My gown, one of several handed down to me by Joan, was too thin a material for autumn, but I hadn’t been able to resist wearing it. Rose-gold, with paler gold embroidered flowers scattered over the bodice, it was more suited to Joan with her ripe-wheat blondeness and bone-pale complexion. I had put it on, anyway. It had been a long time since I possessed anything so pretty, although I didn’t kid myself into thinking she gave me any preferential treatment – she often gave her cast-offs to her ladies.
The goosebumps on my arms weren’t solely from the cold, and my steps were quick as I hurried towards the south tower where William had been held prisoner. His accommodation had not changed but the guards had been removed, and Llewelyn had proclaimed that the Lord of Abergavenny was free to go where he wished in the castle now that King Henry had agreed to the ransom.
‘My lady,’ a gruff voice said from the shadows.
I caught the shriek before it escaped my throat and nodded to the soldier on patrol. He didn’t ask where I was headed nor what I was doing in this part of the castle, but he studied my face well enough to remember me later. I wondered if he had seen Joan, too. I prayed not.
My steps slowed as I turned the corner to William’s rooms, fully expecting to see a guard or two loitering, but the passage was empty. Candles burned low in their sconces, casting looming, flickering shadows on the bare stone walls, and my heartbeat quickened. Danger lurked here, unseen but not unsensed. My hand stole to my waist, and I loosened my small dagger from its leather sheath.
My instincts had kept me safe for two hundred years, and although I might welcome death on occasion, I wanted it to be on my terms and at a time of my own choosing, and not have it forced upon me.
Warily, I edged closer to the door, placing my feet with considered care. My shoes were soft leather, but the dead-of-night quiet of the passageway amplified the slightest noise.
Who, or what, hid behind that door?
I put my ear to the wood.
Silence. I heard only the thud of my heartbeat in my ears and the shallow rasp of my breathing. Holding my breath, mouth open in concentration, every inch of me strained to hear the slightest noise from behind the door. Was there a faint murmur of voices? Or was I hearing the wind moaning around the castle walls? I prayed Joan had more sense than to risk visiting Lord Abergavenny in his rooms without proper escort or chaperone. If Llewelyn suspected his wife of being alone with another man, however good the reason, he would punish her. Her reputation, and his, was far too important to risk any rumours of infidelity.
A tiny sound—
Then a hand clamped over my mouth, and another was around my waist. Dragged backwards, heels strumming in frantic fear on the floor, I screamed. It came out as a muffled squeal, and the hand on my lips stretched to cover most of my nose, pinching my nostrils shut. Desperate for air, I twisted my head, trying to bite his palm, but the hard clasp on my cheeks gave me no purchase. Off balance, I fought to regain my footing, my feet scrabbling underneath me. His strength far outdid mine, and I twisted and writhed in his grasp with little result, his arm a steel band around my middle.
Stupid. Just stupid. I had read the threat wrong. The danger was for me, not Joan. Why didn’t he slit my throat here and now and be done with it? Where was he taking me? I felt for my dagger.
Gone. It must have fallen.
We turned a corner, and as soon as the door to William’s chamber was out of sight my assailant removed his arm and spun me around, slamming my back into the unforgiving wall. Any remaining breath whooshed out of my lungs, and my throat strained with the effort of trying to suck air.
The bastard intended to suffocate me.
Kicking and punching, I brought a knee up, aiming for his groin, but I lacked both surprise and strength. He blocked my leg with his thigh with ease, and ignored my flailing arms, using his shoulder to pin me against the wall.
‘Be still,’ he hissed, catching my other arm in his free hand and holding it firm.
I couldn’t see his face, the light from the flickering candle in the sconce behind silhouetting him in the gloom, but I knew him anyway, from his scent and his voice, and my imagined feel of him—
Hugh.
Strength ebbing fast, my struggles lessened as I grew weaker with each failed breath. He leaned in closer, his face inches from mine, and he stared into my eyes. All the better to watch me die, eh Hugh? My vision darkened, and trapped blood thrummed in my head, pounding my senses into oblivion.
