The Reckoning - 3 (40 page)

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"You know I am, Blanche. What do you have in mind?"
"Well . . . you'll not like it, not at first. Just do not dismiss it Out of hand. I was watching as you and Edward were dancing earlier. He fancies you, girl. Nohear me out! If I'm right and he is partial to yOll you'd be a fool not to use it against him. Flirt with him, flatter him and"
"I think you must be mad! Jesii, Blanche, how could you even \ suggest"
if "I'm not saying you should let him bed you! Just . . . just a bit of dalliance. It would cost you nothing and might gain you a great deal."
"You have an odd notion as to what comprises a risk. What happens when this little game of yours runs its course and he expects it to end in his bed?"
"Dearest, you say no, as simple as that! I'll grant you that a woman's no would not matter to some men. But I've never heard it said that Edward was one to force a woman against her will. I'm sure he strays from time to time, but he's most discreet about it. Why, he almost qualifies as a faithful husband!
And for a king, that is truly remarkable, you must admit. Clearly this is a man who is ruled by his head, not his loins. And you have the perfect excuse, should it ever come to that. You're his first cousin, after all. To couple with him would be a mortal sin, no? So if need be, remind him of that. Or use that wedding ring on your finger. Men always expect women to take marriage vows more seriously than they do; if truth be told, they get downright uneasy when we do not!"
Ellen was laughing now in spite of herself. "Ah, Blanche, you have not changed a whit! But I cannot do what you suggest. I find it hard enough to be civil to
Edward. Whenever I smile up at him, all I can see is Amaury, shackled to a bed in the cabin of that wretched cog."
Blanche frowned. "I do not like to hear you talk like this, Ellen. You sound as if you've given up all hope."
"I know," Ellen admitted, and smiled wryly. "If I were a rope, I'd be frayed to the breaking point. There are so many times when I truly think I cannot endure a moment more. But I must, and so I do."
Blanche reached out, gave Ellen's arm a sympathetic squeeze. "I would to God I
had words of cheer. But all I have is a warning. The King is coming this way."
"WHENEVER you get that distant, distracted look, I can wager that you are contemplating some sort of mischief," Edmund murmured, slipping his arm around
Blanche's waist. "Dare I hope it might take place in bed?"

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"Oh, you can always hope." Blanche leaned back into his embrace. "Actually/ I
was plotting a crime."
He understood at once; he was far more attuned to the unspoken than most men.
"Breaking out of Windsor Castle will not be easy, love. I hop6 you reconsider.
Having lost one wife to fever, I'd rather not lose second to the gallows." His attempt at humor falling flat, he nuzzled her cheek. "Sweetheart, you know I
sympathize with Ellen's plight. But she'll not be held much longer. Ned assures me of that, says it will soon be over."
"Yes, but how? I'd not see Ellen a widow ere she had a chance to be a wife."
Blanche sighed, but she let the subject drop. Why should she punish Edmund for his brother's misdeeds? She was about to ask him to dance when there was a sudden stir at the end of the hall. Turning to watch the man who'd paused, deliberately and dramatically, in the doorway, she wondered aloud, "Do you think Davydd ap Gruffydd ever enters a room the way other men do, just walks in without seeking to attract attention, to turn heads?"
"Only if he's trying to sneak into some absent husband's bed. Now, that surprises me; he's brought Elizabeth with him. I wonder why he did not leave her at Frodesham, that Cheshire manor he coaxed out of Ned. Davydd is the last man I'd expect to be playing the doting bridegroom."
"Edmund, use the eyes God gave you! It is obvious why he has her in tow, because she'd not be parted from him. You need only look at them to see it.
That poor lass is daft about him. But then, she's too young yet to know no man deserves to be loved that much, least of all, hers."
"No man? Not even me?" Edmund laughed, and then swore. "Christ on the
CrossEllen! I warned de Mortimer away from her, but I never gave a thought to
Davydd!"
Edmund often thought he and Blanche made an excellent team; she proved it now.
"I'll intercept Davydd and the little bride. You go find Ellen, ask her to dance, to run away with you, whatever it takes."
She was as good as her word, soon had Davydd and Elizabeth engaged in animated conversation. Edmund was not as successful, for the dancing had begun again, and by the time he spotted Ellen, the carol had swept her and Edward into
Davydd's line of vision. Hastening across the hall, Edmund saw Davydd break away from his wife and lanche. He could only shove his way toward them, knowing he'd be too late.
Ellen at once noticed Davydd's approach, and for a moment, she herself hope that this Welshman might be one of Llewelyn's envoys, °r Edward had permitted her to meet with the Bishop of St Asaph that

