For a strange reason, the thought of him helped focus her mind. Gathering her courage, she encouraged the women to tell her what they thought of Coed Bedwen. By noon, she had learned more than she ever wanted to know about the habits of the folk who inhabited the castle. But at least the women had proved entertaining, which had kept her mind off the discomforts of her task.
Her back ached, her knuckles were bleeding, and the arms and front of her gown were soaked, intensifying the chill from the breeze. She would never look down on a laundress again. She plunged her hands into the cloudy water and muttered a particularly ripe oath as it stung her raw hands. Then she laughed at herself. Matilda would never use such language; Mallt clearly did.
She had never been so glad to hear the noon bell ring, calling everyone to dinner. She was about to follow Nesta and Elen when she saw Huw, leaning against the corner of the hall.
“You go on ahead. I want to talk to my husband,” she called.
“Take your time,” Nesta replied, looking Huw up and down. “I’d want to do more than talk if I was married to him.”
The two women ran off, giggling, leaving Matilda to curse her fair complexion, for she could feel her face burning.
“How has your morning been?” Huw asked as soon as the women were out of earshot.
“Tiring,” she said with a grimace. “But I’ve already found out more about Fitzjohn’s treatment of the villagers.” She told him what she had learned about Elen’s brother. “First Alys’s nephew and now this. We shouldn’t have trouble persuading people to revolt if that’s how Fitzjohn treats everyone.”
“Good work. Anything else?”
“I’ve found out where the salt is stored—in one of the outhouses next to the kitchen. As soon as I have a valid excuse to get into the keep, I’ll see to the supplies.”
“Take your time; don’t take any unnecessary risks.”
“I won’t. How has your morning been?”
“Uneventful. I’ve been exercising the horses under the stable master’s watchful eye. I’d hoped to get him to talk, but he’s proving close-mouthed. If I can get away this afternoon, I intend to investigate the cellar.”
****
By the time Huw returned to the stables after the noonday meal, he was feeling more confident about Matilda’s abilities. The gossip she had learnt from the laundry women could prove vital, and she had already tracked down the salt store. Maybe working with her wouldn’t be so bad after all.
“Here,” said the stable master when he got in, “you can shovel out the muck in the stalls now the horses are out for their exercise.”
The stable master left, leaving Huw alone. Yes, Matilda was far better placed for learning the castle gossip.
He had just returned from wheeling the last cartload of manure to the dung heap when the stable master approached him, a leather strap in his hand. “Take this to the blacksmith and get him to mend the buckle. You’ve earned yourself a break. There’s no need to come back until it’s done.”
This was the opportunity Huw had been waiting for. The blacksmith was on the far side of the bailey, not far from the gate. Once he left the strap with the blacksmith, he sauntered up to the keep, his thumbs in his belt, doing his best to look as though he was simply stretching his legs. However, when he reached the cellar door, his hopes were dashed. It was locked. Of course it would be, with the amount of wine stored in it. He would have to pick the lock if he was going to investigate the source of the draught, and he couldn’t do that in daylight.
The blacksmith wouldn’t have finished with the buckle yet, so Huw strolled around the other bothies nearby. His mind wandered to his oath, trying to find a way to reconcile his denial that Matilda was a fair target for revenge with his need to fulfil his promise to his father.
Maybe he should do as Owain suggested and accept a blood price. Matilda might be innocent, but his heart cried out for restitution. The Comyns should be made to pay for their crime.
The problem was, there was only one payment he would accept—Coed Bedwen. Could he take Coed Bedwen and force Matilda to leave, live with her uncle? But Owain had made it clear that Gwynedd depended on this alliance with Powys. And Matilda was key to that. The alliance would be unlikely to survive if he cast aside the king of Powys’s cousin.
No. There seemed no way he could fulfil his oath.
