The Shining City (13 page)

Rhiannon stared up at it. Even if she stood on her bed, she would not be able to reach it.

“It‟ll no‟ burn long,” the older guard said. “Best get used to the dark, lass. We do no‟ get much sunshine here at Sorrowgate Tower.”

Rhiannon nodded to show she understood, and the guards withdrew, locking and bolting the door behind them. Rhiannon sat gingerly upon her bed, looking about her. The single candle did not shed much light. The corners were full of shadows. After a while, she lay down, pulling the eiderdown over her. She did not sleep.

Dawn came slowly and with no fanfare of birds trilling or cocks crowing. As soon as it was light enough to see, Rhiannon got up and paced her room. It was five paces long and four paces wide.

There was one tiny window, very high up in the wall. Even if Rhiannon was able to scale the smooth stone wall, the window was too small for her to do more than thrust her head out of it.

The door was made of iron, with a slit through which an eye regularly appeared to check on her movements. After an hour or so of her pacing they brought her breakfast.

Rhiannon eyed the guards speculatively as they brought her tray in, wondering if she could somehow knock them out and escape that way. Both were tall, strong men, though, and well-armed. The first came in with his sword drawn and instructed her, gently but firmly, to sit on the bed while his companion set down the tray. The second soldier deftly unpacked the tray, then took it away with him, the guard with the sword backing out and quickly locking and bolting the door behind him. The whole operation took only a few moments.

Breakfast consisted of a wooden bowl filled with porridge, a trencher of black bread, a bruised apple, and a small jug of water. Nothing that Rhiannon could use as a weapon or tool. So she ate the lukewarm porridge, drank a cup of water, and lay down to rest on her bed again. She was, in fact, sick with weariness and misery, and sore and bruised all over. The thudding in her thumbs had settled down to a persistent ache, and the bruises had spread so that both swollen digits bloomed in varying hues of purple, blue, red, and yellow like ugly exotic flowers.

After a while the guards came and removed the remains of her meal. They left her the apple, the cup, and the jug of water. Rhiannon had nothing to do but watch a small tetragon of light move slowly down the wall, stretching longer and thinner as the morning passed. At some point she shut her eyes to keep back the tears, and slowly, strangely, she drifted away into sleep.

The sound of the bolts being dragged back jerked her awake. She swung her legs around to sit up, all her nerves jangling.

The door swung open. The guard stood with his sword drawn in the doorway. “Visitor for ye,”

he said, then stood back.

Lewen came in. He was dressed in a long blue tunic edged with silver braid over white satin breeches. On his shoulder was embroidered a badge with a golden stag rearing up on its hind hooves. A ceremonial cape was slung over one shoulder and secured with a silver badge. On his head was a soft blue cockaded cap, very like the one worn by the Yeomen. Rhiannon had never seen him so grandly dressed and it made her shy and awkward. He did not notice, though, coming forward eagerly and pulling her to her feet so he could embrace her. She cried out in pain, and at once he stepped back and exclaimed at the sight of her bruised and swollen thumbs.

She saw over his shoulder a tall redheaded girl hesitating in the doorway. Her thin red brows were drawn together in a frown.

“Who that?” Rhiannon demanded at the same time as the redhead asked in a cool voice, “Are you going to introduce me, Lewen?”

Lewen looked from one to the other, a little dismayed.

“Rhiannon, this is Her Royal Highness, the Banprionnsa Olwynne NicCuinn. If it was not for her, I would no‟ be allowed in to see ye. She . . . her father the Rìgh has granted ye liberty o‟ the tower. Olwynne, this . . . this is Rhiannon.”

Olwynne inclined her head graciously, but Rhiannon only glared. She did not like the tone that came into Lewen‟s voice when he addressed the Banprionnsa, nor the way Olwynne looked at her.

She was a tall young woman, though not as tall as Rhiannon, and very straight-backed with dark, challenging eyes and a mass of fiery ringlets that hung down her back from under a forest green silk hood. Her gown was green too, of fluid silk that shimmered as the Banprionnsa moved and embroidered with tiny jewels at cuff and neckline. She wore no other jewelry except for a moonstone on her left hand, a twin to the ring Lewen wore on his left hand. Although Rhiannon knew all apprentices of the Coven wore moonstone rings, it infuriated her to see this link between Lewen and Olwynne, symbol of a world they shared and from which she was excluded.

