Stuart, Elizabeth (40 page)

"It's
a chance I'm willing to take," Owain responded grimly. Reaching out as if
to pass her the bread, he held the dagger close instead. " 'Tis a short
blade, scarce the width of my hand," he whispered. "Do you know the
places to strike to kill a man with such?"

Elen
nodded, taking the weapon and hiding it in the folds of her skirt.

"I
pray God you'll not need it," he continued. "But I'd have you carry
some protection. I'll not see you used as that girl."

The
servant was already returning with the grease. There was little time to talk.
"Owain, swear to me you'll do nothing so foolish as this again! I'm too
valuable to be harmed... at least till after I'm wed," Elen added
cynically. "And if my plan works, that time may never come."

Owain's
eyebrows rose questioningly.

"There
is one power stronger than the king. A power even Edward of England must
acknowledge," Elen stated triumphantly. "I will appeal to the
Church."

"Take
care, Elen," Owain said quickly. "For God's sake take care."

Elen
took the proffered cup the servant held, nodding to Owain. It wasn't until she
was halfway back to her chamber that she realized her friend hadn't given the
promise she sought.

***

Biting
her lip in concentration, Jeanne Basset rubbed a generous portion of soothing
unguent into her son's torn back. "Your brother is a brute... and jealous
of your growing influence with the Baron of Ravensgate! He would shame you any
way he could."

She
took a deep breath, so angry she could scarcely get the words out coherently.
"As God is my witness, I'll see him repaid one hundredfold for this if I
have my way!"

Philip
winced as his mother's fingers stiffened with anger. "Hush, woman. Leave
me be," he remarked irritably. "Some right I'll grant him. I was a fool
to get myself into the mess. But I'll not have your interference."

A
knock sounded on the door and Philip shifted toward it. Sir Hugh de Veasy stood
on the threshold. Philip turned his head, shamed beyond bearing that the
powerful man should see his disgrace. "Leave us, Mother," he said
stiffly.

De
Veasy sauntered into the room. After hesitating uncertainly, Jeanne curtsied
and withdrew.

"So,
my young friend, I find you a bit the worse for your brother's anger," de
Veasy remarked. "In large part, I blame myself. Had I been by last night,
he'd never have dared such insolence."

Philip
sat up, giving a painful shrug. "He's a bastard. I've known that all my
life. He enjoys humiliating me, but he's done so for the last time. I'll slit
his cursed throat the next time he lays hands on me!"

"Hmm...
a commendable plan, but there is one small problem. Your brother's the very
devil with a sword."

"Do
you think I'm afraid of him?" Philip demanded. "Well, I'm not. With a
little more practice I can take him!"

"I'm
sure you can. I've seldom seen a man improve in passage of arms of
rapidly," de Veasy remarked in a soothing voice. He hesitated, gazing at
the boy consideringly. "But there are other ways to lesson an enemy. Ways
that would bring no ill to you. After all, Richard is a royal favorite. Do you
think Edward would stand by if you killed your brother?"

He
smiled. "What would you say to humiliating him instead, to bringing him
down from his place of honor and making sure he advances no further in his
unholy quest for power? Unless I miss my guess, he's about to make a bid for a
landed and powerful wife—one more to his taste than Alicia de Borgh. But
perhaps between us we can stop it." Philip glanced up, arrested.

"Ah,
I see the thought appeals to you even as it does to me. I'm sure if you and I
put our heads together, we'll come up with something."

Philip
shifted uncomfortably. A fight with Richard would have restored his battered
pride, but somehow this scheming seemed unmanly. "I've no wish to involve
you, m'lord. I can settle the matter myself."

"Believe
me, it's no bother. In very fact, I've long wished to help the impudent
jackanapes fall on his face." De Veasy gazed at Philip, the look of
amusement fading from his face. "Your brother has weaknesses, like any
other, and I've men here to sniff them out. I'm determined he'll not succeed in
holding Gwynedd. Are you man enough to strike back, Philip? Will you be willing
to assist me when the time comes?"

