Heart's Ransom (Heart and Soul) (16 page)

He bounded out of bed and quickly dressed, his thoughts chasing themselves like Mince pursuing his own tail.  Where was she?  She couldn’t have slipped away during the night.  Tying a belt around his waist, he charged out the door.

****

Gwen busied herself by searching for a room to house drying herbs.  She had awakened early this morn, marveling at the sensation of Talon’s body wrapped around hers.  He had slept soundly, his chest pressed firmly against her back, her backside cradled by his hips, and his thighs curved along hers, his arm around her waist.  He held her as if he never wanted to let her go.  It had taken all of her resolve to leave his bed, but her worry of the servants discovering them, and the resulting gossip, drove her out of the solar before the sun cleared the eastern horizon.

Last night...her cheeks burned but she closed her eyes.  Last night had been the most glorious night of her life.  She should be repentant of her sin, of giving herself to a man who was not her husband.  But last night Talon had shown her the true glory that could exist between a man and woman.  Never had she imagined such a thing.  Perhaps she had sinned but she would never trade last night with Talon for anything.  If forced into the marriage with Fitzalans, she would never experience such joy again.

That thought made her sick to her stomach.

She could only pray Talon would grant her the sanctuary he promised.  Would he want her in his bed?  Would he consider marrying her?

She forced her foolish thoughts down.  Talon would never marry a Welsh girl.  He would probably remember his promise and allow her to stay at Montgomery.  He would probably even take her as his concubine but never, ever would he take her to wife.  She would see him married to an English noble woman and know when he shared her bed.  And it would tear her heart to shreds.

Gwen sighed disconsolately.  How did she manage to always get herself into trouble?  Hadn’t her father’s beatings taught her anything?  She leaned against the wall, not wanting to think anymore.  Her gaze fell on a dark staircase leading up one of the towers and she frowned.  She had not really explored this side of the keep.  The stairway seemed unused, dark, and quiet.  The air was dry and cool.  This might be a perfect place to keep her herbs without worry of mildew.

She cautiously ascended, finding a large door at the top of the tower.  She tested the latch and discovered it unlocked.  Slowly, she opened it and peered inside.

A room full of beautiful furniture stunned her.  She saw a large canopied bed.  The archer slit had been expanded with a window and expensive glass allowing in a soft light.  A table finely carved of cherry wood, with a chair slightly pushed out, sat before it. 

Gwen stepped into the room, looking closer.  On the table she spotted numerous items, a hair brush, a small gilt mirror also made of expensive polished glass.  A blue hair ribbon trailed across the lace covering the table.  Small boxes and bottles were placed neatly, some of them open, one had a lid tilted against its side.  Across from the bed stood a low table in front of a divan, with a chair to the side, delicate cups sat on the little table.  On the chair she saw a tapestry stretched over it, a beautiful scene of the Nativity.  Unfinished.

She blinked, remembering Talon mentioning the loom had an unfinished tapestry and it would be removed.  Gwen gazed around her, struggling to comprehend.  In the wardrobe she found the finest gowns ever made but they were fit for a petite woman, surely even the queen would not have such treasures.  Everything was spotless, not a speck of dust anywhere.  The room seemed as if it was waiting for its owner to return.  Everything had been left exactly as it was when the lady departed, as if she had just gone to the kitchens and would be back at any
moment.

But a chill crawled down Gwen’s spine and she rubbed her arms, trying to warm herself.  Montgomery Castle did not have a lady of the keep.  Talon was not married.  Had this at one time been his mother’s?

Nay.  Somehow Gwen knew this had not been her room.  The ladies’ solar upstairs had a different touch.  Signs of this mystery woman had been prevalent, especially in the expensive skeins of thread used in the looms.  But overall, the solar had the influence of another woman, one she could easily relate to the woman who would have been Talon’s mother.  So who did this room belong to?

The mysterious Rose who had broken Talon’s heart?

