Page 3 of A Savior for Branwen (The Welsh Rebels #2)

Chapter Two

T he landscape was beautiful seen from so high. Branwen stared through the open bay window, fascinated. No matter how many times she had come to the castle, the view from the top never failed to amaze her. It was even more spectacular from the battlements, of course, but today’s weather precluded a long stay outside. Much better to observe it from the comfort of the solar.

Over the years, since her friend Esyllt had come to live at Castell Esgyrn with her first husband, she’d had the chance to see her native hills in every season, like a precious carpet unfolding at her feet. Vibrant with mint-green leaves in the spring, lush and brimming with wildlife in the summer, dazzling wrapped in rich colors in the fall. Right now, frozen into immobility by winter’s icy fingers, they weren’t any less beautiful, if in a haunting way. The skeletal trees were spread like lace over the pale blue sky.

Just as she was wondering how long they would have to wait for the first flowers to burst through the barren ground, movement to her left caught her eye. A small retinue on horseback, perhaps a dozen strong, was approaching from the east, having just crested the nearest hill.

Branwen turned to Esyllt, who, sitting by the brazier, wouldn’t have seen anything.

“Someone is coming,” she informed her, doing her best to keep the worry from her voice. People coming from the east could all too easily be coming from England, and that was rarely good news. It did not look like a huge, invading army led by King Edward himself, but you never knew.

Her friend joined her by the window, and frowned when she saw whence the horses had come. She would have reached the same conclusion as Branwen. These could be scouts sent ahead of a larger contingent, exactly what every Welsh person feared. She fell rather than sat on the stone bench behind her.

“Connor is not in the castle at present. I think I had better wait here until we know who the riders are, and let Master William deal with them,” Esyllt said, eyeing her swollen stomach. There was no mistaking her meaning. At the best of times, her husband would not want her to confront a dozen aggressive Englishmen on her own. Right now, heavy with his child, she was not to place herself in any danger whatsoever.

Branwen could only agree. You never knew where you stood with the arrogant invaders, or rather, you knew it all too well. In a position of inferiority. It was better not to play with fire.

“Let us stay here and see what transpires,” she suggested.

Huddled together by the window, Esyllt and Branwen waited anxiously. Soon enough, ten horses rode through the gate in a clatter of hooves. From their vantage point of view, the two women could see them clearly. A young man was riding at the head of the group, clearly in charge of the expedition.

“’Tis only Connor’s cousins George and Elena,” Esyllt declared, sounding relieved. “I didn’t dare hope as much, since we were expecting them later this week. All is well.”

Branwen allowed herself to relax. Danger was averted, and she should not have allowed herself to get riled up so easily.

“Shall we go and greet them?” she asked, smiling to her friend.

“Yes. Would you go get Connor for me, tell him they’ve arrived? He’s gone to the lake for a swim.” Esyllt placed a hand on her stomach and stroked it tenderly. “I’m afraid I can barely muster the strength to go to the bailey, never mind make it down the hill and back.”

“Of course,” Branwen soothed. Her friend looked exhausted. It was not hard to guess she had difficulty sleeping at night, being so close to her term. Of course, Branwen herself had never been with child, but she imagined it took its toll on a woman’s body. “You stay here, I will be but a moment.”

Esyllt sighed in relief. “Thank you. Meanwhile, I will go welcome George and Elena.”

Wrapping herself in her cloak, Branwen took the path that descended to the lake. The timid sun overhead was not enough to heat her back and she shivered. A swim in this weather, she mused, was the man mad? The water would be icy cold. What on earth could have possessed Connor to even attempt it? It just went to show that not all Englishmen were pampered weaklings, not fit to live the life of a Welshman, as she often heard the villagers say. Of course, to her, Englishmen were more like entitled lechers, who took what they wanted how they wanted it, especially women.

But Connor Hunter was not like that. He was as good a man as she had ever met.

She was glad for her friend, who had found happiness with her second husband. Gwyn had been a good man, but Esyllt had not been in love with him. Now, she was most definitely in love, and no one could doubt Connor, English as he may be, returned her feelings. The two of them only had eyes for one another. The kind of marriage they had would make anyone jealous, even someone like her, who thought a perfect life would be one free of men.

