her out of there. Who’ll go with me?”
Owain started to his feet, a fierce and hungry gleam in his young eyes. Others, less certain, milled about, glancing at each other and Dafydd ap Iolo, the very vision of a warrior prince ready to lead his men to victory.
“What part of the castle is Madeline in?” he demanded.
“I’m not certain.” Mildred looked worriedly at Alcwyn. “They’re leaving, too, later today.”
“Let’s get them!” Owain cried excitedly. “Sir Roger will be worth a huge ransom! You also can rescue your lady,” he added almost as an afterthought.
“Forgetting the first time?” Alcwyn said to him regretfully, avoiding Dafydd’s eyes. “He’ll be on his guard now, more than ever.”
Much as Dafydd wanted to do as Owain suggested, he knew Alcwyn was right. It would be much too dangerous for them to attack Sir Roger de Montmorency.
Dafydd’s gaze scanned the clearing and the men gathered there. “I agree it would be hazardous to go against Sir Roger. Maybe it would be better to find Father Gabriel and see if I’m right about why Madeline changed her mind. Does he have much of an escort?”
“Only Kynan is with him,” Mildred answered with a broad grin.
“So?” Dafydd asked when he saw the pleased expression on Alcwyn’s face.
“He’s my cousin,” Alcwyn said with a chuckle. “Not much trouble from him, although we’ll have to make it look good, for his sake.”
“We?”
“Not going to let you have all the fun, boy!” Alcwyn chided jovially. “Especially when it’s nothing more than a priest and my cousin we’re after.”
“I will go, too!” Owain cried out.
“That will be plenty,” Dafydd said. “First, I will speak with the good Father Gabriel before he travels too far and find out about Madeline.” He became more serious. “Are you in the mood for more of a skirmish, Alcwyn, in a few days’ time?” he asked, his tone still light but his gaze intense as he waited for his friend to respond. “Not with Sir Roger’s men.”
Owain nodded excitedly, and the other men looked more than curious.
“What have you in mind?” Alcwyn asked warily.
“How far away is Sir Roger’s castle?”
“More north, more east. More Norman, if you understand me. It’s risky, Dafydd, to go farther from the border.”
“Getting cautious in your old age?”
Alcwyn looked about to reply in the affirmative, then grinned and shrugged his shoulders. “What the bloody hell. Like the old days, eh? But if not Sir Roger—”
“The bridegroom, boys, the bridegroom,” Dafydd answered with a sly smile. “He won’t know what’s happened, because our dear Sir Roger will be too proud to tell him that he couldn’t watch over his sister properly. And he will be worth a very pretty penny.”
“Maybe a sister?”
“At the very least, I would say, and more into the bargain from DeGuerre, perhaps.”
The men began to chuckle and Owain looked as if he had just been granted his heart’s desire.
* * *
Father Gabriel was still puzzling over some way to be of assistance to the ill-fated lovers when his guard—he could not think of the heavily armed fellow beside him as anything else—suddenly pulled up short. From out of the trees surrounding the road a gang of ruffians appeared, armed with swords and bows. Strangely, there was something curiously unfrightening about this band of outlaws. Perhaps it was the smile on their faces and the laughter in their eyes.
“Greetings, Father!” said a voice he did not recognize. Another man stepped out of cover and walked onto the road.
“Is it you?” Father Gabriel asked, relieved when he recognized Dafydd. “I am delighted to see you again. God has answered my prayers, for it is necessary that I speak with you.”
“I hope you will continue to be delighted when I tell you that I must delay your journey for a while. I want you to tell me about Madeline, and I fear the middle of the road is not the best place to talk.”
“Quite right!” the priest exclaimed. “I will be only too pleased...oh, but what of this fellow?”
His escort was sitting morosely on his saddle, probably dismayed at being caught in this ignoble predicament.
“Oh, we’ll see that he’s well cared for,” the Welshman said offhandedly. Two men came forward and took hold of the horses’ bridles. “This way, please.”
Chapter Sixteen
Father Gabriel was soon comfortably settled in the Welsh camp. His escort, appar
ently led away to spend his captivity languishing under guard, was, in actual fact, swapping stories and ale with Owain and some of the other men. Alcwyn had discreetly left Dafydd and Father Gabriel alone.
“I am indeed glad to see you again,” the priest said.
“And I, you. My name is Dafydd ap Iolo,” Dafydd replied. “Sorry I am I did not tell you before. I thought it would be wiser, for your sake and for mine, if you didn’t know who and what I was. Sorry I am, too, for stealing from you. I took only what was necessary.”
“We all thought so,” Father Gabriel said kindly. “Or rather, most of us did. Unfortunately, Father Jerrald did not. I confess that I have been hoping to meet Abbot Absalom on the road and give him my own explanations.”
Dafydd had no wish to appear rude, but the politics of life in the monastery were not his concern. Madeline was. “Lady Madeline, how is she? Is it true she’s going to marry Chilcott after all?”
“She is well in body,” the priest answered, “for the moment anyway, although greatly sick at heart. She is doing what she has to do to save your life.”
“Sweet Jesus, I knew it! But it must not happen.”
“She also said—” Father Gabriel’s voice dropped and grew even more sorrowful “—that she will love you and only you, forever.”
Dafydd smiled. “I know that, too, Father. I feel the same, and I will not let her marry another man, especially out of fear for my safety. What is my life if hers is to be the sacrifice?”
“A sacrifice is what I fear she will make of herself,” Father Gabriel murmured. “She does not eat. She looks pale and tired. If only her brother could see what he is doing to her by forcing her into this marriage!”
The mournful way he spoke made Dafydd want to assault Castle Gervais single-handedly and at once. “Did he beat her? Is she hurt?” he demanded.
“I don’t believe he has struck her, nor has he injured her physically, my son. But he has caused her great anguish and great fear, and that can be worse than any blow. I believe he threatened your life if she did not obey him.”
The Welshman's Way Page 17
