I hesitated, not sure where to go. I knew the stables were here, but suddenly I felt very self-conscious. Would my presence cause problems? Should I be here at all?
‘My lady?’
A soldier, in middle-age with a grizzled face and sun-browned arms, had appeared at my side.
‘Where might the stables be?’ I asked, wondering what I should call the man.
‘The stables, my lady?’ While he had doubtless understood the question, he was obviously struggling, trying to find a reason I might want to visit the stables.
‘There is a horse, Dulcette, a grey mare, who I wondered about. I rode her here to Pengraic, and I wondered if she were well.’
Sweet Virgin, I sounded like a simpleton! ‘Dulcette?’ he said. ‘The stables,’ I said firmly, and suddenly all was well. Just the change in tone, from query to command, had put the man at his ease.
‘My lady,’ he said, now quite happy, and led me toward the north-eastern wall.
Here was a large stable block, as much a hive of activity as the rest of the outer bailey. I thanked the soldier as he left me at the main doors, then I stepped inside. A man grooming one of the horses put down his brush and, having learned from my mistake with the soldier, I asked in a confident tone that, if there were a grey mare here called Dulcette, might he show me to her.
Instantly he led me down the ranks of horses and there, to my delight, was Dulcette.
She whickered in recognition when she saw me, and I hastened over to her, patting her neck and stroking her nose, and feeding her the apple which I had kept hidden in my skirts. I was glad to see her, and a little guilty that I had left it this long. In her turn, Dulcette appeared pleased to see me and blew warm air over me as she butted her face into my chest.
‘I am about to ride out along the spur to Pen Cerrig-calch. Join me.’
I looked up.
My husband was standing in the aisle of the stable, holding the reins of his bay courser.
‘Truly?’ I said, and the earl smiled slightly at the delight in my voice. He called to one of the grooms to saddle Dulcette, and in a few minutes we were leading our horses out into the sun.
Although it was a bright day I was wearing a mantle borrowed from the stable: my husband … Raife … had insisted I wear a mantle as the top of the mountain would be cold.
‘She’ll pull hard today,’ Raife said as he helped me mount. ‘She’s not been exercised since you arrived apart from a turn about the outer bailey now and again.’
‘Then if she runs away with me I shall reach the top of the mountain before you,’ I said, grinning in anticipation of the ride.
I was also absurdly pleased to realise that we were riding without an escort. There would just be Raife and myself.
Oh, that was such a morning. I look back on it now, so many years later, and think what a glorious day it was. We rode out the northern gates of Pengraic and took to the track that curled around the spur connecting Pengraic Castle to the greater mountain of Pen Cerrig-calch. My husband was more relaxed than I had ever seen him. Both horses pulled hard, and eventually we gave them full rein, laughing as the horses surged ahead, putting down their heads and blowing away their high spirits on the climb to the mountain peak. The wind blew away the hood of my cloak, then unravelled the loose plait over my shoulder that I’d taken to wearing after Raife told me how much he liked it, and my black hair streamed out in the sun. My husband looked over at me and the look on his face made me happy, so happy.
From the mountain peak the view took my breath away. The land lay before me, brilliantly coloured in the bright, bright day. The castle was far below, and even further the gentle winding river, and the wide valley stretched as if into eternity. Behind us mountains and thick woods.
Between us, nothing but smiles and occasional laughter. I don’t think I’d ever seen Raife this light of heart before. We sat our horses, both close, our legs bumping now and again as our mounts moved beneath us.
All of creation was ours that morning. No troubles lay between us, all was open and shared, nothing was amiss. I could forget that I had ever feared the Earl of Pengraic.
Raife pointed out many of the features in the landscape — the mountains, the villages, the fields, the winding roads and the river.
I thought about that night when Stephen had taken me to the top of the northern keep and I had seen the mountain and hill tops alive with torchlight, and, suddenly, my husband brought it up, too.
‘I remember you telling me that Stephen had brought you to the top of the northern keep so that you might see the dancers in the moonlight,’ he said, ‘weaving their way about a man with light on his head.’
I nodded, wondering where he was going with this.
‘It is easy to believe in the old legends,’ he said softly, his eyes faraway as he gazed at the view, ‘on a day like this, with the sun in our faces, and the world laid out before us.’
‘It is,’ I said, enjoying his relaxed mood. This was a man I so rarely saw out of the confines of our bed.
He turned his face my way and gave me such a gentle smile that my heart gave an unsteady beat.
‘You have such a lovely, enchanting old soul,’ he said, ‘and I have to fight so hard to guard my own against you. Sometimes I worry that you threaten everything I am, and all that I want and have fought so damned, damned hard for.’
My old anxiety that he was somehow angry at me resurfaced, but then he pushed his bright bay courser close to Dulcette and gave me a kiss.
‘Mae, promise me something.’
‘Anything, my lord.’
‘Trust me, blindly if you have to, but trust me. Sometimes it may seem as if what I propose is wrong, or leads down some dark path … but always, always trust me, and I promise I will never mean you harm, nor lead you to harm. I will do nothing, ever, to harm you.’
I remembered that on our marriage night he had asked me the same thing.
‘Of course I will trust you,’ I said. ‘Always.’
He kissed me again, deeper this time, until only the movement of the horses broke our mouths apart.
Ah, that bright, bright morning, laughing atop Pen Cerrig-calch, my hair blowing in the wind, my husband at my side and nothing between us but the joy of the day. I held its memory close, for many years. I was falling deeply in love with my husband by that morning, although I did not yet recognise it.
We were, I suppose, about halfway down the ridged spur leading back to the castle. Of necessity we were riding slower than we had ascended, for it was far easier for the horses to slip on descent than ascent.
We had been chatting about light matters. Suddenly Raife’s attention was caught by something in the valley. He had remarkable sight, for all I could see was the movement of horses and the bright sparkle of metal.
It was, he later told me, that sparkle that warned him. He pulled his courser to a halt, standing in the stirrups for a better view, shading his eyes against the sun.
Then he swore, softly, violently.
‘What is it?’ I said.
‘An armed force,’ he said. ‘A hundred men, perhaps, riding to Pengraic. Come, kick Dulcette forward, we must make haste.’
‘Who?’ I said, concerned at the worry in Raife’s voice.
‘The Welsh,’ he said. ‘It can be no one else. There is no other force west of Pengraic that can command those numbers. It must be Madog.’
The Welsh prince! Heart in mouth, I urged Dulcette down the slope after Raife.
Chapter Ten
The northern gates clanged shut behind us and I heard the sound of them being bolted and barricaded. Raife rode straight through the outer bailey, through the high-arched passageway under the northern keep and into the inner bailey.
I followed as close as I could. I was intensely relieved to be inside the castle, but terribly anxious about what was to happen. Were the Welsh about to lay siege?
Raife jumped down from his horse, letting it skittle about in nervousness as he raced to the steps leading to the parapets and guard towers by the main gates. I pulled Dulcette to a halt, not sure what to do, and was relieved when Owain came over and helped me to dismount.