Part 6 (1/2)
”He's found us,” cried Anne, tears sprouting in her eyes.
”Nay, but he does use his journey to Edward as a pretext to conceal his search,” the knight replied before stomping to the warmth of the fire. He threw more coals into the grate. ”The cagey devil, he says naught on the matter, merely that he's bound for the king's court.”
”To pet.i.tion the king for Haughmond!” Katherine drilled the knight's back with all her fear.
He turned to face her. ”'Tis likely. Thus we remain at Warwick 'til he departs.”
”Nay, we must gain King Edward's audience first, else the king does grant that evil man's request!”
Rhys shook his head. ”We cannot be abroad, Katherine, and have Sir Geoffrey overtake us on the road. 'Tis safer to remain hereat.”
Simon stepped closer. ”Think you he'll attempt an ambush if he travels in advance of us?”
”Methinks he'll try to reach the king with all haste, hoping to be the first to bend his ear.”
”'Tis so,” groaned Katherine, her despair threatening to undo her. She clasped her arms about herself. What became of Anne should Sir Geoffrey succeed? A chill coursed down her spine. What became of them both? Would they yet remain beneath Sir Geoffrey's clutches? Fear slammed into her stomach. Everything Aunt Matilda had predicted was coming to pa.s.s. She caught her trembling lip betwixt chattering teeth.
”Brace your heart, Katherine. We will bide our time within these walls before we venture to the king and plead your case.”
She opened her mouth, but Rhys's raised hand silenced her. ”Keep troth. The king is a fair man. He will deal with Haughmond without bias.”
”'Tis easy for you to say,” she managed. ”'Tis not your life or future.”
”Would that it could be. Ill luck can cast its miserable shadow on any of us at any moment.” Rhys stepped to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. ”I would not see you so strained, my lady. You must contain your fears.” His fingers lifting her chin gave Katherine no choice but to meet his gaze. ”I have declared I will own your cause. Have I not already proven that troth sufficiently to ease your worries?”
Though she stared into the depths of the knight's intense gaze, she could not find the surety to make a reply.
Rhys tipped his head and looked closer into her face. ”I know the king, Katherine. He will listen to our plea and treat you with fairness. You must bear this setback with patience and fort.i.tude. Pray, depend on me.”
Could she? Should she? 'Twas frightful how truly she and Anne depended upon the charity of this knight. And upon the might of his sword arm. Rhys exhibited a youth that could well portend their ruination, should he not vanquish Sir Geoffrey. Had he been tested in battle? Verily, she knew not this knight's worth, had only his brave words for comfort. But she knew Sir Geoffrey's worth, knew he had never lost a joust, knew he took advantage of others' weaknesses.
Was Rhys worthy? Her palms broke into a sweat and her mouth went dry. What if he were not? But what choice had she?
She sighed, a broken sound that lay bare her vulnerability. ”I have no one else to trust,” she whispered, resting her forehead against his hard chest.
The knight's arms, strong and rea.s.suring, gathered her close. His scent of spiced soap and leather jolted her senses, made her uneasy. Yet when he pressed her cheek to his chest, his warm hand resting gently against her skin, she felt comforted, her wilting courage fortified by a new hope and a renewed strength.
She heaved a sigh of relief.
Anne sidled close and Rhys included her within his embrace. ”Should the king not arrive in good time, we will journey to Bereford. Fear not, Simon and I will protect you both,” he murmured against Katherine's hair.
Simon shook his head. ”Or die in the attempt!”
Chapter Six.
Had the Earl of Bereford not boasted there was no better hunting forest in all of England than his own, the king wouldn't have tarried to indulge his whim for hawking when the boast, indeed, proved accurate. He was late for Warwick, but Warwick would await his pleasure.
'Twas an added boon that his queen found, in the countess, a kindred connoisseur of tapestries. The two women spent many hours examining the castle's collection and discussing weaving techniques. In turn, Queen Eleanor displayed her own textiles from Castile, the bright and cheerful hues which enlivened a dismal English winter, and which accompanied her everywhere she traveled.
The population of the Gloucesters.h.i.+re town swelled with royal retainers and those seeking the king's attention. Tents too numerous to count, of every festive shade and stripe, surrounded the indomitable red sandstone curtain wall beside the rus.h.i.+ng tributary of the Thames River. Carts littered the castle grounds, providing cover for the menial servants and the horde of men-at-arms who arrived late.
