We could have been sisters. It was an unsettling thought.
‘Please sit.’ Eva indicated a chair near the fire. She and Hesta took the settle on the opposite side. How cosy. I sat.
Night had fallen, and the windows were shuttered against the cold. A fire burned hungrily in the hearth, the scent of scorched pine filling the air, a pleasant smell, mingling well with the lavender water steaming in a small cauldron near the flames, keeping the room sweet and fresh. The walls were whitewashed, what little I could see of them, for tapestries hung everywhere, depicting scenes of the bible. One, in particular, caught my attention – Saul consulting with the Witch of Endor. Tiny hairs on the back of my neck rose, and I quickly averted my eyes.
Eva was a godly woman, then. Pious. I bet she attended mass twice a day and three times on a Sunday. Personally, I preferred hunting scenes, or kings winning battles. God and I had our differences.
Fat cushions on the chairs, polished walnut tables, deep carpets (probably Persian), and the loom, located under the window for maximum light, added to the luxurious feel of the room. This woman liked, and could afford, costly things about her. She even had a small shelf filled with books, located well away from the fire. I wondered if she could read or if they were for show. I suspected the former.
‘Tell me about yourself,’ Lady Eva asked after she called for warmed mead.
I gave her the same story I told Hugh. Hesta listened intently.
‘Would I know your father? Or his manor?’ Eva asked after I had finished.
I hoped not. ‘Henry Neville.’ I picked a common name. Every other male carried the name Henry, and Nevilles abounded throughout the land, as numerous as fleas on a dog. Every noble family could boast a Neville for a cousin.
‘And where are you from?’ she asked.
‘Leominster.’
‘Nevilles of Leominster,’ she mused. ‘Your family is not familiar to me. You are not Welsh by birth?’
‘On my mother’s side,’ I replied. It was vague enough.
‘Tell me about Prince Llewelyn and Prince Dafydd,’ she asked, and I obliged her. Of course, she was curious about where her daughter would live, and I told her as much as I could until the door opened and Dafydd’s betrothed stalked in.
Isabella took one look at me and disliked me on sight. As I did her. How unfortunate. With no hint of her mother in either her features or her colouring, the child favoured her father. William’s looks sat well on him but not as nicely on his daughter. Dafydd might be disappointed. Her plainness became worse the moment she sneered at me, her mouth curving down and her nose wrinkling.
I pasted a smile on my own face and hoped no one saw any emotion in my eyes.
‘Why is she here?’ the child said. ‘I told you, I will not have her as my lady-in-waiting. I will choose my own servants,’ she added, imperiously.
Hesta smiled. She was enjoying my discomfort.
I stood and curtsied. Only a small one. Isabella did not deserve a full-blown version. Not yet. Maybe not ever. She was no princess, although she was high born.
Eva had a spot of colour on each cheek and her lips were a thin line. ‘You will speak to our guest in the correct manner and afford her the proper courtesies,’ she informed her daughter, icily.
Isabella shot her mother a defiant look. I fully expected the child to stamp her foot. Between this one and Maude, I felt quite sorry for Eva. She had given birth to a couple of rapscallions. I liked Maude better.
‘Mama…’
‘Apologise.’ Eva folded her arms and glared at her eldest daughter.
The wait appeared interminable, but in reality, less than a few heartbeats passed before Isabella acknowledged defeat.
‘I am sorry, Lady Caitlyn,’ she said. ‘I did not mean to be disrespectful.’ She refused to meet my gaze, keeping her eyes fixed on some pattern on the carpet. Her hands were clenched at her sides. Despite the contrite words, her sullen tone made a lie of the sentiment.
‘Please accept the apology, Mistress Caitlyn,’ Eva said. ‘This talk of marriage and her betrothal has caused my daughter some concern, and she is understandably worried.’
My smile broadened. ‘Which is why I am here, to prepare the path and make her transition from maiden to wife an easier one.’
‘And I thank you for it.’ Worry created a line between her brows. ‘It is not easy having daughters.’
