Bound to Her Blood Enemy Page 12

  Matilda handed him a cup. “Pour her some wine. I’ll go and talk to her.”

  She hurried out, leaving Huw wondering what she had wanted to say.

  Matilda soon reappeared with Alys, her arm around her old nurse’s shoulders. She steered Alys to a bench. “Sit by the fire awhile. I’m sorry we upset you.”

  “Oh, bless you! It’s not you,” said Alys between sobs. “But all the talk brought back memories of poor Cuthbert.”

  Huw handed Alys her wine and then stood back. This was something he would far rather leave to Matilda.

  After a quick glance at Huw, Matilda sat on the bench next to Alys and put her arm round her. She didn’t say anything at first, just hugged Alys, who cradled the rough pottery cup and gazed blankly into the flames.

  Presently Alys stirred and took a gulp of wine. “I’m sorry,” she said. “You must think me a foolish old woman.”

  “Of course not,” Matilda said. “There’s nothing foolish about mourning a loss. And what happened to your nephew…” She shook her head. “I can’t imagine what that must have been like.”

  Alys nodded and squeezed Matilda’s hand. “Thank you for understanding, dear.”

  As Huw watched, it struck him that Matilda was precisely the kind of woman he would choose to be his wife and the mother of his heirs. She was more than a mere beauty who would grace his household and warm his bed. Her blend of quick wits and courage called to him. He wasn’t blind to her faults. He still feared her forthright speech and impulsiveness could get them into trouble, but her kindness and compassion more than made up for that.

  A memory of his father flashed into his mind.

  “The Comyns were sired by the devil himself.” Huw’s father stood looking down at Coed Bedwen, his hands clenched in fists at his side. “Never forget what they took from us; never forget that they are evil.” Huw shuddered when his father turned, and he saw the desolation and loss in his face. “Promise me that if I fail, you will do your utmost to retake Coed Bedwen and rid the earth of the last of those devil-spawn.”

  Watching Matilda now, he couldn’t imagine anyone less like devil-spawn. Would someone touched by evil take the time to comfort an old woman? He remembered what he had said to Owain when the king had ordered him to fetch her from Redcliff: “I don’t understand why you would want to bring a woman with tainted Comyn blood into your court.”

  He shriveled with shame to think of those words now. She may be a Comyn by birth, but she couldn’t help that. Her blood was no more tainted than his.

  All the same, he had made a vow to his father, and he would never know peace until he had accomplished it. While he could no longer make Matilda suffer for it, he had to find a way to satisfy his oath, too. He was no closer to seeing how he could do that.

  After a while, Alys dabbed her eyes with the corner of her apron. “I do feel better now, my dear. Thank you.”

  “Is there anything else I can do?” Matilda asked.

  Alys gave a sad smile. “You’ve done everything you can. I just have to do my best to get on with my life and pray no one else meets the same fate.”

  “Huw and I will do all in our power to make sure that never happens,” Matilda said. “We’ll do whatever it takes to bring Coed Bedwen back into Welsh hands.”

  “But you’re a Norman,” said Alys.

  Matilda shook her head, her eyes hard. “The Normans have done nothing but deny me my rights,” she answered. “I’m done with England and the Normans. My mother was Welsh, and it’s time I claimed that side of my heritage.”

  Her voice was firm, but Huw caught a flicker of doubt in her eyes. He frowned. She needed to be free of all doubt if they were going to be successful. The Welsh and English inhabitants of Coed Bedwen wouldn’t support her if they suspected any lingering loyalty to the Normans.

  “Don’t forget you’re married to a Welsh man and your uncle claims you as kin. You are Welsh, Mallt.” If he used her Welsh name, he could forget her Norman heritage.

  The grateful smile Matilda flashed at him sent a shard of guilt arrowing through his gut.

  ****

  Matilda’s heart lightened. If Huw could guess her doubts and take the trouble to reassure her, maybe it wouldn’t be as difficult to work with him as she had feared. Everything he did was making her misgivings about handing him control on this mission melt away.

