Rexanne Becnel (35 page)

However, Cleve
did
stand beside her, and it was his betrothal that Lord William boasted of almost as happily as he did the presence of his sons. Under the circumstances Wynne was hard-pressed to maintain even the semblance of a civil expression on her face. Her gaze avoided Cleve entirely. But seeking Edeline’s grave features was nearly as awful. Edeline stared wide-eyed at Cleve, then her gaze slid to another, and when Wynne followed the direction, she found the equally stricken Druce.

Life was good to Lord William, she acknowledged as she watched him lead his young sons off for a leisurely tour of the castle and grounds—belatedly gesturing for Arthur to come along as well. Life was good for Lord William, but for others in the hall it was wretchedly unfair.

Edeline disappeared, white-faced, up the stairs to her own chamber. Druce kicked over a chair, then stalked off in frustration. Cleve turned to confront Wynne, but she had anticipated that and was too quick for him. She herded the two girls toward Barris, not heeding by word or posture Cleve’s call. Though Barris gave her a searching look and she knew Arthur yet sent a plaintive look back at Cleve, she ignored them all.

“The day is bright,” she stated firmly. “Let us walk about and see what herbs may spring from this English soil.”

And perhaps she would come upon some magical herb, one that would leap into her hands, proclaiming itself as a true love potion, one that could compel another’s will to one’s own and truly command another’s love and eternal devotion.

Yes, and perhaps the sun and moon would collide this day in the heavens. The one was as far-fetched as the other.

A
CROSS THE NARROW DRAWBRIDGE
and a little north of the castle, past where the river water was diverted to form the moat, the meadow gave way to a damp woodland. It was here that Wynne steered her young charges. The castle bustled with too much activity; the overflow spilled out into the meadow, and from their place near the riverbank they could still hear the shouts and laughter of the workers.

The castle folk were in a high good humor, preparing for the unexpected day of recreation. A line of men swung scythes in remarkable harmony, creating, step by step, a wide cleared area suitable for any sort of play that Lord William desired—or, more accurately, that Rhys and Madoc desired. A constant stream of carts made its way out of the castle, bearing tents for shade, planks for tables, great barrels of both ale and red wine, and every manner of food the kitchens could produce on such short notice.

Even Wynne couldn’t restrain the tiniest spark of excitement, which drew her eyes back again and again to the meadow. She’d never attended a fair of this sort. She’d been to several town fairs—three in all. She’d gone twice as a girl with her parents and sister, but only once in recent years. She’d not had the time to make the three-day round trip to Brecon. And the meager market day at Radnor hardly counted. But this … this was something. A fair not part of a market but meant only for celebration. If only it were to celebrate something she was truly happy about.

“Oh, look. There is parsley fern here too. Just like at home,” Isolde called.

“And dragonflies too. All colors and—oh, just see how big that one is. All green and red!” Bronwen cried, clapping her hands gleefully.

“There’s a prince heron,” Barris whispered, pointing out the stately water feeder as it stood, still as stone, wary about these noisy visitors.

Wynne stood knee-deep in some spiky grass of a variety unknown to her. But the trees that soared high around her were the same familiar oaks of her home, and the low, pointy-leaf plants that circled their dark-gray trunks were common wild strawberry. This long distance had they come, into another land with a different language and altogether different ways from their own, yet the forest and all its creatures were not so foreign as she would have thought. Even the flock of raucous birds that rose in a cloud at their approach were the dark-winged ravens of her own woods.

“I see a buzzard nest.” She signaled to the girls. “There, above the second branching of that tree. Just to the right. The right.” She tapped Bronwen’s right shoulder.

“Oh, yes,” Bronwen breathed, once she’d turned her head in the correct direction. “ ’Tis so large. Are there any nestlings within?”

“No, not at this time of year,” another voice answered. To everyone’s surprise Edeline materialized from beyond a thicket of holly. “That particular nest has been in use at least seven seasons. The young birds flew off a fortnight since, perhaps two.”

Bronwen was the first to reply. “Do you like birds? Arthur likes birds as well. He wants to fly just as they do.” The child crouched in the undergrowth, her fair hair brushing the tips of the tall grass. As she looked up at Edeline, Wynne was struck by how very English Bronwen appeared, very near to Edeline in her coloring and fragile build.

