Page 14 of A Savior for Branwen (The Welsh Rebels #2)

Chapter Thirteen

“ S omeone’s waiting for you in the solar.”

Matthew stilled. Something about Connor’s demeanor made his hackles rise. His first thought was that Bryn’s men were here to see him. Somehow, they had found out what had happened to their master, and they had come to demand revenge from their neighbor for what his brother had done. Well, let them try. They would get to hear all about the man’s villainy, and if one of them had the gall to defend the bastard, he would find himself having to fight for his life.

He looked at his brother nervously.

Connor had no idea that his supposed ally was this moment imprisoned in the castle, and he would not take it very well to be told. Matthew hated the deception, but he’d had no choice. For Branwen, he would face worse than his brother’s wrath. Besides, he was certain Connor would side with him once his neighbor’s true nature was revealed. He would want the man punished for what he’d done.

Yes. But how? It had been two days, and Matthew still hadn’t decided what the man’s punishment should be. All he knew was that he wanted him to suffer.

“Is it someone I actually want to see?” he asked, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

The hesitation flickering in Connor’s eyes made him rethink his first idea. What if guilt had made him jump to conclusions? What if this was not Bryn’s friends but yet another potential bride brought for his consideration? It had been months since his brother had mentioned any noble ladies wanting to ally themselves with the Hunter family, and he had never taken it upon himself to actually bring one for him to meet, but it was all too possible he’d thought it was time Matthew married.

His whole self rebelled at the idea. He could not marry a stranger, a noble woman, someone he felt nothing toward, a Mary or an Elizabeth. He could never be content with such a wife. He wanted a woman he knew, one with origins as modest as his own, someone who made his insides flip in his chest every time he saw her, and with a name as unique as it was poetic.

Of course, he already knew one woman who fitted this description. She also had a smile as bright as a summer’s day and eyes the color of the sun illuminating it. Holy hell, since when did he have such fanciful musings? He was truly losing it.

“Well, is it someone I would want to see?” he growled, his confusion making him snap.

“Yes. Trust me.”

His brother placed a hand on his shoulder. That gesture told Matthew everything he needed to know. The person waiting for him in the solar was not one of Bryn’s men, or an elusive bride—but his father. He was suddenly certain of it.

He swallowed. Connor waited, then gave his shoulder a squeeze.

“You need to tell him. He deserves to know.”

“I know.”

He’d regretted letting the man go without asking where he could find him if the need arose, because even then he’d suspected he wouldn’t be able to live with the knowledge that he had willingly denied a man the right to meet his son. And now, against all odds, he was given the opportunity to tell the carpenter what he’d never thought he’d have the opportunity or the courage to tell him.

It was just like it had been for Branwen two days ago. Here was the chance to ease some of the burden he was carrying, to let out the resentment poisoning his life. He would not be less brave than she had been.

“How did you find him?” he asked Connor.

“You have Mortimer, the steward at Sheridan Manor, to thank for this. You know he’s an astute man.”

Matthew nodded. A very astute man indeed. Growing up, he’d often wished he had a father like James Mortimer. Lord Sheridan had been generous and attentive to his material comfort, but somehow distant, too busy overseeing his vast domains to worry about a little boy he’d taken under his protection. The kindly steward had been more approachable, and taught him most of what he knew. He felt the utmost respect and affection for him.

And now it seemed he would also owe him a reconciliation with his father. But how?

“What did he do?” Mortimer was all the way in England. How could he possibly have arranged a reunion between two people he didn’t know were related from so far away?

“He got talking to your father before he left Sheridan Manor, and it didn’t take him long to conclude that a man looking for your mother so long after her death might be someone we wanted to be able to trace. He took the liberty of writing to me that very evening to give me all the information he’d extracted from Richard, and in turn I took the liberty of sending Archie to get him in his village.”

“Did you?”

The carpenter would have been bewildered by the request, understandably. A mighty lord he’d never met had bade him come all the way to his Welsh castle. It would have made no sense to him. Why had he not ignored the odd request? That was what Matthew would have done in his place.

Unless he’d known why he was being summoned, of course.

He clenched his teeth. Surely his brother had not taken it upon himself to reveal his and his mother’s secret without even consulting with him?

“Did you tell him why you’d summoned him all the way to Wales?” he asked less calmly than he would have wished. Nervousness mingling with uncertainty made him look for an easy target, and Connor was here, looking not in the least guilty for what he’d done.

“No. I thought that what we tell him or how was your choice to make. I trust you to make the right one.”

With those words and one last encouraging squeeze to the shoulder, Connor left.

Matthew stared at the stone wall for a long time, wondering what to do, or rather, how to do it. He already knew he would tell his father the truth, he could not let the man leave a second time without having been told about the son Rose had given him. But what was the best way to do it?

