Simon Beaufort - Deadly Inheritance

Baderon seemed amused that his ruse had been exposed. He smiled at Geoffrey. ‘How did you guess? We have not met before, because I would have remembered.’

‘Who are you?’ demanded Seguin.

‘He is Geoffrey Mappestone,’ supplied the red-haired woman, coming to inspect Geoffrey. ‘We played together as children, although he has grown since then. Do you remember me?’

Geoffrey was immediately on his guard, as he could see there was a good deal of animosity bubbling in Caerdig’s only daughter. The gangly child had grown into a beauty, with smooth skin and a poised elegance. However, what he remembered about playing with Corwenna was not what she had looked like, but the fact that she had devoted considerable effort in finding ways to ambush him in order to pull his hair.

‘I remember,’ he replied pleasantly. ‘You have grown, too.’

‘Are you calling me fat?’ she demanded, and he saw that he would have to be more careful with his words if he did not want an argument.

‘You are no longer a child,’ he replied gently. ‘That is all I meant.’

Before she could say anything else, Seguin stepped forward. ‘ I am here to pay court to her,’ he declared. ‘So if you hope to secure her for Goodrich, you are wasting your time. She is promised to me .’

Geoffrey felt an instinctive dislike for the man. He saw Baderon wince at Seguin’s lack of manners, while Lambert stepped closer to his brother, as if expressing solidarity.

‘My marriage to Sir Seguin will improve Llan Martin’s fortunes – but, more importantly, it will weaken Goodrich,’ Corwenna explained nastily.

Geoffrey doubted it. Llan Martin was too poor to be a serious threat, although Caerdig’s word carried weight among other Welsh leaders. The previous night, Joan had mentioned Baderon’s penchant for marrying his knights to Welsh ladies, and he supposed that he was witnessing such a match.

‘Corwenna cannot remain a widow forever, so it is time we found her a profitable marriage,’ said Caerdig to Geoffrey, reverting to Welsh. ‘Sir Seguin is wealthy and, although not a Welshman, we are not in a position to be fussy.’

‘He is acceptable,’ said Corwenna in Norman-French, confident in the knowledge that Seguin would not know what she was talking about. She glowered at Geoffrey. ‘Of course, I would not be in this position, were it not for you.’

‘Me?’ asked Geoffrey, startled.

‘Take no notice,’ said Caerdig quickly. ‘She means no harm.’

‘Do I not?’ snarled Corwenna, turning on Geoffrey with such vehemence that he took an involuntary step back. He trod on his dog, which yelped and bit Lambert. Pandemonium erupted, although Corwenna seemed oblivious to the yells that ensued as Lambert tried to stab the dog and Caerdig tried to stop him. ‘You killed my Rhys.’

‘I did not,’ replied Geoffrey. ‘I never met him.’

‘Henry was your brother,’ she hissed. ‘Our customs say the blame is now yours to bear.’

‘Well, the King’s law does not,’ replied Geoffrey tartly. ‘How could I control what Henry did when I was not here? Besides, he is dead.’

She glared at him, but he saw out of the corner of his eye that Lambert had the dog cornered and was raising his sword to strike. He turned and tore the weapon from the man’s hands. Lambert regarded him in astonishment.

‘That brute bit me with no provocation.’

‘I apologize,’ said Geoffrey, handing the sword back. ‘He dislikes strangers.’

Lambert fingered the weapon in a way that indicated he was ready to use it. ‘What will you do to compensate me? Silver? Or a sister to entertain me for a night when I happen to be passing?’

‘I doubt you will want to be entertained by Joan,’ said Seguin. ‘She is the dragon who keeps Goodrich from hostile invasions. If you interfere with her, it will be the last thing you will do!’

Geoffrey was not prepared to stand by and hear Joan abused by the likes of Seguin. ‘Do you want to fight me?’ he asked coldly. ‘Is that why you insult my sister?’

Lambert stood at Seguin’s side; weapon ready to join him in any skirmish. Geoffrey regarded them with disdain, thinking the brothers had little honour if they were prepared to pitch two men against one in a private quarrel. He drew his own sword and waited to see who would attack first.

‘Put up your weapons!’ ordered Caerdig, stepping between them. ‘There will be no fighting in my house.’

‘What did you expect, father?’ demanded Corwenna acidly. ‘You invited a Mappestone into our home, which meant it was only a matter of time before someone died.’

Baderon raised his hands to appeal for calm. ‘Seguin should not have insulted Joan, but Sir Geoffrey’s dog should not have bitten Lambert. So we are even. Let us put an end to this nonsense.’

Lambert complied willingly enough, but Seguin only sheathed his weapon when Lambert muttered something in his ear. Satisfied, Baderon went to the hearth. The feeble blaze did little to warm the house, however, nor did it do much for the atmosphere of frigid resentment that hung over Caerdig’s guests. Geoffrey saw that he was a fool to create enemies of Baderon’s knights, and knew he should make amends. He sat where Baderon indicated, and tried to be polite.

‘Lord Baderon wants to form alliances with his Welsh neighbours,’ said Lambert, addressing Geoffrey with equally forced amiability. ‘He has offered my brother a manor if he takes a Celtic bride. We both have lands in Normandy, but they are in an area ruled by Belleme, and he keeps attacking them. It is safer for us to be here.’

‘You leave your people to fend off Belleme alone?’ asked Geoffrey, startled. Belleme was a cruel and vicious tyrant, and the knights’ place should have been with their villagers.

Seguin bristled, but Lambert did not take offence. ‘He is less likely to raid if we are away – there is no one to seize and hold to ransom, you see.’

‘A marriage here will suit me nicely,’ said Seguin. ‘And Lord Baderon is prepared to be very generous if I take Corwenna.’

‘I am,’ agreed Baderon. ‘The King ordered me to pacify this region, and marriage between my knights and our Welsh neighbours is an excellent way to achieve a lasting truce.’

Geoffrey nodded, although it occurred to him that such marriages might unite the Welsh against the English. He wondered how quickly he could leave without offending anyone – he did not want to be near Baderon’s fiery knights, or Corwenna.

Caerdig beamed at his guests, relieved that they appeared to have put the spat behind them. ‘We must celebrate the upcoming match between Corwenna and Sir Seguin.’

A man afflicted by a serious squint approached Caerdig and whispered in his ear. Geoffrey recalled his name was Hywel, and that he was Caerdig’s steward. ‘Celebrate with what? We have no ale, and we can hardly offer them water.’

‘I have some French claret in my saddlebag,’ said Geoffrey to Baderon, hoping the man was not a good judge of such things – it was a miserable brew from the south of England that he kept for medicinal purposes. ‘Shall we share a cup?’

Hywel went to look for it, while Seguin talked about how the marriage would benefit him, although Geoffrey could not see what Caerdig would get out of the arrangement.

‘Seguin comes with a small herd of cows,’ replied Caerdig when Geoffrey asked him. He reverted automatically to Welsh. ‘Personally, I wanted a Mappestone to take her, but you are the only one left, and I suspect Joan has her eyes set on a bigger prize than Llan Martin.’

‘I would not wed him anyway,’ said Corwenna icily, also speaking Welsh. ‘I will not share my bed with a man who slaughtered his way to the Holy Land. I heard what those Crusaders did on their way to “liberate” Jerusalem.’