Emma arched an eyebrow. “You think Rhodri holding Nicole by the throat was part of a ploy, that she may have known what he was about?”
“’Tis possible.”
Gwendolyn shook her head. “Then how do you explain her actions at Little Gate? The messenger said she ran to the guards and begged them for protection from Rhodri!”
“A diversion. Nicole may have sent most of the guards off to chase Rhodri, leaving him only two men at the gate to get past. Nicely done, if that was the case.”
Alberic saw the sense in Darian’s reasoning but couldn’t approve of Rhodri’s using a woman in such fashion. “Damn devious and dishonorable.”
Darian smiled hugely. “Aye, astute and cunning, and the scheme worked. They might not have been able to pass through the gate otherwise.”
One of the oddities of having a brother-by-marriage who had once been a renowned mercenary was their sometimes differing attitudes toward what was acceptable behavior and what was not, with Darian being more lenient. Overly lenient, to Alberic’s way of thinking.
Still, it wasn’t Darian’s character in question, but Rhodri ap Dafydd’s.
He addressed Gwen and Emma. “What do you know of Rhodri? Whether he forced her out of Oxford or no, can he be trusted not to harm her?”
The sisters glanced at each other before Gwendolyn answered. “Neither of us had seen Rhodri for an age. What I know of him in recent years comes from Connor’s letters, and Connor always mentioned Rhodri with pride in his accomplishments, first with a sword and bow, then with the harp.”
Emma nodded. “Connor had reason for pride. Not every man who plays a harp and writes poetry becomes an honored bard. A man must have talent, but the study also takes years of hard work and perseverance.”
“Which only speaks well of his skills and ambition,” Alberic countered, “not of the man’s honor.”
Gwendolyn sighed heavily and put a hand on her huge stomach—which moved with the squirming of the babe—and Alberic once more berated Fate for sending upsetting news at such a time.
“I must believe Rhodri will take care of Nicole or worry myself into an agitation not good for the babe.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Emma leaned toward Gwendolyn and whispered, “Should I look?”
Alberic inwardly shivered.
He’d long ago accepted the existence of magic. The ring that wouldn’t budge from his finger, binding him to Gwendolyn as joint guardians of an ancient spell, was a visible reminder of magic’s existence. But he and Gwendolyn might never be called upon to recall King Arthur from the Isle of Avalon to come to Britain’s aid—at least he hoped not—so Alberic tried not to dwell on magic’s use, and for long periods of time he could put it out of mind.
However, Emma could peer into water and call forth a vision. Nicole could hear voices of the dead. Knowing the suffering those abilities had caused the sisters in the past, Alberic had to wonder if being a female in the line of Pendragon wasn’t more a curse than a blessing.
And what turmoil that heritage could cause his own children, he didn’t wish to contemplate.
“Oh, Emma, I hate to ask it of you, but knowing where they are would aid us greatly in deciding what must be done,” Gwendolyn answered with a mix of true regret and a spark of hope.
Emma straightened and looked to her husband for guidance.
“The decision is yours, sweetling,” Darian said, “but pray, do not put too much hope on the outcome.”
Emma’s visions always told true, but she didn’t always receive the answers she hoped for.
She glanced around the hall, where servants bustled about to make the hall ready for nooning. “Not here.”
Alberic could clear the hall with the wave of his hand, but that might cause idle speculation among the servants, and ’twas clear Emma wanted full privacy.
“Our bedchamber,” he said.
In agreement, all four headed up the tightly winding stairway that led from the hall to the upper floor, Alberic’s hand at Gwendolyn’s back to keep her steady.
Children’s laughter greeted them in the upper passageway, and Alberic wished he were heading instead for the nursery, where under the watchful eye of a trusted nurse, his son Hugh, named for Gwendolyn’s father, and daughter Elena, named for his mother, were entertaining Emma and Darian’s son Wyatt, who was barely old enough to toddle across the floor.
Within the lord’s bedchamber, Gwendolyn fetched the silver pitcher and washbasin from the bedside stand and placed them on the round oak table in the center of the room.
