Dafydd grimaced. “I’ll try to remember. Anything else I did wrong?”
“Well, try not to stare at her so much. You look like a dog expecting some meat tossed his way.”
“Is it that bad?”
“To me, but then I know the situation. I don’t think anybody else noticed.”
“Not Sir Roger?”
“No. He was too busy keeping an eye on how much everybody was eating. He should be even more distracted today. I hear more guests are expected for the wedding feast.”
“Thank God for that, I suppose. Any sign of Father Gabriel?”
As if in response to his question, there was a murmur of greeting at the gate, and Father Gabriel appeared, riding a donkey. Dafydd gave the priest a barely perceptible nod of greeting, and Father Gabriel responded in kind. He dismounted and bustled off toward the hall, his fingers anxiously twisting his hemp belt.
“Well, there is a relief,” Dafydd said. “He had better calm himself, though, or the game will be over.”
“Indeed.” Owain winked at Dafydd. “If you will excuse me, my lord, I’ve got to rouse those Sicilians.” He sauntered off toward one of the barracks, whistling softly.
Dafydd headed toward the hall, encountering Roger de Montmorency coming out the door. Dafydd had expected the man to be still abed, after his late night, and far from in a healthy state of being, after the amount of wine he had consumed. Roger, however, looked none the worse for wear. He smiled and said, “I’ve been looking for you.”
“Oh?”
“I thought we should go through the dowry and the marriage contract together.”
“Why?” Dafydd demanded arrogantly. He hoped he sounded insulted, rather than anxious. He had no knowledge at all of contracts, dowries and legal terms, nor could he read a word. “I apologize for the tardiness of the cart bearing Madeline’s gifts. I was, perhaps, in too great a hurry to see my bride.”
“I meant no offense,” Roger replied.
“The loading of the dowry can wait until tomorrow, can’t it?” Dafydd asked. “And we can peruse the wedding gifts and contract later.”
“If you would rather.”
“I would. Legal business always makes my head ache, and I would rather converse with your fascinating, beautiful sister.”
“Anytime it will be convenient for you, then.”
“Good. Now I am going to mass. I say, Roger, whatever’s happened to the abbot? Nothing to cause a delay in the ceremony, I trust?”
“It seems he’s fallen ill. A priest who was visiting here recently met one of the abbot’s men on the road and returned to give me the news.”
Dafydd looked startled and upset. “Well, as unfortunate as that may be for the abbot, surely you have a priest here to give the blessing?”
“Yes, but Father Gabriel has also offered to give the blessing. Have no fear, Reginald. There will be no delays.”
“I assume I will see your charming sister in the chapel?”
“Of course. I shall walk with you.”
Dafydd fell into step beside Roger, going over in his mind the ceremony of the mass that Owain had described, which was rather different from that of the Welsh church.
“My sister seems most impressed,” Roger noted as they drew near a large stone edifice close to the hall.
“Does she? I gather, from some talk I heard, that she was somewhat reluctant to marry? Typical woman, I suppose. Weeped and wailed and made quite a fuss?”
“No.” Roger hesitated a moment, then halted. “I will be honest with you, Chilcott. She ran away.”
“Well, well, well. I gather some women take these little contrary spells. What did she do, hide in the orchard? Take refuge at the nearest inn?”
“No. After we were attacked by outlaws, she was saved by a Welsh rebel. She spent several days in his company.”
“Indeed?” Dafydd answered, taken aback by Roger’s confession, and his own reaction. He actually felt a measure of respect for the nobleman’s honesty, because he felt the words had not been easy for him to say.
“Yes.” Roger, too, looked as if Dafydd’s reaction was unexpected. “She fancies herself in love with him.”
“Now that does surprise me. She seemed most amenable to our marriage last night.”
Roger cleared his throat and gazed at him intently. “She isn’t a virgin, Reginald.”
“Neither am I.” He realized that Roger had anticipated a different response, and smiled cheerfully. “Well, to be perfectly honest, Roger, I think most women aren’t, no matter how they act on their wedding night. Women are sly, sinister creatures. Beautiful and desirable, of course, but a man is a fool if he trusts one.”
