Rowan's Revenge

by June Francis

  Aware of Kate’s eyes on him, Owain muttered something incomprehensible and turned away. An irritated Kate wondered how well he knew this Marguerite. She had an urge to follow him to the stables and demand an answer. Instead, she was ushered into the house by Master Milburn but once inside, she asked about his kinswoman.

  ‘She is a widow with a small son and her husband has left her and the boy well endowed.’

  ‘But what is Owain to her?’ she demanded.

  Nat smiled down at Kate from his great height. ‘You have become fond of my young friend whilst thrown in his company, Lady Catherine?’

  She was taken aback by the question and felt the colour rise in her cheeks. Then she remembered that she wore his ring. ‘Aye. We have a fondness for the other. Have you not noticed I wear his signet ring, Master Milburn?’

  Nat gaped. ‘By God’s blood and the Holy Trinity, I had not.’ His eyes fixed on the hand she held out to him. ‘I didn’t think he would act so speedily. Marguerite will not best be pleased.’

  Kate’s eyes sparkled and she tilted her chin. ‘Why should your kinswoman be displeased that I wear Master ap Rowan’s ring? Maybe she has a fancy for a young hot-blooded suitor. Methinks I should go to the stables and suggest to him that we stay at the pilgrims’ hostel,’ she said angrily.

  ‘Nay, nay. Forget what I said. Perhaps she will not notice the ring if you do not flaunt it,’ he whispered, sounding embarrassed.

  She raised her eyebrows, but decided that silence was probably the best course to take now.

  Nat ushered Kate into a well-appointed parlour where a log fire provided a welcome blaze. A woman, dressed in grey and mauve, sat on a cushioned chair, with a child on her lap. She stared at Kate from large, protuberant eyes and rattled off some words to Nat in French.

  He answered in English. ‘It is the Lady Catherine whom Owain was seeking in Spain. He will be with you presently.’

  ‘She does not look like a lady nor does she smell like one,’ said Marguerite in broken English, wrinkling her nose. ‘She stinks of horse.’

  Kate’s control over her temper was already precarious, but she managed to hold on to it and explain in French the reason why she was dressed so simply and stank of horse.

  Marguerite held a kerchief to her nose. ‘I comprehend. Master Milburn told me that you were on a pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela and that you, too, are a widow.’

  ‘That is true,’ lied Kate.

  ‘Have you children, Lady Catherine?’

  ‘I do not,’ she replied, startled by the question.

  ‘I have a son,’ stated Marguerite with a great deal of satisfaction. ‘A man needs to have sons.’

  ‘I would not deny it,’ said Kate politely, irritated by her manner.

  ‘Where is Owain? Why is he not here now?’ asked Marguerite, turning to Nat.

  Kate answered for him. ‘He is stabling his horse. Surely you know how he puts his steed before his own welfare?’

  Marguerite frowned. ‘I do not like what you say. You mention only one horse? What of the family that accompanied you on pilgrimage? Where are they?’

  ‘Dead. My horse was stolen crossing the mountains by brigands…and the family was killed.’

  Marguerite looked put out. ‘You have no chaperon—no maid with you?’

  Kate drew herself up to her full height and said in honeyed tones, ‘I have already explained, madame. They were murdered by brigands. Fortunately Master ap Rowan came in search of me and I thank the Trinity and all the saints that he found me. I do not know what would have happened to me, otherwise. He has taken great care of me.’

  Marguerite scowled at her before turning to Nat and speaking rapidly in French. Kate understood very little of their conversation and her opinion that the woman was rude remained unchanged. Suddenly she heard the door open behind her and saw Marguerite’s expression change. ‘Owain, mon cher! It ees so good to see you!’

  ‘Bon soir, Marguerite,’ said Owain, glancing briefly at Kate’s stony profile as he crossed the floor. He took the hand Marguerite offered and raised it to his lips. ‘My condolences on the loss of your husband,’ he said in French.

  ‘Merci!’ She fluttered her eyelashes at him in what Kate considered a ridiculous manner. ‘It seems so long since I have seen you, mon cher, but I have never forgotten you.’

  ‘Yet you wed another,’ he said drily.

