Page 9 of A Savior for Branwen (The Welsh Rebels #2)

Chapter Eight

T he following day, Branwen came back to Castell Esgyrn to attend Gwenllian’s christening. She entered the chapel in a dreamy state, wondering how she was going to survive being at the center of attention. To add to her discomfort, Esyllt was not there. No matter how much she had pleaded to be allowed to come, Father Rhisiart had been inflexible. New mothers were not supposed to attend their own child’s christening. She would be going to the banquet afterward, but she simply could not enter the chapel until she’d been churched in a few weeks’ time.

It was already quite a break with tradition to have waited for so long to have the little girl baptized, the priest would not condone another irregularity.

It had surprised Branwen that Connor had chosen a Welsh priest who barely spoke English to christen his daughter, instead of Father Paul, the English priest newly arrived in town but, in truth, she was relieved. The man had a way of looking at her that made her ill at ease. Worse, she had the uncomfortable notion that the argument in the bailey the other day had been caused by her.

All in all, it was better she did not have to see him today.

Soon, she found herself standing by the font, between a radiant Elena and a splendidly dressed Matthew. In his dark tunic embroidered with silver, over which his blond hair gleamed like gold shavings, he was the exact counterpoint to his dark-haired brother, who was dressed in white with highlights of copper. Connor was magnificent, every inch the powerful lord, but she only had eyes for one man. It was just like it had been at the lake. She could not see anyone else when Matthew Hunter was in front of her, whether dressed or half naked.

As for her, she had never felt better.

Esyllt had given her one of her most beautiful dresses, arguing that she might never be able to fit in it again, now that she had borne her daughter. It was a gown of pale green velvet, with tight sleeves adorned with exquisite embroidery representing holly leaves and bright berries. Her friend had smiled when Branwen had commented on the choice of decoration. Ladies usually went for less prickly motifs.

“Connor once told me I reminded him of holly, which gave me the idea to decorate his favorite dress with it.”

Holly, really? Branwen couldn’t help but arch a brow in surprise. Couldn’t Connor have come up with a more flattering compliment? “That’s … romantic,” she said uncertainly.

“It is.” The way Esyllt’s eyes sparkled told her there was more to this story than she was letting on, a secret between husband and wife. Maybe odd as it was, the compliment had hit a chord. “I will have to embroider another dress with holly leaves now. Or perhaps a shift. I think he would like that.”

There had been such an expression on her friend’s face that Branwen had blushed all the way to her toes. That shift would no doubt end up ripped to pieces when Connor tore it off his willing wife’s body.

After that she had not been able to refuse the gift and was now glad of it. Amongst noble people dressed in all their finery, she would have felt at a disadvantage in her usual clothes, like the only gray peahen amidst resplendent peacocks. In the beautiful dress, she was able to relax, confident in the fact that she didn’t stand out in any way, on the surface at least.

Of course, deep down, she was nothing like them.

Father Rhisiart started to pour water onto little Gwenllian’s forehead, and Branwen had to force herself to look. As important as the moment was, she could barely concentrate. Having Matthew next to her was creating havoc within her. Did it show? Did she appear as flustered as she felt? She hoped not. It would not do to betray her inner turmoil while all eyes were on the group standing by the font.

Dear Lord, Matthew mused, as he tried his best to focus on what the priest was saying, Branwen was transformed today. Or rather, revealed.

He’d always known she was a true beauty, so he was not surprised to find her so alluring, but the cut of the dress she’d been given emphasized her slender curves, the shimmering velvet drew the eye to her flawless skin, and the color made her eyes glow like pure gold. There was also a becoming flush to her cheeks, which he liked to see above anything else. Too often he had seen her pale as a corpse. But today, all the ghosts from her past seemed to have receded to the back of her mind, allowing her true self to shine through. The result was staggering.

She truly was the most perfect woman he had ever seen.

The ceremony passed in a blur. He did all that was required of him, held the baby when she was handed to him, repeated all the necessary words at the right moment, but his mind was not on the task at hand, with Branwen so close to him, calling out to every part of his body. His eyes were irresistibly drawn to her, his arms wanted to wrap around her waist, his fingers itched to stroke her skin, his lips ached to taste her mouth.

And his groin … His groin had never been tighter.

