Page 13 of A Savior for Branwen (The Welsh Rebels #2)

Chapter Twelve

B ranwen would never know what her intentions were with regards to Matthew when she headed toward the east tower, because she was not given the chance to find out. Would she have started another of the whimsical discussions she was so fond of, when he teased her about the meaning of her name or they tried to find out who the skeletons in the ditch belonged to? Would she have revealed more of her painful past to him? Would they have argued, with him calling her a whore? Would she have kissed him and begged him to show her what she had refused to allow herself to feel the time she had taken him in a shocking assault?

She would never know.

All she knew was that she missed him terribly and needed to see him. It had been three days since she’d left Castell Esgyrn as precipitously as if the hounds of hell had been at her heels. She had hated fleeing thus, without even telling him goodbye, but after seeing Bryn, she could not have remained there a moment longer. The man haunting her nightmares had not changed in all these years, only become even more frightening, quite a feat considering how vile he’d been back then.

She had fled, and as a consequence, had not seen nor heard from Matthew in three long days.

If she had been honest with herself—and she would not allow herself to be, no matter what—she would admit that she had been hurt by his lack of concern for her. Instead, she’d tried to justify his behavior. No doubt some important business had kept him away from the village, she told herself. Connor would have sent him on some mission or other, and he’d had no time to himself. And, after all, why would he even want to come to her?

She was nothing to him, and he had other things to do than idle his day away talking about white ravens and long-forgotten skeletons.

But still, knowing she might get a glimpse of him, she had not been able to resist the temptation of a visit to her friend and her babe. It was as good an excuse as any to come to Castell Esgyrn. But Esyllt and Connor hadn’t been anywhere that she could see when she had arrived, only the two girls. When Jane had told her that her uncle had gone to the east tower, where no one ever went as it was undergoing much-needed repairs, she had allowed curiosity to overwhelm her.

What was he doing there all alone?

She started to ascend the stairs, wondering what she would tell Matthew. He would know she had come to the tower with the intention of seeing him, since no one was supposed to go there. Would he be?—

She stopped.

Something like a moan had reached her ears, causing her to trip on the last step. Had she heard right? Perhaps her mind was playing tricks. Why would Matthew be moaning? Then there was a grunt, unequivocally masculine. Her mind was not playing tricks. She froze, her hand on the cold stone. Was he … was he with a woman? Was that what she was hearing? Was that why he had gone to a disused part of the castle? So as not to be disturbed? Was that why he’d stayed away from the village, because he’d found himself a lover?

Shock sliced through her, then pain and humiliation rushed into the open wound. He’d told her he didn’t bed women because he could not take the risk of fathering bastards. Well, evidently, since he’d had her, he’d started to change his mind about that. The virgin had gotten a taste for making love and was now bedding all the women he could find. It would not be difficult, for who would refuse a man like him?

Rooted to the spot, she tried to summon the courage to go down the stairs. The last thing she wanted was to hear Matthew with another woman, hear the pleasure he gave her. But her legs seemed unwilling to move. There was another moan, more sinister than arousing. What was going on in that room? Surely he wasn’t taking a woman against her will? Tears swelled in her eyes. Not, not him!

And then she heard it. The sentence that had haunted her nightmares for years.

Gwaranda ar dy cwyno. R’wyt ti’n hoffi be’d ‘wi’n wneud, ond wit ty?

Listen to you moaning. You like what I’m doing to you, don’t you?

Except … except that it was pronounced by a voice that did not raise the hairs at the back of her head.

Matthew’s.

The ground opened from under her. He was telling his lover the exact same thing Bryn had told her years ago. He was giving another woman what he had not been allowed to give her, and he was praising her response. He was praising her for feeling pleasure, the pleasure Branwen hadn’t been willing to feel in his arms. And he was doing it with the same foul words her tormentor had used to make her believe she was enjoying his attentions, to convince himself she had come to him willingly.

It was the ultimate betrayal.

She did turn around then, but then she stilled when she realized he had said it in Welsh. She knew he didn’t really speak her language that well—certainly he could never have said such a complex sentence, much less while in the throes of passion. So what was going on?

A muffled cry reached her ears. This time she was certain it was not a moan of pleasure.

“What was that?” Matthew carried on in English, snarling so much she barely recognized his voice. “I can’t understand what you’re saying. Oh, perhaps you’re actually in pain, is that what it is? And you’d like me to stop? You don’t really like what I’m doing to you, do you? Well, what if I ignored your protests and carried on anyway? What if I carved your heart out of your chest, pretending all the while you’re deriving pleasure from it? How would you like that, you sick bastard?”

Another cry, unmistakably one of pain.

Branwen didn’t hesitate and rushed into the room. The sight meeting her eyes was not one she would ever have wanted to see. Matthew was bent over Bryn, a dagger pressed against his ribcage. Blood was staining the older man’s tunic in various places, bearing testimony to the wounds that had already been inflicted on him. Realization hit. She’d had it all wrong.

This was no tryst between lovers, this was torture.

