Heart's Ransom (Heart and Soul) (32 page)

“Rose, get in here and calm down.”

Rose blinked at her but the command had the desired effect and she calmed, hurrying into the room.

“Take his hand, talk to him, and make him understand you are safe. He believes you are still on the trail fighting for your lives.”

Rose seized Brynmor's hand. “Bryn! Bryn can you hear me?”

He hesitated, staring down at her. “Rose, I vow to get you home safe.”

“You did, Bryn. We are home now. I am safe thanks to you.”

“Safe?”

“Aye, Bryn. Please, let Lady Gwen help you.”

“Gwen?” He then looked at her in confusion, his eyes glazed from the high fever. “My sister....”

“Aye, Bryn,” Gwen replied. “Please you are ill, we must get you back to bed.”

“Nay, I must plow the fields. I cannot rest.”

“Bryn,” Rose said softly. “You have a fever. You must rest. If you do not, who will protect me?”

Gwen thanked the saints the child was so intelligent. Her words had the desired effect. Bryn allowed them to guide him to the bed. “I will protect you, Rose.”

“Aye,” she said softly. “But you must rest first, please.”

He returned to bed and closed his eyes, grimacing in pain.

“Stay with him, Rose,” Gwen said turning to her medicant chest. “Hold his hand, talk to him,
and keep him calm until I can make a tea for him.”

Rose did as Gwen bade her and soon the tea was finished. She held it to Brynmor's lips and he drank without fighting.

Gwen sighed in relief. “This will help him sleep so we can clean his wound of the infection.”

“Is that why he is fevered?” Rose asked.

“Aye.”

“It is my fault he received that wound.”

Bryn groaned, responding to the anguish in her voice even though Gwen had dosed him with a sleeping draught.

“Rose, come with me a moment, please. Marcus will you sit with him?”

“Of course, my lady.”

In the corridor, Gwen pulled Rose to a nearby bench and sat, gripping the
girl’s hands securely in her own. “Rose, this is to be your first lesson in healing. No matter what you feel, pain, fear or guilt, you must never, ever allow your patient to hear it in your voice.”

“But--”

“I know, dear heart, I know you blame yourself but my point is Bryn is fevered and not thinking clearly. He is responding only to the fear in your voice and is rousing himself to protect you. That could cause him to hurt himself even more or injure those trying to help him.”

“I'm sorry...”

“It's all right, Rose,” she replied with an encouraging smile. “But if you are to help me heal him, you must stay calm in his presence. If you are calm, he will be too. Do you understand?”

Rose thought for a moment then nodded. “I will be calm, I promise.”

“Good. Now, I have to go back there and clean his wound of infection. I warn you it will not be pleasant. If it will be too much for you, you don't have to come with me.”

“I want to, Lady Gwen. It's the least I can do after all he did for me.”

“That's my girl,” she said with a smile. “But please, if it is too much or you fear you might become ill, please leave the room immediately. We can work on other things later. For some people it takes time for them to adjust to seeing foul wounds. There is no weakness in admitting that fact.”

Rose nodded, her face pale and her blue eyes serious. “If it is too much I will leave. But I want to help him, Lady Gwen.”

“Then let's go do just that.”

****

Three days later, Gwen and Rose entered Brynmor's room to discover him sitting up in bed, disoriented and confused but coherent.

“Rose,” he said, his voice graveled. “Where are we?”

Rose looked to Gwen who nodded with a smile. She rushed to him and threw herself in his arms. “We're at my home, Bryn.”

He closed his eyes gratefully, holding her tightly. “Praise the saints.”

“Lady Gwen, I think his fever has finally broken.”

She approached, holding her hand to his forehead. “Aye,” she replied. “I do believe he has defeated the infection. You gave us quite a scare, Bryn.”

“Forgive me. The last thing I wished to do was to vex the two most beautiful ladies in my life.”

Gwen laughed. “Ah yes, definitely feeling better. I imagine you are hungry.”

“Aye, I feel as weak as a mewling kitten.”

“It will take a couple of days to regain your strength. But you are welcome here, my brother. Marcus and Lucais wish to speak at length with you later.” She added the last part in hopes of heading off any objection from him at being a burden for staying.

