Rhuddlan (52 page)

Longsword had had the manor house built for
Richard Delamere, insisting that it follow the form of a small
Norman keep for safety’s sake. It was made chiefly of stone. Half
the first storey was dug into the ground and served as storerooms
for surplus grains, dried fruits for the winter and smoked meats.
An outside wooden stair led to the entrance to the top floor. There
was a hearth at the near end, with a long table and benches set
before it. The far end served as the sleeping quarters for
Delamere, Olwen and their children, and was separated from the rest
of the hall by a wooden screen.

Olwen sat on a bench at the table, nursing
little Henry and humming. The late morning was peaceful and she was
glad of the opportunity to relax. Her eldest son and Gwalaes’
daughter played together on the grass before the stairway. Their
voices were chatty but amiable. William was usually a handful but
Bronwen was something new and wonderfully strange to him: a child
like himself, a little older, a little taller and dressed more like
his mother than his father, and he was plainly in awe of her. And
if Bronwen weren’t enough to keep him enthralled, she had a dog she
called Kigva who didn’t mind being chased around.

Olwen shifted Henry around to her other side,
stoppering his mouth before he had the chance to complain, and then
froze. She strained her ears. There it was again. The sound of
horsemen coming into the yard and judging from the jingling of
hardware, Norman horsemen.

Her heart began pounding wildly. Richard had
never arrived with company; all she could imagine was that he’d
been injured or worse and Longsword had sent men to inform her.

She pulled Henry away and put him in his
basket on the table. Deprived of the remainder of his meal and his
mother’s comfortable embrace, he immediately started to howl. Olwen
barely noticed. She straightened her clothing and went outside.

A dozen men waited in the yard, dressed head
to toe in mail, their faces obscured by the flat metal guard
projecting from their helmets and covering their noses. The two
children were watching them with solemn interest and the servants
had come from the back of the house to investigate this unexpected
intrusion. Only Kigva was not awestruck. She barked and snarled,
leaping forward and falling back with her hackles raised.

Roger of Haworth, astride his horse, frowned
down at the animal. He fingered the pommel of his sword, tempted to
shut the mutt up forever but Hugh had warned him not to abuse
Delamere’s whore or his property in any way.

Olwen went nervously down the steps. She
tried to keep her voice calm and level over the dog’s barking as
she gave the men a cautious greeting.

Haworth glanced at her without interest. Only
one of the two children on the grass was a girl and she looked to
be the correct age. He’d come for her, not to pass idle time with
some woman. But he remembered Hugh’s instructions and inclined his
head a fraction.

“Good day, mistress,” he said. “We’re here at
the behest of the earl of Chester. You have something that belongs
to him…”

“The earl of Chester?” she repeated. Her tone
became more hopeful. “Then you’re not from Rhuddlan?”

“We’re guests at Rhuddlan,” he answered
impatiently. “We’ve come for that child.” He pointed at
Bronwen.

Bronwen didn’t know what the silver-shrouded
man was saying but she didn’t like his harsh voice or the way he
sat on his horse and stuck his finger at her. She moved closer to
Olwen, who crossed her arms over the little girl protectively.

“I don’t understand—” Olwen started.

“There’s nothing for you to understand,
mistress!” Haworth interrupted sharply. “The girl is the earl of
Chester’s daughter and he wants her. With as little trouble as
possible,” he added, glaring.

“You’ve made a mistake—”

“There’s no mistake!” Haworth’s horse,
perhaps sensing its master’s annoyance or perhaps frightened by the
snarling Kigva, stepped nervously and threatened to rear up. With a
savage jerk, Haworth brought the animal under control. “I don’t
want to be unpleasant,” he told Olwen. “Hand over the child.”

“I’m sorry you came so far for no reason—”
But she got no further. With a noise of exasperation, Haworth
signaled to one of his men who dismounted and seized Bronwen by an
arm. The girl screamed and began wailing. Olwen tried desperately
to hold onto her but the knight was much stronger and she feared he
would rip Bronwen’s arm from her body. She was forced to let her
go. She protested vehemently, running after the man as he carried
Bronwen, writhing and shrieking, to a comrade and handed her up.
Olwen reached out and touched the knight’s shoulder. He whirled
around immediately and pushed her away with such force that she
stumbled backwards and fell. Her women rushed forward to help her
to her feet. Haworth watched the proceedings with a grim
expression.

