The Traitor's Daughter

Though her immediate thought was to refuse his offer of the use of his private bedchamber, she knew it would be better for her mother if she accepted graciously.

“I have to thank you again, Sir Rhys, for all your kindness to three strangers and we accept most gratefully your kind offer.” She gave a little shiver of horrified remembrance. “Indeed, I think we could not remain alone here in the stable without feeling apprehensive after—after what happened.”

He nodded. “Naturally. Please, will you follow me and I will see you settled.”

He unhooked the lanthorn from its place and stood by the stable door to light their way. His free hand he proffered to the Countess as she stepped into the darkened courtyard. “Allow me, my lady. It is dark out here and the cobbles slippery. If you take your mother’s other hand, mistress, you will be less likely to slip.”

The landlord was obsequious as they entered the inn and Cressida went hastily to Peter, who was sitting up in a hard-backed chair by the fire looking pale and anxious, but, otherwise, his true self. Philippa was thankful that the blow did not appear to have affected his memory for he was lucid enough.

“Do not fret, sister. I am feeling better already after imbibing some of the landlord’s best wine. I’m only angered at myself for being less cautious and rendering you both without protection and leaving you open to danger.”

“This good knight has proved to be our saviour,” Cressida said reassuringly. “Now, rest, Peter and get well. We must see how you fare in the morning before we decide to travel.”

He was about to argue, but she prevented him with a gentle squeeze upon his hand.

Sir Rhys led them above stairs, after ordering the landlord to serve them with the best supper he could provide.

The room was surprisingly large and comfortably appointed. Philippa looked round appreciatively. “I am sorry, sir, that you must be put out….”

He laughed as he picked up a saddle bag which, presumably, contained a change of clothes and necessities for travelling. “I assure you that David and I have slept in far worse places than the tap room of this inn and, as I said, it will be wiser, considering that it appears to harbour thieves, a matter which I shall take up with our host. Please make yourselves at home and try to rest and, at last, sleep after your trying adventures. I will send David up with your belongings.”

He brushed by Philippa in order to reach the door and she felt herself trembling again at his touch. He bowed to her mother. “Please, Lady Wroxeter, accept my apologies for these unfortunate events, happening so soon after your arrival back in your native land after such a long absence.”

Philippa saw her mother give a great gasp of surprise and shock and she herself put a hand to her mouth in dismayed astonishment.

“Sir—”

He stemmed Cressida’s attempts at denial with a lordly wave of his hand.

“Sir Daniel Gretton’s beautiful daughter could not be mistaken for any other, my lady. Her fame spread through the Marches and I had the advantage of seeing you once with your father in the market in Ludlow. That was considerably before you married my lord Earl.” He smiled broadly. “I was merely eight years old then but, like all the other males in the district, I fell completely under the spell of Gretton’s faery princess.” His gaze passed to Philippa and dwelt on her slight form, trembling now with another fear that he was aware of their true identities. “Your daughter, my lady, has been blessed in inheriting your golden loveliness. I am honoured to be of service. I will pay my respects in the morning. Please excuse me now.”

He withdrew and closed the door before either of the astounded women could say a word in answer.

Chapter Two

Philippa woke to find sunlight coming through the unshuttered casement and almost blinding her. She slipped from the bed, careful not to waken her mother who was still sleeping beside her. She went to the window and found, to her delight, that the mist and dampness of the previous day had disappeared and the sun was already well up. She gave a sigh of relief. Provided that Peter was well enough to travel after yesterday’s misadventure, they would be able to make an early start and be well on their way before midday.

She had slept well considering how frightened and disturbed she had been last night. Exhaustion had taken its toll of them both. Her thoughts went to the stranger lord who had come to their help. It had been extremely kind of him to put his private chamber at their disposal, but she recalled her mother’s alarmed expression when he had announced that he had recognised her. It would be well if they could avoid seeing him again, though Philippa doubted that that would be possible.

A sound from the bed alerted her to the knowledge that, despite her care not to disturb her mother, Cressida had woken and was already sitting up.

“Is there something wrong?” she enquired doubtfully. “Have you heard someone at the door?”