Edeline smiled at the little girl. “Flying. Now, wouldn’t that be something fine. Perhaps if he learns how to do it, he will teach the rest of us as well.” Then her gaze shifted to Wynne, and her easy manner drained away. “May I confer with you?”

“I cannot help you,” Wynne replied. “I told you that before. Speak to your father.”

“I will. I will. But I need something, and, well, you are a Seeress, or so I am told.”

“Oh, by everything that is holy!” Wynne muttered in exasperation. She eyed Edeline uncharitably. “Here, give me your hand. I shall foretell your future.” When the girl dutifully stuck out first one palm and then, nervously, the other as well, Wynne snorted in disgust. “I need not see your pale, uncallused palms to foretell what lies in your future. You shall marry an arrogant, though handsome knight and have three or four children. Perhaps five or six. And you shall never want for anything.”

“Save for happiness!” Edeline cried, clasping her hands into a knot. “I shall want for happiness, as shall you.”

“Aye, Wynne, she makes a very good point,” Barris put in. “You and she—and Druce—mope about till I feel as if a heavy cloud hovers above us all. For the love of God, help the girl. Druce is your friend, is he not? Will you ignore his misery as well?”

In frustration Wynne thrust one hand through her thick hair. “And just what is it you expect me to do? I have influence with neither Lord William nor Sir Cleve, and those two are quite firmly set upon their chosen course.”

“But Cleve loves
you,
” Edeline cried. “I’m certain of it.”

Wynne started to respond, but abruptly closed her mouth. How was she to reply to such an outrageous remark, especially when she wished so to believe it was true?

“He does love you,” Bronwen echoed in her solemn baby’s voice. “I know he does.”

“I can make a love potion for you,” Isolde added with an earnest bob of her head. “Probably it would work better if I made it instead of you making it for your own self.”

Wynne pursed her lips in rueful consideration. “Yes, my little darling, it probably would. But for now why don’t you two go on with Barris while Edeline and I finish our discussion.”

By the time the two children reluctantly headed off with the grinning Barris, another figure came cantering across the meadow. When Druce spied the two women, he urged his steed straight toward them, and before the animal could properly come to a halt, he threw himself down from the saddle.

“Edeline—” he began in a tortured tone. Then he turned to Wynne. “Wynne, you must help us!”

With a cry of pure frustration Wynne threw her hands up in the air. “And what is it
I
am supposed to do? Why do you turn to
me
when ’tis clear—and has been for a fortnight—that
I
am the least able of us all to achieve my own aims! I did not wish to come to England, but here I am. I did not wish to lose a son—or two—to Lord William, but so has become my fate. Why do you now think that
I
can be of any help to you in your doomed romance?”

“ ’Tis not doomed!” Druce countered, his face gone dark and shadowed. He pulled Edeline to his side with a desperate movement, yet within the roughness of his embrace there was the unmistakable touch of tenderness. He stared down at the English girl and she up at him with such a look of radiant happiness and yet abject misery that Wynne averted her eyes. She could hardly bear it. But even casting her anger and frustration—and envy—aside, what could she actually do to help the two of them?

As their avid gazes clung, Wynne cleared her throat. “Have either of you considered going together to speak to Lord William?”

Druce shook his head. “Cleve is the one we must convince first. If he agrees, it will be easier to convince Lord William.”

“It will never be easy to convince Lord William,” Wynne countered. She kicked at a nodding seed head of cat’s-play. “Do you truly think he will accept a poor Welshman as his son-in-law when any number of noblemen court his pleasure and would love nothing better than to be related to such a wealthy and powerful lord? Even Cleve had to earn the right to her hand by first finding Rhys and Madoc.”

Druce’s expression turned stubborn. “Leave that part to me, Wynne. All I’m asking is that you remove Cleve as an obstacle on our path to happiness.”

“And just how am I to do that?”

“You did it once,” he replied with a knowing look.

Wynne’s eyes widened in dismay at his bold words, and her face burned a painful shade of scarlet. How could he say such an awful thing to her? Did he mean for her to offer herself to Cleve like some … like some … Her breath caught in her chest. To offer herself in the same wanton fashion as she’d done that first time?

