Josh laughed and drew the gazes of several ladies nearby, but he seemed oblivious to their admiring glances. ‘No, you can do that yourself if you want to. Here, you’d better carry them.’ He handed her the two porcelain canines. ‘No, the condition is you come to the pub with me for a meal tonight. Please?’
‘What, the Merrick Arms?’
‘No, I was thinking of some other place Bryn mentioned. The Stag something-or-other.’
‘The Stag and Hunter?’
‘That’s the one. So what do you say?’ He tilted his head to one side and gave her a look that reminded her of Vincent. She didn’t think she could withstand either of them, although she was sure it was probably a bad idea to go anywhere with Josh. They’d already spent almost the whole day together.
‘Why not?’ she heard herself reply. Yes, who was she kidding? She couldn’t pass up on that offer. ‘It would be lovely to eat a meal I haven’t had to cook. Thank you.’ And she meant it.
She’d just have to guard her heart against his charm. How hard could it be?
Chapter Eighteen
Raglan Castle, 11th June 1646
‘Arabella, please will you fetch me a tisane? It’s so infernally warm today, it’s giving me a megrim.’
‘Yes, of course, my lady. I’ll go to the kitchen directly.’
Arabella had been taking her turn to sit with Lady Margaret, who was a kind and undemanding woman, but one who didn’t like to be on her own. Arabella didn’t think it was the heat that was giving her ladyship a headache, rather it was too much crying. Not only had the siege begun properly now, with cannonballs and artillery fire making a fearsome noise every so often, shaking the very foundations of the castle, but the poor lady had lost her only child, a daughter called Lady Mary, not so long ago. The sorrow sometimes became too much for her and with the terror of everything going on around them at the moment, it was no wonder her ladyship felt ill.
Hurrying across the Fountain Court, which was eerily silent in between the bursts of cannon fire as the fountain itself had been turned off, Arabella walked quickly through the Great Hall and down to the end. Mrs Watson hadn’t been allowed to set up her infirmary in there, but was making do with some smaller rooms elsewhere so it was empty for now. Through a doorway she entered the buttery, then a passage from there leading past the pantry directly to the kitchen, which was situated on the ground floor of an enormous tower in the north-east corner of the Stone Court. One of the cooks immediately set about making a tisane for Lady Margaret.
‘Won’t take more’n a few minutes,’ he muttered. ‘You might want to wait outside, mistress?’
‘Thank you, yes.’ The kitchen was as hot as she imagined hell might be, with two big fireplaces heating an already warm room to unbearable temperatures. No doubt it was better in winter, but during a scorching summer’s day like now it must be a terrible place to work.
Arabella didn’t want to go into the Stone Court, where hundreds of men were milling about; some grooming horses, some polishing weapons, while others rushed to and fro carrying gunpowder, cannonballs and other military paraphernalia. Instead she lurked in a small entrance area next to a wide serving hatch, through which she could observe the frenetic activity in the kitchen without being in the way. She could also see the Stone Court through the open door and scanned the area without acknowledging to herself that she was looking for one man in particular, but every time she saw someone with long, dark wavy hair, her heart skipped a beat. Unfortunately, it was never Rhys.
She’d seen him twice since he’d helped her carry the bed linen the day the besiegers arrived. Apart from at supper the night before, she’d also caught sight of him that morning. He’d been loitering outside the chapel and had followed her inside to stand next to her during the service. They hadn’t spoken, but just having him so close gave her a sense of security, even though she knew that was ridiculous. He was only one man. Still, it was as though he was trying to imbue her with his strength and she’d felt calmer afterwards when he melted away into the throng of people spilling out of the chapel.
She closed her eyes and sighed. This was foolish. She should stop daydreaming and concentrate on the here and now.
‘Ah, so there you are. At last I’ve found you!’
Arabella’s eyes flew open as her thoughts were interrupted by a voice she’d hoped never to hear again, one which was nowhere near the melodious Welsh lilt she’d been wishing for. Her heart began to beat a rapid tattoo of fear as she blinked in disbelief at the person standing before her. Although handsome, in a rough sort of way, he was as far from Rhys in looks as he could possibly be, with reddish gold hair and pale blue eyes. ‘Glyn?’ she whispered, not wanting to believe her own eyes. ‘How …? Why …?’
