Rhuddlan (96 page)

No, no, that wasn’t it! Longsword struggled
to speak but he was exhausted and in such discomfort that the
effort defeated him. He gasped for air.

“My lord, you ought to rest,” fitz Maurice
said hastily. “I’ll call for you when we’re ready to leave.”

But when he closed his eyes, he was tormented
by endless images of Richard and Olwen. The last few days had been
like a bad dream and he was afraid to sleep any longer for fear of
what might happen next. Pain and self-reproof muddled his mind but
one thing was clear: fitz Maurice had not met with Olwen. What,
then, had become of her?

The next day brought the question he had
dreaded answering since the moment he’d seen Olwen at Llanlleyn. He
and fitz Maurice were riding side by side, walking slowly at the
head of the army but behind half a dozen scouts, and he was
calculating that they would need another day and a half of travel
to make it to Rhuddlan at their current pace. The ache in his arm
hadn’t lessened and he thought he wanted to be back at the castle
more urgently for the opportunity to simply lie flat on his back
for a day or two than to confront the earl. And then fitz Maurice
asked him, hesitantly, how the Welsh had come to seize him and he
told him how he and Delamere had returned to Rhuddlan to find it
surrounded by Haworth and his men and how they’d foiled Haworth’s
plan to take the stronghold with scaling ladders and how he’d been
on his way to retrieve his own army when the Welsh had captured
him. He hadn’t spoken so much at one time since being wounded and
the exercise cost him dearly. He’d never realized how much the
simple act of breathing affected every sinew of the body.

“So, Sir Richard stayed behind to keep an eye
on the earl?” Fitz Maurice inquired. Then he put out a hand. “Stop
a moment, my lord. That branch will be right in your face.” He
twisted around in his saddle with an ease Longsword envied and
shouted for a man to come forward and cut down a slender twig from
a sapling growing too close to the road.

The offending bit of flora hacked away, they
continued on, and fitz Maurice said, “Was there a reason Sir
Richard didn’t trust Guy Lene to keep a good eye on the earl? I
mean no slight against Sir Richard but perhaps the two of you
together might have fought off the Welsh…”

“No…” said Longsword in a voice barely
audible above the steady, clomping hooves. “I trust in Sir Guy’s
competency. Sir Richard didn’t come with me because he’s dead.
Haworth killed him. Rather, one of his men did. While we were
crossing the river after disposing of the ladders.” He didn’t look
at his companion. He stared at the dun-colored road just past his
mount’s head.

Fitz Maurice was suitably shocked. After a
moment of silence, a string of expletives spewed uncontrollably
from his mouth. He cursed Haworth, he cursed Hawarden and he cursed
the earl, his voice gaining volume as he went on. Longsword felt a
little better, listening to this outpouring of grief. Fitz
Maurice’s invectives attracted the attention of the knights behind
them and the footmen behind the knights, and soon all the army knew
of Delamere’s dishonorable murder at the hands of Roger of Haworth.
Longsword was touched. He hadn’t had time yet to mourn properly for
his friend and when he’d thought of Delamere recently, it had been
with shame and guilt. But no one with him seemed to think he was to
blame in any way and it was comforting to finally share his burden.
Delamere had been well-liked and well-respected. The sympathy of
his men made Longsword feel as if he had made all the right
decisions concerning the siege at Rhuddlan and the subsequent scrap
at Llanlleyn.

After his initial outburst, fitz Maurice
quieted momentarily, perhaps mulling some idea in his head. When he
spoke again, his voice was low but grim. “Well, my lord; we just
took care of one of the killers back there at the Welsh fort. When
we get to Rhuddlan, we’ll take care of the other one.”

Longsword was startled. He hadn’t thought of
what he would do with the earl. He didn’t think he could summarily
execute him without enraging his father, despite the evidence that
the earl had plotted to do away with everyone at Rhuddlan and
Llanlleyn. Hugh was too important a magnate; there were sure to be
questions from the royal court.

