That brought back the sick, fluttery feelings she had no desire to examine, together with the words that always haunted her.
I’ll always be there for you. Would she never be free of them?
Bending down, she tried to distract herself by removing her boots. She fumbled with the leather thong around her left ankle, only to find it too snarled to loosen.
Huw crouched beside her. “Sit down. I’ll do that.”
Once she was perched on the lumpy mattress, he supported her foot on his lap and worked at the knot. Every now and again, his fingers would brush against her calf, above the top of the boot, sending sizzling sparks up her leg. Oh, yes. She felt desire for him. However, it only served to frighten her. Desire led to love, and that could only end one way. Eventually he would let her down. She couldn’t endure that desolation again.
She watched him as he worked, his brows drawn together in concentration. The lamplight lit his sharp cheekbones and strong jaw with a golden glow. She fought the urge to trace those angles with her fingertips. It was best to keep her distance. Stay safe.
If only she could get that message through to her body.
Finally, he managed to loosen the knot, and he eased the boot off her foot. His fingers caressed her instep. Heat pooled in her belly, between her legs. Merciful saints, what was happening? Aunt Gwenllian had never told her a touch to the foot could affect her there.
“Shall I do the other one for you?”
She could only nod. If she opened her mouth she would beg him to untie her garters as well. The thought of his hands touching the flesh above her knee made her face flame. Or there was always the tie at the neck of her gown. Or her girdle.
The moment the other boot was off, she shot to her feet. “I can do the rest, thank you.” She had to put some distance between them before his nearness scorched her to a crisp.
She faced away from him and stripped off her tunic and hose, only leaving on her coarse shift. She bundled the clothes in her shawl to use as a pillow and, shivering as the chill air nipped at her ankles, slipped beneath the blankets.
Huw’s footsteps approached. She squeezed her eyes shut and shifted closer to her edge of the mattress when she felt him get in beside her. The whole bed shifted as Huw made himself comfortable. His foot brushed against her calf, then he jerked it away as though it burned him.
Even with Huw’s body next to hers, she couldn’t get warm in this draughty attic, covered by only a thin blanket. She curled into a tight ball and hugged her arms to her chest but couldn’t suppress her shivers.
Behind her, Huw cursed. “This is ridiculous.” He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. “I’d be a very poor husband if I couldn’t even keep my wife warm at night.”
The heat of his body seeped through the thin linen that was all that separated their flesh. At first Matilda tensed, but gradually she relaxed into the embrace, felt his warmth spread through her muscles, soothing, easing the tension. She’d never realized what a comfort it could be to have a man’s strong arms around her, never imagined she would feel so secure.
“Better?” The rumble of his voice vibrated against her back.
“A little.” His arm rested against the underside of her breasts. If she moved just a little, his hand would brush a nipple. She shivered. This time not from the cold.
“You did well today,” Huw murmured against her hair. “You know I didn’t want you here, but if you hadn’t, I’d probably be hiding out in a flea-infested barn tonight.”
Matilda struggled to keep her senses. She mustn’t allow herself to be fooled by the glowing heat radiating through her body. She might have promised to trust him for the time they were here, but as far as she was concerned, that only went as far as following his orders and being where he expected her to be. It didn’t cover the deep-down trust he had no right to command. She doubted she could ever trust a man to such a degree.
“What should we do tomorrow?” She asked the first question that came into her head to block out thoughts of the unfamiliar tingling in the pit of her belly and between her legs.
“I’m going to talk to Alys,” he said. “I know you trust her, but I need to be sure myself.”
“And if you can?”
“Don’t you see? This tavern must be the only place in the village that supplies wine. I’d be prepared to bet Alys regularly supplies wine to the castle. Ale too, if they don’t brew their own.”
“Why’s that important?” Matilda felt a surge of resentment that she should be fighting these strange sensations, whereas Huw seemed unaffected by her nearness. Had he promised not to touch her, not to gain her trust but because he found her distasteful?
