Authors: The Knight of Rosecliffe
Rexanne Becnel (30 page)
Rhonwen’s grip on the bedpost tightened. Her knuckles were white with fear, for she knew Isolde spoke the truth. “What do they plan to do with him?”
Isolde shrugged as if she did not know. But she avoided Rhonwen’s eyes. The girl knew more than she was admitting; Rhonwen was certain of it, and she meant to ferret out the truth. “You should know, Isolde, that Rhys is not nearly so cruel as you would make him out to be. He is, in fact, a most kindhearted lad—”
“He is a hateful thug!” Isolde cried. Angry spots of color heated her face. “He has a black heart, a foul temper, and … and no manners at all!”
“That’s not so.”
“It is! It is! But he will change his evil ways when Friar Guilliame takes charge of him—” She broke off with a gasp, then turned guiltily back to the cupboard. “If you insist on wearing your old kirtle, Mother will—”
“Who is Friar Guilliame? Who is he?” Rhonwen repeated when Isolde did not answer right away.
“I wasn’t supposed to tell you that,” the girl muttered.
“I’m not even s’posed to know of it.”
“Who is this Friar Guilliame?”
Isolde raised a mutinous face to Rhonwen. “My father knows him. He is seneschal of a castle in Northumbria.”
“A friar, seneschal?” Then realization struck and Rhonwen’s unsteady legs nearly gave way. “Northumbria? Rhys is being sent away to a castle in Northumbria? But why?”
“I don’t know. And I don’t care,” Isolde retorted. But her antagonism dissolved in the face of Rhonwen’s distress. She pushed a stool toward Rhonwen’s. “Sit down. Please, before you fall and injure yourself anew.”
“Northumbria,” Rhonwen repeated as the enormity of Rhys’s punishment pressed in on her. “But … but that’s in England.”
“Northern England, very nearly to Scotland. Father has a map of all the isles of Britain. I know where Northumbria is and London town and Eire. Here, sit,” she added, pressing Rhonwen down onto the stool.
They were both silent. Rhonwen clutched her hands together on her knees, consumed with guilt that she’d brought her dearest friend to such an end. She looked up at Isolde, her face pale with fear for him. “What will they do to him there? What will the Friar do to punish him?”
Isolde shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t hear that part.”
“Was this Jasper’s doing?”
Isolde pushed out her lower lip. “You should not be angry with Jasper, Rhonwen. ‘Tis not his fault, but Rhys’s. He brought this on himself.”
“Where is Jasper?”
“I told you. With Papa, working with the new falcons.” Fear for Rhys lent Rhonwen strength. Resolute, she rose to her feet. “Give me the kirtle,” she said, indicating the pretty green gown. If she was to argue on Rhys’s behalf, she needed every advantage at her disposal.
Gavin helped Rhonwen make her slow way down the stairs. Isolde brought her a carved cherrywood cane. Josselyn watched, but did not question her beyond a simple inquiry regarding her health. But Rhonwen suspected Josselyn knew her purpose.
The guard at the entrance to the dungeon turned her away with a curt admonition. “No visitors allowed. These are me orders.”
Had she the strength, Josselyn would have tried to force herself past him. But she knew she was too weak. So despite her flagging energy, she made her way back across the hall and outside, through the bailey to the gatehouse.
Isolde and Gavin trailed in her wake, as did young Gwen. Beneath the shade of the overarching gatehouse she stopped and, bracing herself with one hand, she leaned heavily against the cool stone walls. After a moment, Gavin rolled a small wooden barrel over to her, then set it upright so she could sit upon it. Grateful, she sat, clutching the curved end of the cane and supporting herself on it.
She was much weaker than she’d thought. At the moment, she doubted she could even return to the hall under her own power. But she had no intention of returning, not until she’d confronted Jasper.
The brilliance of the late morning sun gave way to a cloudy afternoon. The men did not return for the midday meal. But still Rhonwen waited. Eventually they would return and she would be there when they did. Jasper would evade her no longer.
Isolde fussed over her like a mother hen. She brought her a mug of goat’s milk and some raisins and two kinds of cheeses wrapped in a clean cloth. But after a while when her every attempt at conversation petered out, the girl drifted away.
Around Rhonwen the daily hum of castle life resumed, unaffected by either her personal trauma or Rhys’s. A pair of masons fitted the second row of stone for the crenellations along the western curtain wall. A team of apprentices heaved the roughly shaped blocks onto the rope lift and, through dint of sheer muscle, raised it inch by inch up to the wall walk and the older masons.
The dairy maid herded the cows and goats in one by one for their evening milking. The laundress collected her dried linens before the threatening rains could ruin her handiwork.
A sullen young man made his way, muttering, to the trapdoor for the cess pit, accompanied by a jovial guard. Someone had to periodically clean the collection of refuse at the base of the garderobes. The task was often given as a punishment to slackers, for the foul nature of the work generally guaranteed no further such transgressions on the part of the unlucky person.
