Bound to Her Blood Enemy Page 15

  It was all Matilda could do not to squeak. She clung onto Huw all the tighter. It was only his comforting presence that prevented her from running away and gave her the strength to continue listening to the man she most feared.

  “She ran away from Redcliff at Easter. I’ve had my men searching for her. I even appealed to King Stephen, but so far there’s been no sign of her.”

  “She’s not here, my lord, I’m sure of that.”

  Despite her ice-cold fear, or maybe because of it, Matilda was overcome by an insane desire to laugh. She pressed her hand to her mouth, fighting the attack, struggling not to imagine the look on Sir Reginald’s face if he found out she was standing a mere stone’s throw from him.

  “Well, make sure your men are on the alert for her,” Sir Reginald said. “I want the guard doubled. I wouldn’t put it past her to appeal to her family in Wales for help. If they take it into their heads to get involved, there’ll be all hell to pay. You know what they’re like when that galanas business of theirs is involved, and I’m sure I’ve brought enough of them down on my head by now.”

  Galanas. She was sure she’d heard that word before, but she couldn’t think clearly enough just now to remember. She would have to ask Huw later.

  The conversation ended, the constable strode down the steps and toward the hall doors. He passed so close that his cloak fanned Matilda’s face.

  Sir Reginald muttered to himself for a moment, then the door slammed shut, snuffing out the light.

  Matilda released a shuddering breath.

  “That was close,” Huw murmured. Then he pulled her nearer. “You’re shaking!”

  She fought to keep her voice low. “What do you expect? You’d be shaking too if you knew you were being hunted.”

  “It’s not too late to change your mind. You should change your mind. They wouldn’t find you at the Boar’s Head.”

  “No. And I’ve already given you my reasons for staying. I won’t waste my breath repeating them. We knew Sir Reginald would be looking for me, so nothing’s changed. It was just disturbing to hear it from his mouth, that’s all.”

  “Come on, then.” Huw took her arm. “Everyone’s out of sight again. Let’s find that door.”

  They crept around the foot of the keep, passing the stairs where a pair of torches set in sconces marked the main entrance to the keep. Not far beyond that, they came to the dark recess where the cellar door stood. Huw fumbled in his pouch and brought out a narrow bundle of cloth, about the length of his hand. When he unwrapped it, she heard the clink of metal. Peering around his arm, she saw he was holding a set of long, needle-like pieces of metal, twisted into various hooks.

  Huw grinned up at her. “The tools of the spy’s trade.”

  He was going to pick the lock with them. She stepped forward to watch, but Huw shook his head. “I need you to stand lookout. If we’re caught breaking in…”

  There was no need for him to finish. Matilda could imagine the outcome only too well.

  She stationed herself at the edge of the shadows, straining her eyes and ears for the slightest movement. A slight movement up on the wall made her catch her breath. It was a watchman, but she relaxed when she saw he was standing with his back to the courtyard, gazing out into the darkness beyond the castle. Behind her, through the pounding of blood in her ears, she could just discern a faint metallic scratching. Then came a tiny but distinct click. Huw opened the door a fraction, then gestured to her to wait.

  “We’ll need this.” He pulled something out from the breast of his tunic. He darted back to the foot of the keep’s staircase and then returned, shielding something that glowed with his hand: a candle. He must have lifted it from the hall.

  He walked to the open door. “Are you coming?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Huw ducked through the door.

  “Wait!” he said to Matilda who moved to follow him. He groped along the wall until his hand plunged into a niche. Here was one of the cresset lamps he remembered from their last visit. He lit the three wicks with his candle, cursing under his breath at the hot wax that spilled over his fingers, then he located the lamp on the opposite wall and lit that as well.

  He ushered Matilda inside. “I didn’t want you falling down the stairs.” He pointed to the shaft that opened near his feet, now illuminated by the pale glow from the lamps.

