by June Francis
Owain moved her slightly further up the beach away from the water’s edge. With her compliance he eased her gown and kirtle down over her hips until she lay without even a kerchief for modesty’s sake. For several seconds he hesitated, recalling the moment she had let slip the word brother and he had begun to suspect she was not the Lady Catherine. Her reluctance to lay the blame for Sir Roger’s death on the Fletchers had, also, deepened his suspicion. Then she had drunk too much and asked him to call her Kate. Also, there were those scars on her wrists. She was a puzzle to him because most of the time she played the lady extremely well. He hated to think that she might be a woman of Gwendolyn’s ilk. Whatever the truth about Kate, he was in something of a quandary because he desperately wanted her.
‘Why do you hesitate?’ she whispered, breaking into his thoughts, and, reaching up a hand, she brought his face down to hers. He tossed caution to the winds, despite knowing that Sir Thomas might give him cause to regret his actions one day, and removed his wet clothing.
Kate devoured him with her eyes, feeling no shame as she took in every aspect of his manhood. It was obvious to her that God had made male and female to fit neatly together. He dropped beside her on the sand, his gaze washing over her comely figure before coming to rest on her face. ‘You are lovely. Are you willing that this happen, Lady Catherine?’ His voice was deep and husky.
She wished he had not addressed her so. Instantly guilt surged hot and strong inside her, forcing the truth past her dry throat to emerge as a whisper. ‘I’m not the Lady Catherine.’
His blue eyes darkened and a muscle tightened about his jaw. He half opened his mouth, only to close it again as there came the clamour of voices. He acted swiftly, reaching for her gown and throwing it to her. Then he lunged for his sword, only to have second thoughts when a woman shrieked. Instead, he picked up his breeches and covered his manhood. ‘Pardonezmoi, madame!’ he said easily, sweeping her a bow as if it was nothing to him to have been caught in a state of undress.
Kate knew she could not carry off the situation with such aplomb. Her blush reached from her scalp to her toes and she could do no more than kneel on the sand, shielding her nakedness from the eyes of the men. Owain was responding to whatever they were saying with such savoir-faire that she was spellbound. What had passed before was thrust aside as she tried to make sense of what he was saying. She could understand little and wondered if he was speaking in the local patois of the Bretons. He was interrupted several times and obviously had to repeat himself. At last he turned to Kate and said, ‘They’re fisher farmers. They’re offering us shelter for the night and the chance to dry our garments.’
‘Can we trust them?’
‘I deem we have no choice as we’re outnumbered,’ he said grimly. ‘They know about the ship founding. I told them we are only recently wed, so naturally, I was concerned you would catch a fever after being in the sea…and that is why we removed our wet clothing.’
How quick-witted he is, she thought in admiration and told him so. He scowled and told her to get some clothes on.
Kate felt the blood rush to her cheeks. ‘Can you order the men to look away?’
But there was no need for him to do so because they were already making their way back to their village through the lowlying sand hills. The old woman, though, stood, watching them, a simpering expression on her face. Kate turned her back and, not bothering with her kirtle, dragged on her damp gown with some difficulty. It was ruined and she could have wept. But uppermost in her thoughts was what Owain had made of her confession. Perhaps the sound of the men coming had drowned out her words. The expression on his face might have been caused by frustration. He had been so close to making her his. Her heart was heavy with trepidation, concerning what he might do next. How could they ever resume the relationship they had shared before they had reached these shores?
She could not tell from his behaviour what he was thinking. He helped her up on to Merlin’s back, but did not himself bother mounting. Instead, he led the horse in the wake of the old woman shuffling on ahead. They came to a huddle of buildings that clustered about a small inlet, both noticing that several boats were putting out to sea. Watched by a number of younger women, they were welcomed inside the largest of the wood, stone and earth-built houses by the old woman.
