Chapter 33
April, 1177
Rhuddlan Castle, Gwynedd
The storm blew itself out overnight. Eleanor was awakened by the sudden silence shortly before dawn. A greyish light filtered through the odd cracks in the shutters and picked out various pieces in Longsword’s chamber: a table bearing cups, a flagon of wine and a dully gleaming sword; a pair of stools, one upended; strewn clothing; and the darkened end of the bed. She didn’t turn her head to look at her companion but knew from his motionless body and even breathing that he was sleeping.
She was not, perhaps, as ashamed of what she had done as she ought to have been; this, in fact, surprised her. But she had done it for her daughter, for whom any sacrifice could be justified. During the past two days, she had never once reproached herself. It was a bargain she had made and she was merely keeping her end of it.
Longsword was kind. He had even sworn his love for her once or twice. She hoped he wasn’t hurt by her lack of ardent response, although he never seemed to be. In the beginning she had been completely frozen, fearfully half-expecting tactics similar to Hugh’s, but those fears hadn’t been realized. He wasn’t Hugh; wasn’t at all like Hugh. She almost wished she could return his obvious regard for her but she couldn’t. It was Bronwen whom she loved, so wholeheartedly that there wasn’t room for anybody else.
She slid quietly from the bed, making a face when her bare feet hit the cool floor. Her clothing lay in a rumpled heap near the bed and she picked it up and took it into the antechamber, where she dressed quickly. She went back to the door to the bedroom and looked in on Longsword. He hadn’t wakened. She thought it most likely that she would never be with him under such circumstances again. She felt a pang of guilt but squelched it. She had only done it to ensure her daughter’s safety and Alan had promised her that Bronwen was now indeed safe.
It no longer mattered whether or not she had Longsword’s protection. Hugh could do nothing to her. She had realized that night in the chapel he didn’t even suspect that he might have a child. The knowledge had virtually erased her fear of him. Even if he made some protest to his host, revealed who she was, she wouldn’t go with him. She knew Longsword wouldn’t force her.
She went out of the keep through the cellars and emerged in the little alleyway between the kitchens and the keep. She paused for a moment to look at the sky. All traces of yesterday’s storm had vanished. The sky was clear. Birds sang. The sun was creeping over the horizon. Eleanor breathed deeply, the first calm and untroubled breath she’d taken since the day she saw Hugh ride into Rhuddlan. She was resolved. If Hugh wanted an heir he would simply have to marry again. So what if the child were illegitimate in reality? No one would know it except for her, Hugh and Haworth.
She made a vow right then and there to say prayers every day for the child’s soul and to expiate her part in the sham.
There was stirring at the stables. From a safe distance Eleanor could tell they were Hugh’s men who milled near the entrance, dressed in full kit. She counted a dozen—surely that was almost half the number Hugh had brought with him. Where were they going so early in the day?
A familiar, hated voice drew her attention. Roger of Haworth was snapping orders to the stablemaster and the grooms. Perversely enough, the sight of him this morning cheered her already soaring mood. She was well aware that Haworth and her husband were inseparable. If Haworth was preparing for departure, could Hugh be far behind?
She watched the activity for several minutes and felt as though a heavy weight had been lifted from her back. She felt as if she had entered a contest of wits with her husband, with the highest stake possible at risk, and had won. She felt sure she would never set eyes on him again.
Shortly after noon, Alan d’Arques found her in the kitchen garden. “I knew you’d be here,” he said cheerfully, blocking the sun so that his shadow fell across her kneeling form.
She straightened up at the sound of his voice and brushed the dirt from her knees. “I wanted to see if the storm had left us anything,” she said, smiling at him. “Besides, I have to do something. I’m used to being very busy. Where were you all day?”
“The earl expressed an interest in the iron mines, so we took him down to have a look. He said he was considering a forge for Hawarden and if Lord William could provide him with an inexpensive, steady supply of ore he just might go ahead and do it. But I have to say, he didn’t seem all that impressed by—” He broke off with a slight frown. “Are you all right, Eleanor?”
“The earl is still here? I thought he’d gone…I thought I saw his men making ready to leave early this morning…”
“Oh, that’s true enough—he sent half of them back, he told us. And tomorrow, he and the remainder will leave. You should have seen Lord William’s face beam and he was actually quite pleasant to the earl on the tour.”