He laughed, but it wasn’t a joyful sound. ‘I’m glad to see you too,’ he sneered.
She felt as though she’d just swallowed a large quantity of snow as her insides went numb. How was this possible? Uncle Huw’s nephew, the man he’d tried to force her to marry, here? Surely they hadn’t turned Royalist? Huw had always been violently opposed to the king.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, moving a step to the side as he was standing much too close. She was breathing in the smell of him, which was a bit rank, as was his ale breath.
‘Defending the castle, of course, same as everyone else.’ He smirked, very obviously enjoying her discomfort. ‘And I thought that as I’m here anyway, I could claim my bride while I’m at it. Two birds with one stone.’ He reached out and grabbed her by her upper arms, shoving her against the stone wall behind her roughly. ‘I’ve been looking for you. And don’t think you’re getting away this time. There’s nowhere left to run.’
‘Let go of me!’ she hissed. ‘I’ll scream and tell everyone you’re a Roundhead spy. I don’t believe for a moment you and uncle have turned Royalists. For one thing, he’d never back a losing cause.’
‘Hah, so you admit your refuge is going to crumble around you soon? I’m counting on it. But we can leave any time, just say the word. After we marry first, if they have a minister here who isn’t a Papist. Breathe so much as a word about me being a Parliamentarian though and I’ll kill you with my bare hands.’
‘For the last time, I’m not marrying you. Ever. The marquis won’t allow it.’
‘Oh, yes, you are. Promised to me, you were, and his high-and-mighty lordship has no say in the matter. He won’t be long for this world, Colonel Morgan’ll see to that.’ He shoved her against the wall again so that the back of her head connected with the smooth stonework.
‘Ouch! I never was. Uncle Huw was lying. He had no right …’ Arabella tried to glance around him to see if there was anyone who could help her, but he was blocking her line of sight.
He moved in even closer until his face was only an inch away from hers. ‘You’ll leave here as my wife or not at all. Hide over there with the fancy ladies for now if you want, but sooner or later this place will fall and you’ll have to come out. I’ll be waiting. In the meantime, we can have some sport now that I’ve caught you …’
He bent to kiss her, moving one hand towards her left breast, but Arabella had had enough. She wasn’t a skinny fourteen-year-old any longer; she was nineteen and stronger. Turning her head away from his mouth, she kicked at his shin as hard as she could. Her shoes were made of leather and quite worn, but she still managed to hurt him enough for him to let go of her momentarily.
‘You little bitch …’ He tried to grab her again but she shot away from him and cannoned into something solid. A male chest clad in a leather jerkin.
Looking up, she came face to face with Rhys, who lifted one eyebrow while glaring at her. ‘Mistress Dauncey. Having a lover’s tiff?’ He slanted a look at Glyn, who smirked and tried to reach for her again.
‘That’s right,’ Glyn said. ‘Now if you’d just let us—’
‘No!’ Arabella ducked under Rhys’s arm and headed off into the kitchen. ‘Leave me alone.’
She
heard Glyn’s hateful chuckle which seemed to echo round the sweating walls, but the cook had the tisane ready and Arabella escaped back to the safety of the Fountain Court via the covered walkway as fast as she could. Fortunately, Rhys had stayed put, acting unwittingly as a buffer between herself and Glyn so he couldn’t catch hold of her again.
But was she safe there? Could Glyn follow her? She had no idea, but from now on she would have to be on her guard at all times. He was a conniving bastard who’d stop at nothing.
How had he managed to inveigle himself into the garrison? She should tell someone, but she didn’t doubt Glyn’s threat had been real. He would kill her.
She shivered. Best to keep quiet for now. No one would believe her anyway.
Merrick Cottage, 11th June 2016
Josh was pleased he’d managed to persuade Tess to have dinner with him that evening. He’d really enjoyed spending the day with her and although his conscience told him he shouldn’t be flirting with her, he silenced it. It was just a meal, two friends eating together. That was all.
