Castle of Dreams (29 page)

“It’s not the same any more,” Branwen said
bitterly. “More and more people are putting themselves under Lord
Guy’s protection and are leaving their old homes to settle near the
castle or in the town itself, to work on the castle or tend the
fields here, and they all listen to Father Herbert preach and take
his words to heart. They are forgetting the old ways too quickly.
Fewer people come to the cave these days.”

“I’m sorry,” Meredith said. “I didn’t
know.”

“Rhys was right to send you here. At least
you will eat. Meredith, could you give me a little bread? I can eat
what I gather in the forest. Even now there is a little cress
beginning to grow in the stream, and there are always the roots,
but Rhys needs something more substantial, and all our cheese is
eaten.” Branwen looked as though she might cry. Meredith knew that
for a woman as proud as her aunt, begging was the ultimate
humiliation. Branwen would never have done it for herself. Only for
Rhys would she have humbled herself to ask for food.

“I’ll talk to the cook. Wait here.” Meredith
returned a short time later with a heavily laden basket slung over
one arm. It contained a portion of the food always kept for beggars
who came to the castle gates.

“There is bread and some cheese and butter. I
know Rhys likes that,” she said. “I’m going with you, Branwen. Lady
Isabel is out hunting with Lord Guy and his guests, so I’m free for
a while.”

“No, you must stay here. Rhys would be angry
if he knew I had come to you.” Branwen took the basket. As she did,
Sir Brian walked through the gate. Meredith hastily stepped in
front of Branwen so he wouldn’t see the basket of food as he passed
them. She knew Guy would not mind her giving food to her friends,
but if Lady Isabel found out about it she would make a great fuss
and begin asking questions and soon Father Herbert would know of
it, and Meredith did not want either of them to know about Rhys and
Branwen.

“Good day, Meredith,” Brian looked from
Meredith to Branwen. Meredith saw a subtle change come over him
when he saw her aunt. Brian’s somber face lightened and his wide
mouth curved into a smile. Instead of walking by them as Meredith
had assumed he would, Brian stopped. “I haven’t seen this lady at
Afoncaer before.”

“Branwen doesn’t live at the castle,”
Meredith said, still trying to keep the basket of food hidden.
“She’s a friend of mine.”

“I see, Branwen, is it? Welsh.” Brian studied
the woman before him. She was almost exactly his own height, and
perhaps four or five years older than he. Branwen’s cheeks colored
a deep pink under Brian’s steady appraisal, and she suddenly looked
younger and prettier. A single curl blew gently across Branwen’s
forehead. Her dark eyes were bright, thick-lashed, and clear as
they met Brian’s liquid gaze.

“I am half Welsh,” Brian told her. “My mother
was captured in a Norman raid into Deheubarth. My father was a
Norman knight.”

“Did he marry her?” Branwen asked, a certain
edge in her voice, though her smile remained and her eyes carried
no challenge.

“No, but he saw to it that I was raised as a
Norman and had enough money to become a knight. However,” Brian
laughed, still not taking his eyes off Branwen’s flushed face,
“there’s something in me that’s not quite Norman.”

Branwen moved then, and he saw what she was
holding.

“What’s in the basket?” he asked.

“Food,” Meredith said, deciding to trust him.
“It’s not stolen. The cook gave it to me. It’s only leftovers, and
it’s for a friend who is sick. But please don’t tell anyone. Lady
Isabel is – she’s…”

“Difficult?” Brian suggested. “All right, I
won’t give away your secret. Branwen, where are you going? My horse
cast a shoe and I had to walk him back from the hunt. The
blacksmith has him now and I was just going to saddle my other one.
If you like, I’ll take you up behind me and save you walking on
this cold day. I can rejoin my companions later.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Branwen backed
away as though she was afraid of the dark, battle-scarred man
before her. “It’s only a short distance. Goodbye, Meredith.” She
was through the inner gate and halfway to the outer wall before
Meredith could make a move to stop her.

“Now what do you suppose made her run away
like that?” Brian asked. “Could it be me?”

“Aunt Branwen isn’t used to strangers.”

“Aunt Branwen, is it? And is it your uncle
who’s sick?”

“My aunt is a widow.”

“She’s very pretty.” Brian grinned. “So are
you. You make an interesting pair. Where does she live?”

