Keeper of the Dream (16 page)

But her resolution faltered when she realized that, aside from calling the man a tyrant to his face, there was little she could do. Her cousin had flaunted his contempt for the man who was to be his liege lord by raiding his cattle. Even the peasants gathering now within the bailey evinced defiance with their stiff backs and sullen faces. If only there was some way that she, Arianna of Gwynedd, could show the black knight how much she despised him for what he had done. And show her people, too, that though she be forced to wed one of the accursed Norman race, she was still a Cymraes, a woman of Wales, and one of them.

By the time Arianna had finished bathing she knew exactly what she would do. When the maidservant brought the beautiful poppy-red pelisse to her, she waved it away. “Nay, Edith, such clothes are inappropriate.”

“Inappropriate, milady?”

“Aye, such a gown is for celebration. Whereas I … I am in a mourning mood.”

The sun beat down on the open bailey. Heat waves shimmered up from the earth, adding to the blasts of hot air coming from the cooking fires, where great copper cauldrons bubbled with stews and sauces. Scullions, naked because of the heat, turned the spits on which huge carcasses of stag and boar roasted for that afternoon’s feast.

The wedding procession, trying not to sweat in their silk bliauts and fur-trimmed pelisses, gathered before the great hall. The chapel bell began to peal, competing with the music made by the minstrels’ pipes and tabors.

The Lady Arianna was to be carried to her fate on a white mule, another gift from her betrothed. The mule was expensively equipped with a saddle enameled with small blue flowers, a saddle-cloth of scarlet samite and a
breast-plate of silver hung with bells that tinkled with each breath the beast took. Custom dictated that the bride’s mount should be led to the church by her father, but in this case her younger brother Rhodri was to act in the Prince of Gwynedd’s stead.

The boy stood now beside the mule, running the reins through nervous fingers as he shifted his weight from foot to foot and glanced repeatedly at the entrance to the great hall. The bride was late.

The groom, sweltering in a bliaut of violet silk, could feel the rigid control he held over his temper begin to slip. He knew his bride’s tardiness was due to no last-minute primping. This was her not-so-subtle way of underscoring how much she abhorred the idea of marriage to the Earl of Chester’s bastard.

Raine caught his squire’s eye; he would send Taliesin up to drag his tardy bride out of the hall by the hair if need be. But just as he opened his mouth to issue the order, the minstrels broke into the bridal song. Raine saw Taliesin’s face sag with shock. Then the singers’ voices sputtered and died. A pall of silence descended over the bailey as the new Lord of Rhuddlan slowly turned.

She stood at the foot of the stairs. She wore not the fine silk and fur-trimmed, and ruinously expensive, bridal gown that he had given her, but a coarse, knee-length tunic made of sacking. She was barefoot and black ashes streaked her face. Her hair flowed over her shoulders in wild and matted tangles.

Sackcloth and ashes.

He stared at her, not able for a moment to believe what he saw. He heard the beginnings of the crowd’s tittering laughter. And from the Welsh, building slowly at first, then crescendoing to a roar—her name, they cheered her name.

Ten yards separated them. Raine started toward her, and the laughter and cheering cut off, as if everyone had simultaneously clapped a hand to his mouth. Taliesin tried
to step in front of him, but he shoved the boy roughly aside. He saw nothing, he was aware of nothing, but her.

He stopped when only a hand’s space separated them, but he didn’t touch her. If he touched her, he thought, he would surely kill her. Their eyes clashed, and hers widened and darkened. But she didn’t look away.

“People of the Tegeingl!” she shouted. “I mourn with you the loss of your cattle—”

“Shut up.”

His words, dry and searing like the coldest ice, stopped her. Her gaze started to waver, then held firm, and she said to him alone with scorn in her voice, “It is a poor lord who steals from his own peasants and calls it justice—”

“Don’t
… Don’t say another word.”

Blood roared in Raine’s ears, harsh and loud as ocean breakers. He took a deep breath, then another. The roaring receded. Slowly, he reached up and wrapped his fists in the sackcloth at her neck. She shuddered, once, and he saw the muscles in her throat work as she tried to swallow. His forearms bunched and she tensed. Still she didn’t look away.

He ripped the sackcloth clean in two.

