At midmorn two days after her arrival, Ceri sat with Vevina in relative privacy during one of the brief quiet moments which she’d learned were exceedingly rare in this ever bustling castle. Her aunt, as companion to its lady, occupied a high status in its hierarchy of inhabitants from guardsmen to servants and those in supervisory posts.
They’d been granted the use of a crude table in one dark corner of the smoke filled kitchen only because it was Vevina who’d asked. Ceri was also aware that this boon had been gladly given as much for honest liking as cold respect for Vevina’s position.
“Have you become accustomed to the rhythm of life in Westbourne?” Vevina smiled gently at the girl plainly weary yet still amazingly lovely—both without and within. The latter was a fact learned, unfortunately, not from personal knowledge but from the seneschal’s reports. By his account Ceri happily labored without complaint and had easily taken the first steps toward friendship with even the most critical of her fellow workers.
“Aye, the pace of events in a single day here is much faster than even a fortnight in Dyffryn.” Ceri’s bright grin lit the dim chamber. “It’s also far more exciting.”
“And you’re young enough to find that excitement thrilling while to someone of my advanced years its merely tiring.” Vevina lifted one slender hand palm out to forestall Ceri’s immediate instinct to deny the claim of vast age. Without a moment’s pause she went on to the matter which had drawn her from Lady Angwen’s side and brought her down to this stuffy chamber in search of Ceri.
“Since you appeared I’ve tried to arrange an opportunity for the two of us to visit alone.” They’d had little time together beyond the hours of night. And each night Angwen found reasons to keep Vevina near until the hour was very late and Ceri was lost in the sleep of one totally exhausted. “But it seems we’re both too burdened with responsibilities to spare daylight moments and so weary at night that the insistent need for rest prevents us from becoming better acquainted.”
Delighted to hear that her aunt desired to know her better, pleasure softened Ceri’s face. She had feared that by suddenly imposing her presence on Vevina, she might have placed an invisible wall of resentment between them.
“I’ve worried that my inability to spend more time in your company might result in further trouble for you. My anxieties revolve around what might happen by a failure to warn you of the many dangers a great fortress like this inevitably hosts—particularly when, as now, treachery flows across the land like flood waters fouled with the poison of hatred.”
Going solemn in response to Vevina’s earnest concern, Ceri wished she knew what to say to lessen the older woman’s distress on her behalf. But her aunt continued speaking before Ceri found the words.
“I’ve prayed that you endure no further difficulties with Sir Ulrich.” Though not phrased as a question, in these words Ceri recognized a query whose answer might calm her aunt’s worries.
“No further difficulties,” Ceri promptly responded. “But I take care to stay beyond his reach. Mary offered to trade positions with me if ever the two of us are sent to serve in the great hall again. Her husband is a guardsman, and she believes Sir Ulrich wouldn’t attack her.
“However, for the most effective protection, I believe I’ve Godfrey to thank. He must have been told about the first incident because he has taken great care to ensure that I am never sent to serve the guard captain.”
Startled, Vevina nodded. Ceri must be cautioned to show the aging seneschal proper respect by never being so impertinent as to use his proper name. As for the man’s response to the situation, of course, he had heard about the scene.
It was the seneschal’s responsibility to know everything that occurred within the castle and most particularly all events involving those who served at his direction. Moreover, a pitcher had been broken and, though only formed of crude pottery, its loss would be reported and the one responsible noted.
Hoping to cover her momentary distraction, Vevina quickly said, “I’m glad the seneschal gave particular attention to the guard captain’s misdeed. And I am relieved that he means to protect you from ever again being easy prey for Sir Ulrich who, as I earlier warned, is a most dangerous enemy. Once provoked, he never forgives or forgets.”
This talk of the unnerving knight too often sidling into her path as if to catch her unawares reminded Ceri of a question she’d wanted to ask someone who would know, someone she could trust.
“Why does Lord Tal permit his guard captain to deal so unjustly with others, particularly the men serving under his command?”
