Chapter 11 #2
“Yes, of course. But… I don’t think I should be the one choosing. I think they have mistaken me for your lady wife because of the dress I’m wearing,” she told Siaspar when the two men retreated to a corner of the room to prepare their wares.
And little wonder, considering the fact that she and Siaspar had been laughing together when they had arrived, that she was evidently English and dressed in sumptuous clothes. She looked not only like a lady, but like the lady of the castle, at ease with her husband.
“They certainly have,” he confirmed.
“Well, you should tell them I am not.”
“I disagree. The matter would take too long to explain, would make no sense to them and, as flattered as they are to dress my wife, they might not take it too well to be told they are dealing with a servant instead.”
Katherine could not think of anything to reply to that. Instead she asked, “You don’t really dislike Lady Malpas’ dresses, do you? You only used the making of a new wardrobe as an excuse to get me out of the kitchen.”
“I have absolutely no interest in how Lady Malpas dresses or in anything she does,” he confirmed harshly. “She could wear a sack of cloth or the most precious silk. All I would see when I look at her is her dark soul.”
Whereas when I look at you, all I see is your sunny disposition.
The words were left unspoken but she heard them all the same. Gaze locked with Siaspar, Katherine allowed the warmth of his approval wash over her.
A voice spoke from behind her, shaking her out of the moment. The tailors. She had almost forgotten about them.
“They are waiting for you,” Siaspar immediately translated.
He gave a little bow before taking his leave. Katherine flushed.
“Please, do not bow to me,” she murmured before he could walk away. “It feels…wrong.” He didn’t like her curtseying, but this was even worse.
“Very well. I have no wish to embarrass you. Besides, it does look odd. I would never bow to my own wife, even if I harbored feelings other than contempt for her.”
“Would you not?”
“No. I would kiss her like so.”
Before Katherine could utter a single sound, he brought her hand to his mouth and brushed his lips across the tips of her fingers.
The warmth of his touch traveled all the way up her arm to reach a place deep inside of her.
It would look like a respectful kiss to observers, yet to her it felt full of sensual promise because she had seen the storm gathering in the brown eyes fixed on her.
“Please, my lord. You shouldn’t do this. If your…” She stopped, feeling no more inclined than he was to call Lady Malpas his wife.
“She can think what she likes,” he told her with the same harshness he displayed every time Lady Malpas was mentioned.
But it was easy for him to say as, contrary to her, he did not have to fear retribution from her against his family. He must have understood what she had not said for he suddenly let go of her hand.
“Forgive me, you have every reason to be wary of her reaction. She is a dangerous woman who already imprisoned your father and blackmailed you into selling your body. And, of course…” One glance at his wrist made his meaning clear.
She had almost killed him. Katherine felt herself grow pale at the thought.
“I should not place you or your family in danger just to please myself.”
Please himself? It pleased him to kiss her hand? She blinked but did not dare ask any more questions.
Siaspar walked to the door, leaving her in the hands of the two tailors.
The fitting lasted an eternity, or so it seemed, but Katherine did not mind.
She had nothing better to do and it gave her time to organize her thoughts and make sense of Siaspar’s unsettling attitude.
But even after what felt like whole day of modeling for dresses she would never wear, she had not reached any acceptable conclusion.
Around her, the two tailors were busying themselves, pinning fabric in place, trying out different hues against the color of her skin, all the while uttering a never-ending flow of Welsh.
The mutterings she did not understand made it easy for her to ignore them.
As they knew she would not be able to converse with them, they didn’t ask any questions.
The men had thrown themselves with relish into the task of dressing the supposed lady of Castell y Ddraig.
Katherine imagined their dismay at being told that the woman they were lavishing their attention and expertise on had been that very morning scrubbing pans in the kitchen until her fingers ached.
They had seemed intrigued by her less than polished fingernails, admittedly, but, if they’d commented on the state of them, she had not understood.
Finally, they declared themselves satisfied. At least, that was what it looked like from their expression of rapture. They were eyeing her expectantly and she realized that they must have asked her something. She made a gesture of helplessness.
