Memories of the Heart (24 page)

In a hall long since gone unnaturally still, Tal joined all within to watch this exchange in wary fascination. He could have stopped the confrontation at its outset and probably should have done so but now was perversely glad that he hadn't. These were matters left too long unaddressed and festering in a dark, unhealthy silence.

Mab's intense glare dared Angwen to deny the veracity of her words. “You meant for no one to know a truth hidden so long behind accusations against me that you've come to believe the lie yourself. Yet we both know that Lord William took his own life—as now does everyone present here.”

Mabyn's gaze shifted to Lord Taliesan and found an impassive expression and eyes gone to black ice. “
You
know my seeds had nothing to do with your brother's death. And, though it may be painful to acknowledge, now you also know the truth about your father's end.”

Tal wasn't shocked by this news concerning his father's demise. After inadvertently observing the man as he gathered poisonous berries from a yew tree the day before his death, Tal had long suppressed the possibility that the illness which had taken his sire's life hadn't been a natural ailment.

And yet, behind an inflexible facade, he was viciously stung by these statements made by the wise woman of Llechu. Her words seemed to flatly confirm that he'd played a guilty role in his only brother's deadly accident.

“Hah!” By crashing hands down palm-flat on the tabletop, Angwen made it clear that she wasn't prepared to surrender. Oh, she accepted as fact that Mab wasn't responsible for the demise of her oldest. However, the same argument involving consumption of becharmed seeds which had won that dispute also refuted Mab's claim of innocence in Lord William's death.

“Do you dare pretend that the seeds which, at your direction, I fed my William had nothing to do with his end?”

“The seeds are not poisonous,” Mabyn's response was as loud as Angwen's bitter challenge but her tone calmed when she added more. “And yet it is true that they affect the mood of anyone who steadily consumes them. Thus, it's possible that after partaking of them for so long a time, they might have led to actions he wouldn't elsewise have taken.”

“Then you
are
responsible.” Angwen victoriously declared.

“I gave the seeds to you with a warning.” Mabyn was no more willing to concede defeat than the castle's lady. “You gave them to your husband.”

Realizing that this argument could go no further, leastways not to any good purpose, Lloyd intervened and turned the people's focus toward a different and to him more important issue.

“Mab, these people believe that Ceridwen cast a spell over Lord Taliesan. Does Ceri indeed possess such skills?”

“Nay,” Mabyn firmly denied although startled by this abrupt interjection of a subject which she hadn't been forewarned to expect. “I have taught Ceridwen a portion of the healing arts but my tender gosling is far too softhearted to be trained in more complex skills—and I wouldn't try.”

Mabyn turned to slowly study the curiously watching crowd. “Ceridwen couldn't possibly cast a spell over anyone but she, like your lady, did beseech me to cast one for her.”

Breath caught uncomfortably in Lloyd's throat, near threatening to strangle him. He hadn't expected Mab to reveal this dangerous fact and now wished he'd prepared her to expect his question.

“Only by my love for my granddaughter and her love for Lord Taliesan did I cast a web of enchantment over your master.” As the listeners gasped, Mabyn moved to again face the earl.

“By the power of my spell Lord Tal viewed her through love-misted eyes—but only for so long as the wrongly wounded hunters remained within my sphere. Once he passed beyond the borders of Llechu, his memories of Ceri and their days together were gone.”

While speaking directly to Taliesan, Mabyn's voice softened to a quiet tone heard only by those at the high table. “Unfortunately, Ceridwen's memories were unaffected. I had failed to either recognize the depth of her love or realize the lengths to which she would go to follow her heart.”

Tal was stunned by Mabyn's latest revelations, confused by the suddenly released flood of indistinct memories and unsuspected answers to far too many unjust questions about Ceri's nature.

“Did Ceri know I wouldn't remember?” Tal asked, pained to remember how often her honest emotion had been returned with suspicion. Only certainty of her understanding of the false barrier between them would ease his distress.

Mabyn didn't speak but merely nodded.

By the roar rising from assembled diners it was obvious that they wouldn't easily believe the old witch's claim of her granddaughter's innocence. In truth, their distrust of Ceri remained unchanged.