"Of
course, my lord, but—"

"Good.
I knew you were a game one—the type of man I would number among my
friends." De Veasy smiled again, reaching out to touch Philip's shoulder.
"Richard will learn not to underestimate you. That I promise."

***

Slipping
into the chapel, Elen glanced furtively over her shoulder toward the door, then
back to the black-robed priest just rising from the altar steps. She crossed
herself as she hurried forward, whispering a prayer to the Virgin Mother.
"Father," she called softly. "Are you not Father Edmund of
Lanwort?"

The
man turned in surprise. "Yes."

"I
am Elen. Elen of Teifi. I beg a moment's grace on a most critical matter."

"Yes,
my child, what is it?"

Elen
stared at the stocky figure. The priest clasped pudgy, ringed fingers around
the costly golden crucifix in his hand. "Is it true you'll be returning to
Lanwort? I've a matter that must be taken before the bishop as soon as
possible."

The
man surveyed her carefully from inquiring brown eyes. "I am presently
confessor to the Lord of Ravensgate, but we will be passing Lanwort on our way
south. What is it you wish, daughter?"

Elen
shifted uneasily. Could she trust an English priest?

But
what choice had she? There was no other way of begging the Church to intervene
on her behalf. And after all, he was a man of God. "I've an urgent letter
that must be delivered to the Bishop of Lanwort, then on to Archbishop Pecham
of Canterbury with the bishop's blessings if possible."

She
hesitated, glancing nervously over her shoulder. "It's important none hear
of this, for King Edward won't be pleased. I was forced to use a ruse to meet
you, Father. I told my guard I would seek you out for confession this evening.
It was a lie."

The
priest smiled. "But you've just now confessed, have you not? Thus the tale
was true."

Elen
returned his smile. Perhaps English priests weren't so bad at that. She held
out the narrow roll. "It is writ on a scrap. It was all the parchment I
could come by," she explained. "Please ask the bishop to give it his
consideration. I've heard he has no fear of Edward."

The
priest inclined his head. "The Church has no master save God." He
glanced at Elen shrewdly. "You said this was a secret request. Who, then,
inscribed the letter?"

"None,
Father. I write a little. A priest in my household taught me along with my
brother." At his frown of displeasure she added quickly. "It was only
so that I might assist in keeping household accounts."

The
priest took the parchment, slipping it into the folds of his robe. "I see.
So no one knows of this?"

"No
one."

"Very
well. I will see that the Bishop of Lanwort receives your missive, child. Now
go in peace and leave me to my prayers."

Elen
dipped into a quick curtsy. "Thank you, Father. I thank you with all my
heart!" Turning, she fled back up the aisle, praying earnestly for a
speedy answer to her petition.

The
priest stood watching as the girl disappeared. After a moment, he untied the
carefully bound leather and unwrapped the scroll. His eyes sped along the
crowded lines. Carefully rewrapping the letter, he left the chapel.

Moments
later, he was knocking at Hugh de Veasy's chamber. The baron's squire swung
open the door. "I've come to hear your master's confession," the
priest said softly.

Across
the room, Hugh de Veasy paused, a goblet of wine arrested halfway to his lips.
His dark eyes met those of the priest. "Ah yes, Father, I'd near forgot I
asked you to stop by. Leave us, William."

The
squire nodded, slipping from the room without a word.

"You've
discovered something?"

The
priest moved forward, nodding thoughtfully. "Something that should
interest you, though I'm not yet certain how it might be used. The girl, Elen,
asked me to take this letter to Bishop Vespain. It's a plea to the Archbishop
of Canterbury to intervene with King Edward so that she might take the
veil."

De
Veasy burst into laughter. "A bit naive, is she not, our sweet bird of the
west?" He took the parchment, skimming quickly down the lines.