Ceri hadn’t spoken to Tal since that first night in the solar yet their paths had often crossed. The earl was never so blatant as to openly stare, but Ceri frequently felt the thrilling weight of his dark gaze.
Despite having spent only a short time in Westbourne, Ceri had learned a great deal. From her fellow workers she had overheard sufficient gossip and easy banter to know how proud they were of the lord who had valiantly fought at Earl Robert’s side time and time again.
Ceri had also observed Tal in easy command of his fiefdom. The high esteem in which people throughout Westbourne held him for his evenhanded dealings, whether in gratitude spoken or punishments meted out, supported the admiring conclusions she had earlier reached while watching him in Llechu.
Vevina’s brows arched in surprise over Ceri’s impertinent question. No one in the maid’s position should ever think to question the actions of her lord. But that surprise was soon overshadowed by Ceri’s next observation.
“Lord Tal is a man of honor, a lord who fairly judges all and wouldn’t unjustly punish the innocent. So how is it that he permits Sir Ulrich to remain in his position over the garrison?”
First the pointed question and now this personal observation led Vevina to wonder if Ceri somehow knew Westbourne’s earl rather better than could be easily explained.
Vevina feared Ceri’s familiarity must have something to do with the days Lord Tal had spent laying injured in the village of Dyffryn. She wanted to instantly ask Ceri but the girl was called back to her labors before the question could be posed.
* * *
“Lady Blanche sent a message to me?” Mary asked as brown eyes the same quiet brown as her hair widened in amazement. She had been familiar with the lady of Bendale, sister of its baron, since childhood. But Mary had been a mere freeborn servant and so far as she knew the arrogant noblewoman had barely been aware of her existence.
“Oh, aye.” The obsequious peddler repeatedly nodded a head sparsely covered with hair more gray than brown. “She said there was an old friend in Castle Westbourne and would I take a message to her.”
“A message for me?” Mary shook her head in disbelief.
“’Tis but a few simple words.” The gaunt man of undetermined age leaned nearer to whisper, “I think Lady Blanche has been a mite lonely since her husband was killed in defense of the king.” With clearly feigned concern, he asked, “You know she was forced to flee back to Bendale once her spouse’s lands were confiscated by Earl Robert’s forces?”
Mary was tenderhearted and immediately sympathized with her former lady over so grievous a loss. It was understandable for the widowed Lady Blanche to feel abandoned.
“What message did she send?”
“Lady Blanche said as how you were an honorable servant and good friend to her until you left to wed a guardsman from Westbourne’s garrison. She hopes you are happy in your new life and as pleased with your marriage as she was with hers until…” The peddler grimaced as his words trailed away.
Mary felt Lady Blanche’s pain as if it were her own while at the same time feeling flattered that the other woman had spoken so highly of her.
“From here I journey to Farleith Keep but then I intend a return to Bendale.” The peddler saw no good to be gained by admitting his first stop would actually be Bendale. “So, if you would care to send Lady Blanche a response, I’d be honored to carry it there for you.…” Because he’d been handsomely paid to carry this message, he was certain a greater reward would be given for an answer.
In answer Mary promptly gave the peddler a simple greeting to eventually be delivered as he made his endless rounds.
“Bid Lady Blanche all good fortune and give her my gratitude for the kind thoughts sent to me through you.” Mary’s gentle smile appeared. “Assure her that I am happy with both my marriage and my new position here in Westbourne although I cannot but fear for my husband while he daily rides patrol with Earl Taliesan on the Bendale border.”
Knowing Lady Blanche had once had her sights set on Lord Tal for spouse, Mary’s smile deepened to a shy grin along with the addition of one small tidbit that she believed her former lady would find interesting.
“Tell the lady of Bendale that gossip hereabouts would have it that Lord Taliesan will soon be allied to Farleith through bonds of marriage.”
