Chapter Thirteen
Welsh Border
One week later
Sir Charles de Worth sat motionlessly in the middle of the dimly lit tent of cowhide, the walls reeking of burning dung and molding animal skins.
The cloying stink only served to fortify his mood; having ridden from Shrewsbury to the Welsh border in a little over a day, he was understandably fatigued.
But he had been compelled to obey the invitation cast by none other than Owen Glendower, and even now he sat with restrained anticipation of their meeting. Though the subject of their conference had not been mentioned in the missive received three days prior, there was little doubt as to the topic.
Fortunately for the aged knight, he was not kept waiting overlong.
Owen Glendower, dark and average in height, entered the tent surrounded by a host of supporters.
De Worth suddenly found himself encompassed by the core of the Welsh rebellion, eyeing the dark, weary men around him with a certain amount of distrust. To his right, Owen cast his hands over the dung-burning vizier in a vain attempt to ward off the Welsh chill.
“Captain de Worth,” Owen said in perfect English. “Thank you for coming.”
De Worth eyed the infamous leader of the Welsh resistance. “After the missive I sent to you, ’twas my duty to heed your summons. How may I be of service?”
Owen rubbed his hands together before planting himself in a small collapsible chair opposite the English knight.
His dark eyes were sharp and appraising, his manner calm as he studied the man before him.
Since pleasantries were dispensed and he had no desire to linger in incessant conversation, he moved directly to the point.
“I have certain questions regarding the missive you sent me pertaining to Henry’s bastard daughter,” he glanced at David, standing to his left, before continuing.
“She was exactly where you said she would be. In fact, we very nearly had her within our grasp but, unfortunately, our attempts were thwarted. Tell me; why did you give me this information?”
De Worth swallowed uncomfortably, shifting in his chair. “Does it truly matter, my lord? The information was righteous.”
“Indeed it was, but I would know your motives just the same,” he sat forward in the chair, closer to the iron vizier. “What grudge do you hold against Henry that you would jeopardize his daughter in such a fashion?”
The English knight sat stiffly a moment before replying. “I believe I informed you in my missive that my reasons were my own. Why should they matter? Have I not provided you with accurate information?”
“Absolutely. But I am troubled by the fact that there was a terrible attack the day we attempted to abduct the princess and if I did not know better, I would think it to have been an act of treason on your part,” Owen’s voice was soft.
“Are you somehow intent on manipulating Henry’s opposition to your own end? ”
Charles’ brow furrowed. “Of course not. I had nothing to do with any attack.”
“But I lost a man, a very good man. Was it your intention to, mayhap, lure my men into a trap with information regarding Henry’s bastard, only to manipulate an attack that would damage my cause?”
De Worth drew in a long, heavy breath; he could see that the situation was rapidly growing sour and sought to dispel Owen’s accusations.
“As I said, I gave you the information regarding Henry’s bastard to retaliate against Henry himself.
I hold no grudge against the Welsh rebellion.
If I were any younger, I would fight with you. ”
Owen studied the man a moment before relaxing in his chair.
His dark eyes glittered with thought. Truthfully, he did not believe de Worth capable of the substantial undertaking of damaging his rebellion.
But he was curious as to the man’s motives; his cousin David had seen and spoken with Henry’s bastard, a woman of exquisite beauty who was apparently unaware of her royal relations.
Combined with the mysterious clues to her whereabouts from the man seated in front of him, it was an intriguing mystery.
“Tell me why you divulged her whereabouts. My patience wears thin.”
De Worth’s ruddy cheeks flushed and he lowered his gaze. “As I said, my lord, my reasons were my own.”
Owen stared at the man. “Tell me or I will kill you for subversion.”
“Subversion?” Charles repeated, outraged more than frightened. “I never..!”
“Kill him,” Owen issued calmly, rising from his chair as if their business was concluded.
Hands reached down to roughly yank de Worth from his chair. Struggling against the Welsh resisters, Charles sought Owen’s gaze in desperation.
“Why is it necessary for you to know my purpose?” he demanded, a substantial fear gripping him.