"And
yet it might be useful at that. I mean to have the girl's lands and it will be
easiest done if I have her as well. Besides..." He grinned. "I've no
aversion to taking Richard's pretty mistress from beneath his nose. And I've no
doubt she'll be grateful enough to be rescued. He's kept her against her will
with a guard to her door. It's my belief he plans to wed her by force now he
knows her identity."

De
Veasy's dark eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Yes, I think I see a way."
He rose to his feet. "Tell my man, Donald, to have our escort ready to
leave tomorrow noon. And find Philip Basset for me. Send him here at
once."

"The
boy's a hothead. Are you certain you wish to include him in this?"

"Hotheads
can be managed, especially young and foolish ones," de Veasy remarked,
taking a sip of wine. "Besides, the boy will learn only what I wish him to
know. His part will be small, but important."

Rising
to his feet, he handed the parchment back to the priest. "Spread the news
we ride for Lanwort on the morrow. The bishop and I have much to discuss."

Richard
guided Saladin carefully along the narrow path between rippling fields of
Gwenlyn's barley. The crops looked good. By God's grace, Wales had been blessed
with a comparatively dry summer just when the seed and young shoots most needed
protection from the damp. And if the early frosts held off, the people of
Ruthlin would be none the worse for the late planting.

But
autumn would be difficult at best. There would be no rest between the busy
harvest time and readying the fields for winter crops. Because the Welsh were,
by nature, hunters and herdsmen, they didn't take easily to working the fields.

Riding
Saladin through Gwenlyn's open gate, Richard continued across the bailey, and
then swung to the ground. As he turned to give his reins to a servant, he
caught sight of a sweat-stained roan with a dozen mounts being led toward
water. His eyes narrowed grimly. He knew that roan gelding. Before God, what
was Philip doing here?

He
moved slowly up the stairs and into the keep. He had parted from his family
with the utmost coolness two weeks earlier. Only his father had grasped his
shoulder and kissed his cheek, requesting him to visit Waybridge as soon as
possible.

Could
that be it? Had something happened to Sir John? His step quickened.

Entering
the hall, he noted a small group of dark-robed holy men gathered round a table.
To one side of the priests, several soldiers were quenching their thirst from
pitchers of ale. Philip rose from a seat nearby and moved hesitantly toward
him. "I... I wasn't sure of my welcome but came anyway."

Richard
sent him a measuring glance. "You are welcome."

Philip
dropped his eyes uncertainly. "I don't blame you if I'm not. Just say the
word and we'll go."

The
boy was so obviously ill at ease, Richard relented. "Remain here as long
as you wish. You and your men as well."

Philip
raised his eyes. "We may tarry but briefly. I'm escorting these holy men
to the Abbey Vale Crucis for Bishop Vespain. But I couldn't pass so near
without seeing you." He glanced nervously over his shoulder at his men.
"Is there somewhere we might speak in private? Your chamber?" He
hesitated. "That is, if you've the time."

Richard
frowned. He didn't wish to talk to Philip just now, but his brother obviously
had something on his mind. "Of course. Follow me."

When
they entered the bedchamber, Richard poured them both wine. "Sit if you
will, Philip," he said, gesturing toward a chair. He dropped onto a stool,
gazing warily at his half-brother.

"Richard,
I... I've come to beg your pardon," Philip blurted out at once. "I
know I did wrong. You were within your rights to punish me. By the rood, I was
a fool!"

Richard
studied the boy in surprise. In all his wild imaginings, he'd not expected
this. Perhaps Philip wasn't so hopeless as he'd thought. The words of his
father echoed in his mind. No doubt, he had been partially to blame for the
hostility between them. Perhaps helping the boy was worth a try.

"I...
I couldn't control de Veasy's men that night," Philip confessed. "I
feared they'd not obey me so I went along. It was easiest. I'd no wish to look
a fool if they laughed at me, refused my orders. But I should have made an
effort. They were my responsibility."