It worked and he nodded. “Thank you, dear sister, you are too kind.”

“Come
Rose; let us get him something to eat.”

Rose nodded and smiled up at him.

****

On the fourth day, Brynmor had regained his feet although tired easily. Gwen escorted him, Marcus and Lucais upstairs, heading directly for Eleanor’s room.

When she turned for the stairs past the solar, Marcus caught her arm.  “My lady--”

“’Tis no worry Marcus.  Talon brought me here himself to explain happenings.  He said it is the only place we can be assured of privacy because the servants believe it haunted.”

Marcus nodded dubiously and Lucais crossed himself. Bryn scowled at her in confusion.

Marcus unlocked the door and allowed them entrance, lighting the same single candle Talon had before.  He locked the door behind them.

Brynmor sat heavily, his gaze leaping from corner to corner. “What is this place?” He growled. “I can feel...”

“Rest easy, Bryn, we all feel the hatred within these walls but it is the only place the servants avoid.”

“I can understand why.”

“Lucais,” Gwen prompted.

“Brynmor, I do not doubt your loyalty or sincerity after what I have witnessed but I must understand more of this plot against House Montgomery. Since not all the mercenaries are dead, I am concerned for both Lady Gwen's and Rose's welfare.”

Brynmor nodded. “Aye. I learned from Powys who had reach into Montgomery. I sought out that man and followed him.”

“We know the spies in Montgomery relay information constantly through a young servant boy who once made his living as a thief in the market,” Lucais said. “He his small and smart, a stealthy creature, but we managed to follow him.  He delivered his messages to the same mercenaries at the tavern which the crofter described.”

“I know not the crofter you speak of but I did see the young lad. I quickly learned I did not wish the duties of a spy. I followed so many people, it became wearisome quite rapidly.”

Lucais flashed him a grin. “Aye, 'tis a practiced skill, I must admit being surprised you accomplished it so readily.”

“Mercenaries have a tendency to ignore a freeman farmer.”

“What do you mean, Bryn?” Gwen asked.

He chuckled. “When I had to follow someone, I returned to my old life – not that of a knight but a freeman. I became just another face in the crowd.”

Lucais barked a laugh and slapped him on the back. “Well met, son.”

Brynmor's grin broadened. “I watched them and eventually discovered the mercenaries. They took the information from the lad then wrote small notes, delivered to a wench at the bakery.  She put these notes in dough, baking them, and then delivering her regular loaves of bread to a merchant.  The merchant in turn sold the bread to another set of mercenaries who were the ones holding Rose.”

Gwen’s eyebrows shot up her forehead.  “A complicated plot, no wonder Talon could not find Rose.”

Brynmor nodded.  “I managed to obtain one of the notes, the surprising thing it is written in French.”

“French?” Gwen asked thinking furiously.  “Talon mentioned to me that the notes from the crofter were written in poor English - so poor he could barely read them.  That seemed to him the standard for mercenary ilk and not properly knowing their letters.”

“Methinks these men are French knights disguised as mercenaries.  Few know common English. I learned my letters but I struggle with French and Latin.” He opened his belt pouch and pulled out a neatly folded note, handing it to Lucais.

Lucais read, his brows flying up his forehead. “This is written as if by French nobility.”

“Nobility?” Marcus asked in shock.

“Aye.” He paused gazing at Gwen for a long moment. “Methinks it best to err on the side of caution and believe this plot is not over yet. You and Rose are still in danger.”

Gwen fidgeted nervously. “You and your men will stay then?”

“Of course, if you wish us to do so.”

“I do,” she replied and Marcus nodded vehemently.

“Bryn,” Marcus said. “As soon as Gwen pronounces you fit to travel, I will write the papers for your stewardship. You will need to return to Powys and seize control there. We do not need it unstable. Montgomery's enemies may well try to take advantage.”

“Aye,” Brynmor replied nodding. “I will leave immediately if you wish.”

“Nay,” Gwen said firmly. “You will be riding into a viper's nest, and will need all of your strength and wits about you. If anyone senses weakness in you, they will try to take advantage or maybe even kill you. You will stay here a few more days until I'm confident you are recovered.”

He took a breath as if to argue.

“Nay.”

He scowled and took another breath.