“Tell her to go away,” Rhiannon said. “Why is she here?”

Lewen was mortified. “But she . . . I wanted . . . Rhiannon!”

“I think it is best I go then,” Olwynne said. She smiled ruefully at Lewen and shook her head as he apologized and entreated her to stay. As she gathered up the rustling folds of her skirt and turned to leave, Rhiannon came forward in a rush, saying fiercely, “Who was that girl?”

“Ye‟re no‟ jealous, are ye?” Lewen asked incredulously. “O‟ Olwynne? Oh, Rhiannon!” He reached for her, drawing her close. “Don‟t be so silly,” he murmured and bent his head to kiss her. As Rhiannon melted into his embrace, her eyes closing, the door shut behind Olwynne with a click.

“Oh, Rhiannon, Rhiannon,” Lewen whispered, raising his head at last. “Oh Eà, I have missed ye.”

She leaned against his shoulder. “It‟s been only a night,” she said shakily.

He lifted her face and kissed her again. “Too long,” he said. “Far too long.”

She wrested her mouth away, saying sulkily, “Long enough for ye to get all prettied up for some other lass.”

Lewen glanced down at himself in surprise, then grinned. “I‟m in court gear. I had to report to His Majesty and beg leave to come and see ye. I couldna go to court in all my dirt!”

He flung aside the cape and hat and sat on the bed, pulling her down beside him. Eagerly he kissed her again, one hand sliding under her skirt.

“So why she come, that Olwynne? Why ye bring her?” she demanded.

“Och, Olwynne! She‟s one o‟ my very best friends, she and her twin brother, Owein. The Rìgh is their father. If it had no‟ been for them I might no‟ have got in to see ye.” He sat up, bringing his hand from under her shirt so he could stroke back her hair. “She‟s promised to help me petition the Rìgh on your behalf. I canna believe ye were locked up like a common criminal! Olwynne begged His Majesty to grant ye liberty o‟ the tower, which means at least ye can walk in the gardens and have visitors. Nina petitioned him too, and has offered to pay all the costs, which is good because, believe me, I almost fainted when I heard how much a dark little cell like this costs!” He looked around him in disgust. “Still, it‟s better than the public galleries.”

“Indeed it is,” Rhiannon said.

She searched for words to describe the Murderers‟ Gallery, but it seemed so far removed from Lewen. Everything about him was clean and fine. He washed and changed his linen every day, and though his clothes were not usually so grand, they were always clean and brushed. He smelled pleasantly of horses and fresh air and the rosemary soap he washed with and the mint leaves he chewed after eating, unlike so many men who smelled rankly of beer and tobacco and unwashed armpits and decaying teeth. Rhiannon had always appreciated this about him, since her sense of smell was very acute and easily offended.

And, ever since Rhiannon had first met Lewen, he had epitomized gentleness, kindness, and courtesy. He was a horse whisperer who had the ability to soothe just about any frightened animal or child. He listened to all that was said to him carefully and did not seek to impress by sneering at others. He had taught her to trust him, an investment of faith that Rhiannon had never expected to be able to make. She did not know how to tell him of all that was cruel, dark, pitiless, and foul. As she searched for words, he began speaking again and it was too late, the moment had passed.

“We tried to convince the Rìgh that ye did no‟ need to be kept in the tower even,” Lewen was saying, “but he would no‟ agree, saying the charges are too serious. Which, I suppose, is fair enough. It was just such a shock, seeing them drag ye away like that.”

He bent his head and kissed her lovingly, and she lost herself in the sweetness of it for a while.

He had her pressed down onto her back, her bodice unlaced, before she stopped him again, reluctantly.

“How long?” she whispered. “How long must I stay here? For I shall go mad, Lewen. I swear I shall.”

He raised his head. His eyes were black with passion. “I dinna ken, dearling,” he said huskily. “I wish . . . och, how I wish . . . I canna bear to think o‟ ye locked up in here.”

“Try being the one who‟s locked up,” she said dryly.

He kissed her chin, and then the pulse at the base of her throat. “It shouldna be long, dearling.”

