William felt a chill down his spine. Was it possible he’d escaped death not once, but twice? The fact the enemy had targeted him suggested that someone at Higham was helping them. But who?
When he first arrived, he had thought Rhosyn might be a spy. And she had tried to kill him. But that was nonsense. She’d also kissed him passionately, allowed him to love her, and appeared more than willing to couple with him. Not to mention all the care she’d used in treating his wound. If she wanted him dead, she’d had several chances to poison him. She’d been so careful with his wound. It seemed obvious she was doing all she could to save his life.
But there were other people at Higham who were Welsh. The cook. Ulric. One of the men who worked in the stables. He didn’t remember the man’s name, but recalled how foreign it had sounded. Some of the Welsh had names that twisted the tongue into knots.
Despite his worries, he wanted to reassure Baldwin. “Don’t worry for me. Today I’m wearing full armor, including my coif. If anything, I will die of heat stroke, not from a Welsh warrior’s arrow.”
Baldwin grunted in agreement. Although it was late summer, edging into fall, it was still blazingly hot.
“Besides,” he added. “There has been no sign of raiders near the village in over a sennight. That’s why I want to ride out further. Talk to the herdsmen and find out if they’ve seen any sign of the enemy.”
Baldwin didn’t respond. He probably thought they were wasting their time, which they probably were. But even if they found no evidence of the enemy, he would have put some distance between himself and Rhosyn, at least for a short while. Maybe here, away from her, he could clear his head and think.
He struggled to focus on the many problems facing him. He still had to get salt for butchering, and other supplies. And there was the continuing dilemma of how to get the women in the village to accept Hawise being in charge. She’d come to him that morning and told him that even though the women had agreed to do weaving for the castle, they would not listen when she tried to get them to work the flax. Instead, they started spinning the spring wool clip. Apparently that was much easier than retting and scutching flax. But the flax needed to be worked now, so they could have thread for weaving linen, while the wool could wait.
He had finally had to speak to the women and tell them they must listen to Hawise and do what she told them. But intervening in such matters was not something he wanted to do all the time. He had enough problems to worry about without being dragged into decisions about clothmaking.
He had similar problems at the castle. Issues that should be far beneath him. Yet he was forced to get involved or things would not run smoothly. He needed advice, but where was he to turn? His mother would be able help him, but he could not get her aid without involving his father and he dreaded doing that. William the Elder would have no difficulty in telling him exactly what to do, all the while making his disapproval and disappointment clear. And William didn’t want anyone at Higham to see him as less than the rightful lord. Having his father come and take charge would undermine the authority he had worked to establish.
But who else could he ask for advice? There was really no one. Except perhaps Rhosyn. He was certain she’d been around a castle and knew a little about how things should be done. She also had a better idea of how things worked among the villagers. Who had power. Whether that power was resented. She’d learned such things by being around them and observing how they dealt with each other. As a healer, she was able to gain such information.
Rhosyn might be the answer to many of his problems, but she was also the biggest problem he faced. It was so much more difficult to resist her than it had been Emma. Even when Emma tried to entice him, he’d had no trouble reining himself in. When he’d finally bedded her, it was not out of desire but because he knew she desperately wanted a child.
With Rhosyn it was different. She brought something out in him. A passion and fire he didn’t know he possessed. His yearning for her went far beyond lust. It was a deep, powerful need. A need beyond being joined with her physically. He wanted more than that. He wanted her in his life. By his side. He was in love with her.
The thought of it panicked him. He could not wed her. And he didn’t want her to be his leman. Nor did he think she would agree to take on such a role. She had too much pride. Which meant there was no place for her in his life, no matter how much he wanted her there. It made his heart ache. A pain that went far deeper than that from his wound.
Jesu, he must stop thinking about these things! His goal was to get away and sort things out. Instead of doing that, he was complicating his problems by obsessing about Rhosyn.
The salt. It seemed clear he should send someone to buy a supply. But who? And where should he send them? He knew they had salt mines in Cheshire, but that was so far away. It seemed more reasonable to go to a port like Cardiff or Pembroke, where there would be merchants selling salt.
Cardiff was closest. Cardiff, where Rhosyn had lived. He longed to go there himself and try to find out what had happened to her to make her so wary and fearful of men. To learn her secrets and why she’d left to come to Higham. He didn’t believe it was simply that her aunt was ailing and Higham needed a healer. Nay, he had a clear sense Rhosyn was fleeing from some awful situation. He wanted to know what that situation was. And why she froze like a rabbit in a snare whenever Cardiff was mentioned.
He longed to go to Cardiff, but doing so seemed reckless and indulgent. And yet, they needed salt, and many other supplies, and none of his knights appeared to be skilled in bargaining and purchasing household goods.
If he took a dozen or so men, fully armed and looking out every moment for danger, they would be a force to be reckoned with. Although he did need a translator, to speak to people they encountered on the journey there and possibly to help bargain for supplies when they arrived in Cardiff. Rhosyn had already refused him. But maybe Ulric would be willing to take on the role. He would talk to him.
