Heart's Ransom (Heart and Soul) (2 page)

Montgomery Castle

The Marches, England

June 1264 A.D.

Talon stood on the highest rampart of the newly built great stone keep staring across the river Severn into Wales.  The ribbon of dark blue wove through the deep green land.  A powerful wind surged around him, cooling his skin, and whipping his black cloak around him.  His long hair streamed like a banner.  The dawn slowly grew in strength, bathing the scene in orange and gold.  But the glorious colors and sensations of life only accented the bleakness in Talon’s soul.

In a month of searching, he had not been able to find Rose.

His right hand rested casually on the hilt of his large belt dagger.  His fingers lightly caressed the pommel like a lover’s touch; the only outward sign of the black rage coursing through him.  Although no one could be certain, it appeared as if his beloved daughter had been abducted.  It looked that way only because they had not found a body.

Agonizing pain ripped at the core of Talon’s being.  He flinched and closed his eyes only for a moment, struggling to regain his composure, to rein in his rampant emotions before they shredded his sanity.  He had to stay in control.  As long as there was the slightest chance Rose was alive, he had to maintain his wits in order to help her, to get her back safely.  Exercising an almost inhuman control of his emotions, Talon battled back the fury and refocused his vision to again stare at the Welshlands.

If anyone had taken her, the most likely aggressor would be his Welsh enemies.  They would undoubtedly use Rose to control him and Montgomery Castle.  Just across the river, slightly northwest, Talon saw the towers of a huge Welsh castle.  Powys had been built only a stone’s throw away to challenge the might of Montgomery.  Lord Powys was first on his list of
suspects.

But there was no way Talon could be certain if Rose had been abducted or was even alive.  Hostage taking and ransoming was a common practice.  Even now, Prince Edward remained Simon de Montfort’s hostage to ensure King Henry’s pact to obey the Provisions of Oxford.  Montfort actually ran the country, Henry was little more than baggage now.

Although everyone knew about Edward’s status, Talon had no idea what had befallen his own daughter.  He had received no message from her abductors, no ransom demands, no orders, nothing to suggest she was still alive.  Talon was lost in a sea of nameless fear and confusion.

His shoulders bowed under the great weight pressing down on him.  How could he have failed her so terribly?  Her mother had died two weeks after Rose had been born.  Talon vowed over Eleanor’s body, before God and the Saints, that he would protect their child with his life.  Knowing Rose would be a way to gain power over him, Talon always had her guarded well.  She never went anywhere unsupervised.  And she never set foot outside the castle unless in her father’s company.

To imagine her stolen from his gardens, almost the very center of his giant citadel, was impossible to comprehend.  At first he had raged at Nan, the wet nurse who held her to breast just after birth and who was now directly charged with Rose’s care. But Nan was just as grief-stricken and heartsick as he, brutally blaming herself for allowing her attention to be diverted. 

Nan had become a mother to Rose with Eleanor’s death.  She was a few years older than Talon and had given birth to five children, only one of which survived, Thomas - Talon’s young squire.  She had just lost her fifth baby when it was only three days old.  Rose was born the following day, her mother too weak to provide nourishment to the babe.  Nan had offered the child life-giving milk and loved her as her own.

Talon drew a deep breath of air into his lungs, as if it could cleanse the blackness within him.  Since arriving home, Talon had organized search parties and combed the land with an unparalleled diligence.  But there had been no clues, no sign of her.  Had an angel swooped from heaven and plucked Rose from this earth?  He refused to give up.  He had to find her.

Now Talon prepared to ride out again.  But every morning since his search began he came to the tower to gaze in the four directions, vowing to search every one of them until Rose was once again safe in his arms.  His vision always focused on the west last, the castle Powys, and stayed there.

“My lord?” Marcus called from behind him.

Talon turned, surprised at the intrusion.  Marcus always waited for him at the base of the tower stairs.  “Are the men ready to ride?” he asked.

