by June Francis
‘I’m so sorry, Owain,’ she said gently.
‘In my heart I knew there was little chance of him making a recovery. Yet I had to try to heal the breach between us.’ His voice was raw with emotion. ‘I will pray that God will forgive him, reunite his spirit with Martin’s and my mother’s and give him peace.’
‘I will join my prayers with yours.’
He thanked her and accompanied her to her bedchamber. There he kissed her briefly on the lips. ‘Don’t allow what has just happened to keep you from your sleep, Kate. May the Holy Trinity bless you this night.’
She watched his retreating figure, longing to go after him. But there was something about the way he held himself that told her now was not the time to offer him comfort. She went inside her darkened bedchamber and removed her outer clothing and, clad in her linen shift, climbed into bed. She remembered what Owain had said on the ship about seeing his father for the last time and how she had worried that he might have foreseen his own death. Uncertain about how much time there was left to spend with him, she had been prepared to do what he wanted. It was obvious now that he would have to stay at Rowan Manor, at least until his father’s funeral was over and his legal affairs sorted out. But there was a limit to the time she could linger here. She must seek out her mother and brother and reassure them of her well being. There was so much she had to tell them before she could decide what to do next. Her heart ached at the thought of saying farewell to Owain, but it had to be done. For a little while longer she lay, thinking about how he had planned on marrying the Lady Catherine so he could have Merebury to breed his own horses. Now he no longer needed that manor so desperately, would he be prepared to marry plain Kate Fletcher? Sooner or later their betrothal would be declared null and void. On that sad thought, she drifted into a shallow sleep.
She was wakened by a rat-tat-tat on her door. ‘Who is there?’ she called, propping herself up on an elbow.
‘Owain! I must speak with you.’
Scrambling from her bed, she hurried over to the door and opened it just a crack. Owain was dressed in black and for travelling. ‘Where are you going?’ she asked, thinking how attractive he looked even in black.
‘I’m for Chester to see the family lawyer. I will be back in time for supper.’
For a moment she wondered if he would also seek out Gwendolyn, but more immediate in her thoughts was that here was a chance to leave the manor without dispute and seek out her mother and brother. ‘May I come with you?’
He shook his dark heard. ‘Not this time, Kate. Agnes has disappeared, Davy has gone off somewhere and I must leave immediately. Could you talk to Mistress Carver, who holds house here, and see if there is anything you can do to help her.’
‘But…I was thinking of leaving. Now your father is dead you no longer have need of me here.’
His face fell. ‘But I do need you here, Kate. Please stay a little longer,’ he pleaded.
She was touched by his plea. ‘But, Owain, our betrothal is a pretence,’ she said with a catch in her voice. ‘I will have to leave sooner or later.’
‘But not just yet. It will look extremely odd if you were to leave before the funeral. I know you want to find your mother and brother, but will another week make that much difference?’
‘I have not said they are alive,’ she cried.
‘Not in so many words but I believe them to be.’
She was silent.
He sighed. ‘Stay and meet Mistress Carver. You didn’t see her yesterday because she was visiting her niece, who has just given birth. Her husband is head cook here. The Carvers were never blessed with children, so she took over the running of the household after my grandmother died. I have known her all my life.’
‘But what of Gwendolyn? She is your father’s widow—surely she will still be mistress here?’
‘You must not think of running away because of Gwendolyn,’ he said firmly and seized her by the shoulders, kissing her with such ardour that, when he released her, she had to cling to him, otherwise she would have fallen. ‘Promise me, Kate, that you will be here when I return.’
‘I promise,’ she whispered, her lips throbbing with the force of his kiss.
He smiled. ‘Do not fear, you will be more than a match for Gwendolyn. Now I must go.’ He bent his head and this time his kiss was as gentle as a butterfly landing on a flower. Then he strode off down the passageway in a manner very different from that of last even.
She touched her lips briefly, watching him until he turned the corner. Then she went over to the wash stand, where a pitcher of fresh water, soap and a drying cloth had been placed. She presumed Megan had crept in while she slept. Kate washed swiftly, only to dither over what she should wear. Eventually she decided on the dark blue gown and kirtle of pale blue that Owain had given to her on the ship.