The news he was about to impart would be a shock. There was no knowing how he would receive it. And where would they go from there? Father or not, the man was a stranger to him, they would have to learn everything. Of course they could find out they shared a common passion, had similar views on life, and this this would help make the relationship?—

No. He was getting ahead of himself. First, he had to get inside the room and deliver the news. Doubt froze him in place. He was about to tell someone the words he had dreaded to hear all his life.

You have a child you never knew about.

Making sure he would never get to hear those awful words was the reason he had kept his urges in check all these years, the reason behind his iron will, the reason he had never known the pleasure of a woman’s embrace before Branwen had forced him to take what his body was craving. How would the man—Richard, Connor had called him—take the news? Would he be horrified? Pleased? There was only one way of knowing.

He pushed the door open.

The carpenter started at his entrance, then gave a nervous bow, as if unsure how to behave in front of a figure of authority. In his velvet tunic, at home in such a grand castle, Matthew would appear like a nobleman to him, as mighty as Lord Sheridan. That gave him the courage he needed. The man didn’t deserve to be left in the dark when the person making him ill at ease was none other than his own son.

“Good afternoon,” he said, gesturing to the man to straighten back up. “I trust you remember me?”

“Of course, my lord. We met at Sheridan Manor last month.”

Matthew raised a hand. “Please. I’m not a lord. I’m …” He hesitated then said rather bluntly. “I’m Rose’s son.” Once the admission was out, he found it easy to carry on. The words tumbled out of his mouth. “I know it will be a shock to you, and I have no way of proving I’m telling the truth, save by answering the questions you might have about her. I hope you will believe me.”

The man—Richard—his father—blanched. There was a long, excruciating pause. Then he took a tentative step forward.

“Of course I believe you. Your eyes … the shape of your mouth. They are identical. Dear God. You are her son, I was right.”

He blinked a few times in rapid succession, as if to make sure he was not seeing things, or keep tears at bay. Matthew knew he looked like his mother, he’d been told many times. Never had he been more glad of the fact. He now wished someone could tell him what he had in common with the man in front of him, if anything. Did they have the same jaw? Were their smiles identical? Perhaps Connor could tell him. He would have to ask him later. Suddenly he needed to have everyone know the bond linking him to this man, the father he’d never thought to meet.

A good man who had loved his mother.

In front of him, Richard seemed lost in his contemplation.

“I thought you looked familiar when last we met, and I wondered for a moment if you were not her son. But I reasoned you could not be, for not only were you were a grand lord, but you didn’t tell me about the connection when I asked about her.”

An uncomfortable silence followed.

“I know I should have told you who I was. Forgive me, but your visit took me by surprise, and I didn’t find the courage to tell you what I should have.” He swallowed. He would not be such a coward again. He thought back to the way Branwen had faced Bryn the other day, saying all that needed to be said and being mocked for it. She’d had to do a much more difficult thing, and he would draw strength from her courage. “I am indeed Rose’s son. And … yours.”

Matthew watched as all the blood drained from Richard’s face.

“My … Rose bore my child?” He looked about to collapse from shock. “And I never knew? All this time, I never knew? I wasn’t there for her. I wasn’t there for you!”

The pain in his voice was too much to hear, the regret in his eyes too much to see. Matthew lowered his gaze to the floor.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what to say.”

“Me neither. I’m not sure there is anything to say.” There was another pause. “Except perhaps … that I’m glad. I’m grateful for this last, wonderful gift from her. Another son, one I already know I could love, if he weren’t so?—”

“Please, I’m not,” Matthew cut in, already knowing what he was about to say.

But Richard carried on bravely. “If he weren’t so much grander than me. I’m only a humble carpenter. How can a man like me ever be a father to you?” He looked around him meaningfully, but Matthew shook his head.

“I’m not grand. My brother Connor is.” He would have a lot of explaining to do, Matthew thought when he saw the frown on Richard’s face. “He is the nobleman. I am the son of a carpenter and a maid who loved each other, who wanted me, and that means more to me than all the riches in the world. I always thought you had abandoned my mother, and me,” he admitted in a low voice, ashamed but wanting to be honest.

“With good reason, because I did.” The words seemed wrenched from the carpenter’s throat.

“You did not, not in the way I thought at least. That’s the important thing.”

He could see in this moment that it would be all right. They would get to know and love each other.

“What is your name?” Richard asked tentatively.

It was ridiculous. His own father didn’t know his name. “Matthew,” he said, his heart in his throat.

“Dear God, that’s my second name. I told Rose as much that summer.”

Matthew stared at him. That they shared a name meant everything to him. He now had a father and a bond to him, a way of showing their relationship to the world. He remembered Branwen teasing him about his name being uninspiring. Privately, he had agreed, and wished he could have a more poetic name, like hers. Now he knew he had the only name he needed to have. His father’s name.