He pulled back her bodice so he could kiss the hollow of her shoulder. His hand had found her breast again, but she gently pushed him away.

“When? When?”

He sighed. “They hear serious cases, like murder or horse stealing, once every quarter. That means the end o‟ June. I tried to convince the Rìgh that your case should be heard straightaway, but he said they need that much time to gather their evidence and hear the witnesses.”

Rhiannon did not know the names or meanings of months. Her idea of time was much more fluid and imprecise than that of these humans, who had a word for everything. Lewen understood her frown and said, sympathy warming his deep voice, “By midsummer, dearling.”

“Midsummer,” she said blankly. It was only early spring now. That meant days and days, more days than Rhiannon could count. Two moons at least.

“They‟ll probably bring it forward a few days,” Lewen said consolingly. “The Rìgh will want it all over afore the wedding.”

“The wedding?”

“Aye, Donncan and Bronwen‟s wedding. The royal heirs. Ye remember. It‟s set for

Midsummer‟s Day.”

“How many moons?” Rhiannon demanded.

He lifted his shoulders and said reluctantly, “The moon is in its last quarter now. We‟ll see it wax and wane twice afore then.”

“Two moons,” Rhiannon said flatly.

“More,” he answered.

She turned her face away.

He turned it back to him with both hands, kissing her passionately. “I ken it‟s a long time,” he whispered. “But the Rìgh says I may visit ye. . . .”

“So kind o‟ him.”

“And I‟ll bring ye books and paper. . . .”

“If only I could read.”

“Ye‟ll be able to practice your lessons.”

“What‟s the point?” she said sullenly.

“Dearling, dinna say that. I canna bear to see ye so unhappy. Banprionnsa Olwynne and I will do all we can to ease things for ye.”

“That redhead? Why would she want to help?”

“She‟s my friend. She feels sorry for ye,” Lewen said awkwardly.

“How sweet o‟ her,” Rhiannon said acidly.

“She can do heaps to help. Her father adores her and will listen to her, I ken.”

“Can she help another too?” Rhiannon demanded. “Lewen, there was a lass in the Murderers‟

Gallery. . . . She was sore hurt, Lewen. The warden there is a cruel, mean woman. She should be the one locked up! Lewen, can ye ask her?”

“Ask Her Highness? To help some other lass?”

“Aye! She was strung up for the rats, Lewen. It was awful, just awful! Please, canna ye find out how she is? Her name is Bess . . . Bess Balfour.”

“I‟m no‟ sure how. . . . I can ask someone, though. I canna see how Her Highness can help. She kens naught about prisons and so on. But I‟ll ask one o‟ the guards on the way out.”

“Ye should be telling your Rìgh about it,” Rhiannon said. “Ye talk about how good and just he is, and yet he allows such things to happen. It isn‟t right!”

Lewen looked troubled. “I dinna ken who. . . . Happen I‟ll ask my mentor. He‟ll ken what to do.”

“What about that girl? Why ye no‟ tell her, if she the Rìgh‟s daughter?”

“I do no‟ want to presume,” Lewen said unhappily. “If I can, I will, I promise. But in the meantime, Rhiannon, ye must be thinking about yourself. I canna help but worry. . . . I mean, the Yeomen are a close-knit unit, and Connor was well-liked. I‟m afraid. . . .”

“Aye, me too,” Rhiannon said dully.

Once again he turned her face to his, kissing her ardently on the mouth. “Oh, Rhiannon, do no‟

be afraid. I swear I will do all I can to get ye free. And I‟ll come whenever I can, I promise.” He bared her breast so he could kiss it, cradling it in both hands. Despite herself she arched her back.

Lewen groaned and slid his hand under her bottom. She slipped her own hands around to cup his buttocks, pressing him closer to her.

“Every day,” she demanded. “Promise me. Every day.”

“Whenever I can,” he said hoarsely. “I do no‟ think I can keep away. Rhiannon, Rhiannon, what spell have ye cast on me? I swear, I think I shall die with wanting ye. Please, please, we have so little time. The guards will come back soon. . . .”

“Then why waste time talking?” she asked.

“Good question,” he said, and dragged his tunic over his head.