  Alys gave Matilda a wan smile and then rose to her feet. “I must get on. There’s work to be done. Would you two be dears and load the wine barrels into the cart? It won’t be long before my first customers arrive, and there won’t be time to do it tomorrow. They’re expecting the delivery shortly after daybreak.”

  “Of course,” Huw said. Before he left the room, he placed a hand on Alys’s shoulder. “You have my word I’ll do my utmost to ensure your brother’s safety, as well as that of all the other innocent folk in the castle. No one else will suffer your nephew’s fate.”

  Alys smiled and squeezed his hand in silence, then left to do her work.

  Matilda swallowed to clear the lump in her throat as she followed Huw to the outhouse where the barrels were stored. The sincerity…the tenderness…behind Huw’s promise to Alys lingered in her mind. He might be a master of deceit, but he had no reason to lie to Alys. She thought back on all his words and actions. Yes, he had been harsh at times, but then he had led a harsh life. However, so far, he had done everything he had said he would. He had said he’d get her away from Redcliff and he had. He’d promised to deliver her safely to King Owain and he had.

  He was a decent man. A good man. He didn’t deserve her mistrust.

  “Huw, I owe you an apology,” she said once they were in the outhouse.

  Huw paused in the act of placing a plank of wood to form a ramp up to the cart. “What do you mean?” he asked, frowning.

  “I never apologized for drugging you that night.”

  Huw leant back against the cart. “I can’t blame you,” he said. “I was angry enough at the time, but I understand why you did it.”

  She shook her head. She wanted to get her feelings out in the open so they could work together in mutual trust. “It’s not just that. It’s my whole manner to you since Owain said we were to marry. I blamed you, thought you had tricked me. But I see now that you were just as shocked as me. And even though I was angry you hadn’t told me about your claim on Coed Bedwen, I understand why you held back.”

  Huw gave a crooked smile that set her pulse fluttering. “I dread to think what you’d have done to me if you’d known. The poppy syrup was bad enough. I’ve half a mind to appoint a food taster, to keep me safe whenever we quarrel.”

  Then his smile faded. “Why are you telling me this now?”

  “Because there’s been so much tension between us. You were right when you said we needed to depend on one another. I wanted to clear the air, make it easier for us to work together.”

  She hesitated, unsure if she should say what else was on her mind. But if she was serious in dispelling any lingering resentment, she had to be sure Huw had dealt with his side of it. Or at least was willing to try. “The tension’s not just on my side, though.” She drew a deep breath. “I know you must feel anger over the suffering my grandfather inflicted upon your family. You didn’t say anything when I mentioned it before, but I have to know—do you hate me for being a Comyn?”

  ****

  Huw schooled his features to hide his dismay. “I don’t hate you, Mallt. What your grandfather did isn’t your fault.” He rolled a barrel up the ramp to give himself time to think. He was on dangerous ground. If he let slip about the blood oath, it would shatter the fragile trust she had formed for him. She mustn’t find out until he had resolved on how to satisfy his oath. And only when Coed Bedwen was safely in his hands. Part of Wales.

  Part of Wales. That reminded him of what she’d said earlier and showed him the way to deflect the conversation.

  “Did you mean what you said about claiming your Welsh heritage?”

&
nbsp; Matilda shoved another barrel up to the ramp, then straightened her back with a wince. “Of course. Until now, all the men in my life have been Norman. They all let me down.”

  “Even your father?” Come to think of it, he had sensed Matilda was concealing something about her father last time she had mentioned him.

  “I know he loved me, but…” She rubbed her temples. “When it mattered, he wasn’t there for me. He”—she indicated the barrels standing upon the beaten earth floor with a sharp, angry gesture—“he couldn’t face life without my mother, so he escaped from his pain through drink.” She gave a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “One day he drank himself into a stupor and didn’t wake.”

  Huw ached for the six-year-old girl who had needlessly lost her father so soon after her mother. He swayed toward her, yearning to take her in his arms, offer the comfort she’d been denied for so long, but her stony expression warned him to stay away.

