Courtly Love 2

William stared up at the impressive and intimidating castle of his cousin. Soldiers were stationed on the walls and they stared down at him suspiciously. The country was in a constant state of war, the balance of power unstable. They were men who had no qualms about betrayal, numerously switching allegiances and supporting the men whom they had sworn to be their enemy just the other day. It was not a welcoming country, this land of his mother’s.

A soldier came to the gate; his sword was unsheathed, and several other soldiers flanked him. “What business have you with my lord?” the soldier said coldly.

“That business is solely between my cousin and me,” William replied just as coolly. “Tell my lord that his cousin, William de Rou, is here to see him.”

Doubt flickered on the soldier’s face. “My lord de Hewitt did not mention a cousin coming to call,” he sneered. “Especially foreign cousin. Where’d you get such an accent?”

William’s eyes narrowed. “Send a man to tell my cousin that his aunt, the Lady Eleanor de Hewitt's son is here to see him. Now.”

Only now did the soldier take in William’s entourage of men behind him, the quality of his clothes, the well-crafted sword at his hip, and the ring on his finger. And some of them recognized the Lady Eleanor. The soldier nodded and commanded another soldier to take a message to the lord de Hewitt.

As they waited in the cold air, William’s captain came to his side. “Are you so sure that that the lord Hewitt will welcome you?” he asked uncertainly. “After all, your lady mother has been estranged from her family for many years.”

“I am not sure, Dylan.” William grinned when he saw that the messenger soldier had returned and was motioning for them to be given entrance. “But I’ve learned to be a gambling man and take my chances.”

Dylan snorted.

In the outer courtyard stood a tall and rigid young man man, standing much like the castle. He was scowling and his hand was at his hip near his sword hilt. But he had the de Hewitts’ piercing blue eyes, fair hair, and pale skin.

William and Robert de Hewitt stood staring at one another for a moment. William was surprised by how young Robert did seem. He did some quick calculation and figured Robert to be in his mid-twenties. He was the son of one of Eleanor’s younger brothers. After a few moments, William bowed and said, “My lord de Hewitt, it is an honor to finally meet my mother’s nephew.”

Still the younger man did not move or drop his hand away from his hip. “Come closer so that I may see you,” Robert de Hewitt said sharply. His face became ashen as William obeyed. “Gods!” he exclaimed, his hand dropping to his side. “You are the very image of Aunt Nell!”

And then they were ushered through the gates, the horses taken away, and the men given food and drink.

After they had been seated and given wine and food by the servants and William had been assured his men were being taken care of, he relaxed.

“What brings you so far up north?” Robert asked. He leaned back in his chair, scrutinizing the older man with shrewd blue eyes. “Or should I ask what has chased you up north?”

“None other than the gracious king, Griffith,” William said dryly. And then he related the details of his story. As he finished, Robert was nodding.

“You were right to come to me. You may always rely on your kinsmen. But I must warn you, you will be sorely tested here in Palasar, where our country is constantly beset by war. We will see if the soft court life has softened you, cousin.”

William stiffened, not sure if he was being teased or taunted. “I assure you, cousin,” he said dryly, “we will do our best to keep up, after our soft court life. My men are the best to be had, strong and loyal.”

“At least you people know the word ‘loyalty.’ I had heard that such a word was used quite cheaply in Altair.” Robert’s gaze did not falter under William’s look of outrage.

William clenched his teeth, struggling to withhold his rage. “I do not go back on my word. I was loyal to my lord Rhys to the very end. Life is a gamble, and I took one when I backed Rhys. We lost, but I have no regrets.”

Silence hung between them, broken only by the crackling of the fire and the fighting yelps of the dogs. At last, he leaned forward, his guarded blue eyes intent on the older man. “You are very honest, and I admire that. I think we may have a place for you in our army.”


______________________________________

Angharad sat in the window seat, embroidering a pillowcase. Her stitches were small and neat. She didn’t particularly like embroidering, but it was something she was good at and it kept her hands occupied. Marared was in her chambers, no doubt at her desk and busily writing letters. Angharad sighed as she drew her thread threw the cloth.

She heard footsteps and furtively looked up from her pillowcase to see a courier being lead by a servant. She recognized the insignia on the man's chest as that belonging to the king. Her breath caught as a multitude of reasons for the king's messenger to be in their corner of the world, and none of them good. Were they to be exiled? Would their lands and money be taken from them? Would the king even hang them? It had been four weeks since William had fled Altair. The king had been outraged that William had evaded capture.And Hywel was in Syen once more, laughing at the havoc he had created. And life for Angharad remained comfortingly the same, until now.

