Bound to Her Blood Enemy

by Tora Williams

  “Not long after, Owain noticed me entertaining my fellow soldiers by mimicking various well-known members of the household. I thought I was going to be thrashed into the next world, but instead he said he could find a use for someone of my talents. He did, too.”

  He drained his cup, then smiled the same chilling smile. “And soon…soon I’ll get my lands back. A reward for fetching you.”

  So, Huw, too, was using her to suit his own ends. She shouldn’t be surprised; it was only what all men did.

  But the lurch of disappointment told her she’d hoped Huw would be different.

  Chapter Four

  Huw awoke to the stillness of predawn. He massaged his temples. Why did it feel like a blacksmith was trying to hammer his way out from inside his head?

  His eyes focused on the cup beside his pallet, and he groaned.

  Matilda. The poppy syrup.

  He looked across the room. The last glowing embers of the fire showed Matilda, huddled in the angle of the wall and floor, her tied hands held awkwardly on her knees. Her head lolled on one shoulder, and she was breathing the deep, even breaths of sleep. She would probably ache all over when she woke up.

  He ruthlessly squashed his twinge of sympathy. He couldn’t afford any weakness where she was concerned. He had let his guard drop for one moment yesterday, and look what she had done to him.

  Truly, she had proved herself a Comyn in more than name.

  He needed to clear his head. Leaving Matilda to sleep a little longer, he rose and went outside. He might as well ready his horse.

  He had just tightened the girth strap when the memory of his slurred conversation hit him.

  God’s nails! He had half a mind to take that accursed woman back to Fitzjohn. They deserved each other.

  He strained to remember all he had said.

  Please don’t let him have mentioned Coed Bedwen and the blood oath. He rested his aching head against the horse’s flank, willing his swirling memories to form up in some kind of order. What a fool he had been! Trust no one. That was the motto he lived by. Yet all it had taken was a pretty face, and he had been lulled into leaving her alone, giving her the opportunity to drug him.

  Gradually the memories resolved themselves. Some of the cold, leaden weight in his chest eased. He hadn’t revealed his link with Coed Bedwen.

  Nevertheless, in one night, he had revealed more of himself to her than he had to anyone save Owain. In his world, information could be a deadlier weapon than a sword. He might just as well have handed Matilda his knife and bared his chest for her to strike.

  And if she thought he would hold her in his arms on horseback again all day, fogging his senses with her soft body and enticing honeysuckle scent, she was in for a shock.

  He clenched his jaw and strode back into the cottage. His saddlebag was still lying beside his pallet. He rummaged through it and pulled out a tunic, undershirt, braies and hose that he’d had no occasion to wear on this trip. Then he flung them at Matilda’s sleeping form before unfastening the leather strap from the pillar.

  “Get up,” he said, his voice hard.

  Matilda stirred and tried to sit up, only to look at her bound wrists with a scowl. “You’ll have to help me,” she said. “My legs have gone to sleep.”

  He grasped her elbow and hoisted her to her feet. Then he bundled the clothes into her arms.

  “Untie me,” she said.

  “You lost the right to an easy journey when you drugged me and tried to escape.”

  “I can’t believe you’re going to take me to your king, tethered like a dog!”

  “You took advantage of my kindness yesterday. I won’t make the same mistake today.” He indicated the clothes. “Put those on. We’ll make faster time if you’re wearing something more suitable than that gown.”

  She looked down at her wrists. “How am I supposed to do that with my wrists tied? Besides, I need to…” Her cheeks glowed crimson.

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Very well. I’ll untie you. There’s a bucket in the corner you can use.” She drew a sharp breath, but he spoke before she could get a word in. “And I’ll wait outside. But remember this: Fitzjohn will be scouring the countryside for you. If you try to escape again, I’ll leave you for him to find.”

  She paled and nodded. She didn’t have to know he was making an empty threat. Owain would use his guts for bowstrings if he let Matilda go.