Within the walls of Bereford Castle utter chaos reigned. Knights and their squires, grooms, butlers, cooks, a legion of pages-even washer women-crowded into the outer ward, jostling each other and getting in each other's way as they went about their tasks of ministering to the royal court. The court itself, with its chamberlains and treasurers, stewards and clerks, was in daily touch with London. Couriers, accompanied by parties of knights for protection, created a steady stream of traffic on the highway, as did the endless procession of subjects within the hall, who pet.i.tioned the king on one complaint or another.
'Twas Edward's daily course in the ten years since he had inherited the throne from his father, and he thrived on it. Attending to matters of state came after morning prayers, while he reserved the hours following midday for hunting or hawking, depending on the queen's whim.
At the moment, he was buried beneath royal duties.
”Letters, sire, for your immediate attention. Gascony awaits a reply,” murmured the royal chamberlain hovering at his elbow.
Seated on the dais at one end of the great hall, in the grandest chair the earl possessed, Edward scarcely contained his boundless energy. A new hawk awaited him in the mews and he was impatient to test its skills.
Shoving up the sleeve of his blue woolen cotte, he held out his hand for the parchments. One after another, the missives were placed into his palm. The lords of Gascony were again arguing over boundary lines. King Philip threatened to take matters into his own hands if the problem wasn't resolved. King Alfonso, the queen's kinsman, sent his greetings. Charles of Salerno inquired as to when Edward would be stopping on his way to the Holy Land.
”Holy Land,” Edward exclaimed in exasperation, frowning at the parchment. ”He a.s.sures me 'twould be n.o.ble to take up the cross once more. But I avow 'twould be a hopeless venture.”
Rising, he thrust the letters into the chamberlain's arms. ”'Tis impossible to consider abandoning the country at this time. I've mine eye on Scotland. The clans are wreaking havoc in the northern s.h.i.+res. They needs be thrust back into their repellent highlands.” He drilled his minion with a scowl. ”Can we not create a ruse, so the savages will fight amongst themselves and leave England in peace?” He shook his fist at the man who, in stoic silence, awaited his next command. ”But if war they want, then war they'll get!”
Edward stomped down the two steps of the dais, swinging his elbows to loosen the cramped muscles after hours of state business, the wide sleeves of his surcoat flapping like wings. He drew a deep breath as he returned. ”And you say Robert de la Motte's daughter requires my time?”
The chamberlain nodded. ”Yea, sire, she awaits you.” He turned and beckoned to a lady standing at the edge of the crowd.
Edward's brows rose as Robert's daughter approached the dais. Garbed in an ungirdled woolen gown of dark red, she was a vision of beauty. Suddenly regretting that he had put her off for two days, he was prepared to be gracious and kind. But he did not intend the lady to know this. It had required an inordinate amount of time to solve the th.o.r.n.y conundrum of Haughmond Castle. 'Twas but this morn that a satisfying answer had been found.
The lady executed a pleasing curtsy and he stood straighter, hoping his eyelid did not droop more than usual, an irksome fault inherited from his sire.
”Ah, our late lord's daughter. Arise, Lady Katherine. Come hither.” He savored her appeal and her grace as she stood. Robert would be proud. To be sure, she held her head the same as her sire. ”What brings you to court this day?” Edward inquired, knowing full well the reason for her pet.i.tion.
The lady met his eyes with an unflinching gaze. An astute young damsel-not the middling sort. Undoubtedly, she would not be as acquiescent as others of lesser intelligence.
”Sire, I have come to plead for the return of-”
”Hold!” He held up his hand and peered beyond her, hoping to p.r.i.c.k her confidence.
”You there!” He called to the knight who had escorted the lady and who appeared reluctant to come forward. Most subjects eagerly sought his attention. Strangely, the man seemed intent in melting into the crowd. ”I would be acquainted with you. Approach!” Edward gestured his hand impatiently, rankled that a subject disdained to pay homage to him. 'Twas an unpleasant reminder of the stubborn and vexatious Welsh princes.
The knight stepped from behind a n.o.bleman and strode forward, his chain-mail armor murmuring a metallic whisper with each step. Though his steel helm was absent, his mail coif yet covered his head. Nigh hidden beneath his armor, all that could be seen of the man were his downcast eyes and a generous growth of blond facial hair on his chin and upper lip. He came to stand a few steps behind Katherine and bowed with exaggerated politeness.
Edward suppressed a grimace at the pretentious display.
”Sir Rhys of St. Quintin at your service, sire.”
”Ah, St. Quintin!” Edward's pique disappeared with the knowledge this stranger served one of his loyal barons. ”How is your lord?”
”Sir Richard claimed a healthy appet.i.te when last I saw him a fortnight agone.”
”And Sir Dafydd? I presume you are acquainted with that worthy knight?”