by June Francis
‘Nay. But I’m not taking any chances. I want to be away from here before folk are stirring.’
‘Do you know the way? And why are you dressed so?’
‘Towards the sunrise is as good a direction as any. And two pilgrims might travel more safely through Normandy than ordinary travellers. Now hurry. I’ve packed your gown, although it is so stiff and stained with saltwater that I question whether you’ll ever be able to wear it again.’
‘It is a great pity,’ she stated sadly.
He agreed, but added that she must hurry.
They descended the ladder and were able to make out the hump of the old woman curled up in a blanket, asleep on the floor in the grey light. Presumably her son had not come home last night. Holding her breath, Kate tiptoed across the room in Owain’s wake. He had already saddled Merlin and attached the saddlebags. He signalled to her to open the front door. It squeaked, and the crone muttered in her sleep, but did not waken. In seconds they were outside and he hoisted himself up into the saddle before reaching down a hand and swinging Kate up behind him. The salty tang of the sea filled their nostrils. Streaks of silver and apricot flamed the eastern sky and somewhere a cockerel crowed.
Kate took a firm hold on the back of Owain’s belt as he dug his knees into the horse’s flanks. There was the clatter of hooves and they were away. A shutter was flung back and a woman’s voice cried out, but they had left the village behind. The road they took was of beaten earth with deep ruts made by cartwheels; yesterday’s storm had softened the soil and there were puddles here and there, making the ground treacherous in places. Owain kept Merlin’s speed in check for safety’s sake, so that they travelled at little more than a trot at first. Suddenly the sun burst over the horizon, dazzling them, so that for a moment the horse seemed to check before continuing along the road.
They stopped to buy food and wine at a village in sight of Mont St Michel and ate and drank sitting by a river, where Merlin could crop the grass and drink his fill. They spoke little as both were still weary and had much on their minds. Then they took to the road again, still heading east.
The sun grew hot and Kate’s head drooped and she would have dozed if she had not been conscious of the danger of falling from the horse. They passed through wooded forest and fortunately all was silent. Eventually they left the trees without having encountered any trouble. They came to a crossroads where Owain frowned and hesitated before deciding on the left fork. They travelled some way before stopping briefly in order for Merlin to rest again and drink from a stream. There they stretched their legs and Kate would have asked where they were heading, but was put off by Owain’s louring expression. Something was obviously bothering him, but she refrained from giving voice to her curiosity and concern.
They continued their journey at little more than a walking pace through a landscape marked by granite outcrops, waterfalls and copses. The sun began to sink in the west and Kate was weary to the bone. She told herself that at least the air was cooler now. At last they came to a river tumbling down a hillside, on which sprawled a town and looming over all was a castle.
‘Do you know this place?’ murmured Kate as the horse made its weary way beneath a gateway set between towering walls.
‘Aye! It is Mortain, I was here with my brother shortly before he was killed.’ His voice was so grim, she refrained from asking any more questions.
As they made their way through narrow, winding streets, she felt as if they were being watched and reminded herself Normandy was now under the rule of the King of France. Owain informed her that they would seek shelter at the Cistercian lodging house. She sagged with relief, thinking that there they should be safe—after all, they still had their scallop badges and signed pilgrim passports to open such doors for them. It proved so. They were shown to the guest house. The food provided was simple but nourishing, washed down with the local cider. After attending compline they were allotted single cells.
Kate had difficulty sleeping on the narrow, hard bed. She was stiff and sore from having spent the day on horseback and dreaded the morrow. Her thoughts darted hither and thither, but uppermost in her mind was why Owain had come to this place if it held such sad memories for him? How had his brother died? Perhaps there had been a battle between the French and English. Could he have been taken prisoner and perished in the castle’s dungeon? Maybe Owain might be persuaded to talk about it once they were on the road again.
She drifted into an uncomfortable sleep and heard the bell in the middle of the night calling the monks to prayer, but was too exhausted to leave her cell.