  “Now let’s find the source of that draught.” Pausing only to wedge the cellar door ajar to ensure a through draught, he descended the staircase, holding the candle aloft. The familiar thrill of chasing secrets flooded his body, mingling with the sense of danger, shortening his breath.

  He reached out for Matilda’s hand and found it clenched and chilled.

  “You don’t have to come,” he said. “You could stand watch if you’d prefer.”

  “I’d rather be in here,” she replied. Despite the slight shake, her voice was resolute. “I feel safer with you.”

  An unexpected warmth flooded his heart. He’d never imagined he could feel such a surge of possessive pride or take such joy in being Matilda’s protector. He squeezed her hand and felt her fingers relax and then entwine with his.

  Not that what he was doing now could be described as protecting her. His stomach twisted into a knot of guilt. He would have to take especial care with her, because he’d never forgive himself if she came to harm.

  “Stand there,” he said to her when his feet reached level ground. “I’ll light some more lamps. We don’t want to be tripping over things at every move.”

  It didn’t take long to light just enough lamps to see by. He had taken careful note of their whereabouts when they delivered the wine. The wavering light set the shadows dancing on the whitewashed walls and showed him barrels, clay jars, and bales of wool stacked around the room.

  “Now,” he said, “can you feel the draught?”

  They both walked around the chamber. Huw prayed he was right about the existence of another opening in the cellar, or they would have wasted a much-needed night’s sleep. In the back of his mind was the hope they would find a hidden way out of the castle. It would mean a speedy end to their time in the castle and right now he wanted to get Matilda away from here to a place of safety as soon as possible.

  “Here!” said Matilda suddenly. “I can feel air on my cheek.”

  Huw stood beside her and held his candle up, passing it back and forth in front of him. At one point the flame flattened, coming close to blowing out.

  He allowed himself a satisfied smile. “The air is coming in through the door, so it must be moving toward that wall.” He pointed to a towering stack of barrels. “It would be barrels. Why couldn’t it be wool?” After a day of shoveling manure, his muscles protested at the prospect of more lifting.

  He blew out the candle and set it down, then moved over to the closest barrel and heaved it on its rim, half rolling, half dragging it aside. The draught was definitely stronger here.

  Matilda joined him, and they lifted the barrel together.

  “Huw, what does galanas mean?” she asked.

  He nearly dropped his end of the barrel. “Why do you ask?”

  “Sir Reginald mentioned it just now. I think I’ve heard the word before, but I can’t remember where.”

  Praying that she would never link it with him, Huw said, “It’s the law relating to a blood feud. Have you heard of the English wergild?”

  They finished moving the barrel, and Matilda straightened up. “Wergild? Isn’t that a fine paid for injuring or killing someone?”

  “That’s right. It’s to prevent blood feuds from spiraling down the generations.” Should he demand a blood price from Matilda when they were safely in charge of Coed Bedwen? Would that satisfy his vow to his father? His father had wanted blood, but Huw knew he could never harm her. Yet how else could he satisfy the oath that was all the more binding now his father was in his grave?

  It was a problem that needed to be resolved soon. And alone. It wouldn’t do for Matilda to
learn the true nature of his vow, not when her trust in him was still wavering.

  Matilda moved to the next barrel. “In that case I wouldn’t be surprised if Sir Reginald owed a fortune to many families around here. We’ve only been here for a day, and already we’ve found out about Alys’s nephew. And, of course, what happened to Elen’s brother was terrible, even though no one was hurt or killed. I should think there were plenty of people who would be glad to see Sir Reginald out of Coed Bedwen. I doubt we’ll have trouble persuading folk to join a revolt.”

  “You may be right,” he said, relieved she hadn’t linked the idea of galanas to their own families. “But that means we’ll have to be on our guard even more.”

  “Why?”

  “There are huge risks. Think about it. If Fitzjohn is even suspicious of such a plot, he might have planted his own agents to pose as rebels. And even if he hasn’t, there are still risks. Never forget what a man might do if he fears for his loved ones—he might be compelled to give up his co-conspirators. Or he might turn traitor in return for a reward. Every man has his price. The more people we bring into a plot, the greater the risk.”

