Heartsong (20 page)

“Aye, my friend, you have the right of it,” Benedick began as he pulled off his gloves and threw his cope into the arms of a young novice.

“What has happened?” Garrett asked, his voice harsh to his own ears.

“Colvin and Moirant are in residence. Rhianna is being accused of witchcraft and the whole of the castle are living in fear. Lydon’s supposed death had been told and retold to all, and your wench is the one accused of killing him. It is said she directed her maid in the preparation of the potion that caused his death.”

“Nay,” Garrett shouted. “She is not capable of killing anyone. And Lydon gone? Nay, it cannot be.”

“Lydon has not gone. I spoke to Lydon who is in hiding at the home of one of the villagers, one loyal to you. Many of your people are loyal to you, but your half brother has them terrified. Word has circulated saying you have been killed fighting the Welsh. It is piteous.”

Benedick sank into a chair and Garrett knew a moment of anguish.

“What can you do?” He finally asked, his voice a whisper.

“First, we must conduct a trial. Your wench is no more witch than I am. Yet there are many who speak out against her. We must try her as a witch and prove that she is not.”

“How?” the word escaped Garrett in frustration.

“We’ll set a trap for Colvin and his friend. He is not as smart as he thinks, for the tales some of your servants tell are so riddled with suspicion as to be ridiculous.”

“Who are telling these tales? I have never mistreated my people. Of course, when punishment was needed, I meted it out, but always with restraint. This cannot be my reward.” He was stunned. Always, his people had given him respect. Even when Margot and the Lady Nedda visited, his people had deferred to him and he’d thought at the time, with gratitude.

“You’ll see for yourself, when you arrive at Knockin. We will clothe you in a monk’s garb, and with your hood pulled over your head, no one will know it is you until after this farce of a trial.” Benedick smiled and Garrett thought he seemed pleased with himself.

“You have a plan?”

“Of course,” the abbot responded. “Don’t I always?”

Garrett chuckled, remembering their days as young men, when they studied together, with Richard Parrish as their mentor. For the first time in days his heart felt lighter. Mayhap Rhianna was not in danger after all.

“And the plan?” Garrett asked.

“We will discuss it after Vespers.”

~ * ~

Early the next morning, one of the servants dragged Rhianna from her bed.

“Your trial begins today. Get up, you devil’s spawn.”

Before Rhianna could gain her feet, the woman slapped her hard enough to drive her to the floor. The servant grabbed her arm and yanked her into a standing position.

Rhianna rubbed her arm, knowing a bruise would form soon. Before she had a chance to lower her arm, she was pitched against one of the trunks.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Witch! I speak against you this day. You will burn as the witch you are.”

“Nay,” Rhianna whispered. “I am not a witch.”

“Aye, you are. You bewitched Garrett. He no longer comes to my bed. There are others here who know what you are, how you have cast your spell upon our Lord. When you are gone, he will come back to the beds of those he no longer visits.”

“I have done nothing to him. You have to believe me.”

“Ha!” The woman shoved Rhianna into the nearest chair and hit her again. “We all know what you are. The abbot, Benedick knows what you are. We have told him. You are going to burn and we will rejoice.”

Rhianna rubbed her arm, then her face. A burning pain sliced through her that had nothing to do with the physical aches she had just endured. She could not believe the abbot would find her guilty of witchcraft because Garrett no longer visited the beds of some of the women in Knockin.

Never would she cower before this woman, or anyone else here at Knockin. She was Welsh. If an English abbot found her guilty of witchcraft, then so be it. Her blood would be on his hands. She could only guess what the King of England would say when he found the daughter of the man he wanted as hostage had been killed by his baron.

She straightened in the chair.

“Begone from here. Leave me.”

The servant looked stunned for a minute. “Nay. I was told to wake you and dress you for your trial.”

“Get you from this room before you find that I can do something to you. If you think me a witch, I will but prove it.”

