Heartsong (19 page)

“Wench, bring me more ale.” He turned to Harold. “Drink up, my friend. I have planned well. There is nothing to fear. We only wait for Sir Lydon’s death. Then I send for the abbot.”

~ * ~

She’d lost all concept of time. If Mildred hadn’t kept her informed of what day had passed, she wouldn’t have known how long she had been locked in her chamber. Her hunger become a constant companion, her slippers wore thin from her pacing, and what little water she used for washing had long ago disappeared.

Yesterday she had pleaded for a little water but her request had been denied.

“You’ll have no need for water except to quench the flames,” the servant had sneered.

Mayhap Mildred would come this night, and have some word of the whereabouts of Garrett. She gazed from her window slit and tried to gauge the time. It had been dark for hours now, so how much longer before Mildred tapped on the door?

Time passed and Rhianna nodded off once or twice, but finally she heard the sound for which she’d waited. Mildred had arrived.

“My lady,” she whispered.

“I’m here,” Rhianna replied, her ear glued to the door.

“First, I have no word of my Lord. But there is much I must tell you. Last night, one of the serving lads overheard Lord Colvin’s plan. This morn we took Sir Lydon to the village, to the healer there. She is loyal to Lord Garrett.”

“To the healer? But, you told me he had improved greatly.”

“Aye, he is better,” Mildred said. “However, Lord Colvin wants him dead. In fact, he planned to have Sir Lydon killed today. But we spread the word earlier that Lydon Tomlaine died last night.”

Rhianna gasped. “Oh, nay.”

“You did not hear. We spread the tale. It is an untruth,” Mildred whispered. “‘Twas Sir Lydon’s idea to misinform everyone. Sir Lydon has recovered enough to send for Lord Garrett. Still, he had to get away from Lord Colvin and save his own life.”

“Thank the lord,” Rhianna replied. “But you know what plans they have for me? The maid who brings my food calls me witch.”

“Aye, we know. Now that Lord Colvin thinks Sir Lydon dead, he’s called for a priest from the abbey. You need to know Colvin instructed some of the servants to demand you be tried as a witch.”

Rhianna’s breath caught in her throat. They burned witches. The words of the servant came roaring back through her head.
Water to quench the flames.
Oh surely, this was not to be her fate.

“Worry not. Any trial Lord Colvin plans will take weeks to assemble. By that time my Lord will have returned and besides, the abbot is...” She stopped speaking.

“Mildred?” Rhianna waited for more.

“I must go. Someone comes.”

Rhianna pinned her ear to the door but all she heard where the soft steps of her maid as she ran from the portal. But what of Mildred’s words of a trial?

She slumped to the floor. Ten days had passed since Garrett had left the castle. Could they find him and return him in time to stop a trial?

Mention of Garrett brought her hopes soaring. All the previous days, he graced her mind’s eye with his pleasing countenance, returning to haunt her. Once again, her lips tingled as she recalled his kisses and those memories flayed her.

All her nights, when the dark descended, she’d fought another pain. Her slumber contained strange dreams, where illusions raced through her sleep. She’d imagined herself stretched out on her bed, only a soft fur draped over her unclothed body. Next to her, lying on his side, Garrett rested with her. His hands traced her flesh, his lips caressed her face, her neck, her breasts and pleasure swept Rhianna into a swirl of anticipation.

In those nightly visions, he did no more than kiss her breasts and yet she wanted more, needed something else. She knew not what. Aching with hot pain searing her skin, she would awake, a fierce desire cloaked in darkness.

Would he return in time, so she would know his touch again?

But mayhap he and his brother planned to rid England of their Welsh captives with this trick. But when she recalled Mildred’s words, the story named that thought a lie.

All she could do was pray. Pray whoever searched for the lord of Knockin would return him soon. She clung to one grain of hope, that he would arrive at his castle before Colvin could carry out his plans.