  “I know, I know. And you trust no one.”

  He gave her a sharp glance and the words came out of his mouth before he could stop them. “At least I have a good reason for my distrust, Mallt.”

  If he could have cut his words out of the air before they reached Matilda’s ears he would have. He had tried to put the incident with the poppy syrup behind them. Dragging it up again would hardly improve the fragile trust they’d built between them. He braced himself for Matilda’s snapped response.

  Much to his surprise, instead of flaring with anger, she touched his arm. “You’re right. Forgive me.”

  He sighed and covered her hand with his, ignoring the voice in his head that urged him to get on with the task at hand. “I’m the one who should be sorry. It’s no wonder you have difficulty trusting me after being in Fitzjohn’s dubious care.” And what of her father? But he bit back the question. She hadn’t exactly taken it well last time he’d pressed her, and they both needed their full attention on the task at hand.

  Easier said than done when every inch of his flesh ached to be near her. Lying by her side in the great hall had been pure torture. He had held her as she dozed, guarding her sleep, yearning to roll her beneath him, explore her every curve, not stopping after a single kiss this time but lose himself in the passion he’d sensed the first time their lips had met.

  Hellfire! Now he was the one putting them in danger. He dropped her hand and put more space between them. “Come on. We need to find the source of this draught before the night grows old.”

  The moment he put his hand on the next barrel, it shifted, making him stagger.

  “That’s strange; it must be empty.”

  He tapped at the next one, resulting in a hollow thunk. All the other barrels in the same group were likewise empty.

  “This must be it,” Huw said. His pulse raced. “These barrels can all be easily shifted by one person. There has to be something behind.”

  He pushed them aside and found a board against the wall behind, rising to about chest height. It wasn’t fastened to anything; Huw could lift it aside with one hand.

  The moment the board shifted, a strong breeze ruffled his hair. He found himself gazing into the mouth of a roughly hewn tunnel.

  Matilda crouched down beside him and peered into the darkness. “There is another way out.” Despite her long day in the laundry yard, the scent of honeysuckle lingered on her skin, made no less alluring by astringent overtones of lye.

  “We don’t know if it leads outside.” Huw struggled to maintain concentration. “It might be a path to a well or spring. I know of other castles that have those, to prevent their water supply being cut off in case of a siege.”

  He went to fetch his candle and relit it from one of the lamps, then returned to the tunnel and used it to light the entrance. The pool of light illuminated the beginnings of a stairway, carved out of the rock. It fell too steeply to see far.

  “There’s only one way to find out where this leads.”

  He stooped and entered the tunnel. Matilda followed, her hand on his arm, her touch burning through the woolen sleeve. He was about to put his foot on the first step when a noise that sounded like a faint knock echoed through the passage. He froze, wincing when Matilda’s grip on his arm tightened.

  “What was that?” Matilda hissed.

  The sound of distant footsteps growing nearer saved Huw from answering.

  He shoved Matilda back into the cellar, flinging himself after her. His heart beating painfully against his ribs, he pushed her toward the door. “Get out!”

  She resisted him. “What about you?”

  He pointed to the lamps and displaced barrels. “I’ll follow as soon as I’ve dealt with those.”

  To his dismay, Matilda tore herself free and ran back to the tunnel mouth. She tugged the board back in place and heaved at the barrels. “It’s quicker if I help.”

  He was tempted to fling her over his shoulder and carry her out, but then there wouldn’t be time to snuff the lamps and replace the barrels. They would both have to take their chances here.

  He tore around the cellar, blowing out the lamps, leaving just his candle lit, and closing the door. There wasn’t time to move the full barrel he had shifted first, but he didn’t think it looked obviously out of place.

  The footsteps paused just behind the board. It was too late to escape. He set the candle down on the floor beside a large wooden chest and then shoved Matilda behind the bales of wool, hissing, “Whatever happens, stay there.” The last thing he did before diving behind the chest was grab a flask from its top. He prayed it held wine.