* * *
Threatening clouds had gathered to block the bright sunlight of late afternoon as Vevina descended the castle’s exterior stairway to hasten across the courtyard on an errand for her lady.
With grey eyes darkened by the weight of an aching heart, Lloyd watched from the shadows of the stable where he’d slept nightly since his arrival. When Vevina passed, unaware of his presence, he stepped forward to catch her hand.
Vevina knew without looking behind just who had taken her fingers in this gentle yet firm grasp. She turned at a slow, deliberate pace and spoke before Lloyd could.
“Why did my mother urge you to bring Ceridwen to Westbourne?”
“Because Ceri insisted on coming.” Lloyd gazed steadily into Vevina’s wary eyes, earnestly wishing he could roll back the years to claim this tender woman hurt pride had stolen from him. “Indeed Ceri threatened to make the journey alone.”
Vevina was horrified by the thought of Ceri taking such risks. “There are far too many perils for a woman to travel the route unaccompanied.”
Everyone was aware that since the struggle for the English throne had erupted into open conflict, no road was safe. Even during King Henry’s more peaceful reign desperate people had lurked in woodland shadows to take by force what elsewise could never be theirs. Now with anarchy spreading its murky fingers across the land such dastardly deeds went unpunished and their numbers had increased manyfold making it foolhardy to journey anywhere without an armed guard.
“Mab perceives the risks full well.” Lloyd was quick to defend his part in the mission. “That’s why she pressured me to escort Ceri safely here.”
“But why did Ceri insist on coming here?” Vevina persisted, anxious to understand the determined deed. “Why now?”
Gray daylight caught at the silver strands in dark curls as Lloyd shook his head. “I truly don’t have that answer though at Mab’s bidding she spent a deal of time caring for the wounded Normans.”
Vevina recognized in his belittling use of the term Normans a refusal to acknowledge Tal as lord and was uneasy with the heat of his disavowal.
“Ceri could’ve been our daughter,” Lloyd said, gazing directly into his beloved’s doubtful face. “If you had returned with me when I came to fetch you home, she would’ve been.”
Vevina cringed under this verbal assault but promptly responded with a counterattack even more fervent. “Aye, Ceridwen would have been ours … had you waited for me and not rushed into my sister’s arms to give her the baby that should have been ours!”
Anguished remorse turned Lloyd’s eyes so dark they were nearly black. “’Tis a wrong I’ve regretted every day, every hour for almost two decades.” He gently tugged her fully around to stand facing him. “It wouldn’t have happened if your precious Lady Angwen hadn’t entreated you to remain at Westbourne and help raise her fatherless son rather than return to Llechu and bear children of your own.”
“You blame Lady Angwen and Lord Tal for the troubles between us?” Vevina was honestly surprised—not surprised that Lloyd blamed their Norman masters but by the depth of his resentment. It raised an ugly suspicion in her mind, one she struggled to suppress. Surely Lloyd couldn’t, wouldn’t have assaulted his own feudal lord in the forests of Llechu?
Vevina turned and walked away to enter the metalsmith’s shop leaving Lloyd to watch while despair descended over him in deepening waves of gloom. Feeling utterly defeated he remained standing amid the courtyard as rain began to fall like the tears he refused to let flow.
It was time to leave Westbourne. Now when to stay would only deepen his sorrow, increase his pain. Aye, on the morrow he would depart for home—with a brief detour to meet with Simeon one last time, this time on the eastern border of Lord Tal’s fiefdom.
Lloyd drew in a deep breath, squared beefy shoulders, and moved to reenter the castle. There was one more duty that must be performed to honorably clear his way for the morn’s outset on a long journey. He must bid Ceridwen farewell. To do else would be an unjustified slight against her.
From inside the great hall’s entrance he caught sight of Ceri entering the corner stairwell. Lloyd deemed himself fortunate for so quickly locating his goal—mayhap it was fate’s boon to in some small way mitigate the loss of his beloved.
“Ceri—” Lloyd called out as within a few long strides he reached the arched opening into a busy stairway.
