The Winds of the Heavens (Sons of Rhodri Medieval Romance Series) (5 page)

Someone giggled. “Shh! Glain.” Her sister’s voice! Startled, Glain peered into the shadows. Isolda and Rhydderch snuggled together in a corner at the other end of the loft.

Rhun rolled his eyes. “So much for a private tryst.”

Both women tittered, their faces reddening. Rhun and Rhydderch came to their feet and each tried to shove the other off the ladder as they descended.

They called out their farewells as they left for Morgan’s cottage. Glain and Isolda embraced with a happy sigh and returned to their pallets.

***

The twins looked back often after leaving the village far behind. Their status and fame had made them objects of hero worship. Now they revelled in their first experience of women who behaved as their equals, playful women to boot. They congratulated each other, relieved their blood bond remained strong.

Upon arriving at Powwydd they learned to their frustration that Rhys and Annalise were still at Ellesmere. Impatient to plan for their double wedding at Powwydd, they rode on to Ellesmere to speak with Rhys and see Carys.

Their brother and sister greeted them warmly and expressed their amusement at the tale of the prank played on them.

Carys taunted them. “Serves you right. You’ve tricked too many people yourselves.”

Despite the twins’ insistence on an early wedding at Powwydd, Baudoin remained adamant Carys couldn’t travel yet for some time. Rhys refused to undertake another long journey with his leg still in bindings.

Rhydderch paced in exasperation. “It would be simpler to run off to marry. Isolda and Glain will fear we’re not returning. We won’t make it back within the fortnight.”

Rhun slapped his brother on the back. “Don’t worry, I’ve sent messengers to explain the delay, but I too grow weary of this impasse. My pride won’t allow me to consent to be married here in a Norman stronghold in England.”

Rhydderch banged his fist on the trestle table. “I agree. Glain and Isolda are Welshwomen. They’ll want to be wed in Wales.”

Rhun winked and laughed. “
Oes,
brother, wedded
and
bedded!”

A pageboy in Ellesmere livery interrupted their ribald laughter. He bowed and informed them a messenger waited in the bailey. They strolled out, but tensed when they recognized him as one of the men from Powwydd they had sent to Llanfarran. His evident consternation made them wary.

“My lords, we took your message, but the people have closed their village to outsiders. They’ll allow no one to enter.”

Rhydderch braced his legs and put his hands on his hips. “Why not?”

“A plague has been visited upon them.”

An unusual number of fevered infants were being brought to the healers. Their mothers complained they were sleepless and refused to eat.
Others told of d
rowsiness or sluggishness.
Some shielded their eyes against the daylight, even on an overcast day. At first, Glain and Isolda paid little mind, busy as they were preparing to leave. The interruptions annoyed them. The cottage filled with sick children and annoyance turned to deep concern.

Soon, no remedy helped and deaths occurred. They were at a loss. Adults too fell ill. Victims retched, suffered seizures and went into a sleep from which they could not be wakened before they died. Many suffered painful
headache
s and stiff necks.

Villagers they had known all their lives acted erratically before they succumbed. The elders hurriedly erected barriers on the outskirts to curtail the risk of further diseases entering. Sentries prevented people leaving so the plague would not spread to neighbouring villages.

The villagers stoically accepted their fate as God’s will. No one attempted to leave. With no news from Affetside, Isolda fretted for the people there. An air of doom hung over all. Glain and Isolda despaired of ever seeing Rhun and Rhydderch again. Their efforts to heal their neighbours exhausted them. They were not shunned for their lack of success, but few came for help, seemingly resigned. Without ailments to tend, the sisters earned no income.

Food, never plentiful, became scarce. True to their calling, the twins continued to visit the sick, trying to ease the suffering of victims and console the bereaved. They kept cottages dimly lit and made sure the retching sufferer lay on his side. Watching children die in agony broke their hearts. In a fortnight, Llanfarran had become a place of death and despair.

