Castle of Dreams (28 page)

“Wear this for the Christmas feast,” she
said, handing Meredith a short dress of deepest blue-green silk,
with a long undergown of lighter green wool for warmth. Isabel
piled more garments into Meredith’s arms. “Give these others to
Edith and Margaret. Joan, nothing of mine will fit you, but you may
have this shawl, and I did give you that piece of good russet wool
last summer.”

“You did, my lady, and I have made it into
just the kind of dress I have always wanted,” Joan said. “Here,
Meredith, let me see that. Yes, look here, it can easily be let
out. When we have finished altering this, no one will ever know it
wasn’t made for you.”

Joan was as good as her promise. The remade
dress fit Meredith perfectly. The deep, glowing color was extremely
becoming, the paler green underdress a lovely accent where it
showed at the curved neckline and at the wrists, where the tight
sleeves extended below the wider, shorter sleeves of the silk
overdress. Meredith took a quick look at herself in Lady Isabel’s
hand mirror, glad her mistress had finished her own toilet and gone
into the great hall to supervise the laying of silver cups and
plates on the high table for the Christmas feast that would begin
immediately after Holy Mass. Meredith was afraid Isabel would
regret her gift if her servant made too rich an appearance, and she
did not want to be told to remove the gown. She liked it, and liked
the way wearing it made her feel.

There was a hairnet, too. It was not gold
mesh – Isabel would never have cast off anything so valuable – but
rather a netting of yellow silk thread that looked almost like the
rich metal. It had been torn, but Joan had kindly mended it, and
now she insisted Meredith wear it.

“No, I have to keep my hair covered,”
Meredith protested, picking up the piece of coarse linen she always
used. Joan snatched it out of her hand.

“That everyday linen does not suit a silk
dress,” Joan said sternly. “Everyone in Afoncaer is dressed in his
or her best for this day’s feast. So should you be.” She swished
the woolen skirts of her own new russet brown gown and touched the
fine linen of her headdress.

“But Lady Isabel will complain about my
hair.”

“If she says anything about your appearance,
just bow and meekly thank her for her great generosity in giving
you these lovely garments.” Joan had a twinkle in her warm brown
eyes. “You are too straightforward, Meredith. You must learn to be
a little more devious. Come on, now, let me help you, or we’ll be
late for Mass, and then we’ll both be in trouble.” She began to
bundle Meredith’s hair into the net.

It did look pretty. Another glance into
Isabel’s mirror showed that. The net held her hair up at the sides
and back of her head in a softer style than her usual tight braids.
The mesh let the rich, dark red color show. Except for a few stray
curls, the back of her neck was now bare above the wide shallow
neckline of her gown. Meredith had never in her life felt so
elegant, or so exposed.

She wore her grey wool cloak to that
morning’s mass, the hood demurely pulled over her head, so it was
not until she returned to the women’s quarters to discard the outer
garment and then went into the great hall to attend Isabel that
anyone noticed her new costume. Geoffrey saw her first and
complimented her in the warmest, friendliest way. Then Thomas
appeared to tell her she looked beautiful, followed by a young
guardsman who was a close friend of Geoffrey’s and who had regarded
her with awe ever since she successfully set Geoffrey’s broken leg.
By the time Meredith got to the firepit and Lady Isabel, her
initial nervousness had almost completely vanished.

Isabel had her back to Meredith while she
gave last minute serving instructions to Joan. Guy, Walter, and
Brian stood talking nearby, Reynaud hovering in the background.
Brian saw Meredith and gave her a big grin in clear appreciation of
her appearance. Walter turned to see what Brian was looking at, and
his eyebrows went up. Reynaud looked his approval, too. Then Guy
saw her, and at the expression on his face Meredith forgot
everything and everyone else. She did not hear Isabel’s sharp
exclamation or see Joan’s nod of satisfaction. For Meredith, there
was only Guy. He held both her hands in his and lifted them, one
after the other, to his lips.

“How lovely you are,” he breathed, so softly
only she could hear him. She thought she ought to curtsey to him,
but instead she stood there looking at him, glorying in the open
admiration on his dear face. This much at least she could have.