“I think my mother must have loved you,” he murmured. Why else would she have called him Matthew?

“And I loved her. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, you know. But that was not even what drew me to her. There was this connection between us, from the start. It is hard to explain if you have never experienced it, but I was convinced from the moment we met that we were meant to be together. I still am.” He paused. “Only we were denied the chance to live our destiny.”

“That is terrible.” Matthew cleared his throat. “I wish … I wish for both your sakes things had been different.”

“Yes. And yours.”

“Don’t worry about me. Raised at Sheridan Manor, I wanted for nothing.” Yes, as the bastard son of a maid, his life could, and should, have been very different.

The two of them looked at each other a long moment.

“I am your father so you will allow me to give you some advice.” Richard closed his eyes and gave a rueful smile “If you ever meet someone who makes your heart beat in a different rhythm when you see her, then do not make the same mistake as I did. Do not let anything get in the way of your desire to be with her, even noble reasons. An eternity of regret is too painful. We only have one life. We should be allowed to live it to the full.”

“What if I have already met her?” Matthew mused, as an image of Branwen tore through his mind. After he’d taken her home the other day, she’d asked for some time alone, and he’d agreed, reluctantly. It had been two days. In other words, an eternity, during which he’d done little but think about her and waiting for the moment he was finally able to go to her.

Richard seemed to understand all he had not said. He placed a tentative hand on his shoulder.

“If you have already met her, then go get her, son.”

In the end, Matthew didn’t have to go to Branwen. She came to him. When he exited the solar, intent on going straight to the stables and then on to her cottage, he saw her standing in the bailey, flanked by the faithful Silver. Surely it had to be a sign? He had wanted to see her, and here she was.

“Branwen.” He stopped in front of her, feeling more breathless than he should. Admittedly, he’d broken into a run at the sight of her, but he’d done little more than descend a few steps before that. A man in his physical condition should not even have registered the effort.

“Matthew.” She blushed slightly, as if she had not expected him to be the first person she would see. “Good afternoon.”

Why was she at Esgyrn Castle? Had anything happened, or had she simply come to see Esyllt and Gwenllian? Or … him, perhaps? Hope swelled in his chest. Had she found the last two days as excruciating as he had? The way she was blushing seemed to indicate her pleasure at being with him, but he could not be sure. She could also be embarrassed by the memory of what had happened the last time she’d been at the castle.

At this moment a groom appeared, leading his white stallion out of the stables.

“Oh, you got Raven back? I’m so relieved.” Delight made her eyes sparkle. “I was so worried you would never see your stallion again.”

She was so beautiful, her joy on his behalf so honest that his heart skittered—and then started to beat, just as his father had said, in a different rhythm. It was then that he knew.

“Yes. I’ve finally got my Raven back,” he said gruffly, emotion threatening to overwhelm him.

And I’m never going to let her go.

“Was he harmed at all?” She hadn’t noticed he’d not been talking about the horse, which was perhaps for the best.

“Not as far as we could tell. Connor’s men scoured the country for him, as you can imagine. It wasn’t long before they found a destrier hidden in someone’s field.” Not that it would have been difficult. Even with his telltale color covered with mud in an effort to make him less conspicuous, the powerful animal would have stood out like a sore thumb amongst the nags the farmers kept.

“And the men who attacked you? What happened to them?”

He waved the question away. All that could wait. There was something else he wanted to discuss, something he could not have shared with anyone but Connor and her, who would understand the importance of the news.

He took his hands into hers, and looked straight into her molten gold eyes. Dear Lord, she was so precious to him. He would have to tell her what she’d come to mean to him, one way or another, and soon. But first this.

“You will never guess what happened,” he said softly. “I just met my father. He’s here at Esgyrn Castle.”

Branwen stared at Matthew in wonderment. He’d met his father? What was she supposed to answer to that? After years of doubt and suffering, he’d finally met the man who had sired him. How did he feel? Was he pleased? Angered? Disappointed? Horrified? She knew he’d feared, quite understandably, to learn that his mother had been taken against her will and then forced to give birth to her attacker’s child.

Please God, don’t let it be the case, she prayed silently. It would kill Matthew to have his worst fears confirmed, and she wasn’t sure how she would bear it herself. Her feelings for him were too strong for her to remain unaffected by his pain.

“I’m not sure why I’m telling you,” he added, as if he’d read her thoughts. “Only … I’m so relieved to finally know the truth, and to see that it is nothing like what I had feared all these years. You listened to my story, you know why I dreaded fathering bastards, so it feels right to tell you.”

It did. With their fingers entwined, there was this connection between them.

Being with him felt right.

“Do you want to tell me more about it?” she asked hesitantly, hoping she was not taking liberties. To her relief, he smiled.

