Rowan's Revenge

by June Francis

  Outside they found a wailing Agnes cradling Gwendolyn in her scrawny arms whilst Diccon and Hal looked on. ‘Gwendolyn’s dead,’ said Hal in a muted voice.

  ‘So is her uncle,’ replied Owain, wiping sweat from his brow with a bloody hand.

  ‘The Comte?’ asked Diccon.

  ‘He must have only been stunned and escaped in the confusion. No doubt we’ll be seeing him again. But now we must take Gwendolyn’s body home with us for burial.’

  ‘I have a horse here,’ said Kate, gazing at the growing dark stain on Owain’s doublet in shocked dismay.

  ‘See to it, Hal,’ he ordered, pressing a hand over his wound. ‘Then you and Diccon can fetch the chest from inside the cave and that, too, shall go home with us.’

  ‘Diccon? Who’s he?’ asked Hal, looking about him.

  Diccon hesitated and glanced at his sister. ‘I am.’

  Hal looked puzzled. ‘I thought your name was Harry.’

  ‘That was my…my idea,’ gasped Owain. ‘Had to keep his identity and that of his mother from Gwendolyn. Kate’s his half-sister.’ He staggered suddenly.

  Kate and Hal hurriedly propped him up. ‘No more talking. We need to get you home,’ she said firmly.

  ‘Perhaps the nearest village would be better,’ suggested Hal.

  ‘Nay! Best we put as much…distance…as we can…between us and…’ Owain’s voice faded as he slipped into unconsciousness.

  Kate cried, ‘Put him up on my horse. There’s no time to waste. Lady Gwendolyn’s body must go on another.’

  Between them, Hal and Diccon did as she ordered. ‘Someone will have to ride with him so he does not fall,’ said Hal.

  ‘I’ll do that,’ said Diccon firmly. ‘He saved my life. We mustn’t forget the chest of money hidden in the cave, either.’

  Hal nodded. ‘I’ll see to that. Later you can explain just why my brother felt he had to lie to me.’

  ‘Best Owain tell you himself,’ said Kate hastily. ‘Now let us hurry!’

  Only once did they stop on the return journey so Kate—with Agnes’s aid—could search for some sphagnum moss on the fringe of the great mere of Radnor. She was fortunate in finding some almost immediately, and after squeezing the moisture out of a handful, placed it inside Owain’s shirt against his wound. Often she had gathered the moss for her mother and so knew that it would act as an absorbent healing dressing.

  By the time they reached Rowan Manor the sun had risen and Owain had regained consciousness. Even so he had to be helped from his horse and into the hall. Mistress Carver and Megan exclaimed in horror when they saw him. Immediately Kate said, ‘See that his bed is warmed and a brazier placed in his bedchamber. I need a fire in the parlour, hot water, poppy juice and wine. Also, steep me some ground elecampane root in water…and I’ll need bandages and goose grass salve. Tell me, how fares Mistress Archer?’

  ‘She has been asking for you and her son,’ replied Mistress Carver. ‘And has threatened to leave her bed if you both did not return soon.’

  Kate smiled faintly. ‘Then she must be feeling better.’

  ‘What of the Lady Gwendolyn?’ asked Megan.

  Kate turned to her. ‘She is dead.’

  The maid’s eyes widened with shock and Mistress Carver gasped. Kate said in a low voice. ‘It was she who was responsible for your master’s wound. She tried to kill him. Agnes’s grief is deep, so you must be kind to her.’ The women murmured agreement.

  Kate hurried to where Hal and Diccon had placed Owain in a chair near to the fire. ‘We must send for the physician,’ said Hal, facing her.

  Owain’s eyelids lifted slowly. ‘Nay! I have no faith in the man. I’m sure my Lady Kate can do all that is needful for my healing.’ He looked at her with such a sweet expression on his pain-racked features that the confusion in her mind, caused by seeing him with that devil’s mask, eased.

  ‘Light the fire in the parlour and give him some brandy,’ she said, squeezing Owain’s hand before leaving the hall.

  She dragged herself wearily upstairs and found Diccon already with their mother. Beth was looking so much more like her old self that tears of gratitude sprang to Kate’s eyes. ‘I am glad you’re so much improved, Mother.’