“You have voiced my own thoughts exactly!” Roger exclaimed softly, glancing around as others made their way to the chapel for mass. Then he fixed his shrewd dark eyes on Dafydd. “You are indeed a clever man. I could do worse for a brother-in-law.”
It didn’t seem much of a compliment, but it didn’t really matter, Dafydd thought. “I cannot begin to tell you how happy I am to hear you say so.”
“Yes, we were told—”
“Rumors and secondhand information can be so wrong,” Dafydd remarked with a wave of his hand. “For instance, I expected to find quite the hard-hearted blackguard in you, my lord.”
“Really?”
“Indeed.”
Roger barked another laugh. “My steward tells me you do not intend to stay after the wedding feast. I confess I mean to persuade you to stay, Reginald. It is not often I enjoy a man’s company, but I will be sorry to see you go.”
Although Dafydd found it impossible to like Roger because of the pain he had caused Madeline and himself, he nevertheless realized that under different circumstances, they might have been friends. Roger was harsh and stern, but not completely without qualities worthy of respect. All he needed, Dafydd thought, was a little less self-assured arrogance and a lot more humility. “I regret I cannot,” he replied, with more sincerity than would have been possible even minutes before. “There is a slight problem with my estate in Sicily. I shall be unable to enjoy your delightful hospitality for as long as I should have liked.”
“But surely you do not wish to spend your wedding night on the road? One night should not be too much time to tarry.”
“No, really, thank you for your kindness, but I must insist—”
“I must insist, Reginald, for my sister’s sake. She has had a difficult time recently, and I think to travel again so soon would not be wise.”
Dafydd knew he was trapped. “As you say, Roger, one more night should not be too much of a delay.”
Without any further conversation, they entered the chapel.
* * *
Dudley smiled happily as he watched the company gathered at the high table to break the fast. The great weight of suspicion that Lady Madeline was miserably unhappy no longer weighed on his kindly heart. To be sure, she had seemed reserved and far too serious when she had first arrived with Roger, but Dudley was certain that she must have been too tired and ill to be as he had remembered her.
Dudley thought of Lady Madeline’s almost-husband with considerable approval. He had met many noblemen in his long life, and without a doubt, this Lord Chilcott was as fine as any of them. He had the bearing, the looks, the manners of a nobleman. For some reason, he was not in the hall at present, but that was just as well. When he was, all the maidservants acted like besotted idiots. He would have to speak with them, or they would be an embarrassment to this hall. Hilda, especially, whom he had more than once accused of setting her sights on Sir Roger himself, was taking far too long clearing away the fruit.
Mercifully, Sir Roger seemed too preoccupied with his sister and his guests to notice. And the other men in the hall, who had obviously stayed awake carousing far too long, didn’t seem to even take note that food was being served.
Since there was much to do to prepare for the wedding feast, Dudley didn’t linger over his bread. He got up, happily reca
lling that Lord Chilcott had been persuaded to stay at the castle after the ceremony. Nonetheless, Lady Madeline’s goods had best be packed, for the most part.
A groom hurried into the hall and whispered into Dudley’s ear. “When did he arrive?” the steward asked anxiously. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. Put him up in the barracks. Sir Hu won’t mind, I don’t think. He’s brought ten men? That’s eleven more for the feast. I’d best tell the cook and the kitchen servants. And we’ll need another table. You see that the horses are bedded down properly.”
Dudley rose and bustled off to greet Hu Morgan, his mind already full of the thousand little details necessary to make this wedding and the subsequent feast flawless.
Chapter Twenty
Hu Morgan stood in the great hall of Montmorency Castle waiting for Lord Trevelyan, so that he and his father-in-law could proceed to the yard in front of the chapel to witness the wedding ceremony of Lord Reginald Chilcott and Lady Madeline de Montmorency. His arrival here had been unexpected but necessary, for a messenger from King Henry’s regent, William Marshal, had recently arrived with an urgent and confidential request for Lord Trevelyan to attend a meeting of the most powerful barons in southern England to be held in London. Lord Gervais was expected to attend, as well. The two noblemen would have to leave right after the wedding; however, so many guests, servants and soldiers were bustling about, their absence would scarcely be noticed.