It wasn’t easy being one. Nor being a wife. Noble-born women usually had little say in who they wed, and marriages were often arranged for political or monetary gain, with no consideration for the feelings of the woman concerned. It was a transaction. I had been both daughter and wife to noble men, and I knew all about transactions. I couldn’t imagine what a mother must endure, on seeing her daughter sold for wealth or power, with no thought to the daughter’s preference.
‘Dafydd is a good man and will make a steadfast husband,’ I said, wanting to reassure this woman that her daughter would be in good hands. Eva had no say in the matter of who Isabella would wed, and I saw how much this worried her. ‘He will take care of her and provide for her.’
‘But he is Welsh!’ Isabella cried.
‘He may be, but he is also a prince and will one day rule most of Wales,’ I said calmly, hiding my dislike of this narrow-minded, haughty child.
Isabella tossed her head, unconvinced by my reasoning.
‘If it is good enough for the daughter and sister of kings, it is good enough for you, madam,’ her mother said.
‘Lady Joan, Princess of Wales, is daughter to the late King John and sister to King Henry. Yours is not a marriage to be scoffed at,’ I said.
‘Yes, but she is the illegitimate daughter of John, and only half-sister to Henry. I am not sure she counts,’ Isabella responded.
And with this, she stamped her foot, then whirled on her well-shod heels and stomped from Eva’s solar.
The next few months were going to be delightful.
Chapter 20
Another feast in another hall. Nothing of significance ever changes, apart from the faces. How many suppers had I attended with the same talk of kings and war, hunting and fighting, with the lesser lords jostling for position, or for wealth, or to be noticed, and the air filled with gossip and intrigue and dalliances.
I picked at my food while taking surreptitious looks around me. It was a familiar scene, and one I had witnessed hundreds of times before, with the rows of tables and benches in the body of the hall, placed at right angles to the raised dais at the far end, and the family and their honoured guests, seated at the high table. Presiding over all this, aloof on the dais and sitting in the centre of his own high table was William de Braose, Lord of Abergavenny. On his right hand, Hugh of Pembroke leaned back in his chair, a goblet within easy reach, surveying the room. Eva sat on William’s left, with eyes only for her husband.
Hesta believed in keeping her friends close and her enemies closer still. She insisted I sat next to her, among the rest of Eva’s gentlewomen and a handful of knights and barons. I concentrated on eating, aware of many eyes upon me, Hesta’s most frequently. For all my supposed concentration, I noticed that Hugh did not look my way once. He did not look at Hesta either, but that might be because we were close enough to rub elbows.
His attitude worried me. The only reason for him to avoid me was because he had seen something troubling underneath that holly bush, and the only thing he could have seen was Joan’s cat turning into me. So why had he not said anything? To me, to anyone? Why had I not been accused of witchcraft? What was he waiting for?
I risked a swift look.
Hugh was staring into space, one arm outstretched, a hand loosely clasped about the goblet’s stem, his food untouched. The other hand dangled by his side, stroking the ears of a blissful spaniel. Whenever he stopped petting, the dog nuzzled his hand, and Hugh resumed his absentminded caress. I recalled the touch of the same hand along my fur-covered back, and I knew how the spaniel felt.
Hugh’s face was now clear of the
bristly growth which had developed during the journey, and he looked younger, more vulnerable. A faint frown creased his brow and his jaw was clenched. He didn’t appear to be a man happy to be home. He looked like a man with a problem. Or a secret.
‘He has a way with dogs, bitches especially,’ Hesta said, seeing the direction of my gaze. ‘They like rolling over so he can rub their bellies.’ Sarcasm didn’t sit well on a face such as hers. It made her features sharper, eyes more narrowed, lips less full.
Wrong species. ‘He likes cats, too.’ I pushed away my plate, itching to use the belladonna on Hesta, and slipped my hand into my pocket, feeling for the secret under my clothes. The precious packet was in its place, tied around my waist.
Eva laughed, a tinkling, joyful sound. I looked at the high table. She had a hand on her husband’s arm and love on her face. His head was bent to hers, and he gave her a quick kiss on the nose. It was a picture of wedded bliss, but when I looked at him, all I could see was the smile he had given my mistress and the hunger in his eyes when he had looked at her. I wondered if Eva was aware that another woman owned her husband’s heart.
