Page 45 of The Rose at Twilight

“Mayhap you had better tell me the whole,” he said, reaching toward her. When she evaded his hand, he frowned. “I won’t harm you. I just want to know what happened. No more baldarddws, either, lass. I want the whole truth.”

“What is b-balderdoosh?” she asked curiously, trying to say the word as he had said it, at the same time letting him urge her from the parlor into the bedchamber.

“Foolishness, nonsense, female prating,” he said impatiently, shutting the door. “Now, tell me.”

“Aye,” she said. Standing before the fire, she told him what Elizabeth had done. She was precise, and she made no effort to spare herself in the tale. When she finished, he shook his head.

“Women!”

“Art angry, sir?”

“Nay, lass. You ought not to have spoken, but I grant the provocation. And I doubt the deviceful wench told our Harry about the lute-playing bit, for he did not mention it to me. By the rood, I warrant she said only what she had to say to protect herself against any gossip there might be, but he is like to hear the whole soon enough if Everingham has heard it. ’Tis why the fellow was offering to give you lessons, is it not? ”

She nodded, still uncertain of his temper.

“Elizabeth won’t like it if Harry does hear the tale, for it will not amuse him.” He sighed. “There must be no more of this, lass. ’Tis plain now that I cannot leave you here.”

“Leave me? But—”

“Didst think you would accompany our king on his progress to the north, mi geneth, when his lady stays behind?”

“No, but I did think that you might …” She hesitated.

“I follow my liege lord,” he said, “or such was my plan, and what he does expect. I must disappoint him, I think, but it will not serve for me simply to take you to Wolveston Hazard.”

“Why not?”

“Your leaving will make an odd enough appearance when the queen stays, and I cannot tell Harry I want to take you to Wolveston to see my new estate. His route takes him through Bawtry and Doncaster, so I would be close enough to look it over, in any case. There is no need to take you.”

“’Tis my home,” she protested.

He shrugged. “You serve the queen, madam. Your place is with her, not in Nottinghamshire. Be still now,” he commanded when she opened her mouth to say more. “Let me think.”

She stared into the fireplace, angry that he thought she could not protect herself against Elizabeth, and angrier that he would not take her with him to Wolveston. Surely they could travel apart from the king’s procession of knights and gentlemen.

Almost as though he were thinking aloud, he murmured, “I could take you to Wales. Not only did Elizabeth herself suggest such a trip but Harry will understand that my family must want to meet my bride. And from Wales we can go on to Wolveston. If we travel swiftly enough, I can join him at Doncaster.”

“How soon will he be there?”

“He has said he wants to make haste, but ’twill take time nonetheless, for he is to spend Easter in Lincoln, then go to Nottingham Castle, and from there through Sherwood Forest to Doncaster and York.

” He smiled at her. “Should you like to see my home, madam? ’Tis in Brecknockshire in the valley of the river Honddhu.

Our market town is Brecon, fifteen miles away. ”

“Is Brecknockshire not near Glamorgan?” she asked, recalling that he had once said something to that effect, and that Sir James Tyrell was Sheriff of Glamorgan. She had not yet been able to help Lovell, but perhaps her chance might yet come to do so.

“Glamorgan is the next county to the south, beyond mountains called the Brecon Beacons. Why do you ask, mi geneth ?”

She smiled. “’Tis the only Welsh county whose name I have heard before.

I heard it first when you explained the name your men call Hugh Gower, and told me of the legends about the giant.

I look forward to meeting your family, sir, and seeing your home.

But I do confess,” she added with a sigh, “I have had my fill of traveling with only soldiers and servants to bear me company. Might I have leave to invite Mistress Fenlord to accompany us?”

He hesitated, but a thoughtful look came into his eyes, and he said, “She is an heiress, is she not, and as yet unpromised?”

“Aye,” Alys said, “but she does not want to be married.”

He paid no heed to the last, saying in a musing tone, “She’s a pretty lass, too. I’ll warrant she’d suit my brother Gwilym.”

“She would not,” Alys said. “She has no wish to marry, sir, and she is accustomed to having her wishes indulged.”

He laughed. “Is she? Well, if you promise to behave, lass, I’ll ask Harry to let her go with us.

First, however, I must gain his permission for myself and my men.

The rumors flying about just now are making him a bit nervous.

” He gave her a straight look. “Some say that the outlaw Lovell has fled to the north, where he is plotting against the king.”

“And what do you say, sir?”

“Only that Harry ought not to be too quick to discount what he hears. He still hopes Lovell will submit, and has said he is certain the bearers of the rumors want only to advance their own positions at court by condemning York’s last capable leader.”

“When must we leave, sir?” she asked, having no wish to encourage further discussion of the matter.

“The king leaves Wednesday morning. Can you and Mistress Fenlord be ready to leave so soon?”

She grinned at him saucily. “’Tis a vast amount of time, sir. You do not usually give me so much. But what if the king denies us his permission?”

