“He is determined it will be completed by the
time this building season is finished,” Brian said. “It’s an
impossible task. He’s like a man possessed.”
Meredith knew when Guy left Afoncaer at
summer’s end to attend to business on his English lands and to make
a personal report on the progress of Afoncaer to King Henry, and
she knew when he returned in the spring, pleased to find the masons
had begun the new season’s work in his absence. She heard tales of
the marvelous furnishings arriving at Lady Isabel’s orders.
But she never saw Guy himself. He had not
returned to the cave. She wondered if he had forgotten her. She
probed cautiously, questioning both Brian and Thomas, trying to
discover if there was any plan for Guy to marry. She was relieved,
if guilty about her own prying questions, when Brian declared there
was no hint of such a thing. Sometimes she feared she would never
rest her eyes on Guy’s beloved face again. But fate, carelessly
prodded by Lady Isabel, had other plans.
Mid-June, 1105
The quarrel had gone on for nearly an hour.
When Guy had stormed into the women’s quarters all of her servants,
including Alice, who had finally arrived at Afoncaer to replace
Meredith as personal maid, had fled the chamber, leaving Isabel to
deal with him alone. She stood before him now, white-faced, her
blue eyes snapping furiously, both at his accusations of
ever-greater extravagance and at the way he brushed aside her
explanations.
“I have warned you and warned you,” Guy
raged. “You refuse to listen and have repeatedly disobeyed me in
this matter. As of this day, you may send no letters or messengers
out of Afoncaer. I have given orders to Reynaud, who will
personally inspect the papers carried by any couriers who leave
here.”
“Are you making me a prisoner?” Isabel spoke
through tightly drawn, white lips.
“No, not a prisoner. But you will order no
more luxuries, whether they be for yourself or for the castle. We
do not require hundreds of wax candles and you do not need any more
dresses.”
“I detest tallow dips. They are filthy and
they reek of kitchen fat. Candles give much better light, I don’t
care if they are expensive. Reynaud, of all people, with all his
reading and writing at night, should have appreciated that and not
told you. And as for myself, I need proper clothing. Would you have
me look like a peasant?” Isabel challenged him, a dangerous glint
in her eyes.
“You have a wardrobe that would suit an
empress. Look at this.” Guy strode about the room, pulling gowns
and cloaks and shoes out of overflowing chests. Isabel followed
him, frantically trying to fold up and replace what he had tossed
into disarray. “You don’t have space for all these gaudy trifles,
Isabel. You even have extra clothes chests standing in the great
hall, and still you order more and more.”
“Stop it! You’ve torn my best blue silk. Just
look at this mess. Guy, I have tried and tried to do what you want.
I stayed here last winter while you were away enjoying Christmas at
court, and hardly complained at all. I have managed your household,
and very well, too, and organized your feasts, and helped Reynaud
and Captain John with the new buildings, but…”
“Helped?” Guy gave a sarcastic laugh. Isabel
went on as though she had not heard it.
“Nothing I do pleases you. I will send
another message, Guy. To the queen. She is still my friend. When
she hears how cruelly you have treated me she will speak to the
king and he will command you to allow me to return to court, which
is where I truly belong. I will leave Afoncaer,” Isabel finished
dramatically, “and I will never return.”
“Have you no wits at all? Don’t you
understand, Isabel? I have not said it outright before this because
I know how proud you were of that friendship and I had no wish to
hurt you. It is the queen herself who wanted you removed from
court. Your wild extravagances while you were in her service were
so distressing to Queen Matilda that she begged the king to send
you away. That is why King Henry put you into my charge and ordered
me to bring you to Afoncaer, and it is why you were not allowed to
go with me when I went to make my report to the king.”
“Not a word you say is true. The queen is my
friend,” Isabel repeated, a note of childish despair creeping into
her voice. “She is. She is.”
