Castle of the Heart (37 page)

“I understand.” Valaire accepted Thomas’s
decision with good grace. “Don’t let our friendship languish,
Thomas. Our families are still connected by affection.”

“And by Jocelyn and Deirdre,” Thomas added.
“You must come to Afoncaer to see your grandchildren.”

“Will you send Arianna back to us?” asked
Lady Aloise, who after a first tearful embrace had sat quietly
during Thomas’s conversation with her husband.

“She’s part of Afoncaer now,” Thomas replied,
warmth welling up in him at the mention of her name. He tried to
control it. He would not allow himself to think of Arianna. Not
yet. It was too soon after Selene’s death, and he owed his wife a
suitable period of mourning. But he could not let Arianna leave
Afoncaer – not unless she wanted to, and he did not think that was
likely. “Arianna has charge of my children. She is dear to my Aunt
Meredith and also to Uncle Guy. I don’t think they would want her
to leave.”

“Then let her stay where she is,” Aloise
said. “There’s no real place at court for a penniless orphan. Let
her be useful to you and Meredith.”

Thomas had planned to question Aloise about
the way his marriage to her daughter had been arranged. He wanted
to know if she was aware of Isabel’s plotting. But watching the
plump, self-satisfied court lady who had been his mother-in-law, he
decided to say nothing. Isabel had probably used Aloise as
heartlessly as she used Selene. It was over and done now. No need
to cause unnecessary grief or trouble. He took his leave of Aloise
and Valaire most courteously.

And then it seemed to Thomas that there was
no more reason to stay at court. He wanted to be with those he
loved, to feel their comforting presence. Royal permission to leave
court was easy to obtain; in his present mood Henry did not care
what anyone did. On a cold, grey morning in December, Thomas, with
Benet and the men-at-arms who had been at his back since Barfleur,
set out on the long journey to Afoncaer.

The closer they came to the border, the
harder they pushed their horses and themselves, wanting to reach
home with a mutual yearning that urged all of them toward the
northwestern horizon, where storm clouds had been steadily
gathering for days.

“There will be a blizzard,” Benet predicted,
“a bad one.”

They pressed on toward the warmth and safety
of Afoncaer, until, just before the early dark of that Christmas
Eve, they thundered across the drawbridge to shouts of welcome from
the guards who recognized Thomas’s blue and silver banner. Up the
main street of the village they rode, over the sharply slanted
wooden bridge that spanned the dry moat, through the main castle
gate, and into the inner bailey, just as the snow began to fall.
Thomas leapt from his horse. He ran right up the stairs of the keep
and through the door, startling Kenelm out of the wardroom to see
what the noise was. At last he came into the great hall, showering
drops of moisture and unmelted snowflakes on anyone near him.

Guy was standing in front of the nearest
fireplace, warming himself at the roaring blaze. He spun around at
the sound of boots on the stone floor.

“Thomas!” His arms opened and Thomas went
into them, knowing Guy for his father. He could not speak of it
yet, but he would, in time. For now, it was enough to feel the
strength in Guy’s arms and know he was well recovered from his
wounds of the previous year.

Thank God,
Thomas thought,
he was
not lost to me before I knew who he truly is. We’ve so much to say
to each other.

Over Guy’s shoulder Thomas saw Reynaud
smiling at him in greeting, and then Meredith came hurrying into
the hall, and behind her Arianna, with his son Jocelyn in her arms
and Deirdre clinging to her skirts. Bewildered as he was by a rush
of conflicting emotions over Selene’s death, his feelings for
Arianna, and his newly discovered relationship to Guy, Thomas could
think of nothing to say to Arianna. He was uncomfortably aware of a
large portion of the castle’s population crowding into the great
hall to welcome him, and he wanted to do nothing before others that
might embarrass her or make her the subject of gossip.

She seemed to understand. She smiled bravely
at him, tears welling in her eyes when Selene’s name was
mentioned.

“Welcome home, Thomas,” she said quietly.
“Here is your son,” she said, handing Jocelyn to him.

