Chapter Thirteen
In the forest near Talgarth Castle, Wales
5th Century
5th Century
Dwynwen lost
consciousness during the last moments of Maelon’s assault against her. She did
not see the Prince’s vicious smile as he stood over her twisted body which lay
in a heap on the ground.
He looked
absolutely pleased with himself.
“You will not
forget this night, Princess. My regards to your betrothed…” he sneered,
disappearing into the darkness.
Moments later a
sudden rush of wind blew across Dwynwen’s breast. Her skin lay bare in the cold
night air, and she shivered. Opening her eyes, she looked down at her body and gasped.
Her tunic was torn and smeared with blood.
Pulling the fabric
closed, hiding her nakedness, she rose unsteadily to her knees. Weeping and
disoriented, she tried to stand, desperate to leave the woods and return to the
castle, but she ached from the force of Maelon’s violence and she stumbled.
Her heart was
ripped to shreds by a man whose soul was black and evil. A man who lusted, and
who casted the illusion of love. She wondered if her father had sensed the
truth about him, and if that was the reason he had been so angry.
In pain and deeply
ashamed, she let out a cry of despair. It would have gripped the soul of anyone
who heard it, but Dwynwen lay deep in the thick of the forest, where no one
could hear her cries or were too drunk to notice.
Finding strength
deep within her, Dwynwen finally rose to her feet. She stumbled her way through
the shadows of the forest, flinching with every painful step.
When at last she
reached the edge of the garden she saw the guards asleep by the far wall and
she slipped back into the castle.
Dwynwen moved
silently in the corridors, fearful she would be discovered. A rush of relief
raced through her when she pushed open her chamber door and found no one
waiting for her there.
She quietly closed
the door and leaned back against it, catching her breath. The smell of Maelon’s
seed wafted up, sickening her.
Tearing the tunic
from her body, she threw the soiled garment into a covered basket in the corner
of the room. A basin of water sat on the floor by the window and Dwynwen
plunged her hands into the icy water, desperate to scour all traces of him from
her body.
Bruises were
forming on her thighs and arms. For weeks, to come, they would serve to remind
her of the gravest error she had ever made.
As she wrapped the
woollen cover around her aching body, she promised herself she would never
allow her father to find out what had happened to her, fearful of his rage and
of the consequences.
As she lay on her
bed, listening to the fading sounds of the celebrations below, she prayed come
morning, she would know what to do.
* *
* *
It was the break
of dawn when Dwywen awoke to the sound of
the servant girl entering her chamber. She carried a torch ablaze with
the flame of the feast fires.
Dwynwen watched
her rekindle the fire in the hearth.
“Will you need anything this morning?” the
servant girl asked.
“No. I thank you.”
Dwynwen brushed the hair back from her face.
“Are you certain, my lady?” The young girl’s
expression made Dwynwen tuck her arms under the cover. She had seen the
bruises.
“I am,” she said
in the most cheerful manner she could muster. “I am sure you are needed in the
kitchen. There will be many mouths to feed this morning.”
“As you wish…” The
girl bowed and left, with a worried look sitting on her brow.
Dwynwen did not
waste a moment. Bolting from the warmth of her bed, she threw the torn and soiled
tunic from the basket straight into the fire.
Chapter
Fourteen
Angel’s Cove, Newfoundland
1935
“You’ve got
everything you need, I’m sure of it” Anne laughed as she watched Gwen struggle
to close the suitcase filled to capacity. “Although you might want to bring
along a little sun, I’ve heard it rains a lot over there.”
“How would you
know?” Gwen asked.
“I read it
somewhere,” she replied, lending a hand with the luggage lock.
Gwen smirked.
“I’ll pick up an umbrella when I get there.”
“You’ll have to. There’s
no room in here.”
A rap sounded at
the front door.
“You finish up. I’ll get it.” Anne said, quickly making her way down the
stairs.
“Be nice.” Gwen
felt a sudden attack of unsteady nerves.