“Nay, Bryn, my decision is final.”

He looked to Lucais and Marcus for support but they just laughed.

“Nay, son,” Marcus said. “For I completely agree with Lady Gwen.”

Brynmor
muttered under his breath but did not argue.

They called the meeting to a close and filed out, Gwen was the last to leave. Making sure they continued down the hall, she waited then blew out the candle. She moved toward the door but hesitated and looked back, a sudden chill curling down her spine and her hackles standing upright.  But Gwen straightened her shoulders, refusing to be intimidated by the awful sensation. 

“Your curse ends now, Eleanor.  Your hatred has no place in a home with love and family.  If you seek to torment Talon you must go through me.  And spirit or no, I will tear you apart.  You have not yet seen the fury of a Welshwoman protecting her own.” 

She spun on her heel and slammed the door behind her, easily imagining she heard Eleanor’s spirit screaming in impotent rage.

M
id-August, 1265

After another three days, Gwen pronounced Brynmor fit to travel. He departed for Powys with great celebration and a hero’s status, his writ of stewardship in his hands.  Days later, Gwen received a note from him informing her of his safe arrival and his successful bid at assuming control of Powys.

Although a very wet summer, August was still hot.  The unusual amount of rain made the air sticky, adding to Gwen’s already uncomfortable state.  But at least she had the enjoyment of teaching Rose spinning and weaving.  Gwen also showed the child a bit of herb-lore and healing.  In the tower room where Gwen dried her herbs and pressed some into oils, she and Rose read over the parchment written by Gwen’s ancestors.

Rose was fascinated with the entire subject, soaking up all the knowledge she could.  Gwen also took the opportunity to help her with her letters.  Rose practiced writing as Gwen instructed her what to add to the parchments.

“And this has been passed down to the eldest daughter for four generations?” Rose asked wide-eyed.

“Aye,” Gwen said as she set her small oil press in place.  She paused, studying Rose thoughtfully.  “My mother died before she could teach me much about healing but thankfully these notes and Brother Cedric’s knowledge enabled me to learn.”

“Lady Gwen--” Rose began then hesitated, struggling to find the words.

“What is it, Rose?”

“I do not mean to be rude...but if you and Papa...I mean if the baby is a boy...I mean....” She stopped with a frustrated sigh.

“I know,” Gwen said gently and sat beside her.  “It is time we speak of this and not worry about offending each other.”

Rose gazed at her with wide blue eyes.  Gwen marveled at her.  It was impossible to lie to those eyes.  She couldn’t resist a smile, thinking of the future.  The man who found himself ensnared in Rose’s gaze would struggle indeed.

“You...and Papa...aren’t married, are you?”

“Nay,” she said sadly, ducking her head and a blush coloring her cheeks.  “Does this offend you, Rose?”

She bit her lip and lifted her shoulder in a small shrug.  “Do you love my papa?” she asked softly.

Gwen’s throat tightened painfully and she took a deep breath.  “Aye, Rose.  I love him very much, but I fear I could not find the courage to tell him.”

“He doesn’t know about the baby, does he?”

“Nay.  I did not realize I was breeding until after he left.”

“Will...will you marry him when he returns?”

“I want to Rose, but that depends on your father’s wishes.”

Rose’s brow furrowed thoughtfully.  “When Papa comes home, I know he will make it right.”

“I admire your faith in your father, Rose, but ‘tis possible he will not have a choice.  ‘Tis also possible that he has no desire to marry me at all.”

Rose shook her head vehemently.  “He will, Lady Gwen.  I know my father.  He...he told me once that he was sorry I was alone.  I never knew why he didn’t marry again but maybe he was waiting for you.”

Gwen smiled, her emotions growing more tangled.

“Would...would you want to be my momma, Lady Gwen?”

“My dear,” she said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.  “I would be honored to be your momma.  But I think we should not make too many plans for the future until your father comes home.”

She smiled brightly, and just like Talon, her grin fair lit a room.  “Don’t worry, Lady Gwen,” she said, patting her hand in a very motherly fashion.  “If Papa doesn’t see reason by the time he comes home, I’ll make him see it.”

Gwen laughed.  “Oh dear, I am certain your father is in trouble now.”

