by June Francis
Chapter Four
Water splashed onto Kate’s face, causing her to gasp and strike out blindly. Her wrist was seized in a strong grasp. ‘Good morn to you, Lady Kate. I thought you were never going to wake.’
Recognising Master ap Owain’s voice, she groaned and forced her eyes open to see her persecutor looming over her with a dripping cloth in his hand. He was fully dressed. His dark hair was damp and curling and his eyes were watchful. She wrenched her wrist from his grasp and even as he voiced a warning, pushed herself up. Her head hit the underside of the bunk above. She winced, rubbed her head and said through gritted teeth, ‘Don’t laugh.’
‘I wouldn’t dare. I wager that hurt, though, Lady Kate.’
She started. Not only had he called her Kate but she could feel water running down her neck and soaking into the material of her kirtle so that it clung to her breast. She was aware of the direction of his eyes and felt the colour rise in her cheeks as he handed her a dry cloth. Immediately she held it against her bosom. ‘Will you please remove yourself from this cabin so I may dress, Master ap Rowan?’ she said with as much dignity as she could muster.
He raised his eyebrows. ‘You may call me Owain, seeing as how you have given me permission to address you as Kate.’
Her stomach flipped over. ‘I—I did?’
His blue eyes were guileless. ‘Aye! Surely you can’t have forgotten what a merry time we had last even?’ He sounded amused.
His tone of voice made her believe she must have behaved like a wanton and her cheeks burned. ‘I—I don’t remember.’
‘Oh, Lady Kate! How could you forget? To be sure and didn’t I believe you meant it when you said you wished for us to become lov—better acquainted?’ Now his tone was mournful.
She swallowed. Surely even under the influence of strong drink she would not have suggested they become lovers, but why should he tease her? What did he expect to gain? She groaned inwardly, wishing she could remember what had happened last night. ‘I think you are not behaving like a gentleman,’ she muttered. ‘I can’t even remember how I got here.’
‘I carried you aboard and put you to bed.’
She was aghast, thinking Lady Catherine would never have been the worse for strong drink. ‘I—I am ashamed,’ she said in a low voice. ‘What must you think of me? Have I not just completed my pilgrimage and I have behaved like a—a…?’
He ran a finger down a cheek. ‘Like a woman who needed to take her ease and enjoy herself for once. Why berate yourself? You have suffered in body and mind and our Lord supped with publicans and sinners. Are we to set ourselves up as better than He?’
‘Nay! But…I have never done such a thing before.’
‘I believe it. Poor lady!’ He ran a finger up the other side of her face. ‘And now you have to do your best to contend with such as I. Surely, something you must hate.’
Her spirits lifted. Due not only to his gentle touch but, also, because he had called her poor lady, which meant he had no suspicion of her real identity so she had not betrayed herself. ‘I appreciate your taking care of me.’
‘That is part of my task. A pleasant part, I might add.’ His voice was soft as he took her hand and toyed with her fingers.
She was aware of pleasurable tremors shooting up her arm and thanked him for his words. He smiled and she returned his smile. In the sudden silence she caught the sound of waves slapping against the hull of the ship and was aware of restless movement, whilst at the same time she was conscious that his fingers were moving over her wrist. Suddenly his grip slackened and he gazed down at the scars that marred her flesh. ‘What caused these?’ His voice was sharp.
The remembrance caused the breath to catch in her throat and she looked away. ‘I would rather not talk about it,’ she whispered. ‘Would you be so kind, Ma…Owain, as to fetch me a drink of water?’
He gazed at her intently and laid her hand down gently before abruptly leaving the cabin.