It was not until the bell rang for matins that she roused herself and made her way to the chapel. There she looked for Owain, but could not see him. As she prayed and listened to the plainchant of the monks, she began to worry over his whereabouts. Perhaps he had heard her confession after all and decided to escort her to this place and then leave her? Panic gripped her. Then she told herself firmly that Owain was not the kind of man to do that. He had shown her kindness and cared about her safety. Besides, whether he believed her to be the Lady Catherine or Kate Fletcher, he still wanted answers from her.
She made her way to the refectory, but when the simple meal came to an end, there was still no sign of Owain.
Chapter Six
Kate hurried across the stable yard, hoping to find Owain with Merlin. But when she reached the stables, it was to discover that the horse was missing. She enquired of the lay monk in French as to whether he had seen Owain or his horse that morning. He told her that he had only just come on duty and seen neither horse nor man. Her spirits sank, remembering Owain’s dour expression last even. Could his brother’s death have aught to do with his absence? Or was it possible Owain had been recognised by an enemy and been spirited away, killed and his horse stolen? For a moment she despaired. Then she pulled herself together, knowing she must not allow her imagination to run away with her. Owain’s absence must be reported to the abbot and hopefully he would instigate a search.
Immediately she set out for the abbot’s quarters, only to be hailed by Owain as she crossed the courtyard. Her head turned and she saw him approaching on Merlin. Relief surged through her, but that emotion soon turned to anger. ‘Where have you been? What were you thinking of going off without a word to me?’
‘There was no need to worry about me, sweeting,’ he murmured. ‘And keep your voice down if you’re going to speak in English.’
His just rebuke following on the tail of the endearment caused her cheeks to flame. ‘I am not your sweeting,’ she hissed. ‘Besides, I wasn’t worried about you, but myself. I did not fancy walking all the way to the Channel. Where have you been?’
‘Hunting.’
‘Hunting?’ She stared at him in disbelief.
‘I thought a nice juicy fox wouldn’t go amiss, and they are in abundance round here.’ His voice was light.
‘A—a fox? You jest.’
He winked. She opened her mouth to ask him what he meant, but he placed a finger against his lips, silencing her. ‘Are you ready to continue our journey? If we are to make Caen before they close the gates for the night, we must set out immediately.’
‘Caen. We’re going to Caen?’ she asked in surprise.
‘Doucement, ma chérie,’ he murmured against her ear as he stopped by the mounting block. ‘Come, I’ll take you up before me so that if you tire then you’ll be able to rest against me.’
Kate was not sure if being held against him was such a good idea in the circumstances. But as she had no choice in the matter, she climbed on to the block and accepted his help to mount the horse. She winced as she tried to make herself comfortable, felt his arms brush her sides, causing her pulses to quicken. Then he clicked his tongue and dug his heels into the horse’s flanks. ‘Let’s put as much distance as we can between us and this place,’ he breathed against her cheek.
It was not until they had left the town and its brooding castle behind that she asked him what he had meant by
hunting a fox. He did not answer directly, but instead asked, ‘The Comte d’Azay has foxy red hair, does he not?’
Kate stiffened. ‘Are you saying he is the fox you talk of and that he lives here in Mortain?’
‘Not Mortain. But he has kin living close by. In ’48 I encountered Sir Roger and the Comte at the castle at Domfront.’
She drew in her breath with a hiss. ‘My la—’ She changed what she had been about to say swiftly. ‘My lord husband and he seemed to have much to talk about extremely late into the night. Please tell me why you were there with your brother?’
‘The nobleman who lives at Domfront is a horse breeder and dealer. Martin and I were delivering a couple of horses for his breeding stock. We were asked to stay several days, as is customary, to make sure that all was well with the horses.’ He paused. ‘What I didn’t know until I arrived was that Friar Stephen, the uncle of my stepmother Gwendolyn, would be there. In truth, I didn’t even know she had an uncle at the time, nor did I know he was involved in the black arts. Within a couple of years, though, I was to discover that our meeting was to lead him to my stepmother. He was also to become acquainted with the priest who served the manor at Nether Alderley in the Palatine of Chester, where kinsmen of Sir Thomas Stanley hold sway.’
