Castle of Dreams (36 page)

“It’s only for two weeks, Tom,” Guy said,
rousing himself. “You will be back at Afoncaer before you know
it.”

They were interrupted by Isabel, chattering
nervously, thanking Guy for his care of her and for letting her
marry Walter, and then they were all outside the great hall, and
Walter lifted Isabel onto her palfrey, and they rode out through
the castle gates and onto the road toward Tynant. Through the mist
and rain Guy saw Thomas’s pale face turned back toward Afoncaer one
last time.

He raised his arm to wave to the boy before
reentering the inner bailey and making his way to the cheerful
warmth of the great hall. Brian thrust a cup of wine into his hand.
Guy stood sipping it, watching as Joan quietly directed the kitchen
maids in the removal of food and dishes.

“We will need more fighting men,” Brian said,
“Walter has taken away the dozen who came here with him.”

“I agree,” It was good to talk about warfare
for a change, instead of marriage and dowries. “You will have to
train some of the local fellows to use swords, Brian. I may be on
friendly terms with Chester right now, and I know he is pleased
that I freed Walter to enter his service, but he remains a power we
must watch and guard against.”

“I’ll begin working with the men tomorrow.
Let us hope Chester stays in Normandy with the king until we can
finish training them. Will you knight Geoffrey?”

“Soon,” Guy nodded, “He’s more than old
enough, and I’m certain he will stay on as my man. After that, I
will need a new squire or two to replace him. I have sent for some
fighting men from my estate at Adderbury, and have asked the
seneschal there to recommend likely candidates for squires.” Guy
took one more mouthful of wine before setting down his cup.

Meredith, Meredith. What are you doing
now?

Brian asked him another question about armed
men for Afoncaer, and Guy put the gentle memory away. Meredith was
not for him. He had to be strong. He must drive her from his mind
and think only of manly concerns.

At Tynant, Isabel dismissed Alice, and got
into bed. As she waited for Walter she thought of her first wedding
night at Westminster fifteen years before, how excited she had
been, how stupidly innocent. After all that had happened in the
intervening years she was not much more knowledgeable about bedroom
matters now. Her passionate afternoon in the forest with Walter had
left her basically unchanged once the physical pleasure was over.
Walter, on the other hand, had deluged her with delirious, half-mad
pleas that she should return to the forest glade with him and there
relive the afternoon when he had attained his heart’s desire. She
had refused, not trusting herself to carry out her plan if she
should become as foolishly enamored of Walter as he was of her. She
must keep her wits about her. Since Walter adored her so completely
she could easily use him to gain wealth and title and enjoy herself
while she did so, for during that one brief interlude with him she
had tasted hitherto unknown delights. The thought of what they
would shortly do together made her squirm with impatience. She
reminded herself not to feel too much.

Walter appeared in the doorway. He was
wearing a deep red robe, and for one terrifying moment Isabel was
transported back to that other night, when Lionel had come to her
in a red robe and in one agonizing act had destroyed all her hopes
and dreams. But this time it was different. It was Walter walking
toward her, lean and dark, his face and eyes alight with joy and
tenderness. Walter loved her. She felt a slow tingle of expectation
begin as he tossed his robe aside and lay down next to her. He had
a beautiful, long body, tight-muscled and thrillingly masculine.
Isabel repressed the desire to put her hands on him. Let him come
to her.

“Now,” Walter said, his voice deep and
throbbing with emotion, “I have you, my love. No clothing between
us, no protestations, no fear. It is only the two of us, Isabel,
and our love.”

She moved her legs, stretching them out as
she lay back, feeling an almost painful burning ache between her
thighs. Walter would tend to it. Walter would quench the flame.

She opened her arms to him and he pressed
himself closer to her and made love to her with the tenderness she
had once dreamed of and never enjoyed before, and in that long
wedding night of rapturous passion, Isabel came as close to real
love for a man as she would ever know. Walter took her along paths
of pleasure such as she had never imagined existed, trying in his
love and desire for her to teach her to be a true woman. She
followed him, hesitantly at first, determined always to keep her
head and stay in control, and then more and more willingly when he
persisted in the loving duel he was waging for her heart.