Downstairs consisted of a large space divided by a couple of steps. The upper part was obviously the living area for the human inhabitants, whilst the lower was for the animals when the weather was bad. Kate presumed the ladder in a corner led to a sleeping loft. A fire burned on a stone hearth, over which a blackened pot simmered. The pungent smell of fish and seaweed permeated the air.
Owain was taking no chances of having Merlin stolen by leaving him outside to crop the grass, but unsaddled and settled him in the far end of the room. He reached into the saddlebags and dragged out Kate’s pilgrim garb. The tunic was damp, but not so badly affected by the sea as the gown she wore. His change of clothing was in a similar condition and he pulled that forth, too. He was trying to put off the moment when he would have to decide what to do about Kate’s confession. She had wanted him as much as he had wanted her, so why had she chosen that moment to tell him the truth? Was it that at heart she was an honest maid? What had she thought to gain by playing him false in the first place? She must have known as soon as they reached Merebury that she would be recognized, so was she planning to escape from him before they arrived at the manor? Did that mean she was guilty of the murder of Sir Roger? The answer to that and other questions must wait. He made the decision to behave as if he had not heard those few whispered words until he could give it more thought.
He handed the homespun tunic to Kate. ‘It’s somewhat damp, but no doubt it will be more comfortable than that which you wear now.’
In a stiff voice she thanked him, appeared about to say something more, but then changed her mind and looked about her for a place to remove her sodden garment and put on the tunic. The woman met her gaze and, nodding her head and giggling, she took Kate’s arm and dragged her to the ladder in the corner of the room and pointed upwards.
Kate climbed into the loft, dimly lit by the rays of the dying sun that shone through the open shutters. The space was sparsely furnished with just a large bed and a roughly hewn chest on bare boards. She felt the mattress and it rustled. Straw! There were no sheets, just a couple of homespun blankets.
She changed quickly, aware of the scrabble of mice in the rafters. The woollen material itched, but at least she felt warmer. She climbed down the ladder, her ruined gown over one arm, to find Owain standing in front of the fire wearing hose and doublet. The latter was short, whilst the former fitted so snugly that, remembering how he had looked naked, her body felt hot. She wondered if he would broach the subject of her confession. He motioned her over and she joined him by the fire, where a cat sat cleaning itself. Only then did she notice his sodden garments spread over a bench in front of the blaze. Without speaking, he made room for her gown next to his clothing.
The woman signalled Kate to sit at the table. She ladled soup into a bowl and set it in front of her. Owain sat opposite her and helped himself to bread. Kate dipped her spoon into the creamy fish soup and forced herself to make conversation. ‘Is it Breton you spoke to her?’
‘Aye! An Irish friend taught me some of the language. It’s a mixture of French and Gaelic.’
‘It’s good to understand other tongues.’
‘I learnt because of necessity.’ He smiled.
Relieved by that smile, she said, ‘Have you found out where we are?’
He poured cider into cups. ‘If we head north-east, we’ll eventually reach the English Channel.’ He handed a cup to her and drank deeply from his own.
She gulped down the cider, glad to slake her thirst. Only when the cup was empty did she say, ‘By boat or by land?’
‘By land.’
‘How long will that take?’
He shrugged broad shoulders and topped up their drinki
ng vessels. ‘I can’t say for sure.’
She moistened her lips, still slightly swollen from his kisses. ‘Will it be dangerous?’
The muscular fingers holding the spoon halfway to his mouth stilled as his blue eyes fastened on her lips. He cleared his throat before saying, ‘Are you afeared, my Lady? You, who travelled with but an old woman, a maid and a lad hundreds of miles to Spain across land and water?’
Kate flushed a fiery red. Was he mocking her or was he sincere? Did his words mean that he had not heard her confession and truly believed her the Lady Catherine? She could only pray it was so and answered his question. ‘When I set out I prayed to our Lord, the Holy Mother and the saints that they would protect us.’
He smiled grimly. ‘And now there is but you alone of your group left alive, do you doubt that protection?’
She lowered her eyes to her food. ‘I sinned and had no sense of shame today.’ Her voice quivered.