Her gaze fell on a black curtain, hanging on the wall.  It appeared as if it covered something.  Frowning, Gwen stepped closer and examined the cloth.  An expensive weave, that was certain, dyed repeatedly to give it a true black color.  Holding her breath, Gwen moved the covering.

The cloth hid a portrait in an extravagantly carved frame.  The lady’s picture was stunning.  A petite woman, her long golden hair streamed down her shoulders, framing her face.  Her skin was pale without a freckle or scar, covering artistry of perfect bone.  Her eyes were the deepest blue Gwen had ever seen, her lips a dusty rose, highlighting the color of her cheeks.  The woman’s expression was thoughtful and perhaps a little sad as she looked down at a trickling stream.  She sat on a small bench, her white and gold brocade gown shimmering in the painted sunlight.

A more beautiful woman Gwen had never seen.

A large, callused hand covered Gwen’s, gently but firmly removing her fingers from the curtain.  Gwen gasped in surprise as she gazed up at Talon.  His expression was icy but his eyes...she took an involuntary step back...his eyes radiated hatred.

“I see you have met my wife,” he said, his voice low and deadly.  He turned his attention back to the picture, carefully arranging the curtain so nothing of the painting showed.

She retreated, startled,
and then noticed his attire.  He once again wore sable braccas and boots, but his tunic...his tunic was a buff color, not the morose black. 

The sudden change overwhelmed her for a moment.  The tunic was old and of a plain weave, its sleeves had been torn away and the seams mended at the shoulder, revealing bare, powerful arms.  The soft color enhanced the bronze of his skin and highlighted the gold in his hair and eyes.  Sweet Mary, she thought him beautiful before...but now...now he was exquisite.  It was amazing what a simple color change did for him...and what it did to
her; her brains were nothing more than mush.  She blinked, shaking off the spell, and then his words hit her with sudden violence.

“Your wife?” she asked, not liking the sound on her lips.  “You have a wife?”

Talon faced her but his expression had not eased.  A muscle ticked in his jaw.  “I do not want you in here.”

Fear and pain surged within her.  The glorious memories of last night returned and a blush ignited on her cheeks.  Sweet Mary, they had....

Oh nay!

Together....

Merciful saints!

And then they....

He has a wife!

She
retreated another step, angling for the door.  “I’m sorry, Talon.  I was only looking for a room for my herbs.”

“Not here,” he growled.  He clenched his fists, the muscles in his arms standing in sharp relief.  “Did you steal the keys from the chamber maid?”

“Nay,” she said, aghast that he would think so ill of her.  “The door was unlocked.”

He took a step toward her, his lips pressed into a bloodless line, destroying any humanity in his expression.  “It is always locked.”

“It wasn’t this time,” she squeaked.  She fought not to cower before him but she was suddenly terrified he would order her beaten.  Her father would have with her transgression...both of today and last night. 
Last night, oh God forgive me!

“I...I didn’t know you were married, Talon.”

He only glared at her.

“If I had known you were married I would have never...uh...I mean last night never--”

“I’m not married anymore, Gwen,” he said, his shoulders suddenly slumping.  He bowed his head and squeezed his eyes closed, the terrible anguish she had seen all too often once again painfully evident.  “I am a widower.”

A sudden relief washed over her that she had not committed such a
grievous sin, especially against another woman.  But in the next instant, her heart twisted in pain for him.  “Oh Talon, I’m so sorry.”  She stepped forward, reaching for him, longing to comfort him.  “Is this Rose?  Did she die and leave you in such terrible pain?”

His head shot up, rage burning in his eyes.  The cords in his neck stood out and his skin turned florid.  “Nay!” he roared.  Suddenly his fist shot out and slammed into the wall.  “She is not Rose!  Get out now! Before I have you thrown into the dungeon like the prisoner you are.”

She recoiled as violently as if his fist had landed on her jaw.  Tears blurred her vision.  “Talon--”

“Get out!  Never come to this room again.”

