Castle of the Wolf
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“That’s right—we should be sure,” Mavis agreed. “Let’s go look ourselves.”
“All right, but I can only spare a little time,” she said, giving in. After all, she should know if the melee was really over or not, and she could stand against the tower, where she couldn’t see over the edge to the ground below. She had always been afraid of being up high, even as a little child and before her parents died of the ague, and for no reason that she could name, other than a vivid notion of what a fall from a great height could do.
Together the two young women hurried through the corridor connecting the kitchen to the great hall.
Mavis wore a finely woven green gown with a lighter green overtunic, her blond hair gleaming like molten gold; Tamsin wore a plainer gown of doe-brown wool, the sleeves rolled back to expose slender arms and capable hands, her long braid of chestnut hair swinging down her back as always.
Skirting the excited and ever-present hounds, they walked quickly through the hall bustling with servants spreading clean linen on the tables and sprinkling fresh rosemary and fleabane on the rush-covered floors. Denly was putting new torches in the sconces. Despite their hurry, Tamsin made sure all was as it should be as she passed the servants, giving each a nod and a smile.
“I’m sure Sir Jocelyn won the day,” Mavis said as they climbed the steps to the wall walk near the main gate in the inner curtain wall. “He was the squire of Sir William of Kent.”
“He’s very comely, too.”
“That isn’t why I think he’ll win,” Mavis replied with a toss of her head. “He’s very well trained.”
That might be, but he’s no Sir Rheged, Tamsin thought, then silently chastised herself for even thinking of the Welsh knight.
As they came out onto the wall walk, Mavis went right to the edge, while Tamsin stood with her back against the solid tower. Her cousin pointed at the group of men in the area between the outer and inner curtain walls. Some were mounted, a few walked and behind them came the squires, carrying shields and swords. “There they are. I can’t tell who won. Can you?”
Tamsin scanned the group. No man was obviously triumphant. No one rode out in front, or with a victor’s proud poise.
She spotted Sir Jocelyn, his shoulders slumped. Clearly not the winner. Her gaze passed over a few others, until she saw Sir Rheged. He was among the last, walking and leading his huge black warhorse, while another man leaned on him for support.
She shouldn’t feel so disappointed...but she did.
“There’s the Wolf of Wales,” Mavis said as if she’d been reading Tamsin’s mind, “and that’s young Sir Robert of Tammerly limping beside him.”
“Sir Robert must not be badly hurt, or he would still be in the tent or in a cart,” Tamsin noted. She’d arranged for a physician and servants to be at the site of the melee to take care of anyone injured on the field.
“Sir Rheged doesn’t look so fierce now, does he?”
“No,” Tamsin agreed.
“Since he’s lost, perhaps he’ll cut his hair. He’s clearly not another Samson.”
“I wouldn’t venture to suggest it.”
“I wouldn’t venture to talk to him at all if I could help it,” Mavis said with a sniff and a second toss of her head. “I’ve never seen a grimmer fellow. I think he’s barely said three words since he arrived.”
He’d said more than three words to Tamsin, but she didn’t bother to correct her cousin. She didn’t want to tell Mavis about that meeting in the courtyard, or what he’d said, or how he’d looked at her, or how she’d felt when he looked at her, and she certainly wasn’t going to tell Mavis about that dream.
“And he’s so poor, he has absolutely no influence at court. Indeed, he’s only got the small estate he has because Sir Algar gave it to him.”
“Who is Sir Algar? I don’t recall the name.”
“A minor lord who used to be friendly with my father. He hasn’t come here in years, though. The poor old man must be in his dotage, Father says. I gather the estate he gave Sir Rheged is barely enough to maintain a household and the fortress is a ruin. He can’t have more than a few soldiers and servants. And he’s called it Coom Bron, whatever that means in Welsh.”
“Lady Thomasina!”
They both turned as Charlie came rushing up the steps. The lad was small for his age, lively and inquisitive, and often delivered messages about the castle. A lock of his brown hair was forever flopping over his forehead and a score of freckles spanned his wide nose. “Lord DeLac wants to see you, my lady,” he panted, addressing Tamsin. “Right away, he says.”
Chapter Two
Tamsin and Mavis exchanged glances. Such a summons on such a day could herald nothing good.
