Rhuddlan (47 page)

He forced a grin. “Roger! Thank God, some
sound company! The Bastard’s wife is more than I’d bargained for.
She was beginning to get on my nerves. Fortunately, the Bastard’s
captain has proposed a hunt for tomorrow, to which she is not
invited. I don’t think she’d be stupid enough to go anyway; I can
envision the Bastard happily chucking a javelin into her and
calling it an accident.”

A strange look came over Haworth’s face and
he forgot his previous jealousy. “My lord, do you think that’s what
they intend for you?”

Hugh laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous! A little
Welsh girl is nothing; they’d have more explaining to do with a
peer of the realm, for God’s sake—especially when Henry’s taxes
don’t arrive.” He went to the side table and poured himself a cup
of wine. “Where were you all evening?”

“I was on a hunt of my own.”

“What do you mean?”

Haworth’s whole demeanor changed abruptly. He
looked very self-satisfied and even grinned. “My lord, the countess
is here.”

“The countess?” Hugh repeated. A picture of
his mother sprang into his head.

“Your wife, my lord.”

Hugh was further confused. He put down his
wine cup, suspecting that too much drink had addled his mind. “What
are you talking about, Roger?”

“Countess Eleanor is here, my lord!” Haworth
said in an eager voice. “I’ve seen her. She’s dressed in common
clothes, but it’s her, I’m certain of it. I saw her face when we
first arrived and tonight I saw her walk and heard her voice.”

“I don’t believe this!”

“It’s the truth, my lord! You know I have a
good memory for people. The height she can’t disguise even with the
rough clothing. And I heard her! I was in the ward and I saw Alan
d’Arques speaking with a woman near the gatehouse. I only caught
the end of their conversation. They were making arrangements for
her to leave Rhuddlan.”

Hugh sobered. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
he asked and, when Haworth nodded, felt the wine sour in his
stomach. “But it’s impossible!”

“De Gournay never found her body. Only her
cloak.”

“It’s impossible…” Hugh repeated but with
less conviction. He frowned. “This Alan d’Arques. Why does his name
sound familiar?”

“He was squire once to Robert Bolsover.”

“Oh, yes—a relative of some sort, I think. Of
course he would know Eleanor. But this is unbelievable!” He looked
at Haworth, his eyes burning. “Are you absolutely certain, Roger? I
don’t want to be made fool of in front of William the Bastard.
Might it not be simple coincidence? A Welsh girl who has the
misfortune to resemble Eleanor?”

“Then why should this girl
want to leave Rhuddlan, my lord, if not for fear of discovery? She
said to d’Arques, what if he recognizes me? She meant
you
, my lord!”

Hugh had to sit. His head was spinning but he
doubted it was because of the wine. De Gournay had never found her
body…Could it really be possible?

“Where is she?” he asked grimly. “I want to
see her.”

“Shall I bring her to you?” Haworth’s voice
was eager.

“No. I don’t want the Bastard to know that I
know anything just yet. Because if he’s been harboring her, I’ll
have a sweet revenge. No, take me to her.”

Longsword and Delamere had retired to the
council chamber after supper, tired, disgruntled and morose. They
sat sprawled out in chairs, drinking wine and watching the flames
in the brazier settle into a dull glow. From time to time, one of
them would throw out some off-hand comment and the other would
grunt in response, but mostly they just sat and drank and stared
with an increasing lack of focus into the fire.

There was a sudden rap at the door which made
both of them jump. Ralph de Vire entered the chamber. “All’s well,
my lord—he’s in for the night. Past drunk; you won’t see him again
until the morning.”

They grunted simultaneously and de Vire
withdrew. Longsword felt exhausted, as if he’d spent the entire day
in battle. There was a dull ache in his neck which he hadn’t felt
in a week or more. What a day it had been…he was still annoyed that
Teleri had bested him at supper.

Thinking of his wife reminded him of Gladys.
Delamere was certain she was at the abbey and had told him to
forget about questioning Teleri further—it would serve no purpose
but to aggravate him even more.

