“Get out, slut,” Broderick of Dunborough said to the woman lying beside the gray-haired man.
Eying him with dread, the slatternly woman quickly gathered up her ragged, dirty clothes, clutched them to her sagging breasts and fled.
After she was gone, the stocky knight with the hard eyes and thick lips in a fleshy face shook the carafe, finding it nearly empty, before he went to the bed to rouse the old man sleeping there. “Father! Wake up!”
“What is it?” Sir Blane demanded querulously. He raised his head, his Adam’s apple bobbing, his small, rheumy eyes dots of rage, his body as thin as his son’s was prone to fat.
“I have news about your bride,” Broderick replied. He strode to the door and grabbed the man waiting outside. Holding the fellow by his shoulder, Broderick dragged the young man with light brown, curling hair and weak chin into the room and shoved him toward the bed. “Tell him what you told me down below.”
The minstrel clasped his hands and swallowed hard while the old man sat up in the bed and regarded him with annoyed expectancy, not even bothering to hide his nakedness.
“I...I...” the minstrel stammered “...that is, I was there...and I saw...”
“You woke me up to listen to the gibbering of an idiot?” Sir Blane demanded as he got out of bed. Still naked, he struck his son hard across the face. “Fool! Call the wench back—and you’ll pay her this time, not me. Then find me another one, too. Younger. For later.”
Hatred smoldered in Broderick’s eyes, but he stayed where he was, despite the red welt growing on his cheek. “Tell him what’s happened,” he ordered the minstrel, who was sidling toward the door. “Or was all that a lie? If so, you’ll rue the day you—”
“No, no, it’s true, it’s true!” Gordon cried, looking from the angry young man to the irate, thin old one whose lips were tinged a cold blue.
He quickly told them all that he had seen and heard when Sir Rheged had returned to Castle Delac with the prize. “Lady Thomasina was taken right out from under Lord DeLac’s nose,” he finished. “The Welshman just grabbed her and rode away!”
“He’s talking about your bride, my lord,” Broderick said to his father, whose expression betrayed neither shock nor outrage. “She’s been abducted.”
“Aye, aye, that’s right,” the minstrel confirmed. “He—the one who took her—he was angry about the tournament prize and so he came back and took Lady Thomasina.”
Blane finally picked up his bedrobe lying over a chair and drew it on over his scrawny body. Even then, he didn’t look angry or upset. If anything, he looked...pleased. “Her uncle did nothing to stop it?”
“He tried,” Gordon answered. “He ordered his men to stop them, but Sir Rheged was gone before his soldiers could get to their horses and by the time they gave chase, they’d disappeared.”
Blane darted a look at his son before he addressed the minstrel. “Sir Rheged, you say?”
“Aye, my lord, Sir Rheged of Cwm Bron, him they call the Wolf of Wales.”
Blane wrapped the bedrobe about himself and slid into the chair. “Well, well, Broderick. Sir Rheged of Cwm Bron. Your very dear friend.”
Gordon thought that if Sir Rheged was Sir Broderick’s friend, he’d hate to see how Broderick would regard an enemy.
“So he’s taken my bride,” Blane continued. “For vengeance, or his own lascivious ends, perhaps.” The old man froze the minstrel with his gaze. “When was this dastardly deed done?”
“Four days ago, my lord.”
“You hear that, my son? Rheged has had her for four days.” Blane turned his attention back to the quaking minstrel. “Has he demanded a ransom?”
“I...I don’t know, my lord. I left Castle DeLac just after she was taken.”
“Understandable. I’m sure no one was in a mood for entertainment after that.” Blane again addressed his eldest son. “Does this fool have any other news we should know?”
Broderick shook his head.
“Then he can go,” his father said, and with that, Broderick grabbed the minstrel by his collar and pushed him out the door, slamming it behind him.
“That Welshman is as good as dead!” Broderick declared as the minstrel’s clattering footsteps died away.
As if he had all the time in the world and nothing else to do, Sir Blane picked up the heel of a loaf and began to tear it apart with his long, gnarled fingers. “Is that any way to repay a man who’s done us such a favor?”
“Favor?” his son repeated with disdain.
“Favor,” Blane replied, dropping what remained of the loaf and dusting off his hands. “If DeLac wants an alliance with me, simpleton, he’ll have no choice now but to give me his pretty virgin daughter, and a larger dowry, too.”
