Page 4 of A Savior for Branwen (The Welsh Rebels #2)

Chapter Three

“ W ho do you really think it was, then?”

Branwen let out a whelp when a deep voice sliced through the silence of the solar. She had taken refuge there after having gone to see Elena and George to apologize for her behavior the previous day, and had been engrossed in the spectacle playing out through the window. Down below, in the field beyond the lists, two hares were fighting, their stances slightly ridiculous even though they were bursting with aggressivity. She could not help but feel that she might have looked like that when she had pounced on George, both violent and ludicrous.

“Did you really have to do that, English?” she snapped, turning to face Matthew. She was so annoyed that the insulting word slipped right out of her mouth. “You scared the life out of me.”

The wretched man walked forward, a smile floating on his lips. As could have been predicted, he was not impressed by the rebuke. “You shouldn’t get so engrossed in what you’re doing if you don’t want people to take you by surprise. You should always be on your guard.”

Oh, she usually was. In fact, she spent her life watching out for potential trouble. It was exhausting. But here, inside Castell Esgyrn, she’d thought herself safe.

Knowing Matthew would enjoy seeing he had riled her, she repressed a scoff. It was not her fault she had been startled, but his. He had done it on purpose. He would have guessed from the way she was examining the landscape that she was not paying attention to what was happening behind her. And that was another thing. How long had he watched her, unnoticed? The thought of his gaze roving over her made her blood heat up, when usually being the object of male attention froze the marrow in her bones.

“ Other people should have had the decency to let their presence be known when they enter a room, so as not to startle anyone,” she pointed out, lifting her chin.

“Mm, yes, you mean like you did at the lake yesterday. Have the decency to let your presence be known.” Matthew had the audacity to smile. “I think Connor and I owe that squirrel a debt of gratitude. Had he not decided to leap from one tree to the next, I think you would have ogled us until we finally decided to get dressed. Not that I minded.”

The heat that had started on her cheeks spread to her chest. The odious man! Of course, he’d guessed she had spent a long time admiring—ogling, as he’d said—his naked form, and he was taking delight in telling her as much. He crossed his arms over his chest, and she wondered if he was not doing it to draw attention to his bulging muscles.

To her intense annoyance, it worked. She was riveted. How could anyone be so strong and yet unthreatening?

“Tell me, what would your friend say if she knew you had taken pleasure in watching her husband at his most vulnerable?”

“I didn’t!” Branwen was outraged that he should even entertain the notion.

“Ah. So it was only me you ogled then.” A corner of his lips curled up. “I’m flattered. Only, my masculine pride forces me to add that the temperature of the lake did not allow me to display myself at advantage. The cold tends to cause a man’s, intimate parts , shall we say, to shrink somewhat. I usually look more impressive, or so I like to think.”

There was nothing she could answer to that, because what she had seen had been impressive enough, and he knew it.

He started to walk to her slowly, a predator advancing on his prey. “So, will you answer my question, little raven, truthfully this time?”

“What question?” she croaked. He’d not asked her if she’d been ogling him, he’d assumed she had. And he’d been right. The image had haunted her every thought since.

“The skeletons in the ditch? Who do you think they were? There were no Englishmen in the area a hundred years ago, so we can rule out that possibility.”

Those damned skeletons again! Irritation coursed down Branwen’s veins. Why was he more interested in a pile of old bones than in the breathing, living woman in front of him? It was almost humiliating. Not that she wanted him to be interested in her, she reminded herself belatedly.

“You’re obsessed!”

He made a face. “I’m intrigued—it’s not quite the same. Some things in your country hold a fascination I cannot deny.”

As he spoke, Matthew bridged the gap between them. She was now trapped, with her back against the wall, in the exact same place she’d been when she’d kissed her. She could not believe it was a coincidence. The man knew very well what he was doing. He meant to unsettle her and it was working.

