Rhuddlan (51 page)

“That isn’t going to happen—”

“But if it did? Would the king send him
elsewhere? You see, Sir Richard, I don’t want to go elsewhere. It’s
bad enough to be married to Lord William in Wales but I couldn’t
bear to be married to him in some foreign place. Do you understand?
I don’t want to leave Gwynedd.”

“You needn’t worry over that, my lady,”
Delamere said. His voice was subdued. “The men aren’t about to
desert Lord William. I think we all believe that this—this regard
he has for Gwalaes will pass soon enough and he will send her back
to the abbey.”

This time it was Teleri who chuckled. “Don’t
fool yourself, Sir Richard. My husband is in love with Gwalaes and
he won’t ever send her back. I have every reason to worry. Don’t
tell me you’ve forgotten that my uncle is prince of Gwynedd. He’s
married to a Norman and is a great friend of King Henry. I know all
about men deserting their leader, Sir Richard. I know that the
biggest threat to Gwynedd isn’t King Henry’s might but my uncle’s
brothers, who hate the peace he’s made with England. Do you see
what I mean? His own people. And one more thing, Sir Richard,” she
continued when he made no answer. “Sir Alan called Gwalaes by
another name. A Norman name: Eleanor. Lady Eleanor, he called her.
Cynan remembered it specifically because it is the same title you
Normans give to me.”

It took Richard Delamere almost an hour to
complete the puzzle. The missing piece, the piece Teleri had
suspected was missing but didn’t know, was the earl of Chester’s
acute interest in Gwalaes. As soon as Delamere added that to what
Teleri had told him, he knew Gwalaes didn’t speak Norman French so
fluently because she was a Welshwoman who had once been a servant
at Chester Castle but because she was a Norman.

It was bizarre, to say the least. He couldn’t
even begin to work out the hows and whys but, like most of his sex,
he wasn’t really interested in them. He only wondered how the
situation would affect Longsword because Longsword, of course,
would have to be told. Oddly enough, having begrudged his friend
the relationship from the start, he now felt a rush of sympathy for
him. Longsword, he knew, would see it as just another unfair defeat
for a man who had done nothing to deserve it.

Suppertime came and Longsword was in such a
good mood that Delamere didn’t have the heart to broach the
subject. Obviously Gwalaes—or should he call her Eleanor, now?—had
visited Longsword’s chamber after he had left it. He remembered how
his friend’s eyes had sought her out as soon as they’d entered the
keep…

“I’d love to tell her she’s wasting her
time,” Longsword said.

Delamere came back to the world of noisy
conversation, noisier laughter and servants bearing trays threading
their way in and out of the tables. “Who?”

“Teleri! Look at her talking the ear off
Chester! I would pity the man if I didn’t despise him so much.”
Longsword watched his wife and the earl while chewing his meat. He
fished a bit of gristle out of his mouth and set it down on the
edge of his trencher. “Perhaps she’s begging him to steal her away.
She’s the reason Haworth doesn’t take meals with us, you know.
Jealousy. He can’t bear the sight of other people speaking so
intimately with his master.”

Delamere didn’t reply. He, too, watched
Teleri and Chester. As far as he could see, the former was doing
all the talking and the latter all the listening. Was she telling
the earl the same story she’d told him? For a moment he was
frantic—he wanted Longsword to know it before Chester—but he
quickly relaxed. There was no reason Teleri would say anything
about Gwalaes to the earl; she had no idea of the significance of
the name Eleanor.

He wondered if he ought to speak to Chester
rather than to Longsword. If he knew what the earl was planning,
he’d be better able to deal with his friend when the axe fell.

“Whatever became of Chester’s wife?” he asked
Longsword abruptly.

Longsword shrugged and mumbled incoherently
through a mouthful of his supper.

“Robert Bolsover’s sister, wasn’t she?”
Delamere said. “I believe her name was Eleanor. Do you remember
that?”

Longsword swallowed. “No. You said this
morning she was Bolsover’s sister but you didn’t say her name.” He
lifted his wine cup and drank. Immediately the large bosomed,
red-haired woman was there to refill the cup as it touched the
table and to give him a lingering glance. Longsword grinned. “When
it rains, it pours,” he murmured.