A sudden impact sent us both reeling.
I dropped to the floor, dimly hearing the dull thud of the bones in my knees connecting with stone, then fell sideways. I felt nothing – the pain would come later – but for now all that mattered was the sweet air filling my lungs as I gasped and coughed.
Booted feet danced close about my head. The smack of flesh on flesh. A grunt of pain. The weaponless fight ebbed and flowed around me, quick and vicious. Pushing my numb and surprisingly heavy body upright with deadened arms, I planted my hands on the floor and struggled into a sitting position, jerking one hand away to narrowly avoid having it crushed as a man’s foot stamped down too close, his feet slipping on the smooth-worn slabs. The two men wrestled, then came apart for the briefest of moments, and finally I saw them both.
My rescuer was Ifan. I didn’t know whether to feel relief or renewed fear. Both men had followed me, it seemed. One had just tried to kill me, the other would put me to death just as quickly if he could prove what he suspected. What I assumed he suspected.
‘What in God’s name–?’ The door to William’s chambers flew open with a clang of iron handle on stone as the Lord of Abergavenny strode around the corner, a determined scowl on his face. ‘Stop. Now.’
Hugh instantly did as his lord commanded and his arms fell to his sides. Panting heavily, he shot a swift glance at William. Ifan, who danced to another’s fiddle, ignored William and drove a short, brutal punch at his opponent, catching Hugh on the jaw and dropping him like a stone down a well. If I had the strength, I would have cheered. For the second time in less than a week, Hugh had been bested by a distraction. I wished he had been killed the first time.
‘I said, stop.’ William’s voice dripped with cold fury.
‘Of course, my lord.’ Ifan nursed his right hand in his left, spots of dark blood dripping from between his fingers. ‘My task is finished. For now.’
I groaned, a small sound, but it was enough for William to notice me. His brow smoothed and some of the tension eased out of him as he decided he didn’t need to wade into the fray. A man of action, a man who led from the front and as battle-hardened as any, William read the situation in one glance. Unfortunately, he read it wrong.
‘I might have known,’ he said. His voice had lost its ire, and a hint of weariness replaced it.
Ifan raised an eyebrow – a rapidly swelling, bleeding eyebrow. He either didn’t seem to notice the discomfort, or perhaps fighting men became immune to the pain of minor injuries. I wondered if the dribbling wound would leave another mark, a matched pair of scars, this one gained during the saving of my life.
The thought roiled in my stomach.
‘Hugh is forever getting into scrapes over women.’ William took a couple of strides towards his man, leaned down and scrutinised him.
Ifan tensed, shifting his balance, rising onto the balls of his feet, ready for another round.
‘Stand down, soldier,’ William said. ‘I have no quarrel with you. At least, not over this, although I dare say we may meet on the field one day.’
Ifan relaxed a fraction and gave the other man a tiny nod, although he kept his eyes on him all the while. ‘I shall look forward to it, my lord.’
‘I will see to Hugh,’ William said, ‘if you will escort the lady to her chamber.’
‘Your man needs to be locked away,’ Ifan suggested.
‘Surely not? I admit that you did not fight fair, but I can assure you that Hugh is not the type to bear a grudge.’ William knelt on one knee and p
rodded the prone man none too gently. Hugh groaned. ‘He will live,’ William decreed.
‘Not if I can help it,’ Ifan said.
William froze. His head came up and he gave Ifan a flat stare. ‘What happened here? There is more to this than a spat over a skirt.’
‘Your man,’ Ifan snarled, ‘tried to kill her.’ He pointed at me.
William looked me over in silence. Then the Lord of Abergavenny bellowed out a laugh, making me jump. Ow. I hurt all over, and especially my spine where it hit the wall. My ribs ached, and my face was doing its own fair share of swelling and stiffening where Hugh’s fingers had gripped. I tasted blood where a tooth had sliced the inside of my cheek, and I probed the wound with my tongue.
‘He makes love to women, he doesn’t fight them.’ William spluttered with amusement. His hands roamed over Hugh’s face and body, a quick but thorough examination, then he wiped the blood from his fingers with a swipe on Hugh’s expensive, borrowed doublet.
