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Chapter Seven

“ J ames!”

Carys gasped when she turned to her side, only to find herself face to face with the man she’d been thinking about all evening. For once he was not wearing a black tunic. In fact, he was not wearing anything. Not even a shift. Her whole body dissolved at the sight of his chest. Heavens. She had guessed he would be lean and chiseled but this …

“W-what are you doing here? It’s my bed.”

“I know. That is precisely why I’m here.”

A hand closed over her breast and squeezed. The feel of his warm, slightly callused palm on her skin was incredible. Her skin… Another gasp escaped her lips when she realized she shouldn’t be able to feel him thus. Where had her shift gone? Why was she naked? She never slept naked. An arm snaked around her waist, drawing her close to a furry chest before she could find an explanation for this unusual occurrence.

“You shouldn’t?—”

“Hush, let me do this, sweet. I’m dying with the need to taste you again and I know it’s what you want too.”

Oh, yes, she did want this. She wanted this, and more, but something was odd, and she could not place her finger on it. Then she understood. They were talking in Welsh together. When had James learned to speak her language so well? And why was she worrying about something like this when he was spreading her legs to give him access to her most secret opening?

A tongue licked the cream that had pooled between her thighs and she stopped thinking. Let him speak in the language of his Egyptian ancestors if he wanted, as long as he gave her the release she was already desperate for.

“So good,” he growled, swirling his tongue around the soft folds waiting for him. “Let me lick you like I did at the beach. And then I’ll give you what you really want. What I haven’t given anyone in years. You won’t even have to beg this time.”

“Yes!” He had vanquished his fears, and decided he could be with her. He was finally going to take her. Heat blazed through her at the thought.

“James!”

Carys woke up with her heart pounding, her breathing ragged and her hand between her legs. A finger was poised at her entrance, ready to plunge in. She was alone.

A dream.

That was all it had been. James was not really in her bed, had not really been speaking to her in Welsh, had not really been licking at her intimate flesh.

She stayed very still, her blood drumming a fierce rhythm in her ears. It was not the first time she had dreamed about what they had done on the beach, admittedly, but it was the first time it had sent her into such a frenzy, as well as the first time she had touched herself while she dreamed. Thank God she was not sleeping with Eirwen anymore, or she would have died of mortification. Her daughter, who had become friends with Avice’s niece, had asked to sleep in her chamber a few weeks ago. Carys had been only too happy to allow her to. Now, more than ever, she was glad she’d done so.

Because it meant she could finish what the dream had started.

Almost of its own accord, her finger glided over the seam of her sex. She was swollen, throbbing and wet, thanks to what the wicked, naked man had been doing in her dream. She was so ready she knew she would explode in no time. Since Dewi’s death, in the absence of a real lover with whom to indulge her senses, she’d had no choice but to give herself pleasure and had become quite adept at it.

But usually, it was her late husband’s face she imagined when she dipped her finger into her folds. Today it was James Mortimer’s dark eyes she pictured, his sensual mouth. The mouth that had lapped at her so scandalously. The right hand joined the left, her middle finger stroking, teasing, rubbing at the place at the apex of her thighs with growing urgency.

Heat bloomed in her chest, spreading to her toes and she kicked her blanket off in irritation, wishing she were naked after all, wishing she had another set of hands to tease at her nipples, wishing …

Wishing James was the one giving her pleasure.

She heard his voice, commanding her to let go.

The pulsing started deep within, in the place where her finger was buried, unfurling through her veins in glorious bursts of joy until it felt as if her whole body were spasming. It was magnificent, and went on and on, until finally it ebbed away like a sigh.

Out of breath, Carys stared at the ceiling without seeing anything. This, without a doubt, had been the best release she had ever brought on by herself. For a moment she toyed with the idea of resuming her caresses before realizing that she would be unable to. There wasn’t an ounce of strength left in her body.

Exhausted, she let her arms flop onto the mattress—and fell asleep again.

The first person Carys saw in the hall the following morning was Eirwen. As soon as she spotted her, her daughter came up to her, a frown on her face.

“Are you all right, Mam?”

“Yes, of course I am, lovely,” Carys said, giving her cheek a stroke. “Why do you ask?”

“You look different.”

Eirwen had always been very sensitive to other people’s moods. It wasn’t surprising therefore that she’d noticed something. But Carys could not discuss the reason for her unusual appearance with her daughter. She gave a little cough to hide her embarrassment.

“I slept so well I found it hard to wake up this morning. That may be why I look half asleep.”

“You don’t look half asleep, exactly.”

