Castle of Dreams (42 page)

“Meredith,” Brian shouted, “take Thomas out
of the tunnel. Get him to safety. I’ll bring Branwen with me.” His
sword clashed against that held by the bearded man.

Thomas stood frozen, staring at the
crouching, sweating men as they circled each other seeking out room
to maneuver in the cramped tunnel. Meredith put her arm around the
boy, urging him onward.

“It will be all right,” she assured him, not
really believing it herself. She wanted with all her heart to turn
around and go back to help Branwen. She reminded herself that her
first duty just now was to Thomas. She had to get him safely back
to Afoncaer. She would trust Brian to take care of her aunt.

“I hear Geoffrey,” Thomas said through
chattering teeth.

“Good.” Meredith tried to sound cheerful. “He
will help Brian.”

Then they both stopped, transfixed by a
shriek behind them, followed by a loud rumbling sound that shook
the earth beneath their feet. There was a long moment’s silence,
broken by Brian’s despairing cry.

“Branwen! No!”

Meredith forgot duty, forgot everything but
Branwen, her aunt, mother, friend. She ran back to where Brian
knelt on the tunnel floor. His torch, hastily stuck into the loose
earth, shone brightly upon him while he brushed the last bits of
mud off Branwen’s peaceful face. Meredith fell to her knees beside
the knight.

“She did it to save me,” Brian wept.
“Walter’s man had wounded her in the side. You saw that, Meredith.
That knave was about to kill me when Branwen dragged herself up and
caught the post. It was loose, and she deliberately pulled it down
with her as she fell. Walter’s man was crushed by the earthfall,
but so was she. Oh, my love, my love.”

Now Geoffrey was there too, tugging at the
weeping man. Meredith saw blood dripping from a tear in Geoffrey’s
sleeve, and he was breathing hard.

“Sir Brian, please,” Geoffrey begged. “There
is nothing we can do for Lady Branwen, but she may have saved us
all. This earthfall will slow Sir Walter’s men a little, perhaps
just enough for us to get away. Come with us. Come.”

“I can’t leave her.”

“Sir Brian,” Geoffrey admonished, “remember
your duty to Lord Guy. We must get Thomas safely away from
here.”

“Meredith?” Thomas’s voice behind her was
strangely small and childlike. There was no trace of the would-be
grownup in him now. “Is Branwen dead?”

Meredith could only nod, unable to speak for
tears. She felt Geoffrey pulling her to her feet with his good arm.
From the direction of the manor house cellar she heard men’s voices
and saw lights.

“More of them are coming,” Geoffrey said. “We
must leave now.”

“Go.” Brian flung out one arm in a wild
gesture. “Take them to safety, Geoffrey. I’ll stay here to hold
Walter’s men off as long as I can.”

“But, Sir Brian…”

“Go!” he commanded. “I will not leave
Branwen. I will kill as many men as I can and then I will die by my
love’s side. Do as I say, Geoffrey. That’s an order.”

The sounds coming down the tunnel were louder
now. Geoffrey, trained like all squires to obedience, did as he had
been ordered. He pushed Thomas and Meredith before him, away from
Brian.

As they moved farther away from Brian’s torch
the tunnel grew darker and darker, until they were feeling their
way along the walls. Meredith tried to close her ears to the shouts
and sounds of battle behind them. She knew Brian and Geoffrey were
right. They had to get Thomas to Afoncaer, to Guy’s protection. If
Walter caught them now, Thomas’s life would be forfeit. That she
herself would not live much longer than Thomas did not disturb
Meredith. She was too numbed by what had happened to think of her
own safety, or indeed, to think much at all. She remembered only
that she had a duty to carry out, and she would keep going until it
was done or until she was dead.

They emerged from the tunnel at last, into a
night crowded with glittering stars. After the darkness underground
Meredith found it easy to see where she was, even without a
moon.

“If you can tell me which way the manor house
is, I can find the horses,” Geoffrey whispered in her ear.

“There.” Meredith pointed, and Geoffrey,
taking her hand, led her off through the trees in the opposite
direction. She kept an arm around Thomas, who clung to her waist,
not speaking a word. They found three good horses saddled and
waiting, tied to a tree.

“Now we must ride as fast as we can,”
Geoffrey; said. “I hope Sir Walter thinks we are still in the
tunnel, but once he knows for certain we have fled, he will
probably send armed men out on the road to Afoncaer to find us and
bring us back.”