Unbidden, memories that had been clamoring for attention since he had met Matilda surfaced. His great-uncle, grasping him by the arm after his father’s funeral, breathing wine fumes into his face as he spoke. “Why should I keep you here any longer? You own nothing, you bring me nothing. You are nothing!”
He shuddered, shaking off the memories. He had fought long and hard to become someone other than the frightened, lonely boy his great-uncle had cast out. And the feeling that in pursuing the blood oath he was restoring his family’s honor had gone a long way to achieving that end. But now, where he had once found purpose, there was only emptiness. Maybe his great-uncle was right after all.
There was a flurry of action at the gates when he made his way back to the blacksmith, but he ignored it. The bailey was always full of comings and goings. But when he was on the point of entering the bothy, the stable master ran up, his two grooms in tow. When he saw Huw, he grabbed his arm.
“Quick, man! There are visitors’ horses to tend to.”
So that was the commotion at the gate. He followed the stable master to where four horsemen were dismounting and handing over their horses to the waiting grooms. Huw hurried to take the horse of a man at the back of the group. It was only as he passed the stable master that he glanced up to see who the leader was.
An icy chill ran down his spine. It was Fitzjohn. He dipped his head to avoid Fitzjohn’s gaze. All the way to the stables he could think of only one thing: he must warn Matilda.
Chapter Twelve
All Huw wanted to do was abandon the horse and race to the laundry yard.
As soon as he had led the horse into the stable yard, he tried to leave, only to run into the stable master.
“Where do you think you’re off to?” the man asked, scowling.
“I still haven’t collected the strap from the blacksmith,” Huw replied, thankful he had a genuine reason. His nerves were jangling to such an extent that he doubted he could have come up with a convincing excuse otherwise.
“That can wait. These horses have been ridden hard. No one’s leaving until they’ve been cared for.”
Now the stable master’s attention was on him, there was no way he could make his escape. Gritting his teeth, he walked the horse around the yard to cool him down, all the while his heart thundering in his ears. It was only when a glance across the bailey showed him Fitzjohn striding through the doorway of the great hall that he allowed himself to relax somewhat. Matilda was safely in the laundry yard, out of sight, and even if Sir Reginald did leave the hall before Huw could warn her, he wouldn’t go there.
“That’s it, steady boy.” He led the horse in a slow circle. He was talking to himself as much as to the stallion. It was a sign of how much Matilda had beguiled him that he had allowed himself to become so anxious about this setback. Even at times when his own life had been at risk, he had never got into such a fret. It was bad for his judgement and ultimately dangerous for Matilda and himself if he couldn’t keep calm.
By the time he closed the stall door on the stallion, the sun had disappeared behind the hills.
“Fetch me that strap now,” the stable master said to him, “and then you’re done for the day.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Huw and dashed out. When he finally strode into the laundry yard, he blew out a breath when he saw Matilda pacing at the edge of the cliff.
“Where are the other women?” He glanced around the muddy yard. The huge tubs were now empty, and the drying racks were bare.
“They’ve gone to the hall. I told them I was feeling faint and wanted some air.”
Good. They could talk freely.
/> “You’re leaving,” he said. “Come on. I’ll take you back to Alys. If necessary, I’ll tell the guards at the gate that you’re down with a fever. They won’t be able to get you out of here fast enough.”
She stepped back, folding her arms. “Why? We’ve already been through this. I’m staying here.”
“Fitzjohn is here. In the hall.”
Matilda paled. “What’s he doing here?”
“It doesn’t matter. All you need to be concerned with is the fact that he’s here. If he sees you, he’ll cart you back to England, and you won’t step beyond the gates of Redcliff until you’re his wife.”
“But he can’t do that. I’m your wife now.”
“Once he finds out, he’ll do his best to ensure you’re my widow.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t try to manipulate me, Huw. I know your tricks, remember. You think I’ll beg you to take me to safety if I think your life’s in danger. Well, you’re wrong. Sir Reginald is looking for Matilda Comyn, a Norman lady. He won’t look twice at Mallt ferch Gwilym, the laundress.”
