A Lord for Haughmond (45 page)

     Victory was never without cost. He had vowed to protect these sisters and he had failed. Such misplaced arrogance to think he could defeat Sir Geoffrey. How was Katherine to bear this loss? This would not have happened to Anne but for his need of vengeance. He was not blameless, nor should he be. He had saved his mother. He had saved Katherine. He had even saved his own future and happiness.

     What a wretched knight to have saved himself.

     He looked down at Anne. Her jaw hung limp. Her chest no longer heaved. Within his wife’s trembling arms she lay still with half-closed eyes, like so many fallen warriors after battle. Was she yet aware that they grieved, that Simon continued to try to staunch the bleeding at her neck, his face twisted with all his desperation?

     Did she yet hear her sister’s cries? Or had she already passed into the arms of the angels? He did not doubt it would be so. Of anyone, sweet Anne would be deserving of heavenly joy.

     Katherine’s shudders of grief reverberated through his chest. He held her close, close to his heart. Had his father succeeded in destroying them? Because he had hated more than they had loved?

     Nay! Anger flowed through him. He clasped Katherine tighter as she sobbed over her sister’s lifeless body. He would prove Sir Geoffrey wrong. He would be a better man, a better husband, a better father. He would prove that love was more powerful than vengeance.

     With a wrenching cry that sent stabbing pain through Dafydd’s heart, Simon leaped to his feet. Wild-eyed and drenched in Anne’s blood, in one bound he crossed the small chamber to where Sir Geoffrey sat propped against the wall.

     With horror, Dafydd realized his father yet lived and watched them from across the chamber. In the candle’s light his eyes moved warily from one of them to the other. Frothy blood bubbled from his mouth. His breath came in a wheeze. He would not last long in such a condition. 

     With a shout from the wellspring of his soul, Simon swiped the dirk from his belt.

     Sir Geoffrey offered no resistance. He did not move, except to lift his gaze toward the grieving knight just as the sharp blade speared his left eye and plunged into his skull. 

Chapter Thirty-two

     Tall and majestic and framed by the brilliant western sky, the castle laid claim to a conquered nation—Caernarvon, grim reminder of the king’s power. Dwarfed beneath the hills of Snowdonia and overlooking the treacherous Menai Strait, Edward’s mighty fortress came into view before Katherine and her train approached the new eastern gate.

     She had missed the birth of the queen’s latest child. Dutiful in providing the king sufficient heirs, the queen had, a month agone, given birth in the raw and dismal castle. Christened Edward, the babe was second in line to the throne behind his elder brother, Alfonso.

     It had been a long year, this year of mourning. Katherine had grown quieter and less impulsive. She had become more thoughtful in her actions and decisions. Aunt Matilda would say she had taken on the cares of the world.

     But she knew better.

     She had set aside her girlish notions and embraced her responsibilities as mother and wife and lady of the castle. She had spent her time caring for her family. Her young children were Haughmond’s legacy. She delighted in the joy of them.

     Held by his duties to the crown, Dafydd had been absent from Haughmond for months at a time. The king’s trust in her husband frustrated her, for she was lonely without Anne and yearned for her husband’s strong and steady influence. But Sister Mary Margaret remained in Shropshire and she took comfort from the friendship they had been able to forge.

     Wales may have been subdued, but the provincial administration yet required protection. The king’s sheriffs, loyal Englishmen all, were responsible for administering royal law and treated the locals as unruly children. To keep the Welsh at heel, the king had enthusiastically embarked on the construction of a ring of defensive castles. Beneath his lion standard, carpenters and masons and other skilled craftsmen had commenced building the fortified cities of Conwy, Caernarvon and Harlech.

     Held to Wales, Dafydd reinstated the services of a private courier. Missives filled with love and daily doings, traveled apace betwixt Caernarvon and Haughmond.

     But not this day. This day, Katherine herself would deliver the news, for her husband had summoned her to Wales.

     Edward Plantagenet—King of England, Lord of Ireland, Duke of Gascony, Earl of Chester and King of Wales—planned to celebrate his successful conquest with a pageantry of tournaments and an Arthurian Round Table court. A triumphant assertion of power, the event would be well attended by the lords and ladies of the realm.