He bit his bottom lip, and she suddenly understood the real reason she had kissed him the other day. Because she had wanted to taste that perfect, luscious lip. It was as simple as that. She hadn’t been able to make sense of the urge, because she had never felt it, but there was the explanation at last, the man held an undeniable fascination over her.

A dangerous fascination.

He leaned in toward her, eyes aglow. “Who are you, Branwen? What do you want with me?”

“Nothing. I just want …”

I just want you.

The realization tore through her. Matthew was here, inches away from her. He was teasing her, but he was careful not to touch her. They were alone, they had already kissed once, and yet he was making no move to take advantage of her. Could she make that move? This was her best, perhaps her only chance to see what it felt like to be taken by a man who had not pounced on her, but had waited to be sure she was willing before allowing his desire to take over; it was her chance to take the initiative for once. There was a tingling in her body that was all new, a heaviness between her thighs proving her need to be filled. It was as far as she had ever come to experiencing desire for a man.

Should she act on it?

Could she?

Yes, perhaps. After reliving the assault she had been a victim of the day before, she thought she owed it to herself to at least try to see where this new desire would take her—here, now, with this man who posed no threat to her, this man who drew her irresistibly.

For years Branwen had told herself that if she one day met a man she desired, she would go with her instinct, that if she met a man who made her want to be taken, for once, she would not resist the impulse. It had seemed a harmless thought, one created to make her bear the touch of men she didn’t want more easily, a way of assuring herself that she could one day regain control over her body, and allow someone she had actually chosen to enjoy what others had taken by force.

She had nothing to lose, no reputation to maintain, no husband’s sensibility to preserve, barely any dignity left. She was already ruined ten times over. Why should she not allow herself what little satisfaction she could, try to prove to herself that she was just like the other women, that she too could feel desire for a man and act on it?

Such a thing had always seemed unattainable. But now … Now it was not just an idle fantasy destined to make herself feel better. Now in front of her, there was a man staring at her as if he would devour her on the spot and yet did not push her, a real man of flesh and blood. Yes. Flesh, blood, and delicious skin, bulging muscles, silky hair, and tempting mouth.

Now she could make it happen and see.

The words passed her lips before she could think.

“I just want you.”

The declaration sent a bolt of need shooting up Matthew’s spine. Such a simple admission. Branwen wanted him, and he could tell that was no lie. Whoever had sent her and why did not matter. In that moment they were not enemies, they were just a man and a woman who wanted one another.

Desire flooded him and for the first time, he considered surrendering to it.

Usually when a woman stirred his desire, his first reaction was to recoil. His second was to wonder if it was worth the risk. His third was to steel himself so as not to be overcome.

Could he, just this once, with this woman who inflamed his blood like no other, act on his desire without overthinking it? Would he be able to stay in control if he allowed himself to do what he had never done before? He could not be sure.

“I want you too, but?—”

“Sit.”

One word. That was all it took to break through his resistance. That one word, the order to sit on the chair behind him. Never would he have taken the first step, in fact he’d been trying to convince himself that he was able to resist her lure, but just like she had with their kiss, Branwen wasn’t leaving him any choice. There was a push against his chest and he fell, rather than sat on the chair waiting for him. A heartbeat later, Branwen was on his lap, bunching her skirts up in her hands.

His heart went to his throat. Was she really going to do this, here in the middle of the room, without even kissing him first? Then he felt her tug at the laces of his braies and his question was answered. Yes, apparently, she was. His shaft, hot and hard, was free before he even had time to tell her that he wanted to take it slower.

“Wait,” he started. “We need to?—”

“No. We need to do it now.”

Before I lose my nerve. Before you come to your senses. Before someone comes in.

He wasn’t sure which one she’d meant to say, but once again he was unable to contradict her. She was right. They needed to do it now, before they were interrupted or he expired from unfulfilled desire. Her fingers around him were too enticing, and he could feel her wetness at the tip of his cock. Despite the lack of seduction, she was ready, as ready as he was.

Branwen mumbled something in Welsh. It sounded like a plea. He could not believe it. Was she really begging him to let her do this?