Kate’s heart was racing and she pressed a hand against her ribs as if to slow it down, wishing that she could trust him enough to tell him about the scars. She remembered that night when Sir Roger and Friar Stephen had chained her by her wrists to the stone slab after placing her blindfolded in what had felt like a stone coffin during the day. She had been utterly confused as to why they had taken her prisoner. She had been naked. Her only protection from their eyes had been her long flaxen hair, so like her Lady’s. At first she had wondered if somehow they had mistaken her for Lady Catherine but then the friar had whispered foul things in her ear and nicked her lobe with a thin blade so the blood ran down her neck. Then both men had questioned her about the whereabouts of a small chest bound with a leather strap. Of course, she had denied knowing anything about it; this had been after she had discovered her elderly father’s involvement with Sir Roger. The knight and the friar had begun to discuss alchemy and their lack of success in changing base metal into gold. When they started to talk of black magic, calling up the devil and providing him with a sacrifice of an unblemished virgin in exchange for his help, her blood had run cold.
She could still remember the pain as the chains bit into her flesh in her struggle to escape, her terror at hearing the flint blade being sharpened on the stone. Then, praise God and all the saints, there had come a mist that had blinded and confounded her enemies. Its freezing dampness would have seeped into her very bones and killed her if she had not been freed by a man wearing a devilish mask. He had wrapped her in a cloak and carried her away. She had fainted with pain and fear, only to wake in her mother’s house.
When she asked Beth how she had come there, her mother told her that she had been wakened by a knock on the door and found Kate on the step. During the days that followed she had hovered between life and death, muttering in her fever. Of her mother’s husband there had been no sign but she remembered her Lady sitting by her side, holding her hand and praying for her recovery. When at last Kate began to recover she had wondered if she had imagined that figure in the devilish mask. Whether he had been real or not she had decided not to speak of him to anyone. After all he had saved her life. But she did tell her mother what had happened before her rescue and Beth had spoken of her husband’s foolishness in being drawn into Sir Roger’s devilish schemes; his once having believed him a true seeker of the old ways. The next day Lady Catherine had called, informing Kate that Sir Roger and Friar Stephen had departed to stay in the Palatine of Chester for a short time. Kate never discovered why she had been allowed to live. Because she had feared for her mother’s and brother’s lives, the only other person Kate had spoken to about what had happened was her Lady. For whatever reason she had thanked God and prayed for judgement to fall on those who had acted so cruelly.
She pushed down the blankets and swung her feet over the side of the bunk and stood up. She almost fell as the floor tilted and so she sat down again. Her mind straying to her conversation with Owain. She must be on her guard against that charm of his, for he would beguile her into telling him her secrets if she was not careful. She must dress. Her gaze took in the cramped cabin in one swift glance. There was nowhere to hang clothes, but she felt under the bunk and discovered there were drawers with brass handles.
She knelt on the floor, balancing herself by gripping the edge of the bunk with one hand. She managed to pull out a drawer. Inside were her mantilla, gown, pilgrim’s tunic, sandals and scrip, as well as some male garments, a belt and sword, and a vellum-backed book, which she handled with reverence before returning it to its place next to a wooden box.
She donned her gown and tidied her hair. Once that was done, she sat, twiddling her thumbs, before curiosity took hold of her and, opening the drawer again, she removed the wooden box. It had a key in its lock and, turning it, she discovered a small chessboard with figures. She was delighted, thinking here was a way to pass the time on the voyage. She turned to the other drawer and found the food they had bought in La Coruña. Her eyes brightened and she took out an orange.
/> By the time Owain returned, bearing a tray, she was seated on her bunk, eating the last slice of fruit. ‘I see you found your gown and sandals,’ he said, placing the tray beside her.
‘I see you play chess, Owain,’ she responded.
He fixed her with a stare. ‘I see you’ve been rummaging amongst my possessions.’
Her lips twitched. ‘We both see a lot. But I take umbrage at your use of words. The box was clearly in sight and you had left the key in the lock. If you had minded my seeing its contents, you would have removed the key.’
Owain agreed, adding, ‘And that reminds me that if you are to pass as my wife then you had best wear my signet ring.’
She flushed and stared at him. ‘I have not forgotten that I had taken on that role. I presume you do not already have a wife, Owain?’