“What’s this?” That was Isabel, startled but
not yet jealous that someone else was getting the attention owed to
herself. Out of the corner of her eye, Meredith saw Joan nod at her
from behind Isabel’s back and remembered the advice Joan had given
her earlier. Deciding to follow that advice, Meredith took her
hands out of Guy’s and made her curtsey, not to him, but to
Isabel.

“My lady,” she said sweetly, “This is the
gown and headdress you so kindly gave me to wear for Christmas. I
have never before had anything so beautiful. I do thank you again
for it.”

“Isabel.” Guy stood so close to Meredith that
they were almost touching. She thought she detected muted laughter
in his voice. “You did this for Meredith? How generous of you.”

“She did more, my lord,” Meredith said. “She
gave all of the women servants clothing.”

“The Lady Isabel is always most generous,”
Father Herbert intoned, appearing out of the shadows to take his
place by his lady’s side. “A sweet lady this, kind in all her
ways.”

“Who will now replace everything she gave
away with even richer clothes at my expense,” Guy murmured.
Fortunately, Isabel did not hear his cynical comment, or Reynaud’s
appreciative chuckle. She was listening to Walter’s extravagant
compliments and seemed to have forgotten Meredith.

Since more servants had arrived from Guy’s
English estates, Meredith no longer had to carry platters of food
to the diners but could sit at table and be served. She was well
down the board, between Geoffrey and Thomas, when he was finally
able to sit and eat, but she could see Guy at the head table and
she enjoyed Geoffrey’s earnest conversation. It was a pleasant
afternoon, until, as the day wore on into evening, Isabel signaled
to her and then asked her to get a shawl from the women’s
quarters.

The eating was done and people were moving
about the hall, some going outside to relieve themselves, others
simply trying to get a better view of the tumblers who had devised
new feats of agility to celebrate the holy day. Meredith knew
Walter was just behind her, but she thought nothing of it until he
followed her through the door into the women’s quarters.

“You should not be here, Sir Walter,” she
said, trying to sound like Joan at her sternest. She picked up
Isabel’s shawl from the bed and made for the door. “This chamber is
for women only.”

“It seems to be the only place I can find you
alone.” Walter blocked her passage. “You are beautiful,
Meredith.”

“I must take this to Lady Isabel.” Meredith
held the shawl up before her as if it would protect her from what
she feared was coming.

“I never realized how beautiful until this
evening.” Walter spoke as if he had not heard her. He raised one
hand to caress her throat. Meredith flinched. “What, will you not
grant me at least a part of those favors you bestow so willingly on
Guy?”

“I thought,” Meredith said, shocked and
beginning to be a little frightened, “That your favors were for
Lady Isabel. If you truly care for her, how can you look at another
woman?”

“Because I am a man. That is all a game, the
compliments and public devotion. It is fashionable for a lady to
have a devoted knight. Everyone knows it means nothing.”

“I think you are lying, Sir Walter. I have
seen you look at Lady Isabel. It’s more than a game to you. You are
very serious.”

“You are remarkably observant, Meredith.
Perhaps you are right, but while I wait for Isabel to come to her
senses and accept me, I want someone to relieve my needs. You are
most desirable. I think you will do nicely.” Walter looked as
though he expected some delighted answer to this blunt
statement.

“Let me pass. Lady Isabel is waiting for
me.”

“I would be grateful, Meredith. I would
reward you.” He caught her wrist, twisting her arm behind her as he
drew her to him, “Oh, how I need a woman. Here, on the bed.”

“That is Lady Isabel’s bed. How can you think
of such a thing?” She saw his dark face close up, and his mouth.
She did not want his lips to touch hers. Only Guy should kiss her.
Only Guy. “Shame on you, Sir Walter. For shame.”

“I need you.” Walter thrust himself at her.
She felt his male hardness and thought she would be sick with
revulsion.

“You disgust me.” She got her wrist free
while his hand groped for her buttocks, and then she gave him a
shove to get him away from her. She made for the door, fleeing to
the light and safety of the great hall. She ran right into Reynaud.
He caught her by the shoulders and set her gently aside. Then he
faced Walter.

“What are you doing in here, Sir Walter? You
know men are forbidden in the women’s quarters unless they have
Lady Isabel’s express permission.”