Huw cursed. It hadn’t occurred to him to trick Matilda into leaving. If it had, he would have been far subtler. “I wasn’t trying to trick you, Mallt. I just want you to be safe. What caused you to mistrust men so? You can’t judge us all by Fitzjohn’s actions.”
Then he remembered the warning glance she had directed at Alys when Alys had mentioned her father. “Or is it your father?”
She flinched.
“It is your father, isn’t it? What did he do?”
“Nothing.” She folded her arms across her stomach as though it ached. “Oh please, Huw, I’m tired and cold. Can’t you leave it? I just want to lie down and go to sleep.”
He saw then the dark smudges under her eyes and the soaking wet sleeves that were rolled up to her elbows. Of course she must be exhausted. He bet she had never done such a hard day’s work in her life, and she was facing the prospect of doing it all over again the next day. And the next. He wouldn’t push her any more tonight. But it didn’t mean he would let the matter drop entirely.
“Very well.” He took her arm. “We’ll be bedding down in the hall. Stay in the shadows and keep your head down, in case Fitzjohn is near.”
As they rounded the corner and approached the hall, Huw’s eyes fell on the cellar door at the foot of the keep. In the rush of anxiety that had accompanied Fitzjohn’s arrival, he had forgotten all about the locked door. With the situation looking ever more dangerous, he must investigate the cellar that night. The sooner Matilda was out of here, the better.
For a moment he considered waiting until Matilda was asleep and going without her. Then he pictured her expression when she found out. No more secrets. Not if he wanted to gain her trust.
In the twilight, he could see people from all over the castle, hurrying toward the hall. He pulled Matilda off the path, far enough to avoid being overheard.
“I tried to get into the cellar earlier, but it was locked,” he said. “As soon as everyone is asleep, I’m going to pick the lock.”
“Then you’ll need a lookout.” Matilda put her hands on her hips and looked at him with eyebrows slightly raised. It was clear there was only one way this argument would end.
He sighed. “I’ll wake you when it’s time.”
To his surprise her face lit in a glowing smile. “Thank you.”
“What for? Putting you in even more danger?”
“No. For telling me what you planned. You could have crept out leaving me none the wiser.” She took his hand and pressed it. “I’m starting to believe I can trust you after all.”
****
Bedding down in the hall was a new experience for Matilda. When she had lived in Coed Bedwen with her parents, they had slept in a curtained off room behind the dais. In Redcliff, Fitzjohn had living quarters in the keep. Curling up on a pallet with everyone else in the household was uncomfortable, not just because the straw in the thin mattress was lumpy, but also because she was unused to sleeping among such a mass of people.
In contrast to the physical discomforts, however, her growing ease with Huw both surprised and warmed her. Until now, no man had confided in her or deigned to discuss anything besides domestic concerns with her. Yet despite Huw’s initial objections to her company, he had respected all her contributions to their venture, even going so far as to allow her to join him in the risky exploration of the cellar. Yes, she was nervous of discovery, but her fears of Huw were subsiding.
“At least Fitzjohn doesn’t seem to be here,” Huw murmured as he dragged a couple of pallets against the wall, the flickering firelight turning his shadow into a stooping giant on the plastered walls. Matilda wished they could go closer to the fire, but she could see the wisdom of remaining here, where there was no light save the occasional amber pool cast by rush lights.
It was too cold to consider removing their clothes. Besides, they would wake everyone up if they stumbled around getting dressed when they got up in a couple of hours. She just curled up on the hard pallet. This time she was so tired that when Huw climbed in beside her, she made no effort to move away.
She sniffed. “Uurgh! Did you roll in manure as well as shovel it?”
She felt Huw’s chuckle vibrate against her back. “Count yourself lucky I didn’t get work cleaning out the cesspits.”
Then more softly, he said, “Go to sleep, Mallt. I know you’re tired. I’ll wake you when it’s time.”
