Page 12 of A Savior for Branwen (The Welsh Rebels #2)

Chapter Eleven

T he creaking of the door was not loud but still enough to stir Branwen out of her slumber. She turned her face to the door, where the glow of a candle was painting the stone wall gold. Before she could wonder who the mysterious visitor might be, a head popped in through the crack.

“Branwen, are you all right?”

Esyllt.

“Yes, I’m all right,” Branwen breathed. She was more than all right, nestled in the warm, comfortable bed she had been allocated. “What are you doing here at this time?” Through the narrow window, she could see the black, star-filled sky. It was the middle of the night.

“I’ve just finished feeding Gwenllian, and now I’m wide awake so I thought I would check on you. Can I come in a moment?”

Branwen hesitated. Something was lurking at the back of her mind, something that seemed to suggest it would be better if her friend stayed where she was, but she couldn’t think what it was.

“Yes,” she finally said, still not finding the will to move. She was wrapped in the most wonderfully warm cocoon, and the room looked cold.

Esyllt stepped forward, the light she was carrying illuminating the bed.

Three things happened at the same time.

Esyllt’s mouth fell open, the cocoon of blankets moved, and Branwen remembered what it was that had bothered her.

Matthew was in the bed with her. Naked, and wrapped around her like a vine.

He was the cocoon.

Oh, Lord.

“I’m sorry,” her friend murmured, getting over her shock with some difficulty. “I had no idea?—”

“It’s not what you think,” Branwen whispered back, not wanting to disturb Matthew, if by some miracle he had not yet awoken. He had stopped moving, and his breathing was calm. Maybe he was still asleep.

What could Esyllt see? Heat flooded Branwen and her heart started to beat frantically. The way she was curled up inside his embrace, with her back against his chest, meant that his manhood would be hidden from view. Had her friend realized he was naked by now? The arm resting in the dip of her waist was covered by the blanket, so perhaps it would not immediately be obvious. Dear God, this was mortifying. She closed her eyes, not knowing what to say.

“You need not say anything.” She heard something in Esyllt’s voice she could not quite place. Was it laughter? Relief? Approval? “Only I see now that you are indeed all right, and have no need of me. Good night.”

When the door closed again, Branwen already knew she would not be able to sleep another wink. She also knew she would not wait until Matthew woke up before leaving the bed, and the room. It would be too embarrassing to lie with him while he was naked. And how was she going to face Esyllt tomorrow? Would she tell Connor where his brother had spent the night? No, she decided, her secret, if secret it was, was safe. But her friend would definitely believe they had slept together.

Which they had, of course, only not last night, and not in a bed.

Matthew stirred and mumbled something in her ear, something about a rose and a carpenter she could not make sense of. What was he dreaming about? Unable to help herself, she turned around to bury her nose in the crook of his neck. Mm. So warm, so spicy. His scent was as alluring as he was. If only she could remain in his embrace always.

For a long, luxurious moment, time seemed to suspend its flight and Branwen bathed in masculine perfection.

When a faint glow lit up the horizon, she left the bed.

“My lord, the delegation of Welshmen has arrived.”

“Thank you, John.”

Matthew did his best to hide his irritation. He’d forgotten all about the meeting planned for today, and he could have done without it.

Upon waking up, he’d been disappointed not to find Branwen in the bed next to him, even if it had not surprised him. There had been fresh clothes on the stool, and a tray of food waiting for him on the chest. She had seen to his comfort before leaving the room. But had she left the castle yet? That was what he wanted to know.

Ignoring the food, he’d gotten dressed in the blink of an eye, cursing his exhaustion. After his ordeal of the day before, his body had needed to recuperate. As a consequence, he had slept a lot longer than he usually did, so it was more than possible Branwen would already have gone back home.

But to his relief, he’d found her with Connor and Esyllt in the great hall. She had reddened when she had spotted him, but she had returned his greeting readily enough. He’d been able to breathe then. She was not embarrassed by their night spent together; she would not refuse his company.

Except that now he was told he would be denied the opportunity to spend time with her. Instead of getting to know better a woman who intrigued him more with each passing day, he was going to have to listen to Welshmen blabber on about land borders and finances. He could have screamed in frustration.

“Let the men in,” Connor instructed John.

A moment later half a dozen men walked into the hall, none of whom looked familiar. His heart plummeted further. He had made some acquaintances amongst the local lords, even friends of sorts, but none of these men counted amongst the one who’d just entered. Not only that, but they didn’t look particularly amenable.

Damnation, he was about to spend the day with a horde of hostile men, when he wanted only one thing, to be with Branwen.

Matthew turned to offer her an apologetic smile—and startled when he saw that she had gone as white as a sheet. Was she about to faint, as she was prone to do? It wouldn’t be the first, or even the second time she’d done so in his presence. But there was usually a good reason for it. So what was it? Had the pain in her arm suddenly worsened? She’d said when he’d taken her to bed that it was better, but what if he had inadvertently bumped against her during the night? Guilt sliced through him. He should not have agreed to sleep next to her when she was injured, at the risk of hurting her. Then he frowned, because there was something odd about her reaction.

