Huw’s clasp lingered a fraction longer than necessary. Once again Matilda’s thoughts flew to the heart-stopping kiss. Was it her imagination, or did his fingers tremble slightly? Then he released her, and the moment passed.
They jumped down off the cart and began the job of unloading the barrels. The steward disappeared into the cellar, leaving them to heft the barrels alone. It was heavy work, but Matilda was grateful for the way it took her mind off Huw’s nearness. Now they were in the castle, any distraction could be fatal.
“Let them think we’re imbeciles,” Huw muttered in Welsh as they unloaded the barrels from the cart. “People are more likely to speak freely in front of someone they underestimate. You know that yourself. Remember the servant girl?”
Matilda nodded. The meeting with Owain seemed so long ago now. As they carried the first barrel toward the steps, she whispered, “Just promise me that when all this is over, we can have a kinder man as our steward.”
It was heavy work getting all the barrels into the cellar. Matilda would have loved a drink of some of the wine they had sweated to carry, but the steward was holding a conversation with another man in the cellar and didn’t even glance their way as they worked, let alone offer them refreshment.
Huw muttered something in Welsh she didn’t understand, but from the tone she doubted it was complimentary.
Remembering Huw’s instruction to listen, she did her best to overhear the steward’s conversation. He was talking in French, making no attempt to lower his voice. Obviously, he thought she and Huw were too ignorant to understand. Servants moved about unseen, indeed.
“I don’t care how long it takes you,” he was saying, “I expect you to report the numbers by sundown.”
“But I keep telling you, it’s impossible,” the other man replied, with an emphatic stabbing gesture. Matilda thought he looked familiar. He must have worked in the castle when she’d lived here. “We’re working ourselves into an early grave in the stables as it is,” he said. “You know Fitzjohn took away half my lads for his timber-felling scheme. Those left are the bare minimum to care for the horses and keep the stables clean. There’s no one to spare to help me inspect the yearlings. I can give you an estimate in three days. Not before. Not unless you can supply me with more workers.”
“You know as well as I that’s not possible.” The steward rubbed his forehead. “Very well. I’ll give you until sunset tomorrow. And that’s my final word.”
Matilda picked up one of the empty barrels, hardly able to believe her first attempt at spying had produced such promising results. She climbed the steps, all the while struggling not to send Huw a triumphant smile.
“I know; I heard too,” Huw said softly when they reached the cart.
“If we could get work in the castle, it would make things so much easier,” Matilda said.
“Maybe, but it wouldn’t be so easy to leave.”
“Would you have worried about that if I wasn’t with you?” Matilda asked. Surely the Huw who had gone into Redcliff first as a beggar and then as a troubadour wouldn’t have hesitated to take work as a servant.
Huw gazed at her for a moment, his mouth drawn in a grimace. Then he nodded. “But let me do the talking.”
Chapter Eleven
“Aren’t you going to talk to the steward now?” asked Matilda when Huw made no move.
“And let him know we were listening in to his conversation?”
Matilda’s cheeks burned with mortification. If she wasn’t careful, Huw would decide she was a danger to their mission and would find a way to keep her away from the castle. Part of her wished that she could go back to the Boar’s Head and shelter with Alys while Huw worked in the castle. It was only just sinking in what dangers—and hard work—they would face in Coed Bedwen. Huw was used to it, whereas her stomach was tied up in knots at the mere thought of what they might encounter.
“Mallt?” Huw’s voice roused Matilda from her thoughts. She looked up to see him watching her thoughtfully.
He put a hand on her shoulder. “Is something the matter?”
She glanced round to check no one was close enough to hear and then said, “It’s just…I’ve not been any help so far. And it didn’t even occur to me that going direct to the steward was a stupid thing to do.”
“I’m the one who should be apologizing. Mallt, these things are obvious to me because I’ve been doing this for so long. You’re doing much better than I was, my first time.”