She stood and stepped forward. The woman shrunk away. “Aye. I’ll go, but I will say what has happened here. All will know of your behavior.”

Rhianna growled with what she hoped sounded like an evil laugh. “I have done nothing to you. Say what you will. I will deny everything. When Garrett returns and finds that you have killed his hostage, I will not be the only one to be destroyed. And believe that he will find the truth.”

The woman fled the room.

Rhianna heard the clunk of the key against the portal, locking her in her chamber once more. For the first time since her capture, her future looked bleak, impossible. Would she live long enough to see her home again? Real doubts surfaced. If Lord Colvin had his way, she would die with the flames dancing around her.

She gazed around the chamber. Today there was no food, no water, nothing. Yesterday, Mildred had not come, but water had been brought, a clean tunic and surcoat provided, and for the first time in two weeks she had been allowed to eat and drink her fill.

But that was last night. Today there was nothing. She would wear the tunic and surcoat she had worn to meet the abbot. She had no choice.

After she dressed, she waited for the summons, growing more tense with each passing minute. No one came near her door.

She moved to the window slit to watch the courtyard. No activity alerted her to the arrival of the abbot or any of his priests. If he didn’t return, would she still face a trial? Mayhap, after hearing the evidence against her he had determined there was no reason for a trial.

For an instant hope flared, then died as another thought entered her head. Mayhap he had already decided and had condemned her out of hand. If that was so, then she was doomed. Her heart sank to her toes as she tasted the copper of fright.

It was almost time for the evening meal when a quick knock sounded on her door. She heard someone twisting the key in the lock and she swallowed against the agony of fear. Was it time to die?

She lifted her head and blinked against the rush of tears that gathered at the back of her eyes. These English would see no fear from her. She was a proud daughter of Wales and would die as she was certain her father had died.

The door opened for a second and a tray of bread and a cup of ale came sliding across the floor. She rushed for the portal, but before she reached it, it closed. At least she was not to be starved to death. She would retire with bread and ale in her stomach this night. Mayhap sleep would also come.

Exhaustion claimed her soon after she ate some of the bread. She crawled onto the bed and wrapped herself in the furs, praying that sleep would come soon. Yet another part of her wanted to stay awake, afraid that this might be the last night of her young life. Sleep eclipsed the desire to remain aware and she drifted into restless dreams.

Sounds in the courtyard below had her surging from her bed and rushing to the window slit. Dawn had long ago colored the sky. A new day had already begun. Somehow, she had slept through the night.

The crowd in the bailey sent chills down her spine. The abbot had returned and with him came many monks, their cloaks and hoods masking their faces. Somehow she knew she was about to face her trial for witchcraft. Time to think of nothing but her home.

But thoughts of Wales refused to come. Instead, Garrett’s face surfaced to bedevil her. Nay, she could not think of Garrett. She must think of home, nothing but Wales.

After she threw on the garment she had pulled from her body the night before, she sank into a chair and waited for the inevitable. Garrett’s face tried to occupy her mind, but she forced his countenance into the farthest recesses of her head. She tried to remember the things she liked about her home.

When she thought of Brynn Ffrydd, a comparison to Knockin emerged and she found her home lacking. There was the fire pit at Brynn Ffrydd which filled the hall with smoke. Her home was formed of wood, the wind, rain and snow blowing through the cracks no matter how often they sealed the spaces. Even the bailey and the dress of her servants did not measure up to those at Knockin. Aye, there was much about this castle to like.

She concentrated on thinking of her brothers and how they had taken care of her after her mother died birthing Arthur. She wanted for nothing, not attention, not love, not training. Aye, her brothers had cared for her. How would they feel when they discovered she had been tried as a witch?

She shivered despite her attempts to keep calm. They would be willing to die defending her, of that she was certain. And deShay would die as well. That idea disturbed her as much as the thought of her own death.

Why? she asked herself. Still, she had no answer.

