If, I want to say. Not until. It does not do to underestimate Owain ap Cadwgan.
But she walks beside me calmer now, steadier, like there’s a point to doing it after all, so I shuffle David higher on my back and say nothing.
BY NIGHTFALL, WE’RE SETTLED INTO A COZY FORT near a stream, one with a steward whose opinions can be swayed with gifts. Owain feasts his warband and hands out more plunder from the raid on Gerald of Windsor’s home. He makes Nest sweat over the meal and serve them at table again, but this time she does it serenely, without a whisper of rage. Owain watches her calm, graceful movements with a faint scowl. As Nest moves past with a brimming water basin, he pushes his knife off the trestle. “Gerald’s wife, pick that up.”
Nest sets the basin on the table. As she kneels, Owain dumps the murky water over the edge, soaking the front of her gown. The thin garment clings to her, and the lads get an eyeful. They approve. Noisily and with vulgarity that tips the scales even for them.
I fidget in my seat at Owain’s right hand. After the laughter and hooting dies down, I mutter, “I’m not feeling well. May I leave?”
“Supper will help,” Owain replies. “Sit and eat, sweeting.”
“It would truly do me good to lie down.”
“Later. I would miss your company too much.”
My belly really does hurt. The little ones are nowhere in sight. Chances are good they’re in the kitchen with no one watching over them. Owain knows this, too. So I stay at my place. I think of the knife.
I’m eating my way through a slab of mutton and a massive wedge of honey cake when Owain slides an ornate bracelet made of twined silver over my wrist. He grins and squeezes my hand. I smile and thank him. I will wear it for a se’ennight, then I will put it with the others at the bottom of my rucksack. I am no longer four and ten, and foolish enough to believe these gifts mean something.
Owain calls for more wine. Nest comes by and pours, but her hand jerks, and she sloshes it over the table. Without thinking I begin to mop it up, but Owain tilts his head and tries to catch Nest’s eye. “Such a fumble-fingers.”
“Beg pardon,” she mutters.
“Are you in some sort of distress?” Owain draws the last word out like a taunt.
“No, I’m fine.” Nest takes the rag from me and swipes it across the table while trying not to glance at my wrist.
“This is yours,” I blurt, holding up my arm so the bracelet slides toward my elbow.
Nest blinks rapidly and doesn’t deny it.
“Your vile husband has a good eye for trinkets at least,” Owain says.
“Gerald didn’t give me that,” she mumbles. “My father did.”
I will not think of my father, how he’d bring Rhael and me armloads of flowers from the high pastures for us to weave into crowns. I strip the bracelet off my wrist and slap it into Nest’s palm.
“Hey!” Owain grabs for the bracelet, but Nest steps away and holds it close to her heart. Then he turns on me and says, cold and level, “Do you value my gifts so little that you toss them away without a care?”
“No.” I’m trembling. “But if you give me something, it becomes mine. Doesn’t it? Can I not give away something of my own freely?”
Before Owain can respond, Nest slams the bracelet on the table in front of me, picks up the flagon, and moves away without a word. It’s too late, though. He got to her and they both know it.
Owain slides the bracelet back onto my wrist. “You pity her. That’s your concern. She will get no comfort here, though. Am I clear?”
I trace a finger over the silver twists and curves. I can’t tell him that Saint Elen said if he must hold Nest and the little ones, he should keep them as proper hostages, comfortably and courteously.
“I have no liking for any of this,” I reply.
“If it’s not cruel and ugly, it won’t be vengeance. I won’t beg anyone’s pardon for that.” Owain takes a drink. “I do regret it bothers you, though. I haven’t seen you smile since the Christmas feast.”
I did smile then. I smiled when Owain taught his small swaggering cousins how to curse in French and when I bit into my slice of New Year cake and found the lucky coin. I grinned like a victorious warband chief when Margred told her mother she’d rather have her childhood nurse around another year instead of getting a proper lady’s maid.
But I also smiled when Cadwgan floated his doubts and when Isabel crossed the yard to avoid me. I smiled when every noble in the hall drank the memory of Llywelyn penteulu and when their wives talked about me in my presence like I was a horse or a coffer.
“You’re not”— Owain cocks his head — “jealous? Of Nest? And what I’m doing? Are you?”
We pushed Miv’s cradle into shadow. Owain was first through the door. He glanced thrice around the steading, then went straight for Rhael.
I spin the bracelet on my wrist.
“Sweeting, come here.”
Owain holds out an arm, and I hesitate only the smallest moment before I slide over. He squeezes me tight and kisses my hair. “It’s purely vengeance, I promise. The uglier it is, the faster Gerald of bloody Windsor will be spurred to rescue them. Word of how I’m treating her will reach him soon if it hasn’t already. Every day that slips by and he can do nothing for her will make him more beast than man. So when he does come, he’ll come raging, heedless, hellbent — and we’ll be ready, the lads and I.”
Owain grins, and I go cold. Gerald of Windsor will be dead, and Nest and the little ones will still be here. Which means no ransom. Which means no rescue. Which means neither Nest nor her children will any longer be worth anything at all to Owain ap Cadwgan.
THE FEAST IS INTO ITS SECOND DAY WHEN THE HALL doors fly open loud enough to echo. The lads are none too steady on their feet after barrels of wine and mead, and Owain actually stumbles over the bench when he rises, dagger in hand. We’re not under attack, though. Attack would be considerably better than Cadwgan ap Bleddyn storming down the aisle, scattering hapless servants and shouting, “Christ Almighty, boy, tell me it’s not true!”
Owain flops back into the king’s chair and stabs up some mutton. “It’s lovely to see you too, Da. So lovely that I’ll forgive the insult of you kicking in the door and coming armed into this house.”
“First of all, it’s my house! I’m not yet dead enough for you to be claiming royal residences beyond a few nights’ lodging! Besides, I’ll be damned if I’ll hear any of your smart mouth right now. Not when you’ve just kicked a hornets’ nest.”
Cadwgan scours the hall. All I’m doing is holding a flagon of wine while David and William cling to the ends of my cloak, but even so, I keep very still. Then he spots Nest in a corner, barefoot, half-dressed in a stained servant’s gown, holding a fussing Not Miv to her shoulder. His mouth falls open and he stammers, “Christ on the Cross. It’s worse than I thought.”
Owain’s face hardens. “Gerald of Windsor pays every day for the death of Llywelyn ap Ifor.”
David tugs on my hem. He holds up his arms, eyes huge. I swing him onto my hip, and he burrows close.
“Son, Llywelyn ap Ifor was a good man, but this war was never meant to satisfy your need for vengeance. You were to leave Dyfed a smoking ruin and undermine whoresons like Gerald of Windsor!”