Memories of the Heart (11 page)

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.

Chapter 9

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.