Angharad watched as the courier disappeared up the stairs. She set down her embroidering and began to restlessly pace around the hall, no longer able to sit still or concentrate. She eventually found herself wandering outside to the stables. There were many horses, as was befitting a countess’s stables, exercised now by the grooms and servants. Angharad had never ridden much, had never cared to. She’d learned to ride sidesaddle, as was proper for a young lady.

The smell of horses and hay surrounded and filled her nose. As her small feet padded down the aisle, many curious eyes looked out at her from the stalls. Some heads even poked out to get a better look at her. The horses were so large.

Angharad came to the middle of the barn and a golden horse stuck its head out. She reached her hand out to it, keeping her palm flat. The horse gently blew into it, then nudged it. And as Angharad stared into the calm face of the horse, she decided she was going to ride it. She did not know how this idea came upon her. But she needed a change in the routine, a challenge. And this was it, staring her right in the face. She called for a groom, and a young man appeared. His expression showed surprise.

“Yes, miss?” he asked. “Morgan at your service.”

“Morgan, saddle up this horse for me, please,” Angharad said.

A wary and nervous look appeared on his face. “I’m not sure if I should, miss. Shadow here might be too much for you. And he will only ride with a man's saddle."

“Why do you call him Shadow if he is the color of copper?” Angharad asked abruptly.

Morgan’s brows furrowed in frustration. “Because he is the color of the sun, and the sun causes shadows. We thought him so tall that any other creature would stand in his shadow.”

Angharad nodded as she smiled. “It’s a noble and appropriate name. I want you to saddle him for me, please.”

“I do not think he is an appropriate mount for such a young lady as yourself.”

“Did not Lady Elen ride the wild Ddu, the black stallion to flee her lecherous uncle?”

“Yes,” Morgan replied, striving for patience, “but that is only a story.”

“But stories must originate from some sort of truth.”

Morgan sighed as he took in the determination of the young girl. She was as stubborn and persuasive as any lawyer. And at last, he could not help but grin as she grinned back impishly. “As you wish then, my lady,” he said in defeated humor. He fetched the tack and swiftly saddled up the horse with Angharad closely watching. At last, Morgan led Shadow out of the stall and out into the outer courtyard.

“Are you sure want to do this, miss?” Morgan asked, his nervousness suddenly returning. He tugged at his dark hair and looked behind his shoulder as if fearing that the countess would be breathing down his neck.

Angharad nodded resolutely as she eyed Shadow’s high back. She would not be able to mount him alone. “Would you assist me, Morgan?” she asked. She noted the reluctant look on his face as he obeyed and stood behind her. Angharad took a deep breath and sent a brief prayer to the gods as Morgan easily tossed her into the saddle.

“Shall I lead him around for you?” Morgan asked.

Tensely, Angharad nodded. Her heart was pounding in her chest, for Shadow was a high-spirited horse. After she had become accustomed to his walk, Morgan jogged and Shadow began to trot alongside him. Angharad gasped and gripped the horse’s copper mane as Shadow sprang into a bouncy and jarring trot. Angharad felt as if there were an earthquake moving beneath her, but she determinedly gripped the saddle with both legs. After a few times around, she became accustomed to the uncomfortable gait and moved as one with Shadow, proving herself to be a good horsewoman.

At last, Angharad began to feel an ache in her legs. “Enough!” she cried. She let out a deep sigh of relief as Shadow came to a halt. But she was beaming as she gazed down at Morgan. “That was wonderful!”

Morgan was smiling back up at her. “You did very well, miss,” he praised.

Angharad noticed she had attracted an audience of a few of the other grooms and servants. They were all smiling at her, as well, with approval.

“Can we do this again tomorrow?” she asked eagerly as she slid down off of Shadow’s back.

“If you like, miss.”

Angharad stared down at her dress contemplating. “I can’t very well continue to ride in this,” she said, frowning. “Is there a way you could find me a pair of breeches, Morgan?”

He stared down at her in surprise at such a request. “I can try, I suppose,” he said slowly. “But I don’t think it would be a good idea to continue riding in the courtyard here. Your lady mother would not approve, I am sure.”

“Do not worry over her,” Angharad said flippantly. She stumbled slightly as she tried to take a step. Her legs were weak, felt wobbly. “I will see you tomorrow at this time, Morgan.” Then she unsteadily made her way back inside the castle. She could not hide the broad smile that spread across her face.