She reminded herself that except for that once, when she and Arthur hid in the cave and she cursed the lord of Knockin, no word of threat had passed her lips. Well, except that first day at Knockin. She had wished the plague on him, but nothing had happened to him. Nor had any servant, or knight, suffered from her presence, nothing to name her a witch. Surely the abbot would not condemn her without a great deal more proof than her loss of control under trying times.

She slept little that night. Mildred did not return and she worried her maid had been caught leaving her portal. Still the servant who delivered her morning chunk of bread and cup of ale said nothing about finding the maid near her door. If someone had seen Mildred, Rhianna knew word would have spread throughout Knockin. The servant would have taunted Rhianna with the news, as she had with the tale of Sir Tomlaine’s death that morning.

Rhianna paced the chamber, her concern mounting. Sir Lydon had recovered, he knew where deShay had gone. So why had Garrett not returned?

This morn, there had been some activity in the bailey. For an instant she hoped for deShay. What horses she could see did not look familiar but she refused to acknowledge her doubts. She waited for someone to come release her from her prison but when the day wore on and she remained locked in the chamber, her expectations died.

As the sun kissed the day a last farewell, she was forced to settle with her last bite of bread. Again, fear that Garrett and his half brother had planned her demise washed through her.

The noise outside her door had her jumping to her feet and straightening her gown. Her heart soared with relief. Finally! deShay had returned. The commotion in the bailey had in fact, been the returning lord.

The door swung open as Rhianna staggered toward the portal.

But the man in the doorway was not Garrett deShay. Through her blurred vision she saw his clerical garb.

“Wench,” he addressed her. “I am here to conduct a trial. You have been named a witch.”

Eleven

Rhianna stared at the priest. Nay, this was no priest, not in his elaborate cope of blue wool adorned with golden embroidery. A bishop?

He nodded as if he understood the question in her mind.

“I am the abbot, Benedick. I have been summoned to conduct your trial. But first, before the trial can begin, you will answer my questions.”

He turned from her and Rhianna realized Colvin Hubbard stood behind the cleric.

“Have the servants bring her water to wash,” the abbot ordered. “Have her maid help her dress. I will have her clean to stand before me. We must now discuss the claims against her. Come. I must pray and then I want to sup.”

Rhianna thought for a moment Colvin looked angry, but the expression came and went so fast, she could not be certain. As the abbot stepped away from the door the sneering face of Harold Moirant gazed at her from behind Colvin’s shoulder. She shuddered with disgust. If these two were involved in these accusations, there was little hope for her.

The door closed and she trembled with fear and frustration. Claims against her? But, which servants would claim she was a witch? The only one she had ever cursed was Garrett and obviously he had not yet been found. Mayhap Mildred, if she was allowed to come, could answer her question.

~ * ~

Garrett paced the hall of the abbey. The messenger who’d found him had told tales he found impossible to believe.

After the runner had delivered his message, Garrett raced to the abbey before he returned to Knockin. If Lydon had died, his friend, the abbot, would have conducted the burial rites. Benedick would have information about the happenings at the castle. Garrett also had to know why Colvin had descended on Knockin with Moirant.

“I have not been summoned to Knockin to bury anyone,” Benedick said after the messenger repeated the message for the abbot. “But, I will travel this day to learn what has happened.”

“That is good. We can travel together. I’ll have my—”

“Nay!” Benedick’s raised voice surprised Garrett.

“Think, my friend. Your appearance will alter any plans Colvin has. We must know what is in his mind. Best you remain here. Your messenger can stay here as well. The people at Knockin will think you have yet to be found.”

“There is always the information about my hostage. She is not a witch. There is no foundation for a trial. Mayhap the talk about destroying a witch is all rumor.” Garrett started to pace again.

“She is handsome, this woman?”

He stopped his movement and nodded, Rhianna’s continence appearing before his mind’s eye. “Aye,” he’d murmured.