He thought about Teleri’s accusation, that
Gladys had left Rhuddlan because he didn’t care about her any
longer and his affections had turned in Gwalaes’ direction.
Although it was true, he thought he had kept it his own secret.
Certainly he’d never acted on his feelings, except for refusing to
permit Gwalaes to return to the abbey. Delamere suspected, partly
because he knew Longsword so well and partly because of the
argument they’d had concerning peace with Llanlleyn. But he would
have sworn no one else even imagined such a thing, until Teleri had
practically shouted it before the entire population of the
fortress.

What did it matter, anyway? The healer
avoided him. He rarely saw her, either within the keep or without,
unless their paths crossed coincidentally. And even then, she
wouldn’t look at him except for a quick, polite smile and a hurried
curtsy.

Longsword could sum up the reason Gwalaes
avoided him in two words: Alan d’Arques. He believed she was in
love with the young, cheerful knight. Richard had seen the two of
them together many times and he himself had heard others talking
about them. Delamere could have given him advice; told him the
right words to say to get her away from d’Arques and into his bed,
but Delamere was still too annoyed at the peace he’d agreed to with
Llanlleyn to be rational on the subject of Gwalaes. That was
becoming a sore subject with Longsword as well, because considering
what he had done for her, he had expected a little more gratitude
in return than he’d so far received.

“Bloody women!” he muttered.

Delamere stirred. He opened one eye just
enough to squint in his friend’s direction. “What?”

“Do you realize that when we were part of the
king’s entourage and traveled with him from here to there to there
and back again, women were never any trouble?”

“That’s because you didn’t have very many,”
Delamere said sleepily, closing his eye and shifting into a more
comfortable position.

Longsword went on. “But three years in one
place and look at all the problems: Teleri’s jealousies and
schemes, Gladys’ misperceptions—”

“Misperception?” Delamere snapped awake. “Are
you referring to what Lady Teleri claimed was the reason Gladys was
so eager to leave Rhuddlan?”

“We don’t even know if that’s true,”
Longsword answered evasively. “That’s only what Teleri says. Who
knows? Teleri herself might have murdered her and left her body for
the wolves.”

“Will, if your wife were to
murder anybody, it would be
you
.”

“I don’t see why you’re having such a joke at
my expense,” Longsword retorted. “Last time you came back from a
visit with Olwen, your mood was none too good.”

Delamere hmmphed. “Olwen’s the finest woman
I’ve ever known but she’s a woman all the same and she’s got that
trouble common, it seems, to most women: she thinks I can read her
mind.”

It was fortunate, Longsword
thought, that Gwalaes couldn’t read
his
mind. On second thought, perhaps
she could. Perhaps that’s why she avoided him.

Suddenly he was sick to death of them all:
Teleri, Gladys, Gwalaes, Olwen and even the large-bosomed
red-haired woman who always seemed to press herself against him
whenever she leaned over to place something on the supper board. He
got up from his chair, rolled his shoulders and twisted his neck
from side to side. The cup from which he’d been drinking was still
in his hand and he heaved it across the small room where it crashed
with a grating metallic screech against the wall. Delamere looked
up in surprise.

“I don’t care about the lot of them,”
Longsword informed him. “I just want my son.”

Delamere grinned. “The way your luck is
running, Will, I expect you’ll have a daughter.”

Eleanor pushed in the chapel door hesitantly.
“Alan?” she whispered into the gloom. When there was no response,
she stepped over the threshold and raised her voice. “Alan?”

Hugh moved into the faint light cast by the
holy flame which burned day and night on the altar. Although
Haworth had ultimately convinced him, it was shocking nevertheless
to see her standing right in front of him. For an instant, his mind
was blank.

Eleanor gasped, and that broke the spell. All
at once it came back to him…her fear of him…the physical power he’d
had over her…the unbearable truth that she was alive while her
brother was not…he felt the familiar hatred rise in him.

Seeing her reminded him of Chester, which he
had also lost.

A flash of light suddenly cut through the
shadows. Haworth, who’d been waiting outside the chapel, loomed
behind Eleanor with a torch. As he brushed past her to fit the
torch into a sconce on the wall, she shrank away from him, the fear
apparent in her face.