“I can be very persuasive when I want.”  She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a mischievous whisper.  “Promise you won’t tell anyone, but I can get my father to do almost anything.”

Gwen laughed again, hugging the child.  “I am certain you can, Rose.”  She stood, wincing at the unexpected twinge that shot through her.

Rose, ever astute, frowned.  “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she said.  “Sometimes if I move too suddenly my body complains.  Come; let us go to the gardens.  A few of my new medicant herbs need weeding.”

Rose nodded, sealing the horn with the ink and cleaning the quill, putting everything away carefully.  They went
below stairs and into the gardens.  Gwen always wore old clothes when working with her herbals and Rose was dressed in a similar fashion, wearing a faded and patched dress.

Mince found them in the bailey, carrying the old braided rag, and wagging his tail happily.  He dropped the toy and sat before them, panting.  Close to his full growth, Mince had one ear which stood
straight; the other didn’t quite make it, flopping over his head and giving him a ridiculously adorable expression.

“Oh he wants to play again,” Rose said in delight, having become fast friends with the dog.  She caught the end of the braid and pulled.  Mince growled with mock ferociousness, tugging and yanking but Rose continued into the gardens, dragging the gangly dog behind her.  Gwen covered a smile, watching the dog try to sit down, his legs at awkward angles.

She and Rose weeded the gardens and Gwen was encouraged to see the plants doing well - as long as they could keep Mince out of the dirt.  He seemed to think Gwen and Rose needed help and showed them how very good he was at digging.

“Mince, please!” Gwen cried as he tried to plow up her Angelica plants.  He stopped, looking at her with dirt on his nose, and wagging his tail.

Rose nearly fell over in gales of laughter.

“Don’t encourage him, Rose,” Gwen said, trying to stifle her own smile.  “Mince, come.” 

Mince took this as a cue to play.  He jumped forward, his front end low, his rear up in the air, and yipped at her.  Gwen reached for him, trying to snag his collar before he squashed any more of her plants but he bounded out of reach, trampling even more herbs.

“Mince, nay!” she cried, hauling herself up to go after the dog.  Another twinge cut through her but she ignored it.  She grabbed for Mince again, who dodged.

Rose tried to help but she was laughing so hard she could barely move.  Mince continued to yip at Gwen, waiting for her to make a grab for him before jumping away at the last minute. 

Gwen, her frustration simmering, pretended to turn her back.  Mince leapt forward, trying to snag her skirts, and she spun, snatching his collar.

Pain cut through her and she gasped, startled, releasing the dog’s collar.

“Lady Gwen?” Rose asked worriedly.

Gwen tried to suck in her breath, her hand on her belly.  Mince abruptly stopped his game and sat before her, his rump squashing her precious Fennel herbs.

“What’s wrong, Gwen?” Rose asked, taking her hand.

“I’m...I’m not sure,” she said, still struggling to breathe.  Pain lanced through her again and she couldn’t stop the cry that escaped her.

“Oh, Gwen, is it the baby?”

She clearly heard the fear in Rose’s voice.  “’Tis nothing,” she panted.  But another pain nearly brought her to her knees and she groaned.  “Help me to the bench,” she said and pointed.

Rose held her arm tightly and Gwen sat but to her horror another pain knifed through her.  Oh sweet Jesu, nay, these couldn’t be birthing pains.  It was too soon.

She moaned, nearly doubling over as the pain returned, more intense than before.

“Oh, Gwen, don’t move.  I’ll fetch Sir Marcus.”

Gwen fought to catch her breath as the girl sprinted away, raising such a cry almost everyone in the bailey stopped to see what the fuss was about.  “Just relax and breathe,” Gwen told herself.  “Don’t panic...just relax.”

Marcus quickly appeared with Rose, sprinting back to Gwen.  “My lady, what is it?”  He reached for her to help her stand.

Gwen tried to rise but another pain buckled her knees and she screamed.

“Dear Lord,” Marcus said and scooped her into his arms.  Anguish again cut through her.

She cried out in pain and fear.  Dear God nay!  This could not happen.  The babe was not due for another four weeks.  But the contraction seized her with a terrible force.

“Nay!” she screamed.  Talon’s baby would be born too early and he was not here.