“Tomorrow?”
Alan nodded and grinned. “Tomorrow, Lady Eleanor.”
“Thank God!” she said fervently. Less than a whole day, she told herself, trying to steady the fierce beating of her heart which had started the moment Alan had mentioned Hugh’s name. “You don’t know how much I long for tomorrow to be over…And once you’ve brought back Bronwen, I must somehow persuade Lord William to let us return to the abbey.”
Alan snorted. “He’s got more of a reason now to insist you stay.” When he saw her dismayed expression, he explained. “While we were out today, the advance men ran into two Welshmen who were crossing Lord William’s land. Not knowing who they were, they held onto them until we caught up. It turns out, Lady Eleanor, that the men were from Llanlleyn and they were on their way to Prince Dafydd to inform him that during yesterday’s storm, their chief Maelgwn was killed when a large tree was uprooted by the wind and came crashing down on top of him!”
Eleanor’s eyes widened. “Oh, no!” she breathed.
“The Welshmen want to ask the prince to release Rhirid so that he can take up his father’s mantle. Apparently, some other relative has taken advantage of his absence and seized power.”
Eleanor stared down at the garden. The heavy rain and strong wind had flattened new shoots and weathered plantings alike but the mild temperature and full sun of the morning had conspired to produce a miraculous recovery, and vegetation which had looked limp and lifeless at dawn was now glistening and healthy.
“Does Lord William think that if Rhirid ap Maelgwn returns, he will break the peace?” she asked calmly.
Alan shrugged. “He didn’t say so, but it can’t be far from his mind. After all, the man did try to kill him once before.” He saw her disappointed expression but was largely unsympathetic. He wanted her to stay at Rhuddlan; he believed she belonged with her own people, despite the fact that the sisters at the abbey were Norman, and he wanted to be in a position to look after her. “Rhuddlan isn’t so terrible, Eleanor, is it?”
“No, of course it isn’t,” she said, glancing up and giving him a quick smile that didn’t quite reach to her eyes. Then, just as suddenly, the smile died. “Alan…”
“Well, d’Arques,” a deep voice sounded behind the young knight, “It seems that to find the countess, all I must do is look for you.”
Alan whirled around. “What do you want, Sir Roger?” he asked frostily.
Haworth considered Alan d’Arques with a smirk. “I have a message for the countess. Am I permitted to speak to her?”
“What is the message?” Eleanor asked calmly.
Haworth bowed shortly in her direction. “Madam, the earl wishes to have a word with you in his chamber.”
She and Alan exchanged a glance. “Very well,” she said, and added over the start of Alan’s protest, “Tell him I’ll be there presently.”
She hadn’t the slightest intention of doing so and Hugh must have anticipated such a response because Haworth said, “I’m instructed to escort you. Now, if you please.”
Alan d’Arques stepped forward as if he would make an angry retort. Eleanor forestalled him by taking hold of his arm in
a reassuring manner. “It’s all right, Alan. I’ll be fine,” she whispered. She looked at Haworth and her demeanor became confident. He dared not lay a violent finger on her in broad daylight; that wasn’t his cowardly style. And neither did the prospect of meeting face to face with Hugh frighten her: he could bluster all he wanted—he might even strike her—but he had no hold over her. “I’ll come, Sir Roger. But I don’t wish you to escort me. Walk behind or before me if you like but do not walk with me.” She paused and then added in an unfavorable tone, “I thought I’d seen the last of you this morning…”
The chilling smile which spread slowly across Haworth’s face nearly shook her resolve. “You ought to know better, my lady,” he said, “than to suppose the earl would travel without me. No, this morning he merely sent me on a small errand.”
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 turn
ed 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.
He didn’t move. He spoke quietly but imploringly. “I swore I would protect you, Gwalaes, and I meant it. I don’t know what’s going on; I don’t know what Chester was talking about up there. I just want you to stay with me.” She didn’t respond; she wouldn’t even look at him. He rushed on. “Please, Gwalaes. It’s more than just the gratitude of the man whose life you saved. Chester is right—I am genuinely fond of you. I love you! Please stay with me.”
“I can’t…” she whispered.
“Why not? That story he was telling—is it true? Are you truly the countess of Chester?”
