Spindle and Dagger - J. Anderson Coats Page 0,43
asking what she heard. Sadb notices Nest’s expression and pauses, but Nest forces a smile and makes a helpless open-handed gesture. Órlaith tugs on my sleeve just like Margred does when she has something to show me. I hesitate, but Sadb shoos me with a patient smile before calling to someone else, so I let the child tow Nest and me away. I can only hope Rathmore’s kitchen is as familiar as everything else so far. Perhaps there’ll be a spare bladder and I can make the three of us a ball.
Behind the hall is a small shed with a curtain tacked across the door, and inside is a basin of clean water on a bench. A wooden dish of soap sits next to the basin, and a scrap of linen hangs from a peg jammed between the wall wattles. Órlaith makes motions like I should wash my face and body.
I blink back tears. I know I’m in a state. I know this is no way to present myself in anyone’s hall, much less a king’s, but I was dragged from my bed one morning and spent more days than I can count fleeing warbands who wanted Owain’s head on a spear before being bundled onto a ship full of filthy cutthroats who pointed and leered when I pissed in a bucket behind my cloak. It’s not like these people have to mock me for it.
Órlaith frowns thoughtfully, then holds up one finger and disappears.
Nest squirms. “Elen? I must beg your pardon. I think I may have told them something that isn’t true. Not on purpose, though. I swear it.”
“What? What did you tell them?”
Órlaith is back, and over her arm is a handful of new wool that tumbles into an elegant gown in a gray-blue that makes me think right away of the sea. She holds it out and in fearlessly bad Welsh says, “A gift from my lady. For the wife of the guest.”
My mouth hangs open. Nest looks away.
“You have to tell them you were wrong,” I whisper to Nest. “That I’m not really Owain’s wife. What if he’s furious?”
“I’m not sure I can! I told you, I understand a lot more than I speak. Besides, how can I, now? It’ll look like I was lying. You think Owain ap Cadwgan will like that better?”
I have no wish to find out, so I make myself smile at the girl. I take the gown like it might burn. Órlaith grins, then hustles me behind the curtain and pulls it closed. Shadows of her bare feet move along the bottom edge. She must be standing watch outside, making sure I’m not disturbed. I strip down and wash every handswidth of my filthy, sweaty body. By the time I’m done, the water is gray and murky, but I’m pink with clean, smelling faintly of soapwort and lavender.
There’s a shift to wear with the gown. It’s made of soft linen with a tiny runner of embroidery around the collar. Órlaith brings me a pair of calfskin shoes made from leather so soft that I can’t feel a single seam, then she sits me on a stool just outside the curtain and brushes my hair while the brittle spring sun puts a shine on it.
Mayhap it will be a good thing if the high king believes Owain is married. Then our host will see a fellow king’s son and his wife and some retainers seeking refuge from the English king’s overblown temper. Not a ragtag passel of troublemakers dodging well-deserved consequences by taking up lodging in his hall.
Too soon, Órlaith plaits my hair and pins it and tugs me gently to my feet. My whole scalp feels tight, and it makes me stand up straight and push my chin out.
“I get water for your cousin. I walk you in after.” She gestures to Nest, leaning against the shed corner, then dumps the basin and heads toward the well.
Nest unwinds the tie from her plait and shakes her hair into stiff, wavy worms. “By the way, we’re cousins now. I hope you don’t mind gaining a relation.” She sighs and adds, “I must ask your pardon. For all this. I’m not mocking you. I swear.”
“I know. It’s all right.” My hair is arranged and braided, and I’ve no need to see it to know it looks proper. I’m wearing undergarments and shoes so beautiful that Owain would have to raid the Holy Land for something finer. There’s not a hint of blood on