To ward off the cold seeping into her bones, Branwen increased the speed of her walk, and soon, the lake was in view. As she rounded the bend, all the air left her lungs.

Oh, Connor was at the lake, as she’d expected. He had indeed gone for a swim. Only, Esyllt had forgotten to mention that he was not alone, but with his brother, and that both men would be gloriously, shockingly, jaw-droppingly naked. Frozen to the spot, she watched them walk out of the water, revealing their chiseled warrior bodies inch by inch, until they stood with only their feet in the water.

The air around her stilled. Suddenly she didn’t feel the cold, or even her own body.

Avert your eyes. Run away. Warn them of your presence. Do something! her mind urged.

She didn’t look away, she stayed where she was, she was careful not to betray her presence in any way, and she did absolutely nothing, save for staring at the men in front of her. Guilt caused heat to burn her cheeks. What would Esyllt say if she knew her friend seen her husband naked? Then she realized that she had barely spared a glance to Connor, instead focusing on the blond man to his right.

Branwen had seen more men naked or bare-chested than she cared to remember or had wished to, but none of them could compare with Matthew. Up until then, she would not have thought that the simple fact of seeing a man’s chest could make her body heat in desire, but unquestionably, it did.

He had long, elegant arms that not only were perfectly sculpted, but were adorned with veins that coursed all the way down from his rounded shoulders to his beautiful hands. A smattering of hairs that were as shiny as gold drew the eye to his pectorals and down a stomach that appeared to be hewn of polished stone. And of course …

Don’t look, do not look.

But she did more than look. She drank in every inch of his perfect shape, already knowing that the image would haunt her for years to come. They had kissed the previous week and the notion had bewildered her for days. Why had she felt the impulse to kiss this man? She had tried to tell herself that there was more to it than pure physical attraction. True, he was handsome, but she had seen other men who could lay claim to that title. She had not been interested in the least.

But now ... now she was most decidedly interested. The urge to kiss Matthew again bloomed inside her. Because he was not just handsome, he was worryingly, almost unnaturally alluring. A blond pagan god. Having seen him in his naked glory, she could not ignore it any longer.

She’d kissed him because she wanted him.

A squirrel jumped from a tree and the noise caused the men to swivel around—and look straight at her. For a moment, no one moved.

Then the squirrel scuttered away, shaking them all out of their immobility.

“Branwen!” Connor snatched his tunic from the ground and held it protectively in front of his manhood. Matthew, she noticed, was in less of a hurry to cover himself up, as if he wanted to taunt her with the proof of his virility. The look in his eyes made it clear he would not have bothered with trying to preserve his modesty if they had been alone.

You’re welcome to look your fill , it seemed to say. I know you like what you see .

“Forgive us, we had no idea someone would be walking by. Would you mind turning around while we make ourselves decent?” Connor asked, glaring at his brother as if to ask what he was playing at by just standing there.

“Of course not,” Branwen mumbled, thinking that she should have done so of her own accord long ago.

She heard the rustle of clothes and tried very hard not to imagine muscles bulging and arms flexing when the men struggled to get their wet bodies into their clothes. There was some muttering, then Connor called out. “Thank you. You can turn around.”

He was fully dressed, whereas Matthew had only put on his braies, which hung low on his hips, revealing more than they hid, drawing the eye to the stomach she had admired just before. She guessed the muttering had been Connor admonishing him for not covering up more. She should have been offended, but she was too fascinated to mind. No one should cover up such beauty.

“Did you want something?” Connor asked, his voice slightly huskier than usual.

With some effort, she remembered why she was here. “No, but Esyllt s-sent me to get you,” she stammered. “To tell you your?—”

“What’s wrong? Is it the babe?” he instantly asked, worry making him pale. Silly her. She had worried him with her hesitation.

“No, she’s perfectly all right. There’s nothing wrong with her or the babe.” Branwen smiled reassuringly, knowing why he would worry more than the average man about the notion of his wife going into labor. Her friend had confided in her about the tragic losses her husband had suffered shortly before his arrival to Wales. His first wife had died in childbed, along with the babe she was carrying. As if that was not enough, a few weeks later he had lost his daughter Jane’s twin sister. As a result, he dreaded the moment Esyllt would have to give birth. “’Tis only that your cousins George and Elena have arrived.”