“Did you hear who won, Charlie?” Mavis asked as Tamsin started down the well-worn steps, wondering what she’d forgotten or failed to anticipate.
“Aye, my lady. The Welshman with the hair to his shoulders.”
Tamsin came to an abrupt halt and glanced back at the grinning boy. “Sir Rheged?”
“Are you quite sure?” Mavis demanded.
“Aye, my lady. I had it from Wilf at the gate, who got it from the messenger himself come from the field. The Welshman bested seven knights and should be getting a pretty penny in exchange for their arms and horses, as well as the prize, o’ course.”
Tamsin started on her way again, smiling to herself as she headed to her uncle’s solar. She stopped smiling when she reached the solar and knocked on the heavy oaken door, entering when she heard her uncle’s gruff response.
A quick glance assured her nothing was amiss with the chamber itself. The brazier full of coals glowed brightly, the tapestries were clean and free of dust and the rushes on the floor newly laid. The candles, not lit during the day, had been well trimmed, and the cloth shutter over the arched window was open just enough to allow a bit of fresh air, but not enough to create a draft.
Her middle-aged, gray-haired, bearded uncle sat behind the large table polished with beeswax. As always he was richly dressed in a long tunic of finely woven brown wool, with an embossed belt around his ample middle and a long necklace of heavy silver links. Several rings adorned his thick fingers. The golden box studded with gemstones, which was to be awarded to the tournament champion at the feast that night, rested near his elbow.
Uncle Simon tapped the parchment open before him with his stubby index finger. She should have been relieved he didn’t immediately launch into a litany of complaints, but there was something about the look in his beady gray eyes that did nothing to lessen her trepidation.
“You’re finally going to pay me back for all I’ve spent on you,” he announced.
Tamsin’s heart leapt to her throat. She was a lady, a nobleman’s daughter, and couldn’t repay him in coin. There was but one way, and his next words confirmed her dread.
“I need an ally in the north, so you’re going to marry Sir Blane of Dunborough. He’s on his way for the wedding and should be here in a fortnight.”
It was no more than she had expected, and yet— a fortnight! Less than a month. And who was Sir Blane of Dunborough?
The answer crashed into her mind like a boulder. He was the bone-thin, lecherous old man who’d visited Castle Delac in the spring. She’d noticed at once how he’d stared at Mavis like an aged satyr, and she’d immediately declared that her cousin was feeling unwell. One look at Sir Blane, and Mavis had just as swiftly agreed, taking to her bed for the duration of his visit. Tamsin had kept the younger maidservants away from him, too, and even the oldest ones, who’d had years of experience fending off unwanted advances, had complained that he was the worst they’d ever encountered.
All the women of the household had breathed a sigh of relief when he had gone, and Tamsin had considered herself fortunate that she’d managed to avoid getting within ten feet of the man.
And now to hear she was supposed to marry him!
Her uncle’s eyebrows lowered as he frowned. “Well? Where is your gratitude?”
She’d rather spend her days in the coldest, most barren, inhospitable convent in Scotland than marry Blane of Dunborough, but it surely wouldn’t be wise to say so. “You surprised me, Uncle. I didn’t think I would ever marry.”
“What, you expected to live off my generosity forever?”
As if he hadn’t begrudged every coin he’d ever spent on her and cast up her dependence on him nearly every day since she arrived after her parents had died when she was ten years old. “I had hoped I could remain in Castle DeLac.”
“Living off my largess for life?”
There was no hope for it. “Or perhaps a convent...?”
“Good God, girl! It costs money to have the sisters take you. You expect me to pay for that?”
“Do you not have to provide a dowry to Sir Blane?”
Glaring, her uncle hoisted himself to his feet. “How dare you question me, you insolent wench? Where is your gratitude for everything I’ve done for you? Your thanks that I’ve found a man willing to take you?”
A man? Sir Rheged was a man. Sir Blane was more like a degenerate fiend in human form. “While I’m grateful for all you’ve done for me, Uncle—”
“You don’t sound grateful! You sound just like your damned mother!”
The words stung like a slap. Nevertheless she had to object. If she didn’t speak now, she might regret it for the rest of her life. “Sir Blane—”
“Is willing to take you off my hands and that’s the end of it,” her uncle said as he threw himself back into his chair. “Say nothing of this to anyone until I announce it tomorrow. I won’t have you taking the attention from my feast, or the champion, even if he is an ignorant, uncouth Welshman. Now go.”