“Can you ride, Geoffrey, or shall I tend to
your wound first?”

“Later. I think the bleeding has stopped by
itself. I’ll use my good arm to help you mount.”

They stopped only once along the way, when
Meredith saw Thomas swaying in his saddle and called to Geoffrey to
halt.

“I’ll carry him,” Geoffrey said, catching the
reins of Thomas’s horse.

“You will not. Do you think I can’t see how
hard it is for you to stay mounted? I’m not a very good rider, but
I won’t drop him. Let’s not argue, Geoffrey. We must make what
speed we can.” Meredith pulled Thomas off his horse and onto hers.
She held him in front of her the rest of the way, uncertain whether
he was sleeping or unconscious. There were no signs of pursuit from
Sir Walter.

It was still dark when they reached the outer
gate of Afoncaer. They had to wait until the gate was opened and
the drawbridge was lowered. They had no sooner ridden through the
gatehouse than Meredith heard the bridge being raised again, and
they were immediately surrounded by armed men. Torches flared and a
shout went up.

“It really is Geoffrey. He’s brought Master
Thomas home.”

By the time they got to the steep incline
leading across the dry moat, both inner gate and drawbridge stood
wide open for them, and more torches lighted their way across the
inner bailey to the great hall. Geoffrey dismounted awkwardly and
reached up to take Thomas from Meredith.

“No, you are badly hurt,” Meredith said,
noticing how he favored one arm. It seemed to her the dark stain on
Geoffrey’s sleeve was much larger than it had been. “Let someone
else do it.”

“It is my right,” Geoffrey said, “to
personally give Thomas back to his uncle. You heard Sir Brian. I am
his deputy in this.”

“Very well.” Meredith gave up her burden and
then nearly fell off her horse with weariness and the realization
that they had achieved their purpose. She refused to think about
the terrible cost of their mission. A firm male hand steadied her
as she touched ground, helping her into the hall, where Geoffrey
had laid the unconscious Thomas down on a bench near the fire.
Meredith knelt beside him, rubbing his cold hands.

She sensed it when the men crowding around
Thomas separated, making way for a newcomer. She looked up, but Guy
was not aware of her. All his attention was fixed on Thomas’s still
form, and his blue eyes were moist as he bent over his nephew.

“Thomas? Thomas. He is alive, isn’t he?” Then
Guy’s gaze cleared and he stared at Meredith in bewilderment. “What
are you doing here?”

“Meredith rescued him.” Geoffrey gasped,
swaying, his face pale, but he went doggedly on with his
explanation. “That is, Sir Brian and I, and Branwen, and Meredith,
all of us…”

“Brian? Branwen? God’s Holy Teeth!” All of
Guy’s rage and pent-up frustration of the past few weeks suddenly
exploded in Geoffrey’s direction. “What is going on here? You and
Brian were sent to Sir Walter to negotiate Thomas’s release. Did
you drag these women along with you for entertainment? Did you lead
them into that danger? How dare you disobey my orders, you unworthy
squire? Where is Brian?”

“My lord.” Reynaud was there, a calming
presence, one hand on Guy’s shoulder. “If you would restrain
yourself and let Geoffrey sit. Bring him a stool, someone. Do you
not see, my lord, that Geoffrey has been wounded? In your
understandable concern for Thomas, you have not noticed your
squire’s hurt. Let ,Geoffrey rest and have a little wine, and then
he can tell you all you want to know.”

“Where,” Guy ground out, obviously making a
valiant effort to restrain himself and failing, “where in God’s
name is Brian? Answer me, Geoffrey. What has Walter done to
Brian?”

Meredith could stand no more. The sight of
Guy abusing poor Geoffrey, who had risked his life to help rescue
Thomas, was too much for her. Her own anger, and her unbearable
grief, flared.

“Brian is dead,” she cried, “and Branwen,
too. They died so we could get Thomas safely away from Sir Walter.
Geoffrey helped us. I think Thomas and I would not be here without
him. But my aunt is dead. Oh, Branwen, Branwen.” She subsided into
helpless tears.

“What are you saying, girl?” Guy caught her
hands and dragged her to her feet as she shrieked out her pain at
him. He shook her angrily. “Why are you involved in this? Tell me
what has happened!”

“My lord, please.” That was Reynaud again,
and under his cold glare Guy slowly released Meredith’s hands.
“Here is Joan with a pitcher of ale, my lord. Let Geoffrey and
Meredith drink, and rest a little, and then I am certain we will
learn all we need to know. Meredith, can you tell us what is wrong
with Thomas? Has he been injured in some way?”