“We have to get into the castle somehow. What better way than to deliver their wine? They’ll welcome us with open arms.”
“I see. Do you want me to ask Alys tomorrow?”
“No. As I said, I need to be sure myself. I’ll do the talking.”
He moved closer again and settled his cheek against Matilda’s head. “Do you feel warmer now?”
Warmer? It felt like she was lying on a griddle.
“Much, thank you.” She paused, then said, “Huw, don’t you…?” Didn’t he what? Want to kiss her? Couple with her? “Don’t you want to sleep?” she asked finally. Her pride wouldn’t let her ask the question she really wanted answering.
He sighed. “We ought to. We’ll need clear heads tomorrow.”
He shifted away slightly and lay still.
Matilda thought she would never be able to sleep, but the long journey had taken its toll and the heaviness of sleep soon tugged at her eyelids. The last thought that crossed her mind before sleep claimed her was curiosity over what coupling with Huw would be like. They were married. They would have to do so sooner or later. Suddenly it seemed cowardly to put it off.
A whisper in the back of her mind told her that she wouldn’t think that way if she didn’t enjoy being held in his arms, but she was asleep before she could explore that thought further.
****
“You should talk to Alys now.”
Huw dropped his armful of logs onto the woodpile and wiped the sweat from his brow. The irritation he’d felt ever since waking up beside her bubbled over. “Why don’t we just climb to the top of the church tower and announce our plans to the whole village?”
He felt a stab of remorse when Matilda paled and rubbed her temples. He’d noticed that gesture before. It was something she did when she was upset. He gave a stray log a kick, then winced at the sharp pain that shot through his toe. Hellfire! Now she had him feeling sorry for her.
“I’m sorry,” he said in a more conciliatory tone. “Take no notice of my mood. I don’t know what ails me today.” He picked up another armful of logs from the load he had just been splitting. In truth, he knew exactly why he was in such a foul mood. Waking up this morning with a desirable woman in his arms had proved an unexpected hardship. It was ironic that now he had allowed himself to admit Matilda’s innocence and his desire, they were in no position to act upon it. Besides, Matilda had practically told him to go to sleep last night. She obviously didn’t feel ready to consummate their marriage. Some men might have taken what they wanted, but he would never do that.
His lips twisted in a wry smile. “Hardship” was an apt word, considering the state of arousal the heat of her flesh beneath her thin shift had provoked. He had leapt from bed before she could awaken and feel the evidence of his desire. Only pausing to pull on his clothes, he hurried outside, praying the sting of the chill dawn would cool his ardor. That, and the exertions of the task he had chosen, had had the desired effect, but not improved his temper.
He forced his mind back to the conversation. “There’s a woman in there with Alys now, helping her clean the common room. I’ll wait until she’s gone.”
Their opportunity came after the noon meal. Matilda was put to work sweeping up the stale rushes on the tavern floor and laying fresh ones, while Huw carried in the jugs of wine
. Alys was also there, cleaning the tankards. No one else was present, for the woman who had been helping earlier had left.
“Your life must have changed a great deal, since you ceased taking care of Matilda,” said Huw to Alys.
“Oh my Lord, yes,” said Alys. “There’s plenty as say it’s a great step down for me to be working in a tavern after living with a rich family, but I’m content with my life here, although I do miss my husband.”
“Matilda speaks very highly of your care for her after her father died.”
“Poor lamb; that was such a dreadful shock. I couldn’t have left her alone after such a thing.”
Huw frowned. Was there more to the death than Matilda had let on? He was tempted to ask, but then again, it had nothing to do with what was happening at the castle, so he held his tongue.
Besides, Alys rattled on without any prompting. “I’d always thought Will Comyn was a weak man, but I’d never—”
“Alys.” Matilda cut off her old nurse’s flow of words with a sharp glare. “Where would you like me to put the old rushes?”
“Bless you, my dear. Just throw them on the midden.”