There was no time to ask.

Without warning, she impaled herself on his shaft. Silky heat seared him, stealing his breath and causing his brain to explode. Matthew clenched his teeth. It was definitely too late to protest now, even if at the back of his mind he thought he might want to. Embedded as he was in scorching, feminine wetness, he could not think, he could only feel. And what he felt was so glorious he knew he would do nothing to stop her. He would sit, just as he’d been ordered, and allow himself to be taken.

Whatever she wished, he would grant her.

When Branwen grabbed his shoulders to steady herself while she rode him like a fierce Amazon warrior, he closed his fingers on her hips, intent on helping her along. Then he changed his mind and reached out to her bodice instead. He needed more, he needed to see and taste her, get his fill of her while she used him so deliciously. Her breasts, small and perfectly formed, were soon freed from the laces. White, with a rose-colored crown adorning them, they were just like he had pictured them during those solitary nights he’d spent pleasuring himself. With a groan he placed his lips on a puckered nipple, drawing it deep into his mouth. Jesus, he almost spilled there and then. So soft, so perfect. He could not get enough of her.

Wait! he wanted to cry out. I’m not going to make it much further. I need to make the most of this.

But he could not speak. His mouth was full of delicious woman and his brain had turned to mush.

As he released her nipple so he could give the other one the same attention, she let out a shuddering breath and her sheath fluttered around him. She was close. Thank God, because he knew he was about to erupt like never before. He just needed a little bit more time and he would make her?—

She arched her back then, and squeezed her internal muscles a few times—and he was lost. A desperate cry reached his ears. His own or hers, he didn’t know.

“Fuck, Branwen!”

The words leaving his mouth triggered his release. His skull exploded at the same time as his seed shot out of him in long, agonizing spurts. Nothing he’d experienced in his life could compare to the strength of that release. It sent ripples of ecstasy all the way to his toes and the roots of his hair.

For a long moment he stayed there, buried deep inside her, gasping for air, trying to make sense of what had just happened. He had not withdrawn, instead filling her with all he had. And though he knew he should be devastated, right now he cared not, for he could not even think.

All he wanted was to slide to the floor in a limp, sated mess. But he could not. Not yet.

“Wait, I need to …” he rasped. “You didn’t … I need to see to your pleasure.”

She made a face he had difficulty interpreting. Was she doubting his ability to satisfy her? The mere idea sent his blood boiling. He would make her lose her mind if it killed him, three, four times, if that was what it took to soothe his wounded pride.

“You don’t need to do that,” she said hurriedly, lifting herself off of him. He winced at the loss of her heat as well as the perfunctory way she acted. She was calm and collected, almost distant. He was still panting from the bewildering pleasure she’d milked from him and she was restoring order to her skirts and bodice as if nothing of importance had happened, as if he’d not been suckling her moments before, and had not emptied all he had inside her in a powerful rush. “It’s all right.”

All right? It was most decidedly not all right. Matthew didn’t care to be considered like a selfish, incompetent lover, least of all by her.

“I will not be the only man who didn’t make you come,” he said through gritted teeth. He would be damned if she remembered this first time as anything less than earth-shattering. It had been, for him, but he needed it to be life-changing for her as well to be satisfied.

“You won’t be the only one,” she said, with what might have passed as a snort.

“Are Welshmen that bad?” he scoffed in turn. “Well, I won’t have you think me the same as those self-centred, inept fools.”

“Really, it’s not a—” She stiffened when he stood up to draw her up to him. His body was still humming in desire, it would not take him long to be ready to take her again, this time on his terms. Perhaps he could make use of the table behind them, lay her down on it and spread her legs wide to plunge inside her silky depths. After all, he’d come inside her once already, so he might as well do it a second time. The damage had already been done. “Please, I need to go.”

“You’re not going anywhere until we are finished,” he growled, tightening his hold around her waist.

“We are.”

“I am, but you ’re not.”