  ‘Ahhh! But you had only dreams to offer. But times have changed and life has proved the decision I made was sensible. My husband has left me and the boy well provided for…and with no stipulation in his will about my giving up the portion he left me if I remarry. This time I can choose my own husband.’

  It was obvious to Kate what was behind her words and she was impatient to hear Owain’s response. She prayed he would speak in English.

  He did. ‘I congratulate you. But now I pray that you will extend your hospitality to the Lady Catherine Miles. No doubt Nat has told you that the Lady is widowed and has just accomplished a pilgrimage to the shrine of St James. But I wager he has not told you that I was commissioned by the King of England, himself, to seek her out and bring her home.’

  Kate smiled, satisfied. Those words would certainly give Marguerite something to think about.

  ‘The King of England, himself?’ Marguerite looked impressed. Obviously Nat Milburn had not told her that Henry VI of England had lost his wits. ‘Lady Catherine tells me that you have travelled alone without maid or chaperon, mon cher.’ The Frenchwoman placed a podgy hand on Owain’s sleeve. ‘This does not please me, Owain.’

  He raised his dark brows. ‘There were companions on the way, Marguerite, but then we were shipwrecked and barely escaped with our lives.’ He glanced at Kate. ‘An unforgettable experience, wouldn’t you agree?’

  She marvelled at his audacity and felt quite breathless as his eyes met hers. ‘We will spare her the details, Master ap Rowan,’ she riposted.

  ‘Of course.’

  Nat said, ‘No doubt it was a terrifying experience.’

  ‘Terrifying,’ agreed Owain, the corner of his mouth twitching.

  Kate wanted to laugh and had to bite hard on her lip to stop it quivering. Hastily, Nat said, ‘You’re both lucky to be alive. What with the King of England taking an interest in your well-being, Lady Catherine, Owain’s life could have been forfeit if he returned to England without you.’

  ‘But Owain does not have to return to England,’ said Marguerite firmly. ‘The Lady could travel with you, Nat, or his brothers.’

  Kate darted a look at Owain to see how he responded to that suggestion. ‘Ahhh, but, ma chérie, I am honour bound to see that she is safely delivered into the King’s hands, but that does not mean I will not return to France some time in the future.’ Swiftly, he changed the subject. ‘Tell me, have you seen much of my brothers whilst they’ve been in Caen?’

  She did not reply immediately, but continued to stare at him. ‘You will give me your word that you will return?’

  His black brows drew together. ‘You doubt me, Marguerite, after what we once were to each other?’

  ‘No, but…’ She shrugged her plump shoulders. ‘Your brothers…I was happy to provide them with hospitality, but they do not have the understanding of my language that you do. No doubt they will have much to say to you—especially about the Lady.’ She flashed Kate a look of disdain. ‘You will wish to refresh yourself and change your garments, Lady Catherine. I will show you to a bedchamber, where there are several gowns that belonged to my husband’s dead sister.’ She turned to Owain. ‘You, too, will wish to refresh yourself before supper.’

  He kissed her hand. ‘You have my undying gratitude for your kindness to myself and the Lady.’

  ‘I want more than gratitude before you leave, mon cher Owain!’ she said, her eyes narrowing as she tapped him on the cheek.

  Kate wanted to slap her. She did not want to believe Owain could be tempted by all that the Frenchwoman had to offer—her dead husband’s fortune,
a house and proof that she was fertile.

  Marguerite rang a bell and a maid entered. She handed her son to the girl and rising from her seat, moved gracefully towards Kate. ‘Bienvenue, Lady Catherine.’ She took up a candlestick and, with an imperious gesture, indicated that Kate follow her.

  Marguerite led the way to a landing on the first floor and then up another flight of stairs. Here, she showed Kate into a bedchamber. By the musty smell that hung in the air, it was obviously not often used. Simply furnished with an unmade, narrow bed, chest and a couple of hanging poles, it was not what an English lady was used to. Marguerite placed the candlestick on the chest and left her alone.