She nodded wearily. “I am, but it’s not by choice and I wouldn’t care if I never saw Chester castle again.”
“Then stay,” he urged. “We can petition the Church for an annulment of your marriage—and mine, for that matter. We can be married, Gwalaes. Just stay here.”
“I can’t, Lord William.”
He was confused. “I don’t understand. He said you could—”
“He said it because he knows it’s impossible, Lord William!” she said angrily, as if she were frustrated with his ignorance. “He’s taken my da
ughter!”
“Bronwen? But why?”
“Because as it stands now, Lord William, Bronwen is his only heir.” To his look of bewilderment, she added impatiently, “She’s his daughter, too! Oh, yes, he’s very generous. I can stay behind at Rhuddlan and go on as before, or I can go to Hawarden with him and see my daughter again!”
Longsword was silent, considering the implications of Chester’s offer.
“Bronwen means everything to me, Lord William,” she continued less stridently. “Surely you can understand that. I’ve seen how eager you are for Gladys’ baby to arrive.”
“But the earl is the richest man in the empire,” Longsword said. “He can give Bronwen anything she wants.”
“She’s been happy this long without him. She has no need of him or his wealth.”
“But she’s his heir, Gwalaes! Heir to Chester! Do you know everything that means? A patrimony stretching back more than one hundred years! The right to a marriage second only to that of one of the king’s daughters! Do you really want to deny Bronwen her heritage? Her fortune?”
She said quietly, “I had the same once, Lord William. A title and wealth. I discovered they mean nothing compared with happiness.”
“Don’t be a fool, Gwalaes!” he answered angrily. “They mean everything. Take it from someone who’s been denied them all his life and is no happier for it!”
She stared at him. “Bronwen is my daughter.”
“Yours in flesh, Gwalaes, but not in law,” he said.
Wordlessly, she maneuvered around him. She walked away with a quick step. He called after her desperately but she didn’t stop. He started after her.
“Will!”
Delamere’s urgent voice checked him. He turned around and waited wordlessly as the other man descended the last several steps.
“Are you all right?”
“You knew,” he said flatly.
Delamere nodded slowly. “Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I only found out yesterday, Will. I’m sorry.”
Longsword felt a surge of anger. “For what? For not telling me? For making me look like a fool before Chester? Everyone in that room knew the truth except me!”
“You didn’t look like a fool, Will—”
“I imagine Haworth and Chester are having a good laugh over it right now,” Longsword said, snorting. “It’ll make a great story at Hawarden.”
“The earl isn’t going to say anything, Will. You slept with his wife. You’ve humiliated him. Believe me, it’s in his own interest to keep quiet about the whole thing…”
But Longsword wasn’t in a mood to be mollified. He knew his conversation with Gwalaes had gone terribly wrong—he knew he had said things she didn’t want to hear—and he was angry. “How did you find it out?”
“It doesn’t matter, Will. It’s all over.”
“I want to know!”
Delamere said firmly, “I can’t tell you.”
Longsword stared at him, outraged. He could feel his throat tighten; his fists clenched impotently. “You’ve never approved of Gwalaes, have you?” he demanded. “You blame her for the peace with Llanlleyn.”
“Shouldn’t I?”
“No! That was my decision, Richard, and no one else’s!”
“Do you really expect me to believe that, Will? I know you!”
There was a brief silence. Then Longsword said stiffly, “I’ve always held you closer than my own brothers, Richard. I never thought there would come a time when you would begrudge me a little happiness.”
Delamere’s face was taut and his jaw was set. He moved as close to Longsword as he could get without stepping on his feet. “You’ve got a lot in your life to make you happy, William,” he hissed, “but you’re too self-pitying to see any of it. Let me tell you that you’d better start appreciating what you have before it slips through your fingers and leaves you clutching—too late—at nothing!”
He turned on his heel and stalked off in the direction of the stairway. Longsword watched him disappear up the steps; as usual, slightly daunted by his vehemence. But it was only a momentary diversion; he quickly remembered his need to find Gwalaes and convince her, somehow, to stay.
The sight which greeted him when he entered the hall, however, stopped him in his tracks. There was Gwalaes—and standing by her side, his arm tight around her shoulders, was Alan d’Arques.