When he slept for an hour, she lay wide awake
beside him, weeping at first, as she regretted all the wasted years
of her youth, realizing it was now too late to repair the damage of
those years. Then she dried her tears, thinking that it was better
as it had been. For if she had known about this while she was still
wed to Lionel, if she had even dreamed of the pleasure a man could
give her, what follies she might have committed in the need to
fulfill her desires. Now that she was safely wed to a man who loved
her, would do anything for her, she could indulge herself, sate
herself and him with lust and flesh and that ecstatic, gasping
sensation that Walter drove her to.

She reached for him again greedily, waking
him, pulling him on top of her as she let him blot out all thought
of the plan they had made to win Afoncaer for themselves, and of
the danger it meant to both of them.

The day came when, two weeks after his
mother’s wedding, Thomas was due to return to Afoncaer. On the
appointed day a messenger from Walter appeared at Afoncaer bearing
a letter.

“Well?” Guy asked impatiently as Reynaud
scanned the parchment. “Is Thomas ill, or injured perhaps? Reynaud,
for God’s sake, tell me why he has not come with the
messenger.”

“Let Reynaud read, Guy, then he can tell you
what has happened,” Brian urged. A moment later he forgot his own
advice and burst out, “Come on, man, you read faster than that.
I’ve seen you. What is it? What’s amiss? You are paler than the
parchment.”

“My lord, you will not like this,” Reynaud
said, looking anxiously at Guy.

“Never mind whether I’ll like it or no, just
tell me if Thomas is well or ill,” Guy demanded.

“The letter says he is as yet unharmed.”

“As yet? What the devil does that mean?”

“Sir Walter writes that he is holding Thomas
as hostage,” Reynaud reported, rereading the letter as if he was
not sure he had understood it the first time. “Sir Walter requires
you to hand over Afoncaer at once or your nephew Thomas dies. ‘All
of your property in Wales and all persons belonging to the lands of
Afoncaer,’ is the way he puts it.”

“He dares?” Brian’s dark face was suddenly
red with anger. “The man is mad. I’ll kill him if he harms Thomas,
I swear I will.”

“I am with you, Sir Brian.” Geoffrey had been
listening, and now he stood squarely behind Brian’s shoulder. “I,
too, care for Thomas, and this insult to my lord Guy must be
avenged.”

“Stop it, both of you. Be quiet and let me
consider this.” Outwardly, Guy was calm enough. Inwardly he knew a
cold, deadly rage. The anger he felt was directed against himself
first, and only secondarily against Walter, his erstwhile knight.
Guy cursed himself bitterly. He had been a fool to trust Walter,
and a greater fool to let Isabel cajole him into turning Thomas
over to her for even a few days. They must have planned it
together. Isabel had not forgiven Guy for the restrictions he had
placed on her extravagance, and she knew how much Guy loved Thomas.
This was her revenge, to turn her son over to Walter to use against
Guy.

How could a mother, even a vain, shallow one
such as Isabel, use her own son in such a way? He knew the answer
to that. It was not uncommon. His own parents had used Thomas’s
father for their own political ends. And only a few years before,
the son of an embattled knight had been taken hostage by the
knight’s younger brother. When the knight had refused to turn over
his castle and had retired behind its walls to prepare for a long
siege, the younger brother had disregarded family ties and used his
unfortunate nephew as ammunition in one of his catapults.

The aim had been remarkable. The boy’s body
had landed at his father’s feet. The incident had been the subject
for weeks of horrified discussion at court. Walter knew that Guy,
though he had not been in England when it happened, had heard of
it, for they had once spoken about it. Guy was sure Walter expected
him to remember. He knew he had to fight back the fury he felt, and
his fear for Thomas, in order to think clearly.

“Walter knows,” Guy said slowly, trying to
feel his way through the working of Walter’s mind to discover the
center of this plot, “he knows perfectly well that I hold Afoncaer
from King Henry and cannot in honor turn it over to anyone else
without the king’s permission. Is that Walter’s plan, to insist
upon a condition I cannot fulfill? What purpose would that serve?
You told me once, Reynaud, that Walter is not a simple man. Tell me
now what you think of this cruel trick.”

