Page 16

Chapter Twelve

W aking up alone in James’ bed, Carys took a long time to stretch and think.

How had the two of them ended up in a bed together and not made love last night? Every time they saw one another, sparks flew, and she knew they were equally desperate. Only the day before in the room at the back of the solar they had been on the brink of making use of the table, rickety as it was, exposed as it was. And yet, once they had been alone in a comfortable bed, away from prying ears and eyes, all they had thought about was hugging and offering one another comfort.

It could have been frustrating, yet somehow it had been more satisfying than if they had ripped at each other’s clothes in a frenzy of lust, as they might have as untrained youths. It had seemed so much more meaningful.

Still, that didn’t mean Carys had forgotten her need for James’ touch, and she was sure he ached for her as well. There was no mistaking the way he looked at her.

That decided her.

Next time she saw him, she would drag him back to bed and make love to him. If he had accepted that he wanted to be with her, as she suspected, then he would allow himself to enjoy the physical pleasure she could bring him without worrying about the consequences. With Margaret out of the way, and the last of his doubts and fears mastered, they would finally be able to be together as lovers should be.

But once again, fate had other ideas.

As if it had decided that they would have to earn the right to be together by weathering all the setbacks a couple was capable of enduring, that morning, a boy came from the village to inform them that Eirwen had fallen ill with the measles.

The need to go to her daughter wiped everything else from Carys’ mind. She stared at Branwen, who shared her dismay, then ran to the stables, where she asked for the gentle mare to be saddled.

“Oh, Mam,” Branwen whimpered when she had caught up with her at last. Her great belly made her slower than usual, something she hated. “I wish I could go with?—”

“No, you are not to place yourself or the babe in any danger, do you hear?” Her daughter could not fall ill as well, not when she was so near her term, not ever. What Matthew would say if he found his wife in bed with a fever when he came back from Wales was too dire to contemplate. How she would feel knowing she had not done what was needed to protect Branwen and her baby didn’t bear thinking about. She would have to do this trip alone. “I will go to Eirwen, stay with her for as long as I have to. I won’t come back to Sheridan Manor until she has recovered. Tell the people here no one is to visit me.”

Tell James, especially , she wanted to add. He would want to bring her whatever comfort he could. But he was not to come anywhere near her, not when he could bring the illness back to the castle with him, not when he was barely recovering from a life-threatening fever himself. Carys had had the measles as a child, so she hoped she would not get it again, but even without this assurance, she would have gone to tend to her daughter. There was no choice. It was what mothers did.

Branwen nodded and placed a hand on her rounded stomach. “Tell Eirwen I love her and wish I had come. Tell her my son is impatient to meet his aunt.”

“I will.”

After one last kiss, Carys kicked her mare into a trot, wishing she had the skill to urge the animal into a gallop. But now was not the time to be reckless. If she broke her neck, it would not help anyone.

At the cottage, she found Mistress Ivy racked with guilt.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, coming to hold the reins while Carys dismounted. “She insisted on helping with my neighbor Bessie’s daughter, who fell ill three days ago. I should have insisted she stayed at home, but?—”

“None of this is your fault.” Carys forced herself to be reasonable, and say the right thing, but her chest felt hollow with worry. “Working with you has given Eirwen a purpose in life, I wouldn’t want that taken away from her now. I know she would have wanted to help. And fortunately, you know all there is to know about the illness. If anyone can save her, it is you. Please take me to her.”

Mistress Ivy tethered the horse to the fence and led her inside the cottage, where they found Eirwen sleeping on the pallet. Her face and neck were covered in red spots, her hair was matted with sweat and her breathing was much too fast. To combat the fever, she was dressed in only her shift. It was as bad as Carys had feared.

She fell to her knees and took her daughter’s hand in hers. “ Cariad . I’m here. It will be fine. I’m here.”

There was no reaction.

“Don’t let her lack of answer worry you.” Her friend placed a hand on her shoulder. “The important thing is to keep her cool and make sure she drinks plenty.”

“Yes. How long has she been like this?”

“It started yesterday. I didn’t want to call for you straight away but when she was still the same this morning, I?—”

“You did well. Now please, show me where you keep your supply of linen.”

As she bathed her daughter’s forehead later that night, Carys thought of James.

James, who had lost four children. James, who had fought for his life as well last year. James who had held her through the night, James who was afraid of his feelings for her. James, who was waiting at Sheridan Manor.

He needed to be told not to worry, that she would be back.

“Can I see your nephew again?” she asked Mistress Ivy in the morning, as she took the time to break her fast. She had not eaten anything the evening before and she was famished. “I need to send a message to Sheridan Manor.”

“Of course. I’ll ask Ellen to go get him. And then it’s off to bed with you. You look half dead from exhaustion.”

The day Carys and Eirwen finally came back from the village, James was not there to welcome them. He’d taken to helping the woodcutters fell the trees in the forest in a bid to stop obsessing about the fact that he’d once again been denied the chance to act on his desire for the woman he now felt able to be with.

