Dry rushes layering the solar floor crunched beneath Tal’s feet while, impatient to get an unpleasant duty done, he paced from one side to the other and back again. He had commanded this meeting with the intention of not merely terminating Ulrich’s position as guard captain but of banishing him from Westbourne lands.
Ulrich’s attack on Ceri was sufficient proof of far more than poor judgment. It was a glaring example of the man’s callous indifference to all the people of Westbourne—noble or serf; Norman, Saxon, or Welshman. And Tal deemed it more than just cause for removing Ulrich from their company.
Unfortunately, however, recent treacherous events and unpleasant discoveries raised the strong possibility of an insidious viper in their midst. Tal had spent much of the night considering his options, and by its end he’d been reluctant to completely drive Ulrich from castle and fiefdom. After all, it was easier to guard against the foe nearby than fear the one skulking through shadows unseen.
By the time Tal rose to greet the day, he’d devised an alternate method for dealing with the untrustworthy knight.
A steady rapping against the solar’s oak door won Tal’s immediate attention. Taking a seat on one side of the chamber’s small table, he purposefully relaxed against his chair’s deeply carved back. He turned a cold glare on the portal oddly illuminated by the first gleams of predawn falling through a narrow arrow-slit above his head.
“Enter.” The order was brisk and brought quick obedience.
“As commanded, Lord Taliesan—” Sir Ulrich dropped to one knee in exaggerated homage for his lord. “I am here.”
Tal’s expression had the harsh impassivity of granite, and he wasted no moment to launch into the purpose of this meeting.
“Your vile assault on Ceridwen was inexcusable.”
A complete lack of even the faintest glimmer of the mocking humor seldom absent from Lord Taliesan’s face made the depth of his disgust unmistakable. This fact grated across Ulrich’s too easily ignited temper so harshly that he instantly flared back.
“I saved her life!”
“Nay!” Tal responded, golden warning fires flashing in dark eyes. “You threatened to take it if she dared make a sound!”
Ulrich’s chin snapped up as if Tal’s accusation held the force of a physical blow. The never strong floodgates restraining the knight’s fiery anger were shattered by the fierce battering of raging resentment. Torrents of searing invective were set loose to freely surge until ending with the contemptuous words of its last venomous splash.
“You can’t be so foolish as to think there is someone, anyone in Westbourne who can better perform my duties.”
Tal had remained impassive and unsinged beneath the flowing fire of this irrational harangue and spoke only after the irate deluge of Ulrich’s snarled words ebbed into smoldering silence.
“My choice to replace you as captain of the guard was easily made.” Dark penetrating eyes like smoldering charcoal narrowed on the rash knight daring to castigate his lord. “Sir Alan is as capable as ever you were, and he possesses a talent you sorely lack.”
Ulrich’s wordless response was a sneer of disdain for the other knight even while he inwardly acknowledged just what complete folly his anger had brought about—and its likely price.
“Sir Alan is a powerful warrior,” Tal stated, each word a shard of ice. “But of equal import he is an honorable knight who deals fairly with both his peers and his lessers—a skill that you most clearly have never possessed.”
“So, you intend to exile me?” Despite his fury, Ulrich’s deep growl contained a strong measure of quiet desperation. “Abandon me to find my way in this land despoiled by anarchy?”
“Nay,” Tal instantly denied the ridiculous accusation—as if he had any responsibility for the man’s future—but his wry smile, devoid of humor, hid an earnest wish that he could do just that. “You may remain in Westbourne’s garrison—as one of my guardsman but under Sir Alan’s command.”
Ulrich’s face turned a dangerously dark hue yet he refused to cringe beneath the insult of being demoted to serve beneath a younger man long under his authority. And worse, a man whose kind heart Ulrich believed made him weak and inadequate to lead.
Still, although Ulrich did not directly respond to this offer both men knew that he had little choice but to remain—at least for a time. Nonetheless, Ulrich was quick to lash back at his lord with a stinging indictment of his own.
“Are you certain that the newly arrived Welshwoman is worthy of your protection? So little is known about her. Can you be sure Ceri hasn’t come to your home with dark goals of her own? Is she not from Llechu, site of the recent treacherous assault? How do you know that she wasn’t a part of the plot responsible for Cedric’s death and the wounding of both you and Alan? Or that she hasn’t come to finish that deadly chore?”
These unsavory accusations lit golden sparks in Tal’s eyes but his expression revealed no emotion. He possessed a hard-earned and well-respected reputation for his ability to make fair and accurate judgments of people. And though it was true that he barely knew Ceri, still he believed that during their brief time together the past eve he’d seen enough to recognize her intelligence and sweet nature. Now Sir Ulrich’s implication that he had failed to see the truth of Ceri’s nature was disturbing but it nowise altered his judgment on the measures to be taken in taming his guard captain.