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past year. But Davydd's obeisance was flavored with too much fan^] iarity.
Puzzled and curious, she moved closer. And then she drew a sharp breath, for she realized who he was. The brother who'd plotted Llewelyn's murder.
Edward knew that Davydd invariably trailed trouble in his wake knew, too, that it would be no easy task allaying Davydd's suspicions' But he was pleased, nevertheless, to see Davydd, for whatever his other failings, the Welshman was always amusing company. "I've been exi pecting you," he said affably, waving
Davydd to his feet. "I understand you've grown tired of bedeviling Warwick, think it is my turn. But not tonight, so hoard your grievances till the morrow. Now . . . tell me how my little cousin fares. Does she like Cheshire?"
"Your Grace can ask her yourself, for she is here with me. I was loath to leave her," Davydd said blandly, "we being so recently wed. And as I know just how much Elizabeth's happiness matters to you, I daresay you'll be delighted to learn that she is so content."
Edward tried not to laugh, and failed. "You sound even more smug than usual, which must mean that you've managed to do it again, to bedazzle yet another innocent lass! In truth, I have never understood your success. I've always found women to be cautious, timid creatures, leery of taking risks, wanting comfort and security above all else. It would go against the natural order of things to see a cat surrounded by mice, begging to be eaten. So how, then, do you end up with mice beyond counting?"
By now, Davydd was laughing, too; he enjoyed their jousting fully as much as
Edward. "Mayhap because I do not think women are cautious, timid creatures, leery of taking risks, wanting comfort and security above all else. But then, why not let the mice speak for themselves? The hall is full of lovely ladies.
Why not ask them what they seek in a man?"
Davydd's borderline insolences usually irritated any English within earshot;
Eleanora was not alone in wondering why Edward indulged him. But this was the sort of game all enjoyed, verbal sparring between the sexes. Most of the women listening would have been quite willing to take Davydd's side. Unfortunately for him, when he looked about for allies, he chose the prettiest woman presentEllen.
"What say you, my lady? Are Englishwomen truly timid and cautious? Or are
Englishmen merely the most credulous in Christendom?"
Edward had forgotten Ellen was nearby. Swinging about, he saw at once that she knew, that Davydd did not. He'd rarely had Davydd at such a disadvantage; the temptation to stand aside and savor the moment was considerable. But Ellen's silence was like sheeted ice, likely to splinter with her next breath. "I
think," he said, "that I ought to introduce you, Davydd, to my cousin, the
Lady Eleanor de Montfort-

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pavydd's surprise was evident; there was an awkward silence. But made a quick recovery, smiled as if nothing was amiss. "I'd heard were here, Lady Eleanor," he murmured, with an oblique, glinting ''lance toward Edward. "But since I knew the King's Grace is holding u against your will, I assumed you'd be locked up somewhere. Welsh prisoners rarely get to dine with their captors."
Davydd saw, to his satisfaction, that he'd annoyed Edward, and he n0w took advantage of a servant's passing to snatch wine cups from the man's up-raised platter. "Just what we need," he said, and thrust (flipping cups at Edward and
Ellen. "Shall we drink to my brother's bride?"
Ellen would normally have been grateful to have Edward's court reminded that she was indeed a prisoner, being held very much against her will. But now she could think only that the man standing before her was the brother who'd betrayed Llewelyn, who'd played into Edward's hands at every turn. If not for
Davydd, Llewelyn would have been able to do homage as Edward demanded, and mayhap then Edward would not have felt so threatened by her marriage, mayhap he'd not have sent Thomas the Archdeacon after the Holy Cross. Because of
Davydd's treachery, Amaury was shut away from the sun, she had yet to look upon the man she'd married, and Llewelyn might well be dead ere this wretched war was done.
Wine sloshed from her cup, spilled over her fingers, so tightly was she gripping the stem. The urge to fling the contents into Davydd's face was overpowering, but she still clung to the shreds of her self-control. Instead, she held her cup out at arm's length, then tilted it, slowly and deliberately poured the wine into the floor rushes at Davydd's feet.
Edward had given up the hope of ever seeing Davydd thoroughly discomfiteduntil now. For an endless andto Edwardenormously gratifying moment, Davydd was at a loss for words. Then he rallied his defenses and shrugged. "I suppose," he said, "that this means I shall not be invited to the wedding." He got what he'd aimed forlaughter but the flippancy was belied by the angry color still staining his face and throat.
Ellen had already turned away; Edward was following. Davydd envied them their exit, for he would rather have been anywhere else in
Christendom than the great hall of Windsor Castle. But he would not retreat, would never give his English audience that satisfaction. He
°oked down at his wine cup, then raised it to his lips, discovering oo latethat it was hippocras, a wine so heavily sugared and spiced at he almost gagged. Even the English taste in wines was noxious.
eave it to Llewelyn to find himself a woman just as self-righteous as e was. And she was beautiful, too, the de Montfort bitch. Llewelyn