“Aye, but there’s something important you need to know. Unfortunately, it doesn’t have anything to do with Lady Rose.”

Cold despair swamped him again.  “What is it?”

“Our spies in Powys castle have reported.”  He lifted a scroll case.

“They have not seen or heard anything of Powys holding Rose?”

“Nay, but they are maintaining their vigilance.  It is possible he secreted her in one of his holdings.”

Talon gestured to the trap door.  “Let’s go inside.”

At the bottom of the stairs, Talon stopped near a torch stanchion.  Marcus handed him the scroll and he broke the seal.  He knew Powys had spies in his keep, just as Talon had spies in Powys.  The man was decrepit with age but his mind was as sharp as ever.   

Powys had long been flighty in his alliances.  One moment being most loyal to the Prince of Wales, the next throwing his lot in wholeheartedly with King Henry.  Always shifting and never truly predictable, Talon detested the treacherous blackguard whose scheming, devious mind could concoct the most deceitful plans.

Talon quickly read the note, his brow creasing into a frown.  “Powys’ daughter has been betrothed to Lord Fitzalans of Clun Castle?” he asked in shock.  Clun Castle was only a few miles away, southwest of Montgomery, located slightly deeper into England.

“Aye,” Marcus said nodding.  “His son died a few years ago.  His daughter, Gwenillian, is twenty and five years and now heiress.”

“But he is marrying her to an Englishman,” Talon said.

“Apparently, Powys has decided to ally with King Henry again.”

“Wait a moment,” Talon said, pacing the hall and dragging a hand through his hair.  “Fitzalans is a devout royalist.  Had it not been for the arm he recently broke, I would have met him on the field at Lewes.”  He continued to pace, his mind scrambling with this new information. 

“Pardon my saying my lord, but if Powys and Fitzalans ally in marriage, it places Montgomery right in the middle.  Powys is a Welshman and Fitzalans hates you because of your alliance with Montfort and support of the Provisions.”

“Aye.  A marriage would be more binding an alliance.  Powys would have a hard time slithering out of it.  I have no wish to be in the middle of such a bond with enemies snapping at my flanks.”  He looked again at the scroll.  “The marriage train with the bride will cross the ford today.”

“Aye.”

“And we both agree that if anyone abducted Rose, most likely it would be Powys in order to gain power over me.”

“Aye.”

Fury rose within him again, then a deadly calm followed its wake.  “Then perhaps we shall visit the same grief upon Powys that he has granted me.  His daughter will vanish without a word just as mine has.”

Marcus blinked.  “Pray pardon, my lord?”

“If Powys has my daughter, then I have no choice but to counter his hold by taking his.”

The blood drained from Marcus’ face.  Talon struggled with his conscience for a moment.  Never had he acted against an innocent, never had he used a woman in a power play.  But never had his precious daughter been at risk either.  He shoved his conscience into a dark corner of his heart and locked it away.  “Come, Marcus, let us gather our men and give the bride-to-be a warm welcome to England.”  Talon spun on his heel and stalked into the great hall.

****

“Foolhardy overweight troll,” Gwenillian ap Powys muttered to herself.  “Bloody screwer of sheep.  Buggering swine.”

“My lady,” her maid, Alys, gasped.  “Do not let the men overhear such language.”

Gwen bit the inside of her cheek.  She had not meant for Alys to hear her either.  But her rage could not be denied.  “How dare my father do this to me,” she growled.  “How dare he betroth me to a sodding Englishman old enough to be my grandfather.”

“I’m sure you will find Lord Fitzalans--”

“I care not to find him at all.  You have not seen him, Alys.  The man is Satan’s own spawn.  He’s as wrinkled as a prune, losing his hair, and half of his teeth have rotted out.  How am I supposed to wed and bed so foul a creature?”  She shivered in revulsion.

“Milady,” Alys protested.

“My bastard father, the blackguard, has no right to do this to me.  I won’t speak the vows, Alys, they cannot force me.”