Downstairs she found Hal eating white cocket bread and bacon. ‘I’m having a second breakfast,’ he said, smiling up at her and getting to his feet. Pulling out a seat for her, he added, ‘I’m glad you didn’t go with Owain.’
‘He asked me to stay behind and see if I could help Mistress Carver,’ said Kate, arranging her skirts so they did not crease as she sat down.
‘Good. With both my brothers away for the day, I’ll be glad of your company when Gwendolyn returns.’ He signalled to a serving man.
Kate’s brows puckered. ‘Do you know where Davy has gone?’
He did not answer her immediately, but asked whether she wanted bacon or butter and honey with her bread. She decided on the latter and he spoke to a serving man, who hurried behind a screen to where she presumed lay the kitchen, still room and pantry. She repeated her question.
Hal said in a low voice, ‘He’s gone to tell Joan that Father is dead. He’s wanted to wed her since last harvest, but Father wouldn’t allow it. At least life will be easier now the old man’s gone and Owain has returned.’ She shot him a surprised look. Hal grinned. ‘It’s no use my pretending that I’m heartbroken. Father wasn’t an easy man to live with and showed weakness by falling under Gwendolyn’s power. Our lives will be the happier now he has gone to his rest—but I’ll put on my mourning face when folk arrive for his funeral and so will Davy.’
A boy appeared at Kate’s elbow with a bowl of water and a napkin. She washed her fingers and dried them, ready for when the serving man appeared with a tray bearing food and a tankard of small ale. She thanked him and he bowed with a smile before leaving them.
‘Tell me about Mistress Carver,’ asked Kate, spreading butter and honey on the bread.
‘Gwendolyn could not manage without her…but where you’ll find Mistress Carver at any given moment is not easy to answer. She could be in the buttery, the storeroom, the stillroom, the pantry, the dairy, the brewery or bake house—she organises all.’
His answer filled Kate with trepidation. Mistress Carver sounded formidable; a woman capable of spotting a fraud a league away.
So it was that when she went in search of the woman whom both brothers spoke well of, Kate was filled with trepidation. But her fears were to be soothed when she entered the dairy to find a woman she presumed to be Mistress Carver talking to a maid working a great cheese press. Kate cleared her throat to attract their attention, hoping she did not sound as nervous as she felt.
The woman’s head turned and Kate found herself the focus of a pair of keen, grey eyes. The dark hair that escaped from her cap was streaked with silver and she was dressed neatly in a black gown; from her waist hung a chain holding several keys. Kate smiled. ‘Mistress Carver?’
‘Aye. You must be Master Owain’s lady,’ she said warmly. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘Master Owain suggested that I make myself known to you…and to ask if there is anything I can do for you in the Lady Gwendolyn’s absence. If I can make your task easier, I will willingly do so.’
The woman beamed at her. ‘Gladly, I accept your offer. Everything’s in such a muddle since Sir Hywel’s sudden death.’
&nb
sp; ‘Surely our priorities will be food and drink during this coming week?’ said Kate hesitantly. ‘And no doubt we need prepare bedchambers for any guests coming from a distance for the funeral.’
‘Aye, my Lady. Although I cannot see there being many. Since Sir Hywel wed Mistress Gwendolyn, guests have been few and far between—and those who have shown their faces the old mistress would have disapproved of, just as she would the marriage.’ She added in a rush, ‘It was downright improper of Mistress Gwendolyn to turn her charms on for the master. But could he see what she was after? Nay! The master could never admit he was in the wrong and was downright cruel to Master Owain, believing her side of a story before that of his own son.’
‘I am pleased to find those who will support him during this difficult time,’ said Kate in heartfelt tones.
The woman blushed. ‘I feel as if a dark cloud has been lifted from this household now that Master Owain is home—bringing his future bride with him. You are very welcome, my Lady.’
Now it was Kate’s turn to blush. ‘I thank you for your welcome. Perhaps you can show me what foodstuffs and drink you have in store?’