Wynne bit down on her lower lip and blinked hard, fighting back the sudden rush of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. “It will not work,” she muttered hoarsely. She returned her reluctant gaze to the pair of them. Edeline did not appear scandalized by Druce’s revelation—perhaps, she’d not understood. But the girl’s next words dispelled that hope.

“I do not feel about Sir Cleve in the same way that … that you do.” Edeline’s eyes turned up to Druce, and it was her turn to blush. “But Druce, well, he …”

Her words trailed off, but Wynne understood. She feared she understood better, even, than did Edeline herself. When the heart pulled you and the loins contributed their own perverse longings also, well, there was little hope of opposing those two mighty foes. Logic failed in the face of their superior strength.

She swallowed, then cleared her throat. “I will attempt to reason with Sir Cleve. And that is all,” she added with a scowl. “Though why the pair of you could not do so I cannot fathom.”

“You will have more sway with him,” Druce replied.

Wynne shook her head. “You delude yourself, Druce. And you as well, Edeline. He wants one thing only. Land and power. Power and land.”

“That’s two things,” Edeline put in.

“ ’Tis one and the same,” Wynne snapped. “Oh, just leave me. Leave me and let me think.” She spun about and marched to the riverbank and stood there, arms crossed and back stiff.

“All right, then. We’re going, Wynne. But remember, you agreed. Today would be a good day,” Druce added.

She sent him an icy glare. “If it is a miracle you wish, best you take yourself to the chapel to pray.”

“But if Father makes the announcement today, it will make things even more impossible,” Edeline cried.

“Oh, bother with the two of you,” Wynne swore. “Stay in your chamber, then. Claim illness. Whatever. Your father will be less likely to announce his glad tidings if the bride is not present. And as for the groom …” Her voice trailed off as a truly vindictive thought took hold. A bitter smile curved her lips ever so faintly. “If the bridegroom is too much in his cups to be present, well then …” She shrugged and gave Druce a meaningful look.

“What do you mean—oh.” Druce straightened as understanding dawned. “You would drug him?”

“Oh, no. Not I,” Wynne demurred. “
You
shall do the deed this time.” Then she turned away from them once more. “Now, leave me.”

“Druce, what does she plot?” Wynne heard Edeline ask as the lovesick pair started back toward the castle.

“You need not know, my sweet. But she will handle it. We may trust Wynne.”

A sharp pain pulsed behind Wynne’s eyes as she stood alone on the steep bank of the river once they were gone. They could trust her. Indeed! She could not trust herself when it came to Cleve FitzWarin, yet they fully expected her to solve their problems with the man. Oh, how foolish were young lovers. And she had been the biggest fool of all.

All she was doing was buying a little time for the moonstruck couple. They would gain a day or two together, but in the end … In the end Cleve would marry Edeline. It was his fondest desire, and no amount of reasoning or pleading or even seduction on Wynne’s part would alter that fact.

She could only hope that Edeline’s brief romance with Druce was not too deeply rooted. As for Druce, he had been with any number of women. Surely he could recover from this broken romance without too much pain. After all, she planned to recover from hers. What other choices did the two of them have?

At high noon the bells of Kirkston’s Chapel to Saint Peter began rousingly to ring, summoning castle folk and village folk alike to the hastily assembled fair grounds. Wynne saw Cleve once from afar, but she slipped off in another direction immediately. Her sole purpose for attending the festivities was to give Druce the small packet of herbs that he was to dissolve in Cleve’s wine. Barris had promised to shepherd the children with Druce’s aid once that one’s task was complete. Edeline already lay abed in a closed room with a damp cloth on her brow.

Wynne had heard Lord William’s frustrated oath on hearing the girl was indisposed, but she had wisely kept her distance. How would he take to his future son-in-law’s inability to maintain his wits today? He would no doubt be furious with Cleve, but Wynne reassured herself that the man’s anger would swiftly pass. After all, he had his two young sons to occupy his thoughts.

Despite the general disorganization of the hastily planned recreations, a gay atmosphere prevailed. Competitions were begun. Races. Wrestling. Even eating contests and drinking as well. The best of Lord William’s archers competed for a gold coin, and it was amid their numbers that Wynne finally located Druce. He and Barris had their heads together, and all five children clustered about them.