She regularly sent him messages through the healer’s nephew, assuring him all was as well as could be hoped with Eirwen. Her daughter was finally over the worst but still too feeble to be moved. In turn, he kept assuring her that all was well with Branwen, who was getting lovelier by the day and was now eager for her husband’s return.

When he walked through the barbican one evening, exhausted by a whole day spent swinging his axe, he saw three women standing in the bailey. Three women talking in Welsh together, two with flowing dark hair and a blonde one dressed in a soft white gown. Someone he would have known anywhere.

At last.

His fatigue instantly forgotten, he joined them in a dozen swift strides.

“Carys. Welcome back.” Was that his heart beating so loudly in his ears? It had to be, as he could see no one beating drums anywhere.

“Thank you. It’s good to be back.”

Unable to stop himself, he took her hand and squeezed it. He would have swept her into his arms and kissed her with all the strength of his relief but he could not, not in front of her daughters, who, he hoped, did not suspect what had blossomed between the two of them.

It was when he started thinking that they would have to be told, eventually, what he and their mother felt for one another that he realized the last of his doubts had vanished. Being away from Carys for more than a week had given him a taste of what life without her would be like and the prospect frightened him more than anything had for years. That was how he knew he was ready to act on his need to be with her.

Was it his imagination or had she lost weight? But of course she would have, too busy taking care of her daughter to think about herself. Would that he had been allowed to look after her these last few days! Well, perhaps from now on, he would be able to do just that.

Letting go of her hand, he turned to Eirwen. The girl looked rather more pale than usual, and she had lost some weight as well, but otherwise she appeared well enough. What a relief. He’d worried himself sick over her.

“It’s so good to see you back on your feet. I hope you are feeling better.”

“Thank you, I am.” She smiled at him. “I’m glad to be back at Sheridan Manor.”

He smiled back. Thanks to Mistress Ivy, her English had improved dramatically. She was also less shy and nervous than she had been a few months back. Not that she had ever been ill-at-ease with him, he was pleased to say. And he had always had a particular fondness for her. With her black hair, and dainty physique, she could be the daughter he and Joanne had never had.

Branwen took her sister by the hand and turned toward the main hall. “Come, I wanted to show you Rhwd’s new trick. You’ll love it, I’m sure.”

What new trick? As far as James knew, the pup had not learned anything new in the last few days. If he hadn’t known any better, he might have thought she wanted to give him and Carys some privacy.

He frowned. Had he been wrong? Did Matthew’s wife suspect something had changed between him and her mother? She was quite sharp so she might well have. Did he mind? No. Let her think what she wanted, he was not ashamed of his feelings or his intentions.

“How is Eirwen, really?” he asked Carys as her daughters walked away arm in arm. Measles was a dangerous illness, which had claimed more lives than he cared to remember amongst his acquaintances.

“She’ll be fine, she’s stronger than you’d think from looking at her. But for a dreadful moment I thought I would lose her, and I couldn’t bear it.” She choked on a sob and then pressed a hand to her heart as if regretting her words. “Forgive me, James, I shouldn’t have said that. You will know that horrible feeling, of course.”

Unfortunately, yes, he did. But that did not mean she could not worry about her daughter. “There is nothing you cannot say in front of me, especially if it’s something that’s troubling you. I’ll always listen.”

A gleam appeared in her eyes. Relief? If he was not mistaken, there was something she wanted to tell him and she was only too glad to seize on the opportunity he was offering.

“As a matter of fact, there is something I need to tell you. The night before Eirwen fell ill, we slept together. I mean, in the same bed, in your room … I mean … ”

He couldn’t help a smile when she blushed the beautiful pink of the roses growing outside his window. Apparently, she could not be quite as bold as she would have liked. Because her shyness enchanted him, he decided to help her along.

“We did. And I think we were both hoping next time we would really sleep together.”

The blush coloring her cheeks crept all the way to her temples but to his delight, she didn’t shrink away from the honest answer. “I certainly am. But I’m sorry, I promised Eirwen I would sleep with her until she felt strong enough to go back to Avice’s niece’s bed. I hope you understand.”

He did. After fearing she would lose her, Carys needed the reassurance of feeling her daughter was still here, next to her, alive and well. It was only natural. “Of course. You don’t have to apologize.”

They did not owe one another anything. He could wait. After all the delays they had endured, what was another few nights?

Torture, he decided, as he lay on his bed later that evening, stiff as a pike at the idea that Carys was back at Sheridan Manor, just yards away, warm in her bed, her body aching for his touch, and yet out of reach. The delay was bloody torture. He would have to do something about it. And he knew just what.

In the morning he entered the great hall with a new determination. If he and Carys could not spend their nights together, then they would have to make the most of their days. It was the perfect, obvious solution.

The only way not to die of frustration.

He found her sitting by the window, her embroidering basket on her lap. Her eyes opened as wide as if she had seen a ghost when he entered.

“You’re wearing a green tunic.”

James’ lips curled into a smile at the unusual greeting. The woman always knew how to delight him. “Good morning to you, too.”

The teasing had the desired effect. Carys blushed all the way to the roots of her hair. His smile widened. It was too easy to provoke a reaction out of her, and far too satisfying. Joy, embarrassment, desire. Pleasure . Yes. That was the one he wanted to provoke the most.