Later, during the banquet, it was even worse. As she’d been placed next to him, he did not resist the temptation of pressing his thigh against hers, even though he fully expected her to recoil. To his delight, she did not, and he spent the whole evening with a hard shaft pulsing in rhythm with his heart. Even the sugared almonds brought at the end of the meal could not distract him from the sweet-smelling woman by his side.

Forget the exotic delicacies, he wanted to eat her .

The banquet finally came to an end, and the dancing began.

“I wish I could dance, but alas, my body will need a little bit more time to recover before I can attempt it,” Esyllt said with a sigh when the musicians struck up a lively tune. Not wanting to dance while his wife was incapacitated, Connor had gone to speak to the local lords and the two of them were the only ones left on the dais. “Are you not going to join in the revelry, Matthew?”

“I don’t think so.” Not with his body throbbing the way it was. His tunic was too short to hide the effect Branwen’s proximity had had on him. Though she had left his side a moment ago, he was still hard, had been hard all day, or so it seemed. “You know I rarely dance.” Thankfully that was true, so his refusal might not raise any comment.

“I know, but if ever an occasion warranted it, this is it.”

She didn’t seem offended, but he felt guilty all the same because she was right. He should be dancing, joining in the celebrations. “Let us strike a bargain, my lady. If I one day get my own children christened, I will dance.”

As he said the words, his gaze flicked over to Branwen, who was deep in conversation with one of the ladies standing by the lavishly decorated door. She wasn’t dancing either, he noticed. Perhaps after all she endured week after week, she couldn’t bear the idea of being held by a stranger. It would not surprise him, and in truth, he was relieved. He wasn’t sure how he would have handled seeing her in another man’s arms. At the least improper gesture on his part, he would have pounced, and he had no wish to create a scene at his niece’s christening.

“I will hold you to that promise,” Esyllt said with a smile, “and hope to be there to see it.”

“You will, as you will be chosen to be godmother.” He gave a gracious tilt of the head, but at the moment, the possibility of having children seemed remote. If Connor had really put an end to his matchmaking efforts on his behalf, then he could not see himself getting married anytime soon.

Esyllt let out a tinkling laugh. “Come, Matthew. Everyone will understand you choosing Connor as godfather, but your future wife might prefer to choose a friend of hers to act as godmother.”

“Yes. Well. That still doesn’t rule you out, does it?”

“No. I guess it doesn’t.”

For a moment he couldn’t understand why his sister-in-law’s eyes were twinkling.

Then he thought back to what he had just said. Somehow he must have imagined Branwen holding his firstborn child. Had he not pictured her as his wife, he would not have assumed Esyllt would be chosen as godmother. It was clear from the way Esyllt was looking at him that she had reached the same conclusion.

What was happening? Only the other day he had thought that he would be proud to have a child with Branwen, no matter what her past. And then he had failed to be relieved when she had assured him she could not have fallen with child from their encounter. Now he was planning their child’s christening.

He cleared his throat and excused himself. The state of his body notwithstanding, he could not remain here, at the risk of getting more confused than he already was.

Alone in bed at last, he had no choice but to bring about the release that had been boiling in his spine whole day long. The image of Branwen in her green dress as she’d stood by the font with Gwenllian in her arms seemed branded on the inside of his eyelids, and provided all the excitation he needed. A few strokes were enough to take him over the edge, and he bit his lip so hard to stop himself from shouting Branwen’s name when he finally erupted that he tasted blood. What the devil had that been about? Never had he pictured a fully dressed woman when giving himself pleasure, much less one standing in a church, much less one with a babe in her arms.

Ashamed, more bewildered than ever, he fell flat on his stomach and tried to go to sleep.

Branwen was the first person he saw in the great hall the following morning. It was still very early, which might account for the fact that she was alone. The lords and ladies who had stayed at the castle overnight were used to keeping different hours. But of course she was no lady, merely a hardworking villager.

“Good morning, Branwen.”

“Good morning, Matthew.”

She flushed when he sat down next to her and he was reminded of all the things he had imagined doing to her the night before, while he’d pleasured himself. If he had been able to flush, he would be flushing himself right now. What she would think if she knew what he fantasized about doing to her didn’t bear thinking about. The last thing he wanted was for her to think him as depraved and selfish as the men who took their pleasure with her.

Except he knew he was anything but depraved, and as to being selfish … The thing he wanted to do the most was give her pleasure, show her what her body was capable of. He didn’t want to take , he wanted to give . His whole life, spent controlling his own urges, learning to please his lovers instead of bedding them, ensured he had the skill to make her feel the beauty of her woman’s nature.