Rhonwen’s gaze made a slow circuit of the bailey, seeing it in a way she’d not done before. Rosecliffe Castle was a self-sufficient place, an abode made pleasant by the continued coordination of its residents’ activities. Carreg Du had been marginally as efficient while Josselyn’s uncle had lived. But after his death and with no clear-cut leader to maintain order, it had become more like Afon Bryn, a rough place to live with factions constantly at odds with one another.
The truth struck her, unwelcome and yet also undeniable: Rosecliffe Castle was a good place to live and work.
That didn’t mean the English king’s determination to rule
Wales was right. Nor did it mean that every English lord would bring the same settled sort of peace to the lands he ruled. But in the case of Rosecliffe Castle, the truth was evident wherever she looked. Save for Rhys’s rebellious presence, this part of Wales was peaceful and prosperous, for both its Welsh citizens and its British ones.
Wales was right. Nor did it mean that every English lord would bring the same settled sort of peace to the lands he ruled. But in the case of Rosecliffe Castle, the truth was evident wherever she looked. Save for Rhys’s rebellious presence, this part of Wales was peaceful and prosperous, for both its Welsh citizens and its British ones.
Why was that?
She heard a woman call to a child, Josselyn scolding the rambunctious Gavin. She spoke in Welsh, and he responded the same way.
It was the intermarriage of the lord and lady which made such a success of Rosecliffe, Rhonwen realized. A melding of two cultures and a care for the feelings of both. She smiled, warmed by the hope that understanding roused in her. If only Rhys could see it that way.
But it was more than merely the marriage of Welsh and English, she realized. Marriage alone would not have sufficed. Love was the secret to the peace that permeated this place. Josselyn loved Rand, and he loved her equally well. They loved, and they prospered.
Her smile faded. Had she been too hasty when she’d turned down Jasper’s offer of marriage? If she had accepted, could she have avoided all this heartbreak?
She rubbed the cane handle in agitation. The answer was no.
She and Jasper were not Josselyn and Rand. For Jasper did not love her like Rand loved Josselyn. Though Rhonwen loved him, he did not return that emotion. It always came back to that.
The shadows in the bailey grew long while Rhonwen sat, mired in her unhappy thoughts. Then one of the watchmen in the gatehouse shouted to a guard across the way, rousing her. The hunting party approached.
She pushed heavily to her feet. She would not confront Jasper as an invalid. He would not avoid her by worrying over her health.
The gate was open; the bridge was down. She saw them approach, a loose line of riders breaking from the town’s main
road and climbing the long hill toward the castle. Rand and Jasper rode at the head of the party, side by side, tall and strong. Though different in so many ways, their physical similarity was obvious. Yet only one of them pulled her heartstrings; only one of them aroused all her senses.
road and climbing the long hill toward the castle. Rand and Jasper rode at the head of the party, side by side, tall and strong. Though different in so many ways, their physical similarity was obvious. Yet only one of them pulled her heartstrings; only one of them aroused all her senses.
She sucked in a harsh breath and straightened to her full height. Her side ached. She wished she did not need the cane. But none of that was as important as saving Rhys from life in an English gaol. Though Rhys had earned the enmity of the English, he nonetheless did not deserve that. Life was so precious. She saw that now. She only hoped she could find the words to sway Jasper.
The horses’ hooves raised a thunder on the timber bridge. Rand’s brows lifted when he spied her, and his gaze angled toward Jasper.
Jasper’s expression was harder to decipher.
The two of them halted before her while the other men rode past. The falconer paused and took Rand’s bird from his arm, then rode on. When the dust settled and quiet again reigned, Rand addressed her.
“I am pleased you heal from your wounds, Mistress Rhonwen.”
She stared up at him without pretense. “I will ever be in your debt, yours and Josselyn’s, for tending me so well.”
“’Tis I who owe you a debt. Not once, but twice have you kept my brother safe. You have my thanks and my aid, insofar as I may give it.”
She smiled faintly, understanding why he qualified his offer. “Rest assured, Lord Rand, that I will never again conspire against you or any of your family. They have become very dear to me,” she added in a huskier tone.
He nodded, then again glanced sidelong at his brother. “Was there some matter you wish to discuss with me? Or is it an audience with Jasper you seek?”
Inside, Rhonwen began to tremble. She clutched the cane tighter before allowing her eyes to seek out Jasper’s stern features. “If you can spare his presence, I would speak with Jasper awhile.”
“As you wish.” Rand gave her a courtly nod, then wheeled his animal past her.
Then it was only Rhonwen and Jasper—and the two nosy watchmen on the gate tower, and the maidservant lingering deliberately at the well, and the curious laborers beside the scaffolding.
Jasper saw them too, and his leather saddle creaked when he restlessly shifted his weight. He pushed his cowl down while his horse, Helios, tossed its head, eager for the stables and the meal waiting there. “Perhaps you would prefer some other place.” With a gesture of his hand he indicated the hall.