Dear God, he was losing it. He’d arrived in the room mere moments ago, and here he was, already thinking of ways to make her moan.

Which, if he were honest with himself, was exactly why he’d come.

“Good morning,” she said, looking chastened. “I meant that I’ve only ever seen you wear black in all the months I’ve been here.”

“That’s because I usually wear black.” He did, but for some reason, this morning he’d wanted to put on a tunic he hadn’t worn in years. It was his only colored one and he realized only now that he was standing in front of Carys that she was responsible for the urge to take it out of the chest. “Whereas you always wear spring colors.”

She glanced at herself as if she had not noticed it before. “Yes. I suppose I do.”

“You most definitely do.”

In fact, everything about her was vibrant. Today she was wearing his favorite light blue dress, the one that hugged her hips and swirled around her ankles every time she took a step. The effect could have been provocative had she not appeared so utterly unaware of the stirrings it caused in red blooded males. This was a woman at peace with her body, at the height of her beauty and confidence, not trying to rouse men’s lust and all the more appealing for it.

The embroidery basket was placed back onto the floor. Carys stood up and walked over to him, causing her dress to dance around her in the way he liked.

“It took me a long time to fall asleep last night,” she whispered once she had come to a halt in front of him. The words had his heart beating faster.

“What was wrong? Was it because of Eirwen?” Had her daughter’s heath suffered a relapse?

“No.” She placed a reassuring hand on his chest, just above where his thumping heart was. Could she feel it? Probably. “It was because of you. I cannot stop thinking about what you did to me on the beach that first day.”

He groaned, not having expected her to be so outspoken. “Carys. Don’t say things like that, or I might do it again.”

“Is that supposed to frighten me?” She made a face he found adorable. How was that possible? His groin was on fire, and yet all he could do was think her adorable? It was odd to say the least. He should find her nothing other than breath-stoppingly arousing. “Well, it doesn’t. As threats go, it is a very poor one. Do you really think I would mind if you again did to me what you did then?”

“I think you might when I tell you it makes me want to do it here , in the middle of the great hall.” His whole body surged at the thought of laying her on the table and feasting on her. To hell with everyone who might walk in, they would quickly understand they were not welcome and leave.

Carys sagged against him, clearly as aroused by the idea as he was. “James. Don’t say things like that.”

“Why not?” He wrapped an arm around her and drew her to him, making sure to let her feel how aroused he was. As it was all because of her, for her, it was only fair to let her know.

“Because it makes me want to push you on the floor and feast on you .”

His heart skidded to a halt when she placed a hand over his hardness. Holy Mother of God. The woman was fearless. “Is that supposed to frighten me?” he rasped once he had found his voice again.

“I don’t know. Does it?”

“Not in the least.” Let her do whatever she wanted, feast all she wanted, however she wanted. The only concession to decency would be to take her to his room. No matter how strong his desire for her, he would not risk having one of her daughters, or both, walk in on her while she was using her mouth on a man. Having everyone see him pleasure her was one thing, allowing anyone to see her in such a compromising position quite another.

Yes. Taking her to his room was what he should do.

“I’m wearing the green tunic because of you,” he said instead.

Carys blinked, as if not understanding what he meant. He wasn’t sure he did either. And why in the name of God was he bringing this up now, when she had just hinted that she wanted to feast on him? When she was still pressing her palm against his hard length? He should have swept her into his arms and taken her up to his bed, so he could unfasten his hose and make the most of her offer before she could change her mind.

She spoke before he could. “Perhaps I should remove that green tunic.”

“Don’t you like it?”

“I do. But I don’t think I can wait another moment to have you.” He almost swallowed his tongue when she gave him a stroke, slow and deliberate, then another. Was she trying to unman him? Now was not the time to tease him so. His veins were burning, filled as they were with liquid fire. “So I’m thinking I should take you to my room.”

Bless the woman. Her room was even closer than his. It was perfect. He groaned. “Yes.”

“Master James?”

What the?—

James could have howled in frustration. Instead he directed his anger at the man standing by the door. “Go to hell!”

“I’m sorry, I can’t,” came the hesitant answer, as if going to hell was a real option and Gilbert would have liked nothing more than to obey but could not. He looked ill at ease. Evidently, he’d guessed he’d interrupted a tryst. James stepped away from Carys, who had removed her hand from his groin.

“Well, what do you want?” He didn’t turn around, for the blasted green tunic was shorter than his usual black ones and did not cover his raging erection.

“The king’s nephew, the Earl of Lancaster is here. His lordship is still in Wales and Lady Branwen is resting. So it will be up to you to welcome him.”

James and Carys stared at one another in stupefaction. The king’s nephew was here at Sheridan Manor? Was fate so intent on keeping them apart that it invoked the King of England of all people? Were vindictive mobs of women, deranged sisters-in- law and life-threatening illnesses not enough? Were they to be interrupted, thwarted, denied at every turn? It looked like it.

He tugged at his hair in powerlessness.

Damn it all, he was going to have to welcome the man when all he wanted was to finally make Carys his.