“No, stop!” she cried out, causing Matthew to freeze. Lost to his rage, he apparently had not heard her come in. His face when he turned to look at her was a mask of fury such as she had never seen before, a fury not directed at her but terrifying nonetheless.

“Why?” he spat. “Why should I stop? Why does this despicable excuse for a man deserve your mercy? Did he show you any when he pinned you under him? When he ignored your protests? When you were little more than a child?”

“No,” she said in a whisper. He had not shown her any mercy whatsoever. “But he made a monster out of me, I will not have him make a murderer out of you now as well, do you hear? I won’t let him win!”

She fell to the floor and started crying. Instantly Matthew let go of his dagger and knelt next to her, drawing her into his arms. “Sweetheart. I cannot let you say such a thing. Please, you’re not the monster here. He is.”

The words barely registered, as did the warmth of his body against her flank. She was chilled to the bone, horrified by what she had seen, nauseous at the memory of all that had been done to her. “I … Please, I just want to go. I cannot bear to see him.”

“Yes, of course.”

Lifting her in his arms effortlessly, he carried her out of the room, slamming the door behind him with a kick. He brought her down the stairs, and then into another room. All the while, he kept her tight against his chest and whispered soothing words in her ear. She focused on them, using them to anchor her mind in the same way someone who’d stumbled into a crevice would grab at tree roots to avoid plummeting to her death.

After a while she understood that they were still in the east tower. Not wanting her to be seen in such a state or to have to see anyone, Matthew had brought her into another of the disused, empty rooms. There, in the absence of benches or stools, he’d sat unceremoniously on the floor and positioned her in his lap, so he could cradle her against him.

Branwen had never felt so cherished, and finally, the warmth of his body and the comfort of his concern seeped into her.

He’d wanted to avenge her. Not only that, but he’d thought it all out, and gone to the trouble of finding out how to say the exact same words Bryn had told her all this time ago, so that his revenge would be more meaningful, so that the vile man would know how it felt to be ignored when you were in pain, to be told you were enjoying something when you were dying inside.

“Is that what you did these last three days?” she asked at long last. Hunt the man down, learn the complicated Welsh sentence, plan his punishment?

Matthew nodded. “Yes. After I understood who he was the other day, I knew I could not let his crime go unpunished.”

Understood. So he had seen her reaction, he’d cared enough to find out the reason, and when he had, he had taken it upon himself to avenge her, all without her having to ask for anything. She was humbled. To think she’d felt ignored …

“I hope you’re not angry with me.” He sounded unsure.

“No.” How could she? No one had ever done anything like this for her. The only people who might have wanted to avenge her, Esyllt and her mother, didn’t have Matthew’s strength or steely determination. They would never have been able to bring a man like Bryn to heel.

Matthew placed a kiss on her temple.

“Go to him,” he breathed into her ear. “Tell him what you need to tell him, that you never wanted him, despite his claims, that he raped you and he knew it. Do to him whatever you think he deserves. Free yourself, Raven, take your revenge. I brought him here for you. This is your battle, not mine.”

Branwen felt as if her heart was about to explode. Could it be so simple? Could she free herself, in some small measure at least? “I-I cannot. He will?—”

“He’s tied to the chair and the chair is nailed to the floor,” Matthew growled, sounding as if he regretted putting the nails into the wood rather than into the man’s flesh. “He’s gagged and blindfolded. He will not look at you, he will not say anything, and he’s not going anywhere. He will just have to listen to whatever you need to tell him.”

Branwen stayed still for a long moment, considering her options. How had Matthew guessed that she needed to tell Bryn she had never wanted him, that she had not enjoyed what he had done to her? All these years she’d had to live with the burden of knowing she had been unable to defend herself, and the shame of not having done anything to stop him. He might not care to hear what she had to say or feel any remorse over his actions, but it was not what mattered. She would have said her truth— the truth—out loud.

It might help her to heal and give her the strength to refuse the next man who tried to pretend she was willing.

She looked up into Matthew’s velvety eyes. His mouth was set in a grim line, and she noticed his jaw was covered with a short beard, as if he’d not even bothered to shave these last few days. He had never looked more magnificent.

“Come with me, please. I cannot bear to go in there alone.”

“I will do whatever you want me to do, Raven. Always.”

“You swear he won’t be able to touch me?”

“He would have to go through me first, and believe me, if he tried, I would—” The rest of the sentence didn’t pass his lips but there was murder in his eyes. Branwen nodded. Bryn would not hurt her today.

Slowly she scrambled back to her feet then gestured to Matthew to go first. He led the way, solid and dependable. At the top of the staircase, he opened the door and moved to let her through. She wavered when she saw the hated man crumpled on the chair, suddenly unsure she could do what needed to be done.

Matthew took her by the elbow, providing the support she needed. “It’s all right,” he whispered in her ear. “I’m here.”

Branwen planted herself in front of Bryn. He had tensed, aware despite the blindfold that there were people in the room. He would be thinking Matthew was back and wondering where the next blow would come from.

“It’s me, Branwen,” she said in Welsh.

