“Have a care, wench.” Walter glared at her
over Thomas’s golden head. He still held the struggling boy by the
wrists. “The law has punishment aplenty for a villein who draws a
blade against a Norman knight. Make no more threats against me or
I’ll see you dead, too.”
“Walter,” Brian said again, “get out.”
“Gladly.” Walter grimaced at him. “Stay with
your own kind, Welshman. You obviously prefer them. I’ll just take
my future stepson with me.”
“No.” Thomas’ struggles became even more
frantic. “You are a wicked man, Walter fitz Alan. I won’t go with
you. I’m going to stay here with my friends.”
“Thomas.” Meredith rose from Rhys’s side at
last and went to the boy. She had to do something to protect him
from Walter’s anger, and his mother’s, for she had no doubt Isabel
would be furious with her son when she heard where he had been.
Walter was sure to tell her. “Thomas, go back to Afoncaer with Sir
Walter. You must tell Lord Guy that Rhys is dead. He will want to
know. Do this for us, Thomas. Carry our message and then place
yourself under your uncle’s personal protection.”
It took all of Meredith’s self-control to
speak politely to Walter when she wanted to fly at him as Thomas
had done, but out of her love and concern for Thomas she
accomplished it.
“Sir Walter, please let Thomas go. I’m sure
you understand he is only upset and meant you no real harm.” She
was relieved when Walter pushed the boy away from him and stalked
out of the cave without a backward glance.
Thomas threw himself into Meredith’s arms and
burst into tears. She held him gently, her own eyes overflowing,
soothing him until the sobs stopped. Then she lifted his
tear-stained face and kissed him on the forehead.
“Go back to Afoncaer,” she said, smoothing
down his ruffled hair. “There is nothing more you can do for
Rhys.”
“When my mother’s servant Agnes died,” Thomas
said, trying to control his trembling lower lip, “Rhys told me to
remember her with love. That is how I’ll remember Rhys, too.” With
one last glance at Rhys’s still form, he left the cave.
“Will he be all right with that beast of a
Norman?” Branwen asked.
“Yes,” Brian assured her. “Walter is still
bound to Guy until his wedding day, and the boy is his future
wife’s son. Thomas is safe enough, for now.”
“We have to bury Rhys,” Meredith said, her
voice dull with grief.
“Shall I get the priest?” Brian asked, then
corrected himself. “No, of course not, he wasn’t Christian. We’ll
do it ourselves, then, and right away, since it’s high summer.”
“Thank you for helping us.” Branwen said, and
rested her head on Brian’s shoulder for a time before she pulled
herself together and, as Rhys’s only living relative, took charge
of the arrangements. They were simple enough. In this Norman-ruled
place, there was no point in summoning people to the kind of
funeral that once would have been accorded to a Wise Man such as
Rhys had been. Branwen left the cave and went to a man she knew to
tell him what had happened and to send him to spread the news of
Rhys’s death. A few men and women appeared to stand at the
graveside.
They wrapped Rhys in his long grey cloak and
laid him in the grave that Brian had dug. Branwen said the ancient
words she remembered. Neither Meredith nor Branwen nor Brian felt
it strange that they three, all raised as Christians, should
participate in such a ceremony. Rhys’s goodness had transcended all
barriers. They had just finished their sad business and the other
mourners had vanished into the trees when Guy found them.
“Thomas told me,” he said. He opened his arms
and Meredith, forgetting how long it had been since she’d last seen
him, went into them as if it were the most natural thing in the
world. She let him hold her as she had held Thomas earlier.
“Thomas says Walter was responsible,” Guy
said to Brian over Meredith’s bowed head. He listened while Brian
explained what had happened.
“I wish,” Guy said when Brian had finished,
“That I could stop this marriage between Walter and Isabel. But I
have given my word to them and set my seal to a letter of agreement
already sent to the earl of Chester. The wedding is next week, and
those two are determined to marry.”
“I still think there is something very
strange in Walter’s arrangements with Chester,” Brian muttered.
“That may be so, but you and I will consider
the matter another time,” Guy said. “Meredith, Branwen, what will
you do now? Will you come to live at Afoncaer? You are both welcome
at the castle.”