William let out his breath in relief. Going to Cardiff would solve several problems. The need for supplies. A chance to get away from tedious duties like intervening between Hawise and the village women. An escape from the spell Rhosyn seemed to have woven around him. Away from Higham, truly away, maybe he would be able to stop thinking about her.
As Baldwin and he left the river and started for the hills where the herds grazed, William sat straighter in the saddle. His wound still hurt, but some of his tension had eased. He was no longer brooding but taking action.
Chapter Sixteen
Rhosyn carefully removed the last of Fitzhugh’s stitches and sat back on the bench in the castle hall to examine her work. The wound had healed beautifully. Fitzhugh would be left with a scar but no permanent damage.
“That’s it? You’re finished?”
Rhosyn stood and began to gather her things from the trestle table. “Aye, I am finished. Your wound should require no further care.”
“Good. Because I am about to embark on a journey.”
She met Fitzhugh’s gaze, something she’d been avoiding doing ever since she arrived at the castle. “Where are you going?”
“Cardiff.”
One word, and yet the mention of it made a tumult of emotions stream through her. Dread, but also longing. She fought to control her expression. “Why there?”
“It’s the closest port.”
She waited for him to ask her to go to act as interpreter. When he did not, she felt dismay. “What will you do for an interpreter? Have you found someone else who speaks Welsh?”
“I’m thinking of asking Ulric.”
“Hasn’t he lived at Higham a long time?”
“What difference does that make?”
She had to convince him she would be a better choice. “I’m certain he can still speak the language, since it’s his mother tongue. But he will know nothing of the politics.”
“And who would know things like that?”
“You once asked me to serve as interpr
eter.”
“And you refused.”
“I have reconsidered.”
He raised a brow. She struggled to think of a good reason for her change of heart. Having told him his wound didn’t need further attention, she couldn’t use that excuse. It was difficult to explain her urge to go there. She didn’t understand it herself.
“I think I could be of use to you on the journey there. I know a little of the dynamics of Welsh politics.”
His blue eyes focused on her keenly. “You once argued that as a woman, your countrymen might not accord you much respect. You suggested I should have a Welshman accompany me instead.”
“I’m not certain Ulric would be that helpful. Although he is a man, he has less status than I do.”
Fizthugh looked thoughtful. Then he smiled. “Clearly I should take you instead.” She wondered if having her come along had been his intent from the beginning.
Now that she’d agreed, anxiety flooded her. What had she gotten herself into? By going with him, she would be forced into close proximity with him for at least a sennight. Her body rejoiced at the thought, but her mind screamed danger.
“When will we leave?”
“Tomorrow. If you can be ready that soon.”
She nodded. “Ned seems healed enough that I can safely leave him. And Anselm’s leg is steadily getting better. Besides, even though she behaved like a petulant child at first, Amara, the tanner’s daughter, has ended up being a great help in assisting me with the care of Edwin and Ned. I have begun to teach her the basics of treating other ailments besides wounds. Between her and Hawise, who knows quite a bit about herbal lore, they could probably manage to deal with minor ailments that might arise among the villagers. And at the castle, the maidservant Esme has some healing knowledge.”
Fitzhugh looked at her, clearly surprised.
“Aye. Apparently, Esme’s mother served as lady’s maid to Roscales’s wife at one time, so Esme grew up in the upper portion of the castle and learned needlework and herbal lore.”
Fitzhugh shook his head. “And now she scrubs tables and serves meals.”
“That all came about when Lady Matilda died and Roscales’s leman, Clemence, took over the running of the household. Clemence resented Esme and forced her into the role of scullery maid.”
“How did you learn all of this?”
“Hawise told me.”
“And so, with all these other women having some knowledge of healing, you think you can safely leave Higham and go to Cardiff with me?”
“Aye.” She met his gaze, her heart pounding at the thought of what she was agreeing to.
*
Why had she changed her mind? William wondered as he left the hall and made his way to the stables to continue preparations for the journey. A week or so ago Rhosyn had refused to consider the idea of accompanying him to Wales. Now she seemed keen to do so. Was it that she felt more comfortable with him now? Or, was there some other reason for her change of heart? He recalled her alarm when he’d first mentioned Cardiff. Now she had agreed to go there. What did that mean?
A part of him was thrilled to be making the journey with Rhosyn. Another part reminded him how witless the plan was. In having her serve as interpreter, he was putting his life in her hands. She could tell her countrymen whatever she wished and he would not know what she was saying. But he did not believe she would knowingly put him danger. Not after the tender intimacy they’d shared.
He thought often of their tryst in the loft of her cottage. The silk of her skin. The lithe feel of her body. Her taste. Remembering it aroused him and made him ache with longing.
He thrust the memory away as he entered the stables and went to see the ostler about a mount for Rhosyn for the journey.
*
Baldwin rode up beside William. “How long do you expect the journey to Cardiff and back to take?”
William glanced over at the auburn-haired knight. He would have preferred to bring Adam, but he needed Adam to stay at Higham and look after things. So far Baldwin seemed capable and loyal.