The tearing sound made by the rough material reverberated in the stunned silence. His eyes, hot and hard with anger, moved over her. Her hands jerked and started up to cover her breasts, and then with a visible effort she forced them back down to her sides. She clenched her fists, holding them rigid.

He raised his eyes to her face. His voice was rough with the effort it took to control his rage. “You shame yourself, woman. You will return now to the hall. And when you descend once again, you will be clothed as befitting a bride to the Lord of Rhuddlan.”

For a moment she did nothing, simply stood before him, her whole body still, her eyes bright and unblinking.
Slowly, she turned and started up the steps into the great hall.

Arianna shut the door and leaned against its iron-banded panels. But a moment later the door thrust hard against her back and sent her stumbling into the middle of the room.

Taliesin strode across the threshold and stopped, his hands on his hips. Arianna opened her mouth to berate the boy for his impudence in barging into her chamber unbidden, and instead backed up a step at the sight of him. The air around him seemed to quiver with a force both ancient and frightening, as if he were some great dragon stirred to wrathful life. His jet eyes glittered unnaturally bright, shooting off sparks like metal against flint, his red hair crackled and sizzled around his head like a burning bush. He opened his mouth and Arianna half-expected him to breathe fire.

“You stupid female. If I didn’t know better I would swear the goddess had given you feathers for wits.”

The words, delivered in the whine of a pouting boy, snapped Arianna back to reality. A dragon? God’s eyes, the lad was but a mere squire and an insolent one at that. “Who are you to talk of wits when—”

“It passes my understanding why two reasonably intelligent people like you and my lord turn into such fools when in each other’s company. Goddess spare me, but this whole affair has been nothing but one bungle after another.” He paced the floor, throwing his hands up in the air to punctuate his points. “First you try to stab him, then he tries to bed you, so you bloody his nose, and he refuses to woo you, so you decide to make a bleating ass of yourself by—”

“Bleating ass! If
you
would stop bleating long enough to listen—”

He spun around to shake his finger in her face. “What possessed you to do such an addle-pated thing?”

She slapped his finger aside. “Your insolence is astonishing, boy. And who are you to talk? How can you, a Cymro, serve such a lord? A lord who would deprive his own peasants of their cattle. What is he going to do come winter when they starve—laugh at their suffering?”

Taliesin cast his eyes heavenward. “There you see … addle-pated.”

“I could hardly allow such an injustice to be done to my people without a protest. They are your people, too, do you not care? And you call
me
a bleating ass.”

“Aye, an ass who bleats instead of thinks. An ass who doesn’t take the time to learn of the facts before she acts. An ass who has bungled things so badly, I’ll likely be talking myself hoarse and ruin my singing voice trying to put my lord back into his good humor. Which, if you knew my lord as well as you should be getting to know him, then you would know such is not going to be an easy thing. Goddess have mercy …”

“Facts?” Arianna’s belly tensed with a horrible premonition. “What facts?”

“He was going to give the cattle back, my lady. As part of the wedding largesse.”

“The wedding largesse …” It was the custom to give out large quantities of gifts at a nobleman’s wedding. Everyone received something, even the lowliest villein. “But I don’t understand. If he never meant to keep the cattle, why collect the fine in the first place?”

Taliesin gave her a withering look, as if he couldn’t believe anyone could be so dense. “Whoever raided Rhuddlan had help from the Welshery of this
cantref
and my lord knew this. He wanted his people to understand that those who rob him, rob from them as well. And to show that while he will deal ruthlessly with disobedience and rebellion, he can also be a merciful lord. The whip and the carrot. ‘Twas meant to be but a lesson. A lesson in just how sorely he can hurt them should they ever dare to challenge him again.” The squire smirked at her stunned
expression. “Well, my lady, have you suddenly nothing to say? Swallowed your tongue, have you?”

Indeed there seemed to be something caught in Arianna’s throat, and she had to clear it before she could speak. “Perhaps I might have acted a bit hastily …”

Taliesin’s lips curled up at one end, like a viol bow. “A bit hastily, she says … and this from the girl known throughout all of Gwynedd for slipping a pair of mating hedgehogs into the bishop’s bed when he came to visit. Only this time it won’t be just yourself who’ll suffer for your impulsive behavior, my lady. It’s time you understood, that because of who you are, your actions can have repercussions. Much like the ripples, when a stone is dropped into a lake, reach distant shores you cannot even see.”