Owen eyed him. “As I said, it would appear that you lured my men into an ambush with tales of Henry’s bastard daughter, who was amply protected. Explain your motives for divulging her location and I may be merciful.”
De Worth’s face was a sickly white, beads of perspiration on his brow. After a moment, he swallowed hard, his resistance lessening. He knew, as he lived and breathed, that he had no choice but to admit the humiliating truth.
He swallowed again, nodding his head in resignation.
“Very well, if that is what you require to realize that I am not involved with any subversive activity.” Immediately, the hands that had grasped him so brutally fell away, leaving him weak and disheveled.
Charles groped for the chair, collapsing against the leather seat.
“I was captain of King Richard II’s household guard for almost ten years.
My wife and I lived on the castle grounds, happy but for the fact that we had no children.
You see, I had an accident as a young man that left me barely able to…
. function. Although we thought, mayhap, we would be blessed with a son someday, it became apparent that fortune was not with us. ”
Owen listened carefully. “Continue.”
Charles sighed. “We ceased our physical relationship all together after several years. We had not had marital relations in well over two years when I noticed that my wife was beginning to put on a good deal of weight. I questioned her about it, but she insisted it was nothing. She continued to grow and grow and I paid little heed until one night she seemed to be most uncomfortable. I went about my scheduled rounds and when I returned at dawn, she was exhausted and pale and slept heavily until noon. It was not until days later that I realized….” he paused, wiping at his sweaty face.
“I realized that she had given birth. Knowing the child was not mine, I set out to find the babe with a vengeance. Until I discovered that the child was in protective custody.”
Owen was seated, listening intently. “Protective custody? I do not understand.”
De Worth met his gaze, his eyes glittering with an old pain. “Royal custody, my lord. ’Twould seem that my wife had shared an affair with the Duke of Bolingbroke and the child was his.”
Owen’s eyes widened. “Henry!”
“Exactly,” Charles nodded, his gesture slow and weary. Noting the varied expressions of disbelief and understanding about him, he shrugged vaguely. “Now you understand why I have taken such an interest in Henry’s bastard. My vengeance shall come when he least expects it.”
“But what of your wife? Did you kill her for her betrayal?” Owen asked quietly, curiously.
De Worth shook his head. “I never got the chance. Henry sent her away to Whitby Abbey in Yorkshire and I have not seen her since.”
A peculiar gleam came to Owen’s eye. Passing a glance at David, he noted the same odd expression glazing his cousin’s features, an expression that caused his own uneasiness to increase with each successive moment.
When he returned his attention to the fatigued English knight, he realized his hands were beginning to quake.
“Did your wife have a name?”
“Ellyn,” de Worth’s voice was barely a whispered.
Owen’s breathing suddenly became a harsh, ragged gesture.
He rose abruptly, toppling his chair in the process and moving to right it with shaking hands.
He couldn’t seem to control the violent tremors that had infected his movements and he struggled to keep the same quiver from his voice.
“Lloyd, show our English friend a bit of food and ale. He’s free to leave when he’s rested. ”
The silent Welsh soldier waited patiently for Charles to regain his composure, escorting the man from the tent as the English knight rose to unsteady feet.
With a lingering glance at the Welsh prince, a silent gesture of shame and remorse, Charles de Worth quit the tent in favor of a hot meal and a measure of much-needed rest.
When his boot falls faded, David turned to Owen with an expression of utter astonishment. “It’s her.”
Owen nodded vaguely, his hand over his mouth as he attempted to rein his reeling thoughts. “I never imagined…. God’s Blood, how were we to know? Of all the knights in England, how is it possible that we should come across her husband?”
David’s astonished expression gave way to a pale countenance as he paced the frozen ground, lost in his own thoughts. “I haven’t seen Ellyn since she left for London. We received word from her only twice since; when she married, and when she pledged her servitude to Whitby.”
Owen eyed his cousin, the impact of the discovery weighing heavily on his shoulders. What had begun as a simple fact-finding endeavor had become a monumental discovery and he was having difficulty grasping the facts. But they were indisputable.
He finally sighed, shrugging off his shock. “You never did discover why your sister took her vows at Whitby?”