Joanna Makepeace - The Traitor's Daughter

At Leominster she had an excuse at last to follow Peter down to the stables, hoping to find him alone. Her little Welsh cob, of whom she had grown very fond, was limping just a little by the time they arrived and she expressed a desire to go and ask Peter to discover, if he could, the reason and pronounce his opinion on whether she were well enough to proceed next day. Sir Rhys was absent from the eating room for the moment and Philippa’s mother nodded her agreement.

Philippa was fortunate to find Peter alone and he was, as she entered the stable, examining the cob’s right fore hoof.

He looked up, smiling, as he saw Philippa. “She has gathered a small stone. It isn’t serious. I’m removing it now.”

“Will she be able to carry me tomorrow? I don’t want to further lame her.”

“Yes, my lady, she will be fine when she’s rested.”

Philippa approached him and looked back to see that no one was near the opened doorway.

“I’ve been anxious to speak with you alone since we left Milford Haven.”

He nodded. “It has proved difficult. I would have preferred to have closer access to your mother, also, but it seemed unwise.”

“Peter, do you think we are in danger from this man?”

“Sir Rhys? I doubt it, though he is the King’s man. Had he any intention of betraying us he would have done so before now.”

“Yet he could involve my grandparents in the crime of harbouring us if we are discovered there after we have actually settled in at Gretton. Should we not try to part from his surveillance after we leave Ludlow and, perhaps, postpone our arrival at Gretton?”

Peter scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Neither you nor your mother are proscribed traitors. There can be no real reason why you should not visit. I, on the other hand, could find myself arrested both for having fought at Redmoor and at Stoke and for being in your father’s service and close confidence. However,” he said, smiling. “I do not believe that Sir Rhys Griffith thinks I am important enough for him to concern himself about my doings.”

“I am not so sure of that,” Philippa replied coolly.

He glanced at her quickly. “Oh?”

“He thinks you are my lover or that you aspire to be.”

Peter’s expression of alarm was so comical that Philippa burst out laughing and she quickly explained to him what had occurred when she had attempted to slip out on that first night in Pembroke to see him.

“I hope you disabused him of that idea. Your mother would be scandalised and as for your father’s reaction to such news—” He broke off, horrified.

Teasingly she said, “Don’t you find me attractive, Peter?”

His brown eyes surveyed her somewhat myopically. “You are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen, Lady Philippa, barring your mother when she was the age you are now, but I would never betray your father’s trust, you know that. I love you as a…” he sought blindly for words “…as a beloved sister perhaps. I would gladly die for you if there were need, but—”

“You do not love me in the way the troubadors sing of. I understand,” she said blithely, “and that is just as well for I, too, regard you as a dear, elder brother.” She frowned, considering. “Then you do not think we should try to escape Sir Rhys?”

He sighed. “It would prove impossible. If he should decide to call out a search for us, all roads to any coast would be blocked.”

She bit her lip uncertainly. “Then we can do nothing?”

A cool voice from the doorway answered her with another question. “What is it you wish to do, Lady Philippa?”

She turned guiltily to face Sir Rhys as he entered, his cold gaze passing from her to Peter.

“We were conferring about my mount, sir,” she retorted, staring back at him defiantly. “You may have noticed she was limping when we arrived and Peter tells me she has picked up a loose stone which he has removed. I thought we might require the services of a smith.”

“Ah.” He did not take his gaze from her for moments and then turned to Peter. “Will she be fit to carry your mistress tomorrow, think you?”

“Oh, yes, Sir Rhys, there should be no difficulty about completing our journey.”

“Good. We do not wish for any delay as I am sure your grandmother will be anxious to see you, Lady Philippa. Now, if you will come at once, supper will soon be served and your mother will wish you to join her.”

He held out his hand commandingly and she was forced to take it and allow him to lead her from the stable after a murmured “thank you” to Peter.

Outside she snatched her hand from his grasp and rasped. “I wish you would not insist on spying on me when I am with Peter. I have told you before, he is my father’s trusted squire and companion and nothing more to me than a friend.”

He regarded her quizzically. “Since you give me your word on that, Lady Philippa, I must believe you, but I do regard it as my duty to keep you safe from…” he paused, thoughtfully eyeing her speculatively “…all harm.”

She flounced ahead of him into the inn and hastily went to join her mother at the table. Lady Wroxeter was puzzled by the strange gleam she saw reflected in her daughter’s eye. She had known throughout the journey that Philippa had strongly resented their need to accede to Sir Rhys Griffith’s desire to escort them to Gretton, but tonight she thought something further had passed between them. She sighed inwardly but said nothing. This problem would soon resolve itself. Tomorrow they would arrive at Gretton and she doubted if they would see more of their protector. Her father had written on several occasions that his neighbours were inclined to shun him, since he was found to be under the displeasure of the King and her parents had become virtually isolated on their own manor.

Philippa was particularly interested in the small market town of Ludlow next day as they rode in. This was their nearest town and her mother knew it well. Unlike Milford Haven, it seemed relatively clean and peaceful in the afternoon sun since today there was no market and no vociferous traders. Most of the shops were closed apparently over the dinner hour and there was a sleepy air about the place, dominated as it was by the former Yorkist stronghold of Ludlow Castle. She glanced at the grim walls curiously as they passed through. Here it was that Edward, the elder of the two Yorkist princes, had finally ridden out to meet his uncle, Richard, on his momentous journey to London to be crowned. It had never happened. He and his brothers and sisters had been declared illegitimate, the two boys placed in the royal apartments of the Tower of London from which they had mysteriously disappeared. She thought how furiously angry her father had been to learn only days ago that a proclamation had been made that Sir James Tyrell, recently executed, had confessed to their murder on the instructions of their uncle. She bit her lip uncertainly and cast a glance at her mother, who had turned in the saddle, finding her also tight-lipped. Did her mother believe the slanderous tale, despite her father’s avowals that the confession was a lie which had either been forced from Sir James while in Tudor hands or fabricated after his death, a lie which could not be denied? Sir Rhys had reined in his mount in order to allow the two ladies to view the castle. Philippa cast him a venomous glance. Undoubtedly Sir Rhys believed it.

As they left the town Philippa was impatient to reach their home manor, but her anticipated pleasure was shadowed by the fear that they might not find her grandfather alive.

Sir Rhys gestured her forward as they entered her grandfather’s lands so that the two women could be together. Philippa saw that her mother’s eyes were bright with unshed tears and she reined in close and, reaching out, took her gloved hand in her own encouragingly.