Hugh studied her in the yellow light.
Although not dressed as finely, she looked much the same as she had
the last time he’d seen her, almost five years ago. Still drab,
still ungainly. The undyed, coarse homespun she wore only worsened
her appearance. Every time he looked at her, he found himself
amazed that this was the sister of one of the most handsome,
charming men he’d ever known.

She stood nervously, clutching her elbows in
her hands, her eyes averted. Her breathing was rapid. Was it fright
or just the shock of seeing him again? In the last month of their
relationship, right before he’d gone off to join the Young King’s
rebellion, she had seemed to have lost her fear of him. If he had
approached her, she hadn’t cowered; if he had struck her, she had
taken the blow silently. The lack of response had lessened his
power over her.

Certainly she shouldn’t have been shocked by
the sight of him. She knew he had come to Rhuddlan to see
Longsword; the fortress wasn’t so big that news of a visitor
wouldn’t reach the furthest corner. And Haworth swore she’d been
making plans with d’Arques to leave because he was there…

So…it was fright. He felt a surge of
confidence.

“The last I heard,” he said to her, “you’d
been torn apart by a pack of wolves. Your recovery is a miracle, to
say the least.”

She did not respond.

“I was assured by de Gournay that everything
had been done to find you,” he continued. “Apparently, he never
thought to look as far as Rhuddlan. I’m sure he, above all others,
will be pleased to learn of your resurrection…If he does not
already know it.”

She raised her head at the insinuation.
“Whatever report Sir Miles made to you was the truth as far as he
knew,” she said in a quiet voice. “I didn’t need his help to get
here.”

“No? Then why don’t you tell
me how you
did
get
here.”

She was silent for so long that he thought
she wasn’t going to answer the question but then she said, “I
walked.”

“Walked?” he echoed incredulously. “You
walked from Chester to Rhuddlan? I don’t believe it!” He laughed a
little at the notion. Even Roger of Haworth’s dour face twisted
itself into something that might have been a grin.

“Perhaps I’m a bit more clever than you
think, my lord,” she said.

He eyed her thoughtfully. “Does the Bastard
know who you are?”

“Lord William knows who
I
am,
” she
answered. “But not who I
was.
No one here knows and that’s fine with me, my
lord. As far as the world is concerned the countess of Chester is
dead. You may ride out of here and live the rest of your life a
free man.”

“How very kind of you to
give me advice,” he said. “There’s only one problem. The countess
of Chester quite obviously is
not
dead and while she lives I can’t remarry.
That
means I can’t get an
heir. And I must, Eleanor, have an heir. If I simply walked away
from Rhuddlan, pretended I never saw you here, remarried and had a
child with another woman, that child—my heir—would be illegitimate.
Perhaps that doesn’t matter much to you or to the Bastard, but I’ll
be damned if I’ll permit my earldom to pass into the hands of the
Crown after everything Henry’s taken from me already!”

His voice had risen sharply with each angry
sentence. Once, his explosion would have been enough to send her
cowering into a corner. But her reaction now was startling. With
every sentence, her posture became a little straighter, her gaze a
little bolder. By the time he was through, she no longer seemed at
all fearful of him.

“That doesn’t matter to me, my lord,” she
said at length. “I live in Gwynedd now. I will never go back to
England.”

“You are my wife—”

“Not anymore, my lord!” she interrupted. Her
voice trembled because she had never before dared to cut him off,
but she did not back down. “I—I belong to another now.”

There was a moment of shocked silence. Behind
them, Haworth sucked in his breath.

“What?” Hugh asked softly. “What did you
say?”

She lifted her chin. “Lord William will not
let me leave.”

His eyes burned into hers until finally, she
looked away. “Are you telling me that you’re the Bastard’s whore?”
he demanded angrily. She didn’t answer. He took a deep breath and
tried to consider the prospect rationally. It didn’t make sense to
him. Longsword was just too unappealing. “I don’t believe you,” he
said to her in a calmer voice. “You’re bluffing. The Bastard
wouldn’t know what to do with a woman if she threw herself into his
arms. His own wife told me that. But—” Without warning, he reached
out and grabbed her wrist, pulling her up close to him so that
their faces were barely inches apart. It gave him pleasure to hear
her cry out as she had often done in the past. “But if I find out
you’re not,” he added menacingly, “I swear to God I’ll kill
you.”