His shoulders sagged in relief. “Already? But we didn’t expect them before the end of the week.”

“So Esyllt said, but apparently they are here. She sent me to get you because she could not muster the courage to come all the way to the lake herself.”

Once again it appeared she had said the wrong thing. Connor tensed up again, as if he thought she was hiding the true state of affairs from him. Branwen mentally kicked herself. Why did she have to mention Esyllt’s fatigue?

“I’ll go,” he snapped. “Matthew, you’ll meet us in the great hall when you’re decent, and not a moment sooner, do you hear?”

Not even throwing one glance at his brother, he set off at a run in the direction of the castle—and Branwen was left alone with Matthew.

Matthew, who made a point of remaining bare-chested and was staring at her with a half-smile on his lips. His full, beautiful, sinful lips. The lips she had kissed, and wanted to kiss still. What was wrong with her? She had never been attracted to a man thus, never even thought it could happen to her. If it had to happen to her, couldn’t she at least choose a man she could consider taking as a lover? Someone not so above herself, not so infuriatingly arrogant, not so English?

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

It wasn’t a question, but a statement of fact, and though they both knew why that might be, Branwen pretended not to know what he was referring to. “I haven’t. Why would I?”

“You have,” he snapped, not in the least impressed. “And I’m not in the habit of allowing people to ignore me, much less people I’ve kissed.”

“‘People’? Interesting choice of words. Don’t you mean ‘women’?” she challenged.

The glare he threw her would have curdled milk. How could such warm-colored eyes appear so cold, she wondered? Connor, despite the icy hue of his green eyes, never gave her the impression her marrow had frozen in her bones when he looked at her. Really, the two brothers were like night and day, which was little wonder when one considered they were not really brothers at all, at least not related by blood.

“If you mean to avoid giving me an explanation by provoking my anger, you’d better think again. Suggesting that I go around kissing men is not going to make me forget that I’m still waiting for you to justify your behavior,” he barked. “You had better tell me right now what you mean by kissing me one day, then vanishing into thin air the next.”

There was a pause. Then finally, she answered. And the manner in which she did took her by surprise. She’d meant to tease him, not be so honest, but her mouth had other ideas.

“I don’t usually go around kissing men.”

Not in the least impressed by what had been a very private admission, Matthew snorted. “No, that I can well believe.”

Then you’d be the only one , Branwen thought ruefully. But although no one would believe her, and she had been bedded by more men than she could count, this was no lie. She’d never kissed a man of her own volition before. She usually went out of her way to avoid men, and every kiss she’d ever experienced had been imposed on her.

“It scared me. I could not make sense of the urge to kiss you and it scared me. That’s why I fled.”

There it was. The stark, complete truth. It had cost her every ounce of courage to utter it, but she needed to make him understand. Perhaps it would help her to understand. What would he do with her confession? To her dismay, he scoffed again.

“I see. The little virgin bit off more than she could chew?”

Little virgin .

The two words were a punch to the gut. How wrong he was! If only she were untouched ...

“I am no virgin,” she whispered.

As soon as the words left her mouth, Branwen regretted them. No doubt Matthew would use the unexpected confession to mock her further. She could tell it had startled him, but as could have been expected from such a confident man, he recovered quickly. A slow smile curved his lips.

“Well then, if you’re not a virgin, a mere kiss could not have frightened you. You’ve been through much worse.”

She blinked. He’d chosen to tease her rather than use her admission against her, for which she was oddly grateful. She would have hated to hear him call her a whore.

“It did because, as I told you, I don’t usually go around kissing men. I don’t understand what happened to me.”

What was pushing her to insist? Why did she feel the urge to be so honest, especially in front of his refusal to see the confession for what it was, a breakthrough moment for her?

“I will tell you what happened to you, then, shall I?” Matthew purred. “It’s not so difficult to understand. You wanted me. What’s more, you still do. You can’t see the way you look at my body, but I can. Your eyes are glowing. You want me. It’s the only explanation.”

