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

Chapter One

Wales, February 1297

“ A re we going to talk about what happened the other day, then?”

To give herself time to restore her composure, Branwen selected an almond from the silver dish in front of her. She wasn’t fooled by her friend’s attempt at nonchalance, nor could she claim ignorance of what she was alluding to. Her kiss with Matthew. She had hoped to keep it a secret, but obviously the little girls had delighted in revealing to their parents what they had seen. It was to be expected, as was the fact that Esyllt wanted to know more.

The only problem was, Branwen didn’t want to talk about it. She had spent the last week trying to push it out of her mind, pretending it had not happened. In vain. Every time she closed her eyes she saw Matthew’s perfect face hovering over hers. She saw it as it had appeared just before she’d pushed herself onto her tiptoes to take his mouth in a kiss such as she had never experienced before.

“I didn’t think there was any need to talk about it,” she said, taking a bite of the treat Esyllt’s husband had procured in distant London to satisfy his wife’s craving for all things sweet. It was an extravagant gesture, but nothing was too dear for the woman he loved, especially when she was carrying his child, and as a consequence, could only abide to eat certain things.

When the taste hit her tongue, Branwen almost moaned out loud. Not because it was delicious, even if it was, but because it reminded her of Matthew’s kiss. He had tasted just as enticingly spicy as the sweet. Perhaps he’d been eating one of them before she’d captured his mouth in an uncharacteristically daring move.

“No, perhaps there’s no need to talk about it,” Esyllt agreed, helping herself to another almond. “After all, there are only so many reasons why two people might kiss, all of which I can guess on my own. But don’t you wish to?—”

“No.” Branwen swallowed the almond with difficulty. Was everything and everyone determined to remind her of the man she was trying to forget? “I’m sorry, I cannot talk about it, not when he’s your brother-in-law,” she added more amenably. She hadn’t meant to snap thus, but the conversation was making her feel quite wretched, because the more she thought about it, the more she regretted the kiss. It could only lead to complications.

There was a pause while her friend chewed on her almond.

“Then I will say only this. Be careful with Matthew. He’s a good man, but he can be quite possessive and he might not like to hear about …” Esyllt floundered, clearly at a loss as to how to word her advice without offending her. “Well, I’m not sure he would like to be told of the other men?—”

“Yes,” Branwen cut in again, understanding all too well.

Matthew might not like to hear about what everyone assumed to be a colorful, exciting, scandalous love life. It was anything but. It was depressing, painful, humiliating. None of the women who were openly jealous of the attention she got from men suspected she would give twenty years of her life to be left alone. None of the people who condemned her for her supposed eagerness to be bedded stopped to wonder whether it was what she truly wanted. And, of course, none of the men who took advantage of it bothered to check if she was willing—they simply took her agreement as a given.

No one knew, or would believe, that she never encouraged men, never sought them out, never took the first step.

Except with Matthew.

Why him? For the thousandth time, she asked herself that question. He seemed an unlikely choice. Not only was he English, but he was hostile to the Welsh as well, to everything she loved, and he hated everything she represented. He’d been fiercely opposed to Connor’s marriage to Esyllt last year, going as far as hiding from his brother the role she had played in his rescue from the Welsh rebels who had abducted him. This had caused a rift between husband and wife, a rift which had mercifully been bridged since then. But it went to show that the man could be ruthlessness personified with people he didn’t approve of.

Admittedly, he had overcome his prejudice and come to his senses where Esyllt was concerned. He was now a reliable ally to her, as well as a loving, attentive uncle to her daughter by her first marriage, Sian.

Still.

He should be the last man Branwen should be drawn to. Pity he was also the first.

“What are those sweets made of?” she asked, plucking another almond from the silver dish, indicating that the topic of Matthew and why she had kissed him was closed.

“Good, are they not?” Esyllt sighed as she sat back in her chair, one hand over her swollen belly. “They are dusted in cinnamon, a spice brought from the Holy Land. Connor tasted them when he visited court some years ago, and he remembered them when I told him about my craving for all things sweet. He thought they might please me, and never have I had more cause to congratulate myself on being his wife, because it was just what I needed.”

Branwen afforded a smile. They both knew that his willingness to procure treats for his wife was the least of Connor’s qualities.

“What does this cinnamon look like?” She had never heard of it.