‘Were you not a sinner before, hence your reason for going on pilgrimage? Or is it that you regard our actions as more sinful than the murder of Sir Roger?’
The spoon slipped through her fingers into the remains of the soup, causing liquid to splatter over her hand. To her amazement he reached out and brought her fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean.
She wrenched her hand out of his grasp. ‘I have told you that I did not kill him,’ she said vehemently.
‘Aye, but you do not always speak the truth.’
She whispered in a stricken voice, ‘What do you mean?’
‘You did not repulse my advances and that causes me to wonder whether you had a lover, who was prepared to rid you of your husband?’ Kate thought of her Lady, who would have taken the veil rather than have a lover. ‘You have no answer for me?’ asked Owain.
‘I am innocent of your accusations. Sir Roger preferred other beds to mine,’ she retorted, unable to conceal her distaste. ‘I am still a maid.’
Owain’s hand curled into a fist. ‘I have heard such about him and I crave your pardon for upsetting you.’ His tone was gentle. ‘We will drop the matter of his murder until we reach England. I would ask you one more question…did you make a will before leaving England?’
She stiffened. ‘A will?’
A sharp laugh escaped him. ‘You sound surprised. Yet surely making your wishes known as to how you want your property disposed of after your death is a wise thing to do when setting out on such a perilous journey?’
He must have visited the rector of Walton and discovered Lady Catherine had deposited her will with him, thought Kate, feeling on dangerous ground. If that was so, then he would know that the Lady had left her manor to her, and, in the event of Kate’s death, her mother, Beth. Although little good it would do either of them with Sir Thomas Stanley in charge of Merebury.
Kate sighed, ‘I see no point in this conversation, Master ap Rowan. You see me before you, so why speak of such a will?’
‘Curiosity, Kate. But I’ll speak no more on this matter now. If you have finished your supper, no doubt you’d like to go to bed. You must be weary.’
‘Aye! But…’ His usage of her shortened name made her feel that everything had shifted again. Were they back to where they had been on the ship? If so, who was she pretending to be now? She licked her lips. ‘Where do we sleep?’ she croaked.
His deep blue eyes held hers. ‘They believe us newly wed,’ he said softly, ‘so it should not surprise you that the crone has offered us the bed in the loft. No need to look apprehensive, Lady Kate. No doubt what happened earlier was due to a need to warm our chilled bodies, as well as the joy of finding ourselves still alive.’
Is that what he really thought? She doubted it and said in a mocking voice, ‘I will remember your words next time I find myself in danger of dying of the cold, Master ap Rowan.’ She rose and with a Bon nuit! to the crone she made her way to the ladder and climbed up into the loft.
She lay on the bed, still wearing the homespun tunic. The mattress rustled beneath her, making a sound similar to the wind blowing through the rushes on the edge of the great mere. Such a yearning for home, her mother and her brother swept over her that tears filled her eyes. Would she ever see them and Merebury again? She buried her head in her arms and wept until exhausted. Yet despite being weary to the bone, she remained awake, reliving those moments on the beach. Was it just lust she felt for Owain ap Rowan or was it love?
When she heard Owain climbing the ladder, she decided to pretend to be asleep. Yet her ears were alert to every sound he made. He did not approach the bed and, after a short while, she opened her eyes to see where he was. Through the open shutters she could see a full moon sailing in the sky. By its light she was able to make out Owain lying on the bare boards with but a single blanket for his comfort. She felt compassion for him, remembering how he had taken such care of her. But before she could speak, there came the sound of scampering tiny feet. She stifled a scream by burying her head beneath the blankets.
‘Scared of a mouse, Kate?’ Owain’s voice sounded loud.
‘Aye. It could have fleas and they bite.’ Her voice was muffled as she still had her head beneath the covers.
‘Doubtless it’s more scared of you than you are of it and will keep its distance.’
‘That is something I’ve told myself many times, but to my shame I still wish there was a cat up here,’ she wailed.