Which would be a waste of a pretty virgin, Broderick thought, unless his father wanted to share. He did that sometimes, when the mood was on him.
As for the Welshman... “I’m still going to kill Rheged,” Broderick declared.
“I suppose this time you might succeed.”
“I know his tricks now.”
Sir Blane laughed the wheezing, mocking laugh that all his sons hated. “Go ahead and try, my son. If you’re successful, all well and good, and if you’re not, I don’t suppose Roland or Gerrard will mind it if you fail.”
The old man’s wheezing laugh turned into a hacking cough. “Don’t just stand there, you oaf!” he said as he gasped for breath. “Fetch me some wine!”
Broderick obeyed, even as he wondered how much longer it would be before the old man was in his grave.
* * *
“You’re healing quite well, my lady,” Gilbert said as he finished tying the new bandage around her calf a day later. An anxious Hildie hovered nearby, having come with the physician and a bundle in her arms. Tamsin had yet to discover what was in the bundle, but that question was far less important than Gilbert’s verdict.
“Then I can get out of bed?” Tamsin asked. For years she’d been awake and dressed and about her duties as soon as the first cock crowed. This forced rest was almost beyond bearing.
“Yes, and you may walk about a bit, as long as your leg isn’t too painful. If it begins to ache, though, you must sit down and rest at once.”
“I shall,” she promised, glad she could at least get out of bed.
“I shall return in two days’ time, my lady,” Gilbert said as he picked up his medicinal chest, “to check again.”
“Thank you, Gilbert,” she replied. “I appreciate all your care.”
The physician nodded and left the room. The moment he was gone, Tamsin threw back the sheet and blanket and put her feet on the floor, paying no heed to Hildie setting the bundle on the foot of the bed and opening it.
Tamsin eased herself upright and took a tentative step. Not too painful at all, she thought with relief, then glanced at the end of the bed to see Hildie standing with a broad smile. Three woolen gowns—one a very pretty shade of green, one of dark blue and one a light brown with darker bands of brown around the cuffs and bodice—two linen shifts, some stockings, a dark woolen cloak and an ivory comb were spread out on the bed before her. A pair of light leather slippers stood on the floor.
Tamsin’s eyes widened as she sat back down. “Where did all this come from?”
“They’re a gift from Sir Algar.”
Tamsin reached out to touch the prettiest gown of soft green wool. “It’s too much. I will accept the shifts and stockings and slippers, but I have the gown I came in. Has it not been washed?”
Hildie’s face fell. “Yes. I suppose it’s dry by now.”
Tamsin thought a moment. She might be considered ungracious if she refused the gifts, and since they weren’t from Rheged... “I’ve never had such pretty dresses,” she admitted. Unlike Mavis, she was never on display, like an article in a stall at a market. “I wouldn’t want to disappoint Sir Algar after he’s been so kind.”
“Or Sir Rheged. He’ll think you’re a vision in these gowns.”
“What Sir Rheged thinks is no concern of mine,” she decisively replied. She was well aware that servants gossiped, and she must nip any sort of romantic notions in the bud. “However, I wouldn’t want Sir Algar to think me ungrateful.”
“I think he’d be a tad miffed if you refused, my lady,” Hildie confirmed gravely.
“I shall need some help to dress.”
Hildie hurried to help her change into one of the clean, soft linen shifts and the lovely green gown.
“This fabric is marvelous,” Tamsin said, smoothing down the skirt as Hildie tied the laces at the back of the fitted bodice.
“That’s my sister Frida’s work,” Hildie replied proudly. “She’s a wonderful weaver, my lady. She’s married to the miller and expecting her first, so she hasn’t been weaving for a while. She’ll be happy to hear you like her work, though, I promise you.”
“Has she thought of selling it in Salisbury? Or London? It would surely fetch a good price.”
“Do you think so?” Hildie replied, her eyes wide as she came around Tamsin to face her.
“Indeed, I do.”
“I’ll be sure to tell her so. Now sit ye down on the stool, my lady, and let me run this comb through your hair.”
Tamsin walked slowly to the stool, sitting carefully and easing her calf forward.
“You’ve lovely hair, my lady. I bet the young noblemen have been pestering you for locks of it for years.”
Tamsin had to smile at that. “Not once has anyone ever asked for a lock of my hair.”
“No? God save me, are they all blind at Castle DeLac or what?”