Arianna felt guilt as a biting pain in her chest. “He won’t give the cattle back now, will he?”

“Aye, you’ve truly bungled things.” The squire wiped at the tears that had somehow appeared on her cheeks without her knowing it. “Here now, don’t cry. Your face is getting all red and blotchy. You’re spoiling those pretty looks my lord likes so well.”

Arianna rubbed her face with the scratchy sleeve of her sackcloth tunic “I’m not crying, you fool boy. I never cry.”

Again that strange light flared in Taliesin’s eyes, and again, just as quickly, it was gone. “Hurry and dress yourself, my lady. Don’t keep him waiting long, else you rouse his ire further.”

Arianna was already running a wooden comb through her hair. “Aye, aye … Taliesin? What form do you think his punishment will take?”

“Oh, my lord is very imaginative in his punishments,” the squire said in gleeful tones. “Why, I remember the time a mountebank fleeced all his men of their pay and my lord …” His voice trailed off and his cheeks turned rosy, like a girl’s. “Mayhap I shouldn’t be telling you that
particular story. In truth, I doubt Lord Raine would wish to mar your beauty with any permanent scars …”

“You are of immense comfort, boy,” Arianna said. “Perhaps you should think of becoming a priest.” Though, in truth, she did not like the ominous sound of the squire’s tale. But whatever the black knight would do to her she would have to bear it with dignity, as befitted a daughter of Gwynedd. Somehow she would try to ensure that she, and she alone, would suffer the brunt of his anger.

She put on the gown that he had given her and went back down to the bailey. She stood before him, her head held high. His gaze was impassive as his eyes flickered over her. She could read nothing in them, neither satisfaction, nor lingering anger.

“My lord, I do ask forgiveness for my behavior,” she said.

“Louder.”

She lifted her head even higher and shouted. “My lord, I do most humbly ask forgiveness for the shame I have brought upon myself and upon Gwynedd.”

A long silence greeted her speech, followed by a restless stirring from the Welsh side of the bailey. Raine’s hand closed around her elbow as he steered her to where her brother Rhodri stood, clutching the lead of a white mule. She lowered her voice for Raine’s ears alone. “My lord, punish me. Don’t force my people to suffer for what I have done.”

His fingers tightened until she had to set her teeth against the pain. “Their suffering will be your punishment.”

“But, my lord, I would beg of you—”

“Don’t beg. It ill becomes you.”

The knight propelled her forward and Rhodri stepped up to help her mount. As he hefted her up into the saddle, the youth grinned and winked at her. “You were magnificent,” he whispered, and Arianna squeezed her eyes shut
in shame as again the enormity of her mistake struck her. For not only had she encouraged her people in a rebellion that would only bring them further suffering, but she had probably spurred her brother, who shared her exile among the Normans, on to God knows what foolishness.

They rode through the castle gate. The minstrels danced ahead of the procession, singing love songs and playing on gitterns and tabors. The town church bells joined in, clanging with faint disharmony. More villeins, cotters, and shopkeepers lined the road and cheered as they rode by.

They dismounted in the town square and walked to the small stone church on a path strewn with straw and roses. She walked alongside Raine, not touching, almost having to run to keep up with his long strides. He is a conqueror, she thought. He has conquered Rhuddlan and now he will try to conquer me.

She stumbled over the stone-flagged step and Raine steadied her by grasping her elbow. This time his grip was not punishing, but fleeting.

A figure robed in embroidery-encrusted vestments stepped out from beneath the portal shadows and Arianna was surprised to see, not the round and ruddy face of the town cure, but the gray, wizened visage of the Bishop of St. Asaph. But then this marriage was to solidify the truce between England and Wales, and it would take no less a personage than a bishop to solemnize the vows.

The gold fringe on the bishop’s miter swayed as he dipped his head. He cleared his throat and began to speak, but Arianna made no sense of his words, for just then Raine took her hand. His palm was rough and callused and seemed to swallow hers up, and she was aware of nothing beyond the man who stood beside her. She dared a sideways glance up at him. For a brief moment their eyes met, but his were as blank as the stony church walls.