William and his men ate oatcakes and cheese, some of them seated on benches, some on the floor in the dwelling and others out in the yard. Ralf muttered to William that he could not wait to get back to Higham where he could have maislin bread instead of oatcakes and hopefully some beef after butchering time. Mutton was the only meat served here, and that sparingly, at least this time of year.
Rhosyn did not eat with them but helped Nest and her daughters serve the food. To drink there was only water or buttermilk, although the water was clear and cool, coming as it did from a nearby spring. Many of William’s men had brought wineskins as part of their supplies and they shared the beverage among themselves, especially the wounded men. Gervaise remarked that he was pleased to eat anything but the disgusting broth Rhosyn had forced on him for days, saying it would build up his blood.
“It worked, didn’t it?” Crispin noted, sitting beside Ralf. “She’s a fine healer. We should toast her.”
All the men held up their wineskins or cups as Crispin rose and thanked Rhosyn for her fine care of the wounded men. William cheered as heartily as the rest. Rhosyn still serving food, flushed, whether from pleasure or embarrassment, William couldn’t tell. But then her gaze met his and she smiled, and he felt a rush of satisfaction. Rhosyn had proved her worth to his men, and won their loyalty, and that would make things much easier if he wed her.
But would she agree? He had not yet spoken to her about anything but practical matters, and he wondered when they would ever to be able to be alone together, let alone be relaxed enough to discuss the future. But eventually the meal was finished, everything cleared away and William’s men went off to the barn to sleep, except for Gervaise, who Rhosyn felt should remain within the dwelling, at least for this night.
“You know he will have to sleep outside in the wagon on the journey home,” William said to Rhosyn after they’d helped Gervaise back to the pallet where he’d lain for the last fortnight.
“I know. But every bit of rest he gets will help him mend.”
They were still in the crowded dwelling. William suggested they go outside. It was nearly sunset. Darkness would come swiftly as the sun sank behind the hills beyond the farm. They walked to the hedgerow. The fragrance of late dog roses drifted to them from the hedgerow while a soft breeze carried the scents of clover in the tall grass. Blue tits, robins and sparrows twittered as they settled in for the night.
Rhosyn turned to face him. “We must return to Higham, of course. But what about later? What do you think of Owen’s plan? Will you lend him men to help take Cardiff?”
William touched her face. He longed for even more intimacy, but there was no real privacy. “I don’t know yet. I must take care of things at Higham first. There is so much to be done there, and with Adam dead, I don’t know that I can leave. Baldwin is acting as castellan for now, but I’m not certain he is comfortable with the responsibility.”
“Adam is dead? What happened?”
William realized she knew none of it. He explained all that had happened since they left weeks ago. She sucked in her breath in alarm when he described the fight with Rollo and grasped his arm. “William, you could have been killed!”
He looked at her intently. “You’ve never called me William before. Always Fitzhugh or milord.”
She withdrew her hand. “I thought, that is…”
He laughed and seized her hand again. “Of course you can call me William. ’Tis my name and you certainly know me well enough to use it. And I will call you Rhosyn, although I would rather call you wife.” There. He’d broached the matter. Not in the most tender way, perhaps. But at least she knew how he felt.
She went very still. The light was fading and he could not see her face clearly. His heart thudded wildly in his chest.
“I do not know. I…”
Why did she hesitate? Was it that she was afraid to tell him what she felt?
“I don’t know if I could be an Englishman’s wife. I have my healing. And I know naught of managing a castle.” She waved her hands in a helpless gesture. “I’m much better at stitching up flesh than doing embroidery or fine needlework. And then there is the matter of children. I thought to have a babe…someday. A daughter to pass my skills onto. But I am not certain this is the time.”
She was right. And how could he ever risk this delicate, lovely woman to the dangers of childbirth? If he had not thought she knew ways to keep from conceiving, he would not have bedded her so eagerly. At least not after the first time. The first time he had been far too overcome with passion to consider that their lovemaking might result in a child.