A sob of terror strangling in her throat, Gwen spun and fled the room, taking the stairs two at a time.  She ran to her room and locked herself in, flinging herself on the bed and crying with the power of a broken heart.

Dear God in heaven.  Talon’s body shook with the fury and pain coursing through him.  Damnation, why did Gwen have to come here?  Who had told her of Rose and what did she know?

At first he didn’t believe her about entering the room; the servants knew to keep it locked.  But then his gaze fell on the unfinished tapestry.  It was possible some fool chit had forgotten when he ordered the tapestry stored.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes.  A terrifying chill permeated the room.  He felt Eleanor’s specter hovering in the corner.

Upon my dying soul you will know only the anguish you have visited on me for the rest of your days.

“Why, Eleanor?” he choked, staring at the walls, searching for the ghost he knew lurked in the dark shadows.  “Why have you done this to me?  I tried so hard to be there for you.  I tried to care for you and give you the home you deserved.”

The hairs on
the back of his neck stood upright and he shivered.  He could well imagine her laugh echoing across the chasm of death.  She had died with a curse of vengeance on her lips and now she exacted it.

He spun on his heel and left the room, making sure he locked the door.  He descended the stairs then passed by Gwen’s door.  Through the heavy oak he heard her sobs and his heart twisted.  He should have not been so harsh with her, but her discovery of Eleanor’s room had
lain open old wounds as torturous as when he first received them.  When she had asked if the woman was Rose, terrible claws slashed his soul.  Rose would never hurt him like Eleanor had.  She would never curse him to spend the rest of his days in a living hell.

But Rose would hate him if he failed to rescue her from her captors.

Shaking the terrible thought away, Talon turned toward Gwen’s door and lifted his hand to knock but hesitated.  What could he say?  How could he explain to her all that transpired in Montgomery?  If the abductors found out he told her of Rose, they would hurt his daughter.  They knew his every move and action.  No doubt some servants were well paid to eavesdrop.  And Gwen was intelligent enough that she would not allow him to escape with only a partial explanation.  Where could he take her to explain in privacy?

His gaze returned to the stairs he had just descended.  The servants hated that room, believing Eleanor’s ghost haunted it.  He could easily agree with them, feeling the animosity radiating from the walls.  It had been the room in which she died.  They only entered to clean it and that was because he demanded it, trying somehow to appease her wrathful spirit, otherwise they would avoid it at all costs.

Sighing in confused frustration, Talon turned away and went to the great hall seeking something to take his mind from his troubles.

The sun set and Gwen scrubbed the tear-stains from her face then changed her clothes.  She had thought long and hard about Talon’s words.

Before I have you locked in the dungeons like the prisoner you are.

As agonizing his words had been, Gwen noticed a very important fact.  For the first time since this madness had started, Talon had been wearing a tunic other than sable.

The morn after he had made love to her.

Since arriving at Montgomery, Gwen had wondered about his choice in attire.  Did he awaken every morning and decide to wear black?  Or was it something much deeper than that?  Something that he did not consciously control when determining his clothing for the day.

Gwen scowled and heard voices in the corridor near her door.  She listened intently but it was not Talon.  Marcus spoke with a servant.  She moved to the door and opened it slightly, just as the servant took his leave.

“Marcus,” she said softly.

He looked at her startled.  “My lady,” he said with a smile and approached, but his smile vanished as he studied her face.  “Is something wrong?”

“Nay,” she said quickly, knowing her eyes were still red-rimmed.  “I just have a question for you.  Does the earl prefer his garments sable?”

He gave her a puzzled frown.  “My lady?”

“Does he always dress in black?”

Marcus’ frown deepened.  “He has not always worn black, in fact he really doesn’t like the color.”  He paused, scratching his head in thought.  “But he has adopted it since he became a--”  Abruptly he snapped his jaw shut and swallowed hard.

“Since becoming a widower,” Gwen finished for him.  “He told me something of his wife, Marcus.  But I fear he was enraged when he did it.”

“Enraged?”