The voice summoning her attention was a muffled burr but one Ceri instantly recognized. Without hesitation she turned and greeted Lloyd with a smile even while stepping deep into the shadows on one side of the landing, thus clearing the way for others bearing overladen platters and heavy pitchers. After delivering an assortment of meats into the great hall for the day’s last meal, Ceri had been on her way back to the kitchens to fetch another load.
“Is there something you would have of me, Lloyd?”
Lloyd gave a gentle grin to the young beauty far more important to him than she knew. “Only a moment of your time to bid farewell.”
“Farewell?” As Ceri tilted her head in question light from the shallow bowl of flame behind lent it a bright halo.
“I mean to depart with the dawn.” Lloyd slowly nodded his sincere regret for their parting.
Honestly fond of her ever-hearty and always loyal friend, Ceri was saddened by the thought of his leave-taking and rued this imminent loss of her only firm contact with home.
“Although I’ll be sorry to lose your company, I do understand the desire to return to your own abode.”
Ceri stepped forward to give the burly man an affectionate hug and press a kiss to the curls on his bearded cheek.
Neither of them noticed that among the many expected figures moving up and down the stairway between kitchen and great hall was one who should’ve been comfortably seated on the dais.
Lord Tal heard nothing said between Lloyd and Ceri but viewed their embrace while he weaved upward through lines of servants both ascending and descending steep stairs. His moment of uneasy surprise was calmed by the fact that, after all, the Welshman was from her home village and had cared enough to protect the angel on her journey to Westbourne.
* * *
The evening meal was long done when Ceri hastened across the near deserted kitchen and into the corner stairwell. The seneschal had summoned her to the great hall.
Ceri had been only moments from retiring for the night but promptly answered the call wondering what duties remained to be done. Perhaps she was to strew fresh herbs into rushes disturbed in the disassembling of the trestle tables whose pieces were kept ever ready for use leaning against outer walls. And yet at this late hour with so many already seeking benches or open areas of floor space to spend the night, that task would surely be too difficult to even attempt.
Though she’d grown accustomed to navigating steep steps, Ceri was still uncomfortable with the chill, stone stairwell’s gloom. To make matters worse, the gale force winds of a storm howling outside invaded through arrowslits on floors above ground level and swirled downward. Under those violent gusts the never strong flames kept lit along descending walls dangerously flickered. More than one was blown completely out, leaving Ceri to negotiate deserted steps in total darkness.
Leaning into the solid wall and away from the core open to a hazardous plunge, with the toe of her shoe Ceri tentatively probed for the next step and then the next and the next. Relief washed over her at the first glimmer of a light above, and she climbed with more assurance. She’d nearly reached the faint gleam’s source when a powerful arm grabbed from behind to roughly jerk her back against a solid body.
The immediate fear of falling to her death set Ceri’s pulse madly throbbing in her throat. She glanced up into the face of the one who held her safe.
Safe? Hah!
“Let me go!” Ceri stiffly demanded. She had plainly been tricked. The message delivered by a guardsmen on his way to the garrison’s vast chamber for a night’s peace had come not from the seneschal as claimed but from the guard captain.
“Release what I’ve plotted to secure? Never.…” Ulrich’s offensive sneer was an insult but even more repulsive was the obscene heat of his too intimate gaze and the repugnant invasion of far too familiar hands moving over her captive body.
Ceri took in a deep breath, intending to scream as loud and long as it took to bring others to investigate its source.
“Tch, tch!” One large hand crushed over delicate lips, stifling her efforts into muffled snarls no more effective than the protests of an irritated kitten. “If you make a sound, I’ll simply drop you down this spiraling stairwell’s central shaft.” Ulrich sounded spitefully pleased by the prospect. “You’ll die, of course, and we will all mourn your unhappy accident—an unfortunate misstep in the darkness.”
“Should anything happen to Ceridwen, now or at any future time—” A deep velvet voice softly thundered from the darkness behind Ulrich. “I will know from whom to demand retribution.”