Marared was waiting for Angharad when she returned inside the castle. “Where have you been?” she demanded, her dark eyes narrowed. “I have been searching for you everywhere.” She then took in her daughter’s elated face and the smell of horses clinging to her.

“I just went to the stables Mama,” Angharad replied, unconsciously erasing her face of emotion.

“We will be going to the king’s court next month,” she said. “The king requests it.”

Angharad’s excitement rose within her. Court! Other people her own age, excitement, beauty, intrigue. But under Marared’s stern and cool glare, Angharad’s face remained a smooth mask as she nodded.

Marared nodded, then looked the girl up and down. “Get yourself cleaned up,” she ordered, then hastily swept away.

Angharad stood rooted to her spot, squeezing her eyes shut. As her mother's back disappeared, a wide and uncontrollable grin was spreading across her face.

____________________


“My lord,” Marared said as she sank into a deep curtsy before Griffith.

Griffith was smiling as he lifted her back to her feet. “You are very welcome to court,” he said cheerfully. “Too long have you stayed away from my court.”

Then he looked past Marared to see Angharad standing hesitantly to the side. He beckoned for her to come to him and was slightly disconcerted by how she side-stepped past her mother’s motioning arm. The young girl sank down into a curtsy, having yet to raise her eyes from the floor. He went to her slowly and lifted her to her feet. She still did not raise her eyes, and she was tense and nervous. He reached out with a gentle hand and raised her chin so he could look into her eyes. They were startlingly blue, a rare and cherished color in their country. They were full of fear. And suddenly Griffith understood.

“My dear, you are welcome, as well,” he said in a gentle and kind voice. “I hope you will become comfortable here.”

Angharad nodded, a lump in her throat, for though Griffith’s words were kind, how could she be sure? After all, her father and brother had betrayed him.

Griffith still saw the doubt in her eyes, for as a king, one had to learn people’s body language and looks. He linked her arm through his and led her to a chair on the dais. The queen was smiling at Angharad as she took her hand.

“My dear, if you should ever need anything, you need only ask my wife, Hunydd,” Griffith said earnestly as he glanced briefly over at Marared, who was conversing now with the others.

Hunydd smiled and nodded her agreement. “Our own daughters were married long ago, and I have missed the responsibility and joy of raising them, of loving them. You remind me of my eldest, for she was quiet, as well, and she was quite beautiful. But her eyes could never compare to the beauty of yours.”

Angharad was speechless, for she was being compared to the king and queen’s own daughter! She averted her eyes to her hands. “Thank you, my lady,” she murmured.

Griffith suddenly removed a ring from his smallest finger, took Angharad's hand, and placed it upon her own finger. "A pledge from your king to do you service and to take care of you whilst you are at my court," he said gravely. Then he brought her hand up to his mouth. "I have missed the charming company of a daughter, as well."

Angharad found that words could not express her gratitude, and she swallowed audibly as she felt tears in her eyes. No one had ever made such a sincere and beautiful pledge to her. She looked down at the Griffith's ring, now on her middle finger of her left hand. It was a simple ruby set in heavy gold, and engraved in the gold band was a small eagle, Griffith's insignia.

Later that day after the evening meal had been served, Angharad found herself quite alone. She did not have the nerve to meet the other young men and women her age, for they seemed so confidant and worldly, as she was not. She felt so very young and innocent.

Suddenly, Angharad felt a touch on her arm and turned to see a girl only a year or so older than herself. She had fair hair and skin, clear blue eyes, and a captivating smile. She was accompanied by another girl of dark auburn hair and deep green eyes.

“You are new at court, are you not?” the fair haired girl said brightly. “I am Gwenifer de Nywel. And this is Ellen de Mon.”

Angharad smiled tentatively in return at the two girls. “I am Angharad de Langor.”

"Look at how tiny your waist is!" Gwenifer exclaimed.

"And your eyes are such a beautiful color of blue. I've never seen eyes so bright!" Elen was gushing.

“Come, you must meet everyone else,” Gwenifer said insistently as she grabbed the younger girl’s hand.

“Yes, I dare say young men will be flocking to court you,” Ellen said without a trace of jealousy. “But I must tell you to beware of Maelgwyn; he is as evil a predator as I have ever seen!”

And Angharad found herself being included in the court, at the center of attention for the first time in her life.


"Courtly Love 3"