Castle of Dreams (27 page)

A troupe of acrobats and minstrels had come
with the guests, willing to venture into the wilderness of the
Welsh border under the protection of Walter fitz Alan’s guards and
hoping for largesse not only from their host but also from the
other revelers who did not often enjoy such entertainment. The
acrobats performed in the open space bordered by the tables, and
then, when they had finished, one of the minstrels carried a low
stool to the center of the room near the firepit, perched himself
on it, and began to sing, accompanying himself on his lute.

Meredith, her serving chores finished for the
moment, stationed herself behind Lady Isabel’s carved chair in case
her mistress should want something. It was a good position. When
she tired of watching the jugglers and acrobats she could look at
Guy without anyone being aware of her interest in him. He sat just
on her left, talking and laughing with Brian. Meredith could not
hear what he was saying, but it was pleasant just to watch him. He
had discarded his tunic and hose in favor of the long, full robe
usually worn indoors. Guy’s robe was of finely woven blue-green
wool, embroidered in gold at sleeve and hem. A heavy gold chain
hung on his chest, bearing the badge of the baron of Afoncaer. His
golden hair gleamed in the light of dozens of torches and
candles.

If she put out her hand she could touch his
smooth head and run her fingers along the edge of his jaw. She
remembered his kisses, the feeling of his burning lips on hers, and
the careful way he had avoided her ever since that night in the
unfinished tower.

She must not let herself think of such
things. She made herself think of Lady Isabel instead. She picked
up a pitcher and refilled Isabel’s wine cup and then Walter’s. She
stood behind and between their chairs now, deliberately not looking
at Guy. The minstrel was singing a low, mournful song, not entirely
audible over the voices of the diners.

Meredith could hear Isabel and Walter quite
clearly. At first she paid no attention to their conversation, but
the mention of Guy’s name caught her ear.

“Guy is fortunate,” Walter was saying. “King
Henry is fond of him, and Lionel died most conveniently. Would that
the king could see fit to make me a baron and grant me such rich
estates.” Walter gave an exaggerated sigh.

“Guy earned the right to rule Afoncaer by his
loyalty to Henry before ever he became king,” Isabel said.

“Yes, I know the story, sweet lady. Guy is my
friend, don’t forget. He was clever to absent himself from the
scandal around Lionel and King William until Henry had succeeded
his brother on the throne. There’s nothing like a voyage to the
Holy Land to make a man appear spotless and free from sin. Guy is
uncomfortably pure, don’t you think? He doesn’t even have any
illegitimate children.” Walter grinned, apparently unaware of the
deep flush that suddenly spread over Isabel’s face and throat. “No
bastards that I know of, at any rate. Even in Byzantium, that city
of unspeakably delicious vices, Guy lived a blameless life. Or if
not, he was too discreet for me to find out what he was up to.”

“He was on crusade. His thoughts were
undoubtedly on heavenly concerns,” Isabel said, her dainty nose in
the air.

“So was I on crusade,” Walter said. “Guy went
to earn a little credit with heaven for making the journey, while I
– I went to try to forget your beautiful blue eyes. Unfortunately,
even the pleasures of Byzantium did not help my quest. I never
succeeded in forgetting you.”

“You should not say such things to me,”
Isabel protested.

“Why not? You are no longer married. A lovely
widow, freed of the burden of a loathsome husband, may hear
compliments from any knight without fear. How fortunate for me that
Guy brought you to Wales with him.”

“I am an unwilling exile. I detest this
place.”

“I’m sure you have found some method of
extracting gold from your brother-in-law so that you may continue
your extravagant ways.”

“I am not extravagant,” Isabel declared. “I
am helping Guy. He needs someone of refined taste to see to the
decoration and furnishing of his new home. He is a wealthy baron
now, no longer merely a knight and a younger son. He should live in
a manner befitting his new station.”

“And you will help him to do that? And
bankrupt him while you are at it, I’ll wager. Guy was always too
generous and kind-hearted. Does he pay for your gowns, too?” Walter
lightly touched Isabel’s silk sleeve.

