Page 11 of A Savior for Branwen (The Welsh Rebels #2)

Chapter Ten

H ow long before he hit the water down below, Matthew wondered, as his arms flayed hopelessly in the air. How big was the drop? Did he have time to try and twist his body so that he didn’t land on his back? He had to, as he would die otherwise. Forget the drowning, he would not even have time to understand he was underwater before he lost consciousness. He saw it all with painful clarity. The way his body would shatter with the force of the impact, the graceful collapse of his corpse as it drifted slowly down to the bottom of the lake.

With a grunt, he bunched his stomach and straightened his legs. Ensuring he hit the water feet first would be the last thing he did. He could not let the men win. It was not even about him. The image of Branwen’s wide eyes when she had understood they were about to throw him over the ledge was stamped into his brain. This could not be the last time they’d ever seen each other. He let out a howl.

A heartbeat later he hit the water surface—feet first.

There was no time to congratulate himself, no point in dwelling on the excruciating pain shooting up his legs, he had to get out of the icy water. Now, before it was too late, before he either drowned because he needed to breathe or his limbs seized up from cold. Using his arms to propel himself, since his legs didn’t seem to be able to do anything but cause him pain, he pushed himself up, or at least in the direction he hoped was up. For a dreadful moment he feared he was going the wrong way, burrowing deeper into the murky waters instead of swimming toward the light. His lungs were burning, it wouldn’t be too long before he simply had to take a breath. Whether it would be air or water remained to be seen.

Finally, he broke through the surface, and he inhaled the cool spring air. Was it his imagination or could he actually smell the sap running through the trees, the flowers swaying in the fields yonder? Never had anything smelled sweeter.

Panting, he looked around to get his bearing.

He was not too far from the shore, he was relieved to see. It would not take a swimmer as good as he was long to reach it. The only problem was, he could barely use his legs, which felt as if thousands of pins had been stuck in them. Well, no matter, he just had to make it—there was no other choice. One thing pushed him on. It was not survival, it was thoughts of Branwen on her own in the middle of four men bristling with unspent violence. He was pretty sure the one his stallion had kicked was out of action, but the remaining four might want to compensate for their inability to hack him to death by making the most of her warm body.

If that was the case, if they touched one hair on her head, he would find them, and he would kill them slowly, painfully. And to be able to do that, he needed to be alive. He needed to swim.

So he swam. It was the only way.

Kicking, groaning, spluttering, he pushed on. Later, he could rest; later, he could worry about the pain radiating through his body. For now, he had to get out of the water. At long last, he landed on the gravel beach, cold and stiffer than a piece of wood.

Turning onto his back, he closed his eyes and focused on breathing a moment.

He’d made it.

Now all he had to do was find Branwen.

Where was Matthew? Branwen was getting frantic. Even going straight down through the bushes, it had taken her forever to reach the shore of the lake. More than once her feet had slipped on loose pebbles, causing her to land on her buttocks and slide down the steep slope in a ridiculous, never mind painful manner. Once, she had even gone tumbling head over heels, scaring herself half to death before being stopped in her tracks by a more substantial bush. It would have been good news if the bush in question had not been bristling with prickly leaves that had torn at the skin on her face and arms.

It had been folly to jump straight down into what was essentially a ravine, of course, but she had wanted to reach the lake as quickly as possible, so as to assist Matthew when— if by some miracle—he emerged from the lake. Add to that the fact that she would not have stayed alone with the four ruffians for all the gold in the world. They wouldn’t be above jumping on her to alleviate the frustration of not being able to kill an Englishman, expectant wives notwithstanding. She of all people knew that when a man’s blood was raised, not many things stood in his way. Fortunately, they had not run after her, preferring not to risk their necks for a tumble they could get with any village wench.

It had been reckless on her part, but Branwen was not afraid. She just wanted to reach Matthew and see that he was safe, because rather than save him, she might well have caused his death.

When she finally reached the lake, there was no one to be seen. Her heart started to hammer in her chest. Why wasn’t he here? Because he’d already left, not thinking for a moment that the woman who had caused him to be flung over the precipice would bother to come after him, or because he’d been stunned by the fall and was now dead, lying at the bottom of the lake?