Alan urged Eleanor outside, away from curious eyes. She was shaking so violently that he couldn’t understand the words coming from her mouth. They made their way to the quiet confines of the kitchen garden and by then Eleanor had calmed down enough to speak coherently. Her worst nightmare had come true, she told him in a trembling voice; the earl had found out the truth about Bronwen. He had snatched her away from Richard Delamere’s manor and only God knew where the child was now. Her only hope of seeing Bronwen again was to leave with Chester in the morning…
Her face was pale and distraught. Alan said gently, “Perhaps it’s for the best, Eleanor.”
“To go back to him? How can you say that, Alan?”
“Because you’re a countess. You ought to be living in a great castle, Eleanor, not a rustic abbey and Bronwen ought to be growing up with all proper honors, not running around with barefoot children.”
“He hasn’t got a castle anymore,” she said bitterly.
“I’ve heard his men say Hawarden is quite remarkable.”
She wiped her eyes. “I can’t believe you would take his side, Alan…”
“I’m only thinking of what’s best for you and Bronwen,” he insisted, feeling vaguely frustrated by her refusal to see sense. “The earl is still a powerful presence in the empire despite his treacherous action during the war. And who knows what will happen with Chester Castle in the future. Henry can’t live forever and the earl was one of the Young King’s primary allies. You might well find yourself back behind those walls, Eleanor. And you’re young yet—you’ll have more children—God willing, one or two a boy.”
She shuddered. He started to speak again but saw that she was suddenly preoccupied with the neckline of her rough gown. Her fingers fumbled until they managed to extricate something which she presented to him. “Do you recognize this?” she asked.
He held out his hand and she placed the object on his palm. He stared down in confusion at the twisted weaving of wire he had called a brooch when he’d given it to Gwalaes. “Of course I do,” he answered. He looked up at her. “Didn’t Gwalaes want it any longer?”
“It was her most prized possession, Alan. Poor Sir Roger, he was unlucky the night he murdered her! It dropped from her body as he carried her through the postern gate at Chester.” She was impatient with his lack of reaction. “I lied to you when I told you Gwalaes returned to Oakby, Alan. There wasn’t anything you could do, so I thought I would spare you the truth. But the truth is my husband—the very man with whom you think I should once again share a bed—had Sir Roger kill Gwalaes because she was my friend. He never had much use for me and after my brother died, he began to hate me. He took away everything that was precious to me and that included Gwalaes. Now can you understand why I left, Alan? Why I wanted to flee when I saw him enter Rhuddlan two days ago?” Her voice broke and tears welled in her eyes. “Why I’m so frightened for Bronwen?”
“Lady Eleanor, why didn’t you tell me this when the earl arrived?”
“I’m sorry, Alan; I had to protect Bronwen.”
“But Lord William was just looking for an excuse to refuse Chester entrance!”
“I’m sorry,” she repeated. She dabbed at her eyes with the wrist of her gown, confused by his sudden anger. “I thought I was doing the right thing, Alan.”
He was chastened by her obvious agitation. “Oh, don’t mind me, Lady Eleanor,” he said. He rubbed his face tiredly and stared down at the brooch in his hand. Gwalaes’ most prized possession…and he had barely given her a passing thought since the day he’d left Robert Bolsover’s service.
/>
Once again there was pounding on his door, only this time he wasn’t dreaming about holding Gwalaes and crossing swords with the earl of Chester—he had stayed up nearly all night trying to dissolve the hard lump in his stomach with wine, ale, small beer and even the foul-tasting mead the servants always insisted on placing before him at the board and which he’d never before ventured to drink—anything. But none of it had worked and finally, he’d simply passed out on his bed.
The pounding woke him from a deep sleep. He opened one bleary eye. The chamber was still dark; he hadn’t overslept. So why was that idiot thumping at the door?
“Come in!” he shouted angrily, raising himself to a sitting position in the bed. Or rather, on the bed. He looked around. Apparently he had just stripped himself and collapsed onto the linens.
“My lord!” Ralph de Vire stuck his head inside the room. “Sir Richard asks if you can come quickly to the stables! There’s a fight! One of ours and one of the earl’s men!”
