Midnight Magic (30 page)

“Nay.”

“Neither have I, so I know not if he has lived or has yet to live. And then later Merlin says a Hedgehog will hide apples in Winchester and stones will speak. What the devil is that supposed to mean?”

“I fear I am as confused as you are.”

Gwendolyn pulled her knees up, removing her ankle from his grasp. How was she supposed to think when his thumb worried her ankle, especially when he sprawled on the bed, making it hard enough to follow a conversation?

“One would think if Merlin intended to tell us of future events, he would do so in an understandable manner. How am I supposed to know which prophecy deals with our time in history?”

“Is there no mention of a civil war?”

“Not in such terms, and not unless Stephen and Maud are dragons. I swear, every other prophecy deals with death and destruction. ’Twould seem England is doomed to suffer much bloodshed and slaughter, one war following the other.”

Not a future she wanted to contemplate.

“Gwen, would it not make sense that one of those times of bloodshed and slaughter would be so horrific that Merlin would have assured us that in that time Arthur would return?”

So she’d hoped.

“One prophecy mentions a Lion of Justice. I thought, at first, that might be King Arthur. But he would not use the symbol of the lion, I should think, but the banner of the Welsh dragon, as he did in his lifetime. Still, it seems to me that by creating the legacy and giving it to my ancestors, Merlin left the decision of when to recall King Arthur to the people living during times of strife.”

He shrugged a shoulder. “Perhaps, but an event so momentous as King Arthur’s return to England would surely merit a mention in Merlin’s prophecies.”

Frustrated, Gwendolyn shoved the book aside. “I need to read this again. I must have missed something important. Perhaps my understanding of Latin is not as complete as I thought and I am misreading the book. What did your father want of you?”

Alberic glanced away, his mouth tightening. “Chester is putting together a plan for the invasion of Wales.”

Gwendolyn hugged her upraised knees to still the lurch of her stomach. “Sweet mercy!”

“Do not concern yourself over it yet. Chester hopes to convince the king to join him in the venture. That may not happen for months. King Stephen has more urgent matters to attend to at the moment.”

Ye gods. More bloodshed and slaughter. And too close to home for comfort. She thought of her Welsh relatives, who would be in harm’s way.

“Why invade Wales?”

“The earl wants Carlisle. To get it, Stephen must win this war. Chester believes invading Wales is a good strategy in defeating Maud.”

Chester, damn him, wanted Alberic to participate.

“What would be your part?”

Alberic’s smile reflected no humor. “He offered me a position as one of his commanders. All I need do is provide twenty knights and one hundred footmen, and their provisions, of course.”

’Twas a larger force than her father had taken to Wallingford, but not unreasonable numbers for a barony.

“What does he offer in return?”

“Ap Idwal.”

Hellfire. A most appropriate reward. The prospect of revenge against Madog ap Idwal would tempt Alberic sorely.

“Is revenge against ap Idwal worth the risk of your own life, losing all you have gained?”

“Maybe. Either you shape your own destiny or allow others to shape it for you. Sometimes the risk might be worth the prize.”

Nothing was worth Alberic’s life. Nothing.

“How do you decide enough is enough, that you have all you need and do not need any more?”

“I am not sure.”

“So you intend to accept his offer?”

“I have not yet decided.” He slid off the bed. “You might want to put your shoes on. The bell for supper will ring soon.”

He walked out of the chamber and Gwendolyn put her head on her knees, wishing they’d stayed home. Then she wouldn’t be so confused about the legacy, and Alberic wouldn’t now be considering making war on the Welsh.

Mathilda had been right about one thing, at the least. Men ventured onto the battlefield more for personal gain than for honor or glory or in support of a just cause. The earl of Chester would invade Wales as a means to further his own ambitions, and he hoped to drag Alberic into the fray with him.

Did not one man in the entire kingdom consider what was best for the kingdom? Apparently not!

King Arthur would, and if Arthur Pendragon seized the reins of power, no one would question his right to the crown. The war would end. The kingdom would be at peace. Alberic would no longer have to decide whether or not to participate in the invasion of Wales.