He was making light of it, but Matthew was surprised by the desire he could see in Branwen’s eyes when she looked at him, because he was still convinced she had been sent by Gruffydd or another Welsh rebel to get to him. It was not a bad strategy, he had to admit. A woman as beautiful as she was could make any man lose his head. But what Gruffydd, along with everyone else, didn’t know was that he had a lifetime of control to draw from. He’d become a master of restraint, and it would take more than a pretty face to make him throw caution to the wind. Even if that face was adorned with glowing golden eyes.

Before he did anything, he had to know who had sent her. His life, and perhaps even that of Connor’s family, might depend on it. He could not allow his senses to overrule his reason.

“Am I to believe you wanted me so much that you just kissed me, even though you claim you don’t usually do that, even though I barely know your name?”

“It’s Branwen,” she reminded him unnecessarily. He had not forgotten it. “It means white raven.”

Matthew gave out a laugh. Why had she added that piece of information? He had no idea, but he was delighted with it. “Of course. We all know ravens are white. And what does Esyllt mean then? Cold sun, bitter honey? Really, why can’t you Welsh people choose sensible names?”

“Like Matthew you mean?” she replied, visibly piqued.

“Exactly like Matthew.”

She pursed her pretty lips, not in the least beaten. “Let me think. Matthew the apostle was a tax collector, was he not? Very sensible. One might even say ... uninspiring.”

So the woman wanted to tease him back? Two could play at this game. Matthew smiled inwardly. This might be the opportunity he’d needed to find out more about her and her motives for wanting to be with him. Here, alone, away from prying eyes and ears, he might get some information out of her.

“If you find me uninspiring, why did you kiss me the other day?” He took a step toward her and whispered, “You could have waited for me to kiss you. That is what women usually do, especially the ones who claim not to be used to pouncing on men. I think there must be something about me you must find inspiring, whatever you say.”

Her reaction pleased him. He had unnerved her.

“I-I said your name was uninspiring, not you,” she stammered. He took another step forward.

“Ah. A crucial distinction. But please answer my question. Why did you kiss me? Or rather, who demanded that you got near me?”

“What do you mean, ‘demanded’? No one demanded anything. We were alone in the solar.”

She appeared genuinely confused by the question. Either she was very good at lying or she was innocent of all scheming. He would have to be more direct, and see how she reacted.

“Was it Gruffydd?”

Her eyes widened, allowing the extraordinary color of the irises to pierce through him like a golden arrow. “Gruffydd ap Hywel? The man who almost killed Connor? You mean you know where he’s hiding?” She brought both her hands to her chest. “Oh, that is good news, for he should pay for what he did to them!”

This was such a heartfelt answer that he knew without a doubt Gruffydd was not the one using her.

“No. I don’t know where the man is hiding.”

Her face fell in disappointment, and he felt a pang of regret for having caused her momentary hope to avenge her friend’s family. Then she frowned, visibly nonplussed. “Why did you mention him then? I’m not sure I’m following you.”

“No. Evidently, you’re not.” And he would gain nothing by carrying on this interrogation.

“I would like to return to the castle, if I may,” Branwen said, wrapping her cloak more tightly around herself. Whether she was cold or merely trying to protect herself from the discomfort his proximity was provoking was not certain. He smirked. Whatever it was, it was clear she was unsettled.

“What’s the hurry?”

She didn’t answer but he already knew the answer to that question.

Nothing. But I need to escape you in all your naked glory.

There was no way she would admit to this out loud of course, so she simply turned around and headed for the castle.

Matthew watched her go pensively. He’d made no progress in discovering who had sent her to him. Even more puzzling, he now had the impression that no one had. Not only had she seemed confused by his questions, rather than caught out, but the way she had looked at his body had betrayed genuine admiration.

He was starting to think no one had made her kiss him, and that only the desire a woman felt in front of a man she found appealing was responsible for the urge. She might well be telling the truth about that at least. Which only added to the draw she had on him. If she was here of her own volition, then there was no reason for him to resist the attraction. Because attracted he was. And intrigued, more than ever.

He ran after her, unable to be parted from her just yet. “Wait. There’s something I wanted to ask you.”