  ****

  If anything, riding with Matilda behind him was even worse than when he’d had her draped across his lap. When he’d decided to dress her in his clothes so she could ride astride, he hadn’t considered how it would feel to have her thighs pressed outside his and the slender length of her body against his back.

  What witchcraft did she possess to make him so painfully aware of her at every moment? What was it about her that slipped past his defenses where other women had failed? Part of him wanted to punish her for her Comyn blood; the other part wanted to pull her off the horse and tumble her right there in the open.

  By the time they crossed into Gwynedd, he was simmering with suppressed need and irritation. Even the hills and streams of his homeland failed to soothe him the way they usually could.

  Matilda herself had been silent for most of the ride. Probably nursing her resentment over being tied to the saddle’s cantle. Let her complain to Owain if she wanted to; he didn’t care. At least by that time she’d be the king’s problem, not his. The king’s and whichever poor unfortunate he’d chosen to marry her to.

  And the burn in his chest was simply because he’d bolted down his noon meal of bread and dried beef too fast. Nothing to do with jealousy at the man who would take Matilda to his bed. It was impossible for him to desire her. He would be happy to be rid of her.

  “How much farther are we going?” Matilda spoke in his ear, jolting him from his thoughts.

  He pointed to a rugged hill crowned with a stand of trees. “The royal llys of the commote we’re travelling through lies at the foot of that hill. We’re staying there tonight.”

  Her sigh of relief tickled his ear, sending a shiver through his flesh. “You mean I’ll be sleeping in a real bed?”

  “You’d be sleeping in a dungeon if I had my way.” There were no dungeons, but she didn’t have to know that. “In manacles. I—”

  The sound of hoof beats cut short his words. He wheeled around, looking for the source of the noise, and saw a group of about twenty horsemen approaching from the south.

  He drew his knife and reached around Matilda to sever the cord binding her hands to the cantle. “If I shout ‘run,’ make for the llys and don’t look back.”

  Matilda rubbed her wrists with a gasp. “It’s not Fitzjohn, is it?”

  “I doubt he could have got here so fast, even if he knew where to look. Still, it’s best to be on our guard.”

  Then he spied the standard one of the horsemen carried and the tension drained out of him. “Thank the saints! It’s King Owain.”

  He reined in his horse and waited for Owain to reach them.

  “Huw. I was hoping to intercept you,” the king said. Then he cast an appraising eye at Matilda. “I take it this is Matilda Comyn.”

  Huw sketched a hasty bow. “It is. What are your orders, my lord?”

  With a jerk of his head to the north, Owain said, “You and the lady will accompany me to the royal llys. I’ve brought someone who’s anxious to meet her.”

  Then he kicked his heels, urging his horse into a trot. For a few moments, they were surrounded by mounted men, who eyed them as they guided their steeds around them, churning up clods of earth. One man caught Huw’s attention. He was russet-haired, with a careworn face. He eyed Huw and Matilda with an intensity that made him uneasy. Huw couldn’t recall having seen him before, and he knew everyone in Owain’s service. Was this the man who wanted to meet Matilda?

  He joined the back of the group, relieved he had untied her before anyone had seen her bindings. He didn’t want his king to kno
w how she had caught him off guard.

  However, as they neared the llys, he found he wasn’t worrying about his lapse in concentration so much as his instinctive reaction when he’d thought they were in danger. His first thought had been to protect Matilda. Why, when his whole purpose in life centered around avenging his family on the Comyns? What was wrong with him?

  He ground his teeth. The sooner he delivered Matilda into the king’s hands the better. He obviously needed to separate himself from her, to forget her courage, her beauty. Forget how she lit a fire in his flesh. Only then could he pursue his oath with renewed vigor.

  When they arrived at the llys, Owain ordered Huw and Matilda to a meeting in the great hall once they had refreshed themselves.

  After a quick wash in the chamber he had been allocated, he found Matilda in the courtyard, hesitating in front of the doors to the hall. She was wearing a borrowed gown of cornflower blue that matched her eyes. It was simpler than the costly bliaut she had worn yesterday; even so Huw thought he had never seen a woman more beautiful, and he despised himself for his weakness.