‘He was trying to suffocate her,’ Ifan said.
‘Are you sure he wasn’t simply trying to silence her cries of pleasure?’
‘His cock was still in his breeches.’
‘You can pleasure a woman without using your cock,’ William chortled and got to his feet, satisfied Hugh was in no danger from his injuries. ‘Perhaps you are in need of some lessons in satisfying a woman? Shall I send him to you when he is sufficiently recovered?’
Ifan snarled and took a step forward, his hands bunched into fists.
William held up a hand. ‘I am jesting with you, sir. Nevertheless, you read the situation wrong. Hugh does not kill women.’
‘I saw him—’
‘You saw nothing.’ William’s expression was hard.
‘When I tell Llewelyn—’
‘It is best if you do not. Your lord is brokering peace between our countries. Would you jeopardise that, for a woman?’
Ifan grimaced, his gaze locked on William.
‘Take her back to her chamber. I will deal with Pembroke, if there is any dealing to be done,’ William continued.
Pembroke. He called him Pembroke, not Hugh. Did William believe Ifan? Neither of them thought to ask me my story. I wanted to speak out, but if I did, then William would ask questions I was loath to answer. Like, what I was doing outside his chamber, for instance. I let out a small cry and slumped further down the wall, and closed my eyes, pretending to faint.
‘See to her,’ William commanded.
A gentle touch to my cheek. Was it William or Ifan? I risked a one-eyed peek. Ifan. His fingers pressed into my throat, checking for a heartbeat.
‘Fainted, I think,’ Ifan said. ‘I will take her to Lady Joan.’
‘Er, mayhap her own room would be best, and if she has not regained her senses by then, you could send for Joan. There is no point in disturbing your mistress unnecessarily.’
Ah. Got him! Was it only me who detected the unease in William’s voice? Apparently so, for Ifan did not stay to argue or discuss the matter. Instead, he gathered me up and clambered to his feet, cradling me in his arms.
Here we go again – this was getting to be a habit.
I tried to remain limp and lifeless; it was not an easy feat, pretending to be unconscious when every muscle wanted to tense and flex. He turned, and I moaned a little, shifting in his grip, and lifted my head slightly, all the better to see over his shoulder.
William watched us leave, his expression thoughtful, Hugh lying ignored at his feet. We were almost out of sight when a smile lit William’s face, and he turned to look over his shoulder, and I caught the tiniest glimpse of flaxen hair, blue eyes, and parted lips, before the curve of the passage obscured my view. Joan.
Chapter 10
Ifan plodded doggedly, heading for the inner bailey and the impressive stone keep at its heart where Llewelyn’s wife and children had their quarters. Joan’s ladies were also housed there, in that safest and most impregnable part of the castle. I was not. I needed to make him think I had regained consciousness, because Ifan would never find my little chamber on his own. No one would. If he started asking around, he would soon realise that no one actually knew my room existed.
‘Mmmhh.’ I opened my eyes and lifted my head to stare up at my saviour. He gazed down at me, concern etched on his face. Disconcerted at his expression, I blinked, as if waking from a deep sleep, and hoped it convinced him, because I had no idea how a woman recovering from a faint should behave.
‘How do you feel, Mistress Caitlyn?’ he asked.
‘I will live,’ I croaked, surprised at the harshness of my voice. My throat was sore, as if I had caught a chill, and even my chest hurt.
Wriggling uncomfortably, I desperately wanted Ifan to put me down. As strong as he was, he must be tiring by now. I was no child to be easily carried aloft, even if the sensation of being embraced in heavily muscled arms and being snuggled against a broad chest pleased me more than it should. Which was exactly why I needed to gain some distance from him and the intimacy of the situation. I had to prove to him that I had recovered enough to make my own way to my room. Without an escort.
Ifan took the hint and halted, shifting my squirming body in his arms.
‘I can manage from here,’ I said, as he placed me on my own feet with considerable gentleness. I wobbled for a moment, then steadied as his hand caught my elbow.