Pressing a hand to her forehead, she scanned the horizon. Nothing. Where was he? For a moment she thought she might faint or retch. Then a movement to her left caught her eye.

Matthew.

He was dripping wet, his blond hair almost as dark as hers because of it. His clothes were molded to his body, allowing her to see each of the bulging muscles she remembered from the day she had seen him emerge from the lake naked. He appeared unsteady on his feet, but at least he was standing. Relief washed through her. He was alive—he hadn’t drowned.

As she watched him approach, a flicker of unease mingled with her relief. Even from where she was, she could see that his jaw was set, and his eyes were sending sparks. Was he angry at her? Of course. If he had not understood her plan and thought she really wanted him dead, he had every reason to be. But it didn’t matter. He could be angry all he wanted, as long as he was alive.

Before she knew what she was doing, she ran to him and threw herself in his arms. “Oh! Lord, you made it, you made it!”

His arms closed around her, not the suffocating hold of an enemy intent on punishing her for her betrayal, but the protective embrace of a man who cared for her. He was not angry, not at her at least. Everything within her relaxed.

This could have ended up disastrously wrong, but he was here, warm in her arms.

“Branwen.” The word was little more than a whisper. The hold around her tightened. “Tell me the men didn’t … they didn’t touch you? Or harm you in any way?”

She shook her head, relishing the feel of him against her. He was standing, talking, and he didn’t even appear injured. It was a miracle. For a long moment she stayed in his embrace, then she drew back. It was time she explained what had happened and why.

“They weren’t here for me, but to kill you. They thought you were Lord Sheridan.”

He gave a wry smile. “Yes, that much I had understood. I imagine it was because they had seen me at Esgyrn Castle when I impersonated him last year.”

“Yes, that and the fact that they’d heard he’d come here today to inspect the mill. That was why they were waiting in ambush, why I tensed up when we entered the forest. It was not because I didn’t want you to touch me, never that,” she explained hurriedly, her body starting to tremble with the aftermath of all that had happened. “I should have told you from the moment we set off that I’d overheard the men at the market and what their plan was. I’m sorry, I cannot think why I didn’t, it was stupid of me, because if you’d known, we could have gone another way, or tried to?—”

He placed a finger on her cheek, interrupting her mad rambling. Then he pulled her into his arms again. “Don’t worry about it. There’s no harm done in the end.”

No, perhaps not, but there could have been.

“I’m sorry,” she cried out, drawing away from him, not ready to be comforted yet, when she still needed to gain absolution for what she had done. “I know I was the one suggesting the men let you drown, but I had to do something to give you a chance at survival, I could not let them pierce you with their pitchforks or kill you outright. But I never imagined they would throw you off the cliff!”

“You did well, and I understood what you were trying to do the moment you opened your mouth,” he soothed. “That was remarkably quick thinking on your part. You saved my life, Raven. You gave me a chance to save myself, and I seized it. I thank you.”

Clutching at his tunic, she started sobbing. Yes, it had worked, she had saved his life. He was safe, he was whole, he was holding her. She now just had to accept it was all over.

He tightened his hold around her and she let out a cry. Her arm. In her relief at seeing him, she had forgotten all about it. She had felt a bolt of pain shooting up her elbow when she had gone tumbling head over heels earlier but had ignored it. She didn’t think anything was broken, but something clearly wasn’t right either.

“You said the men hadn’t touched you!” Matthew cried out, holding her at arms’ length to examine her. “But you’re hurt.”

“They didn’t touch me, I swear. Only, I hurt myself by climbing down the cliff after you. I think I twisted something when I fell.”

He looked at the cliff behind her and recoiled in horror. “Don’t tell me you went down that slope?”

A smile teased her lips at his reaction. “It was the quickest way to get to the lake.”

She would not admit to Matthew that she had also been afraid of staying alone with the men. He already seemed on the brink of explosion. Instead, she bared her forearm and saw that her elbow was swollen, and had taken on a reddish hue.

“Oh, Branwen, did you have to rush so?” Matthew remonstrated, his touch as gentle as his voice was rough.

