In the hazy light of dawn, Nicole nervously watched for the unwanted approach of the stable master or one of his lads while Rhodri saddled the horse and secured their belongings.
Her wariness wasn’t all due to uncertainty over easy passage through Mathrafal’s gate, or even over the journey to Camelen. The finality of leaving Wales was niggling at her conscience.
Rhodri seemed at peace with leaving behind his life and his ambition. But how soon before he missed his homeland? How soon before he regretted not competing in the contest? How soon before he wished he’d never heard the name of Nicole de Leon?
He led the horse to the mounting block and looked at her expectantly. Damn, she should probably just get on the horse and allow fate its course. But she couldn’t.
Nicole stood before Rhodri, wishing she didn’t feel obligated to give him another chance to question his actions, knowing she must.
“I fear you may come to hate me one day. Can you truly leave behind Wales and your dreams without regret?”
“I have you and my harp. ’Tis all I need, Nicole.”
“For now, perhaps, but someday—”
“Someday you will cease to worry so much.”
He let go the horse’s reins and held out his hands, palms up. Without hesitation, she slipped her hands into his.
“I had hoped,” he said, “to wait until we reached Camelen for this, but if you need reassurance, I am prepared—nay, most willing—to give you my vow now.” He squeezed her hands. “Nicole de Leon, princess of Pendragon, will you accept this humble bard as thy husband? Henceforth, I will honor, support, and cleave only unto thee until death does us part.”
Stunned, she could only stare at his spreading grin.
“Unless,” he added, “I die before you and my spirit decides to remain bound to this earth to await yours. Then I promise not to bother you overmuch.”
Ye gods! Rhodri wanted them to pledge to each other now! In a stable! And why not? Except for one problem.
“We have no witnesses!”
He shrugged a shoulder. “We do not need them, not by either Welsh or English law or custom. If you like, we can repeat our vows at Camelen with your family as witnesses. What say you, Nicole?”
Oh, blessed be! Overwhelmed with love and joy, for a moment she couldn’t push words beyond the lump in her throat. When she finally found her voice, she spoke her vows with no less sincerity and conviction.
“I say I could not find a better man in all of Wales or England to accept as my husband. I pledge thee my troth, Rhodri ap Dafydd. I shall strive to be a good wife to you all our days. This I vow.”
Their kiss sealed the bargain and promised of more delights to come. But they weren’t so lost to the moment they didn’t hear the clank of the heavy chain raising the castle’s iron gate.
Snugly ensconced on Rhodri’s lap, Nicole worried all through the bailey, wishing he’d urge the horse onward a bit faster. And damn if he wasn’t right about the guards taking little notice of their passage.
With a sigh of relief, she leaned back into him and relaxed. He chuckled but wisely said naught of her tendency to worry.
Sweet mercy, she was truly going home!
Nicole remembered the day she’d left Camelen, an angry and frightened girl of ten. Now she would return as a married woman, to a Welsh bard no less. Her family would certainly be surprised, and she dearly hoped they would raise no objections. She sighed inwardly, aware that the most strident objection would come from another quarter altogether—a royal one.
She forcefully pushed the worry aside, refusing to allow that thorn to prick too harshly right now.
More than her family’s acceptance, she wanted them to like Rhodri, too. She suspected Alberic and Darian had taken Rhodri’s measure at the inn and, at the least, gave him their respect and trust, or they would never have allowed her to remain with Rhodri.
Her sisters? Gwendolyn and Emma would likely be happy as long as she was happy. And, truth, all Rhodri must do was play his harp and be his charming self to win them over.
Only one family member wouldn’t care about her happiness, the one Rhodri’s music must calm if she were to help him.
Her brother, William.
D
id someone die here?”
Pulled from her musings, Nicole glanced over the peaceful stream where they’d stopped to water the horse and, she suspected, where Rhodri wished to give her a few moments to rest before they rode the last few leagues into Camelen.
She’d taken advantage by sitting on a log to watch the water flow by while Rhodri tended the horse.
“Not that I am aware of. Why?”