“There is more, my lord,” Reynaud said,
referring to the letter again. “Sir Walter claims to have the Earl
of Chester’s backing in this. Now we know another reason for
Walter’s wishing to swear allegiance to Chester. It was not merely
a manor house and a few acres he expected to receive from his new
patron.”

“Yes.” Guy was beginning to understand.
“Chester, who is so strong he is nearly an independent ruler, can
step into a private war between Walter and me and take Afoncaer for
himself without fearing a royal reprisal. He will tell King Henry
it was to preserve peace on the Welsh border, since I was incapable
of holding the castle. Once Chester has Afoncaer, he will turn it
over to Walter to hold it as his vassal. Walter is so madly in love
with Isabel, so eager for lands and a title to lay at her feet,
that betrayal of an old friend would seem a small matter to him
beside Isabel’s approval.”

“Chester has found a way to dishonor you, of
whom he is jealous, and to take your castle without the expense of
warfare,” Reynaud said, “while at the same time appearing to serve
the king’s interests in Wales.”

“And Isabel will be the Lady of Afoncaer, wed
to a wealthy, titled man, and so allowed to return to court at
last,” Guy added. “She would sacrifice her own son for that.”

“Perhaps,” Geoffrey offered, “the Lady Isabel
was unaware of the plan.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Guy scoffed.
“She was too insistent upon taking Thomas away with her. I knew it
was odd of her to want Thomas with her when she was but newly
married, but I let myself be convinced because I wanted to believe
she cared for Thomas. If I ever have Isabel under my power again, I
will devise a punishment for her that will be long and terrible. I
should punish myself, too. I am to blame for this. I should never
have let Thomas go with her.”

“It is too late for self-recriminations,”
Reynaud said.

“Unnatural mother,” Brian grated, “to let her
own son be killed so shamefully.”

“Not killed,” Guy told him. “That’s just the
point, my friend. Both Walter and Isabel must believe I would never
let that happen. Until I have a son of my own, Thomas is my heir,
and more important, they know how much I love him. They believe I
will forget both honor and duty to the king and concede to their
demands.”

“We can raise an army and march against
Walter,“ Brian suggested. “We can free Thomas. Walter lives in a
manor house, not a castle.”

“Raising an army would take too long,”
Reynaud objected, “and when Sir Guy’s army appeared before Walter
fitz Alan’s gates, he would then be obliged to kill Thomas.”

“What shall we do?” Brian looked from the
cleric to Guy to Geoffrey and back to Guy again. “Have you any
ideas, Guy? You know Walter better than the rest of us.”

“I fear it is up to you alone, my lord,”
Reynaud said. “The king is too far away to help you.”

“True, but he needs to know of this.” Guy’s
mind was beginning to function again, very calmly and clearly.
“Reynaud, you will write a letter to King Henry, telling him what
has happened. Include a copy of Walter’s letter to me, especially
the part about Chester’s involvement in this. Let Henry see what
his vassal is doing behind his back. Send the letter by our fastest
courier.”

“It will take weeks to reach the king in
Normandy,” Reynaud objected, “and with the weather so uncertain at
this time of year, any reply may be delayed for more weeks before
the courier can safely cross the Narrow Sea back to England.”

“I know that, but send it anyway. Then you,
Reynaud, will go to Walter and try to negotiate Thomas’s release.
Even with Chester’s support, Walter would not dare to harm or
refuse to speak with a cleric who is also King Henry’s man.”

“I am at your service, my lord, but my
absence from Afoncaer will leave you with no one who can read, and
should I need to send you a message, what will you do?”

“Branwen can read,” Brian said quietly.

“Who is Branwen?” Reynaud’s pale eyes rested
on Brian. It was Guy who answered.

“A woman who can be trusted,” he said. “Go to
her, Brian. Tell her what has happened.”

“This Branwen,” Reynaud rose from his usual
seat at the trestle table before the firepit, “this woman who can
read is one of the healers who live in the forest, isn’t she?”

“What of it?” Brian challenged him. “I’ll
hear no talk of witchcraft, Master Reynaud.”