She stayed where she was. “Uncle, I appreciate that I came to you with little, and you were forced to take me in. But to marry me off to a man like Sir Blane! Can you really be so callous and cruel, and to your own flesh and blood?”
Her uncle’s face was like iron, hard and cold. “If you refuse him, another must take your place, so either you marry him or Mavis must, for the agreement has been signed and the alliance made. But if it must be Mavis, know that I’ll marry you off to the first man I can find willing to take you for nothing except an alliance with me.”
Her choice was no choice. Making the merry, gentle, loving Mavis wed Sir Blane would be like murdering her. “I shall abide by your agreement, Uncle, and marry Sir Blane.”
“On your word of honor?”
She wanted to scream. She wanted to refuse. She wanted to tell him exactly what she thought of him. “On my word of honor,” she replied, each word like a nail in her coffin.
“Aren’t you going to thank me?”
She looked at the man who had never loved her, despite all her efforts, until his gaze faltered.
Then she turned and left him.
* * *
Feet planted, hands clasped behind his back, his stoic gaze sweeping over the hall and those gathered there, Rheged stood on the dais in the great hall of Castle DeLac waiting to receive his prize. The torches and expensive candles gracing the tables burned brightly, illuminating not just his prize and the fine clothes of the guests, but their less-than-pleased expressions, too.
His arms ached and he would have a few bruises come the morning, but what was that, or the angry and jealous looks from those who’d lost, if he received that valuable golden box?
Even so, it was not the box that commanded his attention most. It was Tamsin, far down the hall, half-hidden behind one of the stone pillars. Something had obviously upset or disturbed her. Gone was the lively gleam in her eye and the proud carriage of her head. The vitality that had seemed to shine forth from her slender frame and made him think she would be capable of managing everything and anything in a lord’s castle, even to commanding the garrison if need be, had apparently ebbed away.
Lord DeLac came toward him holding out the prize.
Perhaps she was ill, but if so, surely she wouldn’t be in the hall at all.
“A fine effort, Sir Rheged,” Lord DeLac said, his smile more than half a smirk.
Maybe she was simply exhausted. It must be tiring running a large household, and there were many guests here, and feasts to arrange, with dishes of fish, fowl like swans and geese, roasted beef, pork and mutton, pottages of peas and leeks, greens and fresh bread.
“I congratulate you on your victory,” Lord DeLac continued. “Not unexpected, given your reputation, but well earned nonetheless.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Rheged replied, not troubling to feign a smile in response when Lord DeLac placed the box in his hands. It was heavy, and the jewels decorating it glinted in the torchlight, reminding him of the reason he had come to Castle DeLac—to win this prize and collect ransoms. He needed money to begin the necessary repairs to his own fortress, to rise another step on the long ladder to power and prosperity.
He had not come here to concern himself with the troubles of Lord DeLac’s niece.
An elderly priest appeared from the corner near the dais to bless the meal. When he finished, it was as if he’d given a signal for everyone to speak at once while they took their seats. Rheged had been given the place of honor to the right of Lord DeLac. Lady Mavis sat on Lord DeLac’s left, with Lord Rossford beside her, while the elderly, stone-deaf Lady Rossford, who had been nursing a chill and seemingly recovered, sat on Rheged’s right. He couldn’t have conversed with her even if he’d wanted to, and her pursed lips made it clear she had no desire to speak with him, either.
The rest of the noble guests were seated below the dais, enjoying excellent wine as they talked and laughed, chatted and whispered and gossiped, while a bevy of servants tended to them under the ever-watchful eye of Tamsin, who barely touched her meal. Looking for all the world like a defeated general, she sat at a table that was far enough away to seem an insult.
Something truly serious must have happened to affect her so.
“Well, Sir Rheged, do you not agree?” Lord DeLac asked, his tone slightly impatient as the last course of baked fruit and pastries came to an end.
“I beg your pardon, my lord? The magnificence of your feast has taken all my attention,” Rheged replied, thinking it probably wouldn’t be wise to voice his concern about the man’s niece now, or ever.
