Spindle and Dagger - J. Anderson Coats Page 0,64

at me at Aberaeron, but this time it seems cozy and sly, like Margred planning a birthday surprise. “We’ll drink every drop.”

The steward protests, then forbids. Isabel elbows past him with two mugs and taps the cask herself with a meat knife. She fills them, then stations a big kettle beneath the burbling leak. One mug she shoves at me. The other she takes a big drink from while the steward goes twitchy and his color rises.

“I’ve got witnesses,” he mutters, and all but flies away. Isabel giggles and takes another drink, and she gives me such a look that I cautiously do the same. The wine is undiluted, and I nearly sputter. I’ve just drunk the cost of a whole summer’s worth of some poor man’s labor in one swallow.

Isabel pulls me toward the big bed in the corner, now stripped down to the fat straw-stuffed pallet that perches upon zigs and zags of tightly strung hemp. She climbs up and looks at me expectantly.

I hesitate. I’m here to steal, not comb Isabel’s hair and gossip.

The bed whispers promises. Every muscle in my body keens. Ireland feels years away, and I can barely remember the last time I slept well. Passing one night in some kind of comfort will not undo my plan. Besides, it will be easier to pilfer if Isabel trusts me and does not suspect till it’s too late.

I climb up after her. Isabel pulls the curtains closed, and we’re plunged into a gauzy darkness. It would be like the maidens’ quarters if I trusted her at all. She slides till her back is against the wall, holding her mug aloft to keep from sloshing. I fold my legs and take a small drink. It’s like the high king’s wine. Strong and rich, so good there’s no grit on your teeth.

“Do you think you-know-who has worked it out by now?” Isabel takes a hearty swig. “That you left with me? That you’re my guest?”

I shrug. I don’t tell her that Cadwgan likely had no idea I’d come with Rhys. Cadwgan has been looking for a way to be rid of me since the first time Owain put an arm around my waist and explained why I was holding his elbow and would be needing a place at table. Had Cadwgan seen me in the courtyard, Owain far away in Ireland, I doubt I’d have left that border fort alive.

“Likely he’s more worried about Powys and Owain returning and what Madog will do once he learns of the English king’s terms.” At her scowl, I hurry to add, “But don’t worry. Your husband will be good and angry when he does finally learn of it.”

“Owain ap Cadwgan.” Isabel spits it like a curse and takes another long drink. “I’d like to slap him senseless. Had he just gone to war, none of this would have happened and Henry would still be with me.”

She peers at me like I’ll defend him. Like she wants me to so she can go on at length what a bastard he is. But I know something of vengeance, and if you let it move through you and keep it from settling in your quietest places, over time it will trickle away. There is nothing to defend here. Owain did not have to abduct Nest, much less the little ones. He could have sent them back when his father bid him. He definitely did not have to humiliate her again and again and make them all suffer at every chance. Another man might have made vengeance a weapon, sharp and hungry, and gathered a warband about him, but Owain ap Cadwgan was not content with ordinary vengeance. His was a vengeance to preside over. One that would make allies and enemies alike as wary of crossing him as they were his father.

I drain half the mug and let it burn all the way down.

“I wager a whole shilling that Owain did all this on purpose,” Isabel says. “He’d have my son stay a hostage forever.”

Llywelyn penteulu, his neck open to the sky. His harsh, shallow gasping. Owain biting his knuckles, touching the scar beneath his arm like it burned.

“It’s got nothing to do with your baby.” I upend my mug again.

The world is beginning to blur at the edges, and my whole body feels full of honeybees calmly lulling with warm flowers and gentle buzzing. It’s getting easier not to think about Owain. To let the bees drown him out.

Isabel’s lip trembles. “Henry