Matilda closed her eyes as the humiliation and rejection washed over her again. She relived the moment when his cruel words had crushed her heart. A harsh contrast to the tenderness and love he’d shown her only the evening before. “No. He took me in completely. I thought he was different from all the other men I knew, but it turns out he was just the same. He used me, Alys.”
She drew a deep breath and opened her eyes, fixing them on the flickering flames. Now was not the time to give in to tears. When she spoke again her voice was hard. “Huw played me for a fool, but I won’t let him get away with it.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Stick with the plan. Originally Huw and I were going to report to Owain once we’d planned our strategy and organized a rebellion. I’ll just have to do that alone. And if by some miracle Huw manages to escape from Fitzjohn, I’ll do everything in my power to ensure he doesn’t get Coed Bedwen.”
Alys patted her hand. “If you feel able to travel, I think that’s the right thing to do.”
Matilda sat up straighter. “Alys, do you know which villagers would be willing to take part in an uprising?”
Alys’s eyes shone. “All of them. They hold nothing but hate for Fitzjohn.”
“Would they follow me?”
“Without a doubt. The Saxons are eager to oust the Normans, but they have fond memories of you, and the Welsh will rally behind the plan when they hear of your connection to the king of Powys.”
“Then spread the word that I’m bringing King Owain to free them, and we need their help. As soon as I can, I’ll return here with Owain’s instructions.”
“I’ll start the moment you’re safe away.”
Some of the crushing pain eased. Now she had a purpose. A plan. She would do her utmost to convince Owain to leave her in sole charge of Coed Bedwen. Huw might be Owain’s man, but she knew she could convince Owain that Coed Bedwen’s continued stability would depend upon her presence. And not even all the gold in the world could induce her to share Coed Bedwen with Huw.
She twisted her lips into a smile. “Good. In that case, I need a horse.” Then her courage faltered. “Although I don’t know the way.”
She had been depending on Huw to guide them. Just as she had come to depend upon Huw for so many things.
The realization pricked her anger. He had manipulated that dependence. Made her trust him while he bided his time, like a spider in its web. Well, she had learnt her lesson. She would never let a man get that close again. It was time to reclaim her independence.
She rose to her feet and turned to Alys. “I’ll need an escort. You must know someone in the village who will serve.” She might have learnt not to trust men, but to travel alone and unarmed through the Welsh hills would be foolishness in the extreme, even if she knew the way.
“Rhys the blacksmith will guide you. He’s a Gwynedd man; he knows the country well.” Alys took the empty cup from Matilda’s hand and placed it beside the hearth. “Wait here while I go and fetch him. His forge is on the castle side of the village, so best you’re not seen there.”
Matilda couldn’t remain still once Alys had left. She paced the room, hugging her arms to her chest until finally the heat and smoke from the fire became too oppressive and she flung open the shutters, gulping in the clean air.
Leaning out of the window, she could see the stone keep towering above the higgledy piggledy thatched roofs of the village. Somewhere up there was Huw. Was he in Fitzjohn’s custody, or had he escaped and even now striding through the tunnel, intent upon fulfilling his blood oath? She shuddered and glanced at the sky. The sun was approaching its zenith. She had been in the tavern longer than she’d thought. Plenty of time for Huw to make his own escape. The sooner she was away from Coed Bedwen, the better.
As if in answer to her wish, the clatter of horses’ hooves sounded upon the cobbled lane and Alys came into view. She was accompanied by a tall, dark-haired man, leading two horses, both saddled and bridled.
She hurried outside.
“This is Rhys the blacksmith,” said Alys. “He knows the way to the royal llys.”
“Good,” said Matilda. “There’s no time to lose.” She turned an appraising eye upon the horses, whose quality surely put them way above the means of a village blacksmith.
“They’re a gift from Fitzjohn,” said Rhys, his musical voice reminding her of Huw, making her heart lurch. “Now get up on the gray here. No time to lose.”
He helped her to mount.
“But why would Fitzjohn give us horses?” she asked, once she was settled in the saddle.