     Impatient at the sight of the castle tower, needing to see her husband and be assured he enjoyed good health, Katherine kicked her horse into a gallop. Dafydd Rhys de la Motte remained the center of her life and she was loath to have so much as a hair on his head harmed. Gilbert’s younger son whooped his delight and kicked his mount likewise, coming abreast to her and grinning with youthful exuberance. She grinned back and urged her horse faster, wrapping the reins carefully around her left hand.

     No one could claim she possessed a withered hand. But with the last two fingers of her right hand nearly useless, she had learned to live with Sir Geoffrey’s mark upon her. The wound from his knife had healed, but his grievous brand would be upon her for the rest of her days. Had he not all but destroyed her family?

     Once upon a time she had been victim to his unholy villainy. But by her husband’s noble deeds she had risen above the pain and loss. Praise be to God, she had come to discover the most virtuous and loving of helpmates. 

     If the weary travelers were aware of Caernarvon, the castle was duly aware of their approach. The trumpet blast from the tower sent a ripple of relief down her spine. Gilbert bore Haughmond’s banner at their vanguard, but with half of her garrison as escort, she feared the king would think himself under siege.

     A moment later, Dafydd and Sir William came tearing toward her, their mounts churning up a cloud of dust in their wake. Her heart pounded with joy. Yet, fearing a collision, she pulled rein. An instant later Dafydd’s destrier came to a halt at her side. Leaning from his saddle, so far he looked as though he would topple to the ground, her husband bestowed a lengthy kiss upon her laughing lips. She returned it with all her ardor and did not care that she nigh lost her balance, so secure was she with his sturdy arm about her waist.

     Gilbert’s two sons, healthy but stripling lads, were not far from the days when the same pleasure would be their greatest desire. But for the nonce, they grimaced in distaste and averted their eyes. Behind them, Haughmond’s horde of men-at-arms came to a halt.

     Sir William, feeling no similar compunction, winked at Katherine and grinned wickedly. She pulled away with a blithesome laugh. Unexpectedly, the knight sobered and attempted to arrange a chastened expression upon his face, for Sister Mary Margaret drew rein beside him, wearing a disapproving frown. But suddenly, a chuckle did spring from her lips. Her shoulders shook with mirth. She and the knight shared a look of mutual understanding.

     Katherine tried not to blush, knowing the direction of their thoughts.

     Sir William’s eyes sparked in merriment once again. Turning his mount, he motioned Gilbert toward Caernarvon. With his sharp command, Haughmond’s troops moved out.

     Katherine and Dafydd were left alone.

     As though they possessed all the time in the world, they rode leisurely, their gazes locked on each other. Katherine’s throat constricted at the love emanating from her husband’s bright blue eyes. He had never looked so handsome in his armor. Clean-shaven these days, he was the knight she had fallen in love with. She marveled anew at her good fortune, that he was in truth her husband—beloved, respected and cherished. Tears of happiness filled her eyes.

     Oh, that Anne and Simon could have had a life such as hers.

     Dafydd’s delighted grin vanished. “What is amiss?” he asked in alarm.

     “I was thinking of Simon. I would speak to him.”

     “I doubt me ’twould be wise. He does not anticipate your arrival with pleasure.”

     She threw him a questioning glance.

     “He fears he shall burst into tears at the sight of you. We must needs indulge him this once.”

     A tear fell upon her cheek at the sad thought of Simon, so wounded by his grief he would set himself apart. Yet she nodded in understanding. With time, he would heal, as she herself had. Raw memories would diminish beneath the business of daily living. Mayhap one day hence, he would find another maiden and new joy.

     “Tell me of our children.” Dafydd spoke hurriedly, apparently seeking a change of topic.  “They are well?”

     Wiping at her eyes, she smiled. “Both were in good health the day of my departure, though Robert was fretting over a new tooth.” 

     Dafydd nodded with a delighted smile. “And tell me, what is happening with our little miss?”