“Of course, I did. I had to see for myself that you hadn’t been killed by the fall.”

Muttering to himself, something about stubborn Welsh women, Matthew struggled out of his wet tunic. With the sodden material, he fashioned a kind of sling, explaining he wanted to hold her arm bent tight against her middle. “Not moving it will stop the worst of the pain.”

“But you will freeze to death without your clothes,” Branwen protested meekly. An arched brow indicated the ludicrousness of the statement. Indeed, in the wet tunic, he would not be any warmer than he was now, simply dressed in his undershirt.

“Hold still, stop arguing and let me do what needs to be done,” he scolded. “I’m hoping the cold of the material will help numb the pain somewhat.”

It might, she acknowledged. And having her arm held securely was a relief, as he’d said.

Once the sling was securely in place, he placed a brief kiss on her lips. She was too stunned to react, not that she would have protested. It had been a sweet, tender proof of his concern. She tried to swallow past the lump in her throat. “Thank you.”

“No. Thank you . You’re the one who saved my life. No one else in the entire world can make that claim,” Matthew said, before adding pensively. “Do you know, I think I understand now what Connor feels when he thanks me for rescuing him from that bastard Gruffydd. I always thought his reaction was exaggerated. We both know I have done nothing he wouldn’t do for me. But it is odd to owe your life to someone, and knowing you cannot express your gratitude adequately or repay the debt.”

“Yes.”

Branwen had a good inkling of what that might feel like. Matthew had not saved her life, per se, but he had given her a more bearable one and hope for a different, better future. It was as he’d said … she would never be able to express her gratitude or repay the debt for what he’d done.

He gave a slanted smile, as if he’d guessed all she was not saying. Then he placed another swift kiss on her mouth. Her throat went dry. Matthew Hunter’s kisses, whether passionate or gentle, were like nothing else.

“Let us go. If we walk fast, we might be able to reach the castle before nightfall.”

At that, Branwen started sobbing again. Dear God, but she was an emotional mess right now.

“I’m sorry, but the men took Raven,” she said, wiping at her eyes. “Before I jumped down the cliff, I heard them say they would get a good price for him. I should perhaps have stayed and tried to stop them, but I think there was nothing I could have done to?—”

“No. You were right not to confront them. We’ll get Raven back, don’t worry. It will not be so easy for villagers to sell a destrier without raising suspicion or attracting attention.” The look in his eyes hardened. “The important thing is that they didn’t hurt you.”

“They didn’t.”

“Good. I couldn’t have lived with myself if anything had happened to you.”

That was something they had in common then, because she couldn’t have lived with herself either if anything had happened to him.

He took her free hand in his and placed a kiss on it, every inch the dashing knight in front of his lady. “Come. It’s time to go.”

“Dear me, what happened to you two?”

Branwen knew she would look a fright with her scratched face and her arm wrapped in the sling and, of course, Matthew was in his shirt and wet braies. No doubt they both looked exhausted as well. Her friend would understandably worry.

“I’ll tell you everything. But first I need to sit down.”

“Of course.” Esyllt led her to the fur-covered bench, her eyes full of concern. “You’ll also need something to drink, I daresay.”

“Thank you, some ale and bread would be most welcome,” Matthew said, coming forward. The bedraggled clothes notwithstanding, he didn’t appear any the worse for his ordeal. Branwen shook her head. Apparently, the man was made of iron.

“Bread! I think we can do better than that.”

Servants were called, and soon a lavish feast was spread on the trestle table by the window. Branwen forced herself to eat her rabbit pie slowly, as she related the attack to her friend. She kept the more disturbing details out, like the fact that the men wanted Connor dead and her punished for being happy in her marriage to an Englishman. She would reveal them later, when the shock of today’s ordeal had worn off.

By the time they had eaten and drunk their fill, it was pitch dark outside, and Branwen could feel her eyes closing of their own accord.

“Thank you, Esyllt. Now I will need to speak to Connor,” Matthew said, dipping his fingers into a bowl of scented water. “Branwen can come with me if she’s not too tired.”

“Of course.” She was tired, but not so much that she could allow any delay in informing Connor of the situation.