  Glad to be relieved of her presence, Kate went over to the window. Despite it being evening, the room beneath the eaves was stifling. She struggled to open the shutters and, after a few minutes, managed to prise them apart. A cool breeze wafted into the room. She gazed down through the gloom on to a stable yard. Suddenly she noticed Nat Milburn and Owain with their heads together. What were they discussing? She was tempted to call down to them, See where that woman has put me. But that would hardly be seemly.

  After a few moments she moved away from the window and shifted the candle in its holder from the chest to the floor so as to open the chest. She breathed in the sweet scent of faded lavender and reached inside. Her hands found several blankets and she lifted them out before delving deeper into the chest. She discovered a couple of plain gowns, a chemise and a full-skirted corset with a tight-fitting laced bodice. She poked a finger through a hole in one of the gowns. Obviously the moths had made inroads into the garments despite the lavender. They must have been here for some time.

  Was she supposed to wear one of these gowns?

  Kate flung the garments on the bed and sat down, wincing as she did so, and gazed about her. Was this the only bedchamber available, due to Master Milburn and Owain’s brothers’ presence? Or was Marguerite deliberately insulting her? Where had she put Owain? Most likely as far away from this chamber as possible. She sat there for a while, absently twisting his signet ring round her finger. A blush warmed her cheeks, remembering the expression in his eyes when he had spoken of them being shipwrecked.

  A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts and she called, ‘Entrez!’

  A young girl entered, carrying a bowl and a pitcher of steaming water. Over her arm hung a drying cloth. She smiled nervously. ‘Excusez-moi, madame. Votre eau.’

  Kate smiled with relief, thinking that at least she could make her toilet. She took the bowl from the maid and placed it on the chest before filling it with water from the pitcher. The girl placed the cloth on the bed along with a tablet of soap. ‘Merci,’ said Kate, and would have ushered her from the chamber, so desperate was she to rid herself of the perspiration and dust of the journey. The maid pointed at the bed and exclaimed, ‘Le lit?’

  ‘Plus tard,’ responded Kate, ushering her out of the room and closing the door on her. She undressed and washed not only her face and body but her hair, as well. Then she rubbed herself dry until her skin tingled and her hair was merely damp. She turned to the garments she had removed from the chest.

  What would Owain think if he saw her clad in any of these? She mourned the beautiful gown ruined by seawater. With a slight pucker between her fair brows, she reached for the corset. At least the holes in this would not show and it did not smell of horse. She pulled it over her newly washed body and laced up the bodice before picking up a gown of russet homespun and dragged it over the corset. Through the various moth holes, glimpses of the cream-coloured corset showed, but both garments fitted snugly so that they clung to her shapely figure. She smiled, considering that perhaps she might start a new fashion. Picking up her mantilla, she draped it over her hair and round her neck. Then, taking several deep breaths, she left the bedchamber.

  She entered the hall, which was bright with many candles, to find Marguerite and the two men already seated. Her efforts were rewarded when she saw the startled expression on their faces as they stood up. She smiled at Owain, whom she presumed was wearing garments lent to him by Nat Milburn, and looked good enough to eat. She remembered the tangy salty taste of his skin beneath her tongue and her insides melted. She prayed that her feelings did not show in her face.

  ‘Where did you get those garments?’ Owain demanded, coming over to her.

  ‘They were all I could find in the chest in my bedchamber. Perhaps holes will become fashionable. What think you, Master Milburn?’ She turned to Nat with a smile.

  He was looking genuinely horrified. ‘I could have given you another of the gowns meant for my sister if—’ He did not finish his sentence because Marguerite interrupted his words with a stream of French.

  Kate glanced at Owain with raised eyebrows. After a few moments he said quietly, ‘She says it is the maid’s fault. She was supposed to have brought you fresh garments from her own armoire. She begs your pardon and says the girl will be whipped.’

  Kate knew she lied, but decided that there was little point in saying so. ‘I accept her apology, but I don’t want the maid whipped.’

  ‘Do you wish me to ask her to have a gown taken to your bedchamber and we will wait while you change?’ asked Owain.

  Kate shook her head. ‘It is on the top floor and I would not delay your meal.’ With a proud tilt of her chin, she led the way over to the table.

  Owain murmured against her ear. ‘Nat thinks we are betrothed. Congratulations, Kate.’