“Friends, as your lord—” Tal rose to his feet and from the raised dais demanded silence and the undivided attention of all. “Restrain your criticism, your accusations against Ceridwen. Wait until she is returned and we've investigated the truth of these matters. But know that, for my part, I believe her innocent of any wrong against Westbourne.”

Morton cast his sister a surreptitious, sidelong glance. Their eyes met in silent accord and confidence. They'd seen to it that Ceridwen would not be returning—leastways not alive.

Tal's gaze returned to Lloyd as he asked a pointed question. “Where is Ceri?”

“Would that I knew,” Lloyd responded. “I have been told that it's believed I had a guiding hand in capturing you, but I give you my oath on all I hold sacred that I was nowhere near the site of your abduction. I am also told that it is widely believed I first secreted Ceri away to help in that wretched crime against you but I am not guilty of that, either.

“How do we know that you speak true?” One dubious guardsman called out.

“Ceridwen is my daughter.” Lloyd proudly proclaimed for the first time while steadily meeting Vevina's gaze across the crowded hall. “And if I had her safe and sound I would not have come to you now, not here where your first instinct is to again imprison me in the dungeon to await execution. Nay,” Lloyd firmly shook his head. “Never would I have come save for the hope of aid in rescuing my daughter from whatever vile wretch stole both her and your lord from our company.”

Chapter 19

The hour grew late and an inevitable weariness calmed the earlier excitement in Castle Westbourne's great hall. Its inhabitants began to separate and plan to settle for their night's sleep. With Lady Angwen's reluctant approval, Vevina had convinced a restless Mabyn to share her alcove pallet in the absent Ceridwen's stead. Mabyn was sure she couldn't rest easy so long as the fate awaiting either her granddaughter or the girl's father remained uncertain.

Everyone in the great hall had watched Lord Taliesan escort Lloyd down the corner stairwell, assuming that their master meant to see the escaped prisoner once more locked in a dark cell. Carrying a small torch to light the way, Tal instead wordlessly led the Welshman to a small alcove on the dungeon level from where, when necessary, guards could be posted to watch cells currently empty.

“While those above believe I mean to see you again confined—” Tal turned toward his amazingly compliant ‘prisoner.' “I have a far different purpose for our descent into this gloomy place.”

Lloyd's lips parted on a long-rehearsed confession and plea for forgiveness but words were stifled when his lord continued.

“I've no doubt that you, as Ceri's father, are as anxious to see her safely freed as I am.”

“But
why
do you want to see Ceri returned?” Lloyd skeptically asked. “Because her taking wounds your pride? Or because as her lord you reserve the right of her punishment for yourself?”

“The punishment
is
mine—” An unmistakable thread of deep emotion deepened Tal's immediately response. “Not to inflict but to suffer for having allowed others to inspire doubts about the angel's sweet nature and unblemished loyalty.”

“You love Ceridwen,” Lloyd quietly stated, relieved and pleased by this confirmation of his brightest hopes for his daughter's happiness.

“Aye—” As Tal firmly nodded, light from the small firebrand in his hand glowed over black hair. “Although I have only vague memories of all Mabyn claims passed between Ceri and me, I'm certain that I have loved her granddaughter since the moment I first saw her—a moment I truly wish I could recall with perfect clarity. And if fate allows the opportunity, I will see that Ceridwen knows how precious she is to me.” To this Tal added a sincere plea. “I pray you will aid me in rescuing Ceri from the fiends who stole her away and who, I fear, mean her greater harm.

“For love of my daughter, I'll gladly take any risk to see her safely delivered from danger.” Lloyd promised his unstinting support in the task. Yet now while their actions must wait until the castle settled for the night he uneasily embarked on his long planned and only slightly altered speech.

“But, just as you would seek Ceri's forgiveness for doubting her, I must seek yours for a greater crime wrongly committed.”

Tal's eyes warily narrowed but he motioned for the other man to explain.