The dark man grinned and shrugged, his glance
moving from Reynaud to Meredith and back again.

“Do you want her, too?” Walter asked. “I’ve
noticed your interest in her, Reynaud.”

“I have taken a vow of chastity and I keep
it,” Reynaud said in a tone that allowed no doubt of his sincerity.
“Meredith is under Sir Guy’s protection. He has promised her
guardian that she will come to no harm while she is at Afoncaer. As
you are his friend and his guest, do not cause the breaking of that
promise. Never touch Meredith again.”

“You, a mere cleric, dare to speak to me in
such a voice?” Sir Walter’s knightly pride and his wrath showed in
his narrowed eyes and in the menacing step he took toward Reynaud.
Meredith was glad he was not wearing a sword, else she would have
feared for Reynaud’s life at that moment.

“Do you really want to quarrel with Sir Guy?”
Reynaud asked softly. “I think you do not want him to know you laid
hands on Meredith, and I think there is another person in Afoncaer
whom you do not want to know of this incident.”

“I have no desire to offend my host.” Walter
backed down as gracefully as he could. He gave Meredith a quick
little bow. “I did not realize you were under Guy’s special
protection. It won’t happen again. There are enough other women
here to entertain me.”

“See that the woman you choose is unattached
and willing,” Reynaud said. Walter left the room without another
glance at Meredith. She sagged with relief when he was gone.

“Reynaud, I’m so glad you came when you did.
I was afraid if I cried out, and Sir Guy came in, there would be a
sword fight. Normans always…” She stopped, embarrassed.

“Always fight, on any provocation? How many
fights have you seen at Afoncaer since you’ve been here?” Reynaud
laughed. “Sir Guy is wiser than that, though I must admit, I could
have killed Sir Walter myself when I saw what he was doing. But we
should remember that he has been drinking heavily. This is a holy
day, a time of peace. I am glad we have not had to desecrate it
with swordplay, so long as you are unharmed.”

“Only a little frightened,” she assured him,
putting one hand on his black woolen sleeve. “Thank you,
Reynaud.”

There followed an oddly tense moment of
silence before Reynaud cleared his throat. “Let us say nothing
about this to anyone,” he advised. “There’s no need to cause
trouble unnecessarily. I am sure Sir Walter won’t bother you
again.”

“I agree with you.” Impulsively, she added,
“I didn’t like him even before this. There is something about him,
I can’t say what it is, but I feel it. It’s as though he is biding
his time, waiting for something.”

“The man is untrustworthy by nature,” Reynaud
said. “It’s his falseness you recognize. That, and the lustful
passion he can barely keep under control.”

Meredith’s gaze flew to his. Even in the dim
light she could see the look in his eyes and knew he had read her
thoughts. Words trembled on her lips, but she did not say them.

“Let us not speak her name,” Reynaud said,
and Meredith sighed, feeling relieved of responsibility. At least
someone else beside herself and Joan, someone with authority, had
noticed Walter’s obsession with Lady Isabel, an obsession that went
beyond chivalrous gallantries. All her senses told her that, unlike
Walter, Reynaud could be trusted.

“We should return to the hall,” he said,
“before we are both missed.”

She went ahead of him into the crowded room.
Walter was seated next to Isabel, one hand on the arm of her chair,
talking and laughing. He did not even glance up at Meredith when
she handed the shawl to Isabel, and Isabel, engrossed by his clever
conversation, did not bother to acknowledge Meredith’s
presence.

Ten days after Twelfth Night ended the
Christmas feasting, Branwen came to the castle. She looked thin and
drawn, her dark eyes wide and circled in her pale face. She wore a
heavy woolen shawl wrapped about her head and shoulders. A few
wisps of curly black hair had been torn loose by the wind and
whipped around her face, adding to her wild appearance.

“You must be cold after walking all this way
in the snow,” Meredith said. “Come inside the kitchen by the fire.
Cook won’t mind.”

“No.” Branwen drew Meredith away from the
great hall and into the center of the bailey so they could speak
without being overheard.

“Rhys is ill,” Branwen said, “and we have
little food.”

“But you were always given food by the folk
you tended,” Meredith exclaimed. “We have never wanted for anything
since we came to Wales.”