  ‘Diccon tells me that our secret is out and that the Lady Gwendolyn is dead,’ said Beth, shaking her head sadly.

  ‘Did he tell you that she tried to kill Owain?’ asked Kate, wiping away her tears. ‘I cannot grieve for her. She left you unconscious and her child screaming, and if Owain were to…’ Her voice trailed off and her hands gripped the carved wooden board at the foot of the bed.

  There came a knock on the door and Kate was thankful to see Megan with a pitcher of hot water. Kate asked Diccon to leave them. She removed her riding gloves, undressed and laved her face and hands before donning the blue kirtle and gown she had fashioned on the ship. From a chest she took a length of old sheeting and wrapped it about her waist. Then she tidied her hair and concealed it beneath a clean veil.

  ‘You will tend Master ap Rowan yourself, daughter?’ asked Beth.

  Kate nodded. ‘He does not trust the physician and I am of the same mind. They kill as many as they cure.’

  ‘I do not doubt you are able to do what is necessary, but remember, a careful watch must be kept on the wound over the coming days. Any sign of swelling or badness and you will have to burn it out.’

  The muscles of Kate’s face quivered, but her voice was controlled when she spoke. ‘I will do all that is needful, Mother. Your wound will also need tending and I will see to that later.’

  Beth said gently, ‘Do not concern yourself with me, daughter. Megan is proving apt at doing exactly what I tell her. Now tend your man.’ She leaned back against the pillows and closed her eyes.

  Kate hurried downstairs to find Davy keeping an eye on Owain. He was sprawled in a chair in front of the parlour fire and his bloodied garments lay on the floor along with the clump of moss, revealing an ugly wound that was bleeding afresh. His eyes were closed and he was singing what appeared to be a marching song in a slurred voice. The pewter goblet on the table contained but a few dregs of brandy. She wanted to run her hands over his body, to press her lips against his skin and soothe him; instead she was about to inflict pain. She was conscious of Davy’s scrutiny and guessed Hal would have told him of Diccon being her half-brother. Right now it did not matter what he made of that information, but no doubt sooner or later he would have something to say about it. Lowering her head, she asked the Trinity’s blessing on what she was about to do.

  She took the jug of elecampane water, poured it over the wound and allowed a few moments to pass before gently swabbing most of the liquid away. Owain drew in a breath with a hiss and, knowing she was hurting him, she felt her stomach clench. She paused a moment before smearing goose grass salve on the wound and then, taking more sphagnum moss, she pressed it over the wound. He groaned and she felt a pain at her heart and needed to swallow the sudden lump in her throat. She glanced at Davy and, without a word, he handed a clean binding to her. She bound the sphagnum moss into place; once that was done, she dealt with the ugly scratch on his arm. Then she suggested to Davy that he fetch Hal, so that between them, the brothers could help Owain to his bed.

  Once he had gone, Kate mixed poppy juice with elderflower water and then gently touched Owain’s arm. The black lashes that fanned his damp cheeks fluttered open and he stared at her from pain-filled eyes. Neither of them spoke, but he took her free hand and brought it to his lips and kissed it. Tears filled her eyes at the gesture and she thought how he had such power to move her. ‘You must drink this,’ she said in an uneven voice, holding the cup out to him.

  ‘What is in it, Kate?’

  ‘Poppy juice and elderflower water.’

  ‘No yew berries?’

  The question shocked her. ‘You jest?’

  ‘A very poor joke,’ he said wearily. ‘But it has occurred to me that perhaps Gwendolyn knew that yew berries were poisonous
and she shared that knowledge with her lover.’

  She puzzled over his words as he took the cup. ‘Are you suggesting the Comte wanted Sir Roger dead and Gwendolyn provided the means to kill him?’

  ‘I think they both wanted him dead,’ he murmured, his eyelids drooping as he drained the cup.

  ‘Why should Gwendolyn want Sir Roger dead?’ asked Kate, taking the cup from his slack fingers.