“Blinded by my cousin’s beauty, perhaps,” Tamsin answered without rancor. “Mavis is very beautiful, with hair like gold.”
“The only woman Sir Algar and Sir Rheged’s been talking about since he got back from Castle DeLac is you.”
Tamsin flushed, and yet there had to be only one explanation—she was the only woman from Castle DeLac Rheged had abducted.
“Help me to the window, please,” she said after Hildie had tied her braid. “I’d like a breath of fresh air.”
Hildie put her arm under Tamsin’s shoulder and helped her limp to the window. Thankfully her leg didn’t hurt too much. When she opened the shutters and took a deep breath, she felt almost normal as she surveyed the rest of the castle.
It was small and old, with a single curtain wall and four towers, one at each corner. Parts of the west wall had crumbled away, and although there was some scaffolding erected, indicating repairs were under way, it was likely to be some time before such a job could be completed. The round keep she was in was at least as old as the wall, and she could see the wooden steps that led into the second level, below this one. The lowest level in a keep was usually the dungeon, or perhaps a storeroom. She could also see what had to be the kitchen, judging by the smoke coming out of the louvered opening in the roof, as well as the wooden walkway to the keep. The kitchen was wattle and daub, and so were a few of the other buildings, such as the stables. One other building was made of stone—a long, tall building close by the kitchen. Another storeroom, perhaps, although it seemed large for that. Otherwise, all the other buildings were made of wood, and all the roofs were thatched. The yard itself was fairly muddy, so likely missing a few cobblestones in places.
It would be expensive to repair this fortress completely and make it siege-worthy. No wonder Rheged had been upset that the prize her uncle had offered wasn’t worth as much as it seemed.
But it wasn’t the sympathy she felt for Rheged, or the state of his fortress, that kept her riveted to the window.
Rheged stood in the middle of a line of soldiers at the far end of the inner ward, in a relatively large open area where livestock would be penned if the villagers had to seek safety. Dressed exactly like the others, he held a bow in his hand and had a quiver of arrows on his back. Also like the other men in the line, he faced butts of straw with targets of cloth, a bull’s-eye drawn on them with charcoal. More soldiers waited nearby, talking and laughing and calling out encouragement.
This was clearly a practice, but it also seemed to be some kind of competition. It was also obvious that Rheged was far more comfortable among the common soldiers than he’d been in the great hall of Castle DeLac.
“Maybe you ought to sit down, my lady,” Hildie said with a hint of anxiety.
“In a moment,” Tamsin said as Rheged nocked his arrow.
Apparently nobody else intended to shoot, for they all watched the lord of Cwm Bron who, with one fluid motion, drew back the arrow and bowstring and, seemingly without aiming, let fly. She held her breath as his arrow arched high in the sky before coming down and she gasped with delight when it struck a bull’s-eye.
The men began cheering, although a few looked a little disgruntled as they reached into their belts, no doubt having lost a wager. She’d lived in a fortress long enough to know that soldiers bet all the time, on almost anything.
Rheged smiled and accepted their praise with a shrug of his broad shoulders.
He looked years younger and even more handsome when he smiled.
“Please, won’t you sit down and rest a bit, my lady?” Hildie pleaded. “Sir Algar and Sir Rheged might be angry with me if you don’t.”
“I shall take any blame,” Tamsin assured her just as Rheged looked up at the window, as if he somehow knew that she was there.
Blushing, Tamsin turned away. “Yes, I believe I should sit down,” she said, trying to sound calm and composed as she limped back to the stool. “Hildie, I’m not used to being so idle. There must be
something
I can do.”
* * *
What was Tamsin doing out of bed? Rheged wondered, momentarily oblivious to the excited men around him. Surely she should still be resting, unless Gilbert had pronounced her fit enough to stand.
“Look you, stunned by his own success, he is!” Gareth declared, forcefully reminding Rheged that he was not alone.
“That’s enough archery for now, Gareth,” he said as a slight drizzle began to fall.
“I’m pleased with your efforts,” he called out to the rest of the men, noting that a few of them were rubbing their shoulders. “But I’m not so pleased I don’t see plenty that needs to be better. Still, you’ve earned your meal tonight, so those not on watch, enjoy. Those on watch, I’ll see you’ve a hot meal waiting when your watch is done.”
The men gave a cheer, although there was a somewhat subdued response from the more exhausted among them.