Matilda hefted the basket of soiled rushes in her arms and headed for the door. As she passed Alys, she darted her a look that Huw interpreted as a warning. A warning about what? He had not missed the way Matilda had frozen at Alys’s mention of her father. Nor had he overlooked how her knuckles had whitened as she gripped her broom. He wondered what she was trying to hide.
Even after Matilda was out of earshot, Alys remained silent. Clearly, she had taken Matilda’s unspoken warning to heart. Huw tried to get her to open up again by steering the conversation back to the current occupier of the castle.
“I gather Sir Reginald is not a popular man in Coed Bedwen,” he said.
With a grimace, Alys looked behind her, as though checking for eavesdroppers. “Hush, it’s not safe to say such things.”
Huw lifted some of the jugs onto a high shelf and waited. He had learnt that silence was often the best way to encourage a reluctant tongue to wag. Pressing for information often made informants seal their mouths.
They worked in silence for a while, then Alys murmured, as though to herself, “Coed Bedwen has become a fearful place ever since Fitzjohn took charge.”
He raised his eyebrows to indicate he was listening, but maintained his cautious silence. Encouraging confidences was like coaxing a timid kitten to leave its hiding place. This time he was helped by Alys’s garrulous nature.
“I’m not saying the Comyns were popular here; they were Norman, after all. For all that, they weren’t cruel masters. Now, Sir Reginald, he’s a different prospect. He’s far too free with his fists, and he allows his men to terrorize the villagers. It’s got so that no one dares to venture out alone.”
“Can’t you appeal to the commote court?” asked Hugh.
Alys made a contemptuous gesture. “They won’t lift a finger to help. Not with Sir Reginald’s men threatening anyone who dares defy him. Even if they weren’t afraid, they wouldn’t be able to do much. Sir Reginald has rebuilt the keep in stone. It would be more trouble than it was worth to try and take it. More’s the pity.”
The venom in her voice surprised Huw. Could it be that she had a more personal reason for her dislike? He took a guess. “What has he done to harm you?”
“Not me. My nephew.” She pressed her lips together and turned her back on him. She fiddled with the tankards, but Huw caught her wiping her eyes with her apron.
He bided his time, knowing she would speak when ready. If she had a serious grudge against Fitzjohn, maybe Matilda was right. Maybe they could take Alys into their confidence. The saints knew they could use all the help they could get.
“Poor Cuthbert,” Alys burst out, snatching a tankard and scrubbing at an invisible spot. “You ask anyone in the village. They’ll all tell you he was a good lad, who wouldn’t harm a fly. He was trying to help, that’s all.”
“What happened?”
“It was two years ago. Sir Reginald was riding through the village, returning from a hunt. The clasp of his cloak must have broken, for it fell off. Cuthbert picked it up and ran to return it, but he startled Sir Reginald’s horse, and it shied. Sir Reginald fell and twisted his ankle. He ordered his men to thrash Cuthbert.”
“To death?” Huw asked, his blood running cold.
“He might just as well have done. They beat him until his back was raw. That night he took a fever. Two days later he was dead.” Alys buried her face in her apron, her shoulders shaking.
“I’m so sorry, Alys.” Huw patted her shoulder awkwardly. He never knew how to behave when a woman was weeping.
At that point, Matilda came in. Huw breathed a sigh of relief when she put her arms around Alys, soothing her until she finished sobbing.
Matilda shot him an accusing look. “What have you been saying to her?”
Alys brushed her away, wiping her eyes. “Now don’t go blaming your young man. I was just telling him about my nephew. Poor mite. And I worry about my younger brother—he works up at the castle. I hope to God he stays out of Fitzjohn’s way.”
“I’m sorry,” said Matilda, looking lost. “Is there anything we can do to help?”
“Not unless you’re offering to carve Sir Reginald up and feed him to the ravens.”
Even knowing what he did, Huw was shocked at her vehemence. He held Matilda’s eye and gave a significant nod. Her eyes widened in comprehension. Strange to think he hadn’t wanted her company on this mission, yet here they were, reading each other as though they’d been married for years.