Steps outside her door interrupted her contemplation. Renewed terror sliced through her. They had come for her. She raised her chin, stood and straightened her gown. If she was to be condemned as a witch, she would appear as a proud daughter of Wales, witch or no.

In the bailey, Garrett stood with the group of monks recruited for this assignment. He offered a quick prayer that Benedick guessed correctly about how Colvin and Moirant would react to this plan. He had next to steel himself for his first sight of Rhianna.

Although he thought he knew what to expect, his first sight of her had one of the other monks reaching out to restrain him. She bore a large bruise on her right cheek, as if she had been struck in the face. Her thinness alarmed him, for she had lost considerable flesh. She wore no veil to cover her hair which had no shine and hung about her face in strings as if no comb had been provided for its care.

It was obvious she had been ill-treated. Garrett clinched his fists, the desire to do damage to Colvin threatening to outweigh his common sense. Brother James leaned close to him.

“You can care for her later,” he whispered.

Garrett nodded, aware of the concern hidden behind the hood.

“It is time,” Benedick’s voice rang above the crowd gathered for the trial. “Rhianna of Wales, you have been accused of witchcraft. What say you?”

“Nay, I’m not a witch.” Her voice rang through the crowd.

Despite the volume Garrett thought her voice shook. For a second, she swayed on the steps of the castle and he would have rushed forward to help her had not Brother James slapped a hand on his arm.

“Nay,” he said. “You must stay beside me.” Before James had finished speaking Garrett saw her straighten, almost as if gathering strength from an inner source. He watched her march down the steps, her head held high, as if she was indeed of royal birth.

Garrett clamped his teeth tight together to keep from striding forward to claim her before he condemned all present and ruined Benedick’s plan. They would obey his word. But the authority of the church held more weight. Benedick’s way was the best plan to convince his people. He gave a quick nod to the monk and forced himself to attend Benedick.

“So you say,” Benedick responded. “Come. You will stand before me and listen to your accusers. Now, who will speak first?”

One of the castle wenches who had tried to get Garrett onto her mat stepped forward.

“Your holiness, I will speak. This witch told the maid Mildred to give Sir Lydon a potion when he was injured in combat and it killed him.”

“You know of this? You heard the exchange between this Rhianna of Wales and the maid Mildred? You saw Sir Lydon die?”

“I heard Mildred tell of the potion. I was in the kitchen when she came to fetch the herbs the witch told her to gather. And all here know of Sir Lydon’s death.” The wench tossed her head as if to defend her position. Garrett made note of her. She would be married off to one of his farmers and sent to work the land as soon as this was over.

Benedick continued listening to the accusations and Garrett mentally listed those who spoke the lies. There was a farmer who claimed one of his lambs had died after Rhianna passed his flock. Another spoke of illness descending on his family. Another claimed his birds had stopped laying once she arrived at Knockin. There were more claims of illness and destruction after Rhianna came to the castle.

The last witness was one of the castle wenches. She stepped forward and told of how Garrett had banned his own betrothed from Knockin because of the witch. Garrett almost laughed at the look on Benedick’s face at that charge, for Garrett had complained enough times about Margot’s attempts to marry him off.

When all claims had been aired, Benedick turned to Rhianna. “What say you now, Rhianna of Wales? Have you knowledge of these things?”

With each accusation Garrett had watched her stand straighter, hold herself more rigid. Now he saw her tense, draw herself up even more then open her mouth. She must have responded to Benedick’s question, for she shook her head. He waited again for Benedick.

“Are there any among you who will speak for this wench?”

There was a long pause, then a farmer stepped forward and asked to speak. He claimed the farmer of the dead lamb had sent his dog into the flock and the animal in question had been trampled as the flock fled.

Garrett glanced at Colvin and the anger on his vestige was intense. As each claim was discounted by someone in the group, Colvin’s anger appeared to grow. Garrett held himself immobile against the rage coursing through his veins. After this was over, Colvin would be banned from this place forever, even if he held some claim to a visit to the place of his birth.