     At the thought of her younger offspring, Katherine’s eyes were awash with tears once more. How she adored her children. ’Twas the first time she was parted from Constance Anne. Already six months of age, the precious babe had helped her to survive this arduous year. Both children, named for her slain family, had brought her untold happiness. Constance had inherited Sister Mary Margaret’s eyes and fair complexion. Her hair was as bright and blazing as her father’s golden locks. The child would possess great beauty and would, doubtless, break many a heart before she found her own true love.

     Katherine gazed lovingly at her husband, knowing their daughter, young as she was, held his heart. The little miss could do no wrong. He cherished his family beyond aught else. Whenever he was home, he showered the children with attention. They, in turn, would not allow him out of their sight.

     Dafydd lifted a questing brow and she hurried to appease his worry. “Constance displays your eagerness and Sister Mary Margaret’s beauty.”

     “Does she have naught of her mother’s grace?”

     “A willful spirit, mayhap.”

     "Forsooth!” He chuckled. “That reminds me of the king and his new babe. The other day the Welsh complained at having to submit to an English monarch.”

     “Ah, they do not accept their yoke of servitude in silence.” Slapping her mare’s reins, she urged her lagging mount abreast to catch up with her husband’s larger destrier. She could sympathize with the unfortunate Welsh. Had she not chafed beneath a yoke that once was heavy? 

     “You will appreciate this,” Dafydd exclaimed, his eyes shining with anticipation. “The king presented his son to them and claimed him to be a native of Wales—which he is—and if it pleased them, his first words would be of their language.”

     “A most judicious maneuver.” She laughed, seeing a picture of indignant Welshmen in her mind. “And what transpired?”

     Dafydd pursed his lips, fighting to control his mirth. “The chieftains had no choice but to swear fealty to the royal infant.” When Katherine held her breath in amazement, he added, “I could not have faith of it had I not seen it with my own eyes. Edward hires a local woman for the nurse, ensuring the royal babe speaks Welsh before he speaks his father’s tongue. Brilliant tactician.”

     They reached Caernarvon’s Upper Ward, where Haughmond’s troops were dismounting. Nearby, Sir William and Sister Mary Margaret chatted amiably.

     Dafydd swept Katherine from her saddle. Amid spirited explanations of the building site, he pointed out the progress of the city wall with pride, as though he were in charge instead of Master James. Knowing ’twould please him, she bestowed solicitous consideration upon the progress of the town wall.

     ’Twas no hardship to please her husband. Joyed to be in his company, she laid her hand on his arm and drew a happy grin from him.

     “Look there,” he demanded, requiring her attention where a group of masons labored on the inner curtain wall. Unable to keep a proper distance, Katherine stepped closer and pressed his hand. She could not help but savor his touch.

     Approaching them, Sir William cleared his throat. “If it pleases you, I would be honored to escort your mother to the sisters of St. Werburgh. I understand she is to be the Abbess’s guest?”

     Sister Mary Margaret expelled a loud sigh of relief, far too keen for Katherine’s comfort. “Not a moment too soon do you champion me, sir, do you not agree?” She bestowed an arched gaze upon their clasped hands.

     Biting her lip, Katherine released her husband’s hand. They would think her lustful, a wife who could not keep away from her husband.

     Sir William guffawed and winked at the nun, causing Sister Mary Margaret to start in surprise.  Tucking her hands within the long black sleeves of her habit, she hastened toward the hall. Deferential to the nun’s place in society, he did not offer his arm, yet he hurried after her.

     The knight’s attentions might be considered hovering, if one pondered the matter. But Katherine, finding herself alone with her husband, could think of naught but Dafydd. She touched his arm once again, drawing from him a grin so like a callow youth about to embark on his first romantic encounter. Charmed by his delighted expression, her peal of laughter caught on the wind drifting in from the sea.

     Dafydd’s chuckle joined hers. Grabbing her hand, he whisked her off to the Eagle tower. Up the circular staircase they went, floor after floor. Everywhere, the pungent scent of freshly cut lumber permeated the air, including within the chamber prepared for her use. Struggling for breath, Katherine nigh collapsed upon the bedstead. And though sparsely decorated, the small chamber was warm and cozy, with a beautiful red and gold tapestry adorning the far wall. Amazed, she stepped close to examine it.