Castle of the Wolf. Margaret Moore
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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