“Really?” Seeing Huw’s grin made her spirits lighten. She couldn’t imagine him ever making a careless mistake, but it was kind of him to console her.
The creaking of the cellar door made them both glance round. The steward and the other man walked out into the bailey. Not wanting to be seen loitering, Matilda made a show of tightening the ropes that held the barrels down in the cart to stop them rolling.
Huw joined her. “See? You instinctively know the right thing to do. You’re doing well.” He secured a loose end of rope. “And now I’ll give you some advice. If you want someone to do something for you, make them believe it was their idea all along. It will make your task much easier.”
Then, as the men drew closer he hissed, “Follow my lead. Pretend you’re tired of travelling.”
He climbed up into the cart. “Hurry up, Mallt!” He spoke in French. For a moment she wondered why, until she realized the men would be able to understand. “There’s a long way to go today, and we’ve still got to unload the cart at the Boar’s Head.”
An inkling of what Huw was trying to achieve sprang into her mind. “Why do we have to leave at all?” she asked, remembering to copy the rough French of a servant, rather than the refined language of a noblewoman. “I like it here.”
“You know why. Alys can only give us work for a few days. In a small village like this, we’re unlikely to find more. We’ll fare better in Shrewsbury.” He shook the reins. “Come on, woman, we don’t have all day.”
Matilda hoisted herself into the cart, and Huw tapped the mare with his whip. With a lurch, the cart rolled forward. What was he doing? Why didn’t he wait?
She clutched his arm. “Huw—”
“Patience.”
The cart trundled to the gates, and the steward turned away. Matilda slumped in her seat. They had failed. The steward was going to let them leave, and their best chance of getting into Coed Bedwen was gone.
She caught a movement from the corner of her eye. She glanced back. The other man—she guessed he was the stable master—was speaking to the steward, punctuating each word with emphatic jabs of his forefinger. Then he pointed at Huw. Matilda held her breath when the steward looked their way. Finally, he gave a curt nod and broke into a run.
The cart was already rolling down the steady incline toward the gates when the steward caught up with them and took hold of the mare’s harness, bringing them to a halt.
“Did you say you’re looking for work?” he asked.
“That’s right, sir,” Huw replied. “We’re heading for Shrewsbury.”
“And why are you looking for work in the first place?”
“We lived on a farm a day’s walk to the west, but it was struck by fever last summer. So many died that my lord had to abandon it. We’ve been seeking work ever since.” Even though Huw could speak perfect French, he spoke haltingly and with a far more pronounced accent than usual. Yet again, Matilda was struck by how he seemed to become the person he was acting.
“As it happens, we need a hand to work in the stables, if you’re willing.”
“I don’t know.” Huw picked up the reins again. “I think we’d do better in Shrewsbury.”
Matilda felt a jolt of shock. What was he playing at?
“That’s a long way to go without being certain of work.”
Matilda breathed again. It seemed Huw was right. Now the steward thought this was his idea, he was determined to get his way.
“There’s my wife to think of as well.” Huw indicated Matilda.
It was time to give Huw a helping hand. Matilda took his arm. “That sounds generous to me,” she said, praying neither man sensed her horror of working as a laundress. “I’m sure we’ll be better off here.”
Huw gave a grudging nod. “If that’s what you want.” He turned to the steward. “I accept your offer.”
The steward’s harassed expression faded. “Good. Report to me tomorrow morning.”
Huw nodded and set the mare to walk on.
Only when the gate closed behind them did Matilda grin at Huw. “You did it! And you were right—the steward was practically begging you by the end.”
She went cold as a thought struck her. “Did you do that to me when I asked you to take me away from Redcliff?”
Huw shifted on his perch. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean. Did you manipulate me into accepting your help?”
Huw rubbed his forehead. “You have to understand I didn’t know you then. I was just trying to find a way to persuade you to come.”