Richard had marvelled once that he could drink all he wanted and never suffer for it in the morning but it was the truth. He was dressed and hurrying through the keep in less time than it would have taken another man in a similar condition to merely roll out of the bed.
In the relative stillness of the early morning, he could hear the clash of swords while he was still a good distance from the stables. “Strange place for a sword fight,” he growled over his shoulder at de Vire, who was struggling to keep up with him.
“The earl’s men were readying their horses for departure, my lord; that’s why everyone’s at the stables,” he panted.
“Is Chester there?”
“He ought to be by now, my lord. Sir Richard sent to him, as well.”
They rounded the corner of the stable block. The noise of the fight grew louder. Longsword saw the earl in front of him, standing with his arms crossed over his chest, several of his men surrounding him.
Delamere was standing four or five yards away from the earl, with other Rhuddlan knights. Longsword’s heart jumped when he saw that Delamere was holding Gwalaes by the arm—and then it wouldn’t stop pounding. He almost didn’t want to—he was afraid if he took his eyes from Gwalaes, she would disappear—but he glanced at the two combatants circling each other in a small, cleared area. One was Roger of Haworth.
The other was Alan d’Arques.
Longsword promptly forgot that Gwalaes was close by. When he saw Alan, all his small jealousies came rushing in on him. All he could imagine was that Haworth had made some offensive comment about Gwalaes and Alan, her lover, had jumped to defend her honor. The sight of Alan duelling with Haworth enraged him far more than had any of the occasions on which he’d seen Alan and Gwalaes engaged in conversation. All he could think was that perhaps he ought to be doing what Alan was doing.
“Lord William!” Gwalaes’ desperate voice called out to him and he was brought back to reality. “Lord William, please do something! Please stop this fighting!”
He looked at her; she was straining against Delamere’s grasp. He missed Alan’s sudden leap towards Haworth, the downward slash of his sword and Haworth’s effortless block. He heard the clang of metal and Gwalaes’ scream. In that instant, she managed to extricate herself from Delamere’s hold. She rushed to Longsword and threw herself at his feet, and pleaded with him again to stop the fight.
Chester loomed behind her. “Get up, Eleanor!” he said angrily. “You’re making a fool of yourself!” He glanced at Longsword. “There’s no reason to call a halt to it. It was d’Arques who issued the challenge. Sir Roger is only defending his name.”
“Lord William, please! Sir Roger will murder Alan!”
As if he hadn’t thought of that probability the moment he’d seen who was fighting.
Delamere came up and raised Gwalaes to her feet. She never took her eyes off Longsword but she had fallen silent. She looked at him with an uncomprehending expression, as if she couldn’t understand his lack of reaction. He didn’t quite understand it himself. He didn’t trust himself to speak.
Then came a series of noisy clashes. Gwalaes shrieked again and lurched in the direction of the fight. Delamere barely managed to hold her back. Irritated, he snapped at the earl for God’s sake, remove the countess from the site because the commotion was distracting Alan d’Arques.
Chester smirked. Everyone present knew the outcome was a foregone conclusion, whether or not the countess remained. “But I suppose she must collect her belongings because, of course, we’ll be leaving right after sunrise.”
He signalled two of his men forward. They seized the young woman by either arm and pulled her away. Her pleas and cries echoed in Longsword’s head long after she disappeared from sight.
Now the men focused their attention on the fight. Only a few ventured to make a wager, mostly encouraged by the fact that Alan was younger than his opponent who, at this point, merely appeared to be defending himself from his provocations.
Still, it was a very able defense. The younger knight lunged, but Haworth easily pushed his sword aside. Alan twisted around and took a swipe at his opponent’s upper body, was blocked, ducked low and tried to jab up at Haworth’s abdomen and was rebuffed again.
Hugh said to Delamere and Longsword, “He’s waiting. Can’t you see how much more work your man is doing than mine? Young or no, d’Arques can’t keep up this pace forever. He’ll get tired. And then Roger’ll finish him.”
Alan’s anger cleared under the force of the exercise. He wondered at Haworth’s unwillingness to attack and came to the conclusion that his opponent was old and no longer possessed the edge which came from living under hostile circumstances. The thought buoyed him. He had tossed and turned all night, imagining every instant of this duel but when the other man had actually pulled out his sword, he’d had a moment of sober hesitation. Now the doubts disappeared. To his mind, he was getting the better of a well-regarded knight. He became cocky and more showy, lunging and twisting, dancing circles around Haworth until he found himself heaving for breath.