“Your thoughts were so far away I wondered if you heard a spirit.”
She shook her head. “Nay. I was merely preparing what to say to William.”
If he would listen.
“Perhaps the music will put your brother in a mood to hear you.”
“Oh, he has always heard me. William simply does not wish to heed reason. I fear he will not this time, either.”
If William refused to cease ranting and declined to move on, then she would be forced to leave Camelen. Rhodri couldn’t be expected to play his harp day and night, and William would batter at her, more fiercely than ever before, to kill Alberic.
Rhodri settled the horse near a patch of long grass, then joined her on the log.
“How often does William speak to you?”
“I told you about the first.” At Rhodri’s nod, she continued. “Then once each year, near Easter, when Alberic brought Gwendolyn to the abbey.” She shivered. “Those were always the worst. Alberic would come in to give me a hasty greeting, then take himself off to the priest’s hut so I could visit with Gwendolyn. I always hated that.”
“So all of William’s ranting has been to order you to kill Alberic.”
“Not all. He has spoken to me other times, just recently. About a fortnight before you arrived at the abbey, he woke me to say I should leave Bledloe, that my time there was done.” She smiled at Rhodri. “’Twas one of the reasons I was reluctant to consider Connor’s offer. I truly did not want to obey William. The one time I did he caused me much heartache.”
“It has always seemed odd to me that William could speak with you at will when other spirits cannot.”
“I assumed it was because he was the first spirit to speak to me, or because I worshipped him as a child. Or because no matter how many spirits I have helped, I have not been able to reach my own brother. The guilt has ever plagued me.”
“You have tried.”
“And failed, time after time.”
“Perchance this time you will enjoy better fortune.”
She hoped so. Dear God, she hoped so.
“William is buried in the village church. I believe we should deal with him before we enter the castle.”
“You do not wish to see your sisters first?”
With all her heart.
“I wish to deal with William before I see Alberic.”
Rhodri rose and held out his hand. Time to go. She accepted his assistance without hesitation, then took the step into his embrace.
“’Twill be all right, Nicole, no matter what happens.”
He’d been trying to soothe her worries ever since leaving Mathrafal. To his credit, he’d been right about so much. They’d escaped with ease and encountered no Welsh or English patrols. They’d ridden hard during the daylight and found food and shelter at night, and she now knew what it felt like to make love in a bed of hay.
She held him tighter, because beyond dealing with William loomed a void. She’d tried to peer into it, to see the future beyond, but no vision of her future with Rhodri formed.
They’d married, pledged to each other, sealed their bargain with sweet kisses and rapturous lovemaking. Rhodri would keep his vows, of that Nicole had no doubt. ’Twas his regret of those vows she feared, especially if his music didn’t provide her with the means to send William to the afterlife.
She’d not realized until yesterday Rhodri’s stake in their success in dealing with her brother. He’d found true magic in his harp’s music, and William would be the test of the magic’s strength.
If their attempt failed, then Rhodri might begin to wonder if he’d made a mistake by giving up his dreams and then resent being bound to her.
She took heart that his music had so eased the spirits at Glenvair they’d been agreeable to finding their peace. But William’s spirit was older, his desire for revenge deep and venomous, and he’d resisted her every effort. He might not so easily succumb.
This area of Shropshire had been her childhood home, and as they rode over the gentle hills and through thick woodlands, Nicole realized how much she’d missed it. So for a while, she concentrated on appreciating the warm sunshine and the autumn-touched trees.
Too soon, and not soon enough, Camelen’s walls came into view. The sight of her home took her breath away and filled her eyes with tears.
Stone walls, thick and gray, promised security to all who resided within and protection to all who resided within its shadow. Odd, she’d chafed at the notion of spending her days within the confines of stone walls—all but these. At Camelen she could blissfully reside, even if it wasn’t truly her home anymore, but Alberic and Gwendolyn’s.
Rhodri ignored the drawbridge and headed for the village, specifically for the church with its square Norman bell tower. The last time she’d been inside was to bury her father and brother.