‘I should have known the Stanleys would come into this somewhere,’ she said tartly. She felt his harsh breath stir the mantilla, tied like a veil about her head and neck. Glancing up, she noticed the lines of strain about his eyes and mouth. ‘I beg your pardon. Pray, go on,’ she urged.
He nodded tersely. ‘I can only remember snatches of what took place. At first the talk was all of horses and my brother’s skill in handling them. Martin had such a gift that Sir Roger even accused him of using magic. I could see my brother was angered and hurt by such talk from a man he had spoken of with admiration at first. After we had dined the conversation veered into darker channels; black magic and demons and whether the Comte’s ancestor had been possessed of the devil.’
Kate gasped. ‘I can see why Sir Roger would be interested in such talk…but why should they think that of the Comte’s ancestor?’
‘His wickedness was legendary in an age when cruelty was commonplace. He once starved three hundred prisoners to death during Lent and there were plenty of other examples of his disregard for human life. He’s reputed to have imprisoned his wife after she had given birth and gouged out the eyes of his own godson because he hated the boy’s father!’
Kate cried out in distress, ‘Such wickedness.’
‘Aye. But Sir Roger suggested he must have doubted the paternity of his lady’s child. That perhaps his godson’s father had bedded his wife due to his spending so much time away with his men in Wales.’
Kate’s eyes widened in amazement. ‘Was Sir Roger in his cups?’
‘Certainly, he behaved recklessly. He was asked to leave for making such a slur on the legitimacy of the Comte’s forebears. He was annoyed and asked that Martin and myself accompany him. My brother and I refused. Three days later, when we departed, we were set upon. Our attackers seemed intent on separating us. I was knocked unconscious and left for dead. If I had not been found by a monk on his way to Mortain, who put me on his mule and took me to the apothecary, most likely I would have died.’
‘And your brother?’ whispered Kate.
Owain said in a grim voice, ‘He was found several days later, still alive but having been cruelly used. I will not describe the unspeakable injuries he suffered—to a lady. He died the next day.’
Kate placed a hand on Owain’s hand that held the reins. ‘How terrible. You must have blamed the Comte and his kinsmen for your brother’s death.’ Her eyes were dark with anxiety. ‘Owain, I understand your wish not to allow your brother’s death to go unpunished, but if you have now killed that fox, the Comte, then your life could be forfeit. Should we not be travelling with more speed so you can escape?’
‘My dear Kate, I appreciate your concern.’ Owain’s voice was warm. ‘But I have not killed the Comte d’Azay—he is not at Domfront. I visited the grave of my brother, who is buried in the churchyard of Notre-Dame sur l’Eau nearby.’
Her brow puckered in bemusement. ‘So you came only to visit your brother’s grave.’
‘Nay. I wanted to see if the Comte was here. Apparently he had visited, but left for Angers several weeks ago. It would be interesting to know why he visits the capital of Anjou.’ He smiled. ‘Now you know almost as much as I do about the man, so we will leave the subject alone and move on to another matter—how came you by those scars on your wrists, Kate?’
Her mind was still partly occupied with what he had just told her, so, instead of putting him off, she said, ‘They planned to sacrifice me.’
He stilled. ‘Was that up by the old stones?’ She was silent. ‘You might as well tell me all, if justice is to be done,’ added Owain persuasively.
She cleared her throat. ‘Aye. I was fortunate. God sent a mist…as well as a rescuer. He was dressed in a devilish fashion, but he was flesh and blood.’
He said casually, ‘Have you any notion who he was?’
She shook her head. ‘And I would not tell you if I did.’
‘You think this devilish figure killed Sir Roger?’
She shrugged. ‘Perhaps. It happened only a couple of months before his death. But as I know not his identity, it seemed pointless speaking of him to anyone but my—’ She stopped abruptly.
‘Your?’
‘It doesn’t matter. It can make no difference now.’
‘So you don’t fear for his life?’
‘I imagine him to be a man well able to take care of himself. I never saw him again and can only believe he left Merebury after achieving his aim.’
