Chapter 7 #2
Shrewsbury Castle sat at the center of town. It was big, though nothing to compare to Windsor. A thirty-foot high curtain wall ringed the stone keep. Imposing towers glared at the town below, their surfaces pierced with arrow slots at varying heights.
Men walked along the battlements, the chinking of their armor carrying on the wind. A crimson banner with three golden lions snapped in the breeze over the turrets.
They rode beneath the archway and into the outer bailey. Knights practised in the lists as men and women hurried between the outbuildings. Dull pounding came from the armory and the smithy, and the mews rang with falcons’ cries.
Extra kitchens had been set up to accomodate the large feast, and an old woman tended the livestock waiting to be slaughtered.
Passing into the inner bailey, Gwen surveyed the scene. Although the castle had to be aware of her arrival, there was no welcoming party fit for a princess. It was just another insult in a long string of English outrages. The Welshmen came to a halt at Gwen’s signal.
“Highness,” a young girl greeted her, bobbing in a mock curtsy. “The king and queen regret they could not welcome you personally, as the queen is ill. I am to show you to your room.”
“Where is the chamberlain then?”
“He is occupied with other guests,” she replied, her eyes darting over the fierce-looking men encircling Gwen in stony silence.
Furious looks passed between the Welshmen, and Gwen raised a gloved hand to silence the protests before they could be uttered.
Lord, even the servants felt they were superior to the Welsh!
She had tried to forget the malice the English people displayed four years ago when she rode to Windsor. England had just been the victor in a bloody war with the Welsh, and mayhap tempers had still been high.
But four years of relative peace did not seem to have dampened the hostility.
“Did the king instruct him to ignore me so?”
“N-nay.”
“You may tell the chamberlain I shall speak to the king about this.”
The girl swallowed and nodded.
“Lord de Claiborne might not be so understanding either,” she added as she slid from her palfrey’s back. She doubted Richard would care one way or the other, given his opinion of her, but she knew his name would cause a stir.
As expected, the girl paled slightly.
Gwen turned to her men. “Do not allow yourselves to be provoked by these English dogs,” she said in Welsh. “Send for me if you have trouble.”
“I will accompany you, Highness,” Rhys said, swinging a leg across his horse’s back to dismount.
“Nay! You will go with the others, Rhys ap Gawain. I will summon you if I have need of you.”
He stopped with his leg in mid-air, and she returned his look with a frosty glare.
“As you command, Highness,” he said curtly, settling himself on his horse.
Gwen swept up her cloak and turned to follow the girl. Alys hobbled quietly behind.
When Gwen entered the room behind the servant, her breath caught. There was no insult apparent here.
“’Tis to be the nuptial chamber,” the girl said.
Tapestries blanketed the walls, some woven, some painted sendal-silk. The floor was strewn with sweet rushes, scented with cowslip and marjoram and cotsmary. A fire blazed in the hearth, throwing shadows over the canopied bed.
The bed. Gwen swallowed. It was huge and hung with royal blue velvet trimmed with gold tassels. And she was going to share it…
She turned away. Two chairs, carved and also cushioned with velvet, sat next to a polished oak table. A narrow window pierced the wall in the center, lined with thick glass rather than shutters. A seat was cut in the stone beneath the window, piled high with plump pillows.
“That will be all,” Gwen said, dismissing the servant without looking at her.
“Your Highness,” she mumbled, sinking to the floor this time, before she rose and hastened from the room.
“’Tis an outrage!” Alys burst out. “To treat a royal princess so—that chamberlain should have his insolent neck stretched!”
Gwen sighed. “’Tis no use getting upset, Alys. No doubt he feels that the lowliest knight outranks a Welsh princess. I am much more concerned about the men staying out of trouble.”
“Oh, I think they will manage,” Alys said, her red face twisted in a scowl. “I had better see to the unloading of your trunk. No telling what these curs might do with it. Can I get you anything first?”
“Nay. Thank you, Alys,” Gwen replied, sinking into one of the soft chairs.
Alys rubbed a hand across her backside, mumbling to herself as she walked out the door.
Gwen smiled and shook her head. She removed her gloves, then pulled the cord from her hair, shaking the mass free of the confining braid.
Sweet Mary, she’d not been here half an hour and this place was already working on her frayed nerves. Damn English bastards! She would not let them beat her down. She was a princess. She was Llywelyn ap Gruffydd’s daughter!
“Gwenllian?”
She vaulted to her feet. “Majesty,” she said, sinking low.
Edward hurried over and reached out a lean hand to raise her. “Nay, no need to bother with the formalities in private,” he said, flashing his teeth in a boyish grin.
“Thank you, Majesty,” Gwen replied, lowering her lashes at the intensity of his blue stare. She didn’t flinch when his hand brushed her cheek.
“I brought you something,” he said softly. He held out a small basket. “’Tis from Eleanor. The journey from Windsor has made her ill in her condition, I’m afraid, and she regrets she could not give these to you herself.”
“’Tis very kind, Majesty,” Gwen said, peering at the two orange spheres. “Forgive me—I do not know what they are.”
“Nay, ’tis you who must forgive me. I am so used to having oranges around that I did not think you wouldn’t know of them.”
“Oranges?”
“Aye. They come from Castile, Eleanor’s home. She was but a child when she came to be my bride and she missed Spain so much. ’Tis expensive to import them, but it makes her happy.”
Gwen stared at them. “How do you—?”
“I will show you,” Edward said, smiling.
He led her to the windowseat and urged her to sit next to him.
With his dagger, he scored the skin of the orange.
Slowly, he pulled the dimpled covering back to reveal the smooth columns of fruit.
A spicy smell wafted to Gwen’s nostrils and she realized her mouth was watering.
“Close your eyes and open your mouth,” Edward said, breaking off a wedge. “Now,” he urged.
Gwen bit down. Sweet and sour flooded over her tongue as juice spilled from the tangy fruit, some of it dripping down her chin.
Edward grabbed her wrist as she started to wipe it away. Her eyes flew open to find him staring at her.
With the corner of his tunic, he gently wiped her face, then held up the rest of the slice. Gwen hesitated, opening as he nodded. She jumped when his fingers grazed her lower lip.
“You have grown into a beautiful woman, Gwen,” he said, his eyes following the curve of her bosom.
He slid closer until his thigh brushed against hers.
Smoothing the hair back from her face, he said, “You were always a pretty girl, but now—” He left the sentence hanging as his gaze again flickered over her breasts. “Eleanor is so often with child…”
And then the King of England was kissing her.