Lady of Hay by Barbara Erskine (reading an ebook TXT) 📕

He smiled at her. "And his son-in-law, Einion, too. I remember you feared him once, for your children's sake. " He put his hand on hers as it lay on the table. "But it's not just that, I can see. What troubles you, my lady?"

"He and William have been discussing an alliance. " She looked down at the white cloth, her mouth set in a hard line. "He wants my little Matilda as wife for his son Gruffydd. William has told me that whatever he thinks of the Welsh he will agree. It is the king's wish. "

Gerald shrugged. "Gruffydd, " he mused, "is named his father's heir. He's not as handsome as his brother Cwnwrig, but he's tall and strong and he's able to cope with the quarrels with his brothers. They fight endlessly, you know, the sons of Rhys. They turn the poor man white-haired with worry. He'd probably make the child a good husband. "

"I'm afraid for her, Gerald. I have kept my children safe from Einion and from the rest of Seisyll's kinsmen and now I'm to be asked to give her to Rhys with my own hands. " She turned to him, suddenly passionate. "Swear to me, Archdeacon. Will she be safe?"

Gerald raised his hand placatingly. "How can I swear? I know Rhys to be a man of excellent wit. He's honest, discreet, I believe him to be sincere in his quest for peace. More than that I can't say, although he is my cousin. He wants this marriage obviously to seal this uneasy peace we have on the borders, to make sure the galanas never reappears between your houses. I suspect the power of de Braose is the nearest challenge to his, so he is anxious to secure a peace with you. What better way than by marriage? But all you can have is his promise. It is more than many mothers get. "

He glanced down the hall to where ten-year-old Matilda ate at one of the lower tables with her nurse. Her two eldest brothers, William and Giles, were pages now in neighboring households, as was the custom, while Reginald, her third brother, hovered at a high table proudly serving the archbishop. Matilda's two youngest children, Isobel and Margaret, were in the nursery lodgings in the west tower. They were a happy, healthy brood of children, some of whom Gerald himself had baptized. He glanced fondly at their mother. She was a young woman, still no more than twenty-six or seven, he guessed, as erect and slim as ever in spite of all the children. He watched her for a moment as she too gazed down the hall at Matilda. It was a miracle that she had not as yet had to bear the grief of the death of a child. He sent up a brief prayer that she would never be broken by such a loss.

Matilda's gaze went down through the smoky torch-lit hall to fix on her daughter's face and, as if feeling her mother's scrutiny, little Tilly raised her eyes. They were clear, almost colorless gray. For a long moment mother and daughter looked at one another. Then Tilly turned away.

Matilda felt her heart tighten beneath her ribs. Always that indifference, that unspoken rejection.

Her thoughts spiraled back to Jeanne, all those years before. It is the child herself who will betray your secret. But how could she, when she didn't know?

Matilda bit her lip. In the last ten long years she had seen to it that she and Richard had never again been alone together. She had ignored the longing in his eyes and fiercely resisted the anguished burning of her own body. There was no way that Tilly could ever have guessed how much her mother loved the courteous, handsome visitor who from time to time came to see them at one or other of their castles.

"You sigh, my lady. " Gerald brought her attention gently back to himself. "There is no need. I feel sure Gruffydd will be kind to her. "

Matilda forced herself to smile. She nodded. "You are right, of course, Archdeacon. " She felt his eyes probing hers and immediately her wary fear returned that he could read her thoughts; that he might even suspect that Tilly wasn't William's child. Desperately she tried to distract him, suddenly very afraid.

"Tell me, Archdeacon, do you intend to write a book about your trip around Wales with His Grace, the Archbishop?" she asked quietly. "It would make a fascinating account, I feel sure. You could include that shameful scene in the churchyard at St. Mary's this afternoon. " She smiled and saw at once that the bait was taken. His eyes lit up and he was leaning toward her, his face intense with excitement.

Surreptitiously she glanced back toward her eldest daughter's table. Sure enough, the huge gray eyes were once more focused on her mother's face. This time Matilda saw not indifference in the child's face, but fear and—was it longing?

The candlelight was flickering in her eyes. Angrily she raised her hand to her face, shielding it as she turned back to Gerald, but he wasn't there. A figure was kneeling before her in the sunlight, camera raised. She blinked. "Tim?"

"Welcome back. " He took another picture and then reluctantly lowered the camera.

"How long have I been sitting here?"

"About an hour. "

"I was at dinner... "

"With Giraldus Cambrensis. I am very impressed with your friends. "

Jo stared at him. "How do you know?"

"I asked you where you were. You seemed to hear me quite clearly. You talked very logically, describing what happened here in the churchyard—the riot and the way the archbishop had to race back to the castle, and the incident where a man tried to get through the gate to give his oath to take up the cross and only made it at the cost of losing his trousers—" He chuckled. "You know of course that Gerald took your advice. He wrote an account of