Meredith gulped back the tears that
threatened to overcome her once more and spoke as calmly as she
could.

“I do not think he was badly mistreated
during his captivity, Reynaud, but he has seen terrible things
tonight and he has been frightened, and then we had a long, cold
ride in the night air.”

Reynaud nodded. Everyone knew the noxious
humors that rose from the earth during the hours of darkness could
adversely affect even strong, healthy men. How much more dangerous
they must be to a terrified boy, weakened by a month’s
confinement.

“Can you help him?” the cleric asked her.

“I will try. With your permission, Sir
Guy?”

“Yes, work your healing art on him, Meredith.
He must live.” Guy’s lips were pressed into a thin, determined
line.

“Meredith needs help herself.” Joan faced
Guy, ale jug in hand, looking as if she might throw it at him.
“Just look at her; the girl is exhausted. She needs a warm bath and
a cup of hot, spiced wine and some sleep.”

“No, I’ll take care of Thomas first.”
Meredith smiled gratefully at the servant. “Will you tend to
Geoffrey? His arm is wounded, and he also needs a bath to ease his
aches.” She looked down at Thomas, still unconscious.

“We should keep him warm, my lord,” she said
to Guy, “And I think some quiet place would be better for him than
the great hall.”

“Carry him to my chamber,” Guy ordered. “Put
him in my bed. Meredith, take whatever you need from the castle
stores to care for him. Geoffrey, I will want a report as soon as
Joan has finished with you. Before daylight I want to know what has
happened and whether we are to expect an attack on Afoncaer.”

“Since he did not follow us at once, I think
it will not be tonight or tomorrow,” Geoffrey said, rising to go
with Joan. “It may be that Sir Walter will need a few hours to
realize exactly what has happened, and then to decide what to do
next.”

“My lord, I helped to devise the plan to
rescue Thomas,” Reynaud said. “If you wish, I will tell you all I
know while we wait for Geoffrey. That will shorten the tale he has
to tell, so he may rest sooner.”

“You, Reynaud? Did everyone at Afoncaer know
of this mysterious plan except the lord of the castle? I’ll deal
with you later.”

Reynaud was not a fearful man, but he quailed
under the look Guy gave him before the angry lord of Afoncaer
followed Meredith and the manservant carrying Thomas out of the
great hall.

Thomas was laid before the blazing fire in
Guy’s private chamber. While the great bed was warmed with heated
stones. Meredith and a serving woman sent by Joan to help her
washed Thomas with hot water and then briskly rubbed his limbs with
linen cloths until his hands and feet were warm again and a little
color was restored to his pale face. They wrapped him in furs and
woolen blankets and put him in Guy’s bed, piling more coverings
over him and placing heated stones at his feet. When Thomas stirred
and opened his eyes, Meredith fed him spoons of warm wine, and
after a time he dropped into a sleep that appeared to be natural.
All the while she worked, Guy had been standing by the fire,
watching everything that Meredith did.

“He will sleep now,” she told him at
last.

“Go to Joan,” he said, with not a trace of
warmth in his voice. “She will have food ready for you in the
women’s quarters, and clean clothes. When you have refreshed
yourself, return to the great hall. I will speak with you and
Geoffrey and Reynaud, all of you together.”

His coldness was like a sword through
Meredith’s breast. She loved him; he was everything to her. In the
bed where Thomas now slept, she and Guy had lain together not so
long ago, and taken such joy in each other. She had comforted him
then; why could he not do the same for her now, when she needed it
so desperately?

She went quickly to the door, hiding her face
so he would not see her tears. She left him looking down at
Thomas’s ridiculously small form, nearly lost in the big bed. She
did not think Guy noticed her going.

Joan saw her tears and noticed how badly she
was trembling with the reaction from all that had happened in the
last day and night.

“Drink this.” Joan handed her a large cup
filled with hot, spiced wine, and then got out of her the few
details she had not gotten from Geoffrey.

“Of course Sir Guy is cold,” Joan said in her
matter-of-fact way. “He must be. It’s not that he doesn’t feel the
loss of Sir Brian, or your aunt, either. But he must not break
down. It would be unmanly of him, and he has work to do. Women may
weep, but men take out their grief in revenge. Walter fitz Alan
will pay dearly for what he has done. Sir Guy will see to it.”