Matilda led Alys to a chair and handed her a cup of wine. “Alys, what would you say if I told you we might be able to get rid of Sir Reginald?”
“What, kill him, you mean?” Alys asked, darting uneasy glances at the doors and windows.
“Not necessarily. But get him out of Coed Bedwen. Put it back under Welsh control.”
A slow smile tugged at Alys’s lips, and color returned to her cheeks. “I’d do all I could to help,” she said.
“Would you get me into the castle?” Huw asked.
“Get us into the castle,” said Matilda, glaring at him.
“This is no game, Mallt,” he started, but Matilda cut him off with an impatient gesture.
“And I’m no child to be coddled, so stop treating me like one. Owain ordered us to do this together, so either I’m coming with you, or neither of us goes. Which one of us is going to explain to the king why we failed in our mission?” Matilda faced him down, her hands on her hips, her cheeks flushed. It struck Huw that for the first time in his life, he had met a woman whose determination matched his own. Whether that boded well or ill for their task, he couldn’t say. What he did know was that she meant every word.
Matilda turned back to Alys. “We’re here for two reasons. First to scout out the castle’s defenses, which is why we”—she glared at Huw—“need to get into the castle. But most importantly, I’m the rightful heiress of Coed Bedwen, and I intend to take it back. The king of Gwynedd has agreed to help. Will the villagers rally behind us?”
Alys’s eyes shone. “There’s no love for Fitzjohn here, and I guarantee there’s not a single man or woman in the village who won’t turn out to help. Even if it does mean we’re to become Welsh subjects.”
Huw bit back a smile. It seemed that to Alys the choice between allying with the Welsh or the devil was a narrow one.
He opened his mouth, but before he could speak Alys asked, “How do you plan to get inside the castle?”
“Do you supply wine or ale to the castle?”
“Both,” replied Alys. “But why—?”
“Who delivers it?”
Alys’s face lit up in comprehension. “I usually pay a couple of lads to take it up in my cart. You mean, you—?”
Huw nodded. “Your next delivery will be taken by me and Matilda. It’s time we had our first look around the castle.”
“When
are they expecting the next delivery?” asked Matilda.
“Tomorrow morning,” Alys replied.
Chapter Ten
Huw returned to his task of lifting the wine jugs onto shelves, aware of the familiar tightening between his shoulder blades he always felt when action was imminent. This time it was worse because he not only had himself to worry about, but Matilda as well. He still couldn’t be sure Matilda wouldn’t do something to give them away. Not that she would do it deliberately, but that her inexperience would lead her to make a mistake. He would leave her behind, only she wasn’t one to sit back while others acted. The way she had flung herself into hatching her own escape plot from Redcliff was proof of that. If he left her here, he feared she would go alone.
“I won’t let you down, Huw.”
Huw set the jug he was holding upon the shelf with great care, to show Matilda he hadn’t been startled by her sudden appearance behind him. Only then did he turn to face her. “And how do you know that’s what I was thinking?”
“Partly by the black scowl on your face, but mostly from the way you’ve lined up those pitchers with a precision a master mason would envy.”
A glance over his shoulder showed him a line of jugs, all the same distance apart, handles protruding at identical angles. His lips twitched and some of the tension drained from his shoulders. “You can read people well. That’s encouraging.”
“I wouldn’t have insisted upon coming if I hadn’t thought I could manage.”
“I know that. It’s not you I doubt, Mallt. I would feel the same about anyone I was expected to work with. I—”
“Work alone. Yes, you’ve made that clear.”
The irritation in her voice startled him. She seemed to be working herself up to saying something.
Sure enough, he had only had time to place the last two jugs on the shelf when she squared her shoulders. “Huw, don’t you—?”
She broke off, frowning, tilting her head toward the back room. Huw listened and heard it too—Alys’s quiet sobs.
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