‘You would have me fetch the cat from downstairs?’ There was a smile in his voice.
‘Nay. You might disturb the old woman and I would not have that. If only I could sleep, then I would not care about mice.’
‘Are you uncomfortable? Or is it the moonlight keeping you awake? Perhaps you’d like me to close the shutters.’
Her head popped out from beneath the blankets and she saw him making his way over to the window, fully dressed. How sensible, she thought wryly even as she called, ‘Leave them open. I don’t like the dark.’
He turned and stared in the direction of the bed. ‘It is an understandable fear. But why does the dark scare you?’
She sat up, hugging her knees and setting the straw in the mattress rustling. ‘Too many tales of ghosts and ghouls told on a winter’s evening.’
‘I remember hearing many a tale of hell’s demons and the little people intent on mischief told by my father. Couple that with sleeping in a room that is pitch black and it is easy to imagine danger lurking in every corner.’
‘You understand,’ she marvelled.
‘Aye.’ He came over and sat on the bed. ‘Poor Kate. I would ease your fear.’
Her heart leapt, for he was so close she could see the gleam of his eyes. ‘In what way?’ she stammered.
‘You tell me.’
She hesitated and heat suffused her body. ‘If you give me your word of honour…not to—to touch me…then you could share this bed.’
‘I accept,’ he said with alacrity. ‘This floor is damnably hard and I give you my word of honour that I will not lose my head as I did on the shore, my lady.’
Relief should have been the uppermost emotion caused by those words and yet…
Without more ado he climbed into bed, causing the straw mattress to rustle. She resisted the urge to slip her arm about him and instead turned her back on him. A smile feathered the corners of her mouth as she closed her eyes. Somewhere a mouse scrabbled, but it no longer bothered her and she allowed her weariness to have its way and drifted into sleep.
Owain lay awake, his sword close at hand and a dagger under the pillow. So far all was well, but he had not survived so long by not being aware of the ploys people could trick travellers with. The old woman and her fisher son could truly be honest and generous folk in providing him and Kate with food and shelter. Yet he had no intention of being caught off guard as he had on the beach. He knew the men could have killed them both if that had been their intention. Even so, who was to say that they would not change their mind when the boats returned. He did not want his throat slit while he slept an
d Kate raped. As soon as she was asleep, he intended keeping a watch at the window. Perhaps, too, it would be best if they slipped out of the house before dawn. He would leave coin on the table for the hospitality they had received.
The straw rustled and the soft swell of Kate’s buttocks nudged up against him and, despite the rough homespun separating their bare flesh, he was aroused. He supposed he should have expected to discover fire in a Stanley bastard. There were two questions he would like answers to. One was whether her mother had told her that she was Sir Thomas’s cousin, Sir Arthur Stanley’s daughter; the other, was did she know the contents of Lady Catherine’s will? Her natural father had died six months ago, but she would not know of that. For the time being, he intended keeping quiet about it. But did she know whether the death of the man she believed to be her father was an accident or murder? It had been passed off as an accident, and yet…
He needed to solve the mystery of Sir Roger’s death. To find a culprit who would satisfy Sir Thomas and the King—if he was to regain his wits—so as to bring this whole affair to a satisfactory conclusion. Could the Comte d’Azay with his Welsh aristocratic connections be the guilty party? The thought of him roused memories he would rather forget. Yet he had a task to complete so must put personal feeling aside. And needing to think clearly, he was best removing himself from Kate’s bed. With great reluctance he did so.
Kate woke and for a moment she could not think where she was until the sound of rustling straw caused her to reach out cautiously to the space beside her. But there was no one there. For a moment she feared that Owain had deserted her, then she heard her name being whispered and forced her eyes open. In the pearly light that preceded dawn, she could make out his face a few inches from hers.
‘You must get up,’ he said in a low voice.
‘Why? Has something happened?’ She threw back the blanket and at the same time noticed he had donned the homespun tunic he had worn when she had first set eyes on him.