“Ah, well, he doesn’t know he has. That’s why we need to hurry.” Rhys mounted the other horse, a fine bay mare. “Godric brought them down first thing this morning, saying you would need them.”
“Wait!” Alys grasped the gray’s bridle to prevent Matilda from leaving. “What should we do with Huw if he comes through the village?” She lowered her voice. “Just say the word and we can make sure he never has the opportunity to harm you.”
“No!” Matilda’s vehemence surprised even herself. “He’s Owain’s man. I won’t risk bringing the king’s fury on Coed Bedwen. Have the villagers keep watch for him. If he’s seen, I want him caught and held here for Owain to deal with. You’ll have to bind him. He excels at picking locks.”
Alys nodded and stepped back, releasing the gray. Matilda clapped her heels against its flanks, urging it into a trot. Tears welled in her eyes at the reminder of what her relationship with Huw had come to. The journey passed in a blur. All she was aware of was Huw’s voice repeating the same words over and over. Norman whore…blood oath.
Chapter Seventeen
Huw sat on the floor of the bare room, nursing sore ribs. The last of the light had faded some time ago, and the patch of sky he could see through the tiny window slit was black and studded with stars. He wondered how Matilda was faring. If she had any sense, she would be safe in Owain’s care by now. He prayed it was so.
The sounds of movement in the keep had died down. All but the watchmen must be asleep by now. It was high time he made his move.
He shifted and reached inside his shirt, wincing at the throbbing of a multitude of bruises. When Fitzjohn had finally noticed Matilda’s disappearance, he had taken his rage out on Huw. His men had stolen his possessions and beaten him, but things could have been much worse. Fitzjohn lacked imagination when it came to persuading a prisoner to talk. After a beating had failed to force him to reveal Matilda’s possible whereabouts, Fitzjohn had ordered for him to be left here with no food or water to see how long he could survive without them.
That was something he had no intention of finding out. He grinned as his fingers found the two pieces of sturdy wire sewn into a seam. He ripped them free. It was always useful to carry two sets of tools. They weren’t as good as the picklocks that had been taken from him along with his knife, but they would do in an emergency.
There wasn’t even enough light to see the wall, so he rose to his feet and shuffled across the room, arms outstretched. At first his fingers encountered cold, plastered wall, but he didn’t have to follow it far before he felt the rough grain of the oak door. Finally, his questing fingers dipped into the keyhole, and he set to work.
As he probed the lock, his mind wandered back to Matilda. Would she ever forgive him for what he had said?
He twisted the hooked wire and felt one of the catches slot into place. Now for the next one.
Surely she would understand that he had done it for her own sake. He’d had to make sure she would leave the castle, not risk recapture by trying to rescue him. Soon he would have both her and Coed Bedwen. All would be well.
A moment later he heard the click of the lock releasing. He pushed the door open a crack and peered out. The fool Fitzjohn hadn’t bothered to set a guard at the door, and lamps burned in cressets, guiding Huw down to the main doors. Like the great hall, there was a smaller wicket gate set into the door, and it swung open when Huw pre
ssed the latch.
Holding his breath, he slipped down the steps and into the courtyard. Only to run into another man when he stepped into the shadows by the cellar door. He raised an arm to strike.
“Who’s that?” A voice hissed.
He lowered his fist, releasing a shaky breath. It was Godric.
He pulled Godric into the doorway and keeping his voice low, replied, “It’s Huw. What are you doing out here?”
“Huw? Praise the saints! I was coming to rescue you.”
Huw gave a soft laugh. “As you can see, you’re a little late.”
“Are you hurt?”
“Nothing that will slow me down. What about Matilda? I saw her go into the cellar. Have you had word from the village about her?”
“I haven’t heard. No one’s been allowed in or out of the castle since you were caught, and I didn’t want to risk using the tunnel in case I was seen.”
“I’ll have to go that way myself. I need to find out if she reached Alys safely and where she is now.”