She deserved to be caressed, licked, devoured, soothed, and then sent back to heaven.

He cleared his throat and helped himself to a slice of ham. This wouldn’t do. At this rate he would soon go mad.

But how could he stop himself from dreaming about holding her when she looked so beautiful? When she was the first, the only woman he had ever possessed? When he knew she had never known pleasure and thought herself unworthy of it? When he could make her see how glorious it could be between a man and a woman?

It took a passing comment from one of the servants to make him realize she was not wearing the velvet gown anymore, but her usual woolen dress. He had not noticed the change, because she appealed to him as much today as she had the day before, dressed in a lady’s finery.

And that’s when he understood.

Branwen’s transformation, which he had attributed to the green gown that hugged her curves the day before, had nothing to do with the clothes she’d worn, and all to do with him , and what he now thought of her.

Their heartfelt conversation the other day, and the way he had sprung to her aid, that was what made her eyes sparkle, her skin glow, her stance more relaxed. She was at ease with him, because he now knew the truth about her and he had not judged her. She was gratified that he had confided in something he had not told anyone else, namely that he’d been a virgin before what had happened between them. There was this new connection between them, a bond stronger, somehow more significant than the joining of their bodies. They had bared their souls and doubts to one another. When they had made love, both had been fully dressed, and they had not even made eye contact.

Now they had seen each other for who they truly were.

“How have you been?” he asked, feeling completely at a loss.

They hadn’t had time to talk in private the day before, and it had suited him well, as he felt strangely intimidated in front of her. This new awareness of one another was daunting, much more than physical intimacy.

“I’m well, thank you.”

Was it his imagination, or was she just as intimidated as he was? It sounded like it.

“I’m famished,” he said, a pitiful attempt at normal conversation. But it was true. Too on edge to behave normally the night before, he had not eaten much at the banquet. “What about you? Would you like something else to eat?”

“I’m all right.”

Despite her answer, he could not resist placing another slice of venison pie in front of her, because now that he thought of it, he wasn’t sure she had eaten much last night either. Here was the chance to ensure she at least ate her fill today. She thanked him with a smile but did not touch the pie.

“I know you paid Daffydd with your own money the other day,” she said instead, sounding slightly breathless.

“Daffydd?” Matthew frowned. He wasn’t familiar with the name.

Branwen lowered her gaze, as if regretting bringing the subject up. “The owner of my cottage.”

Of course, the one he had paid to leave her alone and repair the roof of her cottage. Matthew ran a hand around the back of his neck, feeling caught out. How had he not guessed that she would go to Connor to thank him for ensuring she wouldn’t have to pay her rent for a year, and that his brother would betray the fact that he had no idea what she was talking about? His real role in the whole affair had been revealed.

“I’m sorry I lied,” he said, “Only I thought you would not?—”

“It’s all right, I understand why you did what you did. Sometimes people do bad things for noble reasons. And I thank you for insisting.” She lifted the venison pie to her lips and bit into it, as if to say he had done the same thing just now, offering her food when she had said she didn’t need any. Once she had swallowed her mouthful, she looked at him again. “And he came to repair the roof just as I was leaving to come here, so you don’t need to come to check that he honored his promise.”

Matthew nodded. He was relieved her roof would finally be repaired, but he was not sure he liked the idea of having no excuse to go and see her at the cottage.

“Are you leaving now, then?” he asked, helping himself to a handful of nuts. The rest of the ham he’d just cut himself lay uneaten on the trencher. His appetite seemed to have suddenly deserted him.

“Yes.”

In truth, Branwen would have liked to remain a bit longer at Castell Esgyrn, but there was no reason for her to stay, even if she was loath to go back to her cottage. Solitude was getting harder and harder to bear.

“Before you go, I have something to give you.” Matthew’s eyes were sparkling with something akin to mischief, and for a moment he put her in mind of a little boy. It was an odd thought because he definitely was all man. “Stay here. Don’t go anywhere before I come back. Please,” he added after standing up, as if worried his request had sounded like an order. It hadn’t.

While he was gone, Branwen took another bite of pie and tried to bring her heartbeat back to a normal rhythm. There was something different about Matthew that morning. Or was it her? Them?

She didn’t know, and she wasn’t sure how to handle it.