“But you can’t …” She glanced down at his cock and gasped when she saw that it was still semi-hard. And little wonder. He had the most beautiful, most brazen woman he had ever seen in his arms, and she had just given him pleasure beyond his wildest imaginings.

“As you can see, we are far from done,” he purred. “I can be hard again in moments, and anyway, I have my hands and mouth. Let me sit you on this table and show you that you don’t have to go without. Then when I’m satisfied you have come enough times, we can pick things up where we left them.”

A flurry of panic crossed her eyes, when he had expected them to catch ablaze. He had yet to meet a woman who did not like to be pleasured in that way. But Branwen reacted as if he had suggested he beat her up. What was going on? She might be working for someone else, but this reaction was not normal.

Branwen fought the panic rising in her chest. Matthew was not satisfied with having reached his release. Now he wanted to see to her pleasure, to “make her come,” in his shocking words, and more than once. That had never happened before. Usually men were more than happy to accept her word that she didn’t need more, and anyway, the majority of them didn’t even notice she had not reached her pleasure, or care.

But Matthew, regardless of the strength of his release, seemed determined that she got her pleasure in turn. Whether it was a question of bruised masculine pride or genuine concern for her satisfaction, she wasn’t sure, but either way she could not allow him to do it. She did not want to feel pleasure, she didn’t want to prove him right.

Nausea flooded her throat, as it did every time she thought of him .

Oh, what had she done? She should have known this was a very bad idea, she should have guessed that it would not be as simple as taking the initiative and seeing where things went from there. She should not have been so presumptuous as to think she too could make love to a man she desired.

Taking her sudden immobility for a sign of surrender, Matthew placed his mouth in the crook of her neck. Everything within her leapt at the tender caress. Had he pounced on her, she would have pushed him away. Had he trapped her, she would have balked. But he had not pounced, he was wooing her, he had not trapped her, he was kissing her, coaxing her into surrender. And it was working.

Just as she was wondering how she was going to get out of this, the door of the solar burst open.

“Uncle Matthew!”

With a muttered curse Matthew turned around to hide his manhood, which, as he’d promised, had gone hard again.

“Jane.” Too relieved at the girl’s intervention to be embarrassed, Branwen drew her attention while he was putting order to his attire. Thankfully she was no longer sitting on him with her skirts up to her waist and his shaft deep inside her. “What are you doing on your own? Where’s Sian?” The two sisters were rarely one without the other.

“I’m on my own because I want to surprise her. Uncle Matthew knows about my plan and he promised to help me.”

“Well.” She fully expected him to send his niece on her way with a curse so that the two of them could resume their lovemaking, but he surprised her by giving a reluctant chuckle, as if he could not believe the little girl had chosen this moment to come to him. A most unexpected reaction in a virile, aroused man.

“Yes, I did promise, didn’t I?” He came to face Jane, a rueful smile on his lips. “Come on then, poppet, let’s go.”

Branwen had never seen a man so at ease with children. It would have been noteworthy enough if he’d been the little girl’s father, but he was only her uncle. Not only that, but Jane was not a boy, the all-important heir to the family name. By rights, he shouldn’t have cared about her.

But care he did. She watched as Jane threw herself in his arms and marveled at the transformation in the man. He’d gone from fiery lover to doting uncle in the blink of an eye. The tension in her body eased.

He would not touch her now. She would be able to leave the castle unchallenged, and try to make sense of what had just happened.

For a moment she thought she had gotten away with it, but before leaving, Matthew leaned in to murmur in her ear. “This isn’t over, Raven. Next time I will make you come so hard you will not recognize yourself. I will make you scream so loud you won’t be able to speak for days.”

Yes, he would, if she let him.

And that was precisely the problem.

“Do you know who we haven’t seen in a while? The Welsh girl. I wouldn’t mind having another go at her. I’m fed up of having to use my own hand to ease the need in my cock.”

“Oh, aye, me too. They’re so callused half the time I rip at the flesh. Much better to make use of a woman’s softness, is it not?”