  She shoved at a barrel, sending it thudding into the ones already waiting to be rolled up the ramp. “So, I’m done with England, with the Normans. I want to forget about my Norman side and remember only my mother’s side. My Welsh side.”

  Then her fierce expression softened. “I miss her. I wish she could be here now, to advise me. I’m only just beginning to realize how difficult she must have found it, adapting to life in a Norman household. Until I came to Wales, I didn’t know how strange our customs must have seemed to her.”

  Huw frowned. “Our customs?”

  Matilda gave him a blank stare. “What do you mean?”

  “You said our customs, not their customs. If you want to be Welsh, you need to claim Welsh customs as your own, instead of Norman ones.”

  Matilda’s shoulders slumped. “You’re right.” She gave a sharp laugh. “It’s funny how my life is the reverse of my mother’s. Looking back, I don’t think my mother ever felt truly at home in a Norman household. All the stories she told…the songs she sang to me…they were always about Wales. Have I put myself in the same position—am I fated to always be an outsider here? Will I ever truly feel at home?”

  She looked so forlorn that Huw’s heart twisted. “It’s not the same, Mallt. You have family here. Your mother was all alone in England. You’ve grown up with Welsh songs, Welsh tales, speaking our language.”

  He closed the distance between them and cupped her chin, forcing her to look him in the eyes, willing her to believe him. And now it wasn’t simply so she could convince others of the rightness of her cause. For the moment he forgot she was a Comyn. All he saw was his wife, who needed reassurance. Comfort.

  “You are Welsh, Mallt. It’s in your blood and in your heart. You will always have a home here.”

  She blinked away the tears beading her eyelashes. “I…thank you,” she said. “You’re the last person I would expect to understand. I meant what I said back on the hill, you know. I hope regaining Coed Bedwen will help make up for what you’ve suffered.”

  She smiled up at him, a soft smile that lit up her face, transforming it from beautiful to breath-stealing. The blood roared in his ears. All thought of Coed Bedwen disappeared. All he knew was he desired her, and he couldn’t resist any longer.

  A stray lock had escaped from her veil and curled upon her cheek. Unable to stop himself, he reached out and brushed it with his thumb, then traced the curve of her cheek down to her lips. Then he stooped and pressed his lips to hers.

  She gasped against his mouth. Her lips were soft and tasted of honeyed wine. When he ran his tongue along them, she opened her mouth with a soft sigh.

  A dim warning chimed in the back of his mind, only just reaching his lust-befuddled senses.

  Remember your oath!

  He pulled back, gasping for breath. It was one thing to decide Matilda was innocent of her family’s blood guilt, quite another to willingly break his oath to the extent of kissing her. His blood oath would always be between them. He should remember that and not let her beauty beguile him.

  Even so, it took all his strength to wrench his gaze from her still-parted, full lips and step away.

  “Forgive me. I shouldn’t have done that.” He couldn’t look at her, afraid he would lose his senses and give in to his body’s yearning. Instead he hefted another barrel and shoved into the cart where it crashed into the others with a force that threatened to burst it open.

  ****

  Matilda’s senses swam, and she sagged back against the wall that was mercifully close enough to support her before her knees gave way. What had just happened? One moment his lips had been on hers, his touch sparking her flesh to life like a flint to steel. Yet now he couldn’t even look at her.

  She pressed trembling fingers to her lips. She had never been kissed before. Never imagined Huw’s lightest touch would set her pulse thrumming, leave her aching for more.

  “There’s nothing to forgive.” It was hard to force out the words when the air had been squeezed from her lungs. “If it’s because you promised not to touch me until I’m ready…” She hesitated, but she’d always spoken her mind to Huw before, and she wasn’t going to stop now. “Well, maybe I’m ready now.”

  She placed a hand on his arm, but he snatched it away as though it burned. “This isn’t the time or place, Matilda.” He hefted another barrel. “Come on; we’ve got work to do.”

  His words were a slap in the face, jolting her from her daze. He didn’t want her. For all his words of comfort, his protestations that she belonged here, she would always be a Comyn to him. A reminder of all he had lost.