“No matter that, Sir Ulrich,” Tal flatly stated. “My decision to replace you remains unchanged. Tonight I’ll talk with Sir Alan and on the morrow will make his promotion official.”
Against this inflexible announcement that today was his last day as Westbourne’s guard captain Ulrich’s teeth gritted yet he succeeded in stifling a growl of anger unborn in his throat.
“All the guardsmen of the garrison are doubtless waiting for us both.” Tal rose to his full height and gazed unemotionally down on the long too self-important Ulrich. “Gather your weapons and let’s delay the day’s patrol no longer.”
* * *
The past night’s heavy rainfall had washed away forest grime to leave its greenery glowing in the morning light. At the forefront of his patrol, Tal tried to concentrate on the beauty in this fresh start of a new day rather than the resentment billowing from the knight riding behind.
It was an impossible task. Tal signaled a halt and turned in his saddle to face those following single file.
“After the ominous discovery made yesterday along this route, I think we might accomplish more by dividing into two separate groups. I will continue leading one half of our number southward down the border while Ulrich guides the others north.”
Ulrich was surprised by this decision which by rights should have been earlier discussed with a guard captain. He audibly ground his teeth, resenting this further emphasis of how limited was his remaining time in that position.
Yet, even as Ulrich’s assigned group formed to follow him, he maliciously welcomed this unexpected opportunity to exact a measure of revenge. A fortuitous chance that also confirmed the sharp wits on which he prided himself. After all, he’d had the good sense to make an addition to the usual cache of weapons rolled in homespun and strapped to his saddle.
While Lord Tal and the men in his command disappeared down the path, Ulrich gave orders of his own to those left with him.
“Lord Taliesan has his tactics to meet the looming threat but as it was his choice to leave you in my charge—” He glared from one waiting man to the next. “I feel justified in employing my own.”
Because the uneasy guardsmen knew better than to challenge the reasoning of their irritable captain no one dared speak.
“Rather than move in one long, continuous line which covers only a very narrow band of ground, it’s my plan to proceed side by side.” Ulrich dramatically motioned in emphasis of his intent. “In this manner, not necessarily within eyesight but always within shouting range, we’ll sweep over a much wider area.”
Ulrich and his men realigned their positions and soon were moving through the woodland—slowly and with considerable difficulty since each was forced to blaze a fresh trail through arduous terrain.
At the same time Tal steadily led his men further south along the border without incident until …
Z-z-z-wi-i-ing!!!
An arrow whizzed past Tal, so close that the breeze of its passing stirred the black hair brushing his broad shoulder.
With the uneasy sensation of a thing already done, Tal promptly reined his destrier to a halt and glanced back to make certain of his men’s safety. Fortunately it seemed the arrow that missed him had flown far wide of those behind. Even more fortunately, no additional sharp missiles followed.
Several guardsmen immediately urged their mounts forward and closed into a tight, protective circle around their threatened lord. Others, determined to pursue the wretched assailant, spurred their steeds into the wildwood from whence the missile had come.
* * *
At the seneschal’s direction, an agitated houseserf approached the solar with a flagon of wine for her lady. Inside Angwen and Vevina were bent over a large frame while skillfully plying their needles to a complicated tapestry.
A slight, secret smile appeared on Angwen’s lips while she blindly gazed at the intricate and time-consuming pattern purposefully devised to cover the wall behind the high table. She was pleased to have found an itinerant peddler moving from Westbourne to Farleith and successfully dispatched with him a message without awkward questions posed.
“Come,” Angwen called in response to a faint rapping. Glancing up with a welcoming smile, she was startled by the sight of a servant normally self-composed but now badly rattled.
“Is there a problem, Mary?” Angwen warily inquired of the woman settling a wine tray atop the chamber’s small table with unusual awkwardness.
The question itself brought a flood of tears to muffle her answer. “I’m not to say.”
Putting her needle aside with far less care than was her wont, Angwen hurried to the side of this young woman wed to one of the garrison’s guardsmen. She feared that harm to Mary’s husband might be the cause of this woman’s tears. And, worse, harm to him might mean danger to Tal.…
Under Angwen’s desperate pleas and Vevina’s gentle urging, Mary blurted out news of the foiled attack on Westbourne’s border patrol … but not the true source of her terror. Mary greatly feared that by answering Lady Blanche’s unexpected message she might unintentionally have contributed to this ghastly wrong.