Yet…the man deserved to die. His father
should have executed him after the Great War. The earl was a
traitor then and obviously hadn’t changed his color. This latest
scheme was just one more indictment in his lengthy career of
plotting against the royal house. And because of it, Richard was
dead. Justice demanded that someone pay for that crime.

But Longsword was tired and it was hard for
him to sustain anger against the earl for very long. It was easier
to let grief flood his body and mind; merely saying Richard’s name
to himself was enough to feed it. And coupled with the grief was
guilt. What had happened to Olwen?

Chapter 58

June, 1178

Rhuddlan, Gwynedd

Guy Lene wouldn’t stop smiling. Teleri had to
fight an urge to smack him on the head and wipe off his grin. They
sat in the council chamber, listening to the messenger recount all
that had happened since he’d left them not five days before and Guy
Lene’s smile grew broader with every sentence. Was he so relieved
to know his master would soon be home and he could give up his
command of the dozen men still left in Rhuddlan? Or, she thought
scornfully, was he just happy that it wasn’t Haworth who was
returning?

“When will Lord William arrive?” she
asked.

“They’re moving very slowly, my lady,” the
messenger said, “because of Lord William’s injury, but perhaps two
days behind me?”

“Is there any chance that Sir Roger’s army is
following them?”

“Surely not, my lady!” Guy Lene interjected.
She was amused to see his grin had disappeared, for the moment, at
least. He gave what she thought was an anxious look to the
messenger. “Surely not?”

The other man shook his head firmly. “Sir
Roger was as close to death as someone can be and I don’t think he
could have survived the night. I saw him myself.”

“But his men might want revenge,” she
persisted.

“Sir Warin said it was a possibility; that’s
why it was decided our men would stay together instead of the bulk
of the army going on ahead, but—” he turned to face Lene, who had
turned grey, “—he also said Hawarden was a highly disciplined force
which relied heavily on the command of Sir Roger and which probably
couldn’t immediately function as an army without him.”

Lene looked relieved. Teleri stood up.

“I suppose I’d better start preparing for
Lord William’s arrival,” she said. “His chamber needs a good
scrubbing.” Delamere’s body had already been removed and taken to
the coldest part of the cellars because of the warm weather but
apart from a necessary change of bed linens, nothing else had been
touched since Longsword’s departure.

“And we must have a feast, Lady Teleri,” Lene
said, brightening. “Especially now that we have a double
celebration—Lord William’s return and the foiling of the earl of
Chester’s plot.”

No thanks to you or anyone else, Teleri
thought maliciously, but she nodded. “Yes, of course we must have a
feast.”

“I’ll take some men out early tomorrow
morning. Now that it’s safe again. We’ve been cooped up too long; a
hunt is just what we need. Exercise for the horses and, hopefully,
a few additions to the table.”

“I’m sure that will be appreciated. If you’ll
excuse me…”

On the other side of the door, her expression
of polite interest faded. She wasn’t as happy as Lene about her
husband’s return. She had been on her own for almost a year and she
had liked it. Fitz Maurice and Lene were, she was sure, fine
knights but they had no interest in running a castle. They
preferred hunting and scouting and what seemed like endless, noisy
practicing in the ward right beneath the windows of her chambers at
the most inconvenient times of day, and they’d been more than happy
to leave everything else to her—even including settling disputes
between their own men because, they’d claimed, she was unbiased,
although she suspected they just didn’t want to make a decision
that would be unpopular with at least one person. But now that
Longsword was back, people would look again to him.

It was unfair. Hadn’t she been the only one
to counsel against fitz Maurice’s rash decision to attack Llanlleyn
and hadn’t she been proven right? Hadn’t she been the one to set
the trap for the earl and the one to refuse to release him when
Haworth had come to the fortress and tried to cajole Lene into it?
And hadn’t Longsword himself asked for her when he’d brought
Richard Delamere’s body to the castle? She thought she’d turned out
to be a more prudent and intelligent leader than any of the men at
Rhuddlan and she’d outwitted Hugh, also.