As Morgan surveyed the hall, prepared and decorated with garlands of spring flowers and the colorful pennants of visiting nobles, he didn’t doubt the two lords would be missing a fine meal and good entertainment, too. Well, such was the price of power. Fortunately, he could stay.
And although he would never have admitted it, Hu Morgan was curious to see if Lady Madeline would refuse to marry Reginald Chilcott at the last moment. His wife had implied that she might, for, she had said, that seemed like something Madeline would do—to go along with the wedding plans and then, at the very door of the church, thwart her brother’s schemes. Liliana had been keen to come herself, but their son’s slight cold kept her at home.
Just as well, Morgan thought with a wry grin. He did not have his wife’s faith that Sir Roger would lose this battle of wills, and he would have been afraid Liliana might say or do something to prevent the wedding, which was none of their affair.
Lord Trevelyan appeared on the stairs. “I trust I’m not too late,” he said with a smile. “Sorry to keep you waiting. This damnable tunic should be given to the paupers. No servant seems capable of managing the laces.”
“I think most everyone is already outside waiting.”
“Lady Madeline’s still in her chamber. I can hear the women chattering like geese.”
“What about the bridegroom?”
“Reginald has been waiting some time, I gather. That fellow’s so anxious, I was surprised he left the chapel after mass to eat. I half expected him to stay there and wait for the ceremony. As for the bride—well, she led everyone a merry chase for nothing. Whoever that Welsh fellow was, he’s forgotten now, I can tell you.”
“What, she’s agreed to the wedding?”
Lord Trevelyan snorted in a most unlordly manner. “Agreed? My God, I’ll say she has. Tries to look like she’s not, but any fool with eyes can see otherwise. Roger’s been preening like a peacock to think he was right all along. He was arrogant enough before and there’ll be no bearing him now, I daresay. Come, we’d best not tarry. I warrant this is one ceremony that will definitely start on time.”
Together, they made their way through the crowd of soldiers and servants that stood nearest the hall to join the nobles waiting close to the church. Morgan could make out a familiar-looking priest at the door.
And then Hu Morgan got the shock of his life.
For there, standing on the chapel steps, large as life, wearing very costly garments of black and gold, and looking every inch the nobleman, stood the Welsh rebel he had left for dead. Before Hu could speak or even blink, however, the crowd parted and Sir Roger appeared escorting his sister, who looked as lovely and happy as any angel in heaven, toward the man who was expecting to marry her. The Welshman.
* * *
As Dafydd waited at the chapel doors, it occurred to him that he might feel somewhat similar if he had been waiting for his own execution. Better dressed he was, of course, but standing there on display for everyone to see. Still, no one seemed to suspect he wasn’t Reginald Chilcott and he had only a little while left to maintain the ruse, just until he and Madeline were pronounced man and wife, really. If Roger tried to annul their marriage, Father Gabriel, standing beside him and nearly as nervous, would be able to confirm that the relationship had already been consummated, should Roger attempt to say otherwise. Everyone would believe Father Gabriel.
Dafydd pushed aside the one real regret he felt, that he was pretending to be someone else, as if he were somehow ashamed of his name. It was a very necessary deception, however, and they would still be married in the eyes of God.
Dafydd shifted slightly, looking over the assembly for Owain and the others, as well as Madeline. He spied Alcwyn’s men at the edge of the gathering, keeping a watchful eye on everyone.
With a great collective exhalation, the crowd parted to reveal Madeline and her brother.
How gloriously beautiful she was, her eyes shining with love the most beautiful thing about her. With regal poise and her hand lightly on her brother’s arm, she came toward him. He smiled, filled with such happiness that he could scarcely believe it, until someone in the motionless, hushed crowd moved, drawing Dafydd’s attention from his bride.