“She should be well on her way to Owain. I took horses to the blacksmith this morning, then sent word of your capture before the castle gates were closed. If Matilda got out safely, she’ll have known not to wait for you.”
“I have to know for sure that she’s safe,” said Huw. “Be ready for the attack. Unless you hear otherwise, we’ll make our move tomorrow night.”
His concern for Matilda drove him to ignore his hurts and rush through the dank tunnel with all haste. Once through, his first thought was to go to the Boar’s Head to ask Alys for news. However, he no sooner put his foot on the path to the village than he stopped dead. If Matilda had gone there, she would have told Alys what he had said about the blood oath. It wouldn’t surprise him if the villagers were watching for him, waiting to strike him down and defend their Lady. As much as he felt he deserved whatever punishment they might mete out, he couldn’t afford to risk it. Not when Matilda might need his help.
He left the lantern in the tunnel. Its light was more likely to give him away than aid him. Besides, it was a clear night, and the moon and stars provided enough light to guide him. With the roar of the river drowning his footfalls, he crept down the bank and picked up the wooded path to the village.
Once the path turned away from the river, the scent of wood smoke grew stronger, telling him he was nearing the village. He slowed down, straining his ears for sounds of pursuit. Save for the occasional rustlings in the trees and the screech of an owl, all was quiet.
The first thing he needed was a horse. He’d hoped Alys would have helped him with that, but now he would have to manage alone. Still, thanks to his time spent at the Boar’s Head, he knew where he could find a mount. Alys kept one, and it was housed in a ramshackle stable a child could break into.
It wasn’t long before he reached the end of the path. The woods ended, and he could make out the dark outlines of the huddled dwellings, defined by chinks of light seeping through shutters and around the edges of doors.
If the villagers had been watching for him, they had obviously given up some time ago and retired to their beds. The only movement Huw spied as he slunk through the shadows was a cat that turned to regard him with lantern eyes before darting into the shadows of a wood pile. Even the Boar’s Head was silent, it being long past the hour when the last of the patrons would have been turned out.
Huw stepped lightly upon the cobbles of the yard behind the tavern, careful to make no noise that would alert Alys. He grinned when his groping fingers met the stable door. This really was too easy. He had no difficulty forcing the lock. The door swung open, and he stepped inside.
The instant he pulled to door shut behind him, strong hands seized his arms on either side. He cursed and struggled to slip free, but he was hampered by his wish not to hurt anyone.
“Hold him still,” cried a woman’s voice.
“Alys!” Huw said. “You can let me go. You have my word not to escape.”
A beam of light struck his eyes, making him blink. When his eyes cleared, he saw Alys standing before him in a pool of golden light, a lantern in her raised hand. She must have kept it covered until now.
“As if I’d trust your word, cur.”
He gave a twisted smile. “I take it Matilda got to you safely, then. Has she gone to the king?”
Alys snorted. “Do you really think I’d give you any news of her, after what you said?”
“It was all a lie,” he said. “I needed to frighten her, so she’d leave without me. Do you truly think I could harm her? I love her more than life.” He cursed his foolishness at walking into the trap. Matilda could be in danger. He would never forgive himself if she came to harm.
Conflicting thoughts flickered in Alys’s eyes. Pressing his point home, he said, “If I truly wanted to hurt her, I could have done so easily at any time. I was protecting her. I’d give my life for her.”
Alys shook her head. “I’m not saying I don’t believe you, but Matilda told me not to let you go, and I won’t disobey her.”
“Then take me to her and Owain. As your prisoner. Let them decide.” It would be shameful to be led in front of Owain, bound as a prisoner, but he would endure the humiliation if it meant he could see Matilda with his own eyes and ensure she was unharmed.
“I must confess, we’ve no place to keep you here.” She dropped her gaze, appearing to ponder the issue for a moment. Then she gave him a grim smile. “Very well. We’ll go after Matilda and Rhys at first light.” Addressing the burly men who held him, she said, “Bind him. I don’t think he’ll give us trouble, but we can’t be too careful.”