Esyllt led them straight to the solar, where they found him writing a letter. He took one look at them and dropped his quill into the inkpot.

“Who?” he asked Matthew, fury blazing in his green eyes.

“Villagers. The attack was aimed at you, though.”

“Dead?”

“Not all of them.”

Branwen was stunned by the bluntness of the exchange, but evidently the brothers did not tiptoe around one another, and why should they? Connor needed to be told the danger he was in.

This time, she let Matthew relate the story of how they’d been set upon. She noticed he was leaving out unnecessary details for now, much as she had done.

“You need to find those men, Connor!” Esyllt exclaimed, once he had finished. “They need to be punished.”

“I will find them, never fear, but you, dear wife, look about to collapse. What I need right now is to get you into bed. Come, love, there’s naught that can be accomplished tonight save making sure you get the rest you need.”

With those words, he swept Esyllt into his arms, the gesture so loving it brought a lump to Branwen’s throat. How good it must feel to be loved and looked after thus. But of course she would never know the joy of having a loving husband taking her to bed because she was tired from looking after his newborn child.

The door closed on the couple and silence fell in the solar. Alone with Matthew, Branwen started to shake uncontrollably.

“I think … possibly the skeletons Castell Esgyrn was named after belonged to two hapless souls who’d been thrown into the lake and drowned,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “They ended up in a ditch all alone, forgotten by everyone.”

A sob escaped her lips at the terrible notion. It could have been Matthew’s fate today. He could have died, and his body left to rot in a forsaken place.

“Hush, sweet. I didn’t drown. It’s over.” Without waiting for permission, he engulfed her into his arms, careful of not putting any pressure over her injured arm. “It’s over. You saved me, remember? It’s over.”

She nodded against his chest. Yes, she had saved him. But how would she ever forget the horror piercing her gut when she had seen him plummet to his possible death? The memory would haunt her for years to come.

“You need to change your clothes,” she mumbled. Even after a whole afternoon of walking, they were still damp. How had she not thought of this before? He needed warming up as soon as possible. It would not do for him to have survived the downing in the lake only to die of a chest cold.

“And you need a good night’s sleep. You look about to collapse.”

With those words, he swept her into his arms, much in the same way Connor had done for Esyllt a moment earlier.

Too stunned to protest, too grateful to resist, too tired to do anything, she allowed her head to rest against his chest and let herself be carried to a room where a brazier was burning. By the time he’d deposited her onto the bed, covered her with the blanket and given her cheek a gentle stroke, she was already half asleep. The events of the day had taken their toll.

“How is your arm?” Matthew asked solicitously, unwrapping the tunic that was holding it in place.

“Better. I can hardly feel the pain anymore.” She had been right to think the injury was not severe.

“Good. I’ll leave you to sleep then. Tomorrow you should feel your normal self.”

He made to get up but Branwen stopped him with a hand on his leg. “No. Stay here with me, please.” Her words were slurred, but even with her brain addled by fatigue, she knew she wanted this. She had almost lost him today, she needed the reassurance of knowing he would be fine, she needed to feel him, warm and solid, next to her. They had already slept in the same bed once. What harm could it do to do it another time? None. “You need to warm up. With us two in the bed, you’ll do that a lot faster.”

She had expected to have to argue, promise it was really what she wanted, but to her surprise and relief, he immediately agreed. Perhaps he’d secretly hoped to stay with her and hadn’t dared ask for permission. It mattered not why, as long as he did.

“Very well. I’ll get undressed now,” he said in a deep voice. “I’ll remove everything this time, I’m afraid. I cannot lie in bed in my wet clothes and I have no other with me. Just close your eyes and go to sleep, I’ll join you in a moment.”

Without further ado, Matthew started tugging at his clothes, not embarrassed in the least to have a witness. Branwen fought to stay awake. She wanted to watch, and see his naked body gilded by the low-burning flames in the brazier, but her eyelids were too heavy and the bed too soft for her to resist the lure of sleep. She caught a glimpse of a smooth, broad back and rippling shoulders, the curve of a spine.

A moment later, she was asleep.