“This is our home,” Branwen said, “If you
will keep the promise you once made to us, and make your Norman
warriors stay away, we shall be safe enough. I wish that Walter
creature had never found us.”
“I have forbidden him the entire forest,” Guy
said. “Shall I do the same to Brian?”
“Don’t make jokes over a new grave,” Branwen
retorted sharply, moving away from the mound of freshly spaded
earth and starting back toward the cave. “Brian is different.”
“Is he?” A faint smile lit Guy’s sad face for
a moment. “Would you like me to stay away from the cave, too,
Branwen?”
“Meredith would be happier if you had never
come here,” Branwen told him angrily. “And Rhys might still be
alive.”
“Don’t say that, Aunt,” Meredith chided,
“Rhys was old and ill and had not much more time to live, and we
both know it. What happened today was Walter’s fault, if it was
anyone’s. But still, my lord Guy, I think it would be better if we
held to our earlier agreement and did not see each other
again.”
She could not meet his eyes. She ached with
every fiber of her being to go into his arms once more. She was
ashamed of the joy that had surged up inside her when he appeared
at Rhys’s graveside. She ought to have gained better control over
her emotions in the year and a half since she had been parted from
him. She had not. She had been overcome with grief for the man who
had been friend and teacher and substitute father to her, and yet,
when she looked up and saw Guy standing before her, she had known
such happiness that she wanted to sing and dance and laugh, even
though Rhys lay at her feet. She was filled with confusion and
shame at having those feelings at such a time, and after Guy and
Brian finally left them she wept again, but whether it was for Rhys
or for herself, or for them both she was not sure.
Thomas
Wales, A.D. 1109
August, AD 1105
“Guy, please let Thomas go with Walter and me
to Tynant,” Isabel begged. “It would only be for a little while,
just for a visit. Surely you can spare him for two weeks. He has
been terribly unhappy for the last few days. He won’t say what is
wrong, I can’t get a word out of him, but I suspect it has
something to do with my coming marriage.”
Guy, who knew the cause of Thomas’s sorrow,
which no one had divulged to Isabel, frowned at her.
“You are oddly concerned about your son at
such a time,” he said. “I had expected you to be so involved with
your own plans you would have no thought for his feelings. Do you
really want the son of your first marriage in your new
household?”
“I am not so indifferent to Thomas as you
imagine,” Isabel snapped. “I can see he’s distressed. He has
developed such an aversion to Walter. I suppose that’s natural.
Perhaps Thomas doesn’t want me to remarry at all. I thought it
might help him if he could see me happily settled in my new home
and know that all is well with me. Walter says the manor house the
Earl of Chester has given him is well made and spacious, and I am
certain I will be content there. Let Thomas see that, and then he
can return to Afoncaer with his mind at ease.”
Guy considered his sister-in-law’s request.
Isabel had been remarkably pleasant in recent days. Her plans for
the wedding and the feast to follow it were appropriate but not too
lavish, and she had made an effort to pay extra attention to
Thomas. She misunderstood the reason for Thomas’s continuing
sadness – Guy knew the boy still grieved for Rhys – but Isabel’s
affection and concern might help to soothe Thomas’s pain. Also, Guy
reasoned, sending Thomas away from Afoncaer for a time would
provide a diversion that would give him a chance to recover more
quickly from Rhys’s death. Still, Guy had learned it was always
better not to agree too readily with Isabel’s plans, because then
she would make other, sometimes unacceptable, requests. He would
ask for something in return, to let her know she could not freely
have everything she wanted.
“I will make a bargain with you,” Guy said.
“I have noticed that your maid Alice does not get along at all well
with Joan. Let Joan remain at Afoncaer when you go. I will need
someone to manage the kitchen wenches, to see to the laundry and
arrange the meals, and to keep order in the women’s quarters. Joan
could easily do all of that for me. She is old enough that the
other women respect her. Will you agree?”
“Gladly. Alice is a better seamstress than
Joan could ever be, and she knows the latest styles from court. Let
Joan stay on at Afoncaer,” Isabel said carelessly, as though Joan’s
years of devoted service mattered not at all.