Alys gasped, her face draining of color.  “Milady, do not!  Your father will have you horsewhipped and sent to a convent.”

“Being married to God is a much more pleasant thought that being married to that--”

“Milady, please!”

Gwen sighed, her diatribe fading.  She gazed at the scenery around her in an effort to divert her thoughts.  They crossed the ford on the Severn, an English guardsman halting them and examining Fitzalan’s letter, requesting her presence at Clun to be married.  The English did
not take kindly to a group of armed Welshmen on their land.

Her gaze traveled to the huge timber castle overlooking the ford.  The original castle Montgomery was still a functioning bastion although the Earl no longer resided there.  Beyond it, on a higher and more defensible hill, loomed the new stone castle.  For over forty years it had been under construction and probably would be for another forty.  The huge keep, inner bailey walls, and towers had been completed.  Workers now built the walls of a second outer bailey which housed the church, craftsmen, and those of rank.  A third walled outer bailey was planned which would eventually enclose the village and serfs.  At the base of the giant motte stretched massive amounts of farmland as far as the eye could see.  The only forest remaining was directly in front of Gwen and it was through that forest they would pass to Clun.

She shivered in revulsion again.

The guard finally allowed them passage, deciding they were truly what they appeared to be, a wedding party.  Gwen was grateful her father had not accompanied them, his bones much too old to endure such a long trip.

The sun descended in the west as they headed deeper into the forest.  Gwen pulled her cloak tighter around her against the chill; a light rain spattered her face.  Blast these fool men, didn’t they realize they could not ride through the night?  She pushed her mount out of the middle of the column and trotted up to the captain in the lead.

“Captain, will we be camping soon?”

The grizzled veteran glared at her.  “Aye, my lady, ahead is an area with good water.  We will camp there.”

“Good,” she said shivering, suddenly feeling as if ice flowed through her veins.  She scowled and searched the blackness of the trees but saw nothing.  It must have been her impending vows that gave her such chills.

“It is not safe for you here, lady.  Get back to the midst of the column.”

She opened her mouth to snap a sharp retort when she heard a terrifying scream of a horse.  Suddenly the trees exploded with men bellowing war cries.

The captain cursed and drew his sword, trying to push his mount in front of hers but for a brief instant he paused.  “Mother of God,” he whispered.

On the trail, a giant black stallion reared, screaming its challenge.  The knight astride it was no less intimidating.  He wore a heavy chainmail hauberk, long chainmail sleeves, and leggings. The black surcoat bore no heraldic device.  His great helm was also painted black and he carried a huge horseman’s axe in his right hand and a black shield in his left.  Around his waist he had belted a large broadsword.  Gold spurs sparked at his heels but that was the only relief of the sable color.

Terror raged through Gwen and she turned her mare to gallop to Alys, but mounted men attacked the party, slicing down guards.  Alys was trapped in the middle.

“Alys!” Gwen cried over the din.

She heard the sound of battle behind her.  The captain had engaged with the giant black knight.  The black knight caught the captain’s sword blow on his shield and swung his axe.  He cleaved through the helm with such force it buried into the captain’s brain.  The black knight calmly wrenched it free.  Then the slits of the black helm turned towards her.

Gwen’s stomach coiled into a sickening knot, she fought down the revulsion within her.  Terror blurred reality. She spun her mount and charged into the trees. 

She heard the unmistakable sounds of the stallion crashing through the undergrowth in pursuit.  Gwen pressed low to her little mare’s neck, praying with all her heart.  Her mount was no match for the stallion’s speed, but she hoped the trees would slow it down and her mare’s agility would be her advantage.

She glanced over her shoulder.  The black knight’s horse slammed through obstacles gaining ground every stride.  She tried to urge more speed from her mare but within a heartbeat the stallion drew alongside.  A gauntleted hand reached out and grabbed the mare’s bridle, jerking her to a stop.