He drew in his breath sharply. Morgan! Hu Morgan, standing there like an evil spirit come to destroy his happiness. While Dafydd stared, transfixed and horrified, their gazes met.
Dafydd knew it was over. Morgan recognized him. In another moment, Morgan would denounce him as an imposter.
With a great effort, Dafydd slowly turned to look steadily at Madeline, sick at heart to think they had come so close. Her expression clouded at once and she glanced nervously at her brother, who walked on unawares. But she realized something was wrong; she saw it in his face. Her eyes lost their love and became filled with desperation.
Surely Morgan was going to move at any moment, Dafydd thought with equal desperation. Identify him as a Welsh outlaw. Call out his men.
Still Morgan didn’t move. What was he waiting for, Roger’s arrival at the steps?
Madeline loved him. He loved her. They were meant for each other and no one should try to stop them. When she reached the steps, he would clasp Madeline to his side, draw his sword and fight their way out.
But he should be alone in this. He glanced at his friends and hoped they would guess what had happened and leave at once, without waiting for them.
Then he looked again at the crowd, many of whom might be hurt if a melee ensued, for there were several soldiers there, albeit standing idly for the time being.
No. He would not fight. They would not run. He was the equal of any man here, even to Lord Trevelyan, because he was Dafydd ap Iolo and Madeline loved him. He straightened his shoulders. At least everyone here would know who he really was. He would tell them, proudly and with no shame, and together they would face the consequences.
When Roger and Madeline reached the steps, Dafydd took a deep breath. “I am Dafydd ap Iolo,” he announced loudly, expecting Sir Roger to look at him with loathing and call for his arrest.
The crowd reacted with shocked murmurs and whispers as Madeline gave a startled cry. She had seen Hu Morgan, then the proud determination in Dafydd’s expression. She had hoped he would keep silent, for Morgan wasn’t moving. But he was Dafydd ap Iolo, and proud to be so, and she was proud, too, that he would face her brother and speak the truth. No matter what happened, her brother would know that Dafydd was worthy of any woman who had the honor of his love, and she had never loved him more.
She let go of her brother and rushed to join Dafydd.
Whatever happened, his side was where she belonged. They would have to drag her away and it would be to Roger’s shame. Together they waited for Roger to call out the guard.
Roger...did nothing.
Except raise one eyebrow and quietly say, “Really? He certainly fooled me.”
Madeline wasn’t taken in by her brother’s words for an instant. He had known all along. Somehow, he had found out. “You knew, Roger,” she accused. “And yet you were going to let me marry Dafydd anyway.”
“I suppose I should be flattered you think me so intelligent,” her brother replied evenly. “But if that was so, do you honestly believe I would agree to let my sister marry a Welshman?”
“I love your sister and I want her for my wife,” Dafydd said firmly.
“Madeline tells me she is besotted with you, too.”
“I love him, Roger!”
Father Gabriel, wringing his hands anxiously, stepped forward and opened his mouth, but Roger held up his hand. “Spare me your assurances that he is a fine fellow,” he said wearily. “I know a conspiracy when I see one.” He fixed his cold eye on Father Gabriel, who cleared his throat awkwardly and then Hu Morgan, who simply shrugged. Madeline realized that neither man was particularly repentant, nor, more surprisingly, was Roger at all angry.
“And I can also see that Madeline could do worse—and better,” Roger added with a scowl. “Still, I am tired of all this marriage business. Marry this Welshman, then, Madeline, and get it over with. These people are waiting.”
“Roger, I...” Madeline whispered, searching for the words to express her gratitude and happiness.
“Bless them, Father, before I decide to have this imposter arrested after all,” Roger growled, loath to think that all the people in the courtyard might now think him weak and sentimental.
Father Gabriel, with a nervous nod, did just that. When all was finished, the blessing and giving of the ring, pledges of faith and the kiss, the guests and crowd remained strangely silent. Roger supposed that the shock of the unexpected revelation that the groom was not a Norman nobleman undoubtedly accounted for much of their collective passivity, which lasted through the procession to the hall and Father Gabriel’s blessing of the feast.
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