Midnight Magic (14 page)

So none of her family knew and so wouldn’t be here to see her wed. Guilt niggled at him. After all, he had told her to invite them. That she hadn’t was her decision. Their absence wasn’t his fault.

“Gwendolyn—”

“You are Lady Gwendolyn?”

The Welshman’s interruption didn’t sit well, and Alberic could have kicked himself for raising his voice loud enough for ap Idwal to overhear.

“I am,” Gwendolyn answered.

Ap Idwal bent over in what Alberic considered an overblown bow.

“’Tis my greatest pleasure to at last set eyes upon you, my lady.”

Gwendolyn wasn’t ap Idwal’s “lady,” and he’d paid her utterly no heed until learning her identity. The dolt.

“My thanks,” Gwendolyn answered simply.

“On my oath, I shall do all that is possible to convince the king to honor your father’s wishes in the matter of our betrothal.”

Gwendolyn gave the man a sad smile. “I fear ’tis too late for that, Madog.”

“Surely, until vows are exchanged, there is hope.”

Alberic decided ap Idwal’s hope begged dashing. “You are mistaken, ap Idwal,” he said, drawing the man’s gaze from Gwendolyn. “Lady Gwendolyn will make a fine lady of Camelen, do you not think?”

Ap Idwal’s affability disappeared, instantly replaced by irritation. His gaze darted to Gwendolyn and then back again.

“She is to marry you?”

Alberic flashed an affirming smile as his answer.

“By order of the king?”

“With his permission.”

Ap Idwal tossed a hand in the air. “So you intended to send me on a fool’s errand.”

The man’s wits were far from slow.

“You seemed so set on it.”

Irritation flared to hostility.

“Does Norman audacity know no limits?” ap Idwal shouted. “You show no respect for the rights of others. You see a thing you want, you set out to obtain it. What you cannot obtain by legal means, you seize as if that possession were granted you by divine right!”

“I seized nothing,” Alberic rejoined. “Camelen was lost to the king at Wallingford. ’Twas within his rights to grant the barony to whomever he chose.”

“And the daughters, too, no doubt.”

“Upon Sir Hugh’s death, the daughters became the king’s wards. Aye, he has the right to decide their fate.”

Ap Idwal drew himself up to a haughty stance. “’Tis my fondest wish that your King Stephen falls, and the Empress Maud along with him. Neither of them deserves the power they fight over. Perhaps with them gone, the next man who wears the English crown will be one of reason and compassion, and recognize that people are not his personal pawns.”

With that, he spun on his heel and strode toward the door.

Good riddance.

Gwendolyn grabbed his sleeve. “I must have a word with Madog before he leaves.”

“Whatever for?”

“I wish him to carry a message to my kin!”

Not a good idea.
“In his present mood he may refuse.”

“Please, Alberic. A moment only.”

The Welshman stormed out the door. Within moments he would pass through the gate and out of their lives.

But Alberic couldn’t bring himself to refuse Gwendolyn’s request outright. She seemed resigned to their marriage, and he couldn’t lock her away until the morning she became his bride to ensure her cooperation. He had to begin trusting her sometime, but trust came hard and with serious reservations.

“You will give me your oath you will not try to leave Camelen with ap Idwal.”

She didn’t hesitate. “You have my oath.”

He probably shouldn’t believe her. She’d certainly given him reason not to trust her word. But he couldn’t resist the plea in her eyes and voice.

“You had best hurry if you hope to catch him.”

She flashed him a smile before she bolted out of her seat and scurried across the hall.

Still leery, he waved a hand at Roger. “Follow her ladyship. Give her a measure of privacy, but ensure ap Idwal leaves—without the Lady Gwendolyn—the moment they are done talking.”

Gwendolyn caught her prey halfway across the bailey.

Anger flowed from Madog ap Idwal like heat from an open flame.

“My apologies, Madog,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “You came a long way for naught. I would have had it otherwise.”

His ire faded somewhat. “So would I, my lady.” He tilted his head. “What brings you out here? Dare I hope his lordship has changed his mind?”

She gave him a small smile. “Nay, but he did grant me permission to speak to you before you left.”