“So you did manipulate me.” Matilda didn’t know what to think about that. After all, she had been desperate to leave and without his help, she might still be in Redcliff.
“Is that going to be a problem?” Huw asked.
“You haven’t done it since?”
“No. I know how important trust is to you. I promised to be open with you, remember.”
She relaxed. After all, he hadn’t needed to admit to tricking her. She would have been none the wiser if he’d denied it.
I can trust him, she thought. I must. But she still couldn’t silence the tiny voice of doubt.
“I hope you won’t mind laundry work.” Huw picked up one of her hands and brushed the palm with his thumb. “I’m afraid your hands will suffer.” Matilda shivered. How could he not feel the crackle of lightning between their hands?
“I can’t say I like the idea.” She coughed to clear the tremble from her voice. His touch made her think of their kiss, how only the lightest brush of his fingers had scorched her flesh. Blessed saints, if only a simple touch could scatter her wits like this, what would happen if he kissed her again?
What were they talking about? Ah, yes. Laundry. “It’s necessary. I’d do anything to reclaim Coed Bedwen.”
Huw looked at where his thumb was circling her palm as though he’d only just noticed what he was doing. He dropped her hand in her lap, recalling her from her sensual memories with a jolt.
“Tell me what you noticed in the castle.”
She folded her hands, studying them as she struggled to order her chaotic thoughts. She mustn’t let Huw know how much his touch affected her. “The main thing I noticed was the changes that have been made in the buildings. My buildings!”
“Ours.”
She gave him a crooked smile. “Very well, ours. Although as far as Sir Reginald is concerned, they are mine. The keep has been completely rebuilt. It was wood when I lived here.”
“He obviously doesn’t intend to give them back. And he’s doing his best to ensure no one takes them from him.” He paused then went on, “How many guards did you see?”
“I only saw the one on the gate, but I assume there were two, like at Redcliff.”
“Never assume. Always check.” His expression softened. “Although there were two, in fact. I did look.”
“Then why ask me?”
“Because you need to know what to look out for. We don’t know how often we’ll be able to meet. You must be able to act independently. In fact…” He eyed her thoughtfully.
“What is it?”
“There’s a task that needs doing, and you’ll be better placed to do it than me. But I don’t want to force you if you’re not up to it.”
She straightened her back. “Whatever it is, I can do it.”
“Don’t promise anything until you hear what I want you to do. It’s risky.”
“What is it?” She quailed at the thought of the danger, but she had to prove herself to him. Convince him she was necessary.
“If Fitzjohn has any sense, he’ll have food and water supplies in the keep in case of trouble. At the first sign of attack, he’ll retreat there, and we’ll be forced to sit out a lengthy siege. We don’t have the men or resources for that. However, if one of us can get into the keep and salt the supplies, he wouldn’t be able to stay there.”
“And that’s what you want me to do?” It took all her effort to keep her voice steady.
“As a laundress you’ll have access to all the living areas of the castle and the kitchens. I would be questioned if I was seen there, but—as you pointed out to Owain—you would be able to pass unnoticed.”
She gave Huw a shaky smile. “I might have known you would get your revenge for that sooner or later.” She drew a deep breath. “Very well, I can do it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Very.”
“You’re a brave woman, Mallt.”
Mallt. She liked it when he called her that. It helped her forget her Norman side. Forget her life as Matilda and the men who had let her down.
After a short pause, Matilda said, “What did you spot at the castle? You never did say.”
“To be honest, I didn’t notice much more than you in the bailey, except to confirm the number of guards at the gate.” Matilda felt a fleeting satisfaction. “But there was one thing that needs further investigation.”
“What was that?”
“Didn’t you notice how draughty the cellar was?”
“Yes, but what of it? It’s a large space.”
“But there was only one door. And no windows. Yet there was a distinct current of air.”
“Maybe there was another door we didn’t see.”
“Maybe. But it’s worth investigation.”