When he reappeared a while later, he was followed by a grey wolfhound. Stopping in front of her, he nodded toward the animal who reached almost to his thigh, despite being obviously still a puppy.

“This is Silver. But of course, you could choose a different name for him.”

“Why would I do that? Silver suits him, with this streak of white hair over his nose.” She ruffled the dog’s shaggy head. He was adorable, with big, soulful eyes that looked straight into hers.

“Because he’s yours now.”

Branwen froze, her hand between the pup’s ears. When she stared at Matthew in amazement, she saw that the brown in his eyes had become almost black.

“M-mine?” she stammered. “You’re giving me a puppy?”

“A puppy who will soon grow into an impressive dog.” He rubbed the back of his neck, no longer mischievous boy or confident knight. “I’m thinking he might come in useful to deter men who come knocking at your door at dawn, demanding their rent or … at any other time of the day for any other reason.”

He was giving her protection and company, the two things she needed the most. Overwhelmed by emotion, Branwen fell to her knees and hid her face in the dog’s fur, giving him the hug she wished she could give Matthew. A mere moment ago she’d been thinking she didn’t like the idea of returning home alone. Now, thanks to Matthew, she wouldn’t. Giving her this dog was the most thoughtful thing anyone had ever done for her.

“I don’t know how to thank you.” She was already in love with the pup. “I know I should refuse but I?—”

“You should most definitely do no such thing. Please, take him with you.” He hesitated. “It would put my mind at ease to know you’re not alone.”

Branwen nodded, unable to do otherwise. This could be the answer to all her prayers. With an intimidating dog by her side, ready to jump at their throat at the least hint of menace, men might think twice about accosting her. Could Silver be the savior she’d needed all this time? No, not Silver. He was a dog—he would only be doing what he’d been taught to do without knowing why his new mistress needed protecting.

The real savior was Matthew, who knew about her situation and wanted to put an end to it.

“Thank you.” The two words barely passed her lips.

“Think nothing of it.”

The expression on his face was indecipherable. Either he didn’t want to betray his own emotion or he thought he had done nothing extraordinary. It was possible, but she knew it was not the case. The dog might not be enough to offer her the safe life she dreamed of, but that Matthew cared about her, and wanted to help, meant the world to her.

He gave Silver a pat on the head, then looked at her.

“Come, Raven. If you think you’ve eaten enough, I will get you back home.”

“I will ride to Sheridan Manor on the morrow,” Matthew announced, as he and Connor broke their fasts together the following morning. Having insisted on nursing her baby herself instead of taking a wet nurse, as was customary for ladies of rank, Esyllt was still in bed, catching up on her sleep. “The news of little Gwenllian’s birth will need to be announced there.”

His brother arched a brow. “I daresay. But I can send one of the men to do that. You don’t have to go in person.”

Oh, but he did. Not for the reasons he’d invoked, but because he needed time away from the Welsh temptress who had managed to turn his life and his mind inside out. If he took his time, he could easily be away from Esgyrn Castle—and her—for a month. More might appear suspicious, but a month was feasible.

With luck, by the time he returned, he would be cured of his infatuation with Branwen. Because he could not let it overtake his life in the way it was threatening to do, in the way it had already started to do, or he would go mad.

He was falling hard for a woman who had every reason to hate men, and Englishmen in particular. It could lead nowhere save heartbreak. Matthew was discovering to his horror that he had a heart to break after all. Because it had always cost him little to keep women at bay, or at least to remain detached with the ones he allowed near him physically, he’d thought himself immune to the feelings other men experienced.

How wrong he’d been to think himself safe—how na?ve!

He had not met the right woman, that was all.

The night before, he had brought himself to climax not just once, but twice, remembering the way Branwen’s sweet body had rubbed against his as they’d ridden to the village on Midnight’s back. It had reminded him of the way she had ground against him and welcomed him inside her body that day in the solar, how she had squeezed him tight to precipitate his pleasure. It had been blinding, unlike anything he could have imagined.

What he wouldn’t give to relive that moment. Not just because of the pleasure he had experienced in her arms, but so that he could do everything differently.

It had taken all his inner strength not to stop the horse and beg her to let him take her there on the forest floor, but he had managed not to do it. The humiliation of a refusal, he could have dealt with. His pride had sustained worse blows. But the look of horror and fear in her eyes, when she thought him no better than the other men who thought her a whore at their disposal, he could not have borne. And so he had kept his mouth shut and done his utmost to keep the throbbing in his groin under control. It had worked, but he was not certain he could do it a second time.

