Bound to Her Blood Enemy Page 6

  He snatched up another scroll, sending the others tumbling to the floor rushes. “And this is from Rhodri ap Llewelyn, accusing Rhys ap Howell of murdering his father.” He flung the scroll back upon the table. “These cursed feuds have to end, Huw. They’re tearing Gwynedd—all of Wales—apart.”

  “But I swore an oath. I—”

  “There are other ways to settle it, as you well know, Huw. You can accept a blood price.”

  He knew. But the vow he had made to his father promised blood. “I can’t—”

  “What else is it, Huw? It’s not just the blood oath. There’s another reason. When you turned down other heiresses I found for you, I thought it was just because of the life you led, but now I’m not so sure. Why do you resist marriage?”

  “It is because of my life. I survive from one day to the next, not knowing how many more I will see. What kind of life is that to offer a woman?”

  But that wasn’t the whole reason. A woman would get too close, discover the truth that he had buried deep down.

  You are nothing…

  And Matilda, after only two days, had managed to get closer than anyone before.

  “You will find that women are stronger than you give them credit for. Besides, you will no longer be my spy, but lord of Coed Bedwen. No, Huw, you can’t argue your way out of this one. My mind’s made up.”

  Owain picked up the cloak that was slung over a chair and wrapped it around his shoulders. “It’s getting late. We can talk more in the morning.”

  He swept out of the room.

  Huw chased after him. King or no, he wasn’t going to let Owain out of his sight until Huw had dissuaded him.

  ****

  Matilda lay curled on the bed in her guest chamber, hugging a blanket. She couldn’t cry. Maybe she would feel better if she could.

  In her head, she saw again the moment when King Owain had revealed the identity of her intended husband. The claimant to Coed Bedwen. Huw.

  She closed her eyes, attempting to block the memory. But nothing could shut out the sense of betrayal. She had confided in him, told him about her hopes of regaining Coed Bedwen. He had listened to her, soaked up all her information.

  He had used her. He was no different from any other man. He was not to be trusted.

  And now they were to wed.

  She was no fool. She had always known she would need to marry to hold her land. But after a life of being let down by the men she had depended on, she needed a husband she could trust.

  She had said nothing to Huw. Just calmly excused herself, saying she felt unwell, and returned to her tiny guest chamber. She would need to talk to him soon. And her uncle. But not tonight. She couldn’t face him yet.

  Snatches of conversation drifted in through the windows, the creak of heavy doors, footsteps. Slowly the light faded.

  A knock at the door. Matilda sat up, her heart pounding. “Who is it?”

  “The maid, my lady.”

  A middle-aged woman entered at Matilda’s bidding, carrying a lit taper. “I’ve come to light the candles, my lady. And to ask if you wanted me to bring you any food, or if you were going to take your evening meal in the hall.”

  “I’m not hungry, thank you.” They must eat later here. Back in England the main meal was at noon. First their different laws and now this. How long would it take her to get used to the customs here? “I’m rather tired. I think I’ll go to bed.”

  “Let me help you with your gown.”

  Once the tallow candles glowed in their niches, picking out the painted vine leaves on the plastered walls, the maid helped Matilda strip to her shift and combed out her hair. Then she left. Matilda removed her shift and climbed into bed.

  The candles burned lower, but sleep evaded her. Thoughts of Huw filled her mind. She had escaped from one man who had used her to achieve his own ends, only to be handed over to Huw.

  Who had also used her.

  Should she talk to her uncle? Would he intercede for her?

  No. Why would Gruffyth be any different from any other man in her life? They had all let her down. Right back to her father.

  She clamped the heels of her hands against her eyes, trying to banish the memories associated with her father.

  I’ll always be there for you…

  She leapt out of bed, pulled on her shift, and picked up her hose and shoes from the chest at the foot of the bed. A walk outside would clear her head. She considered putting on her gown but dismissed the idea. She would never be able to manage the lacings. However, along with the gown, she had been loaned a woolen cloak. She rummaged in the chest and pulled it out, then wrapped it around her shift. She crept out into the courtyard.