“No, no one. The inn servants are already about their business. It is a fine day. We should be able to leave soon after breakfast as long as Peter is well enough.”

Cressida thrust back the bed covers and stepped from the bed. “I’ll dress at once. We must call a physician to Peter if there is need.”

Philippa went to her mother’s side to help her dress. Since they had decided it would be best, for this journey, to travel without a maid in attendance, it had been necessary for them to help each other with back lacings.

Once her mother was dressed she hastened to dress herself and was relieved that she had done so when she heard a knock on the door.

Peter Fairley’s voice called softly, “It is I, my lady, Peter. I have brought you some breakfast.”

Philippa hastened to let him in, relieved to see he was up and about.

“Peter, how are you this morning?”

He set down a tray on which was laid fresh manchet bread, a small pot of honey and a plate of ham and cold meats and a stoup of ale.

“I’m very well except for a bump on the back of my head as big as a pigeon’s egg.” He rubbed it ruefully. “I blame myself for total lack of caution. I could have put us all in danger.”

“You mustn’t blame yourself,” Cressida reassured him. “Who would expect to be attacked in the inn yard?”

“To speak truth, anyone should, my lady. My only excuse is that we were all tired and chilled and I was in haste to see to your needs.”

“Well, all is well.” Cressida smiled. “We will breakfast quickly and try to make an early start.” She frowned in thought. “I have some coin left which, fortunately, I kept in a money belt beneath my gown, but the loss of some of our funds in the robbery is dire. We shall have to be careful on the journey and settle for accommodation not of the best.” She had already put out a small pile of coin upon the bed. “Take that and make the best bargain you can over mounts, Peter, but first, have you eaten?”

“Yes, my lady. I shall get off at once. Sir Rhys’s man, David, speaks of a reasonably honest horse coper, who has a stable in the street behind the harbour.”

“Good.” Lady Wroxeter nodded her approval.

Then Philippa said thoughtfully, “Did you discover anything about our rescuer of last night, Peter? Unfortunately he appeared to recognise Mother and we are anxious to avoid his company now.” She coloured. “That seems to be very ungrateful, but you understand the need better than any of us.”

With his hand on the door latch, Peter turned, clearly hesitant to speak. “Sir Rhys Griffith, my lady, is master of the greater part of my lord Earl’s estates. His father was granted them following the battle of Redmoor, for his services to the new King. Sir David was killed in a hunting accident a year ago.” He grinned somewhat wolfishly. “He was somewhat appropriately gored by a boar and did not recover from the wound which festered, and his son, Rhys, who had been knighted the year before, inherited.”

There was a deadly silence as the three exchanged alarmed glances.

Philippa exclaimed hotly, “So the man has robbed my father of his lands and—”

“He cannot be held responsible for what his father did at Redmoor,” Cressida reproved her gently, “but I confess this news is catastrophic. The man could prove a very real danger to us, indeed.”

“He has enquired after you both,” Peter said grimly. “I’m afraid that it will prove very difficult for us to leave the inn without encountering him.”

“And his manor is far too close to Gretton for our peace of mind,” Lady Wroxeter said regretfully.

Philippa paled. “Do you think our going there could put Grandmère and Grandpère in danger?”

Lady Wroxeter shook her head. “I do not think so, though it will not enhance their reputation as Yorkist sympathisers. They are not proscribed and are in no danger of arrest.” The fingers of one hand tightened on the bedpost. “I am so very anxious to see them. It has been so long since—” She broke off, her voice choked with emotion, “Neither of them has ever seen you. I think we should take the risk.”

“But this man does know we are going there?”

“I imagine so. Since he lives so close I would think he is aware of how ill my father is. It is to be hoped that he will have enough humanity to leave us in peace and not inform the court authorities of our presence there.” She sighed. “Our visit will only be a short one. We dare not remain long.”

“You miss your home at Gretton, don’t you?”

“I always loved it dearly and when I heard of the proposed betrothal to your father I was most reluctant to leave it. Of course, then there was every possibility of being able to come home on frequent visits but since Redmoor…” She shrugged helplessly.