Wiping his greasy fingers on a pristine linen napkin, Lord DeLac smiled. “I said, between the prize I offered and the ransoms for horses and arms you captured in the melee, you have become somewhat richer today.”
“The prize is a most magnificent and generous one, my lord, and your hospitality is without parallel.”
Lord DeLac leaned back in his chair and reached for the silver goblet in front of him, the jewels in his rings twinkling like the thick chain around his neck. “I understand you have no wife. You must be thinking of taking a bride soon.”
“Thinking of it,” Rheged agreed, certain the man was not about to propose Rheged marry his daughter, or his niece. A man like DeLac would surely seek rich, influential husbands for his female relatives, not a Welshman who’d been born of peasant parents and fought his way to a knighthood and an estate.
Nevertheless, to flatter the lady and his host, he bestowed a smile on Lady Mavis. Yes, most men would call her beautiful, with her fair hair and milky white skin, fine features and swanlike neck, but she was not the one Rheged had thought about before falling asleep last night, or when he was waiting for the melee to begin. Nor, he was sure, would she be in his thoughts tonight.
Nor would he be in hers, for although Lady Mavis blushed, she did not return his smile.
On the other hand, that wasn’t so surprising. Women always responded to him in one of two ways: either with fear and trepidation, avoiding his gaze like Lady Mavis; or with avid interest and not a little indication that they would enjoy sharing his bed. Sometimes he took one of them up on their offer. Most times he did not.
Only Tamsin had ever seemed concerned about his well-being and comfort.
He glanced down the hall again, in time to see Tamsin rise and leave her place. He continued to watch her as she threaded her way through the hall to the corridor that led to the kitchen, no doubt to give the remains of this feast to the poor tonight, as well.
He was a knight sworn to protect women. She was definitely troubled or upset. Surely it was his duty to help her if he could.
“If you’ll excuse me, my lord,” he said, pushing back his chair, “I must retire. I have a long journey tomorrow and the opponents I faced today sorely tested my mettle. I am too weary to remain for the no doubt excellent entertainment.”
“Oh, surely you can’t be that tired!” Lord DeLac protested. “A fine young fellow like you! Why, in my youth, I could fight all day and drink all night and be none the worse for it come the dawn.”
“Alas, my lord, I am not so fine a fellow then, for rest I must. I give you good night, and you, too, my lady,” he added with a polite bow in Lady Mavis’s direction.
The young woman nodded in acknowledgment but said nothing.
“If you must, then, Sir Rheged,” Lord DeLac grudgingly and ungraciously replied.
Rheged rose and picked up his prize. Once more ignoring the hushed comments and disdainful whispers of the Norman nobles, he took the box to the chamber that he’d been assigned. It was on the second level of a long building near the hall and had a small window with wooden shutters opening about ten feet above the ground below. The chamber itself contained a bed, a washstand and a stool, as well as his armor on a stand and the two leather pouches he used to carry his belongings. There was nowhere to hide his precious prize, or so it seemed, but he had hoped to win and so had planned a way to conceal it. Moving swiftly, he put the box in the smaller pouch and removed the drawstring from the larger one, which he tied to the first. Then, getting up on the stool, he tied the free end of the string around the iron bracket for the shutter and lowered the bag out the window until it rested about a foot from the opening. He moved the stool away from the window and stepped back.
From where he stood, he couldn’t see the knot or string, and even if someone outside noticed the pouch in the dark, it would be too high to grab.
Satisfied, he left the chamber and went back to the yard. He found a deep doorway in one of the many storehouses, a spot where he could watch the entrance to the kitchen without being seen from the wall walk or by any of the guards. It was also out of sight of the servants hurrying to and fro from the hall or kitchen or stables, and he ducked inside to wait.
The night was cool, with more than a hint of autumn in the air, and he wrapped his arms around himself for warmth. Not that he was as cold as most of those wealthy, coddled nobles would be in a similar situation. He’d spent more nights than he could remember sleeping beneath the open sky, or huddled in a doorway or an alley, often with no blanket or cloak to cover himself.
Nevertheless he was glad he didn’t have to wait long before Tamsin emerged from the noisy kitchen carrying her basket. Once again he watched her cross the yard with that grace that could not be taught and deliver the remains of the food from the feast to the poor folk gathered there. He heard their thanks, recognized their heartfelt gratitude and admired her gentle voice as she assured them they were welcome to all they could take.