Tal’s abrupt intervention startled Ulrich so badly that his hold loosened. Ceri pulled free, backed two steps up the stairway, and desperately pressed against the security of unmoving stone. At the same time, in some corridor of her mind, she realized that Tal had used her name … her full name.
“Milord—” A blustering Ulrich foolishly tried to recast his actions in a more favorable light. “I merely caught this graceless female, saving her from a nasty fall.”
“Ulrich, I will expect you in my solar an hour before the morrow’s prime. There we’ll discuss the proper … payment for your generous rescue.” By the contempt in Tal’s words it was clear he’d heard far too much to be so easily misled. Moreover, Tal deemed it a personal insult that this man thought he was so undiscerning as to find the dainty damsel in any way lacking for grace.
Fuming, Ulrich stalked past his lord to reach the guardrooms below. The Welsh bitch had first shamed him before the guardsmen under his command and now, much worse, she had turned his lord’s deep disapproval upon him.
She would pay! Nay, they both would!
While Ulrich retreated, Tal moved upward until his face was on a level with that of the beauty two steps higher.
“Did he harm you?” With the question Tal’s fingertips gently brushed a soft cheek.
Only as Ceri shook her head did she become aware that in her struggle with the knight, an abundance of black ringlets had come loose from coiled braids to riot untamed about her face. In addition, her garb was stained and creased from the day’s labors. All were foolish yet disconcerting details that she greatly regretted for making her appear so far less than her best before this incredible man.
“Come with me to the solar.” Tal recognized how deeply shaken Ceri was and couldn’t bear to simply send the damsel back to her duties. Never mind the fact that, although he truly cared about the welfare of his people, at no earlier time had concern for a servant led him to issue such a personal invitation.
“You need time to recover and a goblet of mulled wine will help in restoring your composure.” With these words Tal firmly took Ceri’s fingers into his own reassuring grip.
While Lord Taliesan claimed her hand to lead the way upward, Ceri marveled that an event so wretchedly foul as the knight’s assault could bring an opportunity to be with the man she loved—and to move forward on a quest for lasting happiness.
Climbing narrow steps with Tal, Ceri was disconcerted when plaits loosened in her struggle with Sir Ulrich fell free, sending a disheveled mass of black hair tumbling over her shoulders and down her back.
The pair were so deeply aware of each other that neither spared a thought to notice the soft scuffling of slippers hastily climbing at a pace considerably faster than their own.
Having lost sight of her son after the evening meal’s end, Angwen feared him caught in a snare cast by Vevina’s niece. She had come searching for him with every intention of protecting him from the young witch. Instead she’d glimpsed Sir Ulrich’s initial wrong and observed Tal’s rescue of the damsel.
Angwen had also heard the regrettable offer of shared wine that would open the way for Tal to spend private and likely harmful time with the dangerous Welshwoman. Angwen was not pleased.
Hurrying to the castle’s highest level, Angwen quickly entered her own bedchamber and noiselessly closed its door before Tal and his unfortunately invited guest could reach the same corridor.
By the scene just passed it was crystal clear to Angwen that the time had come for her to act. She must arrange for the one barrier most apt to dispel the young Welsh witch’s enchantments.
In her bedchamber Angwen laid plans to protect her son while in the solar Tal settled Ceri into one of the tall chairs flanking the small table atop which rested a silver platter holding numerous candles. Their flames were reflected and intensified by the platter’s polished surface to glow through the ruby wine already waiting for Lord Taliesan.
From the precious flask, Tal poured a measure of the mulled wine prepared and left here for him each evening into a delicate goblet. This he placed carefully before his seated guest.
Having never drunk from anything finer than an earthenware mug and feeling unnaturally clumsy under the intensity of Tal’s dark gaze, Ceri didn’t dare risk reaching for the fragile chalice. Instead her gaze dropped to the wine it contained, glowing like a liquid jewel.