The laughter following the crude declarations raised the hairs at the back of Matthew’s neck. The guards stationed at Esgyrn Castle were not the most refined of men. They had been chosen for their loyalty to Connor and ability to fight, and these qualities did not always go hand in hand with a respectful attitude toward women, especially local ones, who were seen as little more than savages ready for the picking.

“What Welsh girl?” he asked, doing his best to appear calm. He hated to hear men speak thus, for it always put him in mind of his father, who would no doubt have balked at the idea of seeing to his needs with his own callused hands when there were plenty of low-born women around with whom he could satisfy his urges, and not worry about the consequences.

The men startled at his sudden appearance but quickly recovered.

“One of Lady Sheridan’s friends. Not one of the noble ones, mind, for we can’t even approach those. No, the one from the village, with dark hair and golden eyes,” Thomas explained.

Welsh with golden eyes and dark hair. Living in the village. Not of noble birth. He knew of only one woman fitting that description. The men were talking about Branwen. Not only that, but they were talking about using her for their pleasure. Again.

Cold invaded him.

“You must have seen her around?” Owen added hopefully when he remained silent.

Oh, he had. He had done more than see her. Only the day before he’d been buried to the hilt inside her. “I have,” he said through gritted teeth. “And so?”

“The woman is insatiable, she never says no. We had her together once, a few months ago,” the man said, winking at his friend, who winked back. “I rode her hard and then Owen took my place. It aroused me so much to see him pumping away that I was hard again by the time he finished, so I had another turn. And did she utter a single word of protest? She did not. By the time we were through she was drenched with?—”

“Yes, thank you,” Matthew snapped, feeling sick. “I get it.”

Far from being chastened, Thomas carried on. “When we told Eric about it, he made sure to go to her next time she visited the castle. And guess what she did? She sucked him dry at the back of the stables, no questions asked. The lucky bastard. Perhaps we should ask her ladyship to invite her?—”

“Go back to your station! My brother doesn’t pay you to bore me with your dubious exploits in bed.” The two men glanced at each other uncomfortably, realizing they had gotten carried away, talking to their master’s brother as if he were one of them. “And I suggest next time you see me, you remember who I am.”

Matthew had heard enough. Branwen’s behavior was properly scandalous, and everyone at the castle knew it. Everyone except him. The two men in front of him, and then that oaf Eric … Who else knew about her fiery disposition? Who else had made the most of her willingness to offer men relief? Had she bedded the whole county? To think he’d wondered at her motivations for coming to him, and thought her at the pay of enemies! The truth was far simpler than he had feared. She was no spy working to gather information, no treacherous Welshman’s ally, sent to lure him into danger. She was a promiscuous woman who slept with all the men who took her fancy, nothing more, nothing less. And in his inexperience, he had not seen it, instead imagining dark plots and dangerous schemes.

He remembered her telling him she was no virgin.

Well, no, apparently she was the very opposite of an innocent.

She’d avoided him after their kiss, she’d disappeared after riding him like an Amazon, before he could put a satisfactory end to the encounter. No more. He could not let her get away with making a fool out of him again and again, not when he had experienced something with her he had never experienced with any other woman, something he had sworn never to do before marriage. He had come inside her, for God’s sake.

Well, yes, of course he had, she had not given him much choice. How was he supposed to resist when the seasoned temptress had squeezed him the way she had?

He was not going to allow a Welsh woman of all people to mess with his head and transform him into a pathetic figure of a man. True, his brother was happily married to a Welsh woman and deliriously happy. Matthew had to admit Esyllt was just as trustworthy and delightful as any Englishwoman, perhaps even more so, but still.

A man had his pride, and Branwen would not avoid him a third time. After their passionate encounter in the solar, she had slipped away from the castle while he’d been busy with Jane, even though he’d made clear his intention to see to her needs. When he’d joined Esyllt and Connor late in the afternoon, they’d told him Branwen had gone back to the village. His little bird, an unlikely white raven, had flown away.

Well, he would make sure to catch her again.