The Reckoning - 3 (70 page)

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a cat caught up in the stable rafters, and I fell. It was Dion who found me.
He even went back afterward for the cat! So I would right gladly"
Not only did she cut herself off in mid-sentence, she stopped so abruptly that cider splashed onto the skirt of her gown. There was such a stricken look on her face that Trevor's puzzlement gave way to concern But a glance about the bailey revealed nothing to cause her distress People were strolling about in the sun. Dogs sprawled in the spring grass. Laundresses were soaking sheets in a solution of wood ashes and caustic soda. Several friars from the nearby friary were chatting with Llewelyn's chaplain and the parish priest. And Hugh de Whitton was engaging in a playful tug of war with a lass from the village, insisting upon taking her basket of eggs, ignoring her demure protests. Such gallantry did not seem out of the ordinary to Trevor, not for Hugh, especially since the girl was very pretty; he'd have been quite happy to tote her basket himself. At the moment, though, he had eyes only for his lord's niece and the unknown threat lurking unseen in the sunlit bailey.
"My lady, what is it? What is wrong?"
Caitlin did not appear to have heard him; he saw now that her gaze was locked upon Hugh and the village lass, but that provided no enlightenment. Hugh and the girl were laughing, so intent upon each other that they did not notice
Caitlin and Trevor, not until they were almost upon them. Hugh smiled then, at
Caitlin, just scant seconds before she flung the contents of the cider cup at him.
Hugh recoiled with an astonished oath, the girl gave a muffled scream, and
Trevor was so startled that he dropped the platter, carpeting the ground with bread and figs. For a stunned moment, no one moved, not even Caitlin, who seemed shocked herself by what she'd done. But then she threw the goblet into the grass at Hugh's feet, spun around, and began to walk swiftly away. That brought Hugh out of his disbelieving daze. "Caitlin, wait!" She did not look back, and within a few steps, she was running. As Trevor and the girl and a score of intrigued eye-witnesses watched in fascination, she fled into the stable, with Hugh in close pursuit.
Coming from sun to shadow, Caitlin collided with Dion, drawn by the clamor out in the bailey. She staggered backward, grabbing tne nearest post for support, not even hearing his apologies for the blood thudding in her ears.
"Caitlin!" Hugh filled the doorway, blocking out the light. H? sounded out of breath, perplexed, and angry, and Caitlin squeezed her hands together to still their trembling.
"Go away," she said. "I have nothing to say to you."
"Yes, you do, by God! You owe me an explanation, if not an apology, and I mean to have it."
"You'll have a long wait!"
They glared at each other, never even noticing the embarrassed pion, who was in hasty retreat back into the foaling stall. Hugh swung around and slammed the door shut behind him. But Caitlin knew there was another door, one leading out into the stable yard. By the time Hugh turned toward her again, she was already in flight. Ignoring Hugh's shout, she raced for the rear of the stable. As quick as she was, though, Hugh was faster. He overtook her before she could reach the door, and grabbed for her arm. Whirling, she tried to pull free, but lost her balance, lurched against Hugh, and they both went sprawling over a bale of hay, rumbling down into the straw of the nearest stall.
Hugh got his breath back first. "Are you all right, Caitlin?" Not trusting her voice, she nodded, wishing she could lie there forever in the sheltering, shadowy gloom, never have to face anyone ever again. But Hugh was already sitting up.
"At least," he said, "you had the foresight to fall into a stall without a horse in it." To Caitlin's dismay, he was beginning to sound amused. What

would she do when he asked her again, quietly and calmly this time, to explain herself? Blessed Lady, what could she tell him?
When she didn't move, Hugh reached over, put his arm around her shoulders and gently drew her up beside him. She'd lost her veil in their struggle and her hair was tumbling down her shoulders in disarray, tickling the back of his hand. He'd never seen it wild and loose like this, started to brush it away from her face, but stopped just before his fingers touched her skin, for that suddenly seemed too intimate a gesture. "I do not know what I did to make you so vexed with me, but I'd not hurt you for the world, Caitlin, that I swear.
Tell me so I may make it right."
Caitlin drew a constricted breath, and suddenly she was angry again, angry with herself, with that wretched girl and her rotten eggs, with all those avid spectators out in the bailey, but above all, with Hugh, whose blue eyes were blinder than any baf s.
"I was willing to wait for you," she said, in a voice both hot and husky, "to wait as long as it took for you to see that I was no longer a ^d, was a woman grown. I was so sure you would, so sure . . . But n°< you had to let yourself be snared by Eluned, Eluned who could not °utwit Nia, my uncle's greyhound! So then I waited for you to come to your senses, to realize what a mistake you'd made. And for these past thre, Bm
'e months, I've waited again, whilst you mourned your marriage, no more. I am done with waiting for you, Hugh de Whitton!" With that, she leaned over, awkwardly sought his mouth with hers.