At least he was not party to the various plots being hatched around him, although it did cross my mind whether he would condone Joan’s plan if he knew of it. How far would he be prepared to go for the love of my mistress? I hoped not as far as murder. Currently, his ignorance was his only redeeming feature.
Many men rutted with women who were not their wives, so he was no worse than most, and if the soft expression on Eva’s face was any indication, he was better than many. She was probably aware of his adultery. Arranged marriages were not conducive to marital fidelity. Not on the part of a husband, anyway. The infidelity of a wife was a different thing entirely.
‘I think I shall retire.’ I rose from the bench. ‘Travelling has wearied me, and I long for my bed.’
‘I shall accompany you,’ Hesta said. ‘My bed calls to me, for I am also tired.’
I tilted my head to the side and let her reconsider her offer and how silly it sounded. A pallet on the floor was not much of an allure for a lady more used to a feather mattress. A light blush coloured her cheeks, and she realised she had given herself away.
‘Please, do not let my tiredness spoil your evening,’ I insisted and waited for her reaction.
‘Very well,’ she said after a moment, ‘but let me show you the way. It is easy to become lost in a castle of this size.’
‘Thank you. You are most kind.’ And cleverer than I thought. Served me right to lump bitchiness with stupidity. I wondered whether the guard would be placed directly outside my room, or at a discreet distance.
Hesta left me at the door to our shared chamber, shutting it firmly once I stepped inside. I listened to the patter of her footsteps and a low murmur when she reached the staircase. The handle turned quietly in my hand, and I eased the door open, peering out through the crack, only to see a guard lounging nonchalantly against the wall at the top of the stairs.
Of course, guards were all over the castle, but not usually stationed outside the nursery. They tended to be more at home on the battlements, keeping a lookout for the marauding Welsh.
It was the best Hesta could do under the circumstances, but I had no trouble sauntering past him a short while later. Head back, one foot resting against the wall, he stared up at the ceiling, lost in his own thoughts, and didn’t notice the small cat slink past his feet.
Returning to the hall, I followed the same route, making certain I knew my way back, and wove and dodged between legs both flesh and wooden until I reached the high table. Eva’s chair was empty, but William and Hugh remained in their seats.
The spaniel had not moved, but Hugh’s relaxed sprawl had been replaced by watchful attention, and he sat forward, scanning the hall. My heart pitter-pattered. He didn’t see me, too busy looking at faces, not feet.
Careful to keep out of Hugh’s sight, I slunk under the table and settled beneath his chair. He wouldn’t be able to see me from his position, and it did not matter if anyone else did. I was just another castle cat hoping for scraps. The dog ignored me.
‘Lost something?’ It was William who spoke.
‘Huh?’ Hugh jerked, I saw his leg twitch.
‘I asked if you lost something,’ William said.
‘What could I have possibly lost?’
‘You tell me.’ William’s laugh rumbled, and he slapped Hugh on the back.
Hugh’s leg twitched again.
‘She has retired to her room,’ William said.
‘Who has?’ Oh, Hugh, you need to practice, I thought. You are no good at deceit.
‘The Welsh woman,’ William said.
He meant me? I had assumed he was referring to Hesta, for she had yet to retake her seat.
‘Her name is Caitlyn,’ Hugh replied.
‘Aye, the woman Lady Joan sent to Isabella. I wish her luck of it.’ William laughed. ‘The child has made it clear she does not want to wed “a stinking Welsh pig.” Her words, not mine.’
‘She follows her mother. Eva is high spirited. You cannot expect any less from a child of hers.’
‘Nor would I wish to.’ William’s pride rang in his voice. ‘Her husband will have his hands full in taming that filly.’
‘She may mellow when she reaches womanhood.’
‘Her mother didn’t,’ William said, ‘and I love Eva all the more for it.’
I curled my front paws inwards, tucking them underneath my chest, and wrapped my tail about me. I could stay in this position for hours and I fully intended to; the conversation was becoming interesting.