“I found the lady’s room.  It was unlocked.  I didn’t mean intrusion, but he discovered me and--” she lifted her hands helplessly.

Marcus sighed, his expression sympathetic.  “My apologies, lady.  He rarely loses control of his temper but it can best him at times.”

“I know, Marcus, and I can understand his pain at losing a loved one.”

“Loved one?” he asked in amazement but quickly covered his expression.

“But the strange part is that he wore a buff colored tunic this morning, not his typical black.”

Marcus’ eyebrows shot up his forehead.

“I asked you about it, only to see if my theory is correct.”

“Theory?”

“If I am right, he will return to his sable, probably as early as dinner tonight.”

“And may I ask what this theory is?”

“I believe Talon began to wear the color of mourning when his wife died.  Although he no longer realizes he does it, he still wears it because he continues to mourn.”

“And he did not wear it today because he had found a reason not to mourn any longer?”

She nodded.  “But I fear my error will change that and he will resume his mourning.”

Marcus stroked his beard, studying her a long moment.  “An interesting theory, lady.  While Talon is like a son to me, I never realized his reason for wearing sable for so long.  I think you might be close to the mark.”

“Now, if I could just find a way to repair my error.”

Again he gave her a sympathetic smile.  “Do not be too hard on yourself, lady.  I know you meant no harm.  Just remember Talon’s wounds go deep over this.”

“I will, Marcus, thank you.”  She closed the door behind her and returned to staring at her room.

Like the prisoner you are.
 

Aye.  She was a prisoner, but not how Talon expected.  Her conversation with Marcus had
confirmed much.  His wounds were deep and had not healed at all.  Except for after they made love, he had chosen to wear a color other than black.  That simple fact gave her hope.  He lashed out with bitter words trying to protect his unhealed wounds. 

She thought about staying in her room, but she would be making herself into the captive Talon expected.  And Gwen refused to do anything like that.  Nay, he had been the one who brought her to his home, who brought her to his bed, and who brought her to his heart.  Now he was going to live with his decisions.  She was going to wage war against Talon Montgomery the only way she knew how.  And if she was victorious she would win not lands or gold but his heart.

She put on an off-white under dress made of Damascus silk which was newer in fashion, cut to fit her body close, accenting the curve of her breasts and her narrow waist.  The skirts clung to the top of her hips before gradually flaring out full.  The sleeves were long and snug to the wrists, with green and gold trim.  The neck line descended slightly square revealing a fair amount of skin but still modest.

Over that she donned a rich emerald green surcoat.  The sleeve openings were wide ovals that opened all the way to her hips before joining into full flowing skirts and a short train.  The overdress was looser than the white under-gown.  Revealing the pretty dress underneath.  At the neck, sleeve openings, and bottom hem, Gwen had embroidered gold thread in intricate designs set with small emerald jewels and tiny rubies.  This was to be her wedding dress but Gwen had resolved never to wear it for Fitzalans.

She brushed her long black hair to fall loose down her back; it was long enough for her to sit on.  She decided not to wear a veil, instead donning a headpiece made of delicate gold chains and decorated with emeralds.  Woven similar to chainmail, the piece was very light and feminine.  It covered the crown of her head then descended down her back, the length of her hair.  After all, if she was going to battle, she had to dress appropriately.

Around her waist she wrapped a gold girdle and found a necklace and rings.  Finally satisfied with her appearance, she went below-stairs to eat dinner.  The first battle had been engaged and Talon didn’t even know it.

****

Talon lifted his wine cup to his lips.  He looked up from his chair at the high table and nearly choked in astonishment.  Gwen floated down the stairs like an angel descending from heaven.  His heart mercilessly hammered his ribs and there wasn’t enough air in the great hall to fill his lungs.

She hesitated at the bottom of the stairs, pleasantly greeting everyone who stood near.  Talon swallowed once then twice but his mouth remained bone dry.

Gwen was undoubtedly the most beautiful creature to ever grace Montgomery’s hall.

