Page 45 of Katherine the Vixen

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?”

The next few days saw an exact repeat of the same performance but Master Owain never lost his temper once. In all this time, Katherine did not hear Lady Malpas utter a single word of Welsh and she did not know whether to marvel at the woman’s determination or be appalled by her disrespect. She, however, picked up a fair amount. By mouthing the words the tutor was trying to teach his pupil while she attended to her sewing, she had built up quite a vocabulary.

One afternoon she found herself alone in the solar and the temptation to try them out loud overwhelmed her.

“Ffenestr,” she said quietly, looking at the window. She placed her hand on the chair next and said, “caddair.”

“It’s cadair actually. But very close.”

She let out a cry and turned around. Siaspar had slipped into the room, silent as the fox she had once called him.