  He gave her a thin smile and gestured toward the door. “Time to learn your fate.”

  They found Owain seated on the dais, the russet-haired stranger beside him. Huw studied him as they approached. He wore no insignia, but his calf-length tunic, made of fine quality burgundy cloth with golden embroidery around the neck and hem, indicated this was a man of status.

  “This is Gruffyth ap Rhys,” said Owain. “I invited him to join us, because he has an interest in the outcome. He’s a cousin to the King of Powys, and Matilda’s uncle.”

  Huw heard a gasp next to him, then Matilda stepped forward. “Uncle Gruffyth,” she said, a hesitant smile forming. “I remember Mama telling me about you, how much she missed you.”

  Gruffyth took her hands. “It’s good to meet you at last, child. When I heard your father had died, I wanted to take you in, but King Stephen handed your wardship to Fitzjohn before I could act.”

  “No doubt to keep the Comyn lands under English control,” put in Owain. He gave a grim laugh. “But with God’s help, we’re going to take it back.”

  He addressed Huw and Matilda. “Since Coed Bedwen is on the border with Powys, I have negotiated with the King of Powys. He has agreed that I may keep it under my control, in return for a share of the ransoms. Gruffyth here has agreed to strengthen my force with men of his own.”

  Coed Bedwen! Huw clenched his hands into fists. Surely Owain couldn’t have betrayed him after all his years of loyal service. Matilda had to be here because of her relation to the king of Powys. Not to snatch away his birthright.

  He opened his mouth to speak, but Matilda got there first.

  “So you agree I have a right to the land?” she said. More a statement than a question. God’s breath! Her arrogance made him seethe.

  Owain made a placatory gesture. “You certainly have the right to make a claim. Gruffyth is here to represent your interests.”

  Huw narrowed his eyes. He was familiar with his king’s tactics. The matter had already been decided, and from Owain’s expression, neither he nor Matilda was going to be happy with the outcome.

  Chapter Five

  Matilda raised her chin. Despite his misgivings, Huw had to bite back a smile. He recognized that sign. It meant Matilda was about to display her stubborn side. Thank God it was no longer his problem.

  She took a step closer to Owain. “My lord, with all due respect to my uncle, he’s only just met me. How can he represent my interests when he doesn’t know me? I can represent myself.”

  Owain waved her to a chair on his left, gesturing to Huw and Gruffyth to sit as well. “If this business was straightforward then maybe I would agree.”

  Matilda perched on the edge of her chair, looking as though she was about to spring up and start pacing. “It is straightforward. I’m the heiress of Coed Bedwen. It belonged to my father and his father before him.”

  “And before that it was Welsh. It belonged to Gwynedd. Did you consider that?”

  Matilda opened her mouth then shut it again, frowning. Huw would have found the situation amusing, if it weren’t for his gut-twisting anticipation of what Owain must be about to reveal. He had kept his own link with Coed Bedwen from her because however good an actor he was, he wouldn’t have been able to conceal his hatred of the Comyns. Matilda would never have consented to accompany a man who had vowed revenge on her family.

  “But that was years ago,” Matilda said in a small voice. “In my grandfather’s time.”

  Huw couldn’t let that pass without comment. “The Welsh have long memories. It’s time you learnt that if you want to live here.” Feuds were passed down from one generation to the next. Huw had been weaned on tales of her grandfather’s atrocities, and his oath was branded on his heart. It was all he had left. Its fulfillment the only way to prove his worth.

  Owain shot him a glance and a slight shake of the head. Huw leaned back and crossed his arms. If the king wanted to deal with Matilda in his own way, Huw was only too glad to let him. It would be a relief to hand her over to her relatives and have nothing more to do with her. A treacherous voice in the back of his mind whispered that he would miss her. She challenged him, roused his interest in a way no other woman had ever managed. He swiftly quelled that thought.

  The king turned his attention to Matilda. “There’s another issue you should be aware of. By Welsh law no woman can inherit land.”