‘Easy, you are weak still. I think I should send for Lady Joan, she will—’
‘No!’ I did not mean to sound so vehement, but the less attention I drew to the current whereabouts of my mistress, the better.
‘I fear your wits are still addled. Lady Joan is a skilled healer and is sure to have a draught or potion to steady your nerves.’
Huh, my nerves were fine, I almost said. I knew exactly how skilled my mistress was and the direction those skills often took, but I had to maintain the story that I was newly arrived at Criccieth, and Ifan appeared to believe my illusion of a weak and silly female. Unwilling to disavow him of this notion, but anxious to avoid leading him to my chamber, I was at a loss what to say next.
‘At least, I insist on escorting you to your room,’ he said.
Of course, he did, the annoying man, and I had no choice but to let him, so I shuffled along, my pace due more to the hurt which shot through my knees at each step, than my reluctance to have his company.
‘Which one of Joan’s ladies do you share a chamber with?’ he continued, carrying solicitous concern to new heights. Did gallantry really need to be taken so far? I had obviously recovered enough. Or did he have an ulterior motive? Did he continue to suspect me? Is that why he did not want to let me out of his sight? These spiralling thoughts did me no good; paranoia was the price my conscience demanded for my deception. For all I knew, he might be intending to woo me.
‘Um…’ I thought fast. A gentlewoman in service, however nobly born, would hardly have a room to herself. The castle was too cramped and overcrowded for such luxuries when Llewelyn was in residence, with his barons and men-at-arms, squires and pages, servants and craftsmen, who all went where their Prince went, and that was without all the ladies, their maids, the laundry women, the cooks… and so it went on.
‘The Princess allocated me one of the little rooms used for storage, for the time being,’ I said.
‘A room of your own?’ He lifted a brow.
‘It is not ideal,’ I said, ‘but her ladies have been with her for years, and I am a newcomer. She wants us to become better acquainted before she thrusts my company upon them in such an intimate way.’ Babbling did not become me, but at least prattling was in keeping with my portrayal of feminine foolishness.
The story contained some degree of plausibility. Joan was renowned for her concern and regard for her subjects. She had taken great pains to win the hearts of Llewelyn’s people, and she had succeeded.
But appearances were ever deceptive – I may be the only living person, apart from her own mother, who knew her true nature. Whatever Joan
did was only done with Joan’s best interests in mind. It served her purpose to be beloved of prince and servant alike, and she guarded her reputation jealously.
‘I truly am well enough, sir,’ I tried again.
‘Nonsense.’ Ifan’s grip tightened on my elbow. ‘Lead the way.’
I held my ire in check and did as he asked. I briefly considered using a convoluted route, with the intention of confusing him, but this man had been with Llewelyn since before the castle was built. Alongside the Prince, he had watched the stones being raised, and the castle grow from an indistinguishable pile of rubble swarming with stonemasons and carpenters, to this magnificent fortress. Ifan probably knew the castle better than I, although I would stake my life that he had forgotten the existence of my humble chamber; Joan made sure the little room was easily forgettable. Resigned, I led him directly to my door; the sooner he saw me safely inside, the sooner he would leave me alone.
The door, old and grimy, merged into the shadows at the end of a less-used passageway hidden deep in the depths of the outer curtain wall, which was really two walls with a hollow heart, and which was interspersed with circular defensive towers at regular intervals. The huge wall grew seamlessly out of the cliffs, God-made and man-made blending into one gigantic fortification, and the sea smashed against the rocks below, its booming song a constant music. This side of the castle needed little defending. Not even the grandest of ships could hold still for long enough in the often-turbulent waters off the headland, to land an army at its base. Anyone foolhardy enough to try to climb those sheer faces would be swept to their deaths by the crashing waves. Of course, the battlements high above were patrolled, but this part of the castle was hardly its centre. It was, however, a perfect place to hide.
My little chamber-door was at the end of a narrow, tunnel-like corridor. Crouched in an alcove, it barely had enough head height for me not to have to stoop when I entered. Easily missable at the best of times, Joan’s spell did the rest.
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