“Don’t be foolish, Will!” Delamere admonished
sharply. “Haven’t your romances caused enough trouble?”

“I was only having a joke with you, Richard,”
Longsword protested unconvincingly. “Of course I was referring to
the weather.”

Chapter 33

April, 1177

Rhuddlan Castle, Gwynedd

The storm blew itself out overnight. Eleanor
was awakened by the sudden silence shortly before dawn. A greyish
light filtered through the odd cracks in the shutters and picked
out various pieces in Longsword’s chamber: a table bearing cups, a
flagon of wine and a dully gleaming sword; a pair of stools, one
upended; strewn clothing; and the darkened end of the bed. She
didn’t turn her head to look at her companion but knew from his
motionless body and even breathing that he was sleeping.

She was not, perhaps, as ashamed of what she
had done as she ought to have been; this, in fact, surprised her.
But she had done it for her daughter, for whom any sacrifice could
be justified. During the past two days, she had never once
reproached herself. It was a bargain she had made and she was
merely keeping her end of it.

Longsword was kind. He had even sworn his
love for her once or twice. She hoped he wasn’t hurt by her lack of
ardent response, although he never seemed to be. In the beginning
she had been completely frozen, fearfully half-expecting tactics
similar to Hugh’s, but those fears hadn’t been realized. He wasn’t
Hugh; wasn’t at all like Hugh. She almost wished she could return
his obvious regard for her but she couldn’t. It was Bronwen whom
she loved, so wholeheartedly that there wasn’t room for anybody
else.

She slid quietly from the bed, making a face
when her bare feet hit the cool floor. Her clothing lay in a
rumpled heap near the bed and she picked it up and took it into the
antechamber, where she dressed quickly. She went back to the door
to the bedroom and looked in on Longsword. He hadn’t wakened. She
thought it most likely that she would never be with him under such
circumstances again. She felt a pang of guilt but squelched it. She
had only done it to ensure her daughter’s safety and Alan had
promised her that Bronwen was now indeed safe.

It no longer mattered whether or not she had
Longsword’s protection. Hugh could do nothing to her. She had
realized that night in the chapel he didn’t even suspect that he
might have a child. The knowledge had virtually erased her fear of
him. Even if he made some protest to his host, revealed who she
was, she wouldn’t go with him. She knew Longsword wouldn’t force
her.

She went out of the keep through the cellars
and emerged in the little alleyway between the kitchens and the
keep. She paused for a moment to look at the sky. All traces of
yesterday’s storm had vanished. The sky was clear. Birds sang. The
sun was creeping over the horizon. Eleanor breathed deeply, the
first calm and untroubled breath she’d taken since the day she saw
Hugh ride into Rhuddlan. She was resolved. If Hugh wanted an heir
he would simply have to marry again. So what if the child were
illegitimate in reality? No one would know it except for her, Hugh
and Haworth.

She made a vow right then and there to say
prayers every day for the child’s soul and to expiate her part in
the sham.

There was stirring at the stables. From a
safe distance Eleanor could tell they were Hugh’s men who milled
near the entrance, dressed in full kit. She counted a dozen—surely
that was almost half the number Hugh had brought with him. Where
were they going so early in the day?

A familiar, hated voice drew her attention.
Roger of Haworth was snapping orders to the stablemaster and the
grooms. Perversely enough, the sight of him this morning cheered
her already soaring mood. She was well aware that Haworth and her
husband were inseparable. If Haworth was preparing for departure,
could Hugh be far behind?

She watched the activity for several minutes
and felt as though a heavy weight had been lifted from her back.
She felt as if she had entered a contest of wits with her husband,
with the highest stake possible at risk, and had won. She felt sure
she would never set eyes on him again.

Shortly after noon, Alan d’Arques found her
in the kitchen garden. “I knew you’d be here,” he said cheerfully,
blocking the sun so that his shadow fell across her kneeling
form.

She straightened up at the sound of his voice
and brushed the dirt from her knees. “I wanted to see if the storm
had left us anything,” she said, smiling at him. “Besides, I have
to do something. I’m used to being very busy. Where were you all
day?”

“The earl expressed an interest in the iron
mines, so we took him down to have a look. He said he was
considering a forge for Hawarden and if Lord William could provide
him with an inexpensive, steady supply of ore he just might go
ahead and do it. But I have to say, he didn’t seem all that
impressed by—” He broke off with a slight frown. “Are you all
right, Eleanor?”