***

Rapid changes in her sister alarmed Glain. She tried to sound cheerful when Isolda’s skin took on an abnormal pallor. “Keep your spirits up, Isolda. Some people are recovering. Pray this will soon be over. We must survive.”

Isolda huddled closer to the meagre fire. “I’m cold. My hands and feet are freezing. My body aches.”

Filled with dread, Glain wrapped another
brychan
around her sister and rubbed her ice cold feet. The next day Isolda doubled over with stomach cramps, vomiting uncontrollably. Glain soothed her, but despaired her sister was dying.

A numbing fear gripped her. Life without Isolda? If only Rhun and Rhydderch—but no, at least they lived. She would never see Rhun again. No doubt she too would succumb once Isolda died. The promise of a future filled with love existed no more.

A ghastly rash covered Isolda by the third day of her illness. She struggled for breath. Glain surrendered to the tears she had held inside as the plague raged. She watched her twin sink into the sleep from which few awoke. Hungry, thirsty and exhausted, she dozed off, slumped to the table.

Loud knocking startled her awake, but she couldn’t lift her head. “I can’t help you, go away. I’m tending my sister.”

“Glain!”

Old Morgan?

“I have a message from Rhun.”

Rhun? His name sent pangs of intense longing flooding through her. She struggled to her feet and dragged open the door, ushering him in. His arms were laden with foodstuffs. “From Rhun? How?”

Breathing hard, the old man deposited his burden on the table, then sat down heavily, rubbing his back. “He and Rhydderch are camped in the woods on the other side of the barriers. They have brought provisions. They hailed the sentry and arranged to leave everything in a certain place and the lookouts retrieved it. Here child, try to get some of this food and ale into yourself and your sister.” After a glance at Isolda he shook his head. “She doesn’t fare well, but the sons of Rhodri ap Owain may yet save us.”

Glain sobbed. “It’s too late for Isolda. Poor Rhydderch. How will I tell him? He loves her.”

***

The following morning Glain picked her way slowly through the woods with the sentries who had volunteered to relieve the night guards. They pointed out Rhun’s encampment in the trees and hailed him. Rhun strode from his tent and walked towards the barricade, increasing his pace when he caught sight of Glain clinging to a tree. He clenched his fists, longing to run across the clearing. Her gaunt face told of her need for him. He cursed heaven and earth for his powerlessness. Isolda was not with her, and he looked back worriedly towards Rhydderch’s tent, from which his brother now emerged.

She held out her hand. “Rhun.” He couldn’t hear her, but knew she spoke his name.

“Glain!” he shouted hoarsely, his heart breaking. So near and yet so far.

She closed her eyes for a few moments, then called to him. “Thank you for being here, for bringing us food—and hope. Everyone is grateful. Many are hungry. Food will strengthen them. But come no closer.”

Rhydderch reached his brother’s side. “Glain, where is Isolda?”

Glain shook her head and averted her eyes.

A low groan escaped Rhydderch’s lips. “Glain, tell me Isolda lives.”

She looked up, her face desolate. “She lives Rhydderch, but she’s ill. She has fallen into the sleep from which most do not awake.”

Rhydderch blasphemed. “I must go to her.”

Rhun held him back. “No, brother, you can’t.”

“He’s right, Rhydderch. She wouldn’t want you to put yourself in danger. Some people are recovering and not as many are dying.”

She turned to lean back against the tree, pressing her fingertips to her forehead. Rhun wept inwardly for her exhaustion. She seemed to have barely enough strength to speak. “Mayhap this will soon be over and we can be reunited. Goodbye, Rhun. I love you. I’ll bring news of Isolda on the morrow. Now she sleeps she no longer suffers pain.”

They watched Glain disappear into the woods, back to the horror she endured alone. Even during their incarceration and impending execution by the Earl of Chester, the twins had never known such desolation. The lives they led as patriot warriors involved the risk of imprisonment, torture, death in battle, execution. They had never thought they might lose what they loved most to a vile plague. Rhun worried desperately Glain might not return. He turned to his brother and wanted to weep for the look of utter desolation on his face.