As for that bastard Marcus, Josh wondered what the man was playing at? Had he been spying on Tess or was it a coincidence that he was attending that auction? Josh would bet his last dollar it was no such thing and he decided to keep a closer eye on Tess from now on. He hadn’t trusted the look in Marcus’s eye one bit and the way he’d turned the bidding over the walking stick into some kind of competition still rankled too. Josh hadn’t wanted the item that much, but neither had he wished to be beaten by Marcus so he’d continued until the stick was his. It felt like a minor victory, although what he was going to do with it, he had no idea.
Back at Bryn’s cottage, he found it deserted and guessed the old man was still in his beloved potting shed. Josh ran up the stairs to the small guest bedroom – one of only two bedrooms on the second floor – and put his newly purchased cane under the bed. He’d look at that later, but first he wanted to try the hat.
He’d smiled to himself when he first noticed it in the saleroom. It was just like the one the shadowy figure in the Norman tower had flourished at him. Well, now he could return the gesture properly, provided no one else was around, of course. He picked it up and turned to the small mirror above a chest of drawers while he positioned the hat at a jaunty angle. It had a wide brim and a long feather, which had definitely seen better days as it hung down on one side in a lopsided kind of way. A bit rakish; Josh liked it and thought it would suit him.
However, when he looked at himself in the mirror, he froze, still holding onto the brim of the hat. He couldn’t just see his own face, but another as well. It was as though it overlaid his own, the two alternating, almost jostling for space. He swallowed hard and blinked deliberately to see if that helped. It didn’t.
Instead, the other face became clearer and took over entirely, while his own features faded away. The eyes that stared back at him were similar to his own, the green colour perhaps a tad darker; the facial features had a more weathered look, like Bryn’s, with skin that had been outdoors a lot. The gaze was wary, watchful, the eyes slightly narrowed. Josh received the impression that this was someone who didn’t trust easily, who perhaps lived off his wits and his strength.
He felt his own eyes widen as the implication of what he was seeing hit home. An arrow of fear shot through him, but before he had time to think about it properly, his own thoughts faded altogether and other images crowded into his mind …
Raglan Castle, 11th June 1646
Rhys glanced once more at the smirking face of the man who’d been all over Arabella, about to kiss her and obviously not caring if everyone in the courtyard saw him. He wanted to smash his fist into that mouth. Instead, he took a deep breath and walked away.
He soon found out the man’s name – Glyn Howell – and it wasn’t difficult to put two and two together. It made him angry as hell that he’d been right. She was playing a dangerous double game and so must her lover be doing. They were Parliamentarian spies, the pair of them. Had to be.
So the story about her not wanting to marry her uncle’s nephew had been a lie. There had been something very intimate about the way they’d stood together, hinting at more than just collaboration. Perhaps they were already married? If so, Arabella’s innocent air had fooled everyone in the castle.
‘Why do you want to know?’ Matthew Emrys, one of the men Rhys was sharing a room with, was the one who’d told him Howell’s name. ‘He has a vicious streak, that one. I’ve seen him in his cups, picking fights for the sheer joy of hitting someone.’
Rhys shrugged. ‘Oh, just something someone said. Hinted that Howell might be a spy, but he doesn’t look like he has the brains for it.’ He didn’t want to let on that it was his own suspicion.
‘You never know. Could be playing the fool on purpose,’ Emrys replied. ‘Perhaps it’s worth keeping an eye on him? In secret, of course. Or should we tell the commander?’
‘Maybe not just yet. We have no proof. Let’s watch him, just you and me?’
‘Very well, for now.’
Rhys was glad to have a reason for watching Howell, but deep inside he couldn’t care less if the man was a spy or not. He was only interested in Arabella.
Damn her for a traitorous bitch.
Merrick Cottage, 11th June 2016
‘Jesus!’
Josh blinked and shook his head, leaning heavily against the chest of drawers. What had just happened?
He dared another look into the mirror, but this time only his own features were visible, his eyes green pools of uncertainty as they stared back at him. A sharp pain shot through his skull, but soon dulled to a normal headache. Slowly he pushed himself away from the chest and sank onto his bed, lying down with his hands above his head.