Branwen’s heart plummeted. This would be about their kiss again, she could feel it in her bones. Matthew would demand she explained why she had kissed him if, as she’d claimed, she didn’t go around kissing men. But she had told him all she could tell him on the subject, and he had not believed her. Could she perhaps make him?—

“Where did they find the skeletons exactly?”

She blinked. The skeletons. What skeletons? She had been so sure he would want to embarrass her by alluding to their kiss that it took her a moment to understand he was talking about something else. “What are you talking about?”

“Connor and Esyllt told me Esgyrn Castle meant Bones Castle, and this because when they dug the ditches for the foundations, they found two skeletons lying there. So I was wondering where they’d been found exactly. You will know.”

“I don’t. The castle is over a hundred years old, in case you hadn’t noticed,” she answered, more testily than she had intended. “I wasn’t born yet when it was built.”

The laugh he gave resonated all the way down her body. It was a rich, joyous laugh, completely at odds with his brooding persona. If she didn’t know better, she would have said that a man who laughed like this could not pose any danger to anyone.

“Worry not, I wasn’t for a moment suggesting you were a day over sixty.”

“Sixty!” She almost choked on the word. “I’m seven-and-twenty!”

His brown eyes twinkled. When they were not cold with disdain, they were as warm as the spice powder coating the almonds Esyllt had given her the other day. Cinnamon. It was that warmth which made her understand he’d only been teasing her. Of course, he had. Who in their right mind would think her a woman in her old age? She really was a ninny where he was concerned.

“The skeletons were found just over there.” She indicated a place to their left, at random. In truth, she had no idea where the remains had been found, but she had a feeling he would not let her go before she’d given him an answer. “I suspect they were a couple of arrogant Englishmen who should have stayed in their country and who froze to death after bathing in the lake in the middle of winter and forgot to get dressed afterward. I have seen it happen. It seems that some people will never learn.”

With those words, she turned on her heels.

Matthew’s rich laugh chased after her all the way up the hill.

When he set off toward the castle some time later, Matthew was shivering. Damn it all, he’d not been cold while talking to Branwen, quite the opposite, but even so, he should not have remained bare-chested after his bath. Though he had now put his shirt and tunic back on, he didn’t seem able to shake the cold wrapping around his bones. His lips curled when he remembered Branwen teasing him about ending up like the two skeletons in the ditch, dead from the cold. The woman was fearless. Shouldn’t she be wary of angering him when alone with him? Yes. And instead, she took pleasure in provoking him.

But despite her infuriating ways, the only thing she stirred in him when she tried to be contrary was his lust, which was not the wisest reaction. He should be on his guard when alone with her, not trying to imagine excuses to draw her into his arms. Undoubtedly, it would be the foolish thing to do, because if she had indeed been sent to him by an enemy, then she was most probably armed. Should he check the next time they met? Run his fingers down her arms, up her back, and along her slender thighs?

Matthew cursed out loud because all the question had managed to do was make him undress her mentally to try and decide where she might be hiding her weapon. Was she carrying a blade hidden in her bodice? Did she have a knife strapped to her thigh, its pointy end pressing into her tender flesh, ever so close to her woman’s secret? The thought made him shiver, a bad idea when he was already too cold for comfort. There was only one thing to do.

Break into a run, and stop only when his blood had cooled and the rest of his body had warmed up. It took longer than he had hoped to achieve this result, and by the time he passed through the gate, he was sweating. As if to mock his efforts, the first person he saw in the bailey was none other than Branwen.

He planted himself in front of her, unable to do the sensible thing and walk away.

“Kindly let me pass. I was on my way back home,” she said, wrapping her cloak more securely around herself. It could have been because she was cold, of course, but just like before, he had the impression she was doing so to control the impulse to throw herself into his arms.

The thought pleased him, until he remembered she would only do that to get to him and plunge the dagger she was hiding into his gut.

“Setting off on foot? You don’t have a mount then?” There was no need for her to answer, as he had not seen any unknown horse tethered by the stables. He’d already guessed she would be walking. “And where is ‘home’, exactly?” The more he knew about her, the better.

“In the village down the valley.” She cocked her head. “Why are you even asking? Did you think I was a grand lady, living in my own castle?”

“No.”