“It’s actually the bark of a tree. It comes in long curls that can be steeped into stews or it can be reduced to a rich, fragrant powder the color of chestnuts that can be used as salt.” Esyllt popped a sweet into her mouth and sighed in contentment. “Incredible, is it not? Who would have thought of flavoring anything with tree bark? I, in any case, have never tasted anything like it.”

Branwen nodded in agreement, but she had already tasted it.

On Matthew Hunter’s tongue.

“Come, you lazy sod, is that the best you can do?” Matthew taunted, lowering his sword. He was torn between amusement and exasperation. “Are you fighting me or falling asleep? Where’s your legendary stamina? I swear you’ve grown soft since we left England, Lord Sheridan! You didn’t spend your days yawning then, and you could hold your own against me.”

Clasping him by the forearm, he helped his brother up.

“I didn’t spend half the night awake then, that’s why,” Connor grinned, not in the least chastened. “Now, with Esyllt, it’s different. I’m most definitely … up most of the night. No wonder I can barely stand when you summon me at dawn. But I am telling you, there is nothing wrong with my stamina, and I don’t see how I will ever grow soft, considering all the energy I expend in my marital bed.”

“You really are an animal, rutting all night with your wife in her condition.” Matthew scoffed, though he was secretly jealous of his brother’s matrimonial bliss. His marriage to the beautiful and loving Welsh woman had been the making of him. His first union had not been a love match, and the difference was glaring. Connor was now a happy man and it showed. “You are aware she is heavy with child, are you not?”

“Very aware, as I am the one responsible for this wonderful state of affairs.” A shadow passed over his brother’s face, removing all traces of his smile. “You don’t think my attentions could damage Esyllt or the babe, do you? Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I’ve been too demanding. Should I refrain from touching her until the birth?”

Though he knew full well why Connor would worry about this, having already lost two children, Matthew could not help another scoff.

“I think that if you denied her your touch, your little wife would hunt you down after two days to demand you resume your ‘attentions’, as you call them, without delay. She likes them well enough, from what I can hear.”

The provocation had the desired effect. Connor’s eyes flashed. All of a sudden, he was wide awake and ready to fight. “You dare listen to us?”

“Not ‘listen’, exactly, but a man has ears, in case you didn’t know.”

Connor lifted his sword. Good. Another well-aimed taunt and he might actually start using it. After more than three days without training, Matthew was raring to go, and his brother was the only one who could give him what he needed. No one else at Esgyrn Castle could match him in speed and skill—when he was awake, that was.

If he had to needle him to restore him to his usual state, then so be it. Why should Esyllt be the only one to benefit from the man’s stamina?

“I can’t help but hear her sweet little moans,” he said, making sure to waggle his brows. “And I will admit the sound rather inflames the imagination. Your boar-like grunting, though, I could do without. It’s rather distract?—”

Before he could finish the sentence, Connor lunged at him. The exchange that ensued was one of the fiercest they’d ever had and, despite the chilly temperature in the bailey, they were both sweating by the time Matthew’s sword flew out of his hand to land fifteen yards to his right.

A smile tugged at his lips. Well. He’d wanted his brother at his best, and he’d certainly gotten it.

“Listen to me, you cur, you are either moving rooms today,” Connor warned, placing the tip of his sword against Matthew’s neck to force his chin up, “or tomorrow, I cut off your ears. Is that understood?”

“Calm down, Con, I was jesting. If I could hear anything, believe me, I would have moved long ago.”

Indeed. For a celibate man, or as near as, being subjected to such provocative sounds while he lay alone in bed would be much akin to torture. His nights had been hard enough of late. No matter what, he didn’t seem able to get a certain dark-haired Welsh woman out of his head, and more than once he’d relived their passionate kiss while he fisted himself to bring about a release that never seemed to satisfy him. It was the first time he had obsessed about a woman thus and he didn’t like it one little bit.

Why her? True, their kiss had been breathtaking, but kisses were not meant to be life-changing events, were they? It had certainly never been the case before. He wasn’t even sure when, or if, he would see Branwen again. Perhaps he could find a pretext for Esyllt to invite her to the castle? The two of them seemed close, even though they came from very different backgrounds.

The pressure under his chin eased, allowing him to breathe again. Not that he’d worried Connor would actually cut him. He’d never been in any real danger, but all the same, he preferred not to have a blade pressed against his throat.