Marcus hurried into the keep, calling for someone to fetch the midwife.  Lucais hovered right behind as Marcus charged up the stairs to Talon’s solar.

Another contraction possessed her and Gwen could only scream Talon’s name.

****

My dearest love,

I pray forgive me if I worried you.  I am safe and well, protected by the strong walls of Montgomery.

I am terribly vexed to learn of the worry I have caused.  I pray for your forgiveness.  Talon, I never meant to hurt you.  I miss you terribly, I long for you at night, alone in your bed.  I pray for you daily, begging God and the Saints to guide your hand and deliver you safe.  I miss your kiss, your gentle touch,
and your arms around me.  I miss the sound of your voice as you call me your solace, for you are indeed mine. 

My love, please come home to me.

Gwen

Talon’s eyes blurred as he read the letter.  Slowly he lifted his head, his entire body quivering.  He gazed at Aaron who watched him worriedly.  Talon smiled and lifted the letter.  “She is alive my friend and at Montgomery.  This note is written in her hand.”

Aaron’s shoulders slumped in relief.  “Praise be!” he said joyously.  “I told you she was alive.”

Talon gripped his shoulder.  “That you did, my friend, and I thank you.”  His heart soared to new levels.  Gwen was alive and safe.  He turned his face heavenward.  “Thank you,” he whispered softly.  “Thank you for answering my prayers.”

“Did she send any word of Montgomery?  Are situations well?” Aaron asked.

“I only know she begs me to come home.  I have sore need to do so, Aaron and not only because of the lady who awaits me, but because I have been too long absent.”

“Aye,” Aaron replied, nodding.  “Prince Edward was understanding of your situation but needs your skill and military judgment against Montfort.  Yet we have Montfort treed now.  He will not survive this last battle.”

Talon’s good mood faded and he stared across the lines of men formed and ready.  “I do not live well with treachery, Aaron.  I helped bring Montfort to this.  And what of the Provisions?”

Aaron hawked and spat on the ground.  “Pardon, Earl, but Montfort brought this upon himself.  He was the one who forgot the Provisions.  We saw what his courts did.  We had simply replaced one tyrant for another.  Prince Edward is a shrewd man, he may not like the Provisions, but he is no fool.  He has learned the lesson of his father and his father before him.”

“But faith in Longshanks...I have little,” Talon said softly.  “The man is too devious by a half.  He worries me, Aaron.”

Aaron flashed him a bright grin.  “My lord, if I could offer a word of advice from my father?”

“Of course.”

“Worry not of tomorrow, for unless you deal with today, tomorrow has little meaning.”

Talon laughed, the joy of the letter he had received returned and near burst his heart.  Gwen was safe and she missed him, she wanted him back and she wanted him back now.  “Aye, Aaron, your father is a wise man.  Come; let us speak with the prince, perhaps we will find him in a good mood.”

****

Exhaustion clouded Gwen’s vision but she felt the tiny life in her arms, nursing against her breast.  She had heard a strong wail when the midwife finally pulled the babe free of her womb.  Born too early the babe was terribly small, so small Gwen wondered how she could imagine it so huge, taking up all of the available space in her body.  Yet now the babe latched onto her nipple with a ferocity that made her wince.

Talon’s son.

Rose now had her brother but how long would he survive?

The midwife finally allowed Marcus in the room.  Gwen heard their conversation but it was distant.

“I worry about the babe and mother,” the midwife said. “He is too early and I hear weakness in his lungs, liquid fluid.  But I am also encouraged because of his hearty cries.  The harder he cries, the more liquid will be dispelled.  The mother bleeds too much, fresh blood, not that of birth.”

“We will survive,” Gwen said firmly although terror clawed at her.  “Talon’s son has his heart, and I will answer only to the man I love.”

The two gaped at her.

Gwen managed a weak snort.  “As if you expected anything less, Marcus.”

“Aye,” he said giving her a broad smile.  “What will you name the babe?”

“I wish Talon were here.  What was his father’s name...William?”

“Aye,” Marcus said.

“And he was fond of his father?”

“He was.”

“William Montgomery, is the babe’s name if Talon agrees on his return.”

Marcus seized her hand.  “A fine name, lady,” he said, tears streaming down his face.  “I pray your husband will agree.”