Page 57 of Wolfehound
“All I know is what I heard,” he muttered. “You must understand that men like your father or William de Wolfe did not confide in me. I am no one to them. But I did hear that de Wolfe sent you into hiding as revenge against Edward for sending his son into Wales to be killed.”
She looked at him with surprise. “How would that be revenge?”
“Because Edward wanted you sent to a priory,” he said. “You were to live out your days at Sempringham Priory, which is not far from here. The priory is in your father’s demesne and that is why he was charged with your protection. There is another woman at Sempringham right now that bears your birth name and is, for all intents and purposes, Gwenllian of Wales. De Wolfe’s vengeance against Edward is in letting the real Welsh princess—you—live a normal life, married to an English knight, and bearing English sons.”
Cambria thought on that. “I see,” she said after a moment. “Then I was a pawn.”
“You were. But you are also marrying the man you love, and that does not happen to most pawns.”
He had a way of putting it into perspective that made her realize her life could have been much worse. After a moment, she nodded, accepting his explanation. Truthfully, the entire day had been so momentous that she wasn’t sure she could handle one more revelation, or tale, or complaint or tragedy. She’d hadall she could take. When she saw her father and Liam’s father speaking with Scott de Wolfe, she suddenly felt quite weary.
She needed to be alone and process everything.
“And I do love him, very much,” she said. “But… but would you mind if I did not go with you to greet Warenton? I should like to rest before the feast tonight. I should like to be at my best.”
Liam smiled and lifted one of her hands, kissing it. “If that is your wish,” he said. “May I escort you to the keep?”
Cambria shook her head. “Nay, I can find my way,” she said, forcing a smile. “You must go greet our guest.”
“Are you certain?”
“I am. I will see you this evening.”
He kissed her hand again. “You certainly will.”
Keeping the smile plastered on her lips, Cambria let go of his arm and turned around, heading toward the keep, but with each successive step, her smile faded. What a day it had been. Her head was spinning with all of it.
You are the daughter of a Welsh prince.
You are a pawn.
You are marrying the man you love because of it.
There is a woman bearing your name, and your confinement, at Sempringham Priory.
God help her, it was all so much to take. But this wasn’t the end of it.
Not even close.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Sempringham Priory
He’d made it.
After his unfinished business in London had taken him longer than expected, Tyrus had finally departed and headed north, but not without several stops along the way. There were two Gilbertine priories between London and Lincolnshire and he stopped at each one. Not because he was religious, but because he wanted to get a feel for what they knew about Sempringham, about the prior and the history in general. He found out a good deal more than he bargained for, all of which would help him in the days to come.
This latest task from Canterbury had the distinction of actually being interesting to him. Usually, a task was a task. He took no pleasure or distaste in it. But this one had his curiosity because he, too, wanted to know if William de Wolfe had actually hidden a Welsh princess from the king. He was a fine investigator, one of his many talents.
He was going to get to the bottom of it.
Tyrus arrived in the late afternoon, to a priory, grounds, and cemetery that seemed to be far from any civilization. The nearest town that he rode through was miles to the south. He didn’t know what was east or west or north, because he’d come up from London, but he knew that this location was remote.
Desolate, even.
It wasn’t as if those pledged to the church didn’t already have hermit tendencies, but this place seemed to emphasize that. It sat on a grassy plain, with no hills or landmarks nearby. The cold wind blew in from the east, moving the grass in waves as it went. Overhead, clouds had rolled in and the threat of rain was prevalent in the air. Ahead of him, he could see a gray-stoned structure rising out of the flatlands, with a pitched roof and a steeple that reached for the sky.
This particular location was the Gilbertine monastic house that had the distinction of having both nuns and canons. In speaking to the other priories on his way north, Tyrus had learned that. He’d also learned it had a history of changing hands, of attacks by Northmen, and other unsavory actions. Upon visual inspection, the church itself was nothing unusual and he’d seen more spectacular buildings, but it was large and there were clusters of structures to the north of it as well as smaller structures to the southeast.