Because he knew he had nothing to fear, he could not resist one last provocation.

“If you do not want anyone to hear your little wife moan, then I suggest you stop taking her in every dark corner you can find.”

Had Matthew not ducked in time, he would have found himself on the receiving end of Connor’s sword hilt. As, thankfully, his reflexes were as good as they’d ever been, the hard metal hit the stone wall instead of his skull.

He waited, a smile floating on his lips, while his brother mastered his temper once more.

“Aye, perhaps I should do that,” Connor said at last. “If only she weren’t so bloody alluring, it might help me keep a cool head.”

Matthew was about to point out that the head was not the part of him that needed to remain cool, then thought it wiser to hold his tongue this time. He had no intention of ending up with an injury when he pushed his brother too far. He would not be killed, but he might well end up with a broken limb. The pain and inconvenience that would ensue were not worth the satisfaction of rankling Connor, who appeared genuinely worried.

“I’m glad to see you so content,” he said instead. “I know your marriage to Helen was not a happy one, and Esyllt is the perfect woman for you.”

“That she is.” Connor nodded, finally restored to his usual composure. “Having a loving wife is a blessing indeed.” He paused, then sheathed his sword back in his scabbard. “What about you?”

“What about me?” Matthew pretended not to have understood the question.

“You’ve just turned thirty. Are you ever going to consider marrying? If what Jane and Sian told us the other day is true, then it?—”

Everything within him tightened. His brother knew about the kiss with Branwen? Damn it all, he should have made the little girls swear to secrecy. Next time he would be sure to catch them by the scruff of the neck and make them promise not to say anything to anyone. He blinked when the thought hit him.

Next time?

Did he really expect there would be a next time? No, it was even worse than that, he realized with a sinking feeling. He wasn’t expecting it, he was hoping for it.

“You have taken up gossiping then, like an old woman?” he snarled, snatching his sword from the ground. “Fie, what has become of the mighty warrior you once were?”

Connor was not so easily riled this time, since the conversation was not centered around his wife. He merely shrugged. “It’s not gossiping if it’s true. In all our lives, I have never seen or even heard of you kissing anyone, much less in such a public place. This has to mean something, hence my question.”

Yes, it most probably meant something, but Matthew was not sure what yet. He’d been trying to puzzle it out for days, in vain. All he knew was that he had been surprised, because for the first time in his life, a woman had kissed him, not the other way around. He’d wanted to kiss Branwen, admittedly, but she had placed her lips on his before he could make the decision to do so. The thrill her boldness had provoked inside him had been like nothing else, and the ensuing kiss had been spectacular.

But that woman was the last who should provoke anything inside him because it could spell danger.

She was Welsh, and he knew all too well what the Welsh thought of the English, whom they saw as oppressors they should rid themselves of. He also knew the length some of them were prepared to go to get to their enemies. The rebels weren’t above using women as pawns in their game of domination. Only a few months ago, Connor had almost died when a Welshman had forced his wife to hand him over to men who tortured him and would have killed him had Matthew not reached him in time. Poor Esyllt had had no choice but to do the bastard’s bidding, for fear of never seeing her daughter again.

Was Gruffydd, who had escaped punishment the day Matthew had rescued Connor, even now plotting his revenge against the new masters of Esgyrn Castle and using Branwen as a tool to get to them? Or was it someone else, one of his vile friends who meant to make him pay for his role in rescuing Lord Sheridan from the fate planned for him? Had they decided to send the beautiful woman to him, hoping to catch him unawares because he would be too busy thinking with his cock to use his head in her presence? The risk was very real, because they had chosen their weapon well.

The dark-haired, golden-eyed, straight-speaking beauty drew him like no one else ever had.

Regardless, he could not afford to feel anything other than suspicion toward a woman who had thrown herself into his arms upon first acquaintance as if it were the normal thing to do. First, he had to find out who this Branwen was, and who, if anyone, had sent her to lure him into danger.

Then and only then would he be free to explore the feelings she stirred in him. If they had not disappeared in the meantime, of course. He still wasn’t convinced this was any more than a pathetic infatuation brought on by too many years denying himself what he wanted.

“Enough blabbering!” Matthew snapped, cutting the air with his sword. It would be his turn to make his brother regret his taunts. “ En garde . Now that you’ve finally woken up, let us stop playing.”