The emerald dress she wore made her eyes glow a deep forest green.  Her raven hair gleamed in the torchlight under shining links of gold chain.  Her skin was pale but that only accented the glorious red of her lips and the color staining her cheeks.

Talon suddenly remembered the feel of those lips against his, the wonder of her body as he made love to her, the passion they had shared.  He had never experienced such intensity with another woman.

Fire roared through him pounding deep in his loins.  He nearly groaned as his body threatened to betray him.  He marveled that he didn’t have to touch her to awaken the need within him.  He simply looked at her and his body inflamed to the point of madness.

He continued to gulp deep breaths, trying to master himself.  He took a long swallow from his cup but the wine only added to the burning in his belly.

Marcus approached her, smiling broadly.  He bowed and offered her a greeting as a proper knight should.

Gwen flashed him a dazzling smile and an insane jealousy rose within Talon.  How dare she award that smile to any man but him.

Talon caught his thoughts and wanted to kick himself.  Dear God, he was turning into a besotted puppy.  His gaze focused on Mince, her ever present shadow, trotting happily behind her.  He shook his head, wondering darkly how long it would be before he was vying with Mince for the same position.

Damnation!  He had to get control of himself.

Marcus offered Gwen his arm which she accepted.  Talon’s hackles rose and he nearly growled through his teeth.  He was about to step from the dais and intercept them when he noticed that Marcus escorted Gwen towards him.  Talon rose, still clutching his wine cup in his hand.

“My lord,” Marcus said with an extravagant bow.  “My I present our fair Lady Gwenillian.”

Gwen curtsied demurely, gazing at him through lowered black lashes.

Talon battled to breathe.  He inclined his head.  His body continued to tremble and his fingers tightened on his cup.  He was abruptly grateful the cup was metal or his grip would have shattered it.  “My lady,” he said, struggling to work his jaw loose.  “I bid you welcome to our table.”  He offered her his arm and escorted her to the chair beside him.

“Thank you, my lord,” she said her voice dulcet.

Talon suddenly felt like a vagabond.  He wore a
well-made tunic, sable in color with black leather trim on the neck and sleeves which was cut to form a stylish design, black hosen and matching cross-quartered boots.  But his clothing was a poor contrast to her finery.  He found himself wondering what sort of game she played.  Was it her purpose to embarrass the lord of Montgomery in his own house?

Nay.  Gwen was not so shrewish but the feeling she plotted something wouldn’t leave him.  A servant filled her wine cup and Talon observed her discretely.  Sitting so close to her, inhaling her sweet scent, remembering the joy they had shared last night was going to drive him mad in a very short amount of time.

****

Gwen wondered if the cook had somehow understood that this eve was to be different.  The dinner served was fine enough for the king and his entourage.  Bread, cheese, and a delightful assortment of salted meats filled roundels and bowls while waiting for the main course.

Among the usual number of traveling guests were a knight and his lady from the northern Marches.  The knight’s squire was a young lad with a fine tenor voice and a penchant for telling stories.  He regaled them with humors tales of the knight’s sometimes misadventures.

Gwen was surprised the knight took being the brunt of the jests in stride, enjoying the tales as much as the next man. He would even suggest stories when the squire could not think of one.

“Tell them of the time my horse tried to climb a tree.”

“Ah, yes, my lord.  We were in a small shire with a pleasant market.  The merchant booths were small but one man seemed to be doing business beyond all others.  We realized people had gathered to look at his outlandish hat.  Made of patches of the most garish purple and green with a few orange and red ones added for good measure, the hat was much too big for his head. A stiff wind arose just as we passed by, tearing the hat from his head and blowing it under the horse’s nose.  I never realized this horse was such an expert on fashion but he made his displeasure known, he reared and near brained Sir Giles on a tree branch overhanging the road.  My lord knight managed to grab the branch just as the horse bolted, leaving him hanging in the air.  It was too far of a drop for him to simply let go.  He had to hang there until we found a wagon big enough to put under his feet.”