“Far away.”

“That’s not what she said.”

“Please, don’t ask me questions about
it.”

“So many secrets.” Brian gazed thoughtfully
down the main road of the new town toward the gate in the outer
wall where Branwen had vanished. “Ah, well, she’s Welsh. That
explains it.”

That night after Vespers, Walter fitz Alan
and Brian of Collen agreed to remain at Afoncaer as Lord Guy’s
knights. They knelt in the rude wooden chapel and each man in turn
placed his hands in Guy’s, accepting him as liege lord and swearing
fealty unto death.

Meredith was deeply moved by the simple
ceremony, and impressed by Guy’s dignity. He looked down upon his
dark-haired, kneeling friends, his own golden hair shining in the
candlelight. He had donned a wine-colored wool tunic and a gilded
belt for the occasion, and Meredith thought he must be the
handsomest, noblest man on earth.

“No good will come of this,” Isabel muttered
as Guy raised first Walter and then Brian and embraced each
man.

“The lord of Afoncaer needs knights to serve
him, does he not?” Meredith asked.

“Yes, but not these two.” Isabel glared at
her maid. “What do you know of such things?”

“Nothing, my lady.” Meredith lowered her eyes
and pretended humility, knowing that would pacify her mistress, and
Isabel left the chapel in a swirl of green silk skirts.

Meredith would rather not have Sir Walter
living at Afoncaer, any more than Isabel would. He had never
bothered her again after the episode on Christmas Day, but she
disliked the man intensely.

Meredith could not fathom Isabel’s true
feelings about Walter. She clearly enjoyed the elaborate attention
he paid to her and she flirted with him shamelessly, but all was
done in public. Isabel never saw Walter in private. Meredith was
certain of that. There simply was no time in the day when Isabel
was not in the company of her women, or Father Herbert, or
presiding as mistress of the castle in the great hall with a great
many people around her. After thinking about it for a while,
Meredith finally decided that Isabel really was playing with
Walter, and he, whatever his own true feelings, had no choice but
to follow Isabel’s lead. Meredith wondered how long Walter would
endure such treatment.

A few days after Walter and Brian had become
his knights, Guy confronted his brother’s widow in the women’s
quarters.

“Isabel, we must talk.” Hands on hips he
glowered down at his sister-in-law, who sat at her needlework.

Isabel was embroidering an altar cloth for
the new chapel in the tower keep, which was scheduled to be
completed during the coming summer. The multicolored silk threads
she was using had become badly tangled, and Meredith had been
assigned to sort them out. A piece of clean linen was spread on the
table, and Meredith bent over it, working at the threads. As she
extracted each thread from the pile before her she smoothed it
between her fingers and laid it to one side with others of the same
shade.

She did not mind the tedious task. She liked
to look at the brilliant, glowing colors, and she loved the feeling
of the silk threads sliding through her fingers as she worked with
them. She kept her head down, trying to pretend Guy wasn’t there,
so close she could touch him if she put out her hand. Meredith
could imagine what her sharp-tongued mistress would say if she did
such a thing.

“If you want to talk about Thomas,” Isabel
said, stabbing her silver needle through heavy linen to make a
bright blue loop of thread, then bringing the needle out again,
“You must know I seldom see him these days. He is constantly with
Geoffrey, or that dreadful, crude Brian. Learning to use weapons,
he says. Learning to ride a warhorse. My son has no time for me any
more.”

“It’s not about Thomas.”

“What then? You can have no complaints about
my management of your household.”

“Oh, I have a complaint. One I’ve warned you
about several times, but you pay me no heed.” Guy held out a piece
of parchment, shaking it under Isabel’s nose. Isabel pricked her
finger and a drop of blood fell onto the cloth in her hands.

“Now see what you’ve made me do. How can you
speak so cruelly to me?” Isabel’s eyes began to fill with tears.
She tossed the embroidery onto the table and began sucking on her
injured finger like a sulky child.

“Don’t you dare start that infernal crying
again,” Guy raged. “You have been charming Reynaud into writing
letters for you, ordering expensive furniture and tapestries and
God knows what else, for Afoncaer.”