“I blamed Westbourne, your mother, and
you
as its lord, for the tangled morass my life became after Vevina refused to promptly return to Llechu and wed with me,” Lloyd valiantly admitted. “Then after years with that resentment festering inside, I was too easily encouraged to wreak vengeance upon you for losses whose source was in reality my own misdeeds.”

Tal's face remained an impassive mask but he chose not to interrupt Lloyd's clearly painful admission of loyalties foresworn.

“I have never acted against you by my own hand.” Lloyd steadily met the earl's unblinking gaze. “Yet I am guilty of leading a small party sent from Farleith into the Welsh forests from where they launched an attack against your hunting party.”

“You shot no arrows?” Tal's respect was earned by the fact that the Welshman held his gaze unflinching even while revealing his part in a serious crime.

“Nay.” The response was immediate and unhesitating. “My wrong was in leading the archers to you—and I acknowledge that misdeed equally vile.”

“Were you also a part of the attack made on my patrol along Bendale's border?”

Lloyd firmly shook his head. “That offense was committed by Sir Ulrich acting alone.”

Though unnecessary here was further proof that Ceri was right in believing his true foe was the former guard captain. Dark brows arched as Tal inquired, “How can you be certain of Sir Ulrich's guilt?”

“In Farleith Keep Ulrich boasted of his villainy to Lord James.” A solemn Lloyd quietly stated, “I heard him.”

“Are you a frequent visitor to Farleith?” Tal asked the Welshman apparently willing, even anxious to give honest answers.

Lloyd's shoulders lifted in a faint shrug. “Only since the night that Sir Ulrich's brother Simeon freed me from these dungeons and led me there.” He rushed on to earnestly explain his honorable purpose. “I remained then and have returned since only in hopes of learning enough about Lord James's vile schemes to see you forewarned. With a warning of looming dangers I hoped to demonstrate my sincere repentance for the part played in the first ill-deed and help prevent others more ominous.”

“You are loyal to my cause—again?” By the golden intensity of Tal's penetrating eyes it was clear that he wanted to believe yet was wary of further treachery.

“Aye—” In a sign of renewed fealty Lloyd dropped to one knee and bowed his head, summoning the torch's wavering flamelight to glow over the silver in dark curls. “But I accept the necessity for proving myself worthy of trust.”

“'Struth, and it's a goal you can pursue by helping me with the challenge at hand.” Tal's half-smile appeared although he quickly went on with another important question. “Were Lord James and his cohorts responsible for my abduction—and possibly the taking of Ceri?”

“Nay!” Lloyd firmly denied. “And that is a fact confirmed by how thoroughly subsequent events twice caught Lord James off guard. First, by the letter begging a postponement of betrothal rites in light of an illness suffered by his daughter as well as Lady Angwen. Second, by Sir Ulrich's contradictory assurances that both ladies were in fine health.”

“Then my neighbors to the southeast are innocent of the latest wrong—but not of those committed earlier.” A slow, wry smile curled Tal's mouth. “Which leaves two questions: What of those to the northeast? And in which direction should we focus our search?”

Lloyd's smile reflected the cynical tilt of his lord's. “After taking pains to be certain I'd be blamed for Ceri's departure from the castle, her captors are unlikely to have spirited her away to any site between here and the Welsh border.”

“I agree,” Tal said. “At least one of those responsible for Ceri's abduction is a tactician too skilled to risk a strategy so obvious.” From his own experience, Tal was far too familiar with precisely how manipulative Blanche was in all aspects of her life.

“Aye,” Lloyd nodded. “And because the pair from Bendale were the ones most anxious to press accusations against my daughter and me, I doubt Ceri will be found anywhere near their lands.”

Lloyd had discovered warm pleasure in openly claiming Ceri as his daughter and earnestly hoped that she would feel even half so proud of him as her father—when she finally learned the truth about this fact too long hidden from her.

“Then we ride toward Farleith Keep.
They
—” Tal met Lloyd's gaze directly to be doubly certain they agreed that the culprits behind the most recent wrongs were Blanche and her young brother Morton. “They probably deem that area the least likely to be searched considering the traffic passing between here and there to negotiate the betrothal's postponement.”