“He will not. His lass will see to that, and I shall see that you have your lute lessons, mi geneth ; but I’ll hire you no tutor.

I will teach you myself.” He smiled. “I enjoy teaching you. Indeed, I believe there is time right now for a lesson. ’Tis a pity we have no lute at hand.

” His expression warmed provocatively, and he reached for the laces of her gown.

She responded at once, and with pleasure. Some lessons, she thought, were much more pleasant than others.

Whether by virtue of Sir Nicholas’s persuasiveness or that of the queen, on Wednesday morning a cavalcade comprised of Sir Nicholas, Alys, Madeline, Jonet, Elva Dean, and forty men at arms left Westminster Palace shortly after dawn.

They enjoyed beautiful weather along the way, and made excellent time, riding west along the Thames to Uxbridge, then to Oxford, crossing the Severn at Gloucester.

They spent that night and the following day, which was Sunday, at an abbey south of the town, and the following day, they crossed into Wales at Monmouth.

Early the next morning they were off again, traveling alongside the river Usk to Abergavenny. When Sir Nicholas identified the massive tower of Raglan Castle in the distance, Alys was impressed. She knew Raglan by reputation.

“’Twas a good Yorkist stronghold,” she said.

Madeline, riding beside her, said, “Yorkists in Wales? I thought all here would be Tudor people. But then,” she added with a laugh, “I know little history. ’Tis boring stuff.”

Sir Nicholas said, “There was much Yorkist influence in this part of the world, but at least one rebellion against the late king—that of Buckingham—began in Brecon, and the Welsh are well pleased with Harry. He may not be as Welsh as some would like, but folk hereabouts are pleased that he traces his heritage to Cadwaladr and thus fulfills that great leader’s prophecy that a Welshman would one day rule over England. ”

The landscape changed beyond Abergavenny.

The gentle slope they had followed up the valley was steeper now that they were climbing into the mountains known as the Brecon Beacons.

The air was filled with birdsong and the scent of sun and flowers, for the Welsh countryside was lush, the hillsides around them thick with green grass, shrubbery, and gaily colored wildflowers.

But the lush foliage lasted only until they reached the summit, where they were greeted by a stiff breeze and wind gusts strong enough to blow the hat off one’s head, if it was not firmly secured.

The view at the top made Madeline and Alys stare in amazement.

“It is so barren here,” Alys murmured when they had drawn up to rest the horses. “There is naught to see among these high peaks but tiny pink windflowers hugging brown dirt and those tall, pillarlike stones in the distance. What are they?”

“They are called longstones,” Nicholas said, “or standing stones. Some say the Romans brought them, others that they were thrown here by giants.” He grinned at Hugh.

“’Tis most likely the Romans used them to mark ancient trackways, or as monuments to persons of importance.

But the Beacons are not always as bare as they look now, lass, and although they seem gentle and mild today, they can be exceedingly dangerous.

The fog rolling up from the sea is sometimes so thick that a man cannot see his hand before his face, and there are treacherous cliffs and rush bogs where anyone putting a foot wrong can disappear forever. ”

They did not linger, and the stunning change in landscape was reversed when they left the heights to descend into the lush green valley where the rivers Usk, Tarell, and Honddhu met in the town of Brecon.

It was a busy town, the center of the Welsh cloth trade, and the women were amused to see, lining the two main streets, row upon row of flannel cloth hung on tenterhooks to dry after processing.

Nicholas pointed out the Blackfriars’ school when they passed it, and they spent the night at the Benedictine priory crowning the hill north of town.

While Nicholas saw to his men’s needs that evening, the women walked in the peaceful priory garden.

But the journey was nearly over, and the next day when they entered the lovely green valley of the Honddhu, Alys saw a dramatic change in her husband’s demeanor.

He had been cheerful enough before, but distant, spending no more time with her than with the other women.

Each time they had stopped for a night, even when they accepted the hospitality of a religious order, the women stayed together, and Nicholas slept on the men’s side of the guest house.

He was polite, and even found time most evenings for Alys’s lute lessons, but she had hoped for more intimacy.

She seemed to have no power to stir him while his men were near, for he maintained strict control over himself.

Hugh frequently rode near them, and he was always willing to chat, but his reception from Jonet was no warmer than before, even when he and Nicholas began pointing out scenes from their respective childhoods, revealing their excitement at being home again.

Alys began to commiserate a little with Hugh.

The valley was beautiful. The hawthorns by the river were not yet in bud, but silvery catkins decked red willow branches, and snowdrops and marsh marigolds grew everywhere.

There were long-horned, short-legged black cattle on the hillsides, and lots of sheep.

Sir Nicholas, grinning now, his eyes sparkling with pleasure, increased the pace, and shortly before noon, when a man came out of a cottage and waved, he waved back and shouted a greeting.

The man peered more closely at them, then shouted back and waved both hands with wild abandon.

Nicholas ap Dafydd ab Evan had come home.