She closed her eyes, but she couldn’t clear Huw’s words from her mind.
“It is your father, isn’t it? What did he do?”
They nagged at her. Brought back memories she had tried so long to bury. A butterfly and the words: I’ll always be there for you.
No! She clamped her hands over her eyes. She mustn’t think about it. It was too painful. And she was tired. Too tired to face up to the grief, the abandonment that always accompanied those memories.
Gradually the murmur of voices in the hall quietened down. The fire crackled and spat. Huw stirred, pressing closer, and it struck her how comfortable she felt with him beside her. His presence calmed her, banishing the bad memories. Instead her mind wandered to those breathless moments in the Boar’s Head outhouse, when Huw had kissed her.
Was it possible? Had she really found a man different from all the others? He hadn’t needed to tell her of his plan to break into the cellar, yet he had. He had praised her when she had earned it, and he had shown compassion to Alys. Everything he had done since arriving here had revealed him to be honorable. Trustworthy.
And the way her insides fluttered when Huw stirred again, brushing her thigh with his, told her that her feelings might have gone further than just trust.
The warmth of his body comforted her, made her feel safe. Her tired muscles eased, and soon she drifted toward sleep.
Steady pressure below her ear awoke her, and she was instantly alert. Aside from the odd grunt or snore and the waves of sonorous breathing, all was quiet in the hall. Huw was kneeling beside her, his face just visible in the firelight. He put his finger to his lips and then pointed to the door. She nodded and rose to her feet, allowing him to take her hand to help her up. Then, still clutching his hand, she allowed him to guide her around the perimeter of the hall toward the door. Huw must have the eyes of a cat, because he managed to get them there without stumbling over any of the sleepers stretched out on the floor.
She held her breath as Huw reached out for the latch and lifted it. Did the hinges creak? She couldn’t remember. She just had to hope that anyone who saw them creep out would think they were seeking out a quiet spot to enjoy a tumble together.
Fortunately, the huge double doors had a smaller wicket gate set in it. This was the one Huw opened, and Matilda released a shaky breath when it swung open with only a whisper of a creak. Huw put his hand to the small of her back and guided her through, then he followed. Just the press of his hand sent flickers of desire through her blood. She could almost believe they truly w
ere sneaking out to find somewhere to couple. Her heart gave an uneven thud at the thought.
Out in the bailey, the chill air cleared her senses. She chided herself for her lack of concentration. Huw had trusted her enough to bring her, and she would not let him down by allowing her attention to stray.
She studied the view carefully. The bulk of the keep loomed ahead of them, blotting out the stars. Straining her eyes, she could just make out the figures of watchmen at the gates and upon the walls. The saints be praised, they were gazing out across the village so wouldn’t notice them creeping across the bailey.
His hand still on her back, Huw steered her against the long wall of the hall. He pressed his lips to her ear.
“Keep in the shadows. Crouch down; it will break up your shape. Make you look more like a shadow than a person.”
She nodded, trying to shake off the erotic images caused by Huw’s lips against her ear, and stooped. They followed the wall toward the keep.
They had just reached the point where the straight wall of the hall met the curve of the keep when the noise of creaking hinges made them shrink into the corner. A shaft of yellow light streamed out into the bailey from a point higher up, a short distance around the circumference of the keep.
Then, silhouetted against the light, two figures appeared. They must be standing at the top of the steps that led into the keep. Blood roared in her ears when she recognized the bulky outline of Sir Reginald.
The other man spoke first, and Matilda recognized the voice of Fitzjohn’s constable. “I’m sorry I was unprepared, my lord. Perhaps if you’d sent us warning ahead of your arrival, I—”
“Cease your babbling. I’m not interested in excuses.”
The sound of Fitzjohn’s voice made Matilda cling to Huw. He took her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
Fitzjohn continued, “I’m here in search of Matilda Comyn.”
Bound to Her Blood Enemy Page 14