He paused a moment, willing his pounding heartbeat to slow. Then he spoke. “Time to wake up, Matilda.”
She stirred, and her eyes blinked open. She sat up and the sheet slipped farther down. He handed her the wine cup and turned away hastily. There was only so much he could take before he gave in to his baser urges. He saw her shift on the chest at the end of the bed, so he flung it at her. “Get dressed. We leave today, and there’s a lot to do.”
There was the sound of rustling, and then came the pad of her feet on the floor rushes.
“I trust you slept well,” she said, her voice blurred with sleep.
Hinges creaked, and he looked round to see her bending down, rummaging in the open chest. Her shift outlined her firm, rounded rear.
Bloody hellfire! What was Owain thinking of, sending her to Coed Bedwen with him? How was he supposed to concentrate? Ever again.
“Well enough.” The lie stuck in his throat, but what was he supposed to say? I didn’t dare relax for a heartbeat, for fear that I’d forget myself and ravish you, even though everything in my upbringing forbids me to feel that way about you. “How about you?”
“Perfectly.”
So they were both liars.
There was awkward silence, broken when Matilda gave an exclamation of disgust as she pulled a bundle of wool from the chest. “I can’t believe I have to wear this. It’s the color of dung.” She sniffed it and wrinkled her nose. “Smells like it, too.” It was the costume that had been provided for Matilda to wear to Coed Bedwen, that of a laborer. After all, turning up dressed as a high-born Norman was hardly the way to pass unnoticed.
Glad of a distraction from the tension between them, Huw said, “Maybe it will look better on.” It had been on the tip of his tongue to point out that she could have her choice of fine gowns if she’d rather stay behind, but he stopped himself in time. That could only lead to further argument.
She pulled a face but drew the garment over her head. There were no lacings at the side to mold it to her body from hip to chest, nor did the sleeves flare out from the elbow to give tantalizing glimpses of wrist and forearm with each gesture. Instead it hung in a shapeless tube down to the floor. She pulled out the cord belt that went with it and tied it around her waist. It didn’t look any better, but the belt hitched up the gown so the hem didn’t drag on the floor.
They both looked at one another, and Huw could swear there was an audible snap as the tension broke. They burst into laughter at the same time.
“If only I could have got married in this, maybe we would have had more to say to each other,” Matilda said finally, wiping tears from her eyes.
Huw smiled. “And denied me the sight of you in that red gown? It would have been a crime.”
Matilda gave him an odd look.
“Did I say something wrong?”
She shook her head. “I was just thinking that we get on well together when we’re not fighting over what we want.”
She made a valid point. Together they’d achieved her escape from Redcliff with far more ease than he’d thought possible. For a moment he allowed himself to imagine what their life could be like were there not blood between their two families.
“How about this?” he said. “We’ll call a truce for the entire time we’re in Coed Bedwen. We’ll leave our unhappiness about our marriage behind. And as to how we manage Coed Bedwen together…and if we can…we’ll make those decisions when it’s ours.”
Matilda looked at him thoughtfully, then a half-smile tugged the corners of her mouth. “Agreed. A truce. On one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“I need you to be completely honest with me. No lies. If I’m going to be able to follow your orders, you must be open with me. If you can’t, I’m going to my uncle to tell him to withdraw his support.”
He had no choice. Not when he was so close to achieving his dream. “Agreed.”
But his promise left him feeling exposed. Vulnerable. He didn’t know how he would cope being alone with Matilda with no lies to hide behind.
He drew a deep breath and pointed to the door. “Then let’s go and reclaim Coed Bedwen.”
But once that was accomplished, the truce would be at an end.
Chapter Eight
They broke their fast on barley bread and smoked herring. When they left the hall, their horses were already being led from the stables.
Her uncle strode up, dressed for the journey. “Good morning. I took the liberty of saddling horses for you both.” He frowned at Matilda. “It’s not too late to change your mind, you know. You’d be more than welcome to stay with me until Coed Bedwen is back in Welsh hands. You don’t have to do this.”