“You gave up everything to be with my father in exile, a safe secure home, money sufficient to fill all your needs, everything.”

Cressida smiled fondly. “When you fall in love, Philippa, you will understand that nothing is important save being with the one you love.”

Philippa bit her lip uncertainly. The way matters stood that possibility seemed very far off, if at all.

Her mother suddenly remembered that she had given Peter Fairley no instructions about settling their score. “I should have asked him to settle with the landlord on his way out to the horse coper,” she said. “The sooner we can leave the better.”

A decisive voice from the doorway settled the matter for her. “You need have no doubts on that score, Lady Wroxeter, I have already paid the landlord and the moment your man returns with your mounts we can leave immediately. It will be well to do so since the day promises to be a fine one.”

Sir Rhys Griffith stood poised in the doorway which Peter must have left slightly ajar in his agitation on leaving them.

“I beg pardon for the intrusion, but the door was open sufficiently for me to overhear what you said, my lady. May I come in?” He bowed courteously and Cressida, somewhat startled and flustered, nodded hastily.

“Please do so, Sir Rhys. This chamber is yours, after all, but I cannot allow you to stand our score. We have slept in this chamber, and most comfortably, I thank you, and have eaten two meals. I…”

He had advanced slightly and was regarding Philippa smilingly though he must have seen at once that her manner was somewhat hostile.

“You have no choice, my lady. I have already settled the matter. Under the distressing circumstances of last night it was the least I could do as a gentleman knight and for a neighbour.” He undid the purse suspended from the military-styled leather belt he wore round his waist and proffered a small leather bag to Philippa.

“There, mistress, is the coin that rascally thief stole from your man. I rose early, called on the constable with instructions as to charging the fellow and retrieved your money. You will need it when you arrive at Gretton or later on your journey home. You need not concern yourself about expenses occurred on the way to Gretton Manor since it will be my most pleasurable duty to escort you there.”

Philippa gave a great gasp of shocked surprise and anger. “That will not be necessary, sir. Peter Fairley, my father’s trusty squire, is perfectly capable of seeing us safe to Gretton.”

Her tone was now unmistakably hostile and his dark brows rose in assumed or real astonishment.

“Forgive me, Lady…?” He paused and looked enquiringly at Lady Wroxeter.

“My daughter is Lady Philippa Telford, Sir Rhys, and she owes her safety from molestation and her life to you,” Cressida put in hurriedly. Though she herself was anxious to be free of this man’s presence, she had no wish for Philippa to antagonise him deliberately.

He bowed again, smiling. “Forgive me again, Lady Philippa, but I must point out to you that neither you nor your squire appeared last night to be perfectly capable of protecting yourselves. It is my desire and my bounden duty to provide a suitable escort. Both my cousin David and I are soldier-trained and with your squire, who is too, we should prove a sufficient force to keep off any opportunity-seeking robbers on the road.” He shook his head, gently reproving, “I fear the roads of Wales are no more safe from thieves and outlaws than any other rural community, though preferable in many ways to the hazards of London town or even Ludlow after dark.”

Philippa looked to her mother for support in her rejection of the idea, but Cressida shook her head gently. “We shall be grateful for your continued care of us, Sir Rhys,” she said quietly.

Sir Rhys glanced round the chamber to see if their saddle bags were packed and nodded his satisfaction.

“I will inform your man Peter when he returns with the horses and send him up to you. I should not advise you to come down to the tap room until there is need. The clientele of this place is hardly salubrious, as yesterday’s misadventures bore out.” He bowed again and withdrew.

Philippa said angrily, “Why did you agree to his escort? We do not need or want his company.”

Lady Wroxeter sighed. “I do not see how we could refuse. To do so would only appear ungrateful and incur his displeasure, if not his downright anger. We cannot afford to antagonise the man, not only for our sakes but for those of your grandparents as well. Since he is well aware of our destination he could inform on us after our arrival, so it makes little difference.”

“I would have preferred not to have his company,” Philippa said sulkily and her mother turned on her in sudden irritation.