“I imagine that you will want to speak to my lord.” They evidently did not understand her any more than she understood them for they just blinked. “Siaspar ap Morgan?” she said, feeling very bold for using his name in such a way but knowing that they would not understand her otherwise.
They nodded. They probably wanted to discuss payment.
Her first movement was to go and get him herself, then she checked the impulse, remembering who she was supposed to be.
As the lady of the castle, she should ask for someone to do her bidding, but she could not call anyone, for they would understandably have raised questions as to who she was and on whose authority she was ordering them around.
How was she going to get out of this predicament?
Fortunately, at that moment, the door opened on Siaspar himself. He must have stayed within easy distance and heard that the fitting session had come to an end. The tailors started to give him what she imagined was a complete description of the dresses they would start work on that very evening.
She relished hearing him speak his own language.
It felt like an intimate thing to witness, yet another side of him she was pleased to discover.
Then the men looked at her and her heartbeat increased.
Without having any way of ascertaining it, she sensed that they had just praised her beauty. She flushed.
Siaspar smiled. “They are asking what fur you would choose to line a cloak of brown velvet.”
“For brown? Why, fox, of course.”
“Of course. Just as I suspected.” He flashed his teeth and turned back to the men. “Llwynog,” he said.
This answer provoked a torrent of what she suspected was congratulations on her impeccable taste.
Shortly after, the tailors left, taking their wares with them.
“Well, what am I to do now?”
The oddness of the situation struck Katherine anew. Lady Malpas was right, she didn’t have any real role to play.
Siaspar crossed his arms on his chest, relaxed as he only seemed to be in her presence.
“If you are at a loss, I suggest you go ask Lady Helen if there is any mending to do. I suspect she will find something to keep you busy.”
“Yes. I am sure she will.”
The list of torn chemises, stockings, veils and every possible garment that a lady could wear was as long as her arm but Katherine did not begrudge the work. Better being here looking through the window at the deep blue sea than stuck in the smoky kitchen scrubbing pots.
It had been a week since she had swapped the work of a scullion for that of a—she still wasn’t sure what she was supposed to be. Not a seamstress exactly, not a chamberer either, or a maid but something in between. Whatever it was, she loved it.
The needle was threaded through the linen shift with fast, assured gestures. Having sewn clothes for the whole family since a young age, she was an accomplished seamstress. The delicate fabric in her hands, however, had little in common with the wool and coarse hemp she was used to.
Lady Malpas was also in the room, being taught by her Welsh tutor.
Every time she saw Master Owain ride through the castle gate, Katherine made sure to be present to take advantage of the lessons.
She had started to pick up some words when she worked in the kitchen, but she might as well make the most of this opportunity to learn something more elaborate.
Evidently though, it would have to wait. Lady Malpas was proving an obstinate pupil and would not progress beyond basic words any time soon.
“Bwrdd,” Master Owain encouraged her to repeat. “Table.” She remained silent. “Let’s try something easier to say perhaps. Gwydr. Glass.”
Lady Malpas let out a cry of frustration. “This is hardly easier to say! How can you suppose anyone can learn this awful language?”
“This ‘awful language’ is spoken by children who can barely walk. It cannot be that difficult to master,” the tutor pointed out with his customary patience. But this reasonable answer did little to placate his pupil.
“Are you insulting my intelligence?” she asked with what Katherine imagined to be a withering stare.
Whenever Master Owain came, she was always careful to position herself with her back to the room, ostensibly to catch the light for her sewing.
That way, she did not have to guard her reactions so much.
She knew her irritation at Lady Malpas’ rudeness and lack of cooperation would be showing on her face.
Really, the woman was impossible.
“Not at all,” Master Owain’s answer was a model of patience. “Now let’s try again. I will tell you how to ask for another glass of wine.”
“There is no need. I doubt I will ever have to ask such a question. That is what servants are for, to see to my every need,” Lady Malpas replied without hesitation. “Or are you saying that Welsh servants are inept and cannot see what needs to be done?”