“How generous.” Then he put aside his anger and sarcasm. “I truly am sorry for your loss, Gwendolyn. Losing loved ones, no matter how, is hard to bear. I did not know your brother, but your father was a good man, despite his being Norman.”

“I thank you for that.” Gwendolyn decided not to remind him that she was half Norman. The man’s dislike ran too deep for her taste. Hoping to lighten the mood further, she continued, “And I do wish you better fortune with your next betrothal. Perhaps a dark-haired beauty with a hefty dowry.”

He smiled, as she hoped he would, but something in the twist of his mouth gave her pause.

“You have no cause to rank others above you, my lady. The size of your dowry had naught to do with my agreement to the bargain your father offered. He sang praises of your charm and grace, and I developed an affection for you before he finished speaking. I feel the loss of you far more than the loss of your dowry.”

What lovely words, and Gwendolyn recognized each one as a falsehood. Had Madog developed an affection for her, he would not have insisted on a yearlong betrothal, and surely would have come to meet her before now.

His inconstancy made her wonder at what sort of man he truly was, for now she saw the insincerity in the mannerisms he’d displayed in the hall. And that flaw made her wonder if her father had chosen her husband with as much care as he should have. She might not be inclined to marry Alberic, but she didn’t think she wanted to wed Madog, either.

This truly confused her. She had always imagined she would fall deeply, rapturously in love with her betrothed at first meeting, instinctively recognizing him as her heart and soul’s mate. How terribly disappointing to discover she’d made a grave error.

Not only did Madog fail to engage her heart, she felt no physical attraction as she did with Alberic. No heat. Not a tingle. No appeal whatsoever.

Disconcerting, but of certainty.

“My thanks,” she said, hoping her insincerity didn’t sound so blatant as his. “Might I ask you to do me a small service?”

“My time and life are yours to command.”

Gwendolyn resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “My uncle Connor and other Welsh kin may not yet know of my father’s and brother’s deaths. I am sure they do not know of the fate of my sisters or of my wedding. May I impose upon you to inform Connor, who can spread the news?”

His brow furrowed. “You have not notified him as yet?”

She’d seen no need to send a messenger when she’d planned to tell Connor after she arrived at his manor. If she’d managed to escape last night, she would be far into Wales by now.

“Up until this morn, I had planned to journey into Wales and tell him myself. That is no longer possible.”

The furrows in his brow deepened. “By yourself?” he asked, then his eyes widened in surprise. “You intended to escape! Can you still? I am willing to aid you in any manner possible.”

The offer proved tempting, but leaving was no longer one of her choices. Even if she could slip by the guards, and she knew Alberic must have sent Roger out to watch over her, she couldn’t leave Camelen without the seal of the dragon.

She shook her head. “’Tis too late. My guards are many and on alert. Escape cannot be arranged.”

And it came as a surprise that she felt a measure of relief in the finality of her fate. She would marry Alberic, and for reasons she couldn’t name, her situation no longer seemed unbearable.

Madog began to pace. “Surely there is a way to secure your release before the wedding. I could appeal to the king, or execute a rescue. How much time do I have?”

“There is no time. We will be wed on the morn after next.”

“So soon?”

She had to put an end to his speculation. She didn’t want him to save her. How utterly odd she should feel this way.

“I beseech thee, Madog, to leave matters as they are. Any upheaval will only make matters worse. I will wed Alberic on the morn after next. On the day after the wedding Emma will leave for the king’s court in London, and Nicole for Bledloe Abbey. All this is done on the king’s order. Please, all I ask of you is to inform my uncle, and let him know I will send him a full report on our welfare as soon as I am able.”

He stared at her a long moment before he relented, his shoulders drooping slightly, his mouth set in a thin line. “This is how you would have it?”

“Nay, nothing is how I would have it, but this is the way things will be. If my father had lived . . .” She shrugged a shoulder. “But he did not, and so we pay the penalty for his support of Empress Maud. You should go now. There may be trouble if you linger overlong.”

He glanced about as if deciding whether to leave at all, so she began walking toward the gatehouse, giving Madog little choice but to follow suit. Roger, naturally, followed closely behind.

“You will send for me if you think of a way out of this entanglement,” Madog ordered.