  The chill breeze slapped her cheeks the moment she stepped outside. Everyone must have retired for the night, for the courtyard was deserted. The moonlight showed her a stone seat in a corner. She sat there, breathing in the peace. The only sounds were the occasional stomp and whicker of a horse in the stables and the distant yelp of a fox.

  A creaking door startled her. Golden candle light streamed out from a small chamber adjoining Owain’s great hall for a moment before being quenched. Low voices approached. Blessed Virgin, here she was dressed in little more than her shift, and there were men coming. She huddled back into the shadows.

  She could just make out the dim figures of two men approaching, one chasing the other. The pursuer caught up with the first man and grasped his arm. “You must reconsider.” She recognized the melodic tones of Huw. Her pulse started racing.

  The men stopped not far from her. Both were cloaked, but she would recognize Huw’s graceful form anywhere. She was in a quandary. She didn’t want to eavesdrop, but neither did she want to be seen in this state. Least of all by Huw.

  “I can’t believe you’d ignore something entrenched in our laws.” Huw spoke in Welsh, but Matilda could follow most of what he said.

  “I hardly need you to remind me of the law.”

  Oh, holy Mother! That was King Owain. She fought to keep her breathing silent. If she was caught listening in to a king’s conversation… She shivered. There was no knowing what the consequences might be.

  Owain continued, “And it sounds like you need reminding of the galanas.” Galanas? That word was new to her.

  Huw spat out a string of more unfamiliar words, but she needed no translation.

  Owain sighed. “My duty, by law, is to protect Gwynedd. And this marriage is vital to my plans.”

  Marriage? Then Huw must be objecting to her. Even though she balked at the idea of their marriage, it rankled to think Huw would be so against it—against her—that he would dare to defy his own king.

  “There must be plenty of nobles in your court who would be glad to marry her and provide you with the alliance you need. I don’t see why it has to be me.”

  “The deal with Powys is for Matilda and Coed Bedwen together. And you’re the man I need to hold Coed Bedwen, even if it wasn’t yours by right. Look.”

  Owain sat on a bench a stone’s throw from Matilda’s and drew his dagger. He bent down and scratched into the ground with a sweep of his arm. “This is the border between Gwynedd and England and this”—he made a smaller movement—“this is the commote of Coed Bedwen. Currently in English territory. See how it takes a bite out of Gwynedd? Without it, our lands north of Coed Bedwen are surrounded by English territories on two sides rather than just one. It makes us vulnerable. If not for their civil war, you can be sure the English would do their best to take another chunk, and then another. Until our border’s a good ten or twenty miles further west. With Coed Bedwen under our control, our whole border is stronger.”

  Matilda listened in fascination. She had been so caught up in her own desire to return to Coed Bedwen, it hadn’t occurred to her there were larger concerns to consider.

  Owain continued, “The strife in England won’t last forever. When it’s over, the Normans will look to extending their borders again. I need us to be strong, against the day when
that happens. And I can trust you not to be taken in by their lies. There are very few men whom I trust as well as you. And you’ve only got to look at what’s happened farther south to see the havoc the Normans can wreak when they turn one Welsh lord against another.”

  “You can take Coed Bedwen without aid from Powys. You have the strength. There was no need to force me to marry.”

  The words, spoken in Huw’s melodic voice, wrapped themselves around Matilda’s heart and squeezed. Force him? Then he must truly find her repugnant. Men didn’t pass up the opportunity to marry an heiress for no good reason.

  With a swift movement that made Matilda gasp, Owain stabbed his dagger into the ground near Huw’s foot. She clamped a hand to her mouth and prayed the men hadn’t heard her.

  “Only a fool would think we are strong enough to hold out against England alone,” said Owain.

  Matilda slowly relaxed. If either man had heard her, she was certain they would have shouted out a challenge.