“I have no wish to look like a peasant,”
Isabel said sharply. “I have nothing else to divert me in this
miserable country.”

“No? Poor Lady Isabel.” Walter gave her a sly
smile and leaned closer. “Ah, my love, if only I were a wealthy
baron like Guy, I would ask the king to give you to me for wife. I
would give you all the gowns and jewels you wanted, and I’d keep
you diverted, I promise you. Especially at night.”

Isabel swallowed hard and did not answer.

“Would you not like to be mistress of a
castle such as Afoncaer, wife to a strong lord? Would that please
you, Isabel?”

“It would please anyone.” Isabel was blushing
again. “I have little dowry, Walter. I know your situation as a
younger son. You must marry an heiress.”

“And love you only from afar, Isabel?”

“It can’t be helped. Guy would never let me
marry a poor man, even if I wanted to, which I don’t.”

“Would you marry me if I were rich?”

“You should not be discussing such matters
with me. If you wish to ask for my hand, talk to Guy.”

“In my present situation he would refuse me,
and that would end our friendship. Then I would be forced to leave
Afoncaer, and if that happened, I could no longer see you. But I
ask you again, Isabel, if I had prospect of becoming a great lord,
would you accept me then?”

Isabel’s gaze locked on Walter’s, and his
hand covered hers where it rested on the table. He bent toward
her.

“I would do anything for you,” Walter
whispered hoarsely. “Anything.”

The food had been cleared away, the trestle
tables removed. Those guests who did not routinely sleep in the
great hall had gone home. Meredith had helped Lady Isabel undress
and had seen her into bed before going to the kitchen, which was
set a little apart from the great hall, to help with the last of
the cleaning-up.

“There are more servants coming from
Adderbury,” Joan told her as they washed wooden or silver platters
and drinking cups. “They should be here soon, and then you and I
won’t have to do this kind of work. We came here with a minimal
household staff. There was no place to house extra servants, and
soldiers were more important than kitchen wenches or laundresses.
But now, thanks to Master Reynaud, there will be beds for all in
another week or two.”

“He’s an odd man, isn’t he, yet he seems
quite pleasant.”

“He reads books,” Joan said. “People who can
read and write are different from the rest of us.”

Meredith started to say that she, too, could
read a little, but then she thought better of it. She liked Joan,
who was the closest thing to a woman friend she had ever had, and
she did not want to put a distance between them by revealing
something about herself that Joan would not be able to understand.
Meredith had so far succeeded in hiding her true origins, she and
Guy having concocted a story that she was the daughter of a Saxon
farmer fallen on hard times, and she did not want to reveal her
connection to the strange people who lived in the forest.

With the kitchen chores finished at last,
Joan settled down by the fire to chat with her friend the cook, and
Meredith, bidding them goodnight, started back to the women’s
quarters. The cold December air was bracing after the heat of the
kitchen and the midnight sky dazzled her with stars beyond
counting. Living in the forest and enclosed by trees, she’d seldom
enjoyed a wide view of the heavens.

Meredith stopped, breathing deeply, sharp
cleanness filling her lungs. All around her Afoncaer slumbered
after the feasting. Only the footsteps of the sentry posted at the
gate broke the dark stillness. She moved to the open space at the
center of the inner bailey and looked up at the stars, then flung
out her arms as if to embrace the entire sparkling firmament,
spinning around and around, and then around once more, nearly dizzy
with joy in the beauty above her, twirling, twirling, until a
dark-cloaked figure coming from the direction of the gate caught
her by one hand, stopping her.

She did not cry out. She saw starshine on
pale hair, heard a voice she knew in her heart’s core.

“Meredith? What are you doing out here alone
past midnight?”

“Looking at the stars. I thought everyone was
asleep.”

“Everyone is. Except the sentry. I was just
making certain of that.” Guy’s face tilted upward, lit by a silvery
shimmer. “The stars are beautiful, aren’t they? The Saracens have
names for most of them.”

“How can they? There are so many.”