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would likely be smitten at first sightif ever he saw her. Davydd drank again, deeply; this time it went down more easily. He was about to drain the cup dry when he felt a hand tugging at his arm.
"Davydd? What has happened?" Elizabeth's blue eyes were aiw ious, for although
Blanche had managed to keep her out of earshot, sh knew at once that something was wrong; she was learning to read Davydd as monks read their prayer books.
Davydd lowered the wine cup. He'd deliberately set out to make her fall in love with him, in part because it made sense to have a fond wife, in part to see if he could. But it had not been much of a challenge had been almost too easy. No one had ever shown Elizabeth tenderness before; it had taken no more than that. Once he realized the extent of his victory, Davydd had been assailed by qualms, fearing that he might drown in her devotion, find it cloying, a surfeit of sweets. Much to his surprise, he found that he liked it.
Other women had loved him, of course, or so they'd claimed, but they'd not been his, and no one had ever loved him the way Elizabeth did, utterly and unconditionally and wholeheartedly. He'd thought himself to be familiar with love in all its erotic guises, had not known it could be soothing, too.
"Davydd? Can you not tell me what is amiss?"
"Later, cariad," he said, and found a passable smile for her. "I'll tell you later." And the odd thing, he thought, was that he probably would.
ELLEN wanted only to escape the hall, and she followed Edward like a sleepwalker, let him lead her out into the mild June night. "I think you need some time away from prying eyes," he said, and steered her across the bailey.
Moments later, she found herself sitting upon a bench in the chapel gardens where she'd once plotted an escape with Hugh, watching Edward stride back and forth in the moonlight, filling the cloisters with echoes of his laughter.
"I nearly bit my tongue off, trying to keep from laughing aloud. Bless you, lass, for you've given me a memory to cherish into my dotage. I never thought it was possible to catch Davydd off balance; God knows, I've tried often enough!"
At last becoming aware of Ellen's silence, Edward moved toward the bench. "You still have not gotten your color back. Davydd truly did distress you; I can see that now. You're very loyal, Ellen. Llewelyn is luckier than he knows."
"I doubt that Llewelyn feels very lucky these days," Ellen said softly' Edward came closer. Straddling the bench, he reached over, tilted her face up toward his. Ellen went rigid at the touch of his fingers on he

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hroat. He fancies you, girl. But after giving her a long, intent look, he leaned back, put space between them.
"An interesting evening, and a revealing one. I discovered that navydd is not as imperturbable as he pretends to be, and that you do uave a temper, after all, Little Cousin. I often wondered about that, for Aunt Nell could flare up faster than Greek fire, and Simon's temper was even quicker to kindle. I was beginning to suspect you must be a foundling-"
Ellen managed a flickering smile, fidgeted with her wedding ring.
She knew he must see how nervous she was, but she could not bring herself to meet his eyes; his gaze was coolly probing, speculative, daunting.
"I meant it when I commended you upon your loyalty, Ellen. That is an admirable trait. I daresay Llewelyn ap Gruffydd would be heartened to know that you've made his enemies your own. It does make me curious, though. When you tally up Llewelyn's grievances, why give so much more weight to Davydd's sins? I am his enemy, too, am I not?"
Ellen's mouth had gone dry. "Yes," she agreed, "you are his enemy." She swallowed, then raised her lashes, looked him full in the face. "But you are not his brother. You never betrayed him, or took advantage of his trust. You never sat across a table from him, smiled whilst knowing your hired killers were on the way!"
Her voice had risen, the rage spilling out at last. But it gave her outburst the ring of truth. Even before he nodded, she saw that he believed her. "I
would that I could promise you a happy ending, Ellen," he said quietly. "But I
cannot, and we both know that."
She nodded, too, thinking that she'd liked it better when he lied.
THE grass was Uttered with rose petals. Ellen had plucked them, one by one, until only the stem remained. It had taken her a while to convince Edward to return to the hall without her. He had balked at first, not agreeing until she confessed the truth, that she yearned, above all else, for time alone. He'd gone then, reluctantly, but he was likely to send someone out to check upon her if she did not soon return to the hall. ^ne knew that he did not fear she might escape, for what was she to do, jump over the walls, tunnel under them?
No, she was coming to believe that his concern for her well-being was genuine.
But it mattered or naught; he'd not be swayed by sentiment. Amaury could rot at Corfe Castle for the rest of his days. Llewelyn could lose all in this coming war, even his life. And there was nothing she could do for either of them.
"My lady." She'd not heard the footsteps on the grassy inner garth,