  “We need to make alliances,” Owain was saying. “Powys is strong, but already it’s crumbling at the edges. And if Powys falls then Gwynedd is exposed. This marriage is vital to strengthening the ties between us and may prevent Powys from turning to England.”

  Matilda was surprised at the passion in his voice. And humbled that she could be the key to Wales’ survival. She was new to the country, but she cared about it deeply—it was the last link between her and her mother. And her only surviving family was Welsh.

  Her Norman kin had failed her. It was time to throw in her lot with the Welsh. Even though Huw didn’t want her, she would honor the agreement to help Wales.

  “I can trust you with this,” Owain said to Huw finally, “because I know you feel the same way. You can look beyond your own interests and do what is right for Gwynedd. And ultimately Wales.”

  Huw sat with a bowed head and said nothing. Matilda counted twenty painful heartbeats.

  Finally, he spoke. “In that case I’ll go through with it,” he said. “For your sake and for Gwynedd.”

  But not for hers.

  Owain rose to his feet and Huw followed. They both walked away toward the cluster of buildings on the far side of the courtyard. Matilda drew a shaky breath and was about to rise, when she heard Owain’s soft laughter.

  “You know, you make it sound like a sacrifice, Huw. But she’s a beauty. I wager she’ll soon find ways to make you forget her tainted Comyn blood.”

  Huw groaned and made a comment, but she couldn’t make out what he had said. Then the two men parted and entered different doors.

  Matilda hugged her stomach, feeling sick. It was Owain who had spoken of her tainted Comyn blood, but it had the sound of a quote. And there was only one man he could have been quoting.

  So that was what Huw truly thought of her. He’d hidden it well, but she’d seen for herself how skilled an actor he was.

  Tainted Comyn blood. Of course. If Huw’s family had held Coed Bedwen before hers then her grandfather must have seized it from them.

  Oh, holy saints above! The words Huw had spoken about his family crashed down upon her. Then her grandfather had been responsible for his grandfather’s death. She swallowed against the sudden ache in her throat. No wonder Huw despised her. How could she hope to overcome such enmity?

  Chapter Six

  The next morning Matilda was awakened with a start by the maid entering her chamber. After returning to her bed last night, she had been unable to sleep. The words “tainted Comyn blood” had rung in her ears over and over again, first in Owain’s voice, but gradually changing to Huw’s. The candles had burned down to stubs before sleep finally overtook her.

  Heavy-eyed and aching, she struggled to reach a decision, but it was hard to concentrate while the maid laced her gown and braided her hair. Was it better to avoid Huw or seek him out? While she shrank from speaking to him, they were to be married in a week. They must talk sometime, so it would be best to get it out of the way quickly.

  “Do you know where I can find Huw ap Goronwy this morning?” she asked the maid once her hair was arranged into two long braids down her back and her veil pinned in place.

  “I expect you can find him in the hall with the king,” the maid replied. “Your uncle will be there as well.”

  Reflecting that it would be better to see Huw in the company of others, she hastened across to the hall.

  She found that the maid had been correct—Huw was standing beside the central fire. With him were the king, her uncle and a short woman who looked to be in her late thirties. Just like the other women she had seen at the llys, instead of a veil, her headdress consisted of a length of linen wrapped closely around her head. A tendril of dark hair escaped at her left temple.

  Gruffyth looked up and smiled. “I hope you’re feeling better this morning.” When she nodded, he reached out to take the hand of the dark-haired woman, giving it a tender squeeze. He drew her closer to Matilda. “This is my wife, Gwenllian. You must excuse her for not greeting you. She only speaks Welsh.”

  Matilda smiled at Gwenllian, glad to have a distraction from Huw, who had not taken his eyes off her ever since she had walked into the hall. “I am glad to meet you, Aunt,” she said in Welsh.

  Gwenllian’s somewhat stern face was transformed by a broad smile. “Welcome, Matilda,” she said. “It is good to have a new member of the family.” Then she turned to her husband and Huw. “You didn’t tell me she speaks Welsh.”

  Huw frowned. “I had no idea.”