“I will.” Anne
replied, then opened the front door.
“Good morning, you
must be Miss Reilly. I’m Liam Pryce.”
Anne cleared her
throat, trying to hide her surprise at the sight of Mr. Pryce who did not look
like the old-uncle type she thought he'd be. The man wasn’t just handsome; he
could sell magazines with his looks alone. She stood speechless. Mr. Pryce
politely waited for an answer.
“Miss Evans is
expecting me,” he prompted.
“Yes, yes, of course. “She’ll be right down. Won’t you
please come in?” Anne opened the door, inviting
him to step into the house. “I guess Gwen told you she and I are old friends.”
“She did.”
“She told me a
little about you, too. You’re younger than I expected,” she said. “Can I get you a cup of tea?”
As she descended
the stairs, Gwen could hear Liam decline Anne’s offer, explaining he’d
just finished breakfast.
“Bea sent you off
with a hearty feast, I’m sure.”
Liam glanced up at
her standing on the steps, and smiled. “That she did.”
“Look at you all
buffed, shined and dressed to impress.” Gwen teased.
“Did it work?” Liam’s
gaze rested on Gwen.
“Definitely a
snappy dresser, and she was right about your accent,” Anne said, taking in
Liam’s fine suit and shoes. “She said I’d like it.”
“Did she? Well,
that’s a start.”
“She also said you’re
sensible, and that’s what is most important. Gwen has a keen sense about
people.”
Liam smiled, and Gwen
felt a rush of warmth color her cheeks.
“That’s good to
know,” he said. “I’m happy to hear it.”
“You’re an angel
for agreeing to keep an eye on the house, Anne.”
“Don’t worry about
anything. I promise not to kill the plants.” Anne’s smile gave way to a look of
concern. “You’ll be back in two weeks, right?”
Gwen wanted to
share with her the things she and Liam had discussed. She wanted to tell
her about her dreams and about the pendant, but a practical girl like Anne
wouldn’t understand. She had to keep this one and only secret from her closest
friend, or risk worrying her even more. Anyway,
how could she explain something she didn’t truly understand herself?
“Yes, and I’ll
call as soon as I get there.” Gwen put her arms around Anne and hugged her. “I’ll
be sending postcards, too.”
“Always nice to
get something in the mail.” Anne quickly wiped a tear away from her cheek. “Have
a safe journey.”
Liam picked up Gwen’s
suitcase. “Ready to go?”
“I think so,” she replied, sweeping a quick
look around for anything she may have forgotten. She patted her handbag where
her passport and a few of the photos she’d recently found were safely tucked
away in the side compartment.
“I have a cab waiting
outside.”
“Goodbye Mr. Pryce.
It was very nice meeting you.” Anne looked at the young man intently. “I
trust you’ll take the very best care of Gwen.”
“With my life.”
Gwen didn’t miss
the note of sincerity in his statement. By the way Anne’s brow arched, neither
did she.
As she stood by
the cab, Gwen’s gaze was drawn to her mother’s bedroom window. A flicker, like
a candle, reflected on the glass. She blinked and it disappeared. Her mind was
playing tricks on her, she thought, silently bidding her mother farewell as she
slid into the idling De Soto
“I need to leave
word with Reverend Matthews that I’ll be away.”
“By all means,” he
replied, sliding in next to her. “Sir, we’ll be making a stop at the parsonage,
just off the main road, before we leave Angel's Cove.”
“Certainly, Mr.
Pryce,” replied the driver.
As the car headed
down the dirt road, Anne waved from the porch. Gwen raised her hand in reply,
confident she’d be waiting for her when she returned.
* *
* *
A few minutes
later, in hopes of avoiding a potentially difficult exchange with Reverend
Matthews, Gwen slipped a brief but detailed note into the mail slot at the
parsonage.
Then she slid back
into the cab and they veered toward route 100.
No comments:
Post a Comment