  He snuffed out the candle and prayed some more.

  Without the candle light, the cellar was plunged into a darkness that was a physical weight against his eyes. Wood scraped upon the floor. Then came the hollow knock of the empty barrels being pushed away.

  A pool of light appeared on the vaulted ceiling. Huw crouched lower, clutching the flask to his chest. Pray God Matilda had the sense to keep her head down.

  There were further grating noises. Whoever it was must be replacing the board and barrels. Huw yanked the stopper from the flask, knowing the slight noise would be masked by the louder scrapes and thuds.

  The noises stopped. Huw held his breath. Soft footsteps approached. Then the figure of a man passed his hiding place. He was holding a lantern which cast a golden glow onto a familiar face. It was the stable master. What in Heaven’s name was he doing here?

  Not that the reason was important right now. All that mattered was for the stable master to leave without noticing their presence. Huw strained his ears for any giveaway movement from the wool bales, but there was nothing. Thank God Matilda was doing what she was told for once.

  The moment the stable master reached the steps, he paused. He lifted his head, looking like a hound seeking a scent.

  Hellfire! An icy hand squeezed Huw’s heart. That was exactly what the man was doing—he could smell the acrid scent from Huw’s snuffed candle. He tucked it into his tunic, praying to all the saints he could remember. There was nothing else he could do but pour the wine down his tunic and then place the flask by his foot.

  “Show yourself!” The stable master’s voice wavered a little.

  Good. That might mean he wasn’t supposed to be here either. If so, there was hope.

  Huw gave a grunt and kicked the flask, sending it skittering across the floor.

  The stable master walked back toward him. “Who’s there?” he said. “Show yourself.”

  There was a definite edge of fear in his voice. Huw tucked the knowledge away.

  He shifted and groaned. “Go ’way,” he mumbled. “Lemme shleep.”

  A light shone on his face and he made a show of shading his eyes and squinting.

  The stable master crouched down and took hold of the front of
his tunic. He started to tug Huw to his feet but then let him fall back, his nose wrinkling. “You’re drunk,” he said. “How did you get in?”

  Huw pointed to the door and then let his arm flop to his side. “Door’s open. Seems rude t’turn gift down.” He was taking a risk, but the stable master was about to discover the door was unlocked, and he didn’t want to be revealed as a lock-picker.

  Speaking as though to himself, the stable master said, “I must have forgotten to lock it behind me.” Huw sent up a silent prayer of thanks that his gamble had paid off.

  The stable master tugged his tunic again. “Come on, man; get up. If you’re caught here, there’ll be all hell to pay.”

  This wasn’t part of Huw’s plan. If he went with the stable master, he would be left with the choice of leaving Matilda here, or revealing her presence. “Gerroff. Leave me alone.” He tried to bat the man’s hands away, but he found himself being heaved to his feet.

  “Come along. You’ll thank me for this in the morning. I’m saving you a spell in the stocks at the very least.”

  Wonderful. The man clearly had a conscience. Huw had no choice but to stagger out, leaning heavily on his savior. He hated the thought of leaving Matilda alone in the dark. He just prayed she would trust him to come back for her.

  He stumbled on the steps and came to a halt, swaying. “Here, what’re you doin’ here, anyway?”

  “Just some business for the steward, never you mind what. Best you don’t mention it to anyone, and I’ll keep it quiet that you were here.”

  Interesting! He wasn’t here legitimately, either. This had the marks of a conspiracy. Was it possible he and Matilda weren’t the only ones plotting a revolt?

  He allowed himself to be led again. Once through the door, he leaned all his weight on the stable master, making it impossible for the man to hold him. He slumped to the ground.

  He felt a hand shake his shoulder, but he didn’t stir. The stable master wouldn’t want to cause a commotion so would be bound to leave him.

  “Don’t say I didn’t try,” the man muttered. “You’re on your own now.”