He put his arm around Rhydderch’s shoulder. “There is naught else we can do. Except pray.”

“Aye!” Rhydderch whispered in a barely audible voice.

***

Glain was thankful for the strong arm of her neighbour as he helped her struggle back through the woods to her home. Exhaustion threatened to overwhelm her. Seeing Rhun had been a boon and a curse. Feelings she had suppressed during the ordeal now resurfaced—the longing of her heart, the physical need.

She hesitated on the threshold, ashamed of a treacherous hope that had crept unbidden into her soul that Isolda had died in her absence and been released from her torment. It was quickly extinguished by the thought of the unbearable pain such a loss would cause, for Rhydderch as well as for her.

She breathed a sigh of relief that Isolda’s chest still rose and fell. But she slept on. “Don’t die, Isolda,” she whispered, then wept at the selfishness of wanting her sister’s living death to continue.

She wandered around the cottage, too tired to sleep, mumbling to herself. “I’ve seen Rhun. He looks well. Rhydderch asked after you.”

The silence was oppressive. She hastened to her sister’s side and shook Isolda’s shoulders. “Do you hear me? Wake up!”

Isolda did not waken. Glain snatched her hands away and put them to her mouth, horrified at what she had done.

I am losing my mind!

She staggered to the ladder and climbed wearily to the cot in the loft, wanting to be as far away from her sister’s agony as possible. The scent of Rhun lingered in the
brychan
. She sobbed as she clutched it to her body and allowed sleep to take her.

***

Glain came to the rendezvous twice more, and Rhun dared hope she seemed stronger each day. The news she brought about Isolda did not bring Rhydderch any comfort. The rash had improved, but her sister lay motionless. However, the elders believed the worst had passed. The barriers would be taken down the next day.

By dawn, the twins stood ready to move their encampment into Llanfarran as soon as the all-clear came. They left the pitching of the new camp to their men-at-arms and rushed to Glain and Isolda’s cottage. Isolda lay like a corpse ready for burial, but Glain bathed her forehead. She rose slowly as they entered and Rhun hurried to catch her as she swooned. “Glain, my beloved, it’s wonderful to hold you in my arms again.”

Rhydderch strode to Isolda’s pallet and gathered her up, holding her tightly to his body. She lay in his arms—a limp doll. His face was bleak. “Come back to me, my beautiful Isolda. Don’t leave me.”

Rhun was concerned for his brother. “Rhydderch, perhaps you shouldn’t touch her. Is it safe, Glain?”

Rhydderch lost his control. “Not touch her? She can’t harm me. My touch may heal her when she senses I’m here. Does she feel things, Glain? Is she aware I’m here?”

Rhun grieved for him. There he stood, a powerful male, cradling Glain’s emaciated sister, willing her to be well. Strong, but helpless.

Glain leaned into Rhun and turned to Rhydderch. “It can do no harm to hold her. She may feel the heat from your body, as I feel Rhun’s.”

***

The men of the Welsh patriots buried the remaining corpses. Rhun ordered everything in sight be scrubbed clean, citing his mother’s teachings. His heart soared as Glain’s health improved each day. If only she smiled more often, but fear for Isolda consumed her.

Rhydderch rarely left Isolda’s bedside. He forced broth between her lips, carried on a conversation as if she could hear, and assisted with changing linens and combing her hair.

One evening, as the three supped in silence, Rhydderch shoved aside his bowl of broth. “On the morrow I intend to send men to fetch a priest. I want him to marry me and Isolda.”

Rhun shook his head in protest, but it was Glain who spoke. “Rhydderch, I know Isolda wanted to marry you before this happened, but she wouldn’t want you to be burdened with a wife who sleeps.”

Angered, Rhydderch leapt to his feet. “Your sister would not be a burden to me.”

Rhun too spoke softly, placing his hand on his brother’s arm. “Rhydderch, no priest will marry you without her consent, and she can’t give it.”

Rhydderch could hardly speak. He gritted his teeth. “If Isolda is to die, I want her to die as my wife.”