He failed to notice that Haworth had suddenly become very adept. He slashed with his sword at Haworth’s side one last time; Haworth stepped back and as Alan’s momentum kept him going forward, Haworth kicked him in the ribs with such force that the young man fell onto his hands and knees. He never saw Haworth raise his sword, and the pain which suddenly seared through his neck was mercifully short-lived.
Richard Delamere rode at a fast clip to his manor. He felt a pressing urgency to see his home and his family and make certain everything had been left intact. The earl had coldly assured him that Haworth hadn’t touched a hair on the head of anyone at the manor—had even smirked and told him that women and little boys were not to his captain’s taste—but Delamere wouldn’t believe it until he saw it for himself.
He reached the manor at midday, halting in the front yard and looked around with a sharp eye. He noticed nothing unusual or disturbed. Perversely, the peace angered him. He dismounted and tied the reins to a rail on the wooden stairs leading to the entrance of the house. A movement caught his eye. Olwen was standing at the top, smiling as if nothing had happened. Had she simply handed the child to Haworth? He looked away.
Her first impulse had been to rush down the stairs and jump into his arms but the angry expression on his face killed her joy. She stepped slowly down to the ground and waited for him to speak.
They stared at each other for a brief moment. Delamere wondered why she didn’t greet him with a hug and kiss as she always had before. “Where are the boys?” he asked gruffly.
That wasn’t what she wanted to hear. “They’re inside. Until you came, I didn’t want to let them out.”
“They’re unharmed?” She nodded and could see his relief. “And you?”
“I’m all right, Richard.”
He looked around the yard again and to the shed to the side. “Everything seems to be fine.”
“Yes, it is. They were quick.”
“H
ow many were they?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t have the chance to count. But they were many.” She searched his face for sympathy as she spoke but didn’t see any. He was fooled by the peace. “What did it all mean?”
“It’s an unbelievable story. Bronwen is the daughter of the earl of Chester, although neither one of them knew it until yesterday.” A flash of impatience crossed his face and he ran a hand through his hair tiredly. “I’ll explain it to you later.”
“The poor child screamed as they took her away. I can hear her still in my dreams…”
“There was nothing you could do to hide her?” he asked. “Couldn’t you have told them she was your daughter?”
Olwen was stung by his implication that what had happened was her fault. “No, I told you they were quick. But they had to rip her from my arms, Richard!”
“All right—I didn’t mean—” He gave up with a sigh. “Never mind, it’s been a hell of a morning,” he said, thinking of Longsword’s stoic silence and Alan’s death. “I’m hungry. I left Rhuddlan without breakfast.”
She told him to go up into the house and she would bring him food. But she was outraged further. Did he imagine that the ordeal hadn’t been the least bit horrifying for her?
Delamere ate in thoughtful silence, oblivious to the chattering voices of his children and the low whispers of Olwen and her servants. He was suddenly concerned with his manor’s relative lack of security. He didn’t care about his livestock or the small garden but he’d been unnerved to learn how easily Haworth and the earl’s men had been able to accomplish their task. Several male laborers and a handful of female servants were no match for trained, armed men. A few stout dogs and men-at-arms were needed.
Thinking of the dogs reminded him of the gruesome sight he’d come across on his way home. It had been a dark shape laying motionless on the path. Dismounting, he’d discovered that it was the body of Bronwen’s dog, Kigva. The animal had been pinned to the ground with a javelin and had evidently been the feast of the previous night for the nocturnal creatures of the forest. He’d pulled out the javelin, broken it across his knee and thrown the pieces into the woods and then picked the remains of the body up by the tail and heaved them out of sight.
Olwen fumed steadily as the day wore on. Richard hadn’t even paid much attention to the children and finally she had put them into the big bed behind the partition at the end of the hall, the eldest by the wall and the baby next to him. When he went out to settle his horse for the night, she quickly undressed and slipped into the bed, curling up on her side facing the baby. She had never thought him capable of such callousness. She told herself she hated him, and when he came to bed and put an arm over her waist and his lips close to her neck, she pretended she was already sleeping.