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It was her first kiss, and that was obvious; it was also a decided dis appointment. When she drew back, tears had begun to well in th corners of her eyes, slowly spilled down her cheeks. Hugh wiped them away with his fingers, and then somehow they were kissing again, and this time it was different, was all she imagined it would be, for this time he was the one kissing her.
jione of this myself, but there was no lack of witnesses. It seems Caitlin caught our Hugh flirting with a local lass, and she doused him with cider, then fled into the stables, with Hugh but a stride or two behind. ^s if that were not enough to start tongues wagging, they did not emerge from the stable for the longest time, and when they did, they had straw in their hair and dazed, lovesick looks on their faces!"
IT was customary to select maidens and young widows as attendants and companions for women of high birth, for life in a noble household offered numerous advantages, not the least of them being enhanced opportunities for marriage. But Ellen had broken with tradition in choosing Eluned's replacement. Gwynora was a widow of fifty-one, the mother of eight children, a woman so knowledgeable in the ways of childbirth and pregnancy that even midwives sought her out. In the two months since she'd entered Ellen's service, she'd proved to be a patient, good-natured guide, taking Ellen on a day-by-day tour of the unknown realm of pregnancy.
On this third Wednesday in March, they were sitting side by side in a window-seat in Ellen's bedchamber, needles flashing, Gwynora stitching the hem of a blanket for the baby's cradle, Ellen at work upon a christening cloth of linen and lace, embroidering it with Llewelyn's Welsh lions and the fork-tailed lion of the House of de Montfort. When she paused suddenly, laying a hand upon her abdomen, Gwynora gave her a knowing smile. "The little one is stirring, is he?"
Ellen nodded. "At first it felt as if I'd swallowed a butterfly, but these days I'd swear he is playing a game of football in there!" Picking up her needle again, she stitched in contented silence for some moments. "Are you sure, Gwynora, that a babe does not quicken until the fourth month?"
"Quite sure, my lady. I've never heard of it happening earlier than that."
"Well, I'll know better what to expect with the next one," Ellen said, and then laughed. "But I'd as soon you not mention that to my lord husband. I
swore to him, you see, that I felt the babe quicken on Christmas Eve!"
Gwynora laughed, too, was holding up her handiwork for Ellen s approval as
Juliana entered the chamber. Ellen's needle froze in midair. "You have the queerest look on your face, as if you cannot decide whether you want to laugh or cry. Whatever is amiss?"
"Do you remember, Ellen, saying that you'd wait for trouble to fin you? WeU .
. . you'd best make ready to welcome it to Llanfaes. I &*
ELLEN had a special fondness for the friary of the Franciscans at Llanfaes. It was here that she felt closest to Joanna, in the tranquil stillness of the church that was Llewelyn Fawr's last gift to a well-loved wife. The candle she'd just lit for Joanna's peace burned with a clear, bright flame. "I think you'd be so happy for me, Aunt Joanna, if you knew," she said softly. "But then, you do know . . ."
Footsteps sounded in the nave. But she felt no embarrassment, for talking to the beloved dead seemed very natural to her, a way to make life's losses more bearable until that blessed reunion at God's great throne. Turning away from the High Altar and Joanna's marble tomb, she met Juliana on the other side of the rood screen.
"Brother Gwilym told me you were here, Ellen. I could stand the suspense no longer. Did you talk to Caitlin yet?"
"This morn, but it served for naught. When love comes in the door, common

sense flies out the window."
" 'Common sense/ " Juliana echoed glumly. "Why did we ever assume that Hugh had any? This is the man, after all, who set his heart upon wedding Eluned ere he even knew her name! So why should we be surprised that he now claims he's been in love with Caitlin all along and just never realized it until yesterday?"
"Hugh is not our real problem. Even if we cannot rely upon his common sense, or the lack thereof, I still believe we can depend upon his sense of honor.
But Caitlin . . . Caitlin is another matter altogether. And to think I once saw her as shy! That girl has a reckless streak to rival Davydd's . . . and has, as well, his irksome ability to turn an argument upon its head. Do you know what she said to me, Juliana? She said that if she and Hugh ran away together, got married in England, Llewelyn would be furious, but he'd eventually forgive her . . . and of course she was right. We both know there are men capable of cutting °" a son or daughter the way a doctor would amputate a festering arm, but Llewelyn is not one of them. So why, then, Caitlin asked, should stle and Hugh be punished because they chose to do the honorable ^8- to ask his permission?"
"She truly believes that she and Hugh will be permitted to wed?"