His mind was made up.

He needed distance and time to adjust to the new developments in his life.

“If you’re sure …” Connor started, looking at him oddly. Damnation, his brother had guessed there was more to his desire to be away from Esgyrn Castle than the wish to announce the birth of his niece in their childhood home. He’d always been perceptive that way, and Matthew wouldn’t be surprised if Connor had seen that something had changed in him.

Yes, it was high time he left.

“I am. Please be so kind as to write your instructions for me sometime today,” he told him curtly. “I leave at dawn.”

The white raven was back.

Branwen stared pensively at the animal perched on the highest branch of the beech. How odd that such a rare bird should decide to live near her cottage when she was named after him. It was as if he knew they shared a connection. She remembered how Matthew had once teased her about her name’s meaning and smiled, before closing her eyes.

Matthew. Would everything remind her of him?

As if to answer that question, at that precise moment Silver put his head on her lap and whined, demanding a caress. Yes. It seemed that everything would remind her of her savior, first and foremost the dog he had procured for her. Less than two weeks after his arrival at the cottage, the pup had already fulfilled his mission. The day before, an Englishman from town had approached her as she was gathering wood in the clearing, and drawn her into his arms, intent on tumbling her to the ground. He’d reeked of drink and been more forceful than her usual attackers, and she had feared an assault that would leave her hurting for days.

But before she’d had time to utter more than a cry of alarm, the faithful animal, who’d taken to his new mistress as quickly as she had taken to him, had leapt on him and scratched his back so severely that the man had fled in fear for his life, blood dripping down his body.

For a long time, Branwen had remained in the clearing, hugging the panting pup, crying in relief and gratitude combined.

“Thank you for being here for me,” she told him, ruffling his silvery fur. “I hope you don’t miss your old master as much as I miss him.”

The dog gave her such a penetrative stare that she took him into her arms.

They remained there a long time, locked in an embrace.

“What’s the matter, Branwen bach ?” Her mother’s voice suddenly cut through her thoughts. Lost to her musings about Matthew, Branwen had not heard her approach. “I worry about you. I’ve never seen you like this.”

It was not surprising, for she had never been like this. But since Matthew had burst into her life, she had not been herself. Kissing him, pushing him on the chair to ride him like she would ride an impetuous stallion, and getting frightened by the intensity of the sensations it had provoked within her, sensations she had never felt before and was afraid of, confiding her greatest shame first to her friend and then to him, becoming a godmother … It had been a bewildering, intense few weeks.

But now he was gone and she felt bereft.

Two days after the christening, she had gone back to Castell Esgyrn to see Esyllt and Gwenllian, hoping to spend a moment with Matthew while she was there, only to hear he had gone to England and no one knew when he would be back. The news had been a blow. He’d left, without even telling her.

After they had kissed, she had wished he would disappear. Well, it seemed she had gotten her wish, just when she was starting to wonder how she would ever bear to have him out of her sight.

When would he be back? And what if he decided to stay in England? Why would he not? It was his home. The mere idea that she would never see him again had her guts twisting in dread.

“It’s about a man, is it not?” Carys asked. Branwen could only nod. It was about a man, but not just any man. It was about one of the only men who had treated her decently, the one person who had given her the means of changing her life and some hope for a better future. “The man who was here the other day, the one with the kind eyes?”

Kind eyes. Yes, that was one way of describing him. Kind eyes. Endearing smile. Mouthwatering body. Generous spirit. Not only had he not judged her after hearing her story, but he’d been on her side, unquestionably, and made her feel worthy of respect. His reaction had made it possible for her to regain some of her dignity back. After the encounter with the drunk Englishman, and with Silver by her side, ready to pounce if need be, she felt strong enough to make her refusal plain to the next man who came to her demanding access to her body.

Finally, she could see a way out of this nightmare.

If ever anyone had been given a priceless gift, this was it.

“Yes. It’s about him.”

“He’s nothing like the others, I don’t think.” Carys said softly, cocking her head. “I could tell straight away, from the way you looked at him—and he at you.”

Branwen crumpled from the inside. Her mother knew about the other men? Lord, she had hoped it wouldn’t be the case. But the relief of not having to hide her pain from her was overwhelming. She fell into the woman’s arms, sobbing.

“Oh, Mam, he’s nothing like them at all.”

And she wanted him back.