  Turning her face away so he couldn’t see her hurt, she resumed her task. All she could do was concentrate on her task, remind herself she was here to win back Coed Bedwen, nothing more.

  Ignore the ache in her heart. No man was to be trusted, not even Huw ap Goronwy.

  ****

  The sun was only just peeping above the horizon, their shadows stretching far to the west, when they hitched Alys’s gray mare to the loaded cart and made the jolting, creaking ride to the castle.

  As uncomfortable as it was, Matilda was grateful to be here, away from the stifling closeness of their storeroom bedchamber. She had scarcely slept a wink, painfully aware of Huw’s closeness, of his legs tangling with hers each time he shifted in his sleep. She’d ended up balanced at the edge of the mattress, reliving the kiss over and over in her mind. She prayed they would find a means to get into the castle for longer than this brief visit. Many more such nights and she would sicken from lack of sleep.

  As they rounded a bend and saw the castle looming ahead, Huw said, “Don’t forget we are just looking today. No asking questions, no raising suspicions or drawing attention to ourselves. Simply look, listen, and remember all you see and hear. You never know how useful a piece of information may prove, no matter how insignificant it may seem at first.

  “Above all, any talking that needs doing, I’ll do myself. You stay quiet.”

  She bit back a retort at Huw’s peremptory tone. It was pointless arguing. Whatever she said or did, she would never make him forget her tainted Comyn blood.

  “And one more thing,” Huw said. “Try to look less Norman. Slouch. Hang your head. Don’t meet anyone’s gaze.”

  As he spoke he seemed to shrink. He lost his confident, almost arrogant, air and hunched upon his perch, his eyes darting to the left and right but never fixing upon a point. She did her best to copy his mannerisms. When Huw gave a slight nod and murmured his approval, she hated herself for the glow of pleasure it gave her.

  The gates creaked open when the cart rattled up to them. As Alys had said, they were expected.

  A guard approached and leaned against the cart. “You’re not the same people who usually bring the wine,” he said. “What’s happened to them?”

  Her heart broke into a gallop. Were they under suspicion already?

  “I don’t know about any others, sir.”

  Matilda remembered just in time not to turn and gape at Huw. His voice was hesitant, his
Welsh accent so exaggerated it was difficult to understand.

  “Alys at the Boar’s Head paid us to bring this here. That’s all I know.”

  The guard muttered something under his breath that sounded like, “Welsh scum.” Then raising his voice and enunciating each word clearly, as though speaking to a backward child, he said, “Drive the cart up to that doorway over there.” He pointed to a building at the far side of the bailey. “The steward will show you where to unload the barrels.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Huw urged the mare to move on and followed the guard’s directions.

  Matilda looked around as they crossed the bailey. The first thing that struck her was how much building had happened since she had last been here. It was clear that Fitzjohn had never had any intention of giving up Coed Bedwen. He would never have spent heavily on rebuilding the keep and outer wall in stone or extending the great hall if he had thought Matilda would be taking possession of it.

  That meant he was not going to give it up without a fight.

  She turned to Huw, about to comment on it, but the words died when she saw the expression on his face—mingled wonder and yearning.

  “After all these years, I’m finally here.” He seemed to be speaking more to himself than to her.

  Matilda didn’t know what to say. Suddenly she felt ashamed for having asked him why Coed Bedwen was important to him. It was in his blood as much as it was in hers.

  The steward, a graying, thin man with a harassed air, came out to meet them, and Huw quickly regained his servile posture. If Matilda hadn’t seen him just now, she would never have guessed what this place meant to him.

  “All these barrels are to be stored down in the cellar,” the steward said, pointing to the stone steps that led down from the door. “Then collect the empty barrels that have been placed by the steps.” He sneered up at Matilda. “I see you Welsh are so lazy, you have to bring your women with you to do your work.”

  Matilda tensed and came close to snapping at him, but Huw clasped her hand under cover of his cape. He squeezed it, warning her to remain silent. “That’s right, your lordship.”