It was not at all like a meeting of would-be
lovers, and yet in the expression of their eyes and the quick touch
of their hands as he took the boy from her there was something that
soothed his aching spirit. She had not changed; she loved him
still. She would wait. He knew it. And knew something more: Arianna
genuinely grieved for Selene.

“I will forget the unhappy times when she was
not herself. She was my playmate when we were small,” Arianna said.
“She was kin, though distant, and I loved her.”

While he tried to think of a suitable reply,
cursing the slow wit and wooden tongue that left Arianna to carry
the burden of this too-public moment, Jocelyn broke the mood.

Wriggling and squirming like any other
two-year-old, young Joce demanded to be put down at once. Thomas
complied, laughing, and Joce, once his small feet were on the
ground, made for the nearest dog he could find and began to pull
its tail.

“He never stops,” Arianna said. “He wearies
us all. But Deirdre is quiet and well behaved.” Deirdre had hidden
herself behind Arianna’s skirt and now peeped out, her blue eyes
wide and round as she regarded her father.

Before Thomas could speak to the child, he
was surrounded by men. Guy had questions for him, Kenelm had the
latest news to tell, and others crowded about him, separating him
from Arianna. He looked for her and saw her leading his children
out of the hall. She was taking them back to the nursery, he
supposed. He had no chance to be alone with her that night, nor, as
it turned out, for some time to come, and that was his own
doing.

After all the greeting was done, after those
gathered had wept again over Selene’s death and that of the men
from Afoncaer who had been with her, after Christmas Mass and a
very subdued feast for the holy day, and visits with the survivors
of those others who had died, Thomas found, on the day after
Christmas, that he had no desire to rise from his bed.

Meredith came to see him.

“Your spirit is weary,” she said. “Too much
has befallen you. You need to rest.” She gave him one of her hot
herbal brews to drink, and after taking it he fell asleep and did
not wake completely for two days. Then she fed him until he felt
like a stuffed pheasant before roasting, and made him stay in bed
for days longer, until he snarled at her in unaccustomed irritation
at the restrictions she had put on him.

“I’ve been waiting for that sign,” she told
him, laughing. “You are better now, Thomas. Get up whenever you
want.”

He did, the next day, but he was not cured
yet. There was too much unspoken and unsettled. Because of that, he
continued to avoid Arianna. Ten days after his return he confronted
Guy and Meredith in their private chamber at the top of the tower
keep.

“I know the truth of my parentage,” he said
bluntly. “I wish to speak with you alone, my lord.”

“There is no need for that, Thomas.” Meredith
glanced at her husband’s white face and took his arm, moving
protectively closer to him. “I know it, too.”

“I’ll not ask who told you,” Guy said. “There
is only one person who could have done so. Isabel. You have seen
her.”

“I was with her when I learned of Selene’s
death.” Thomas told them the story, not leaving out his suspicions
about Isabel’s influence on Selene, or what Isabel had admitted
about arranging their marriage.

“I think there is still more in this tale
than we will ever know,” he concluded. “But Selene is dead and
cannot speak, and Lady Isabel never will. Let it rest there, let
Selene rest in peace. She had little enough peace in life, poor
tormented woman. My lord, what we must talk about now is Isabel’s
claim that you are my father.”

“That she should deal you such a blow,”
Meredith cried, “by telling you when you were already in such deep
pain. What cruelty.”

“To be cruel when one of her intrigues failed
was always Isabel’s way,” Guy said. “Thomas, I tell you truthfully
I did not know it was Isabel who came to me the night you were
conceived. I was not quite fifteen years old. I had never lain with
a woman before, and at first I thought I was dreaming. Then I
thought it was one of the kitchen wenches, a girl I fancied, come
to lay with me in the dark. Had I known who it really was, I would
have run from that woman in horror. Although,” he added, “I cannot
say I am sorry you were born. You have always been a joy and pride
to me, and I loved you well, even before I knew you for my
own.”

“And you, Meredith,” Thomas turned his gaze
on her. “You said that you knew.”

“Guy told me after Cristin was born. It
seemed we could have no more children, and I was distraught that I
had not given him an heir of his own body. I told him to set me
aside and take another wife.”

“That I could never do.” Guy put an arm about
Meredith’s shoulders. “I told her the story, so she would know you
were my true heir.”