Huw prepared himself to pass what remained of the night in great discomfort. Not that he cared. The only thing that mattered was Matilda’s safety. Alys’s answer had at least assured him that Matilda had gone to Owain and she wasn’t alone.
And maybe if he could persuade Matilda of the truth, she wouldn’t be lost to him after all.
****
By the time Matilda arrived at the royal llys, her thigh muscles were burning. The sun was long down, but the sky was clear, and a half-moon hung above the tree tops, providing enough light to guide them.
Sleepy stable hands staggered out to take their horses, and she was ushered into the hall.
“The king says to wait for him here, my lady. He will be with you soon,” said a servant-girl, placing a cup of spiced wine into her hands.
Matilda stood by the fire, feeling the warmth creep through her, easing her sore muscles. She understood why the king would want to talk to her now. He would be as anxious as she was to secure Coed Bedwen. But she was tired and heart-sore. All she really wanted to do was curl up in a warm bed and forget Huw’s betrayal.
Although thoughts of bed made her feel worse. After their passionate loving in the cellar, she had yearned for the time when she would spend whole nights spent entangled with Huw in a large, soft bed. Her body betrayed her, going heavy with longing, but she fought to tame her thoughts. They could never be together again.
If Owain wouldn’t banish Huw from Coed Bedwen, she would go to her uncle. Maybe he could enlist the help of his cousin, the king of Powys, although it rankled that she still needed a man’s intervention. Her experience of Fitzjohn had taught her that men were not to be depended on. And as for her father…
She shoved the thought aside. She didn’t want to think of that now. She never thought of his abandonment if she could help it, so why was the memory so strong now? The scent of spiced wine teased her nostrils, that particular blend of honey and spices transporting her to a day of sunshine and butterflies.
No! She slammed the cup on a nearby table, wine sloshing over the rim, forming a crimson pool.
“Lady Matilda!”
Owain’s voice slashed across the unwelcome memory. She looked up to see the king striding toward her, his tunic hanging askew as though thrown on in a hurry.
“Forgive my delay. I wasn’t expecting any arrivals this late.” Then Owain looke
d about the hall. “Where is Huw? The servant told me a man was with you. I assumed it was him.”
She shook her head. “That was Rhys, the man who escorted me here. Huw was…was captured.”
Owain guided her to a seat. “When did this happen?”
The hurt, the fright, and the anger were still too raw to be able to hold anything back. She poured out her tale, even mentioning Huw’s blood oath.
“Ah, the blood oath,” Owain said. “I’d hoped you’d have resolved that between you by now.”
“You knew about it?” Matilda’s voice was sharp. “Yet you ordered us to marry?”
Owain held up a placating hand. “I would never have done so if I’d believed you to be in danger from Huw. I watched you together from the start, and I could see he’d never harm you.”
“Yet he told Fitzjohn—”
“Yes, I imagine he told Fitzjohn all sorts of things, none of them true.”
“You think he was lying?”
Owain raised an eyebrow. “You think he would stroll up to his enemy and pour out all his secrets?”
“He didn’t ‘stroll up,’ he was—”
The word “captured” died on her lips. In her mind’s eye, she saw the moment Huw had stumbled into the potter’s table, creating the disturbance that had led to his capture. At the time she had been too numb with despair to think it strange, but now it hit her how unlike Huw that had been. He had a catlike grace, always aware of his surroundings. Would he really have committed such a careless blunder? It was almost as if he had wanted to be taken.
But that meant… No. Surely not. She shivered, recalling the disdain in his eyes as he had said the words “Norman whore.” It had been too horribly real to be an act.
There again, she had already seen Huw play a convincing beggar and minstrel.
Owain rose from his seat, recalling her to the present. He poured a cup of wine with frustrating slowness, his lips curved in a half-smile, then sat and took a sip before speaking. “I can see you have much to think about. Rest assured that when I see him again I’ll expect a full accounting. However, I have no doubt he’ll give me good reasons for what he said.”
Bound to Her Blood Enemy Page 20