‘You presume rightly. I am a second son and, although I am my father’s heir since my elder brother’s death, I have two younger brothers so there was no haste for me to wed.’ He sat the other side of the tray and eased the ring from the little finger of his right hand.
Kate could not help but be glad that he was not bound by the ties of matrimony. ‘Surely you will want to marry someday, though?’
‘Aye! Preferably a woman with the spirited yet loving nature of my grandmother. This ring belonged to my grandfather, but she had it melted down and made smaller to fit her. In old age her fingers shrunk and it kept slipping off so she gave it to me.’ He took Kate’s hand and slipped the ring on to the third finger of her left hand. It was heavy and a little loose, but some thread wrapped round the back of it would keep it in place. Its presence gave her a strange feeling. As if he had set his seal on her. ‘You must remember to answer to Mistress ap Rowan whilst aboard ship,’ he added.
‘I will not forget, but you, too, must remember that us being man and wife is only a pretence and keep your distance, Master ap Rowan.’ Nervously her tongue flicked over lips wet from eating the orange.
A muscle in Owain’s throat moved and he wanted to catch her tongue between his teeth and then plunder her mouth. When he had held her last night and removed her gown he had wanted to continue cradling her delightfully soft body against his own and wished that she had not felt the need to remind him to behave honourably towards her now. ‘There is no need to fear I will take advantage of you. Now I will leave you to eat whilst I reassure myself of Merlin’s comfort. Sea travel does not agree with him and he is restless.’
Kate nodded in understanding, but, once the door closed behind him, her shoulders drooped and she sighed, realising she might enjoy his taking advantage of her, but, if she was not to be unmasked, she must ape Lady Catherine and behave as a lady aught.
Her eyes fell on the platter of food and the cup and she picked up the tray and placed it on her knee. She might as well make the most of the coddled eggs because unless they had hens aboard there would definitely be none tomorrow. The cup contained not water but what tasted like small-ale. It was not as good as that which the ale wife at Merebury brewed, but it quenched her thirst. She began to eat, wondering what lay ahead and hoping she could cope with the difficulties of forgetting she had once simply been Kate Fletcher and was now not only the Lady Catherine but also Mistress ap Rowan, wife of Master Owain ap Rowan.
Later she draped the mantilla over her hair and went up on deck. She leaned over the side of the ship, watching the cook haul up a barrel hung over the side and take out some salted beef. Oblivious to the stares of the mariners, she chose to ignore Owain’s presence; he was standing on the poop deck, talking to the ship’s master. She shifted her attention from the cook and, with a hand shading her eyes from the sun, gazed over the sea, wondering where they would make landfall after they crossed the Channel. If it was in the south—and in the light of the unrest in England—then it could be a mistake to quit his company too soon as she would need the protection of a man. In the meantime she would try to enjoy the voyage, praying that the winds would be fair and no sea monsters, enemy ships or pirates would impede their progress.
That evening Kate and Owain supped with the master and his mate on a salted beef, onion and bean stew seasoned with garlic and herbs. She drank little of the red wine that accompanied it and spoke even less. Afterwards she stayed on deck for a while watching the sun go down before making her way to the cabin whilst there was still some light in the sky. She said her prayers and then removed her gown before sliding beneath the blankets. Closing her eyes, she willed sleep to come quickly, but her mind was too active with all the happenings of the last two days. It hardly seemed possible that she had known Owain such a short time.
She was still awake when he entered the cabin a little later with a rush light in a pot; she feigned sleep, expecting him to make as little noise as possible, but he whistled between his teeth and when he spoke she jumped. ‘It won’t do, Lady Kate.’
She could make a pretence of sleep no longer, so asked him what wouldn’t do.
‘The master thinks you are dissatisfied with your quarters. Even that we have quarrelled about my arrangements. I had to make excuses for your behaviour.’
She was indignant. ‘I have behaved with propriety. What would you have me do, sir? Dog your footsteps and hang on to your arm and every word?’