“And what might have distressed another
wife,” Meredith added, “was comfort to me. I loved you before,
Thomas, but all the more dearly once I knew you were Guy’s own
son.”

“But I am a bastard!” Thomas cried. “You
should have told me.”

“We kept the secret out of love for you,” Guy
said. “Why hurt you needlessly? The fewer people who know of this
the better. I have more than enough land to divide between you and
Meredith’s son, and still provide dowries for my daughters. No one
will be cheated, and no one else need ever know.”

“I should have been told,” Thomas cried
again. “Do you know what I have suffered, believing I was Sir
Lionel’s child? Even as a page at court, at that young age, I was
fully aware of what manner of man my supposed father was, and I
lived in terror of becoming like him, cruel and licentious, and
overly ambitious. It’s one of the reasons I spent two years at
Llangwilym Abbey, and thought so seriously of entering the Church.
To avoid passing that bad blood down to another generation. But
you, I always loved and admired you so much. If I had known you
were my father, how relieved I would have been. I would have been
glad to be your bastard.”

“I’m sorry, Tom. I tried to do the right
thing for you.”

“You know now, Thomas,” Meredith interrupted.
“Can’t you forgive Guy for hiding it all those years?”

“Forgive?” Thomas exclaimed. “It’s my mother
who should ask forgiveness, from all of us, for the wicked things
she’s done. But you, who have given me naught but love and guidance
all my life, you who – Father—”

“Tom, my son.”

They were in each other’s arms, slapping each
other on the back and trying not to weep with joy, and Meredith
turned aside to wipe her eyes. It was a long time before the two
men let each other go.

“I think,” Guy said, “we had best keep this
among ourselves. I doubt Isabel will ever tell another soul.”

“There is Reynaud,” Meredith added.

“Reynaud?” Thomas stared at her. “Reynaud
knows?”

“I told him years ago,” Guy explained. “He
has written it into one of his histories in case the information
should ever be needed after we are dead. But that volume is sealed,
and Reynaud will never speak. So, just we four will know.”

“And one more,” Thomas said. “Not yet, but
when the time is right, there is another who must know. It’s only
fair to tell her, and she will keep the secret.”

“I’m not sure -” Guy began.

“I am,” Thomas insisted. “I’ve lived too long
with untruths. My marriage to Selene was built on them. I’ll have
no more of that.”

“Agreed.” Guy put out his hand, and Thomas
clasped it. Father and son stood grinning at each other before they
embraced once more.

Late March, A.D., 1121

When her secretary had finished reading Sir
Valaire’s letter to her, Isabel cried out in dismay.

“He cannot do that to me!”

“I believe you will find, my lady,” the
secretary said, “that he can indeed. The agreement between you and
Sir Valaire was contained within a marriage contract, and was in
force only so long as the marriage continued between your son
Thomas and Sir Valaire’s daughter Selene. The marriage is ended by
the Lady Selene’s death.”

“And so Valaire will drive me out of my home
and leave me destitute?”

“As you have heard, my lady, he suggests you
enter a convent. He has been most generous to allow you a few
months’ grace.”

“Grace? Grace? How dare he?” Isabel picked up
her secretary’s inkpot, preparing to throw it at him. “Go into a
convent? That is just what I’ve been trying to avoid for the last
six years!”

“Please, my lady.” The secretary flinched,
backing away from the angry woman before him. “I’ve done nothing.
It’s not my fault.”

After a moment Isabel lowered the inkpot
slowly, thinking, while her secretary breathed a sigh of
relief.

Isabel wanted to weep, but she knew only too
well that tears would not help her now. What she had to do was see
to her own welfare. An idea was forming in her mind.

“A convent,” she murmured. “I have heard that
King Henry is completely bowed down by grief over his son’s
death.”

“So I have heard, too, my lady,” the
secretary eagerly affirmed, glad to have Isabel’s attention
diverted from the inkpot. “They say he sits and stares before him
all the day long, weeping, and leaves the business of governing to
others.”

“But he has roused himself enough to give
permission for William Atheling’s widow, Alice, to return to her
father in Anjou,” Isabel added.