She’d come to love him, and after all she’d lost to this war, wasn’t sure if she could bear to lose him, too.

Chapter Eighteen

A
LBERIC WASN’T INVITED
to sit at the dais with the earl and his wife, but Mathilda did him and Gwendolyn the honor of seating them at the first table below the dais, with the highest-ranking members of Chester’s court.

He’d known the names and positions of most of these men for years, and with an inner smile, wondered how they felt about having a man they’d dismissed as too far below them, too unimportant to consider worth a moment of their time, taking a seat among them.

’Twas almost as satisfying as being accorded a seat at the dais.
Almost.

Alberic assisted Gwendolyn onto the bench, her gracious smile sweeping the table. To their credit, several of the men raised wine-filled goblets to her in salute, uttering welcomes.

The man across from her, Sir David, held several manors in fealty to the earl, and his wife served as one of Mathilda’s handmaidens. He raised his goblet high. “’Tis rare a lady of your beauty and wit graces us with her presence, Lady Gwendolyn. We are most pleased to have you with us. You also, Sir Alberic. I congratulate you on your rise in rank.”

Alberic wondered how David knew aught of Gwendolyn’s wit, but let the comment pass, having recognized the insincerity in the man’s entire speech.

“Our thanks, Sir David.” Alberic glanced at the empty seat across from him. “Your wife does not join us?”

“The Lady Elizabeth is indisposed this eve and begs your pardon for her absence.”

“Nothing serious, I hope,” Gwendolyn commented in all sincerity.

“A mild malady, I am sure.”

A malady quickly cured as soon as the lady wasn’t forced to dine across the mere span of a trestle table from the earl’s bastard son, Alberic was sure.

Perhaps he was being too harsh and quick to judge, but his experience with the members of Chester’s court hadn’t been cordial, just as his relationship with the earl hadn’t been close. He’d often wondered which of Chester’s advisers had cautioned the earl against acknowledging a half-English, peasant-raised son all those years ago. Probably all.

Alberic doubted his rise in rank sat well with any of them. Too bad.

He raised his goblet. “To your lady’s improved health, Sir David. May she not suffer unduly long.”

David acknowledged the sentiment with a nod. “I will pass along your kind concern. Are you enjoying your visit to Chester, my lady?”

“Lady Mathilda has been most gracious.”

Alberic almost smiled at the tightness of Gwendolyn’s tone. She’d obviously figured out that David didn’t care one whit whether she enjoyed her visit or not.

As the two exchanged false pleasantries, Alberic wondered how much David knew of the earl’s plans to invade Wales, of how many others at the table Chester had taken into his confidence. He hoped the topic wouldn’t come up as dinner conversation, and wasn’t at all upset when, at the presentation of the first course, David excused himself from the table as well, citing some vague duty, leaving both places across from him and Gwendolyn empty.

Alberic made his selections from the platter presented to him with genuine delight. “Now this is spectacular.”

Gwendolyn stared down at the large wedge he placed on their trencher beside sugared dates and bits of capon. “It looks . . . interesting.”

“’Tis made of eggs, cheese, almonds, fennel and . . . I know not what else.”

“A favorite of yours?”

He sliced off a chunk and popped it into his mouth, allowing a low moan to answer for him.

She laughed lightly. “Lady Mathilda offered to give me directions for some dishes she claims are your favorites. Shall I request this one?”

“Oh, pray do!”

“She also offered to give me the name of the wine merchant who supplies Chester.”

“Lovely. That makes this trip worthwhile.”

And in a way it did. ’Twas surprising that Mathilda knew anything of his preferences. But then, the lady of the castle was trained to notice such things about those who ate in her hall. Still, before today, he’d eaten at a table at the far end, within a draft’s distance of the hall’s doors—too far away for Mathilda to easily notice.

“She likes you, you know.”

Gwendolyn’s voice was hushed, too quiet to be heard by any but him. He followed suit.

“Lady Mathilda has always been kind to me.”

“Perhaps you should take advantage of her goodwill. She would be in a good position to help you gain acknowledgment from Chester.”

He’d considered that a few years ago, then abandoned the idea. “I am sure Mathilda plans to have children. I doubt she would do anything to place me above them.”