But he still saw defeat in her slumped shoulders, and despair was evident in her slow steps back to the kitchen.
When she drew abreast of where he waited, he softly called her name.
She gasped and stepped back, clutching the basket before her as if it were a shield. “What are you doing here, Sir Rheged? What do you want?”
He spread his hands wide and kept his voice calm and gentle, as he would to a frightened horse. “I only seek to know if all is well with you.”
“I am quite well, my lord.”
“You’re lying.”
“How dare you, sir!” she demanded in a whisper. “How dare you make such an accusation?”
At least he’d brought the vibrant light back into her eyes. “Because something has happened to disturb you. You sat like a stone through the whole feast.”
Her steadfast gaze wavered, but only for a moment. “I wasn’t aware I was being studied with such scrutiny.”
“What’s happened to upset you so?”
“Nothing that need concern you. I give you congratulations on your victory today, Sir Rheged, and I wish you Godspeed on your journey home,” she said before turning to go.
He put his hand on her arm to keep her there. “My lady, please. It’s a knight’s duty to help and protect women. If there’s anything—”
“Let me go!” she ordered. “Or I’ll call out the guard! Don’t think I won’t!”
Fearing she would indeed summon the guards who would likely take a dim view of anything a Welshman did even if he was the tournament champion, Rheged silenced her the first way that came to mind.
He kissed her.
Kissed her full on the lips. Kissed her first with hard, swift desperation and then, when she didn’t pull away, with increasing need and desire. Kissed her as he had never kissed another woman, because until this day he had only ever wanted a woman for physical release.
Until tonight.
Until now, when he held Tamsin of DeLac in his arms and surrendered to the powerful, passionate yearning she aroused within him, as no other woman ever had.
Chapter Three
Tamsin knew she should protest. Make him stop. Push him away. Call out the guards if need be. Sir Rheged shouldn’t be kissing her or embracing her in the dark. She was a lady. She was betrothed.
Yet she did not resist him. She could not. Not when his kiss gentled and his strong arms slid around her as if offering her sanctuary.
Not even when her empty basket fell unheeded to the ground and he opened the door behind him. Nor when he drew her into the deeper darkness of the woolshed, where the bundles of bound wool seemed to breathe, expanding and contracting with soft sighs as his lips found hers again.
But this thrilling embrace couldn’t last, because duty must be done, or more than she would suffer.
Putting her hands on his broad chest, she pushed him back. “Stop,” she commanded, her voice low and firm despite the quiver she couldn’t suppress. “Please. Stop.”
“As you wish, if that is what you truly wish,” he replied, his deep voice like a caress in the darkness.
No, she didn’t wish it, but it must and would be so. “It is.”
“Very well. But something upset you before this, something that happened during the melee, or shortly afterward. Please, for my sake if not your own, tell me, and if I can help you, allow me that honor.”
To have such a man make such an offer, at such a time, in such a voice, was nearly enough to make her weep. But she must not weaken. Nevertheless she simply couldn’t resist the urge to tell him what her uncle had done. “I have been betrothed.”
“Ah,” he sighed, and she could read nothing in that long exhalation. “To whom?”
“Sir Blane of Dunborough.”
He started as if she’d struck him. “That dog?”
His response, so like a curse, nearly undid her. But she had to be strong and do what she must, for Mavis’s sake—and this man could not know her true feelings. After all, in spite of what he’d said about his knightly duty, there was nothing he could do. “I must remind you that you’re speaking of a nobleman, and my betrothed.”
“I know who he is,” Rheged replied. “I know what he is. Does your uncle? Do you?”
“I’ve met him.”
“And yet you’d marry him?”
“I’ve agreed to do so,” she answered, although now more than ever she wished she’d refused.
“You said you’ve met Blane. Where?”
“Here, if it is any of your business—and it’s not,” she tartly replied.
“Not at his castle, then. You haven’t witnessed him in his own household. You haven’t seen how terrified his men and servants are of him—and with good cause. He’s the most vicious, evil tyrant I’ve ever met. His sons, save one, are little better, and even Roland quarrels constantly with his brothers. Marry Blane, and you’ll be walking into a nest of vipers at war with one another.”