He still held her hand, his fingers woven
between hers. She could feel the warmth of his body across the
narrow darkness that separated them. Her heart began to pound with
an exaltation compounded of his touch and the glorious, star-filled
night.

“There are more stars than you can imagine,”
Guy said. “There are stars we cannot see here in Wales for they are
hidden below the horizon. You must travel far to the south to see
them.”

“To the world’s end?”

“To the world’s end and back again, for the
Saracens say the world is round.”

She heard his soft laugh and turned toward
him. She could hardly see him. His face, bent down toward hers, was
in shadow. She felt his arms go around her. His mouth was cool at
first, like the chill, distant stars. But not for long. The
December night blazed with beauty greater than that of the heavens.
It was as though the very act of touching her unleashed something
nearly uncontrollable in him. It had happened before, the other
times he had kissed her.

Meredith did not know what it was that
happened to him, she could only sense it, but she knew her own
response, the melting, rapturous sensations, the desire to move
closer and closer, until she and Guy were one being, united for all
time. She was dimly aware of her hands sliding beneath his cloak,
along the soft indoor robe he still wore, feeling the strong, hard
muscles of his back as she pressed him toward her, holding him
tighter, tighter. His arms, like heavy, corded ropes, held her
against his chest so she could not move, while his mouth forced
hers open and his tongue plunged into her. She gave a strangled cry
then accepted him, feeling the hot, velvety thrust, meeting it with
her own gentler surge, needing to meet him, to follow his lead, to
learn all she could of his desires. Her fingers clutched
convulsively at the back of his robe, kneading the wool. They stood
thigh to thigh and thundering heart against trembling bosom while
he stirred her senses to a ravishing, feverish pitch, until she
could no longer hold herself upright but leaned against him for
support. When he let her go at last the stars swirled about the
heavens over her head in wild, love-crazed patterns, unseen and
unimagined since the beginning of time.

She could not speak. She leaned against him
weakly, her head snuggled into the warm curve between his chin and
shoulder, his arms holding her more gently now. His breath came
hard, and his heart still pounded. She could feel it against her
own and knew the same storm raged in his blood, too, knew he felt
the same demanding urge to blend his body with hers. He let her go
after a while, setting her away from him and holding her by the
shoulders until she found her own balance.

“No,” she protested softly, reaching out her
arms toward him to draw him close once more. She felt the caress of
his large, square hand along her cheek.

“I have promised Rhys no harm will come to
you while you are at Afoncaer,” Guy said. “At this moment I deeply
regret that promise, but by my honor, I will not break it.”

“How can there be harm?” She stopped. She
wanted to say, how can there be harm in loving you? But she knew
without asking and without being told. He was a noble and she a
fatherless girl, a servant, nothing. There would be no harm to him
in it, but great harm to her. He was protecting her. He cared
enough for her, and for his promise to Rhys, to restrain himself.
Branwen had always said Norman barons did whatever they wanted.
Here was one who did not, and his self-control made her love and
want him all the more. She put out one hand, and he took it and
kissed it tenderly.

“Leave me,” he said, his voice tight.
“Please, Meredith. I beg you. Go.”

She pressed hot, feverish lips on the hand
still holding hers, then tore herself away. It was like tearing
herself in two.

She lay on the straw pallet in the women’s
quarters, burning with need of him. She could still feel his body
pressed to hers, feel his arms around her. His lips – ah, his lips.
She stifled a moan. On the floor beside her, Edith, the kitchen
wench, stirred at the sound, and in the big wooden bed, Lady Isabel
turned over restlessly. Meredith lay stiff and quiet, not wanting
to waken anyone.

She loved him. She had loved him with all her
heart and soul since the first moment she had seen him, and it was
hopeless, hopeless, hopeless. She wept hot, bitter tears, not even
daring to sniffle, lest someone waken and question her. Then she
would have to speak and they would know she was crying. She lay
awake until the first faint grey light of dawn crept around the
edges of the door to the bailey.

In a burst of generosity, Lady Isabel sorted
through her wardrobe, choosing garments she no longer wanted and
giving them to her servants.