“She was your friend, until you forfeited
that friendship by your own conduct. I have been far too lenient
with you, but now my patience is at an end. I repeat, Isabel, you
may send no letters, no messages of any kind, and your personal
servants must remain at Afoncaer.” Guy saw Isabel’s stubborn chin
lift, but she said nothing. She did not even cry. Guy, realizing
that his sister-in-law’s humiliation was too deep for her to use
even this favorite artifice, took pity on her and softened his
voice. “It is nearly time for Vespers. Will you come with me,
Isabel?” He held out his hand. She turned her back on him.
“Whatever you may think, I am concerned for your welfare. Can we
not forget our differences and try, to be friends?”
“I cannot,” Isabel said. “You have taken away
all my pleasures, you keep me in this desolate place against my
will, and now you tell me the queen is no longer my friend. You
have left me nothing at all, Guy. I will find a way to pay you back
for the pain you have caused me. I will avenge this latest insult,
and all the others, too.”
“There is nothing you can do,” he replied
gently. “I am your guardian. You have no choice but to submit to my
rule. Now, will you come to the chapel?”
“Not just yet. I need a few moments to
compose myself. I’ll be there later.”
She was already remarkably calm for Isabel.
He had expected tears, tantrums, perhaps a few thrown dishes. He
shrugged off the uneasy feeling her sudden coolness generated in
him. Women were unpredictable creatures, given to strange moods.
Except one. Meredith had always been pleasant and sweet-tempered.
He must not think of her. She had gone from Afoncaer and from his
life.
He had found women for his entertainment
while he was away from Afoncaer, but they had left him feeling
empty and more lonely than ever. When King Henry had once again
broached the subject of marriage, Guy brushed it aside, saying he
had too much work to do in Wales. Henry called that a flimsy
excuse, and Guy knew he was right, but he did not want a wife.
When Guy had left her, Isabel stalked back
and forth across the crowded women’s quarters. She kicked aside a
cushion that had fallen onto the floor, then stubbed her toe as she
swung a foot at a chair.
“Curse him!” She stared at a pile of cups and
trenchers on the table, longing to dump them all onto the floor
with one grand sweep of her arm. That would make her feel better,
especially if something broke. It would also bring servants running
from the great hall asking questions. She did not want people
around her, she needed to be alone, to think.
She had tried her best to make dreary
Afoncaer into a pleasant place, but Guy did not appreciate her
efforts. Not one word of thanks had she ever heard from him. And
now this: restrictions, reproaches, insults.
“He’ll pay for this,” she muttered. “He can’t
keep me a prisoner here like this. Not even a new gown for the next
feast! I’ll get even with him, but how? How? There is no one to
help me.”
She stopped pacing. Actually, there was
someone. Walter fitz Alan was half mad with wanting her. She had
given him no encouragement, fearing to damage her social position
even further by an affair with a poverty-stricken knight, but he
had never stopped flattering her and entreating her to take pity on
him and love him.
It had been a relief to Isabel when he had
gone to England with Guy, but he was back, as devoted as ever, and
she had to admit she had missed him and the attentions he paid her.
Walter had once said he would do anything for her. And he was
ambitious. With Isabel and a title as joint prizes, what would he
not do?
The plan came into her mind all at once,
every detail clear. Walter would serve her well, but Thomas was the
key. Guy loved the boy, as she had hoped he would, and he would
give up everything he had rather than let harm come to Thomas. She
would use all of them, and when she was done, Walter and Isabel
would rule Afoncaer and Guy would be forced to take Thomas and
leave his former castle. He would ride away and never dare come
back because the king would blame him. Thomas would be unhurt, but
she, Isabel, would be rid of that evidence of her weakness and
shame, and never have to see her son again. And then, with wealth
and a title and a husband who would do whatever she wanted, she
could leave Wales and return to court where she belonged. She would
be the Lady of Afoncaer, but she need never return to the place
again.
She felt certain she could depend upon Father
Herbert’s support, too. The priest heartily disapproved of what he
called Guy’s “lax attitudes” toward the Welsh and the strange
people who lived in the forest, and he had made no secret of his
dislike of Reynaud, who had opposed him on several occasions when
he had tried to discipline the Welsh workers at the castle. Father
Herbert, like Isabel, would be glad to leave Afoncaer in
triumph.