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Ellen nodded. "She asked me to speak to Llewelyn on their behalf" She was no longer meeting Juliana's eyes. "I told her that I'd have to think about it."
Juliana was taken aback. "Ellen? Surely you do not believe this to be a suitable match?"
"No," Ellen said quietly, "of course I do not. If Caitlin is too young and headstrong to think of her children's future, we must do it for her It is foolhardy and even dangerous to wed one of a lower rank. It is true that many felt my father had overreached himself when he wed a King's daughter, but he did hold an earldom, and his House was one of France's proudest. My mother knew he'd be able to provide for their children, that there'd be a title for their eldest son. But Hugh is no earl, not even a baron, and there is hardly a soul in Christendom who would see him as a fit husband for Caitlin."
Ellen paused, seemed to sigh. "But. . . but I am finding it so hard, Juliana, to heed my head and not my heart. I love them both, and I cannot bear to see them hurt . . ."
Juliana sighed, too, for she feared they'd all be hurt before this storm had blown over. "Hugh is very dear to me," she said, "but if he had to go stark, raving mad like this, why could he not have waited until after your baby was born?"
That brought back Ellen's smile; thoughts of her baby always did. By now they'd reached the door. As they emerged onto the cloister path, Ellen headed for one of the wooden benches bordering the grassy inner garth. She tired quite easily these days, for her pregnancy was now into its sixth month. They were still sitting there in the sun when Caitlin and Hugh found them.
"Aunt Ellen, we've been searching everywhere for you. Please . .. you must help us! I tried to convince Hugh to wait, but he said he could not, that he owed it to my uncle to be honest with him, and now"
Ellen sat up straight on the bench, ignoring her aching back.
"Llewelyn would not give his consent."
"No," Hugh said, sounding as miserable as he looked. "I knew there was a likelihood that he might refuse me, but. . . My lady, he never hesitated, not for a moment, just said no straightaway, and that was all. In truth, it was almost as if he were not even listening to me.
Ellen had heard enough. "Help me up, Hugh," she said, holding out her hand. "I
have to get back to the manor, for something is wrong' When they still showed no comprehension, she said impatiently* realize you have naught on your minds but each other, but you ough to have seen it. Llewelyn holds you in high esteem, Hugh. I do n°
mean that he'd think you a suitable husband for his niece; indeed, I warned you that he would not. But he would be fair, and he would try to be kind. He would hear you out, and he would seek to make you understand why it could not be. He would never shame you, never"
Breaking off, she began to walk up the cloister path, as briskly as her girth would allow. Juliana was quick to follow, and after a moment, so did Hugh and
Caitlin, clasping their hands together in a despairing, defiant act of faith.
ELLEN watched her husband closely during dinner that night. He smiled occasionally, responded whenever she spoke to him, showed no overt anger, no unease. But Ellen knew him as no one else did. She noticed that he'd been pushing his food around on the trencher, eating only a few mouthfuls at most.
She noticed that he did not really listen when his bard approached the dais to sing of Llewelyn Fawr's fame. And she noticed that in quiet moments, his eyes focused upon the hearth's flames with an unnerving intensity, taking him far from the hall, far frorn her.
They retired early to their own chamber, at Ellen's urging. She'd rarely seen
Llewelyn so restless. As she removed the pins binding her hair, he prowled

aimlessly about the room, picking up and discarding books at random, fingering a quill pen so absently that it snapped in two. But he came back to the settle when Ellen reached for a brush, took it from her hand, and began to draw it through her hair.
"Llewelyn . . . did you talk to Hugh this afternoon?"
"I may have," he said, sounding so dubious that her hand clenched upon his arm. Jesu, Hugh was more right than he knew! But what had distracted him to such an extent? What dark spectre was he seeing?
"I heard that you had an unusual visitor today, a shabbily dressed stranger, very ill at ease, who begged to see you alone. Hugh said this man was being ushered out just as he was given entry into your chamber. My love, I can see how troubled you are. Did this man bring you evil tidings?" When he hesitated, she said urgently, "Llewelyn, I entreat you to tell me the truth. Your silence cannot protect me, can only stoke my fears higher."
Llewelyn laid the brush down, took her hand in his. "It first struck me as odd when my nephew, Rhys Wyndod, paid a Lenten visit to my cousin in North Powys, Llewelyn Fychan. They were the last two men j^ have expected to find together, for there has long been bad blood between them. And then I learned that my constable in Perulyn, Madog ^och, has had at least two clandestine meetings with Llewelyn Fychan