Matilda put her hand on his arm. “I do, Uncle. This is the right thing to do if my presence can prevent a long siege.” Although she was aware of Huw by her side, probably praying that she would agree with Gruffyth.
They mounted their horses and set off. Riding with her uncle’s party, they made good time. Hills, woods, and streams flew by. Matilda rode with her aunt, which meant enduring her subtle probings concerning her wellbeing after the wedding night. She knew Gwenllian was only being kind and wanting to offer advice, but Matilda had no intention of confiding in her. She needed to concentrate on the mission, on Coed Bedwen. Everything else was a distraction.
The problem was, she was riding directly behind Huw. And now she had forced herself to admit to her stirrings of attraction, it was becoming more difficult to ignore the effect he was having on her. No matter how much she tried to recall the layout of the castle and village of Coed Bedwen, all she could do was admire his lithe grace on horseback, his long, strong legs, the coppery glint of his hair in the sunlight. With the result that her insides were quivering and a slow, delicious heat spread through her whole body.
All in all, it was a relief when Huw called a halt. “This is where our paths diverge. Matilda and I must continue on foot.”
She experienced a pang of apprehension as they stood watching her uncle’s party depart. From here on they truly were dependent on each other. Now their truce would be tested to the limit.
They were standing at a place where two valleys met. Gruffyth’s destination lay along the valley to the south and west. Coed Bedwen was farther east.
Huw pointed to a wooded hill on the southeastern horizon. “We’re going that way,” he said. “We’ll stop to eat and discuss our plans when we reach the top. Coed Bedwen is only about six miles from here, so there’s no risk of running out of daylight before we get there.”
He set off at a pace that had Matilda gasping with the effort of keeping up. No wonder he didn’t expect them to talk whilst walking. It took them an hour to reach the hill, first following the high banks of the stream, then cutting across open land.
As the land began to rise, Huw’s pace quickened, much to Matilda’s disbelief. She stumbled behind him, panting and clutching her sides. She didn’t even have the breath to ask him to slow down. For what felt like an eternity they climbed, Matilda not taking her eyes off Huw’s back. It was only her determination that kept her going. She plodded on, fighting the urge to scratch her arms, which itched from the coarse wool of her tunic.
They were about three quarters of the way up when Huw turned. His expression was remote. For a moment he looked through her. Then his gaze sharpened, and he hurried down and took her arm.
“Forgive me. I was lost in a dream. I wasn’t thinking of you at all.”
“I could see that.” She didn’t have the breath to utter the stream of insults that had been brewing for the duration of their march, but she glared at him, letting her eyes do the talking.
“We’ll stop here for a few minutes to let you get your breath,” he said after an awkward silence. He removed his cape and spread it on the grass. “Sit down here,” he said. “You look exhausted.”
Matilda collapsed upon the cape with a groan and fought to regain her breath. Huw stood with his back to her, gazing eastward. She follo
wed the direction of his gaze, and her eyes fell on a line of trees like a caterpillar on a round hill a few miles distant.
“I think I know where we are now,” she said when she’d recovered enough to speak. “I’ve never approached Coed Bedwen from this angle before, but I remember seeing that hill against the skyline from Coed Bedwen. If I’m right, we should be able to see the castle once we reach the top of this hill.”
“That’s right. You get a fine view of the whole area. My father used to bring me up here. He”—Huw glanced back at Matilda—“he wanted me to see where my family had come from.”
Now she understood why he had been ignoring her. This place must be a sharp reminder of his family’s loss at the hands of hers.
“I…I hadn’t thought how hard it must be for you, to be in the company with a Comyn in this place,” she said. “I’m sorry I put you in this situation.”
To her surprise, Huw came and sat next to her, his sternness fading. “In truth, it was Owain’s intention all along. Your insistence forced his hand into announcing it sooner than planned, but it’s him I blame for you being here, not you.”