  Owain’s answer seemed a long time coming and when it did, the words were spoken barely above a whisper, his voice slurred. ‘Perhaps the Comte told her of Sir Roger’s taste for men and boys and that he forced himself on Martin.’

  Kate was shocked—yet had she not known of Sir Roger’s unnatural desires? It seemed highly probable that Owain’s guess was right and he had discovered the identity of the murderer.

  Kate put down her sewing and rubbed her eyes. The bedchamber was filling with shadows and there was a slight chill in the air. Noticing that the fire in the brazier had burnt low, she rose to her feet and placed more wood in the burner. Then, taking the candle from the chest at the foot of the bed, she tiptoed to its head and gazed down at Owain where he lay on his back. He had slept for more than twenty-four hours and for most of that time she had been by his bedside. His brothers had taken turns in watching over him and, on one occasion, Kate had told them the reason why she had pretended to be Lady Catherine Miles and why Owain had insisted she continue in that role. They had said little, but she gained the impression they would have plenty to say to Owain when he recovered.

  Kate’s eyes roamed his face and love, compassion, confusion and desire fought for dominance inside her. By the light of the candle his skin looked the colour of parchment and there were hollows beneath his cheekbones. He had a couple days’ growth of beard, and his dark hair curled untidily about his ears and on his forehead. She placed the candlestick on a chair and gently smoothed a strand of hair from his eyelid. Then, unable to resist, she allowed the tips of her fingers to trace the outline of his lips. They twitched and she would have withdrawn her hand, but it was suddenly grasped by the wrist. Her pulse fluttered like the wings of a captive moth as he opened his eyes and pulled her.

  She fell across him. He winced and immediately she pushed herself up and off the bed. ‘This will not do, Master ap Rowan.’

  ‘It definitely needs some thought,’ he croaked.

  ‘I should leave and fetch one of your brothers or Mistress Carver to sit with you now,’ she said with a hint of breathlessness.

  His head moved on the pillow. ‘Please, don’t leave me, Kate,’ he pleaded huskily. ‘I need you.’

  She was aware of a responding need, so strong that she felt faint. How she wanted him! Yet since catching sight of him in that devilish mask, she’d had to ask herself why he had not spoken up when she had told him about the devilish figure who had saved her life. She went over to where she had placed a pitcher of honeyed elderflower water containing a few drops of poppy juice. She poured some of the liquid into a cup and, kneeling on the bed, held it to his lips. ‘A drink first, I think,’ she murmured.

  He did not argue, but drank down the contents of the cup in three swallows before sinking back against the pillows. ‘That’s better,’ he said in his normal voice. ‘My throat was as dry as sand.’

  ‘More?’

  ‘Later. Tell me, Kate, what is it that disturbs you?’

  ‘You dressed up as Ol’ Nick.’

  He sighed. ‘I should have told you earlier, but I truly believed the less you knew the safer it was for you.’

  ‘But why dress up at all as the devil?’

  ‘I could not risk Sir Roger recognising me whilst I searched for evidence that would prove him to be my brother’s murderer—he and his followers showed such a great interest in the devil that I thought it would be a great jape to trick them.’

  Kate smiled faintly. ‘Even so…why didn’t you recognise me in Spain if you rescued me?’

  ‘I couldn’t always see clearly through the mask…and you forget it was some time since I’d seen you or your mistress.’

  She accepted his excuses. ‘So what next? You believe you have found your murderer in the Comte?’

  ‘I believe, once they became lovers, Gwendolyn played her part, too.’

  She was thoughtful a moment. ‘What do you think the Comte will do now she is dead and he has no money to pay his mercenaries?’

  Owain rubbed his unshaven jaw. ‘He did not love her…or the child being a girl would not have mattered. Now the money…if he has any sense he will forget it and make his escape to France.’

  ‘So we might never see him again,’ said Kate with a happy sigh.

  She made to rise from the bed, but Owain stayed her with a hand. ‘Don’t go, Kate. Lie beside me and share your warmth with me.’

  ‘You feel cold?’ she said, placing the back of her hand against his forehead. ‘Nay! You’ve no fever.’

  He protested, ‘But I could take a fever if I’m not kept warm. Have pity, sweetest Kate. I’m a wounded man and have not the strength for seduction.’ She hesitated and he added hastily, ‘Just for a short while let us hold each other.’