‘It would be a beginning. You are supposed to be my lady wife.’
‘Most marriages are made for convenience, Master Owain. But perhaps you wish for a love match like Owain Twydr?’ she mocked.
‘You must call me Owain. I am surprised that you can jest about love, Kate. I am no dreamer and know there are plenty of marriages made in hell rather than in heaven…but outside this cabin I would that you would behave at least as if you had a fondness for my company. You play chess?’
‘Aye,’ she murmured. It was one of the pastimes she and her Lady had played to while away the winter evenings when confined to the house. Lady Catherine’s father had taught them both.
‘Then on the morrow, if the weather is fair, we will play on deck.’ He blew out the light and the cabin was immediately pitched into darkness so that she could only hear him as he climbed into the upper bunk. She was aware of movement overhead and thought how he would have difficulty stretching out his long legs, poor man. She closed her eyes and found herself visualising him lying beside her on a bed of a size in which a marriage could comfortably be consummated. This will not do, she admonished herself, but still she could not help but imagine the feel of his lips against hers. Of course, there could never be anything between them once he discovered she had deceived him, but even so she could not prevent herself from dreaming that she was being rocked in his arms and he was calling her his sweeting, his fair Kate, his dearest, as she tumbled into a deep sleep.
Kate and Owain sat under an awning on the deck with the chessboard on a barrel between them. It was almost a week since they had left La Coruña and this was their tenth match. Perhaps if he had truly been her husband then she might not have been so determined to level the score, which stood at six-three. Also, she might have lightened the mood with chatter and so distracted him. She had tried that just the once and he had asked in that musical voice of his, Is it that you’d like me to muffle you, sweet Kate?
You wouldn’t dare, dearest Owain! she’d retorted. He had given her such a sparkling look out of those blue eyes of his that she had wanted to laugh out loud. She really did enjoy playing games with him. She had not put it past him to gag her if she had provoked him further and make a merry game of it in front of the mariners. But after getting drunk that first night she was careful not to make the same mistake and was inclined to let him do most of the talking in company and that he did, speaking of his travels, of places, people and horses.
Sometimes, when they were alone, she would question him about different customs he had seen, of food, drink and clothing. One time she surprised him looking at her with a baffled expression in his eyes, but when he noticed her staring at him, he smiled and asked her whether she had done much riding on he
r manor? She had responded to his question by reminding him that Sir Roger had allowed her scarcely any freedom to wander outside the house so she had done very little. Surprisingly he refrained from quizzing her about her whereabouts the day of Sir Roger’s death. Even when they retired to the cabin for the night he did not touch on the subject and she was relieved by that.
She would have liked to ask him why his father had banned him from his home but, remembering his reaction the last time, she resisted. Instead she enquired after his mother, only to be told that she was dead.
‘Are either of your younger brothers married?’
He shook his head. ‘Father is in no rush for them to wed.’
‘Then who orders the household for him?’
‘My stepmother, Gwendolyn,’ he said shortly. A shadow seemed to darken his eyes and he changed the subject by asking about her substitute brother.
Her heart sank. She was lost for words. He raised his eyebrows and his beautifully shaped mouth twisted in a wry smile. ‘Surely you can’t have forgotten him?’
She found her voice. ‘Of course not. But it hurts me to talk about him. Do you not feel a similar reluctance when it comes to questions about your family?’
‘Touché!’ said Owain in a dry voice and fell silent.
The following morning they sat beside each other on the lower bunk as a sudden squall had sprung up and it was wet on deck. He offered to read to her from his English translation of the New Testament. An opportunity not to be missed, so she agreed eagerly. He read from St Paul’s First Letter to the Corinthians, chapter thirteen, verse one, beginning with the words: Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels and hath not charity, I am become as a sounding brass or a tinkling cymbal. It was a long piece, but Kate listened eagerly, soothed by his voice and the beautiful words. He ended by saying, And now abideth faith, hope and charity; these three; but the greatest of these is charity.