At least Owain saw her worth. And as for Huw…well, she would just have to throw all her energy into their mission until he was forced to appreciate her. To give him his due, he was being more open with her now. It seemed he took their truce seriously.
She rose. “We should move on; there’s no time to waste.” Then with a sidelong glance at him, she said, “You could have pretended you wanted me here, though.”
The corner of Huw’s mouth quirked. “What—and break my promise of complete honesty? I’m afraid insincere flattery wasn’t in the terms of our truce.” He picked up his cape and put it back on. “Now let’s get to the top.”
Matilda couldn’t hold back a reluctant smile. With lightened spirits, she continued the climb. If Huw could let down his guard enough to tease her, maybe he would eventually overcome his dislike of her. It made her even more determined to prove herself.
And if that meant struggling to overcome her natural distrust of men, she would. It wouldn’t be easy, but as Huw was obviously trying to fulfill his side of the bargain, she would do her best to trust him in return.
Huw set a less demanding pace this time, but even so, it didn’t take long to reach the top. The slope became less steep higher up, and Matilda found it much easier to stay with him.
The hilltop was dotted with rocky outcrops with tufts of springy heather in between. Lower down the far slope were the slender, gray pillars of the birch trees Matilda remembered from her childhood. Beyond them, at the bottom of the valley, a haze of wood smoke hung over a huddle of thatched roofs. Coed Bedwen. And beyond the village, on high ground rising toward a river cliff, was the castle. Even though it was still a long way off, the bulk of the keep at the highest point was clearly visible, the sandstone appearing blood red against the dark clouds that were rolling in.
“I can’t believe I’m here at last,” she breathed, drinking in the sight. “I remember gathering bluebells with my mother in those woods. There were so many of them, it looked like the trees stood in a misty blue lake. I can’t see bluebells now without thinking of my mother.” Tears pricked her eyes. She could almost smell the sharp, sweet scent of the bluebells, hear her mother’s silvery voice raised in song as they gathered armfuls of the flowers to decorate the great hall for her birthday feast.
“Bluebells are my favorite flowers,” her mother had said, “because the woods were thick with them the day you were born. Every time I see them, I thank God for giving me my greatest gift: you.”
Matilda blinked away the tears. A few short days later, her mother had sickened and died. That day among the bluebells was her last happy memory. She missed her mother. Yearned for the warmth and security of her love.
Huw sat upon a flat rock. “Use your memories to spur you on,” he said. “From now on you’re going to have to endure rough conditions and hard work. If ever you feel like giving up, think about those happy memories and use them to inspire you to continue.”
“What happy memories do you use?”
His face grew hard. “I don’t have any. I intend to make them.”
He patted the rock beside him. “Sit down. It’s time to make plans.”
Matilda hesitated, then sat next to him. Instantly she became aware of a crackle of energy between them. What was happening to her?
In the woods below, she heard the hollow tapping of a woodpecker and a faint green haze draped the bushes. The air was heavy with the surging energy of spring. That’s what affected her. Nothing to do with Huw himself.
Huw reached in his pack and produced a bundle wrapped in oilcloth and a wineskin. “We can eat while we talk.” He opened the oilcloth to reveal a large crust of bread and a chunk of cheese. He tore the bread into two and handed her half and then pulled out his knife and cut her some cheese.
“We need to agree on our approach before we get to the village,” said Huw between mouthfuls. “Once we’re there, we’ll be the subject of gossip from the ale house to the tannery. That’s always the way with strangers. If our story isn’t convincing, we’ll be discovered before nightfall.”
Huw’s words acted like a pail of icy water upon her. One false move and they could end up in the hands of the castle guards. The punishment for spies involved torture and usually death. Maybe as a woman she could expect leniency, but there would be no such hope for Huw.
She took a deep breath. “We’ll need a good reason to stay in the village. The first thing to do is to contact the villagers and tell them we’re looking for work. Once we get to know them we’ll be able to assess which ones are likely to join a revolt.”
