Castle of the Wolf (10 page)

“You may go now, Sir Rheged,” Gilbert said. “A serving woman can help me with the rest.”

There was undeniable dismissal in the man’s tone, so Rheged nodded and took his leave.

He found Sir Algar pacing anxiously by the central hearth in the hall below.

“What happened? I heard her scream,” the older man said at once, concern on every feature.

“She cried out when Gilbert removed the bandage. He has to clean the wound again and burn it, but he thinks she’ll recover and there should be no permanent damage.”

“Thank God for that!” his overlord exclaimed as he sat heavily.

“She has to stay here for at least a sennight.”

“So we shall have to deal with DeLac, and perhaps Blane, too.”

Rheged took some measure of comfort from the fact that Sir Algar had said “we,” but he wasn’t about to have his friend and overlord, or anyone else, suffer because of his impulsive act.

“If you’ll excuse me, my lord, I should go back to Castle DeLac to tell Lord DeLac that his niece will be returned to him as soon as the doctor says she may travel,” Rheged said, rising.

“I’ll go with you.”

Rheged shook his head. “Although I’m grateful for your offer, my lord, this was my doing and mine alone, so I alone should meet DeLac and face the consequences, whatever they may be.”

“You’ll at least take Gareth and some of your men.”

Again Rheged shook his head. “As always, I’ll leave Gareth in command of Cwm Bron.”

Regarding him intently, Sir Algar put his hand on his arm. “That’s madness, Rheged! DeLac will either arrest you or kill you outright.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Rheged grimly replied. “It’s bad enough the lady’s been hurt because of what I did. I won’t ask anyone else to risk the same or even, perhaps, their lives.”

Sir Algar sighed but made no further protest as Rheged strode from the hall, determined to do just what he said and meet DeLac alone.

He hadn’t reckoned on Gareth.

His friend had clearly been waiting for him and swiftly fell into step beside him.

“Where are you off to now?”

“Back to Castle DeLac, to tell Lord DeLac that his niece has been wounded and will return when she is well enough to travel.”

Gareth came to a startled halt. Rheged didn’t pause, so his friend had to trot to catch him up at the stable door. “His niece, is it? How the devil did she get hurt?”

By now, Dan had joined them, too. “I’ll saddle Mythrin myself,” Rheged said, naming the second-fastest horse in his stable, and starting forward again with Gareth by his side.

Dan moved back a pace, then followed in their wake.

“Come, man, you can’t be leaving it at that! What’s she doing here?”

“I took her to get back at her miser of an uncle. The tournament prize was almost worthless and when he wouldn’t provide a better reward, I lost my temper and took her instead. It was his men who shot her.”

“Mary’s sacred heart!
You
lost your temper?”

“I was justly angry.”

Gareth looked over his shoulder at the groom. “Dan, fetch Rob and Alec and the Big Scot—”

“I’m going alone,” Rheged interrupted. “This was my doing, so it’s my battle, Gareth, if it comes to a fight.”

“I haven’t saved your skin a score of times to see you throw it away now!” Gareth protested. “DeLac’s garrison must be a hundred at least and—”

“You have to stay here in command. If DeLac does arrest me, he’ll probably try to take Cwm Bron. It’ll be up to you to see he doesn’t.”

“And if you’re killed?”

“Then I’ll be dead and you’ll have to take the lady home.”

* * *

Rheged rode swiftly back to Castle DeLac, stopping only once to let Mythrin eat and drink, so that he reached the castle while it was still light. As he drew his tired gelding to a halt in the outer ward, several soldiers hurried through the inner gate to intercept him and he could hear more gathering on the wall walk above.

“I have business with Lord DeLac regarding his niece,” he announced.

A flurry of movement from just within the gates told him the summons was being relayed to the lord inside. Now all he could do was wait to see if DeLac would meet him there, or if he would be surrounded, captured and thrown into the man’s dungeon.

Not that he intended to allow that without a fight.

At last the inner gates opened. More mounted soldiers rode out, followed by Simon DeLac himself seated on a fine gray horse with costly accoutrements. The nobleman wore a bright blue velvet cloak with a collar of jet-black fur over a tunic of darker brown wool, a thick leather belt buckled around his waist and calfskin gauntlet gloves. A golden cloak pin glinted on his shoulder, and a thick necklace of silver hung about his neck.