****
All thoughts of draughty cellars were far from Matilda’s mind when she approached the laundry yard at the rear of the great hall. Just before walking up to the castle, Huw had grabbed Matilda’s hands and scrubbed them with a handful of soil.
“Ow! What’s that for?” she had cried, cradling her sore, filthy hands to her chest.
“If you turn up for work with soft, white hands that have obviously never done anything more strenuous than embroidering a hem, you’ll rouse suspicion.”
Well, there was no chance her hands would pass as a fine lady’s now. The nails were rough and blackened, and although her palms were free of calluses, they were reddened and scratched.
Yet despite his treatment of her hands, the thought topmost in her mind was how much she would miss him. They would be apart most of the day. It was odd how she had got used to his company in the short time she had known him. She felt safer with him.
She stopped dead, in the middle of the bailey. She felt safer with Huw. Protected. When had that happened? It was years since she’d felt safer with a man than alone.
“You, girl! What are you doing?”
The hail jolted her back to awareness, and she saw the steward looming over her, hands on hips. “You’re not being paid to stare at the sky like a moonstruck maid. Get to the laundry yard this instant.”
Her cheeks scorching, she stammered an apology and hurried away. That would teach her to think about Huw when there were more important matters requiring her concentration.
The laundry yard was behind the great hall, next to the kitchens. It was out of sight of the bailey, at the edge of a steep cliff that overlooked the river. There was no wall here; the cliff was defense enough. From here she could see the whole of the bend in the river that cradled Coed Bedwen. The ford was visible and beyond it the long road that wound south and east through low hills to Shrewsbury. She could almost forget she was in a castle, if it weren’t for the two women bending over huge wooden tubs in the lee of the great hall, scrubbing sheets and chattering like starlings.
“How dreadful,” said one of the women,
the older of the two, tall and lean with a streak of gray hair peeping out from below her head covering. “Isn’t there anyone he can appeal to?”
“Who would he go to?” said the younger woman, a mouse-like girl in comparison to her companion. “It’s all Normans in charge here now. He’d never get a fair hearing.”
She straightened up then and saw Matilda hovering beside the wooden frame where several dripping sheets were already draped. “Hello,” she said. “Are you the new girl? We were told to expect you.”
“That’s right. I’m Mat—Mallt,” she said, cursing herself for nearly stumbling at the start.
“We’re glad to have you here, Mallt,” said the older woman. “I’m Nesta, and this here is Elen. And this”—she pointed to a tub next to hers—“is where you’ll be working. We’ve a lot to get through today, thanks to the steward, in his wisdom, deciding all these linens are to be washed.”
Matilda wasted no time but rolled up her sleeves and picked the first of the coarse sheets from the pile. Then with surreptitious glances at the two women, she copied their actions, plunging the sheets into the tub. It wasn’t long before her knuckles were raw from rubbing the coarse linens. The mixture of water, wood ash and lye stung, inflaming the cuts. She was grateful for the warmth of the sunshine on her back. The thought of doing this job in the winter made her shudder.
“I couldn’t help overhearing what you were saying earlier,” she said to Elen. “Is something wrong?”
“It’s my brother,” Elen said. “My family has always held a farm a few miles from here. When my parents died, my brother took it over, only for the bailiff to tell him the farm is on Coed Bedwen’s demesne. Suddenly, from being a free Welshman, he’s become an English serf.”
Matilda was too shocked to speak for a moment. “I’m new to this area,” she said after a moment. “Has this sort of thing been going on for long?”
“Ever since the Normans first arrived,” Nesta said. “And it’s only got worse since William Comyn died.”
Matilda’s heart clenched. She hadn’t been prepared to hear of her father, especially in terms of Norman injustices. It was all she could do to bite back assurances that when she took over at Coed Bedwen she would make sure Elen’s brother was reinstated. She missed Huw’s steadying presence. If he were here, she’d be more confident of avoiding careless mistakes.
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