“Has William said aught to you as yet?”
“Not as yet.” Which surprised her a bit. Surely William sensed her presence.
“We will leave the horse by the well. I want to have my harp at the ready the moment you open the church door.”
As if his harp were a sword he would wield against an attack. Nicole thought the comparison an apt one.
The village had changed a bit since she’d left. Nearby the church stood newer-looking cottages, the older ones having been burned during an attack on Camelen by a Welshman who’d sought to take Gwendolyn away from Alberic and not succeeded.
Naturally, the children’s curiosity about the village’s visitors stopped their play, especially when, after Rhodri tied the horse to the well, he pulled a harp from the sack tied behind the saddle.
Nicole didn’t recognize any of the little ones, having been gone from Camelen before most of them were born. A few of their parents, who’d come out to see why the children had gone so silent, smiled at her when she nodded at them.
She would love to greet each familiar person, but Rhodri waited, harp in hand. Her homecoming must wait, the joy or pain of the homecoming dependent on a brother who’d been dead for eight years.
Nicole scurried up the stairs, grasped the iron ring, and paused for only a moment before she opened the huge oak door.
The church was dark, musty, and silent but for the strains of silver strings.
You came! At last, you came!
William’s excited shouts reverberated through her and, for a heartbeat, she relished the joy she hadn’t heard in her brother’s voice in a very, very long time. Not since he’d lived. Not since the day he’d picked her up and swung her around, promising to bring her a pretty gift when he returned from the war.
Unfortunately, William’s joy wouldn’t linger, not when he discovered why she’d come.
Nicole’s footsteps echoed ominously as she strode through the empty church toward the altar, a block of white marble covered with an altar cloth, the white linen likely embroidered by Emma. At the foot of the altar were three large slabs fashioned of bronze. Her father lay beneath the center slab, her mother and brother on either side of him.
She swallowed the grief that threatened to divert her from her purpose.
I am here, William.
Who is with you?
Nicole’s heart beat a little faster. Rhodri stood beside her, frowning down at the bronze slabs, playing softly.
William must hear the harp, and he was speaking rationally, if a bit irritated that Nicole hadn’t come alone.
Rhodri ap Dafydd. Do you remember him from Wales? He is a bard now.
He interfered with us at the inn. Send him away!
Rhodri is my husband. He has a right—
Husband! You are wed to that whoreson?
The insult to Rhodri stung. Nicole crossed her arms.
You are dead, William. You have no say in whom I marry.
I am your brother. Certes I have a say. No man has any greater right than I! Send him away!
William’s intense resentment that she’d married Rhodri, who could interfere with his hold on her, sluiced through Nicole—and the dagger in her boot warmed against her ankle.
Startled, she reached down to pull out the weapon she’d taken from Camelen as a reminder of her brother, feeling the veriest fool for not having realized before now that he’d somehow used the dagger to remain in contact with her.
She supposed her lack of awareness might be somewhat forgiven. For eight years it had lain in the bottom of her box of possessions, under her cot. She hadn’t pulled it out until Aubrey de Vere had ordered her to gather her things to make ready for the journey to Oxford.
Ah, the dagger. You must kill Alberic, Nicole. By the love you bear me, you must avenge my death!
She now knew what she must do with the dagger to be free of William.
I will not kill Alberic. I will not be the instrument of your revenge.
She bent down and placed the dagger on his grave.
I vow, William, if you do not heed me this time, I will have the dagger buried with you, and you will spend the rest of eternity alone.
Naaayyy! You cannot desert me!
Nicole steeled her heart against his panic.
You chose your destiny when you chose to follow Father into battle. You died attempting to avenge his death—and lost. ’Tis time you choose again. You must either pass on to the afterlife, or remain here with no hope of being set free. Look to the light, William. Mother is there. Father is there. ’Struth, he likely wonders why you have not followed him.
Nicole knelt and put her hand on the slab beneath which William lay but did not rest.
I beg of thee, William, in the name of the love I bear you and you bear me, hear and heed me well. Find your peace. Your time on this earthly realm is over.