“The earl is still here? I thought he’d
gone…I thought I saw his men making ready to leave early this
morning…”

“Oh, that’s true enough—he sent half of them
back, he told us. And tomorrow, he and the remainder will leave.
You should have seen Lord William’s face beam and he was actually
quite pleasant to the earl on the tour.”

“Tomorrow?”

Alan nodded and grinned. “Tomorrow, Lady
Eleanor.”

“Thank God!” she said fervently. Less than a
whole day, she told herself, trying to steady the fierce beating of
her heart which had started the moment Alan had mentioned Hugh’s
name. “You don’t know how much I long for tomorrow to be over…And
once you’ve brought back Bronwen, I must somehow persuade Lord
William to let us return to the abbey.”

Alan snorted. “He’s got more of a reason now
to insist you stay.” When he saw her dismayed expression, he
explained. “While we were out today, the advance men ran into two
Welshmen who were crossing Lord William’s land. Not knowing who
they were, they held onto them until we caught up. It turns out,
Lady Eleanor, that the men were from Llanlleyn and they were on
their way to Prince Dafydd to inform him that during yesterday’s
storm, their chief Maelgwn was killed when a large tree was
uprooted by the wind and came crashing down on top of him!”

Eleanor’s eyes widened. “Oh, no!” she
breathed.

“The Welshmen want to ask the prince to
release Rhirid so that he can take up his father’s mantle.
Apparently, some other relative has taken advantage of his absence
and seized power.”

Eleanor stared down at the garden. The heavy
rain and strong wind had flattened new shoots and weathered
plantings alike but the mild temperature and full sun of the
morning had conspired to produce a miraculous recovery, and
vegetation which had looked limp and lifeless at dawn was now
glistening and healthy.

“Does Lord William think that if Rhirid ap
Maelgwn returns, he will break the peace?” she asked calmly.

Alan shrugged. “He didn’t say so, but it
can’t be far from his mind. After all, the man did try to kill him
once before.” He saw her disappointed expression but was largely
unsympathetic. He wanted her to stay at Rhuddlan; he believed she
belonged with her own people, despite the fact that the sisters at
the abbey were Norman, and he wanted to be in a position to look
after her. “Rhuddlan isn’t so terrible, Eleanor, is it?”

“No, of course it isn’t,” she said, glancing
up and giving him a quick smile that didn’t quite reach to her
eyes. Then, just as suddenly, the smile died. “Alan…”

“Well, d’Arques,” a deep voice sounded behind
the young knight, “It seems that to find the countess, all I must
do is look for you.”

Alan whirled around. “What do you want, Sir
Roger?” he asked frostily.

Haworth considered Alan d’Arques with a
smirk. “I have a message for the countess. Am I permitted to speak
to her?”

“What is the message?” Eleanor asked
calmly.

Haworth bowed shortly in her direction.
“Madam, the earl wishes to have a word with you in his
chamber.”

She and Alan exchanged a glance. “Very well,”
she said, and added over the start of Alan’s protest, “Tell him
I’ll be there presently.”

She hadn’t the slightest intention of doing
so and Hugh must have anticipated such a response because Haworth
said, “I’m instructed to escort you. Now, if you please.”

Alan d’Arques stepped forward as if he would
make an angry retort. Eleanor forestalled him by taking hold of his
arm in a reassuring manner. “It’s all right, Alan. I’ll be fine,”
she whispered. She looked at Haworth and her demeanor became
confident. He dared not lay a violent finger on her in broad
daylight; that wasn’t his cowardly style. And neither did the
prospect of meeting face to face with Hugh frighten her: he could
bluster all he wanted—he might even strike her—but he had no hold
over her. “I’ll come, Sir Roger. But I don’t wish you to escort me.
Walk behind or before me if you like but do not walk with me.” She
paused and then added in an unfavorable tone, “I thought I’d seen
the last of you this morning…”

The chilling smile which spread slowly across
Haworth’s face nearly shook her resolve. “You ought to know better,
my lady,” he said, “than to suppose the earl would travel without
me. No, this morning he merely sent me on a small errand.”