“Very well then,” Guy said. “In return for
this favor to me, I will allow Thomas to go with you to Tÿnant, but
only for two weeks. After that, I will need him here again.”
“Oh, Guy,” Isabel flung her arms around him.
“Thank you. You have been so wonderful to me. I know I have been a
trial to you, but you can’t know how unhappy I have been.”
“I have some idea,” Guy said wryly, marveling
at the change in Isabel. Then she smiled at him with feverish
intensity, and in his heart Guy questioned just how happy she was
over her proposed marriage. Perhaps it was not love for Walter
after all, but the desire to leave Afoncaer that drove Isabel. At
least he would be rid of her, he reflected. Her going would leave
Afoncaer a more peaceful place, and with the intelligent and
even-tempered Joan taking over most of Isabel’s former duties, he
could manage well enough.
As for himself, he needed no wife. A gently
bred lady would only be as unhappy at Afoncaer as Isabel had been
and would make him permanently miserable. This border area was a
rough, man’s land. He would live in it alone.
The wedding day was wet and windy. In early
morning the bridal party splashed across the inner bailey through
mud and puddles of water to the freshly consecrated stone chapel
that had replaced the old wooden building. There the marriage
contract was read and signed, after which Father Herbert said Mass.
Then they trooped back through the rain to the great hall, where
the population of Afoncaer, both castle and village, waited for the
wedding feast to begin.
Isabel’s deep blue velvet gown was muddy at
the hem, and water-spotted on the sleeves, but it seemed nothing
could dim her pleasure in the day. She sat at the head of the table
between Walter and Guy, her new gold wedding ring gleaming on her
finger, and ate of every dish presented to the bridal couple.
The banquet was magnificent. A dozen suckling
pigs had been turning on spits since before dawn, and there were
stuffed game birds, meat pastries, and dishes of meats chopped up
with onions, cloves, and saffron, then cooked and sprinkled with
costly sugar before being served. There was stewed mutton, dozens
of roasted capons, mountains of fine white bread. Wine mixed with
herbs and spices was freely poured, as were cider and perry, both
made from Afoncaer ‘s own apples and pears. There were enormous
fruit tarts and custards made with ground almonds and dried rose
petals. Thomas personally served his mother and new stepfather.
Guy watched as Walter bent toward Isabel.
Walter’s brilliant red silk tunic, heavily trimmed in gold, caught
the light with a fiery glitter. Guy could not hear Walter’s words,
but Isabel blushed, and he saw her hand tremble as she set down her
goblet. Guy thought he could imagine the subject of Walter’s
conversation. The barely restrained desire between the two had
become more and more obvious as their wedding day approached. It
made Guy uncomfortable.
In spite of his determination to keep her out
of his mind, he thought of Meredith. It must be the wedding and all
the talk of bridal nights that kept her image returning to him on
this day. No, not just this day. She had been in his thoughts
constantly, ever since his arrival at Rhys’s graveside. She had
gone into his arms and it was as if he had found a part of himself
that had been missing for all the months when they were apart. He
could feel her still, her small, softly rounded body pressed
against his. He could smell the sweet fresh scent of her red curls,
hear her gentle, low-pitched voice, and at the memory he felt his
body’s instant response.
He was no better than Walter and Isabel. He
pretended to have his passions under control when the truth was he
wanted Meredith as he had never wanted any woman before. It was
something more than mere physical desire. If it were only that he
could take her, as so many lords took women living on their lands,
and slake his lust and be done with it, not caring that he had hurt
her irreparably. As it was, he could not hurt her however much he
wanted her, and after seeing her again he knew he could take no
other woman to bed, not even to end his physical torment. He wanted
Meredith and no one else. And so he sat, a man unhappily chaste at
a wedding feast, listening to jokes about bedding and loving while
the bride and groom whispered and murmured to each other and
touched hands beside him. His nephew’s young voice broke into Guy’s
troubled thoughts.
“Uncle Guy, my mother says we must leave now
if we are to reach Tynant before dark.” Thomas did not look
happy.