There was a sudden silence, and then a mumbled apology. The voices were receding, taking advantage of her disability to escape unscathed. The unfairness of that was more than Rhiannon could accept and she stubbornly sought to hinder their retreat. “Do I know you? Have we met?”
Her challenge went unanswered. She bit her lip, conceding defeat, when another voice alerted her that there was a new player in this unpleasant game. “If you have not met them, Rhiannon, count your blessings.”
Those stinging words were accompanied by a whiff of exotic perfume and a soft breath on Rhiannon’s cheek. The whispered name was needlessly offered, for she’d recognized the voice at once. But the Countess of Chester was always conscientious about identifying herself, unable to believe that other senses could be as reliable as sight.
Maud gave her no chance to reply. “Rhiannon, as much as it grieves me to admit this, these ill-mannered dolts are kin: my brother Will and his harpy of a wife, Hawise.”
There was an outraged sputter from Hawise, and Gloucester said sharply, “This was an unfortunate misunderstanding, Maud. Your meddling will only make it worse.”
“Spare me your righteous indignation, Will. I overheard enough to judge your rudeness for myself!”
“For God’s Sake, lower your voice!” Gloucester sounded alarmed, for Maud was capable of making an enormously embarrassing scene and well he knew it.
In this concern, he had an unlikely ally in Rhiannon, for her anger was cooling as fast as it had flared now that she knew the identity of her defamers. Family faults were better discussed in private, and she said hastily, “Let it lie, Maud. It does not matter.”
“What does not matter?” This was a new voice, low pitched and sultry, infused with the unique confidence that high birth and beauty confer, and Rhiannon quickly dropped a curtsy to the English queen. Eleanor’s perfume was more subtle and elusive than Maud’s. Breathing it in as Eleanor kissed her cheek in a kinswoman’s greeting, Rhiannon was momentarily transported to a far-off garden where mysterious, elegant flowers bloomed by midnight.
The others had the advantage of Rhiannon, though, for they could see the expression on Eleanor’s face. As those greenish-gold eyes appraised the Earl of Gloucester and his wife, they thought not of summer gardens, but of cats on the scent of prey.
“You are very pale of a sudden, Hawise. Mayhap you have not fully recovered from your ordeal.” Eleanor gently squeezed Rhiannon’s arm. “Did you hear about the woeful mishap that befell my husband’s cousin and his wife, Rhiannon? They and their son were abducted from the bedchamber of their own castle at Cardiff, dragged off as spoils of war in a daring Welsh raid. Poor Will had to pay a huge ransom for his release, did you not, Will?”
“Yes,” Gloucester muttered, acutely aware of the audience that Eleanor was attracting.
“I can only imagine how humiliating that must have been for you.” Eleanor’s sympathy was as lethal as hemlock. “I daresay they were laughing at how easily they’d breached your defenses, adding insult to injury by making you the butt of their jests and jokes. I do hope that at least they let you both dress ere they carried you off into the night?”
Maud, watching with a grin, thought it a pity that Rhiannon could not savor the peculiar color of her brother’s complexion. Hawise was equally flustered, and Maud wondered gleefully which rankled more: the implicit slur upon her husband’s manhood or the suggestion that she’d been abducted stark naked.
Satisfied with her victory, Eleanor allowed the discomfited couple to flee the field, trailed by amused titters from some of the spectators. Slipping her arm through Rhiannon’s, Eleanor guided the Welshwoman up onto the dais. “I need to sit down,” she confessed, not surprisingly, for she was in the eighth month of yet another pregnancy.
“That was a highly enjoyable spectacle,” Maud declared, “watching my lout of a brother be minced into sausage. But ought I to warn Cousin Harry how sharp your claws can be, Eleanor?”
“Harry knows,” Eleanor said, with a complacent smile that faded as she glanced toward Rhiannon. “Gloucester is a fool, wed to another one. Try not to let their spite spoil your evening.”
“It does not matter,” Rhiannon repeated. This time she meant it. “It hurt me to think that they were making sport of my blindness,” she confided, and then she smiled. “But now that I know they scorn me merely for being Welsh, I can return their hostility in good conscience and full measure.” And the last sour aftertaste of the Gloucesters’ rancor was washed away by the approving, amused laughter of Chester’s countess and England’s queen.
The Hildren Ere Shrieking again and a nurse hurried over to make peace between three-year-old Mallt and two-year-old Maude, now nicknamed Tilda. Although the floor of the solar was strewn with toys, the cousins invariably set their hearts upon playing with the same puppet. Richard kept trying to claim that puppet, too, but at eleven months, he was too wobbly on his feet to offer a serious challenge. Hal, a handsome, cheerful youngster of three and a half, was more interested in teasing his mother’s greyhound, using a wafer to lure the dog within reach. Slouched on a coffer seat, Rhiannon’s son, Gilbert, was disconsolately bouncing a ball against the wall over his head. After a time, that irritating, rhythmic thud attracted Eleanor’s attention.
Gilbert was feeling very sorry for himself, trapped here with his little sister and cousins when he yearned to be outside, playing games like hoodman blind or hunt the fox. After all, he reasoned, he was nigh on seven, old enough to be having fun on his own. When the queen said his name, he glanced up incuriously, finding these English adults no more interesting than their children. He didn’t understand why they were in Winchester, yearned to be back home in Wales with his friends.
Eleanor was beckoning to one of the young women working upon an embroidered cushion. “Beatrix, I’d like you to take Gilbert down to the stables and show him the roan mare’s new foal.”
Gilbert sprang to his feet, remembering just in time to toss a plaintive “Mama?” in Rhiannon’s direction. “Go on,” she said reluctantly, hoping that Eleanor had chosen a sharp-eyed caretaker for her spirited young son, whose mischief-making capabilities were truly awesome. The banging door told her that he was now on the prowl and Winchester Castle in God’s Keeping. Getting to her feet, she moved cautiously across the solar to join Eleanor at the window.
It was unshuttered, open to the August heat. “Sit beside me,” Eleanor invited, “and I’ll tell you what I see as I look out upon the city.”
Rhiannon did, appreciative of Eleanor’s matter-of-fact acceptance of her blindness. Most people were too self-conscious to make such an offer, so fearful of offending her that they denied her the opportunity to envision new surroundings. “I would like that,” she said. “Ranulf often talks of Winchester, for he was under siege here during the war between his sister and King Stephen.”
“Yes, I’ve heard those stories, too. To judge by all the men who’ve boasted to me that they were at the Winchester siege with the Empress Maude, there was nary a soul who supported Stephen. Which makes it very mysterious that he managed to cling to power for nineteen years.”
Rhiannon laughed, and Eleanor began to describe the view. “In the distance, I can see the spire of St Swithun’s Priory. High Street or the Cheap runs through the center of the town, east to west. It is not visible from here, but off to the southwest lies Wolvesey Palace, where the Bishop of Winchester will be dwelling again now that he’s made his peace with Harry. And to the north of the palace is the convent commonly called Nunminster, not far from the East Gate.”
Eleanor stopped suddenly, smiling. “And below us, the men have just ridden into the bailey.”
Rhiannon sighed with relief, for she’d feared they’d get so caught up in the thrill of the chase that they’d be gone for days. While she didn’t understand that particular passion, she knew many men found it as compelling an urge as lust. “I hope,” she said politely, “that they had a successful hunt.”