  Matilda bunched her fists in the folds of her skirts, her knuckles white. “What are you saying? That you had Huw bring me here only to tell me I have no rights at all in your land?”

  “Not at all. Your uncle claims you as kin. I’m merely pointing out that you do need him to represent your interests.”

  Matilda leaned forward. “But why did you bring me here? If you wanted to seize Coed Bedwen, you could do it without me.”

  Owain gestured to Gruffyth. “You’re best placed to answer this.”

  “I suggested it, my dear,” said Gruffyth. “I was made aware of your predicament—that Fitzjohn had put off finding you a husband so he could continue to take revenues from Coed Bedwen. On my recommendation, the king of Powys has agreed to ally with Gwynedd to take back Coed Bedwen. It’s in both our interests. Gwynedd regains lost territory, and Powys gains a buffer from Norman incursions in that part of our territory.” Matilda’s uncle glanced at the king. “As well as a substantial payment for our services, of course, and an agreement to cease raids across our borders.”

  Huw was impressed that Owain had managed to get what he wanted for a relatively small return. But Owain usually got what he wanted.

  “Where do I fit into your plan?” Matilda asked.

  “I was coming to that,” replied her uncle. “As your nearest kin, it is my duty to find you a husband. And I’ve secured you one that will seal the alliance between Powys and Gwynedd and at the same time allow you to remain in Coed Bedwen.”

  Oh, no. Not this. Not him. Huw could swear he heard the crash of a cage door slamming shut. Trapping him.

  He drew a shaky breath. “My lord—”

  But Owain cut off his protest with a blocking hand.

  “You see there is a man loyal to me who has a genuine claim to Coed Bedwen,” the king said to Matilda.

  “And you want me to marry him.” Matilda looked resigned but not displeased.

  Huw felt sick.

  “That’s correct. He’s strong enough to hold Coed Bedwen against the English. And it’s high time he sired some heirs.”

  That gave Huw a jolt. He had a sudden image of him holding a child with Matilda’s wide, cornflower-blue eyes. Of Matilda in his arms, kissing him. In his bed.

  He scrubbed at his eyes as though he could erase the images that way. There was no place for a woman in his life. He had nothing to offer her.

  He bit back a groan as he remembered saying exactly that to Matilda last night. Then other words forced their way into his head, leaking o
ut from the darkest recesses of his memory.

  You are nothing.

  “When will the wedding take place?” Matilda’s voiced recalled him to the present.

  Never, if he had anything to do with it. The moment he was alone with Owain, he would do all in his power to change his mind.

  “In a week,” Gruffyth answered. “You must be married quickly—Fitzjohn is bound to be searching for you. While I don’t believe he would find you here, so far from the English border, I don’t want to risk you falling under his power again. Once you’re married, he’ll no longer have any claim on you. We’ve agreed the marriage will take place here. My wife and I will remain here with you until then.”

  “Who am I to marry?” asked Matilda. “And when do I meet him?”

  Huw tensed.

  Owain pointed to him. “You already have. It’s Huw ap Goronwy.”

  The blood drained from Matilda’s face. A rainbow of emotion flickered in her eyes. Huw couldn’t read them all, but some were plain. Confusion, anger, betrayal.

  Unless he could talk Owain out of this madness, it was going to be an unhappy marriage.

  ****

  Owain gave Huw a glare that could have turned the glowing charcoal brazier to ice. “Are you telling me you refuse to marry her? Against my direct orders?”

  Owain’s scribe walked into the side chamber where Huw had cornered Owain after the meeting. He halted, looked from Huw to the king, then turned around and walked straight out. Huw would have laughed had there not been so much at stake.

  He returned Owain’s stare without flinching. “Yes. I won’t marry her. God’s nails, Owain—this is Matilda Comyn. You know what her family did to mine. You know about the blood oath.”

  Owain strode over to the desk that occupied most of the space in the room. He selected a scroll from the pile that threatened to topple to the ground and waved it in Huw’s face. “This is a petition from a Rhys ap Howell, asking for justice after his son was murdered by Rhodri ap Llewelyn.”