No, she imagined she didn’t. Flushed, rather. The pleasure she had not resisted in wringing from her grateful body before getting up would be responsible for it. Once again, imagining James’ dark eyes and sinful mouth, she had brought herself to an explosive release. And apparently, it showed.

“Have you eaten yet?” she asked, reaching out to one of the bread loaves waiting on the table. Would the distraction work? It was worth a try.

“James Mortimer.”

Carys’ heart skipped a beat. She was used to her daughter’s abrupt changes of topic during conversations but this time she couldn’t help but feel Eirwen had guessed her mother’s unusual attitude was linked to the handsome steward. Did Eirwen suspect what had come to pass between them? The fiery kiss, the scandalous encounter on the beach?

Lord, it did not bear thinking about.

“What about him?” she asked as calmly as she could.

“I like him. He’s a good man. Yesterday, I stroked his dog. He smiled at me.”

Smiled ? Well. Carys’ lips quivered. A rare favor, indeed.

Pensively, she chewed on her mouthful of bread. She already knew Branwen liked the man who had given Matthew the love he’d needed as a child. It pleased her to hear now that Eirwen liked James as well. It would make it easier when … Her brain ground to a halt. When what? He had made it quite clear he was not looking for anything. Or rather, that he was scared of being with someone because of his fears of fathering children, which was even worse.

It was not that he didn’t want her, it was that he thought he couldn’t be with anyone.

Before anything could happen, she had to put his mind at rest, tell him he had nothing to fear with her, because there was no chance she would ever fall with child, even if they slept together. She couldn’t allow any misunderstanding to linger between them. Too much was at stake, they deserved to know where they stood before deciding anything. Say what he might, James wanted her. The way he had interrupted Richard the day before had to be a sign that he was not completely indifferent to her. Perhaps with the proper reassurance he might accept to give them a chance.

“Yes,” she murmured to Eirwen, handing her a chunk of bread. “James Mortimer is a good man.”

James could not believe what he was about to do.

He was about to tell Carys he wanted her to offer him a second chance if she’d have him. In other words, he was about to do what Richard had done the day before. Except, he would do it better. He would give her a kiss worthy of the name, leave her breathless, and make damn sure she did not refuse him.

But refuse him what, exactly? He did not feel ready to ask her for anything permanent, much less propose marriage. All he knew was that he sensed she had a role to play in his life, and he in hers. He felt in his bones he would regret it for the rest of his miserable life if he didn’t at least try to behave as a normal man, a man who was not crippled by fear, would do.

He would not be a selfish coward anymore, could not afford to be, because the risk was too great. If he didn’t find the strength to open up, he would lose her. And that was what frightened him most of all.

Axe in hand, he made his way back to the castle. Despite his intention to put his frustration to good use, he hadn’t been able to prune a single tree. He felt as if he wouldn’t be able to do anything, or think rationally, until he’d spoken to Carys and made sure she knew what was in his heart, doubts and all.

Once he’d replaced the tool back in the barbican, he headed toward the hall.

The door swung open before he could reach it and he found himself face to face with a woman—only, it was not the one he wanted to see.

Margaret ?

His shock would not have been greater if he had seen the King of England standing in front of him. She was alone, and looking at him as if there was nothing more normal than for her to be at Sheridan Manor. Which was not his opinion at all.

“What are you doing here?”

“James, good morning to you, too,” she said, making a point of remonstrating with him for his lack of manners.

“Good morning.” Damn it all, he had no time for this! He needed to see Carys without delay. “What are you doing here? Did you travel on your own?” It would have been awfully risky for a woman to come from so far without a proper escort. What could have possessed her to even attempt it?

“No. I took the opportunity of following a family traveling north. They dropped me off in town earlier this morning.” She shifted on her feet. “I’m here because there is a matter we need to discuss.”

She looked so grave his heartbeat instantly picked up. “Is it Henry?” Had her only remaining son died in turn? Dear God, no. Was it a family curse? Was everyone he was related to, in some way or another, destined to die before their time? Margaret must have seen the panic flaring in his eyes because she instantly reassured him.

“No, Henry is well.” She paused, and averted her eyes. “But what I have to say does concern a child of mine.”

He arched a brow. As far as he knew, she only had one son left. That was the whole reason he had gone to her last summer, because she had lost almost everyone. So what the devil did she mean, another child of hers? He couldn’t think. Unless … His eyes flicked to her stomach. Was she saying what he thought she was saying? Was she with child? Had she come to announce she had found herself another husband? Well, good luck to her, but he could not find it in himself to care one way or the other. He’d thought never to see her again, and it had suited him fine.

“Which child of yours?” he asked nonetheless.

There was another pause. Then she lifted her head and said the most shocking thing she could have said.

“Yours.”