‘Gladly, my Lady. But firstly, perhaps you can approve my husband’s choice for this evening’s meal. He suggests pottage for the first course, then—seeing as how it’s a fish day—a couple of eel pies and carp and pike with sauce galentyne. For dessert, we’ve some pears from the orchard—he’ll stew them in a wine syrup and accompany them with some green cheese.’
‘That sounds very satisfactory, Mistress Carver. Please tell him so from me.’
‘I will, my Lady. If you’ll be pleased to accompany me. I’ll do that and then show you around.’
Kate decided she had to continue as if it was her right to ask questions, express approval and make suggestions. She found much to interest her during the next hour or so. Mistress Carver showed her the storeroom and the stillroom, where there were jars of fruit in syrup, sacks of flour and dried fruit; onions, herbs and garlic hung from the ceilings. Drink ready to be served was kept in the buttery and the smell of baking bread teased the nostrils as one passed the bakery. The housekeeper told her of the meat on hoof and claw, took her to the stew ponds, which held carp and roach—these were tended by the Carvers’ nephew, Jonathan.
‘He’s a bit backward in some things, Lady Catherine, seeing as he came into the world the wrong way round, which did for my poor sister,’ explained Mistress Carver. ‘But he’s a good worker and worships Master Owain. Jonathan was born a few months after him and, when they were boys, would trail after him. Master Owain never chased him off, even when he must have irritated him excessively. Master Owain was a bit of a scamp, himself, nevertheless, he has always had a kind heart.’
Kate could not argue with those words, remembering how he had cared for her. When Mistress Carver suggested that she might like to see the rest of the house, she accepted with alacrity. First, Kate was shown the parlour, which overlooked a walled garden at the back of the house. ‘This was Master Owain’s grandmother’s favourite place, but it’s been sadly neglected. Lady Gwendolyn will not use it, has said it holds too many memories of the old lady.’
The parlour was full of sunshine, which had faded the fabrics on chairs and the cushioned settle. Kate imagined sewing here in the evenings whilst Owain read to her from a book and smiled wistfully, before signalling she was ready to move on.
Mistress Carver took her upstairs to the bedchambers. There she bemoaned the state of the curtains and hangings. ‘Sir Hywel never liked spending out on furnishings. Any spare money would go on horses to improve the breeding strain. As for the Lady Gwendolyn—she was content as long as her bedchamber was the way she wanted it—she did not concern herself with the rest of the house.’
Kate made no comment; when the tour was over, she thanked Mistress Carver.
‘It was a pleasure, my Lady. Is there aught else I can do for you?’
‘I wonder if you could spare Megan this afternoon to help me with some sewing?’
‘Certainly, my Lady. I’ll send her to you once she’s finished her chores.’
Kate thanked her and they parted.
After the midday meal, she returned to her bedchamber to resume her sewing and await Megan’s arrival. She had not been there long when the door burst open and a woman stood in the opening. Instantly Kate guessed she was the Lady Gwendolyn, although she was shorter than she had imagined. But her face was, indeed, beautiful—a perfect oval with skin as pale as moonlight. She had lustrous brown eyes, a delicately shaped nose and a cupid-bow-shaped mouth. A few wisps of dark hair had escaped the confines of her butterfly headdress and the scarlet velvet gown that clung to her body did little to conceal her swollen belly and the agitated rise and fall of her breasts.
‘I wouldn’t make myself too comfortable, Lady Catherine,’ she said huskily. ‘I wager Owain never told you that he and I were once lovers.’
Chapter Nine
‘This child I carry is his!’ cried Gwendolyn, advancing on her.
Immediately Kate sprang to Owain’s defence. ‘That’s ridiculous. His father banned him from this manor more than a year ago. Besides, Owain would not betray his father in such a way. He is an honourable man. You speak falsely.’
Gwendolyn flushed. ‘You seem to know much about him. You’ve no right to come here. You seek to oust me. Leave now or it will be the worse for you.’
‘Make me no threats, Lady Gwendolyn. You do not scare me,’ said Kate, looking down on her with disdain.