“You were glad enough of Sir Rhys’s services last night, young lady. Be good enough to acknowledge our debt to him.”

“I doubt if he acknowledges any debt to my father,” Philippa snapped in answer and turned away to see to the final packing.

Philippa was forced to acknowledge Sir Rhys Griffith’s need for caution, however, when they were eventually called downstairs by his squire, who informed them that Peter Fairley had arrived with their horses and his master had declared himself ready to leave. The atmosphere in the tap room was decidedly frosty; the small number of men seated at the ale-spattered tables stared at the women in open hostility and the landlord was surly. Obviously news concerning their imprisoned companion had reached them and the blame for his likely fate placed at the women’s door. Sir Rhys received them cheerily and conducted them to the door with a show of deliberate courtesy. Philippa shivered in spite of herself and was glad of his presence.

Peter had managed to procure an elderly palfrey for Lady Wroxeter and two sturdy Welsh cobs for himself and Philippa. To her irritation, Sir Rhys insisted upon inspecting them before allowing his charges to mount. As if Peter was incapable of judging good horse flesh when he saw it, Philippa fumed inwardly. She watched, frowning, as Sir Rhys ran his hand down the legs of each of the mounts and inspected their chests and mouths. Apparently satisfied, he came back to the waiting group and nodded his approval.

“You have made as good purchases as possible under the circumstances,” he informed Peter.

“If you were not sure of his abilities, you should have accompanied him to the horse coper,” Philippa murmured under her breath and he turned and grinned at her. She was not sure if he had actually heard, but he made no comment.

“It is necessary to have good mounts for our journey,” he explained. “We have almost a hundred miles over undulating country, some of it mountainous.”

Cressida nodded. “I travelled it only once when—when I left England in 1486 and we were somewhat hurried,” she said quickly.”

“I imagine you have not ridden a great deal over the last years?” he enquired.

“No, there has been little opportunity or need,” she agreed.

Peter stepped forward to help his mistress into the saddle and Philippa was chagrined to find Sir Rhys at her side to do a like service for her. She found herself swung up lightly, the touch of his hand gentle yet firm upon her body. Confused by such close contact, she turned and fumbled awkwardly with the reins, only to find them deliberately placed into her hands.

“You are used to riding, Lady Philippa?” he enquired. “If not, you can ride with me.”

“That will certainly not be necessary, sir,” she said coldly. “Though I do not ride often in Malines, my father has been at pains to see that I learned well and had adequate practice.”

“Good. As I said to your mother, we have a hard ride in front of us.”

He stood back to confer with the two men, then gave a signal for all to mount up and swung himself lightly into the saddle of the courser an inn groom held ready for him. He moved his horse beside that of her mother’s as they rode beneath the courtyard arch and Philippa rode behind with the two squires flanking her.

The day was pleasantly warm and she flung back her cloak and slipped back her hood, allowing the sun’s gentle warmth to touch her body. Her new mount seemed amiable enough and soon became accustomed to her touch upon the reins and she leaned forward to pat the cob’s shaggy neck. Peter smiled at her encouragingly and she grinned back, thankful, at last, to be away from the inn.

Soon they were out of the mired streets of the harbour and free of the unaccustomed smells of sea air and tar and the green undulating countryside stretched before them. Yesterday’s misty dampness had refreshed the air and Philippa began to find the ride pleasurable.

She could hear Sir Rhys in talk with her mother and rode slightly forward so that she could catch everything which was said.

“I would suggest that we make three stops upon the way at inns known to me,” he said.

“But, Sir Rhys, I had thought Philippa and I might be accommodated at two nunneries I know of.” Lady Wroxeter hesitated, her colour rising, as she went on, “You must understand that expense is a feature of my decision…”

“I think not, my lady,” he brushed aside her objection. “Nuns are notoriously curious. They lead such sheltered lives that they are fascinated by the backgrounds and news brought from the outside world of everyone who comes to stay. I imagine you are anxious to avoid as much gossip as possible. Do not concern yourself about expense. I have already made provision for David and I upon the journey so it will be no extra drain upon our resources.”