“I have a feeling it is time for you to find a wife. She must be a warrior woman. I’m told the Welsh are that.”

“But therein lays the problem. She is Welsh!” Garrett protested.

“Aye, but think on this, my friend. Your own father married a woman from Wales.”

“It was the biggest mistake of his life,” Garrett growled.

For a moment Benedick looked confused. “Your mother—”

Garrett interrupted, “You know I do not talk about my mother—ever.”

“Aye, I understand. But enough of this. We must

address the information your messenger brought. We must decide on a plan. The church does not condone the execution of those suspected of witchcraft despite what your messenger says the people of Knockin are demanding. Penance, yes, but death? Nay.”

Garrett grimaced. “Those involved in this scheme will have to be punished themselves. I tell you the woman Rhianna is no witch.”

“So be it, but I insist we wait until I have a clear image of what Colvin has wrought. Mayhap the messenger has not the truth of it. Yesterday I received a demand from Colvin that I send a priest to Knockin. Now we have some knowledge of why. Of course, that is the excuse I need. I’ll go myself after Terce. I’ll arrive at Knockin in time to sup. Then, once I understand the way of things, probably the next day, I’ll return here and we can make more suitable plans.

“Nay, if you must stay overnight, then I insist I go with you.”

“You cannot. Remember what I said. Any mischief Colvin intends would be thwarted with your arrival.” The abbot signaled for an acolyte. “I repeat, my friend, you
will
stay here until I return.”

The abbot left and Garrett resumed his pacing, trying hard to suppress his concern for Rhianna. Surely, they would not accuse her of witchcraft. That could not be true.

Thoughts of Rhianna brought her enchanting body to mind. What else was happening to her? He stomped around the hall, his right hand fingering the dagger at his waist. If Colvin had stood next to him at that moment, Garrett could not guarantee his own actions.

He swore, remembering how Rhianna had danced through his head every day as he searched for the band of miscreants Edward wanted dispatched. In the midst of that search he found her slender form moving toward him. He pictured her graceful hands holding her bow as she glided through her memory. At night, he could have sworn he felt her soft touch as she cared for his wound, her soft lips surrendering to his kiss.

What had she done to him? Could it be that she did have some powers? After all, he no longer thought of her first as a Welsh woman. He shook his head, and stared at the flames darting over the wood in the abbey’s hearth.

After his simple meal Garrett stalked to the hearth, glaring at the fire. He had been forced to give his word that he would stay at the abbey and a knight always honored his promise. However, thoughts of the beauty occupying his chamber at Knockin toyed with his brain.

His body ached with arousal, yet he had not bedded the wench. He wanted her in a way he could never before remember wanting a woman. Desire, hot, pulsing, rushed to his groin. He fought the inclination to leave the abbey, return to Knockin and drag her to his bed so he could sink himself into her warm body. Yet, he also wanted her willing.

If his people had accused her of witchery, would she ever want his attentions? And how would Arthur react when he heard about these accusations of sorcery? He liked that young man, even though Arthur was also Welsh.

Once again he thanked the heavens that he’d sent the boy away to learn more about the care required for English war horses. Arthur had gone willingly. Of course, he had little choice. Now Garrett knew a profound relief that Arthur was not at Knockin.

The evening finished, he took the cell Benedick had assigned him, but when sleep came it was full of nightmares. He awoke long before dawn, dressed, then paced the hall, listening to chant of morning prayers.

After he joined the priests for mass, he broke his fast and gave serious thought to returning to his estate. Yet he had made a promise. Again he paced, his thoughts consumed with what Rhianna was enduring at the hands of his half brother and the beast, Moirant. If either man had touched the maid... He could not finish his thought, clenching his fists at his side when he really wanted them wrapped around Colvin’s throat.

It was long after the nooning when he heard the return of the small band of men who had ventured to the south. When Benedick strode into the hall, Garrett sighed with relief. At least now he would know what harm had been done to the wench and what was happening at Knockin.