Gwen eyes popped open. It was almost as if she’d been expecting someone to come and wake her up. She couldn’t say that she’d had a full night’s sleep since she left Dolwyddelan.
She sat up, clearing the last of the sleep from her mind. Then the voice came again “Gwen! Gwen!”
“Hywel?” She whispered his name and then thought better of how loud it sounded in the quiet room, fearing she’d wake the other women. One rolled over as Gwen waited, breath held, and then stilled. Wrapping a blanket around her shoulders, Gwen got to her feet, tiptoed to the door, and slipped out of the room.
Three men waited for her, none of whom were Hywel. She had a flash—only an impression really—of cloaks and hoods before one of the men put a hand over her mouth, pulled her to him, and whispered, “Come with us quietly or Hywel dies.”
Gwen tried to swallow but her mouth had gone dry. She wanted to ask what they had done to him, and if they realized what kind of trouble this would bring them, but couldn’t speak around the man’s hand. And then she had to focus on her feet as he urged her down the stairs, through the sadly deserted kitchen, and towards the postern gate. Once outside, in the narrow space between the kitchen garden wall and stables, the man removed his hand. She opened her mouth to scream, but before she could, he shoved the open end of a flask between her teeth and poured.
She choked and coughed as the liquid sloshed into her mouth. “What is this?” She tried to twist away, but another man held her head with a forceful hand to the back of her neck. The man holding the flask grabbed her jaw and cheeks and forced her teeth apart. He upturned the flask and she swallowed. And then swallowed again.
By the time the third man grasped her around the waist and hauled her towards the postern gate, the drink was taking hold of her. And by then she knew what it was too, not that it mattered except it implied that they meant to subdue her, not kill her. Poppy juice, she said to herself, and then she didn’t remember anything more.