  Still she hesitated and then, with a heavily beating heart, stretched herself out beside him. Placing an arm across his bare chest, she rested her cheek against his uninjured shoulder. He brought her even closer against him and kissed her hair. For a while neither of them moved, but relaxed against each other, finding comfort and security in just being held close by the person they desired most in the whole world. Such stillness could not last.

  For Owain, it was the awareness of soft flesh that yielded beneath the fabric of her gown as his fingers gently stroked the rounded curve of a breast. Kate’s breath caught in her throat and she lifted her head and looked in his face. ‘You mustn’t,’ she whispered.

  ‘Mustn’t I?’ He smiled and bringing his head close to hers, kissed her. His mouth moved over hers in such a beguiling way that she could not but respond, returning his kiss fervently. Her lips parted beneath his, allowing entry for his tongue to taste the sweetness of her mouth: honey and elderflower. Her hand pressed against his chest and her fingers explored the black hair on his chest, toying with the jet black curls before wrapping one around a finger. Their lips parted and he began to press kisses down the beautiful line of her throat, filling her with a delicious lethargy and she was hard put to think sensibly. ‘If anyone was to enter now they would consider my behaviour most unladylike.’ Her voice was husky with emotion.

  ‘Lock the door.’

  ‘Wouldn’t that make them suspect we—we were behaving in a manner that didn’t…bear scrutiny?’

  He nibbled her ear. ‘The servants believe us betrothed. Surely my having missed death by inches means they will understand our need to comfort each other?’

  Kate knew she should argue with him but, instead, she locked the door. Returning to the bed, she snuggled against him with a deep satisfying sigh. His hand kneaded one of her breasts and her breath quickened as he caressed a nipple through the fabric of her gown with fingers that proved more sensitive than she could have ever imagined. He shifted her higher against him so that her skirts were dragged up and he stroked her thigh. ‘You mustn’t,’ she whispered.

  ‘Mustn’t again? You don’t like it?’

  ‘You should not ask me such questions.’

  He smiled and began to unfasten the ties on her gown and kirtle to bare her breasts. He licked a nipple before taking it into his mouth. She gasped with pleasure as ripples of sensation spread throughout her body. She became aware of his manhood against her stomach. ‘I should have wed you when Davy took his Joan,’ rasped Owain, his eyes smouldering with desire as he gazed into Kate’s dazed face.

  ‘We could plight our troth here and now,’ gasped Kate.

  ‘You would do that?’

  ‘Aye! I, Kate Fletcher…or should I say Stanley?’ Her breathing quickened as he caressed her. ‘Whichever, both of me take thee, Owain ap Rowan, for my h
usband. I vow to be true in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost.’ Her voice deepened with emotion as he placed a hand between her thighs and she experienced an urge so strong that the source of her femininity throbbed and she moaned with longing.

  ‘I, Owain ap Rowan, take thee, Kate Fletcher Stanley, for my wife. I promise to cherish and be true to you, in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost.’ His fingers searched, probed and pleasured her and waves of ecstasy spread inside her. Having prepared her, he turned her on her side and entered her. She gasped. He hesitated. ‘Again!’ she urged, pushing against him. Ignoring the agony in his shoulder, he obeyed her, moaning with pleasure as his seed filled her.

  Only afterwards, when Kate unlocked the door and inspected his shoulder, did she upbraid herself. Blood had seeped through the bandaging. ‘I should never have allowed you to tempt me,’ she scolded, putting down the candlestick and unwinding the soiled bindings.

  Owain laughed weakly. ‘I tempted you?’

  ‘It is true.’ Her lips twitched and she blushed. ‘And do not shake so much with laugher or you will have the wound bleeding even more. I will tend it and this time I will smear more goose grass salve on the wound. Then you must behave yourself and rest.’

  He did not argue, but did as she said, his loving glance taking in every aspect of her face, the tiny lines of concentration on her forehead and the lips, rosy with his kisses, pressed together as if she was feeling his pain. ‘I will behave and rest if you will come back to bed,’ he said.