Gwendolyn fixed her with a stare. ‘I have known strong men tremble and beg for me to release them from my spell.’ Her voice was silky soft.
‘How many strong women have you encountered? I say fie to you!’ Kate snapped her fingers and advanced on her. ‘If you try to cast a spell on me, I would counter it with one of my own.’
Gwendolyn’s jaw dropped and then, abruptly, she turned and rushed out of the bedchamber.
Kate took a deep breath. She should not have allowed herself to be provoked. Her mother would have boxed her ears if she had heard her speak in such a way. She should have remained calm in her role of Lady Catherine. After all, her enemies might have managed to worm themselves into the house with Owain and Davy absent.
‘Can you cast spells, Lady Catherine?’ whispered a voice.
Roused from her reverie, Kate stared at Megan. ‘You heard?’
‘Aye!’
‘Then you must forget what I said,’ said Kate, a quiver in her voice.
Megan’s face fell. ‘It isn’t true?’
Kate hesitated a little too long. ‘Of course not.’
‘I’ll not breathe a word to a soul, Lady Catherine,’ she whispered, stepping into the bedchamber and closing the door behind her. ‘I just want to make widower Evans fall in love with me. He’s plenty of money and a well-made house with good solid furniture and only two children…but there’s several who’ve got their eye on him.’
Kate shot the bolt on the door. ‘Will a love potion do?’
Megan beamed at her. ‘Aye! But when’ll I give it him?’
‘You’ll have to be patient, Megan. Have you forgotten Sir Hywel has just died? I’ll deal with such matters once the funeral is over.’ She forced a smile. ‘Now you must help me finish this kirtle, Megan.’
‘Certainly, my Lady. Just show me what you want done.’
‘In a moment. But first tell me…is Friar Stephen or the Comte d’Azay downstairs?’
‘They were not there when I came upstairs.’ Megan shuddered slightly. ‘I’ve always made myself scarce when either of them comes. I do not like the way they look at me…but if you wish, my Lady, I will go and see.’
Kate shook her head. After all, Owain had left orders that both were not to be allowed inside the house. She had to trust that they had been obeyed. Still, she would not take any chances, but stay here in her bedchamber until he arrived home.
Later as they sat sewing, Kate wondered if Gwendolyn and Owain really had o
nce been lovers. Maybe when that first stirring in the blood had signalled the onset of fertility, they could have been tempted. Hadn’t he mentioned his stepmother flirting with him and his brothers when she was a girl? She sighed, hoping it was not true, knowing she could never ask him.
Owain returned to the house just before supper and immediately came face to face with Gwendolyn in the hall. She was sitting on a settle in front of the fire, swathed from head to foot in black. On her breast hung a large silver crucifix, which she caressed with slender pale fingers, whispering to the saturnine-faced friar bending over her. Fortunately, the cleric had not been left alone to wander the house. Jonathan sat a few feet away from him, a hand resting on the neck of a large hound, watching them.
‘Good news travels fast,’ said Owain, barely able to control his fury that the friar had managed to worm his way into the house.
Gwendolyn and her uncle turned to stare at him. ‘How can you speak to me so?’ she said reproachfully, holding out both hands to him. ‘We are both sorrowing and needs must comfort the other.’
‘You don’t have to pretend with me, Gwendolyn.’ He wrenched off one of his riding gauntlets. ‘Although my father’s death is a sadness to me, I do not expect you to keep vigil with me and my brothers in the lady chapel during the night before the burial.’
Her eyes flashed fire. ‘I have met your Lady Catherine. I was telling my uncle of your betrothal. He is delighted for you.’
‘Indeed,’ said the cleric, stretching his thin lips into a smile. ‘As you well know, Master ap Rowan, her disappearance and that of the Fletcher family caused quite a stir. What news of that family?’
‘They were killed in an attack by brigands whilst crossing the Pyrenees,’ said Owain. If he had not been watching the cleric so intently, he might have missed the flash of relief in the man’s eyes.
‘May God have mercy on their souls!’ He crossed himself and then placed his palms together. ‘Lady Catherine must be deeply upset and in need of spiritual succour. Perhaps I can help.’