That she was not a noble or even a rich woman was clear. Her clothes were plain and serviceable, her manners vastly different from Esyllt’s. A thought suddenly struck him. Connor had told him that the two women had known one another almost all their lives. If that were true, it made the possibility of her having been sent to Esgyrn Castle to get to him less plausible. A friend of his sister-in-law’s would surely not want to hurt her husband’s brother.

Unless of course, that elusive someone had blackmailed her into doing his bidding. Last year Gruffydd had forced Esyllt to hand Connor over to his mob of bloodthirsty men in exchange for her young daughter’s life. Was it not possible another Welsh rebel had seized on Branwen’s proximity to the lady of the castle to get to him? Yes. All too possible.

He let out a grunt of frustration. Why was it so complicated? Why could he not simply act on the attraction he felt toward her without worrying about her ulterior motive? In England, things had been much simpler where women were concerned. He’d never worried about what they wanted from him. It had been clear enough. Not for the first time he wished he could return home, away from plotting men and vexing, golden-eyed beauties.

“I was wondering whether you?—”

A series of shrieks interrupted him. Then a woman’s voice reached them from the other side of the barbican. She was talking in English.

“Let me go, you big oaf! I don’t want you to touch me!”

“I’ll touch you if I want to. What are you going to do about it?”

Elena and George, fighting as usual. Matthew would have recognized their voices anywhere. He rolled his eyes. They had only just arrived, could they not leave be for a day? Branwen looked at him in horror when the protests continued. Evidently, she was worried for the woman she thought was being assaulted. Before he could explain that it was not a real attack, only his cousins being their usual, silly selves, she rushed in the direction of the noise.

He ran after her. “Wait, it’s not what you think, there’s no need to intervene.”

But she ignored him and, a moment later, fell on George’s back. As soon as she landed on him, she started to pummel him. Matthew could not help a laugh at the shock on the youth’s face. The little hellion had misread the scene and thought she was coming to Elena’s rescue, and after all, why would he not let her help the girl? George was a year older and stronger than his sister, why should he always have the upper hand? It would do him good to be brought to heel for once.

He crossed his arms over his chest to see how the lad would handle the assault, but soon the laughter died in his throat. If he didn’t stop her, Branwen might well inflict some serious damage on his cousin. Oblivious to his protests, she was hitting him wherever she could get purchase, screaming in Welsh all the while.

The commotion was such that it soon brought Connor and Esyllt running.

“What’s going on here?” his brother asked, taking in the scene in one glance.

“Help!” George cried. To his credit, the boy was not defending himself as he would have against a male opponent. He would easily have been able to rid himself of Branwen if he’d put his heart in it, but he seemed loath to risk hurting her. Matthew could only admire him for it. It was what decided him. He could not let the poor lad get ripped to shreds in front of his eyes because he was being gallant. It had lasted long enough.

He reached out to Branwen, but she hit him hard on the side of the face as soon as he put his hand on her. Stars blurred his vision and his respect for George increased tenfold. It would not be as easy as he had imagined to bring her to heel.

“Ow, easy, woman!” he growled. “Or I’ll have no choice but to stun you.”

She didn’t appear to understand, or even hear the command. It seemed to him she was repeating the same thing over and over again. He wasn’t even sure she was addressing him, as she was speaking in Welsh. Struggling to stop her from swinging her arms, he turned to Esyllt.

“What is she saying?”

“Leave her alone, she’s just a child,” his sister-in-law translated, a frown on her face. “Leave her be, again and again.”

Damnation, she had really taken the defense of Elena to heart.

“It’s all right,” Connor joined in, talking to Branwen in soothing tones. “Elena and George are just messing around. They often do that.”

The reassurance didn’t have any effect, and Esyllt repeated the words in Welsh. Eventually, spent by the fierce fight, Branwen stopped struggling. She looked at Matthew, eyes dazed, for a brief moment—and fainted clean away. Only the fact that he was still holding her prevented her from falling flat on her face.

He swept her up in his arms before he could topple over to the ground with her.

“What the hell was that about?” he whispered, looking at the unconscious woman in his arms. Never had he witnessed a more unlikely scene.

“I have no idea.” Connor appeared just as nonplussed.