Despite the fine attire, all was clearly not well with the man. His face was red and mottled, and he could hardly sit straight in the saddle. If he wasn’t already drunk, one more drink would do it.

“Where’s my niece, you cur?” Lord DeLac demanded, his words slightly slurred as he tried to look fierce.

Tried and failed, for Rheged had spent years among men who made DeLac seem like a petulant child. “Safe at Cwm Bron,” he replied, “under the protection of Sir Algar and being attended by Sir Algar’s own physician, who assures me she’ll recover.”

“Recover? From what? What have you done to her, you rogue?”

“I have done nothing. One of
your
men shot the arrow that wounded her. I have come to tell you she’s safe and I shall bring her back to you when she is well enough to travel.”

DeLac’s bleary eyes narrowed. “Just like that, eh?”

“Just like that.”

“No ransom?”

“I want nothing from you, my lord, now or ever.”

“You expect me to believe that?” DeLac scoffed.

“Believe it or not as you will, it is the truth. As soon as the physician gives her leave, I shall bring her back.”

“You give her up so easily, this woman you stole? Why? Have you had your way with her and so are willing to give her back like used goods?”

It was all Rheged could do not to draw his sword and strike the man down. “Your niece’s virtue is intact.”

“I am to take your word for that, am I,” DeLac scornfully replied, “when you’ve had her a day and a night—all night?”

“I give you my word as a knight of the realm, she is as she left here, except for the wound in her leg.”

DeLac’s lip curled. “
Your
word!”

“My word—and that is worth more than the word of some I could name.”

“Don’t try to play the honorable knight with me, Welshman,” DeLac retorted, “not after what you’ve done. I would be within my rights to imprison you here and now.”

“As she would be within her rights to refuse this betrothal you’ve arranged for her.”

“What gives you leave to talk of her marriage? Or say anything at all about my niece?” Again DeLac’s eyes narrowed. “Did she plan this little escapade with you? Has she run away just like her whore of a mother?”

Rheged swung down from his horse, his sword slapping his thigh as he walked toward DeLac. “Are you so lacking in chivalry you’ll insult your own flesh and blood, and one who has done nothing wrong? Who, in spite of her pain caused by your orders, insists on coming back here, and even though she knows as well as you or I that Blane is a lecherous, evil old man. Yet because she’s given her word—her word that truly means something—she will come back and fulfill the bargain you made.”

DeLac straightened his shoulders and adjusted his cloak. “Of course she will. I am her uncle and she must obey me.”

Rheged had met all kinds and conditions of men in his travels, but never had one so disgusted him as the lord of Castle DeLac. “Perhaps I
will
keep her.”

“You can’t!” DeLac cried angrily. “If you do, the king will hear of this outrage and more than you will suffer. You are Algar’s liegeman and he will pay, too, I assure you!”

“If I return the lady,” Rheged began, loathing the man with every fiber of his being, “you must give me your word, such as it is, that there will be no charges or other repercussions against me or my overlord for my rash act.”

“Rash act? Is that what you call it?”

Before Rheged could answer, there was a commotion on the wall walk nearby that signaled the arrival of Lady Mavis. She glared down at him as if he were the devil incarnate.

A flush stole over his features and guilt replaced his anger, for she did have some cause to hate him.

It seemed her presence gave her father new determination, for his voice was somewhat stronger when he spoke, in spite of his inebriated state. “Seven days, Sir Rheged. Have Tamsin back in seven days, untouched save for that wound, and all will be forgiven.”

Gilbert had said she might be well enough to travel by then, but also that she might not. “She will return when the physician says she may, and not a day sooner,” Rheged replied. “If you’re worried about Blane arriving first and finding his bride missing, I doubt he’s traveling with any speed, even for his wedding.”

“A sennight,” DeLac insisted, “and no more, or I
will
have you arrested and Algar, too.”

“You can try,” Rheged replied, his voice like cold metal as he returned to his horse and mounted. “But I will not risk the lady’s health, so she will return when the doctor says she may, and only then.”

He said no more before he spurred Mythrin into a gallop and rode out of Lord DeLac’s castle.

* * *

After Rheged had gone, Mavis rushed to the hall and found her father seated by a blazing fire, his cloak carelessly tossed over a bench and a silver goblet of wine already in his hand, a large carafe containing more on the table beside him.

