She arched a brow. “Art jealous, my pet?”
“Hardly. He’s cocksure, no doubt, but he’s already made himself an enemy of the one man who helped him take his throne.”
“Cadwaladr?”
“Aye.”
“If I have my way, he’ll be driven into exile. Don’t worry. We’ll dispose of Owain soon enough,” she said. “You’ll take his island then. For now, we need his armies.”
“Even the best of Welsh bowmen won’t stand against Stephen.”
“He’s weaker than you think,” she said. “And besides, we only need one.”
“So, then, you have news from Wallingford?”
“Nay,” she groused, removing her gloves and snapping them with annoyance. “You?”
Cael shook his head. “Nay. Apparently, whatever compromise they’ve agreed to is now only privy to those who were present in the marquee. I’ve not heard a whisper.”
“Your… spy?”
“Nay,” said Cael, again. “Not a word.”
“Pity,” said Morwen, though her tone seemed hardly disturbed. “Really, my lord, how am I supposed to plan my revenge if I haven’t any notion what that fool means to do?”
Cael didn’t bother to point out that had he remained with the King as was originally intended, he would have been a witness to the entire negotiation. And nevertheless, that was a moot point now, because here he was, and so was she.
“Don’t worry,” she said again. “Without Maude to temper his tantrums, he is prone to maudlin fits of pride. For all we know, he may have already refused Duke Henry’s demands. After all, we know how arrogant that little whelp can be, and if such is the case, Eustace shall remain his heir.”
“Doubtful,” said Cael, and because it had never been his way to mince words, he didn’t intend to begin now. “Unless you have something momentous planned, you ought to begin wooing Duke Henry. Despite that the news has not been made public as yet, I know enough to know he will walk away with the spoils. If not today, then later.”
Morwen clucked with disdain, lifting a hand to silence him. “I weary of speculation, Lord Blackwood. If you cannot provide me facts, speak naught at all.”
A muscle ticked at Cael’s jaw, though he nodded, ceding to Morwen’s will, for the moment. He wasn’t always so compliant, and he knew she valued his unbridled advice, but today was not the day to test her. In truth, he would like to have told her naught at all. He was growing ever so weary of her brusque demeanor, and the prize at the end of this journey was beginning to look like no prize at all. It could well be that, in the end, their affiliation would bring him naught but grief, and Owain would keep Anglesey.
“What of my daughter?” she asked, contempt dripping from her tone.
“She has agreed.”
Morwen tilted him a glance. “So you have said, but I cannot rightly conceive it. My daughter is a shrew if ever I met one. Tell me, you must have fucked her?”
Cael forced a smile, ignoring her rude question. “You will see,” he said, and hoped his tone sounded appropriately optimistic. “She has changed.”
“I hope so,” she said, and shrugged off her fur cloak, laying it into the hands of one of her attendants. The man dusted it off, then departed without so much as inquiring as to which room she would be assigned.
“Wait!” said Cael, not wanting him to pass through the courtyard. “Take it to the lord’s chamber,” he commanded the servant, and pointed to the stairwell.
Morwen offered him a coy smile. “How lovely. You would provide me your bed chamber? Do tell, my lord… will you be joining me as well?”
“On my wedding night?” he asked, with a well-calculated wink. “Alas, nay,” he said. “For the purpose of this evening, I will happily share my lady’s bower. ’Twill be easier that way, and perhaps it may afford us a bit more… privacy.”
“You must know I have talents my daughter does not.”
“And nevertheless, I’d never disrespect you, meistres.”
She cast him a sideways glance. “You are ever a spoilsport, my lord. And you bore me, in truth.”
“Aww, well. I’m quite certain you haven’t any use for an old goat like me,” he said, and then he added, “You’ll be comfortable in the lord’s chamber and I presume you’ll enjoy a view of tonight’s celebration from the inner balcony.”
Built adjacent to the tower, joined by an ancient, ivy-tangled courtyard, the great hall consisted of two levels—the great hall itself, and the lord’s apartments on the second floor. The kitchens were nearby, attached by a loggia. No doubt, Morwen would enjoy a good glass of mead as she surveyed her minions in the comfort of a robe—or at least, the thought of it should please her…
The reality would be somewhat removed from this plan. Fortunately, he knew she coveted the lord’s chamber, and it suited his purposes to put her off her guard.
Like Mordecai, she rather enjoyed a good snoop, and, after all, if a man had anything to hide at all, he would keep it in the privacy of his quarters. Still, Morwen found a reason to grouse. She was as distractible as she was irascible today. Hopefully both would work in his favor.
“Since when have you allowed my daughter the use of my suite in the tower?”
“Some time ago,” Cael confessed, his shoulders tight as he braced for Morwen’s displeasure. “You must admit, I could scarcely have expected to win Rhiannon over by keeping her in a cell, so I thought it prudent to give her a place of honor. She’s in many ways her mother’s daughter.”
Morwen huffed in response. “Naturally,” she said, as they arrived in the main hall, and moved toward the dais. “But you needn’t have wooed the bitch. If you were half the man you are purported to be, you’d have dragged my ungrateful daughter before a prelate long before today. Instead, here you are playing nursemaid and catering to her every whim.”
“Hardly,” he said.
“I have my little birds,” she reminded him, and Cael tensed, wondering if her “little birds” had already told her about their moonlight brewing. Marcella had been working all night long to prepare the potion, and though she’d finished early this morning, she spent the entirety of the day trying to cover up the smell. Thankfully, Morwen didn’t ask to see her cauldron—though whether this was a good or bad thing was yet to be determined. Instead, she led the way to the dais, comporting herself as though she were already mistress of Blackwood, which, to some extent, she probably was.
Half his denizens he did not trust. The other half he trusted with his life—and that was a good thing, because tonight, that’s precisely what he had to lose. “Have you any wish to refresh before the feast?” he asked politely.
“Nay,” she snapped. “Worry not, my lord. The journey here was not too arduous. And, really, I care nothing for my daughter’s nuptials—leastways not beyond the rewards I will reap. You did your job well enough, and, as promised, I will reward you in turn. Too bad you don’t seem particularly inclined to take your payment in my bed.”
Cael stiffened. “Not if you mean for Rhiannon to believe I have given her my heart,” he said. And then, because curiosity needled him, he dared to pry. “By the by… you never said where you have been sheltering, meistres. Much has trans—”