He felt a twinge of guilt; he should have better control.
“And a man like you,” she continued. “You must have an heir. I know how important it is to all men, but especially one such as you, with power and wealth to pass on.”
She was thinking of all the reasons that it could not work. In a panic, he sought to change the conversation. “This is not the time to discuss such things. First, we must get back to Higham safely and deal with everything there.”
She seemed more than willing to drop the subject. “And Rollo? What will you do with him?”
“I must hang him. I have no choice. My men expect it. They saw him try to kill me. I can’t keep him imprisoned forever. And if I let him free and banish him from Higham, there is every reason to think he will continue to make trouble. He could offer his services to Roscales. Or connect with men here in Wales.”
He sighed before continuing. “I’m still not certain who is behind the raids. It could be Cynan, or it could be Roscales working with some other chieftain.”
“I learned something while here. Apparently, Ifan ap Emrys is dying or dead, and two of his sons are fighting for control of his territory. Eurig ap Ifan is the elder son and Cynan ap Ifan the younger. It’s likely that Cynan is behind the raids on Higham. He is probably also the one who is allied with Roscales. But Eurig has the better claim to power, and he is not one to ally himself with any English lord.”
“It’s all so complicated. I don’t even know if Rollo is the spy at Higham. If he was the one in contact with the Welsh who helped coordinate the raids. Rollo denies it, but my men think he is guilty. Some of them even blame him for Adam’s death, as if he had planned it. I don’t know if that is true. Someone else at Higham could be the spy and have wanted me, and Adam, out of the way. I’ve even become suspicious of Elidon the cook.”
“Elidon? Truly?” Rhosen looked startled.
“I don’t know. That is why we must get back there as soon as possible. And why I can’t say if I will agree to aid your cousin. I have a tangled mess at Higham I need to unravel first.”
Was she disappointed? Bellame had killed her mother and terrorized her. She might not be satisfied until he was driven from Cardiff and punished.
She did not speak for a time, then she turned away, her voice wistful. “We must get back.”
He caught her arm. “Rhosyn.” She did not resist as he pulled her close, but tilted up her head for his kiss.
*
It has always been this way with William. No matter the doubts, the secrets, the words unspoken, nothing truly mattered when they were together but the deep longing they felt for each other. As if their bodies were made for each other. Their spirits entwined, connected.
But something always seemed to be pulling them apart. They might enjoy this sweet, tender joining of their mouths, but all too soon they would have to separate and become separate beings again.
Still, at this moment, as the shadows drew around them and the earth and sky chilled with night, between them there was light and warmth, a magical glow that seemed unquenchable.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“I’m pleased you have returned.” Glyda greeted Rhosyn as she made her way through the village. As soon as they arrived at Higham, Rhosyn told William she wanted to go to the village and see how everyone was doing. In the turmoil of everyone arriving, he’d nodded quickly and then tur
ned to deal with a question from one of his knights. She’d slipped out of the castle and made her way here, to the tanner’s cottage.
“Ned has healed very well. He is at the mill right now. They’ve finished the building itself; and are now trying to put all the workings together. The shaft was damaged and they had to replace that, as well as all the wheels and pulleys. Aldreth is helping him, now that he has finished milord’s bed and cupboard. I guess that distraction was all Sir Rollo’s doing. A pity about Sir Rollo. From what I’ve heard, the only fit death for him was hanging.”
Rhosyn looked at Glyda in puzzlement. “What do you mean?”
“You don’t know what happened? When Lord Fitzhugh’s men returned with the cattle, they said Rollo had been killed. An arrow hit him when the Welsh attacked. He was the only one injured, which was very fortunate.”
Rhosyn wondered if William would be relieved. She knew he was struggling with having to order Rollo’s hanging.
Golde came up and joined them. “We are pleased to see you. Amara has done her best, but there are some things she wasn’t certain about. My son Garret had a stomach ailment. Amara tried several things, but none of them worked.”