“Yes, I do. Come over here. Behind that wall, we will not be overheard.”

Not letting go of her hand, he led her to a little rose garden just outside the lists. It was a rather sorry sight on this gloomy day, but she enjoyed the shelter it provided from the wind as well as the privacy. Here they would be able to talk without anyone seeing them hold hands. It was a rather intimate gesture, but she would not have let go for all the world.

As they sat down on the bench, a cacophony of barks heralded the arrival of a group of five wolfhounds into the garden. The remainder of Silver’s litter, she imagined. The dog, recognizing immediately who they were, bounded in their direction with an explosion of joy.

“Silver seems happy to be reunited with his brothers and sisters,” Matthew observed with a smile.

She knew he was stalling, because what he wanted to tell her was hard, so she pretended they were here to talk about the dog.

“Yes, I’m glad to see him so full of life. His injury has finally healed, and after days being cooped indoors, he needed a good run.” She watched as her faithful companion bolted toward the forest, followed by his brothers and sisters. How exhilarating it must be to be able to expend out energy thus—not think, and just be!

Soon the barking faded into the distance and silence fell in the garden. Branwen waited, knowing it was not her responsibility to break it. Eventually, his fingers still entwined with hers, Matthew spoke.

“My father is here at Esgyrn Castle. He is called Richard. He’s English, as you might have guessed. His second name is Matthew. He’s a carpenter. He must be around fifty. He has brown eyes, like me. I first met him when I went to Sheridan Manor, a few weeks ago.” Each snippet of information was delivered in a matter-of-fact voice that did not fool her for a moment. He was deeply moved to finally be able to put a name and an identity on the man who had fathered him, as was she. “He had come because he wanted to marry my mother at long last. He had no idea she’d been dead for more than twenty years.”

The poor man had wanted to marry Matthew’s mother? Shock rooted Branwen to the spot. This was so far removed from what she had expected to hear that she didn’t know what to say, or even if she was required to answer. Heart thumping hard in her chest, she waited. Perhaps there would be more information forthcoming.

“This is a lot to take for me, even if it’s wonderful. All my life I thought I was … I feared I’d been the product of a rape, and now, as a grown man, I’m told my parents loved each other and wanted to get married from the moment they met. I thought my father was a bastard who’d abandoned my mother, but it turns out he’s an honorable man who wanted to give his son by another woman a decent life.”

Branwen wasn’t sure she quite followed what Matthew was saying, who that other woman was, but she didn’t interrupt. He needed to talk, confide in someone, and it moved her that he had chosen her of all people.

It would all make sense in time; it was all that mattered.

Slowly, he disentangled his fingers from her, and started to walk back and forth, like a man prey to agitation.

“I don’t know how to adjust to the situation. Now I have a family. A father, a half-brother, and even a nephew, would you believe it.” He gave a small laugh and she could not help a smile. She knew he often jested about Connor having only ever given him nieces. “Someone who actually wants me.”

Those last words were like a punch to the gut.

I want you ! she almost screamed, all smiles wiped from her face. Please don’t go back to England now, to be with them. I couldn’t bear it. I once had to go weeks without you, and it was awful. I could not do it for a lifetime.

What had been the best of news for him could well turn out to be a disaster for her. How would she bear him leaving now?

“Lord Sheridan and his wife wanted you, Connor still wants you. You’re his only, his beloved brother,” she said, instead of voicing out her concern. That was true, at least, and he needed the reassurance. “Esyllt, the girls, they all love you—you must know that.”

“Yes, I do. But it’s not the same, is it?” His eyes were burning with a new intensity when he finally looked at her. Her heart started to beat a frantic rhythm. What was he about to say? “I want my own family. I’m sure you understand. I need to know I too have someone?—”

“My lord?”

A voice cut through his heated declaration. A moment later a man she recognized as one of the guards entered the garden. Matthew turned to face him and snarled. “What is it?”

Branwen started. She had never heard him speak thus to anyone. Even when he had called her a whore, he had not appeared so menacing.

“Forgive me.” The man coughed, understanding he had interrupted a very private and, by the looks of it, important conversation. “But his lordship is asking after you. He says it’s urgent. He’s in the solar, waiting for you.”

There was a pause, during which Matthew seemed to do what he could to regain control over his temper, proving he had been as surprised as she by his outburst.

“Go ahead then,” he told the man in a more conciliatory tone. “Tell him I’m coming.”

Once the man had left, he faced her again, a dismayed expression on his face, as if he feared she’d been scared by his unwarranted ferocity. The smile she gave him made it clear she had not.

“Will you forgive me? Connor wouldn’t have called me if this had not been?—”

She placed a hand over his arm. “Of course. I’ll wait for you here. Come back once you’ve seen your brother.”