What she needed to do now was get Walter
alone just long enough to let him sample, but not consume, the
delights she would promise him in full once they were married, and
then make him swear to follow her plan. To her surprise, she felt a
flicker of excitement at the thought of teasing Walter into a state
where he would be pliable enough to agree to anything in order to
make love to her. She had never held power over a man. It should be
an interesting experience. It was with some difficulty that she
composed herself enough to go to Vespers with a calm face.
Isabel finally decided how to speak with
Walter in privacy, but she had to wait for two impatient,
irritating days while it rained. On the third morning the mists
parted at last, and a benign June sun broke through the clouds,
warming the damp Welsh air and turning wet trees and grasses into a
glittery diamond and emerald landscape. As usual, Walter walked
close to her when they left the chapel after Mass and headed toward
the great hall and their morning bread and ale.
“How I would like to ride on such a day,” she
said to him, being careful that no one else heard her. They had to
go alone. With Guy’s trusted friend Walter in attendance, she would
have no difficulty passing the guards at Afoncaer’s gates, and no
one would think it odd if they took no servants along.
“I would be happy to accompany you, my lady,”
Walter offered, as she had known he would.
“Surely you have duties,” she protested,
giving him one of her sweetest smiles.
“Nothing that could not easily be put aside
if I may serve you,” he replied, arching one brow to let her know
he understood this was just a game and that she was only toying
with him as she always did.
“Is that so?” Isabel stopped walking. “Would
you ride with me? Ah, Walter, I feel like a prisoner here. There
are always walls around me, shutting me in. And restrictions. How
lovely to be free of all rules for just a while. Today I would like
to mount my steed and ride and ride until I need ride no more.”
“My lady.” The surprise on Walter’s face was
quickly masked; the tremor in his voice was not so easily
suppressed. “I do not know what you plan, but whatever it is, I
will willingly go with you, to the end of the earth if need be.
When shall we leave?”
“As soon as we have eaten,” Isabel said,
delighted that her plan was working so easily. When Alice and Joan
both protested that she should not go out without another woman
along, she spoke to them sharply and gave them extra chores to do
before she returned, chores that would, she knew, keep them too
busy to carry the news of her ride to Guy, who would most likely
spend the morning at the tower with Reynaud. Exactly one hour after
her first words to Walter they were galloping wildly down the
castle road. Isabel wanted to put as much distance as she could
between herself and Guy before she began to work her scheme on
Walter.
They drew up at last and walked their horses
along the road, letting them cool down.
“Do you feel better now?” Walter asked,
laughing at her.
“A little, but I’m thirsty. Help me down,
Walter. I know there must be a stream among those trees. Let’s find
it.”
She could tell by his expression that he
thought she was behaving very strangely, but he did as she asked.
Once she was on the ground he took both their horses’ reins and led
them through the trees, following her.
She had to search a while before she found a
suitable place, an inviting moss-covered bank, well hidden from the
road, as private as any lord’s sleeping chamber. Isabel knelt on
the moss and cupped her hands in the water, drinking as gracefully
as she did everything else. Walter put his face in the stream and
drank as though he had just crossed a desert.
“What a pretty place this is,” she said,
standing and shaking out her blue wool skirts.
Walter wiped the water from his face with one
sleeve and looked at her.
“Why are we here?” he asked.
“I was thirsty. Weren’t you?”
“Thirsty? Parched. For you.” He reached for
her, but she evaded his arms, moving to lean against a tree. She
lifted her face to the sunlight that filtered through the leaves
and filled the glade with soft green light. “Isabel, why do you
play with me so heartlessly when you know how much I long for
you?”
“Am I heartless? Perhaps I have been.” She
looked at him with wide, innocent eyes. “Guy is so strict with
me.”
“Guy.” He made a motion with one hand,
dismissing his friend.