Huw snorted. “It’s a good thing Owain let you come. I’d never have thought of that myself.” He picked up a twig from the ground and twirled it between his fingers. “And what reason shall we give for leaving our home? People will be bound to ask.”
“We could say our village was struck by fever and so many died that the survivors were forced to abandon it.”
Huw raised his eyebrows and gave an approving nod. “You think fast. That’s good.”
She felt a rush of pleasure and instantly despised herself. She was behaving like a lapdog, craving approval from her master.
“We must do our best to avoid being separated,” said Huw. “You’ll have to change your name; a Norman woman would never be wandering the countryside in the company of a Welshman. From now on you’re Mallt ferch Gwilym.”
Matilda, daughter of William. At least that was no lie. She prayed she would be able to cope with remembering all the others.
“Lying is a sin.” She hadn’t meant to speak her thoughts, blushed when she heard her voice. “Don’t…don’t you fear eternal damnation for what you do?”
Huw gave her a long look, then pulled a whetstone from the pouch at his belt and sharpened his knife with long, measured strokes. “It’s also a sin to steal and murder, yet the Church didn’t protest when the Normans killed my grandfather and took his land. I don’t believe God will punish me for trying to prevent that happening to others.”
Matilda winced, grateful that at least he’d said “Normans,” not “Comyns.”
“Forgive me; you’re right,” she said. “I may be half Norman, but I’d hate to see more of Wales fall under Norman rule.”
Huw smiled. “We’ll make a Welsh woman of you yet.”
A Welsh woman. Matilda put her hand to the braid that swung over her shoulder. And saw a way to persuade Huw she was serious about her task and wouldn’t be a hindrance.
“If I’m to be a Welsh woman, there’s one more thing we need to do before we go down to the village.”
Huw raised his brows. “And that is?”
“Cut my hair.”
****
It was true; Matilda’s hair was far too long for it to pass as a Welsh style. So why had he not suggested a cut himself?
“You could just pin it on top of your head. If yo
u wrap your veil around your head in the Welsh style, no one would be any the wiser.” And then she would still have that silken fall of hair the color of winter sunshine. The tresses Huw longed to bury his fingers into.
The hand holding his whetstone slipped, and he only just managed to avoid slicing a finger open. Hellfire! What malevolent spirit had whispered that thought into his ear?
“I would know the difference, and I want to do this properly.” She raised her chin. “When we were escaping Redcliff, you told me I had to believe I was the person I was playing if I wanted to be convincing. I have to do this if I’m to believe.”
She reached up and untied the linen coif she wore in her guise as servant. Her fingers trembled. “I want to get Coed Bedwen back, whatever the cost. I want to reclaim my happy memories.” She dropped the coif to the ground. “I want to walk amongst the bluebells and feel close to my mother. To her love. My hair is a small price to pay.”
Cracks formed in Huw’s convictions, threatened to shatter them. Try as he might, he was finding it harder than ever to see Matilda as a Comyn. He saw her again as the courageous maid that had drawn his eye right at the start. The one that had marched directly into trouble to take control of her fate. Before he had known she was a Comyn.
“You’re right,” he said, his voice little more than a husky whisper. “Here, let me do that.”
He unfastened the strip of leather that bound her braid. Just this one time, he would give in to his desire. He unraveled the plait and carded his fingers through her hair, reveling in the weight of it, the silken slide through his fingers. Then he knelt behind her and continued to comb her tresses until they were a swirling, gleaming curtain around her shoulders.
One of his hands slipped, and the tips of his fingers brushed the nape of her neck. Her shoulder tensed, and she caught her breath.
“Do it now. Please.”
His heart twisted when he saw her fists clenched at her sides. For a Norman woman long hair was a symbol of her high status. Her determination to crop it for the sake of their task filled him with admiration.
Bound to Her Blood Enemy Page 9