“But surely—”

Philippa saw him lean towards her mother and place a restraining hand upon hers. “Please, Lady Wroxeter, place yourself in my hands and, I assure you, you will reach Gretton without either incident or undue notice.”

Philippa considered what he had said and raised an enquiring eyebrow in Peter’s direction. He merely shrugged his shoulders in answer. They were in this man’s power and she realised they were helpless to change the situation.

She regarded his unyielding back as he rode ahead and mentally reviewed the encounter of the previous night. Her mother was right. Had this man not come to her rescue, they would not be travelling this road today. A great shudder ran through her at the thought. Had she not discovered that he was a loyal Tudor supporter and, worse than that, had inherited her father’s confiscated estates, she would have been more than ready to acknowledge her debt to him. What was his motive in offering them protection? Would he lead them into some manor upon the way where they could be arrested and held during the King’s pleasure in hopes that her father would come to England to plead their cause and try to obtain their release, so placing his head on the block? It was a likely prospect—yet how could they manage to evade this fate? Peter had clearly accepted defeat—for the moment. She must wait patiently until he was able to suggest some way of escaping Sir Rhys’s vigilance, but even should they accomplish this—and it would be difficult and hazardous—their plans to visit her dying grandfather would have to be abandoned and she knew her mother had set her heart upon this visit. She sighed a little too loudly and Sir Rhys turned in his saddle to regard her, eyebrows raised.

“Are you tired already, Lady Philippa? Do you wish to stop? I know that unaccustomed riding can cause saddle soreness.”

She blushed hotly at the thought and shook her head. “No, no, sir, I was just—considering the length of the journey facing us.”

“I shall try to make it as easy for you all as possible,” he returned mildly.

Their first stop for refreshment was in the Tudor stronghold of Pembroke. Philippa looked up at the looming castle apprehensively. Here, surely, Sir Rhys might well achieve his aim and put them in the hands of the King’s officers. More than likely he would obtain the King’s favour by so doing though, knowing the Tudor monarch from her days in attendance at Queen Elizabeth’s court, she doubted that he would be paid in coin or lands. King Henry kept a very tight hand on the treasury purse strings. Nevertheless all his supporters were well aware that to be in the King’s debt would be advantageous.

Sir Rhys drew his small company off the main street which was crowded with carts and market stalls, their proprietors calling hoarsely the worth of their wares to passers-by, into a street behind where he drew his mount up before an inn displaying the sign of the Red Lion. Despite her assurance to Sir Rhys that she was not weary, Philippa was glad to have Peter lift her down and to join her mother in the inn’s one eating room where a sweating landlord came obsequiously forward to enquire what service Sir Rhys required.

Curtly the knight ordered a dinner of meat and vegetable broth, pease pudding and what tarts the fellow had to offer which would please the ladies. Philippa and her mother were escorted up the rickety stair to a small dark chamber where a slatternly maid brought them water and towels, plus chamber pots, so that they might refresh themselves. Thankfully they returned to the eating room to find the food already upon the table. Philippa, who had been dry-mouthed with alarm at what might transpire in the next hour or so, discovered that, despite that, she was hungry and was glad of the hot tasty food and the rye bread which accompanied it. This inn was not apparently able to provide the fine white manchet bread to which Sir Rhys was more usually accustomed.

Her mother was rather quiet over the meal and Sir Rhys accepted her need for silence in courtesy. Above stairs, away from his presence, Philippa had thought it best not to alarm her mother with her fears. Catching her eye across the table, she understood that her mother had already considered the danger.

Nothing happened, however. They completed the meal, then David, Sir Rhys’s squire, rose to pay the score. Peter had already gone to assure himself that their mounts had been fed and watered. Sir Rhys offered his hand to Lady Wroxeter to lead her outside to the courtyard.

“I considered it wiser to chose a less frequented inn, this being market day,” he explained. “The fare was nourishing but hardly acceptable to finer palates used to food prepared in the Duchess Margaret’s establishment at Malines.”

Cressida shook her head. “The food was excellent and the place unexpectedly clean,” she replied.