She was not in pain, he decided, the change in her was too sudden and too extreme. She’d been fine a moment ago, smiling at him sweetly as if remembering lying in his arms. What was happening?

He followed the direction of her gaze. The Welshman facing her seemed the cause of her distress. No, it was more than distress, he amended, it was fear.

She was afraid of the man.

His hand twitched, as if wanting to reach for his sword.

As he was wondering what to do, the man threw her a smile that showed all his teeth. His rotting, crooked teeth. “Hello, Branwen. Long time, no see.”

Everything within Matthew tightened. He’d been right, Branwen knew the man. As to why she might fear him, it was not hard to guess. He would be one of the bastards who had once thought to use her for his selfish pleasure, one of the most violent ones, by all accounts. There was intimate knowledge in the way his gaze roved over her, and cruelty in his smile. And if that had not been enough to prove his wicked nature, then there was the terror in Branwen’s eyes. She looked about to retch with it.

“How long has it been? Ten years?” he added, when she didn’t answer him.

Ten years ? Matthew recoiled in shock. How old was Branwen now? Younger than he was, surely. So that meant she couldn’t have been much more than seventeen when they had met. Understanding tore through him. The man smiling at her so lewdly was the man who had ruined her as a girl, the one who had started it all.

Blood roared in his veins, making his temples throb. Fate had brought the man to him, thereby ensuring he could avenge her. He would not let the opportunity pass.

“Branwen, would you come with me while the men have their talk?” Esyllt took her friend by the arm with a smile. “I think Gwenllian will have woken up by now. I know you were anxious to meet her.”

Bless the woman. She had seen, as he had, that Branwen was about to retch from fear, and was making it possible for her to escape the man’s malevolent presence without incurring offence or creating problems for Connor.

“Yes, wife, go show your friend the babe,” his brother agreed. “I fear our discussion will only put you women to sleep anyway.”

Ah. So he had noticed Branwen’s reaction as well. He would never have been so condescending toward either woman if he had not. He thought his wife a reliable and capable ally and usually kept her involved in discussions regarding the managing of their estate. There was only one reason for him to send her away with such alacrity.

He wanted to give Branwen a chance to recover from her shock away from prying eyes.

Matthew threw him a grateful glance.

As soon as the women left, the men sat down to discuss the matter at hand, but he could not focus. All he could think about was asking Connor who the hell that man was, and dreaming up ways of making him pay for hurting Branwen all those years ago and ruining the rest of her life in the process.

“What’s ailing you?” his brother asked, when the men finally departed. Matthew had no idea had long they had stayed. It had felt like forever. “You’ve been glaring at the Welsh?—”

“Who the fuck is that man and where does he live?” he snarled, rounding on his brother.

“Who?”

The question took him aback but then he remembered there had been six men present. “The oldest one, the one with the rotten teeth. As soon as I know who he is, I’m going to hunt him down, and make him eat his cock balls first.”

Connor recoiled at the venom in his tone, as well he might. Matthew was not usually a violent man, but in front of the bastard who had raped a young Branwen and ruined her life, he could feel himself becoming a different man.

“Wait. What are you talking about? What did Bryn do to you to get you in such a state?”

“He did nothing to me.” He bunched his fists into balls. If only the man preyed on other men, men who could defend themselves. But no, the despicable bastard chose to hurt vulnerable women and children, like the coward he was. No doubt Branwen was not the man’s only victim either. He needed to pay—he had gotten away with his crimes for too long. “It’s none of your concern. Just tell me where I can find him.”

“No. I might not like the man, but I must respect the lord. We need to keep him sweet. He’s just granted our tenants access to the sea through his land. This is a significant advantage, an invaluable source of food. Or did you not hear?” No, Matthew hadn’t heard a word of the discussion. He hadn’t cared. The man could have promised to hand over a chest full of gold carried over by the king himself, he would not have noticed. “So you’re not to harm him, not without good?—”

“The hell I won’t! And if you knew what kind of man your precious neighbor was, you would not want anything to do with him, this much I can guarantee.” He slammed his fist on the table, causing the inkpot to spill. Neither man seemed to care. “Damn it, Con, this is not just a whim. I have good reasons.”

Reasons he could not reveal. Branwen’s secret was not his to share, her suffering was not his to use to convince his brother to punish a man who deserved to be punished. He would have to do this on his own.

And do it he would.

Against all odds, he’d been given a chance to make the bastard pay for what he’d done. He would not let it pass. How could he look himself in the face if he did?

He darted to the door. Connor would not reveal the man’s whereabouts, but there was no need, for he had given him a vital piece of information. The man was a neighbor with lands bordering the sea. With that and his name, Bryn, it would not take Matthew long to find him. He could have followed him and demanded retribution now, of course, sliced through his gut with his sword, but he knew it was better to resist the urge. Not only was the man surrounded by five burly men at present, but it would be too merciful a revenge.

Much better to let him go while he plotted his next move. Because he didn’t want to just kill him.

He wanted to make him suffer and let him know precisely why he was suffering.