“Is that all? I thought it was something
serious. You must live in a suitable setting, Guy, to impress those
who are your inferiors. Not to mention important guests. Perhaps
the king and queen will visit us one day. They are my friends, you
know.” Guy snorted, and Isabel’s beautiful face hardened. “If you
do not know what is due to your rank, I do.”

“This list,” Guy waved the parchment at her
again, “is evidence of expenditures too great for the king
himself.”

“You cannot possibly know that,” Isabel said
reasonably. “You can’t read.”

“Reynaud read it to me,” Guy told her between
clenched teeth.

“How do you know he was truthful? The man is
an interfering fool who disapproves of anything that makes life
more pleasant.”

“You used him to order things you wanted for
your own pleasure without consulting me, after you had promised to
be more thrifty. Reynaud was honest enough to tell me about it.
God’s Holy Teeth, Isabel, are you deliberately trying to ruin
me?”

Isabel stood up. She was so tall her eyes
were nearly level with Guy’s as she faced him, her anger more than
matching his own.

“If you don’t approve of my efforts in your
behalf, I’ll be glad to leave Afoncaer forever, leave you to live
in manly squalor, without a touch of refinement or elegance. I’ll
go somewhere else. Perhaps I shall marry again after all.”

“Marry?” Guy gave a shout of exasperated,
derisive laughter. “Were I the Holy Roman Emperor, I could not find
a man to take you, dear sister. You are too well-known from the
days when my brother was alive. Weeping, nagging, spendthrift. Pah!
Women! A worthless pack of whiners.” Guy held up the parchment
again, crumpling it in his hand. “No more. Not one more chair or
tapestry or candlestick. Do you understand me?” He tossed the
parchment onto the table where Meredith was working, then turned on
his heel and left the women’s quarters, slamming the door into the
great hall behind him with such force the entire partition
shook.

Meredith picked up the parchment, but Isabel
snatched it out of her hand.

“What are you gaping at, idiot? Oh, if I were
a man, I’d run him through! If only I had a sword!”

“Calm yourself, my lady.” Meredith had seen
Lady Isabel’s temper before, but never an outburst like this.
“Please sit down. Let me get you some wine.”

“How can I calm myself when he has insulted
me like this? And in front of a serving wench, too. How dare he?
He’ll pay for this. I’ll find a way to pay him back if it takes all
my life to do it.” Isabel began pacing back and forth, her anger
nearly uncontrollable.

Meredith wished the other women were there to
help her soothe their mistress, but Joan was busy with Isabel’s
personal laundry and the rest were preparing the mid-day meal.
Meredith poured out a cup of wine and went to Isabel.

“Here, my lady, drink this.”

Isabel turned suddenly in her agitated
pacing, her elbow striking the cup in Meredith’s hand and knocking
it out of her grasp. Thick red wine splattered over the work table,
soaking the threads Meredith had been sorting as well as Isabel’s
embroidery.

Both Meredith’s hands flew to her mouth and
she cried out in consternation. It would be nearly impossible to
get the wine stain out of the linen, and even if that were done,
the fine embroidery on which Isabel had worked for months would be
ruined. As for the bright-colored threads, they were now a sodden,
red-brown mess.

“Look what you’ve done!” Isabel
screeched.

“I? You hit my hand. Why couldn’t you be more
careful?”

“You willful, insubordinate creature!”

Meredith heard Isabel’s wild cry and saw her
hand striking out, but she could not move. Isabel hit her across
the cheek so hard that Meredith stumbled and would have fallen had
not a pair of youthful arms caught and steadied her.

“Mother, what are you doing?” Thomas’s face
was white, his eyes wide. “Don’t hit Meredith.”

“She’s my servant. Don’t interfere. You
shouldn’t be here, anyway. You are so grownup; go to the stables
with the other men and leave me to discipline my maid.”

Isabel was breathing hard. Meredith, beneath
anger and pain and damaged pride, noticed that Isabel was not
weeping. Apparently her tears were a weapon to be used only on
grown men.

“Reynaud sent me to see what the noise was,”
Thomas explained, his arms still about Meredith’s waist. “We could
hear you in the hall.”

“Reynaud. That viper.” Isabel’s eyes fell on
the destruction on the work table. “Meredith, clean up this mess
and then get out of my sight. I don’t want to see you for the rest
of the day. I’ll decide on your punishment later.”