  She flushed and said in a low voice, ‘I did not say we were betrothed. Did you not explain to him why I wear your ring?’

  Before he could answer, Marguerite bade him to sit beside her. Nat sat the other side of her and Kate was placed next to him. Her stomach had been rumbling for the last hour, and she had to restrain herself from pouncing on the food set on the table. There were cheeses, pickled fish and slices of ham, as well as crusty bread and a jug of cider. She thought of her Lady and ate with decorum. Yet it was but a short time before the cider set her senses swimming and she had difficulty concentrating on the conversation. She was so sleepy that her eyes refused to stay open. Owain spoke to her, but his voice seemed far away. Then she was being lifted and carried, was barely aware of the pettish feminine voice calling shrilly. She did not like its tone and buried her head against his broad chest.

  She stirred only when he placed her on the bed and managed to force her eyelids open. Unexpectedly the remembrance of the last time he had put her to bed the worse for drink surfaced. ‘You do not have to disturb yourself further, Master ap Rowan. I can manage myself,’ she said, slurring her words.

  ‘Are you sure, little sweeting?’ His words seemed to mock her.

  She blinked at him through the darkness and fumbled for his face. She grasped it between her hands and sought his mouth. For a moment he did not respond, but then she felt a change in him and the pressure of his mouth against hers hardened. Her lips parted beneath his, allowing his tongue to caress the inside of her mouth as he crushed her against him. She clung to him as if her life depended on it. Who knew what might have happened next if Marguerite had not spoken outside the door? For another moment Owain’s mouth held hers and then he drew away and bid her goodnight.

  The door clicked shut behind him. A delicious warmth wrapped about her as she curled up on the bed, dreamily thinking about what had just taken place. Without doubt she knew her feeling for Owain was love and she fell asleep with a smile on her lips.

  The sun was streaming into the bedchamber through the open window when Kate was wakened by the sound of men’s voices. They were speaking in English and it took her a few moments to realise their identity.

  ‘What is it to be, Owain? Do you sail for Chester with us on the morrow and tell our father the truth about his whore of a wife or do you sail with Nat Milburn?’ demanded a deep voice.

  Hearing the word Chester, Kate sat up in bed.

  ‘Why do you persist in believing that Father will believe anything I have to say?’
asked Owain, sounding exasperated.

  ‘But she is carrying a child and we know she has played him false,’ said a younger, excitable voice.

  ‘Then take your proof to him,’ said Owain firmly.

  ‘We have tried, but she has bewitched him. He accuses us of being jealous of her. Only you can break her spell, Owain, only you are strong enough to face Gwendolyn,’ said that same excitable voice.

  Gwendolyn, thought Kate. Was not that the name of his stepmother?

  ‘Gwendolyn is no witch,’ said Owain emphatically. ‘She has cast no spell over Father, except that of her beauty.’

  ‘She would have him disinherit you and give all to the child she carries. A child, we believe, begat by that Comte d’Azay on another of his visits to Father’s manor in November. Don’t you care about that either, Owain?’ asked that deep voice.

  Kate shot over to the window at the mention of the Comte.

  ‘Of course I care,’ said Owain. ‘Do you know if he was staying at Nether Alderley when you left home?’

  ‘We’ve no idea. He comes and goes…as does that uncle of hers, who’s bleeding Father dry.’

  There was a brief silence before Owain said, ‘I will think on what you say. Now hush your mouths.’

  ‘Nat Milburn told us that you mean to marry the Lady to gain her manor, so you can breed your own stock. If that is so, then you must believe her innocent of her husband’s murder?’ said the excitable one.

  ‘Nat Milburn needs to guard his tongue. What else did he tell you?’ Owain’s voice had dropped, so a trembling Kate had to strain her ears to hear what was said next.

  ‘That King Henry has promised her and her manor to the man who finds not only her husband’s murderer, but returns his money to him.’

  Kate gasped and pressed both hands to her mouth.

  ‘The situation is far more complicated than you can ever know,’ rasped Owain. ‘And as the King has lost his wits, we waste time speaking of the matter. Now I’m hungry so I’m going indoors. You must say nothing of this to the Lady.’