  Matilda gave him a tight smile. “You didn’t ask.”

  A soft cough drew her attention. “I think we had best give these two a chance to talk,” Owain said. “I’m sure they have much to discuss.”

  “Thank you. Yes, we do,” said Matilda, not turning her gaze from Huw.

  ****

  Matilda had obviously recovered from the shock of yesterday’s announcement.

  “When did you learn Welsh?” Huw asked her in that language. It was strange. Even though he knew of her Welsh kin, until now he had firmly associated her with the Normans. It came as a shock to remember she was equally Welsh. It brought her closer to home. Made her less easy to despise.

  “My mother always spoke Welsh to me.” She stumbled over some of the words, but her accent was good. “After she died I…I always felt closer to her when I spoke or thought in Welsh. It was as though she was there, listening.”

  Her eyes filled with tears, and he turned his head away. He didn’t want to see her sorrow or remember she had lost her family, too. He couldn’t afford to feel pity for her, acknowledge she was a woman who suffered the same griefs, joys, and fears as any other.

  “It will come in useful when we take Coed Bedwen,” he said. Best to concentrate on practicalities, not imagine molding her slender body to his, kissing the tears from her cheeks.

  She gave a harsh laugh. “Coed Bedwen. Even now, is that all you can think about?”

  “What else is there?” He certainly wasn’t thinking about tasting her lips, teasing them into a smile. No. She was a Comyn. He mustn’t forget his oath. He forced his face into an expressionless mask and faced her.

  She had blotted away her tears and was standing straight, her chin up, face composed. “Our…our marriage, for a start. We should discuss it.”

  “What is there to say? I already know your thoughts on the matter. You want me to die or journey to the Holy Land. Believe me, I have no intention of doing either.”

  Matilda winced. “So you haven’t forgotten that.”

  “I rarely forget anything. You can be sure I’ll check my food and drink very carefully from now on.”

  “I’d never—”

  “But you did.” He rubbed his temples. Tried to ignore the beguiling scent of honeysuckle. “All I want is Coed Bedwen. As the king has made it clear the only way I can achieve that is through marriage to you, then marry we must. However, don’t expect me to succumb to your underhand tricks next time—I’m on my guard now. Coed Bedwen is m
ine, and I intend to keep it.”

  She tilted her head to one side, studying him with narrowed eyes. “Why is Coed Bedwen so important to you?”

  She spoke in Welsh, but Huw answered her in French. He needed to remember she was Norman. A Comyn. It was harder to do that when they spoke Welsh. “You know why. You managed to get me to explain at length when you drugged me with that damned poppy.”

  She shook her head. “It was important to your grandfather and father because it was their home.” Her steady gaze bored into him, stripping away his outer layers, probing for his soul. “Why is it special to you?”

  He wiped damp palms on his tunic. He must be standing too close to the fire. “I don’t understand. You know the answer—my vow to my father.” And thank the saints that even drugged, he had withheld the true nature of the vow, had only said the vow was to win back Coed Bedwen.

  “But your vow was just taking on your father’s burden. Here’s why Coed Bedwen is special to me—it was my childhood home, the last place I was happy.” Her voice took on a wistful tone.

  She turned away to face the fire, hugging her arms to her chest. “It was so beautiful. I used to love standing on the walls with my mother, listening to the birdsong, watching the river and the trees swaying in the wind. My mother could name all the hills we could see stretching away into the distance, and would tell me stories of the fair folk that lived inside them, feasting and dancing.”

  Huw swallowed. “My mother used to tell me those stories, too. Before she died.” Then he wished he could have eaten his words. The last thing he needed was to feel empathy for her. It was already hard enough trying to match his knowledge of Matilda with the Comyns of his father’s memory. He didn’t want to think too closely about how similar their childhoods had been, both having lost their mothers at a young age.

  Matilda turned to face him, tears glistening on her cheeks. “Now you know what makes Coed Bedwen special to me. What about you? Not your father or grandfather, but you?”