“Vevina is your aunt?” Tal gently enquired. By attempting to start this conversation on a surely safe topic he hoped to ease the tension that had so obviously rendered Ceridwen mute.
Ceri nodded, soft rose warming her cheeks as with one hand she brushed a heavy cloud of black hair back over her shoulder.
“Then Mabyn—” Tal’s eyes narrowed on slender fingers threading through lush tresses, their pale length a sharp contrast amidst ebony curls. “The wise woman of Llechu, must be your grandmother?”
Again Ceri nodded but this time chided herself into speaking rather than continuing to sit like a voiceless, mindless lump.
“Gran Mab raised me from a babe.” Ceri’s sweet voice was unnaturally flattened by the weight of willpower forcing it out. “And I’ve always lived with her.”
Tal took the chair across from Ceri as he asked, “But what of your mother?”
These questions, the same that she’d already answered while tending his wound in the Welsh cottage, struck Ceri like an invisible blow. This table was small and the space between them narrow but she was abruptly, painfully aware of how vast was the breach left gaping open by memories lost.
On realizing she’d left her response unspoken too long, Ceri immediately said, “My mother, Gwynth, was Aunt Vevina’s twin sister. She died bearing me.”
This time it was Tal who nodded his understanding although, having seen a bleak expression cross Ceri’s gentle face, he probed further. “Were there other children about … perhaps cousins?”
“Nay, the twins were Gran Mab’s only offspring. And I was Gwynth’s only child while Vevina chose to remain here with your mother rather than return to Dyffryn and bear a family of her own.”
These were facts Ceri knew full well after having overheard more than one whispered conversation between her grandmother and Lloyd. Still, rarely near at the start of these discussions, she had little idea what specific spark of contention fired emotions until heated words burst forth too loudly to be missed.
A faint scowl marred the line of Tal’s dark brows. Her response suggested an unsuspected resentment born long years past and never eased. But whose? Vevina seemed satisfied with her life in the castle. So was it Mabyn who resented her daughter’s choice? Or was it Ceri, herself?
Attention seldom wavering from the intriguing man, Ceri noted Tal’s darkened expression and realized that this was one subject they hadn’t discussed during their talks in the Welsh cottage.
Too aware that his frown had driven this winsome guest back into her silent shell, Tal gave Ceri a warm smile and made a quiet observation.
“You must have had a lonely childhood.”
“Gran Mab is good company.” Ceri’s back instantly straightened as she defended her upbringing. “She loves me.” Recognizing this as a feeble response, Ceri quickly added, “And I am fortunate that Gran Mab has patiently taught me the herbal healing arts.”
Tal saw that he’d unintentionally offended the gentle damsel and gave a charming if wry half-smile as he lifted his hands in mock surrender.
“I intended no criticism of you or your grandmother who I am sure adores the only family member still in her care. I merely wondered if perhaps you, too, suffered a lonely childhood.”
Ceri frowned. Lonely? Lord Taliesan had been born and raised in this massive castle containing a multitude of inhabitants. Then as an adolescent he’d been sent to foster with other youngsters in the earl of Gloucester’s fortress. How could he ever have been lonely?
Her reasoning was clear to Tal and he gave a slight shrug while trying to explain. “As a child I was not permitted to play with the children of serfs who would one day be under my command. True, I had an older brother but he was sent away to foster with Earl Robert and—”
Tal let the words fade yet almost immediately took a slightly different direction to finish. “In the end I was alone even in the middle of a huge crowd.”
“I am so sorry for—” Ceri almost sympathized with him over his brother’s death but then realized that since he remembered nothing of their conversations in the Welsh cottage, he would wonder how she could know anything about that ghastly accident. “I mean—I sympathize with your loneliness as I must confess that I, too, spent most of my childhood alone.”
The empathy warming green eyes with a silver glow caught Tal with its honest compassion. His potent smile rewarded this sweet damsel plainly not some distant imaginary figure but rather a very real angel.