After that exchange they were silent, absorbed by their thoughts.
They stopped once or twice to refresh themselves from a stream and to stretch their legs before continuing the journey northwards. Having slept badly, Kate dozed off only waking when Owain shook her gently and told her that the towers of the white-walled donjon at Caen were in sight. As they approached the city, he pointed out the great Abbaye-aux-Dames, which had been founded by William the Conqueror’s wife, Matilde. ‘There outside the city walls is her tomb,’ informed Owain, ‘whilst the Conqueror’s bones lay in the abbey he founded in the city.’
‘It is a strange thing that they chose to lie separate in death,’ murmured Kate. He agreed. She changed the subject, ‘Will we be staying the night at the pilgrims’ hostel?’
He shook his head. ‘I am hoping to find my friend, Master Nat Milburn, at his kinswoman’s house. If he is here, then it’s possible he has a rendezvous with one of his ships, sailing for Yorkshire. If that is so, then I am certain he will take us aboard.’
Kate’s weary face brightened. ‘That would be fortunate indeed…but this kinswoman you speak of, will she be able to offer us shelter?’
‘Most likely.’ He fell silent.
As the sun sank in the west, they crossed a bridge spanning the River Orne, which was guarded by the fort of St Pierre. Soon they wended their way between tall houses with steep tiled roofs. At last Owain brought Merlin to a halt. He dismounted and lifted Kate down. He set her on her feet and then had to place an arm round her as she stumbled.
Before he could bang the wrought-iron knocker on the front door, it opened and on the threshold stood a giant of a man, tawny haired and pleasant of face. He stared at them in surprise, but then his grey eyes brightened. ‘Owain. I hoped to see you here, but did not really expect it.’
Owain’s face broke into a relieved smile. ‘I was hoping to see you as I’m in need of your help.’
‘Just say the word.’ Nat clapped him on the back before turning to Kate and scrutinising her from top to toe. ‘Who is this?’
Kate had no illusion about her appearance and wished the ground would open up and swallow her. She darted an anguished look at Owain. ‘I think you have met before, Nat, but she would have looked ver
y different then. This is the Lady Catherine Miles,’ he responded instantly with a smile. ‘Be kind to her, Nat, because she has suffered much.’
‘I beg the Lady’s pardon…but must ask what happened to the gown I sold you for her?’
Owain said ruefully, ‘Alas, it was ruined. We were shipwrecked and barely escaped with our lives.’
Nat’s eyebrows shot up. ‘God’s blood, Owain! I can’t wait to hear your tale.’ He beamed down at Kate.
She held out a hand, which was immediately enveloped in a large, warm grasp. ‘I am pleased to make your acquaintance again, Lady Catherine.’ He gave her another of those intense stares. ‘I don’t suppose you remember us meeting at my aunt’s house in Liverpool? You were much younger then and accompanied by your serving woman and her children.’
Kate’s face, already flushed by the sun, deepened in colour. Of course, she remembered him now! Thank God, he had taken little notice of Kate Fletcher…but she seemed to recall his giving her mother more than one glance. ‘Of course, I remember now. I had forgotten your name.’
‘What of the family, who accompanied you? The Fletchers?’ He still held her hand.
‘Dead,’ she said starkly.
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Nat.
Owain pressed her shoulder gently. ‘Perhaps you can continue this conversation indoors. The Lady is weary. Is Marguerite within? If she cannot provide us with shelter, then we’ll need to seek elsewhere.’
‘Once she knows Owain ap Rowan is here, she’ll insist on your staying,’ said Nat confidently. ‘But putting her aside, I needs must tell you that you are in for a surprise as your brothers are here in Caen.’
Owain’s dark brows shot up and his hand tightened on Merlin’s reins. ‘My brothers?’
‘Aye. I told them I’d met you in Spain and had hopes of seeing you here. They’ve gone with one of the stable lads to deliver a couple of yearling colts to some lord or other and to show him their paces.’ He clapped Owain on the shoulder again. ‘Now hurry. Since I told Marguerite of our meeting in Spain, she has talked of nobody else but you.’