“It depends on many things. The weather. How rough the trackway is. How long it takes to purchase the goods we need.” Whether we encounter any hostile Welshmen.
“I know we need salt. What else are you looking to buy?”
“Spices. Textiles. Other furnishings for the castle.”
“That’s why we brought the wagon?”
William nodded. The wain, pulled by two oxen, slowed them down and made them much more vulnerable to attack. But it was the only way he could think to transport the goods they needed back to Higham. He’d also brought almost a dozen men. Hopefully they made a formidable enough looking envoy to deter attack. And with luck, having Rhosyn with them would also help.
He glanced around at the late summer landscape. Everything was still green, but there were hints of autumn. A glimmer of gold tingeing the leaves in the forest they’d just passed through. The weather was slightly cooler, so wearing mail wasn’t quite as miserable. He wasn’t wearing his helm, although he’d brought it, of course. Right now he valued the ability to take in his surroundings more than he did the protection a helmet would provide.
The scenery they passed seemed so peaceful. Green hillsides with flocks of golden white sheep. Steep hillsides, bright green edged with the dark shapes of gorse bushes. Deep forested valleys with wild, rushing streams. But their stunning surroundings did little to soothe William’s unease. They were entering what was very likely enemy territory. Adding to his disquiet were his worries about leaving Higham. Would the raiders attack again while he was gone? If that happened, would Adam be up to dealing with it?
“Do you know what route we are taking?” Baldwin’s question jarred him back to the present.
“Rhosyn said the most direct path is through the highlands. But on the way back, when the wagon is full, we will probably travel along the coast.”
At the mention of Rhosyn, Baldwin raised a skeptical brow. The knight clearly had doubts about Rhosyn’s involvement in this trip. Baldwin’s attitude towards Rhosyn both irritated William and made him question his decision. He was putting so much trust in Rhosyn. What if she ended up betraying them? Or, simply led them astray by mistake?
Most men would not bring a woman on this sort of a journey. But to William, it seemed logical to ask her advice and have her serve as interpreter. Or, was he blinded by his feelings for her? Part of the reason he asked her to accompany them was that he looked forward to being around her. It didn’t matter they would have no chance to be alone together. Merely being able to look at her and talk to her was gratifying.
He rode beside Baldwin for a time, then signaled to Trueheart to slow so he was beside Rhosyn, riding in the middle of the troupe of knights. “You ride well. Who taught you?”
“I learned as a child.”
Not really an answer. He probed further. “You mentioned your uncle was a chieftain. What about your father?”
“I did not know my father.”
William glanced at her questioningly.
Rhosyn gave him a defiant look. “Most healers, at least of my mother’s line, never marry. She never told me who my sire was.”
“Did you never wonder?”
She met his gaze. “She assured me he was not a herdsman or a bondsmen, or someone of low status, if that is what troubles you.”
Did that trouble him? He did not know.
“My mother raised me, loved me and cared for me, and taught me all her lore. And if I desired a family connection, there was my mother’s family. My uncle has three sons, but no daughters. So, he took some interest in me.”
“You grew up at your uncle’s fortress?”
She hesitated and her face got that closed, wary look he knew so well. “Nay, I grew up in Cardiff.”
A healer living on her own, raising her daughter by herself. The upbringing suggested by Rhosyn’s words did not explain how she had learned to speak Norman French so well. Or why she seemed to know a grea
t deal about how a noble household functioned. Or why she despised English knights so much. And not simply despised them, but feared them.
“How did you and your mother come to live at Cardiff?”
“’Tis complicated.”
“I have nothing but time. Why don’t you tell me the tale?”
He had put the question casually, but his attempt to soothe Rhosyn failed miserably. She was obviously distressed and her mood affected her horse. The docile, dark gray mare—whose name was Cinder—tossed her head and nickered softly.
William felt sorry for Rhosyn. He was on the verge of telling her not to mind his questions, when she finally answered. “My mother was a healer at Cardiff for many years. That’s how I came to grow up there. It was under Welsh control for much of that time. But a few years ago, Bellame seized the castle. He brought in his own servants and drove away most of the Welsh. My mother and I stayed.”
“And…? There must be more to it than that.”
She turned to look at him, her brown eyes imploring. “There is. But I’d rather not speak of it.”
“Very well.” He was disappointed, but he didn’t want to press her. It seemed clear something awful had happened at Cardiff and she hadn’t gotten over it.
He turned his attention to their surroundings. Over the last few miles, the hills had become steeper, starker and more forbidding. This was a different sort of land than around Higham. Wilder, and more desolate.
William began to feel unsettled, like an intruder. Maybe he should put on his helm and order his men to do the same. Yet there was no sign of any threat. Indeed, the only evidence anyone lived here was when they saw a farmstead down in a valley, a rough stone cottage surrounded by hedges and a few outbuildings.
William again guided Trueheart near to Rhosyn’s mount. “Do you know what chieftain controls this territory?”
“I believe it is Ifan ap Cynan.”
“Did you not travel through this area when you came to Higham?”
Lord of Secrets Page 15