Her voice died when Bryn relaxed again, as if thinking he had nothing to fear or even concern himself with if it was only her. Not a promising start. Her eyes flickered to Matthew who nodded his encouragement.

Taking a deep breath, she started talking.

“I never wanted you, not that day in the woods, not ever. You knew it and yet you pretended I enjoyed your caresses. You raped me, and you made it look as if I had agreed to it. You goaded me. You took your pleasure with me and you left me to rot on the forest floor. Now every man I meet thinks I’m a whore he can use for free.” Every sentence was said flatly, with barely any emotion, and with each new word she could feel the weight in her chest get a little bit lighter. “I don’t hate you, even if you made my life hell, because I don’t want to waste any more time on you. I just want to be free of you. You have stolen enough from me already. My innocence, my choice in the men I bed, my ability to feel pleasure, my future with a good man. You are the monster, not me. It is enough for me to know that.”

The man started to shake. It was such an odd reaction, that it took her a while to understand he was laughing. Laughing! Pure white anger washed through her, making her dizzy. How dare he mock her? He was unable to answer, touch or look at her, but somehow he still managed to make her feel dirty, inadequate.

It was unbearable.

Her hand shot out before she could stop it, before she even understood she wanted to slap him. In the end, her desperation was such that it was more of a punch, one that sent pain shooting all the way up her arm. Because he’d not seen it coming, Bryn did nothing to avoid the blow and received it square in the face.

He stopped laughing.

Branwen turned around and flew down the stairs.

Matthew would have liked nothing more than to kill Bryn for daring to laugh at Branwen when she had been brave enough to confront him, but now was not the time. His death should not be quick, and it was more important he got to her before she could flee like she had the other day. He could not, however, stop himself from kicking the bastard in the groin before rushing after her. The man howled and doubled over.

“Raven, wait!”

He bounded to the door in hot pursuit.

Though he had not understood anything of what Branwen had told Bryn, he had seen her face transform while she’d talked to her abuser, her demeanor become more assured. The confrontation had helped unburden her of some of her helplessness, just as he’d hoped. She might not realize immediately, but being able to voice out loud what had poisoned her all those years, telling him what she had been too terrified to tell him before, expressing what she had truly felt, would, with hope, help her start the healing process. She would now be unable to think of herself as a coward who had not dared contradict the man who’d pretended she was enjoying his touch. Her voice had been heard. Bryn now could not ignore what he had done, even if he’d chosen to laugh it off, bastard that he was.

Matthew bunched his fists. He would pay for that provocation alone later.

“Branwen!” Frantic with the need to see her, he reached the bottom of the stairs. Where was she?

He found her in a corridor to his left. Eyes screwed shut, she was hugging a stone pillar. His heart broke at the sight.

“Here,” he said, coming to stand right behind her. “Hug me instead. I’m warm, and I’ll hug you back. Please.”

She turned and fell into his arms. “Oh, Matthew. That was a disaster.”

“No. You were magnificent out there, so brave and strong. I’m so proud of you.”

He kept her against him a long time, stroking her hair tenderly, allowing his own heartbeat to return to normal. Eventually she drew back, looking ill at ease.

“I want to go home,” she said, staring at the floor. “I don’t want anyone to see me like this.” He knew what she meant. One look at her and questions would be asked. It was obvious she had cried.

“Does anyone know you came here today?”

She shook her head. “Only the girls. No doubt they will tell their parents I came, but it matters not; you can always say I chose to leave when I could not find them. Please. I just cannot see anyone right now.”

“I’ll take you back to the cottage on horseback,” he decided before she could say she would rather walk. He could not let her go on her own while she was so upset. Fortunately, she seemed to agree she was in no state to be alone and didn’t protest. “Where is Silver?” He would not come back to Esgyrn Castle tonight if the dog was not by her side. It was already costing him every ounce of understanding to agree to leave her alone in that moment.

“Still with Mam and Eirwen. He is better, but I didn’t think he was ready for the long walk to the castle.”

“Then we will get him back before I take you to the cottage,” he ruled. “You will want him with you.” He wanted the beast with her.

There was a pause. When she opened her mouth, he already knew what she would ask him. “What about?—”

“Don’t worry about him. I’ll do what needs to be done.”

He would have to talk to Connor at some point, of course, and decide what should be done with the man. He was his neighbor, as he’d said, and they had recently contracted an important agreement. Hundreds of tenants counted on it being honored. He could not go behind his brother’s back in such an important matter, and create problems for him, so he would consult with him. In any case, it was better not to rush.

A few nights locked in a cell would give Bryn the chance to mull over what he’d done and Matthew time to come up with a solution to his predicament. If he went to him now, he would only rip his guts out and that would help no one. He needed to come up with a solution to make him pay without anyone else having to suffer from it. What that could be, he wasn’t sure at the moment.

Still, that was for him to worry about, not Branwen.

She had suffered enough.

“He’s going straight to Esgyrn Castle’s dungeon,” he concluded. “You won’t have to think about him ever again.”