“You’ve no right to do this!” Olwen shouted
at him. “You’ve no right to trespass and kidnap!”

“Mistress, a father has the right to his own
child!”

They were off at a gallop. Olwen ran after
them, crying out to Bronwen, trying to reassure her, until she was
out of breath and unable to go further. Kigva chased onward.
Everyone could hear Bronwen’s pitiful cries and calls for help
rise…and then fade away.

“Admit it, Will—the idea excites you.”

“I refuse to say anything other than we can
only wait and see.”

“I don’t think we should. Now’s your chance
for an easy revenge. Let’s strike while Llanlleyn’s in
disarray.”

Longsword was reluctant. “We don’t know when
Rhirid will return.”

“The peace was made with his father,”
Delamere said strongly, “and his father is now dead. What are you
waiting for, Will? Do you have any doubt that one of the first
things Rhirid will do as chief is come against you?”

Longsword’s voice was almost indistinct.
“Perhaps he will uphold the peace.”

It was as if he were trying to convince
himself, Delamere thought angrily. He’d spent most of the afternoon
trying to persuade Longsword to take advantage of Maelgwn ap
Madog’s death. He’d tried cajoling; he’d tried reasoning. The only
thing he hadn’t tried was shaming his friend—demanding to know how
much longer Rhuddlan was going to abide by the hysterical impulses
of its master’s lover. And he knew he wouldn’t; it would be
crossing a line that would cost him the best friend he’d ever
had.

Before he could speak again, a knock sounded
on the council room door. Longsword looked up gratefully. “Come
in!” he said.

Alan d’Arques stepped into the chamber, his
face nervous and apprehensive. “My lord, he’s summoned Lady
Eleanor! Sir Roger came to take her up to him. My lord, I don’t
know what he means to do to her but it must be ill—”

“Hold on! Hold on!” Longsword interrupted,
frowning with irritation. “Who are you talking about? Who’s Lady
Eleanor?”

Delamere moved to his side. “I think Alan
means Gwalaes, my lord.”

“Yes, of course—Gwalaes!” The young knight
struggled to catch his breath. “The earl of Chester has called for
her!”

Longsword sprang quickly to his feet. “Damn
that man! He couldn’t just leave it alone, could he?”

“Will! Where are you going?” Delamere said as
Longsword reached the door.

Longsword paused and turned around. His hand
dropped to his sword and he said tersely, “To Chester! He’s either
going to give me a satisfactory explanation for his obsession with
Gwalaes or I’m going to kill him!”

Before Delamere could protest, he was halfway
across the hall. There was nothing other to do than hurry after
him.

Longsword reached the earl’s chamber quickly.
He contemplated the closed door before him. Should he knock? Barge
in? What if Chester had barred it—he would look a fool trying to
force his way in, only to meet the resistance of solid wood.

Delamere came up behind him. “Will, I’m not
sure this is a good idea—”

“Then turn back!” Longsword snapped.

“Let me go first,” Delamere urged, raising
his hand to knock.

Longsword thought, what the hell. He lifted
the latch and threw open the door. It flew backwards.

Two of the three occupants of the antechamber
turned to see the cause of the intrusion. His eyes went first to
Gwalaes; she alone hadn’t looked up—her head was bent towards the
floor, her whole body seemed rigid and unconscious of his entrance.
Out of the corner of his eye he could see Haworth standing partly
in the shadow to his left. And then he turned his head towards the
earl.

Chester’s gaze was on him. He was staring at
Longsword with undisguised hatred, through narrowed eyes and
clamped lips. For a brief moment the younger man was startled;
although he assumed Chester hated him for the humiliation at Dol
and because he was the king’s son, the face Chester had always
presented to him had been neutral or faintly mocking. But now the
man was making no attempt to play either social niceties or
politics and once his moment of distraction had passed, Longsword
found himself grimly happy because it meant that he, too, could
stop the pretense.

“What’s going on?” he demanded.

“Do you make a habit of bursting in on your
guests, Lord William?” the earl asked testily.

“Only when they seize my people! What do you
want with this woman?”

“This woman happens to be known to me, Lord
William. I told you yesterday she looked familiar. She’s from
Chester.”