‘As do I.’ Hugh’s voice might be light-hearted, but the emotion beneath it was clear. A hollowness, cold and dark, filled my chest. So that was the way of it, the reason why Hugh did not succumb to Hesta’s advances. He loved Eva.
‘I can always count on you to champion my wife. No wonder she has a soft spot for you when you play the gallant courtier to her damsel in distress,’ William said, and he meant it. I detected no hint of suspicion in his voice. Either he had no idea his right-hand man was in love with his wife, or he did not care.
‘She has to have someone to look out for her interests,’ Hugh said, lowering his voice.
‘Are you saying I do not?’
‘She would be hurt if she knew what happened at Criccieth.’
William snorted. ‘Who will tell her? You?’
‘Of course not!’
‘And neither will anyone else.’
‘The Welsh woman knows,’ Hugh said.
I growled, and the spaniel opened one eye. I gave him an inscrutable cat stare. He went back to sleep. The Welsh woman. Huh!
‘She will not tell. She cannot,’ William said. ‘Lady Joan has far more to lose than I. Besides it was nothing but coquetry, a brief dalliance. The Princess amused me. Anyway, I have bedded plenty of other women. Why fix on this one?’
‘It was more than amusement,’ Hugh pointed out.
The scrape of tables and benches being moved to the side of the hall filled the silence between the two men. Servants cleared platters and plates in preparation for dancing and whatever else Lady Eva had planned to celebrate the safe return of her husband.
‘You are right.’ William’s voice was little more than a murmur. ‘I have never met another like her.’ He twisted in his chair to face Hugh, and I wished I could see their faces. ‘She is fascinating, and beautiful, and clever. She has influence. She knows how King Henry’s mind works. She—’
‘—is married to another. As are you,’ Hugh interrupted.
Someone’s fingers tapped the table in a rhythmic tattoo. Annoyance? Frustration? The spaniel, now awake and seeing the remains of supper being carried off to the kitchen, lurched to his feet. He stretched his forelegs, then his back, his tail curling stiffly upwards, and jumped down from the dais to follow the food.
‘I wish I was not.’ The despair in William’s voice was clear. He might love his wife, but Joan owne
d him, heart and soul. She had done a good job on him, but she needed to be careful. I needed to be careful. William might not be devastated when his wife died, but Hugh would be, and Pembroke might suspect the convenience of it; first Eva dead, then Llewelyn, leaving Joan and William free to marry. Dafydd could possibly object, feeling he should have some say in who his mother marries, but Joan would appeal to her brother, and King Henry would see the sense in marrying his sister to such an influential man as William de Braose. Even if he did not, Joan would use magic to get her way.
‘What is done, is done,’ Hugh stated finally. ‘You are husband and wife. It cannot be undone.’
Yes, it can, and I was going to be the one to undo it. The knowledge sat heavily on my heart. I didn’t want to murder an innocent woman, one who had caused me no harm, but Joan’s hold over me was absolute. If she commanded me to throw myself off a tower, my legs would climb the steps, and my body would leap into the abyss, even as my mind shouted “no!”.
My ears flattened, and the hairs on my back stiffened, fluffing my fur to twice its normal size. I hissed, drawing my lips back from dagger-sharp canines. Joan. She was here. Spying. Scrying.
I heard her distant, chanted incantations and felt her eyes upon me, burning my flesh, searing my soul. I trembled and cursed, holding back the urge to spit to ward off the devil or make the sign of the evil eye, but all I could do was to lie helpless under her gaze and waited for her to withdraw.
After many fluttering, stuttering heartbeats her presence was gone. She left me trembling and unnerved, with scarecrow fur and a grimace of hate on my face. Was she spying on me, or William? Or both of us?
The hall came back into focus. The chatter of a hundred voices replaced Joan’s chanting. The sight of Hugh’s boot-encased feet drove Joan’s face from my inner eye, and the solid wood floor of the dais under paws and belly anchored my body to reality.
Hugh and William were no longer speaking of wives and marriages. Their talk had moved to horses and William’s favourite mare who was about to give birth. I closed my eyes and let the rumble of male voices wash over my head. The dancing had started by the time their conversation finally turned back to more interesting matters.
Caitlyn Box Set Page 64