While Emma eased into the armed chair, Gwendolyn poured water into the basin. When the water’s surface was both smooth and clear, Emma leaned forward and for a long while stared at the water.
The room was silent, Emma’s concentration complete.
Alberic let loose his held breath when Emma finally closed her eyes to break the lure of the water.
Darian strode over to stand behind his wife, placing his hands on her shoulders in a loving and protective gesture.
Emma reached up to touch Darian’s hand. “I am fine, dearest, truly.”
“Take whatever time you need,” Darian said gently.
Alberic reined in his impatience, knowing if he tried to rush Emma he’d draw Darian’s wrath. Truly, he liked and respected the man too much to risk a breach in their friendship.
“I saw them,” Emma reported. “They are walking along a road, slowly. Rhodri appears to be using a walking stick, but whether from necessity or not I cannot say. I do not believe they are on their way to Camelen. Were they coming toward us, I might have seen their faces, but I did not.”
“You are certain it was Nicole you saw, not some other woman?”
“I am certain the woman was Nicole, so I assume the man is Rhodri.” Emma held out a hand, which Gwendolyn grasped hold of. “I sensed no fear on Nicole’s part. Nor does she appear to have suffered any physical harm. I truly do not feel she is in any danger, at least not from Rhodri.”
Tears again sprang to Gwendolyn’s eyes, her emotions so easily swayed and visible these days. This time her tears were of happiness, for which Alberic was grateful.
She hugged Emma. “I know how much you dislike courting a vision. My thanks, dearest, for relieving my mind on Nicole’s well-being.”
Alberic wasn’t as relieved as his wife. Nicole might not be in immediate danger of harm, but the little minx was likely headed toward Wales, precisely where she shouldn’t be going. Surely by now Aubrey de Vere had also informed King Stephen of Nicole’s disappearance, and the king would not be pleased that his ward was gone, and in the company of a Welshman.
Unhappy kings could cause problems for the family of errant subjects.
Darian’s expression revealed that his thoughts were running along the same path.
Alberic hated leaving Gwendolyn so close to the babe’s birth, but better he try to retrieve Nicole before either the earl’s patrols caught up with her or, worse, she crossed the border.
Surely he could do so in less than a fortnight.
“Think you we can find them before they enter Wales?” he asked Darian, whose talents would be most useful during such a venture.
“Perhaps.” Darian shook his head. “There are only a few roads they can take west, and fewer places where they can cross the rivers. Were I Rhodri, I might make first for Gloucester. Or he might make for Bristol, where he could hire a boatman to take him and Nicole to the nearest Welsh port. Problem is, to which town are they headed?”
A problem, indeed, and one Alberic must solve quickly. And when he did, and Nicole was safely in hand, he had several pointed questions for Rhodri ap Dafydd, who had best have good answers.
“I need to rest, Rhodri, just for a moment or two.”
He cast her an irritated sidelong glance. “I know what you are about, and I order you to cease.”
Nicole sighed and kept walking. The stubborn man was determined to put another full day’s worth of leagues between them and Oxford, regardless that if he continued on this unwise course, she feared he might not be able to walk on the morrow.
Reckless, to her way of thinking.
“You are no good to me if you go lame!”
“My ankle is merely sore, not broken, and as long as I leave on my boot, I can walk on it.”
“Not if you continue to abuse it! You only aggravate the injury. Come one morn soon, your ankle will refuse to hold your weight.”
“So be it, just so long as when that morn comes, we are farther from Oxford.”
And closer to Wales. The nearer to the border, the less chance of being captured by one of the earl’s patrols. She knew that as well as Rhodri did.
She should probably be content that he’d agreed to use a walking stick, and she’d won the battle over whether or not to use the road. Walking was less strenuous on a rutted dirt road than through the forest’s brambles and fallen logs.
They’d left the road only twice today to hide in the thicket. The rumbling cart that had come up behind them had scared her most but proved to be no more than a cloth merchant, probably on his way to Oxford. The second had been to allow a group of young men on horseback to ride by, headed in the direction of Bristol.
Neither had proved an immediate threat, but Rhodri didn’t want anyone to see them who might eventually learn the identity of the man and woman they’d seen walking on the road and report the sighting.