“Where is Tamsin?” she demanded.

“Oh, for God’s sake, girl, be quiet!” her father commanded. “Your cousin is in that Welshman’s castle. Where else?”

Mavis tried to speak softly, lest her father refuse to answer or order her to go. “How much does he want for her safe return?”

Her father gave her a scornful smile. “Nothing. He wants to keep her for a time, and then he’ll bring her back. For nothing. I told you she was worthless.”

“Why does he want to do that?”

Her father raised an eyebrow.

“No! Oh, Father, you mustn’t let him have her! You
must
send your men to rescue her.”

“I will not. She’s useless to me anyway, and you said as long as I paid the ransom, you would marry Blane. I was willing to pay, but if Rheged asks no ransom, well, so much the better, and Blane will still have a bride.”

Mavis stared at the man who’d sired her, wondering how they could be of the same flesh and blood that he could be so cruel and callous, while her heart was breaking to think of the indignities Tamsin must be suffering. “I will keep my word, Father, and I shall marry Blane, but I will never speak to you again.”

Her father straightened. “What nonsense is this? Of course you’ll speak to me! You’ll have to.”

Mavis turned on her heel and walked away, her embroidered overtunic and gown of soft, smooth green wool swirling around her slender ankles.

“Come back here! Who do you think you are?” Lord DeLac demanded.

He threw the goblet at her and even though it hit the floor beside her, Mavis still did not look back.

“Damn all women to hell!” her father muttered as he watched her disappear into the kitchen corridor, her back straight, her fair blond head held high, just like that damned whelp of his ungrateful, selfish sister.

Then he drank more wine.

* * *

Her eyes still closed, Tamsin reached down and delicately felt her calf. It was sore and swollen but mercifully not as painful as before.

She slowly opened her eyes and found herself in a dimly lit room with round walls. A tower or keep, then. Two narrow windows with wooden shutters closed off any light from outside, while a brazier held a small amount of glowing coals to warm the room. A scarred table, a wooden chest of the sort used to store garments, its blue paint peeling, and a stool and washstand completed the simple furnishings. There were no tapestries on the walls, no candleholders, no chair. The ewer and basin were plain, undecorated metal vessels. The blanket covering her was old, and the featherbed beneath her so thin, she could feel the ropes beneath.

She turned her head the other way and gasped when she saw the stranger sitting in the shadows by the bed. “Who are you?” she demanded, pulling the worn sheet up to her chin.

The man with black hair graying at the temples, dressed in a long, plain tunic and with a kindly mien, rose and smiled down at her. “Good morning, my lady. I’m Gilbert, a physician, and I’m very glad to see you awake.” He lightly placed his soft hand upon her brow, and his smile grew. “No more fever.”

She licked her dry lips. “My leg...?”

“Should heal well,” he replied as he raised her up and put a metal cup of water to her lips.

Never had water been so welcome. “Thank you.”

Gilbert moved back and spoke to someone else—a serving woman, rather slovenly dressed, with brown hair and a mole on her cheek. She must have been waiting just outside the door. “Tell Sir Algar the lady is awake.”

Sir Algar? Wasn’t that Rheged’s old and feeble overlord?

The serving woman went out, closing the door behind her. Meanwhile, the physician put a small clay vessel back into what had to be his medicinal chest.

“Where am I?” she asked warily, starting to sit up. “Is this Cwm Bron?”

“You mustn’t move so much, my lady,” the physician said. “Yes, this castle is called Coom Bron.”

Sir Rheged’s fortress, then. “Is this the dungeon?”

Gilbert gave her another smile. “No, my lady. I understand this is Sir Rheged’s private chamber.”

Then he must indeed be poor. The servants at Castle DeLac had better quarters than this.

Gilbert’s expression changed to one of grave concern. “Did you not know where you were going?”

“Sir Rheged told me his intentions, but I’ve never been here before. Did he send for you?”

“Gilbert came at my request,” an older man announced as he walked into the chamber.

The stranger wore a soft leather tunic with a pristine white shirt beneath, brown breeches and red boots polished to a high gloss. His white hair was brushed back from a high brow. His equally white eyebrows were bushy and his beard likewise, but his shrewd blue eyes were as bright as a bird’s, and his smile warm and pleasant. “Good morning, my lady. I am Sir Algar. I can’t tell you how happy I am to know that you’ll soon be well.”