“Is he vomiting? Does he have the flux as well? Is anyone else ill?” Rhosyn began thinking through possible causes: bad food, tainted water, or an illness.
“Oh, he is better now. The sickness eventually passed. We were very fortunate. But for a time we very much wished you were here.” Golde smiled at her.
“I am pleased to hear that.”
“Would you like some buttermilk?” Glyda moved as if to fetch some. “Or some currants? We’ve plenty this time of year. There is bread as well, although not much. Grinding the wheat with the hand quern is a trial. Ask Egelina.” She motioned to young woman, sitting outside her father’s house, a short distance away. Egelina appeared to be using a hand quern at that very moment.
Egelina looked up and gave her a sour look. Having heard the story of William finding Rollo and Egelina cavorting in his newly-built bed, Rhosyn could well imagine the young woman was not pleased to return to her former life.
“I’ll take some currants,” Rhosyn said. Bread would be nice, but she did not want take from Glyda’s small supply. She could get bread at the castle, she felt certain. If she wed William, she would always have enough to eat. Always be taken care of and pampered.
She left Glyda and Golde started for her own cottage. On the way, she thought back to when she’d arrived at Higham a few months ago. She’d been so anxious then, worried about being a healer on her own in a new place, as well as terrified Bellame might send someone after her and drag her back and kill her. Now she was being welcomed back by the villagers and Bellame no longer seemed like much of a threat.
She’d only gone a short distance when Maida greeted her and offered her some newly made cider. “I think it’s too tart. We probably need to let the apples ripen more. Thurston thinks so.”
Rhosyn took a sip of the cider. To her, the beverage tasted wonderfully refreshing.
Maida continued to prattle on. ’Tis amazing that Lord Fitzhugh got the cattle back. I thought they were gone for good. How fares he now? Did his knights who were wounded come back with him?”
Rhosyn nodded. “Gervaise and Ralf went on to the castle. Gervaise is not fully mended and he had to ride in the cart, but I’m pleased with all their progress.”
“I’m not surprised Lord Fitzhugh prevailed. He’s such a formidable warrior. They say he took on three men at a time, one of them Sir Rollo.” Maida’s face changed. “I will admit, I liked Sir Rollo. He could be charming. I did wonder when Sir Adam died and Rollo immediately took charge if Sir Rollo might have had a hand in the other knight’s death. But I can’t say that Rollo was ever anything but pleasant to me.”
Of course, Rollo had been friendly to Maida; she was young and attractive.
“Sir Baldwin is handsome, too. Although of a much sterner and colder nature than Sir Rollo. He does not talk to anyone in the village except the men, mostly Hearne and Aldreth the carpenter.”
“I hear they have made good progress on mill.”
“Oh, aye, since Sir Baldwin was put in charge of things. Although he and Hearne had a few arguments.”
“Why? I thought everyone agreed that rebuilding the mill was important.”
“Not Hearne. He kept telling the men they needed to plow the fields for the autumn crop. I thought those orders came from Sir Rollo, but apparently not. The reeve was very angry after Lord Fitzhugh put Sir Baldwin in charge. Hearne and Rollo were close, apparently. I know Hearne was upset when he learned that Sir Rollo was dead. Must have really taken it hard; I haven’t seen the reeve since.”
This was all very interesting, Rhosyn thought. She recalled William’s concern that someone at Higham was working with Rollo, someone who had connections to the Welsh and who had schemed to plot his death. What if that person was Hearne?
She wondered if she should go back to the castle and tell William what she had learned. But Sir Baldwin would give him the details, and for now she wanted to be away from William for a time. She needed to think clearly about the future.
