Chapter 15 #3
Riding steadily upward, Gwen was amazed at the sheer size of the castle.
It was ringed by a second curtain wall that boasted no less than six towers.
Two of the massive towers rose up on either side of the gates.
Peppered with arrow slots, they looked like faces with hundreds of probing eyes.
Chains clanked somewhere within the walls and the iron portcullis raised its sharp teeth.
Behind it, heavy wooden gates swung open and yet another portcullis stood beyond, slowly cranking upward.
When they rode beneath the arch, Gwen looked up. The sharp spikes of the portcullis stared back at her, and murder holes gashed the ceiling. Boiling oil would be poured on the unsuspecting enemy who managed to make it beneath the arch.
They halted in the bailey and Richard slid from Sirocco’s back, holding out his arms for her. He set her down and she smoothed her skirts, ignoring the needling pain in her limbs caused from so many hours spent in the saddle.
Torchlight illuminated the curious faces around her. Gwen regarded them with apprehension. She was Welsh and they were English. It reminded her of her days at Windsor, and she suddenly longed to disappear.
“’Tis good to see you home, milord.”
Gwen’s head snapped up. The man had spoken in Welsh. A short stocky man of advanced years bowed to Richard. His long gray hair was tied back with a thong and he had a shaggy beard that reminded her of Einion’s.
“Owain, this is the new Countess of Dunsmore,” Richard said, pulling her forward by the hand. He had removed his helm, and Gwen was struck anew by the raw beauty of his features.
Owain’s face split in a toothy smile. “Ah, Lady, you are even more lovely than I imagined. Be well come to Claiborne castle. I am Lord de Claiborne’s steward and I look forward to serving you.”
Gwen stammered a thank you, momentarily caught off guard. The man was Welsh! She glanced at Richard. Black Hawk de Claiborne left a Welshman in charge of his household?
“We’ll not dine in the hall tonight,” Richard said. “Send food and bathwater to my chamber.”
Owain bowed again, smiling. “As you wish, milord.”
Gwen thought he winked but she wasn’t sure.
“And fetch Father Stephen. Hugh de Lydford has fallen in battle.”
Owain’s face grew solemn. “Shall I send a messenger to Lydford manor?”
Richard shook his head. “Nay,” he said, sounding suddenly very weary. “I am riding out on the morrow. I will tell Lady de Lydford myself.”
Gwen’s heart sank. He was leaving her here alone. Not that being with him was a comfort, but at least she knew him. Her gaze skittered over the crowd.
Owain frowned. “You cannot leave. You have only just arrived. What of your bride?”
Gwen liked this Owain already. And at least he was Welsh. That made her feel somewhat more at home.
“I must, Owain. You will take care of Lady de Claiborne in my absence.”
Owain stepped closer, his voice an angry whisper. “You push yourself too hard, Richard!”
Gwen stared at the two men. This old Welshman dared to speak to his English lord as though he were an errant child. She expected Richard to explode.
“I do what I must do,” Richard said stiffly.
“You have proved yourself a thousand times over. Send the knights like the other Marchers do.”
“Owain,” Richard growled.
The Welshman stepped back, drawing himself up. “Milord,” he said curtly.
Richard took Gwen’s hand and led her into the castle. He hustled her through the Great Hall so fast she barely got a look at it.
What she did see would have been enough to give Elinor fits for a year. The room was dingy from the smoke of the heating fires. She couldn’t tell if the rushes were fresh, but she doubted it since dogs trotted between the tables, begging handouts from the seated knights.
Serving women looked more like whores than anything, their clothing disarrayed and stained with wine and handprints. Gwen even thought she saw a man and woman coupling on one of the benches, but she wasn’t certain.
Even if she hadn’t, there were enough wenches seated on men’s laps as to leave no doubt to the sort of things that went on in Claiborne castle.
They passed through without stopping and Gwen realized with dismay that Richard wasn’t going to introduce her to his household as his new wife and countess. How was she supposed to command any respect if he showed her none?
He stopped in front of a large door and pressed her back against it. “I have wanted to do this for hours…” Dipping his head, he claimed her mouth in a hungry kiss.
Gwen’s hands splayed across his chest in a defensive gesture, but his kiss was so intoxicating that she was powerless to end it. “Wh-where are we?” she asked when he finally released her.
“Our chamber,” he said, smiling his cool predator’s smile.
“B-but I thought I would be staying in the women’s quarters, f-for now.”
He opened the door, then caught her in his arms before she tumbled backward. “Silly wench,” he teased, picking her up and stepping over the threshold. “Even the naivest of virgins knows a man and woman must be in the same room if they are going to make love.”