‘So I guess that answered my question then,’ he whispered into the silence. One of the shadowy ones had communicated with him, although not in the way he’d imagined. If anything, Josh had thought perhaps he could talk to them, maybe not with words but with an exchange of thoughts. Telepathy? He hadn’t envisaged someone’s spirit actually going inside his head, using his eyes to see themselves and his brain to relive events. ‘Thanks, whoever you are, but you scared the shit out of me!’
He glared around the room, then closed his eyes. There was no one here now. Whoever he’d been, he was gone.
What was it the shadow had wanted him to know? The images were jumbled – a conversation about a spy and anger while watching some man with a woman. He’d wanted to hit someone.
‘Okay, so you wanted me to hear about a war … Sir Rhys?’ Josh was pretty sure someone had addressed him by that name and it felt right now he said it out loud. ‘A siege. So what? Something happened there? Something bad?’ Unfinished business, it had to be. Or did some spirits just want to continue their existence somehow? Who knew?
Josh waited to see if there was any reaction to his question, but felt nothing. Not so much as a stirring of the air.
He glanced at his watch and noticed the time. ‘Okay, mate, we’ll have to continue this some other time. I’ve got to go.’ Not that he was sure he ever wanted to experience this again, but it wasn’t as if he’d had a choice. That spirit had come to him unbidden, he could do it whenever he wanted, that was clear. Unless Josh could find a way to block his thoughts? But he had no idea how to do that.
He’d think about it later. It was time to get ready for his date, which wasn’t a date. Not really.
‘Yeah, yeah, keep telling yourself that,’ he muttered. He had a gut feeling he wasn’t fooling anyone, least of all himself.
On the way out, at the last moment, he grabbed the hat and crammed it onto his head. He refused to be intimidated by a shadowy spirit who’d been dead for probably hundreds of years. And it was his hat.
‘So what d’you think? Be great if I ever get invited to a costume party, right?’
Josh had arrived to pick Tess up wearing his new hat and she almost gasped out loud at the sight. It was a broad-brimmed one with an old
ostrich feather in faded blue dangling forlornly to one side, but it wasn’t the hat as such that made her blink. It was the way it looked on Josh, as if he’d been born to wear it. As if it was his right.
For a moment her vision swam and she saw another man in a similar hat – a man with long, wavy hair and laughing eyes. She thought she heard someone whisper ‘cariad’ and her heart gave an extra kick while she glanced around. As before, there was no one there and she’d probably imagined it. She swallowed hard and tried to concentrate on Josh as he swept the hat off and made her a deep bow. ‘My lady, your carriage awaits.’
‘Er, so what would you be going as?’ she managed to ask as she followed him over to Bryn’s Landrover. ‘A Cavalier?’
‘Nah, I was thinking Musketeer, you know, D’Artagnan kind of thing? “All for one, one for all.”’
‘Oh, right.’ Tess had forgotten that Josh probably didn’t know much about English history, having been brought up in New Zealand. ‘A Cavalier is—’
He held up a hand. ‘It’s okay, I know what they are. My grandad used to tell me stuff about them when I was a kid. He had books about castles and things too.’
‘I see. Well, good.’ Still feeling a bit shaken, she took her seat in the car and was relieved to see Josh throw the hat onto the back seat. She hoped he wouldn’t put it on again.
Chapter Nineteen
The Stag and Hunter, 11th June 2016
The Stag and Hunter turned out to be right next to a meandering river and as it was a balmy summer evening, they decided to sit outside. Josh liked that better as inside you couldn’t hear yourself think, let alone have a decent conversation. And he wanted to talk to Tess, very much so.
He really had enjoyed the day at the auction. It was something he’d indulged in occasionally in New Zealand, but always alone. When he’d still been married to Isla, he hadn’t dared confess to spending any money that was just for him. And later there hadn’t been anyone he wanted to go with. Tess was great company and their tastes had been remarkably similar.
The Velvet Cloak of Moonlight Page 17