Gwalaes hadn’t moved a muscle. Longsword
looked at her again, and this time noticed that her face was very
pale and her breathing rapid.

He turned on the earl in fury. “What have you
done to her?”

“I don’t have to answer to you, Lord William,
in this matter!” Chester retorted in a low, clipped voice. “I don’t
even know how you have the nerve to confront me!”

Longsword’s hand fell onto the butt of his
sword. Delamere saw it and moved closer to his side. Haworth pulled
his sword from his belt and took a few steps in Longsword’s
direction. Longsword ignored both of them. “I’ve been patient with
you long enough, Chester! I didn’t invite you to Rhuddlan and I
don’t give a damn if I offend you! This is my fortress and whatever
goes on within it is my business!”

The earl was still. His
expressionless eyes were fixed on Longsword’s angry face. “It’s
obvious you don’t mind offending me, Lord William, and I won’t
mention your little discourtesies,” he said coldly. “However, I
draw the line at your…
relationship
…with my wife.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You can stop your game now, Lord William! I
know what’s been going on! I could kill you where you stand and not
even the king would blame me!”

Longsword had no idea what the earl meant but
he certainly recognized a threat when he heard it. He drew his
sword and held it up. “I answer your challenge, Chester!”

Haworth immediately placed himself between
his master and the younger man, his own sword twitching in his
hand.

“My lord,” Delamere said urgently, “I swear
to you, Lord William knows nothing about this matter!”

“Am I to believe
you,
Sir Richard?” the
earl said scathingly. “You aren’t blameless in this.”

“You can believe
me
, my lord. I told you
once before that Lord William doesn’t know who I am.”

The voice was just loud enough to cut through
the noise of the arguing men. All eyes turned its source. To
Longsword, Gwalaes looked unnaturally fragile, as though she might
suddenly break into a thousand pieces and crumble to the floor. He
could see her whole body trembling beneath a white and frightened
face. Without thinking, he took a step in her direction.

Chester was quicker. He strode up to Gwalaes,
seized her arm and pushed her towards Longsword without releasing
his grip. “Then let me enlighten him. This woman whom you call
Gwalaes is my wife, Lord William!”

Longsword was dumbfounded. The point of his
sword dipped slowly downward. “Gwalaes is your wife?”

“Her proper name is Eleanor Bolsover.”

The name barely registered. Instead he looked
from one face to another to another, all the time thinking wildly
that there had to be some mistake—that the great earl of Chester
couldn’t possibly be married to a Welshwoman—that if Gwalaes were
his wife as he claimed, why was she living at an abbey—that it was
surely a hoax perpetrated by the earl as revenge for Dol—

“Will, are you all right?”

Delamere’s voice sounded distant. Longsword
swallowed hard and abruptly forced himself to speak.

“I don’t believe you,
Chester. What do
you
want with a wife?”

With an outraged oath, Haworth swung his
sword up. “My lord, allow me to deal with this insolent boy! With
this ignorant bastard son of the devil!”

“That isn’t necessary,
Roger,” the earl said in a tight, controlled voice. “You’ve already
provided the answer. I need a wife, Lord William, so that I may
have
legitimate
heirs.” And then a thin, mocking smile suddenly creased his
lips. “But since you appear to be so genuinely fond of her, you may
keep Eleanor—if she will stay with you…”

Longsword immediately forgot Chester’s
insult. He turned eager, confident eyes on Gwalaes who, if it were
possible, seemed to grow paler and more unsteady. She opened her
mouth as though to speak and then, to the surprise of all four men,
shielded her eyes with a hand and fled the chamber.

Longsword chased after her. He called out her
name when she reached the spiraling stair at the end of the
corridor but she never hesitated before plunging down. She was
running so quickly that he was afraid she would fall and tumble to
the bottom with a fatal result. But her footsteps were sure and it
was only with reckless abandon on his own part that he was finally
able to overtake her in the shadows of the pantries. He reached out
for her arm, the same one that the earl had grabbed to thrust her
forward in his chamber, and she recoiled so violently that he
realized she’d had no idea he was following her. She backed up hard
against the stone wall and was trapped by his body before her. She
looked on him with an expression that was a little relieved but
mostly nervous; she said, “Please…” in a soft, desperate, pleading
voice as if she wanted him to get out of her way so she could
resume her flight.