She started to leave Maida, but the woman wasn’t finished gossiping. “You know the wool merchant was here, a day before Lord Fitzhugh returned the first time. I guess Sir Rollo didn’t feel he had the authority to bargain with the man and sent him on his way. The merchant promised to come back on his way from Shrewsbury. I hope he does. Otherwise what will they do with the fleeces and the raw wool? We can’t spin and weave all of it. And I’m certain Fitzhugh needs the coin the wool will fetch in Flanders.”
He could always take it to Orla and her father, Rhosyn thought. Nay, it was too risky to go back there. If the wool merchant didn’t return, she would advise William to take it to Shrewsbury. Although who knew if she would be around when that decision was made.
“Who negotiated with merchants when Roscales was here?” Rhosyn asked.
“Roscales’s seneschal, who left with him.”
William had not appointed a seneschal, Rhosyn realized. And the men whom he’d brought with him were knights, trained in warfare, rather than trading and running a large demesne. How would William find a person who had the skills necessary to keep Higham prosperous?
Rhosyn finally escaped Maida and continued on to her cottage. On the way, she realized there was a clear solution to all of William’s problems: He needed a wife. An English wife, trained to manage a castle household. Having such a woman in his life would be a great help to him. Clearly, he had not thought of that when he spoke of having her being his wife in the deepening twilight outside the farmhouse.
The conversation had hung between them all the way back to Higham. They spoke little and then only of practical matters. His knights were always around and it had been a rough journey, worrying about Gervaise and having to spend the night out in the countryside. And, in truth, she had not wanted to discuss the future with William. It raised too many challenging questions.
But sooner or later, she would have to deal with the matter. Dear William. He was a dreamer, someone who saw things the way he wished they would be, rather than accepting life for what it was. Mayhap she had been like that once, but she had learned it was wiser not to have dreams. To accept things for what they were and be content with that.
The thought of losing William aroused a pain in her so deep it made her gasp aloud. The misery made her almost wish he had never come to Higham. Then there would be no reason she could not continue her life as it had been before he arrived. Content in her role as healer, gradually earning the respect and acceptance of the villagers.
She felt that she’d made great progress in winning their trust. Although she would always be a little set apart from them, even as her cottage was off in the woods instead of in the common area. Branwyn had warned her of this. Being a Cymraes, while most of the people here were of Saxon descent, would always make them treat her a little differently. And she wa
s a healer, who knew secrets and mysteries that no one else did. It afforded her a measure of respect, but also made people wary of her.
If they knew of the grimoire buried in the stone vault near the cottage, and the fact that she could read it, they would be even more suspicious. After talking about her mother’s grimoire with William, her yearning to dig it up had grown. She longed to read the spidery writing and touch the colorful images of plants, roots, berries and flowers, slowly fading with time.
But if she did that, then she would want desperately to show it to William and she could not do that. He was a man, and worse yet a foreigner, a Saeson. Revealing the secrets of the grimoire to anyone but another Cymrae wisewoman would be ill luck.
There would always have to be secrets between her and William. Another reason that their love was impractical and foolish. He needed to wed a woman of his own kind, a gentlewoman trained to be a lord’s wife. The thought of it broke her heart. Suddenly, she realized she would never be able to endure losing him. That meant she would have to leave Higham.
The thought made the rest of her walk through the village almost painful. She felt a pang of sadness as she waved to little Elsa playing with her straw doll. It worsened as she nodded to Glyda, herding her flock of geese towards the river. Deepened even more as she smiled at Sybelle, sitting outside her cottage weaving a basket. She’d grown fond of these people. They had their faults as did any folk, but they’d given her a chance to prove herself, and now that they’d accepted her, she didn’t want to leave them.
The sight of her cottage, nestled among the trees, deepened her turmoil. Only a few months she’d been here, and already the small croft felt comfortable and familiar. She’d thought going back to Cardiff would fill her with longing for all she had lost. Of course she missed her mother and would always want to spend time with Orla. And she did miss being near the sea. But she no longer felt like she belonged there. Higham was the place that felt like home to her. And now she must leave.
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