“No. Not there. Perhaps … perhaps we could walk.”
His eyes ran over her assessingly. Skeptically. “You hardly appear able to walk ten steps. What moved you to seek me out here? You are too ill—”
“You have stayed away three days! What else was I to do?”
He glanced up at the guards, who looked down at them with undisguised interest. Then he frowned at her. “We’ll ride.”
He edged his horse next to her, then leaned down to lift her up. When she stiffened, bracing for the pain such an action would incur, he misunderstood. “Damnation, Rhonwen. What is it you want of me?”
She stepped back, grimacing at the ache that sharp movement caused. When she pressed a hand against her bandaged side, he blanched.
“Curse me for an idiot,” he muttered, swinging down from the animal. “Forgive me my short temper,” he said when he faced her. He released the reins and, given his freedom, Helios ambled toward the stables.
“’Tis nothing,” she said. She looked past him, toward the bridge and the moat and the town beyond it. She’d waited the whole day long to see him. Now she did not know what to say.
“Would you like to sit?”
She nodded.
From somewhere behind them a door shut with a thud and she heard Isolde’s voice, determinedly nonchalant. “Come,
Gwen. If we hurry, we can find the spotted kitten before it becomes too dark to see.” Rhonwen fought back the absurd urge to laugh. Did everyone at Rosecliffe wish to eavesdrop? The same door thudded again, only this time it was Josselyn who spoke. “Girls. Come back inside at once.”
Gwen. If we hurry, we can find the spotted kitten before it becomes too dark to see.” Rhonwen fought back the absurd urge to laugh. Did everyone at Rosecliffe wish to eavesdrop? The same door thudded again, only this time it was Josselyn who spoke. “Girls. Come back inside at once.”
“But Mama. I only want to help Gwen.”
“Look,” Gwen interrupted. “There they are. Rhonwen! Uncle Jasper!”
“Perhaps this is not a good time,” Jasper said. “Besides, I am filthy from my labors.”
“No,” Rhonwen insisted. “I would have this out between us now.” Before I break down in tears, she added to herself.
“If we must.” He bit the words out tersely. He looked around. “Out there. We’ll have privacy alongside the moat.”
“Very well.” She started forward, determined to make the short walk. But with every step Rhonwen felt her energy failing. She made it to the bridge, relying heavily on the cane. She made it half the way across, though each step came slower and slower. Jasper kept pace with her, but finally his patience broke.
“I will carry you.”
“No!” She could not bear that level of physical closeness with him.
“You will not make it otherwise. Come, Rhonwen. I will be gentle with you. Just tell me where to put my hands.”
“No,” she repeated. But she could feel her legs beginning to buckle. With a frustrated noise she relented. “Oh, all right.”
He caught her just in time. He slid one arm around her back. The other he placed carefully behind her knees. “This will be the hardest part,” he murmured, his mouth very near her ear. Then he lifted her up.
She let out a gasp. But after only a moment, the sharpest edge of the pain eased.
“Better?”
She nodded.
“Can you put your arms around my neck?”
She managed that with only a slight grimace of pain. After that it was not physical pain that affected her.
He strode across the bridge, holding her high against his chest. But what he meant only as a kindly gesture, she felt as an embrace. She knew better. But in the several minutes he held her, with dusk turning the sky from lavender to deep purple, she had no defense against her deepest feelings for him.
Would it be so bad to marry a man who did not love her? Surely it could not be worse than pining for him the remainder of her days.
Though it was unwise, she let her head rest against his shoulder. She breathed deeply, reveling in the smell of horses and leather and honest male sweat, and let herself relax into the strength of his embrace.
Her long wait and endless worrying vanished in the few minutes of unparalleled joy she found in his arms. She wished it would never end. But when he turned from the road and moved through the tangle of rose vines that lent their name to the cliffs, she forced herself to remember her purpose.
“This is far enough,” she murmured self-consciously.
“A little farther. There’s a soft, grassy patch where you will be more comfortable.”
“I’m not so fragile as you fear, Jasper.”
She felt him stiffen. Just a slight thing, but she sensed it just the same. “So it seems. But then, I’ve made a habit of misjudging you, haven’t I?”
He set her down in a thick bed of new grass with a boulder at her back half-overgrown with the wild rose vines. She tucked her skirt around her legs and tried to compose herself. What did he mean by a habit of misjudging her?
Then she looked up at him, with his legs splayed and his arms folded across his chest, and her resolve faltered. He looked unreachable like that. Stern and implacable.
“Well?” he prompted her. “What is it you wish to say to me?”
Rhonwen frowned in frustration. “I cannot speak to you when you glower down at me like some angry god on high.”
Even in the increasing darkness, with only a rising moon to illuminate him, she saw his jaw flex. “Very well,” he muttered. He unfolded his arms and lowered himself to one knee, leaning his elbows on the other one. But he still looked uncomfortable and ready to flee.
How he must hate her for betraying him so!
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