Each time they left the road, Nicole worried over what else could go wrong on what might prove to be a very long journey afoot. And she felt horribly guilty for goading Rhodri into chasing the pig.
Because the thought of roasted pork made her hungry again, she turned her mind to other things, like the prospect of passing through Bristol.
She’d never seen Bristol, but her father and brother had told wonderful, colorful tales of their visits. The seat of Robert, the powerful earl of Gloucester, the town and castle had provided a haven and stronghold for the empress Maud, Robert’s half sister, during much of the war with King Stephen.
Her father would be upset to know Earl Robert had died, ripping the heart out of the rebellion, and furious to learn that without the earl’s leadership the rebel cause had floundered. Shortly afterward, Maud had returned to Normandy, to her Angevin husband. Their son, Henry, who’d since grown into his manhood, now took up the fight his mother had begun.
Nicole remembered her first days at Bledloe Abbey when, in her youth and despair, she’d plotted to escape and join the cause her father and brother had fought and died for, utterly sure Maud would welcome a child into her service at Bristol Castle. A silly notion.
Still, perhaps a measure of her rebelliousness had survived, because now she would pass through Bristol to reach an even more rebellious place. Wales.
“Tell me of Glenvair.”
Rhodri shrugged a shoulder. “Not much to tell. The manor has not changed since you were last there.”
“Connor has made no improvements?”
“It is the Norman way to construct large, imposing buildings and surround them with walls to protect them, not Welsh.”
“Had Connor built a castle, I would surely have heard of it from Gwendolyn. Is there no new well, or a repair to the mill? A storeroom added?”
“No.”
Irritated by his crusty answers, Nicole was almost ready to leave him to his black mood. Almost.
“Do butterflies still frequent the long grass near the stream?”
“I would not know. Likely.”
“The children I played with—did most remain at Glenvair when grown?”
“Most.”
Nicole surrendered. If the man insisted on being surly, he could damn well keep it to himself.
They walked in silence for at least another league before he surprised her by asking, “Do you remember Winnifred?”
The name sounded familiar.
“Not clearly.”
“She has a scar over her left eyebrow.”
His description jolted a memory of not only the girl, but the other children she’d asked about earlier.
“Winnifred served as a maid to my sisters and me, did she not?”
“I believe she did. Anyway, she married Beven, has two children of her own now.”
Nicole realized he’d made a peace offering, of sorts, by speaking to her devoid of his earlier sharpness. So what could she ask of Winnifred to keep him talking?
“Is she happy in her marriage?”
“I should think so. Beven provides her with a snug cottage, does not beat her, and has given her children.”
As if those things alone would make a woman happy in her marriage. But then, Nicole knew women could do worse in a husband than one with whom she found contentment.
“Why have you not married?”
The question brought no startled or indignant look from Rhodri, for which she was grateful. Truly, it was a very personal question she shouldn’t have asked, and she wouldn’t be surprised or offended if he didn’t answer.
“Have not found the right woman.”
A man as well put together and talented as Rhodri ap Dafydd could have his choice of numerous eager women. That he was also a bard would have them swooning at his feet. And she would be willing to wager he’d sampled more than a few of the swooners. So must this
right
woman be an ideal of beauty and grace, or must she come with more than a lovely face and shapely body?
“The right woman, or a suitable dowry?”
“Both. Such a woman is hard to find.”
“Perhaps you ask too much.”
“I think not. She must come with land, of course, a
cantref
at the least, and a sack full of shiny gold coins. And ten horses, all brown with white socks.”
Nicole’s jaw dropped in astonished awe at his precise and rich requirements, but before she could comment, he continued.
“Naturally, she must also come with portables—a chest filled with embroidered table linens, bejeweled goblets, and pewter platters. Also spices. Sugar, salt, rosemary, and cinnamon. I am particularly fond of cinnamon. Two cows, six geese, a flock of doves, several bunches of turnips and onions, and a large cauldron—”
Nicole groaned loudly enough to halt his litany, finally realizing he teased.
She laughed lightly. “’Tis no wonder you have not married. So many turnips would be hard to come by.”