But for what? She and Longsword had
unfinished business. He had gone looking for an annulment, despite
his agreement to give her a second chance to be a wife to him and
she didn’t know what she would do about that. When the earl had
first told her, she’d been upset; now, having thought of
practically nothing else for the last week, she was angry. She
thought it was too bad Hugh’s own plan of revenge against Longsword
had been so extreme; she probably would have been a willing partner
if all he’d wanted to do, for instance, was burn down the keep.

She climbed the stair to her chambers and
threw herself into a chair, frowning. Her women approached her and
spoke to her but she ignored them. Longsword was coming back and
there wasn’t anything she could do about it. Truth was, she was a
little nervous. Richard Delamere had always been an equable
influence on her husband; would Longsword become a raging madman
without him? If she brought up his quest for annulment, would he
react angrily, perhaps attack her?

But almost immediately, she
was indignant. Why should
he
be the angry one?
She
was the one who had asked for
another chance and
she
was the one who had tried very hard to act as a proper spouse
before he had run off to Normandy. He shouldn’t be angry; he should
be ashamed of what he’d tried to do. It was
she
who’d be humiliated again when the
story came out, and she was certain it would because gossip was the
main occupation of a cloistered population like the inhabitants of
one of the king’s fortresses.

Her frown deepened. An idea
flitted across her mind, so quickly that at first she let it go
without interest but then, before it had disappeared entirely, she
snatched it back and considered it, and laid it aside. She was the
injured party, she told herself again; it was her right to seek
justice. But, would she ever have justice out of him? Were wives
entitled to demand a price, a sort of
galanas
, of a husband who had wronged
them under Norman custom? She didn’t know but she doubted it. He
had said enough to her at one time or another to lead her to
believe that in a Norman marriage, a wife had to do all her husband
commanded and could expect virtually nothing in return. He would
never see her point of view; he was probably upset that his request
had been refused and somehow it would become her fault.

She knew she was working herself up into a
frenzy following a line of thinking that might have no merit but
she didn’t mind. She wanted to be angry with him. Indignation made
her less nervous of the kind of person she thought he would prove
to be without the influence of Richard Delamere. She retrieved the
idea she’d just put aside and mulled it, added to it, refined it.
She realized she wasn’t without recourse to justice after all; it
had been right there all along and now she knew what to do with
it.

The guard stared at her. “I’m sorry, Lady
Teleri,” he said stupidly. “You want me to do what?”

She held his stare and didn’t blink. “I want
you to bring the earl of Chester to me,” she repeated in a level
voice. “Now.”

“My lady, did Sir Guy leave you permission to
speak with the earl? He said nothing to me.”

She hadn’t expected resistance. This was a
man used to being told what to do, wasn’t he? She frowned. “Can you
explain to me why you think I need Sir Guy’s permission to see the
earl?” she asked very deliberately.

He stammered but held his ground. “My lady,
it’s only that the earl is—”

“You are aware, aren’t you,” she interrupted,
“that when my husband went away last year, he left me in charge of
this fortress?”

“Yes, my lady; you
and
Sir Warin—”

“Sir Warin isn’t here, is he?” she snapped.
“Now, bring the earl to me or I will have you confined to the
barracks until my husband returns tomorrow and I have the
opportunity to detail to him your insubordination.”

After a slight hesitation, he capitulated. He
bowed and left the council chamber. Immediately, she jumped out of
the great chair and paced the floor. If one guard was going to give
her this much trouble over simply seeing the earl, what did that
say about her chance of success with the rest of her scheme?

She’d hardly slept last night. She’d dozed
and then wakened fully, straining her ears for the sound of rain.
When she heard nothing but the soft breathing of her servants, she
was able to doze again. It was like that all night until, finally,
she heard the jingle of spurs and the snorting of horses and men
clearing their throats and spitting. She’d gotten out of bed and
peered through the window overlooking the ward. It was still dark,
just before dawn, but the moon was clearly visible and there were
Guy Lene and his men preparing to leave the fortress. She was
relieved; she’d been afraid a sudden rainstorm would sweep the land
during the night and Lene wouldn’t go out, ruining her plan.