Esyllt was not so easily impressed. “Bring her to my bed,” she instructed, already heading that way. “I will take care of her.”

“I brought you some sugared almonds. I think it might do you good to eat something.”

“Thank you.” Branwen didn’t take one or even open her eyes. Not only was her head still spinning but she wasn’t sure she could face being with anyone right now, even her dearest friend. There was an odd taste in her mouth and a weight crushing her chest.

At first, upon waking up, she had wondered what she was doing in a comfortable bed, but then everything had come back to her in a rush. The fight. Her powerlessness.

Matthew holding her tight against him.

“You want to tell me why the sight of George and Elena fighting affected you so much?” Esyllt asked gently. Branwen guessed from the way she was holding her hand that her friend was sitting next to her on the edge of the bed.

She kept her eyes closed and thought. Did she want to explain what had happened?

She wasn’t sure. If she said it out loud, there would be no pretending it wasn’t real anymore. Not that she had any doubt about it.

There was a pause, then Esyllt spoke again. “I think it has to do with something you’ve never dared to share with me, something that makes your life unbearable.”

Unbearable. Yes, that was exactly what it was. Unbearable.

Branwen opened her eyes. The worry and concern she saw in her friend’s eyes decided her. Perhaps it was time to confide in someone. Instinct told her she wouldn’t be judged.

“I’m not who you think I am, what everyone thinks I am,” she started slowly. “I’m not this carefree, wanton woman who beds all the men she wants for her pleasure.”

I’m a trapped woman who cannot escape the men who want to bed her for their pleasure.

“No. This much I had suspected,” her friend said cautiously. “For all your supposed conquests, you have never mentioned a single man to me, and you always go out of your way not to find yourself alone with men. This is not the behavior of a carefree, wanton woman, if you ask me.”

No, it wasn’t.

“When I was fifteen summers, an important local lord came to visit the village. He found me alone in the clearing.”

A heavy silence followed. Then, somehow, under Esyllt’s compassionate gaze, Branwen managed to tell the whole horrific story, leaving no details out.

“When I saw George wrestling Elena, who must be the age I was then, I just ... somehow it brought it all back. She screamed that she didn’t want to be touched and it tore at my guts. I couldn’t bear it. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry!” There was a pause. “My God, Branwen, I had my suspicions regarding your past, but this is so much worse than I imagined.” Esyllt shook her head then something flashed in her eyes. Hatred. Determination. “This man should be punished for what he did. Tell me who he is and where we can find him so we?—”

“No!” Branwen sat bolt upright in the bed, panic blooming in her chest. “It will be useless. He’s too powerful, no one will dare stand up to him, and what’s worse, he’s well-liked, from what I can gather. I’m nobody. No one will believe me, and this would be worse than everything else.” After what she had endured, she could not bear to have people dismiss her claim or accuse her of lying.

“ I believe you!” Esyllt stood up, her whole body radiating outrage.

“Yes, so I see, and I thank you for it, but you’re a woman, and my friend.”

“Connor is a man, and I’m sure he will?—”

“No! I would rather you didn’t tell him anything. I could not bear it.”

Oh, what had she done? She should never have opened up.

“Very well, I’ll not tell him,” her friend said reluctantly. “But we will find out who this man is, and make him pay one way or the other, you mark my word. I am lady of this castle, and my husband is a powerful lord in his own right, and well-liked as well. He will see to it that the man is punished.”

“Please, Esyllt. I’m grateful for your support but I cannot suffer it right now. I just want to go home.”

“Home! You’re in no state to go anywhere. You will stay here tonight, and that’s final. I will not hear any different.”

Esyllt rarely acted the mighty lady with her, or indeed anyone, but tonight Branwen was grateful for her high-handedness, because after reliving the nightmare of the assault, the last thing she wanted was to be on her own. She would never have dared ask to stay the night at Castell Esgyrn, but it was exactly what she needed.

“Thank you.” She gave her friend’s hand a squeeze. “Now, I would like a moment alone, if I may.”

“Of course.”

Alone at last, Branwen reached out for a sugared almond—and burst into tears when Matthew’s taste, so warm and spicy, hit her tongue.

Oh, she was in deep trouble.