“She bemoans that her father’s bastardy proved an obstacle to the crown. If Robert were king, she feels, there would have been no war. Given her enlightened sentiments, she may not begrudge you the earldom.”

“At the expense of a son of her own? ’Tis hardly likely.”

Gwendolyn picked up a chunk of capon and took a dainty bite before asking, “How long have she and Chester been married?”

Alberic had to remember how old he’d been when the earl brought his royal bride to Chester. “Nigh on five years.”

“A long time. Perhaps they will have no children.”

He glanced up at the dais where Mathilda sat beside Chester. She stared intently at the far end of the hall, likely at the door from which the servants who carried the food in from the kitchen emerged.

If Mathilda didn’t bear the earl’s children, would she begrudge him a seat at the dais, a share in the earldom? Possibly not, but he couldn’t bring himself to wish barrenness on a woman he liked and respected. Should she not bear an heir, Chester would have reason to petition for an annulment in order to marry another. The degradation would be horrific.

“In order for her to have children, the earl must remain home for more than a few days at a time, not be gone for months on end.” He sliced the rest of the egg wedge in two, feeding a piece to Gwendolyn before she could say any more on the subject. “Watch the end of the hall. If this meal follows suit, the next course should be a treat for the eyes.”

To the blare of trumpets, Gwendolyn turned slightly, just as the platter bearers marched into the hall. “Oh, gracious me, will you look at that!”

Each platter held a swan on which the feathers had been carefully reattached after roasting. Alberic thought it silly to try to make a dead bird look alive, a waste of time to put the feathers back on again when the servers must just take them off to slice the meat.

He glanced up at Chester, who smiled broadly, enjoying the showy parade.

The two of them might look alike, but there the similarities between father and son ended. Chester loved the grandiose; Alberic preferred simplicity. Perhaps a legitimate son, born to full nobility and trained to assume the earldom, might share more of Chester’s traits.

That’s when the flaw in Chester’s plan hit him: Chester hadn’t allowed for the traits of the sons of King Stephen and Empress Maud.

Stephen fought not only to keep his throne, but for his son’s right to inherit after him. Prince Eustace was a tall, solid lad, only three years from coming into his majority. Many current royal supporters would stand behind Eustace if Stephen fell and the crown settled on a young head.

If Chester was right, if Bristol was threatened, Maud just might flee all the way to the continent, where awaited her son Henry, only a couple of years younger than Eustace. All agreed Henry was a personable lad already skilled in statesmanship. If the lad convinced his father, the count of Anjou and duke of Normandy, to back him, England would be subjected to a war of proportions not seen since the last Norman invasion of the kingdom.

This war had to end by a negotiated treaty, where one side gave up all pretensions, not by driving one particular woman out of the country.

Alberic knew then he would turn down his father’s offer. If the king decided to invade Wales and called Camelen’s troops into service, then he’d have no choice but to comply. But until that unlikely event happened, he preferred not to become involved in one of his father’s impulsive schemes.

Chester wasn’t going to be happy.

Again, too bad.

Amazingly, Alberic suddenly didn’t care overmuch if he displeased the earl of Chester. As he searched for a reason why, he realized how much he’d changed over the past weeks. He had Camelen, more than he’d dreamed to ever possess. He no longer needed his father’s approval, or even acceptance. Neither was necessary to his happiness because he had Gwendolyn.

Only her acceptance mattered. Only her approval and respect were important to him.

Because he loved her.

He almost choked on a piece of roasted swan, had to wash it down with a swig of wine to keep from coughing it up. And as the swan went down, he acknowledged that at some point he’d stopped trying to please Chester, and even himself, for want of proving himself worthy of Gwendolyn.

Could he ever? Perhaps not. God’s truth, she had so many reasons not to consider him worthy.

But he knew she cared about him. She’d nursed him when he was injured, done many things to bolster his spirits when he’d held himself in contempt. Her advice and suggestions were usually sound. And at night, when he reached for her, she responded willingly, taking a man she’d once denounced as an enemy into her body with an eagerness that brought him such joy.