Horrified by the report of an assault, Angwen rushed with perilous haste from the chamber, down winding steps, and into the great hall, anxious to be reassured that her son was as truly unharmed as Mary claimed. Even while icy fingers of fear clutched her heart, determination grew to demand an explanation for why she hadn’t been immediately called to Taliesan’s side.
To spare his mother distress during the purposeless commotion certain to descend on the hall moments after the return of a patrol attacked, Tal hadn’t sent for her on his arrival. Now, seeing her rush across the hall, face unnaturally pale, he realized how unintentionally cruel his choice had been. He instantly stepped down from the dais and in a few long strides took both her hands into his own strong, reassuring clasp.
“Don’t fret, Mother. No one was harmed.” He gave her a smile of rare warmth. “Indeed, the foiled attack won for us a prize earnestly sought—the culprit responsible was captured.”
“Praise God and all His saints!” Angwen’s words were heartfelt.
“’Struth, Lady Angwen.” The voice of a robust guardsman filled with elated triumph quickly supported his lord. “We caught the Welsh wretch who dared attack his master.”
Only after Percy made his disdain for the Welsh clear with these words did he remember that his lady was a member of that race. Alarm over the countess’s likely response promptly suffused his face with ruby color.
Angwen slowly turned a pointed glare on the one who had made this bold announcement. She recognized Percy’s apprehension and the reason behind it. However, because she had long since shifted her loyalty from Llechu to Westbourne, she found it more amusing than insulting and merely made a simple, sharp demand. “What is this Welsh wretch’s name?”
Greatly relieved by the leniency of this limited reprisal, Percy quickly answered. “Lloyd, the man who brought Vevina’s niece to Westbourne, was Lord Taliesan’s assailant.”
Angwen’s lips firmed into a single fierce line. Ceridwen’s escort? The one responsible for the attack on her son was the man who had brought the girl here, the same one who had nearly cost her Vevina’s company? She hadn’t lived this long amid Norman intrigues and royal battles without learning enough to recognize that there was more here than that simple threat.
“Tal, I beg you to come with me to the solar. I won’t feel truly convinced of your well-being until we’ve had time together—alone.”
It was clear to Tal that his mother had more purpose for this request than the desire for reassurance of his health but he also knew she wouldn’t be content until he had yielded to her plea.
Once inside the solar with door firmly closed to assure their privacy, Angwen immediately turned to her son with an earnest warning.
“Your assailant brought Ceridwen here. And she was raised from birth by her grandmother, that old witch, Mabyn—the one responsible for the deaths of both your brother and father.”
Tal had heard his mother’s dubious beliefs repeated too many times and each had only deepened his certainty of the truth that he was more to blame than the aging wise woman of Llechu.
“I know that Ceridwen was raised by Mab.” Tal patiently assured his parent, intending to lull her anxiety. “Ceri told me of her lonely childhood.”
Rather than calming Angwen, Tal’s words heightened her dread. She clutched his arm, demanding, “When?”
Tal laid soothing fingers over his mother’s desperate grip while quietly answering her urgent query. “Last night.”
Angwen gave her head a despairing shake. “What more did you do with that creature almost sure to be as dangerous as her grandmother?”
“We talked and shared mulled wine. That and no more.” Tal sternly met her accusing eyes. “But, Mother, I pray you to remember that the elderly woman you name witch and blame for all the sorrows of your life is even more surely the woman who saved my life with her medicinal potions.”
Frustrated by her inability to convince her son of the peril, Angwen sharply turned and departed from the chamber.
Alone and welcoming the peace in this rare event, Tal took advantage of its opportunity to ponder the tangled maze of nebulous threats and definite dangers stretching around him on all side.
Tal didn’t want to believe that Ceri, his fantasy’s angel, was capable of treachery against him … but he couldn’t completely dismiss doubts raised, suspicions now reinforced by both Ulrich and his own mother. He would be a fool to ignore such undeniable facts as the near certainty of her escort’s guilt in the most recent assault and likely involvement in the first. And a fool he was not!
* * *
While Tal dealt with his mother’s fears in the family solar, Lloyd was being hauled, tightly bound, down the corner stairwell. On their descent to the dank and dingy dungeons at the lowest level they passed the ground floor’s kitchens and guardroom.
Along the way such a noisy commotion was raised by victorious guardsmen given control of the prisoner that it drew a curious and sizable crowd to the arched portal of the large chamber where Ceri toiled. Soon she, too, yielded to that insistent curiosity and made her way to the opening.
Though the shortest and furthest back in the crowd, still Ceri caught a dispiriting glimpse of her protector and friend from Llechu—Lloyd was their prisoner.