A gallant offer, and not completely false. His own plans had been shattered, and Gwendolyn allowed that, for whatever his reasons, Madog had been prepared to carry through on his part of the betrothal bargain.

“I thank you for the offer, but entanglements are rarely unraveled. I wish you good journey, and pray give my regards to my kin.”

She halted several yards from the gatehouse and allowed Madog to take her hand, bow over it, and wish her fare-thee-well. His hand was cold, his bow too courtly, and she was glad he was leaving.

Unsettled, she forswore immediate return to the hall.

“Where are we going, my lady?” Roger asked.

“Onto the battlements.”

“For what reason?”

“Because I wish to.”

He had no argument for that, so he followed along in silence.

At the top, she waved off the guard who offered her a helmet, and looked down to see Madog ap Idwal, no longer her betrothed, cross the drawbridge to join the handful of men who awaited him. With fluid grace, he mounted his pony but didn’t ride off immediately.

A hand waving in the air, he spoke to his companions, likely relating what had happened in the hall. She couldn’t hear his words, but could imagine his tale.

As she watched Madog, a statement he’d made to Alberic came to the fore. He’d as good as wished both King Stephen and Empress Maud to the devil, preferring to see someone else, anyone else, sit on the English throne.

The thought struck her that King Arthur could be that someone else.

No one—not Norman, nor English, nor Welsh—could deny Arthur Pendragon’s right to wear the crown. Nor was there anyone who could unite the kingdom as could King Arthur. All would bow before him. All would welcome his rule.

Was it possible Madog had been hinting to her that he knew of the legacy, that the two of them could give England a third and better choice of king?

Sweet Jesu!
Had her father told Madog of the legacy? Would Hugh de Leon have felt compelled to ensure the man who was to marry the keeper of the pendant a willing partner as guardian to the legacy?

Possibly. And the thought made her shiver.

“My lady, the man on the black pony.”

Wrenched from her disturbing musings, Gwendolyn glanced down at the man Roger spoke of. “What of him?”

“Do my eyes deceive me, or is that not Edgar?”

Gwendolyn looked harder. “Aye, it is,” she said, very surprised to see one of Camelen’s former soldiers in Madog ap Idwal’s company.

Roger studied the man intently. “At Wallingford, Edgar was among those who chose not to accept Alberic as lord, so he did not return to Camelen with us. Now we know where he went.”

To Madog ap Idwal.

Gwendolyn remembered asking Emma if she thought one of the soldiers who chose not to swear fealty to Alberic might go to the Empress Maud or earl of Gloucester to inform them of Sir Hugh’s death and the loss of Camelen to a king’s man. Never had she imagined one of the soldiers might journey into Wales to inform Madog.

“I wonder why he went to Madog.”

She realized she’d voiced the thought aloud when Roger answered.

“I know not, my lady.” He straightened up and his visage darkened. “But I do know that Edgar is skilled with a bow. We must return to the hall and inform Lord Alberic.”

Within a heartbeat she realized Edgar could be the rogue archer! He could very well have made an attempt to murder Alberic, and upon failure, hurried into Wales and to Madog.

Why to Madog instead of her uncle? It mattered not at the moment.

“Go,” she told Roger. “Quickly, before they leave.”

Roger hesitated.

“Go! I am right behind you.”

Roger nigh flew down the stairs and had nearly crossed the bailey when Gwendolyn reached the last step. By the time she entered the hall, Roger and two others were rushing out, to haul Edgar back in, no doubt.

Alberic sat alone at the high table, both hands wrapped around his goblet, staring at the door. Watching for her to come in, she was sure.

It must have been hard for him to wait, likely thinking about her attempt to escape last night and wondering if she might try again. Her oath notwithstanding, he had reason not to trust her.

As she could trust him. Astonishing, but true.

Not once had he told her a falsehood. Certes, he’d delayed confessing his part in William’s death, but when confronted, he hadn’t denied his involvement or made excuses. To her knowledge he made no false promises to anyone at Camelen, and made a valorous attempt to ensure the change in lordship was peaceful and without undue hardship.

Aware he’d watched her since she entered the hall, Gwendolyn made her way to the dais and took her place beside him.

Her place? Aye, she supposed this chair was now hers as lady of Camelen, a position she’d never dreamed to claim.