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Chapter Thirteen

C arys was still recovering from the shock of being told the King of England’s nephew was here—and the frustration of being prevented to act on her desire for James—when Branwen entered the hall, her eyes blurry with sleep.

“I thought you were resting,” Carys commented, walking over to her daughter. There were dark smudges under her eyes, proof that she did not sleep well at night. Of course, her growing belly would make her uncomfortable in bed, but Matthew’s absence was probably responsible for her inability to sleep. In any case, whatever the reason for her fatigue was, she should be resting, not climbing up and down staircases.

“I was, but then I heard a commotion in the bailey and I thought I had better come see what it was.”

Commotion. Yes, that was one word for it. How to announce what was happening? As two lowly born villagers, they were ill-equipped to receive such a high ranking noble and his retinue. Not to mention that, to Welsh women, the man was as close to an enemy as could be conceived. Branwen would understandably feel both out of her depth and resentful at the idea of having to welcome such a man, even if it was expected of her.

In the end, Carys just spoke calmly. “The Earl of Lancaster, the King of England’s nephew, has just arrived.”

“The— who ?” Branwen fell onto the chair behind her.

“I know, I’m as stunned as you are.”

Silence fell in the room. Nothing in the two women’s former life had prepared them for such a moment.

“Oh, why did this have to happen while Matthew is in Wales?” Branwen moaned. “He would know what to do, but I cannot make conversation with the English king’s nephew! I have no idea where to start.”

Carys patted her hand in a comforting gesture. She didn’t either. Fortunately, they had one weapon at their disposal. “Worry not. Once you have bade the earl welcome and offered his men refreshments, you will retire to your bedchamber on the pretext that your great belly is getting too much for you at this late stage.” It would not even be a complete lie, anyone could see she needed calm and rest. “Just see him now, and James and I will take it from there.”

Yes. James would know what to do, she was sure of it. Wasn’t he with the retinue even now?

Branwen nodded. “Of course, you’re right, as always.”

“We will receive him here, rather than having you climb all the way up to the solar.”

No sense in taxing her strength further. The man could take it or leave it. If he objected to being welcomed in the hall amidst the remnants of their morning meal, then he would just have to swallow his displeasure. Branwen’s health was Carys’ priority. She would ensure her daughter’s comfort before pandering to a stranger’s delicate sensibilities. The man might be nephew to the King of England, but he was nothing to her. Let him make what he would of the welcome they gave him. Matthew, if he ever got to hear of it, would side with them, she knew. Nothing would take precedence over his wife.

Carys opened the door and instructed William, the little page, to tell the steward her ladyship was up and ready to receive their prestigious guest.

James entered a moment later, followed by a man dressed in flamboyant clothes. He was just as tall as James, but slender and supple, in the way of youths who have yet to grown into their adult body. His blond hair was streaked with ginger strands, his eyes of a luminous brown. Carys supposed he could have been called attractive but somehow all she could think was that he reminded her of a weasel.

Branwen stood up and smiled a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. She seemed to share her unfavorable first impression of the Earl of Lancaster. But perhaps they were both influenced by the fact that he was nephew to the man who had brought so much trouble to their country.

“My lord, you are right welcome at Sheridan Manor.”

“I thank you.”

The bow the earl gave was elegance personified. The kiss on the hand that followed, however, was more insistent than it should have been and Carys wondered for a moment if she had not seen his tongue touch Branwen’s skin. Were these the manners at court? If so, she didn’t care for them.

Before anyone could say anything, James was dismissed with a wave of the hand and a curt word. Though it was obvious he would have liked to stay, he could not ignore a direct order from such a man. Once the door closed, the earl gestured to Branwen that she should sit back down, a concession to her condition, in all probability, because he had the look of a man who liked to impress his status on others.

He didn’t extend the same courtesy to her. It was clear she would have to stand and like it.

“If my men and I could rely on your hospitality, my dear Mistress Hunter, we would be most grateful.” Despite the polite words, this was not a request. “The king, my uncle, is a day’s ride behind us. He thought to call on Lord Sheridan on his way back from Scotland, where he won a resounding victory over the Scots at Falkirk and sent us ahead of the main retinue to ensure everything was made ready for his arrival.”

Carys didn’t have to look at her daughter to see how this arrogant speech would be received. Her own blood was boiling. The man was quickly making himself an enemy of them. He was taking pleasure in telling Branwen, who he knew to be Welsh, that his uncle had just crushed the Scots in the same way he had crushed her countrymen. Not only that, but he had made a point of calling her Mistress Hunter, as if to remind her, if she needed reminding, that she was neither noble herself nor married to a man who could lay claim to any title, his relationship with Lord Sheridan notwithstanding.

Weasel indeed, in more ways than one.

“You may, of course, rely on our hospitality for as long as you wish, but I’m afraid you will not get to see Lord Sheridan, or my husband, who is with him at present. Connor is in Wales, where he now resides, having found the country and its people much to his taste. I will be glad to tell your king when he comes that my brother-in-law fell deeply in love with the wife who was chosen for him. I’m sure he will be gratified to hear it.”

A smile tugged at Carys’ lips. Good for Branwen, who would not be intimidated and tell the pompous fool exactly where things stood. Wales and its people should not be dismissed so easily. There was more to them than met blind English eyes, he had better remember it.

“Mm.” As could have been predicted, the earl was not chastened in the least. Entitled, noblemen like him were not easily made to feel at fault. “Are you telling me that an English knight of certain prestige can feel at home in a country of savages?”

“Lord Sheridan apparently can, and I’m sure you would agree he’s a knight as worthy as they come.”

“No doubt about that. I’ve met him on two occasions. He’s a fierce warrior who’s always been loyal to the crown. So I wager that what you took for contentment is only the satisfaction of knowing he is doing his duty to king and country. Or … perhaps I’m wrong and Welsh women are capable of turning a man’s mind completely. Do you know, now that I’ve seen you, I can well believe that might be the case.” His voice became thick as boiled honey, and just as sickly. “Your accent is quite delicious, Mistress Hunter. As is the rest of you.”

From where she was, Carys couldn’t see the earl’s face but she didn’t miss the stiffening in Branwen’s body. It was not difficult to guess he would be eyeing her up with undisguised lust. She took a step forward, reminding him he was not alone with his host. He seemed to have quite forgotten it.

But instead of reverting to a more seemly behavior, when he heard her move, the earl waved her away like a bothersome fly. “You can leave us,” he snapped without even looking in her direction.

The look of panic flashing through Branwen’s eyes at the command lit a matching fear in Carys’ chest. The earl was dismissing her, with the obvious intent of seducing the lady of the castle while her husband was away. It was staggeringly bold of him but she could not claim to being surprised. English noblemen seemed to think women of lesser rank, and Welsh women in particular, were theirs for the taking. Nothing protected Branwen. Not the fact that she was married, or with child. All the Earl of Lancaster knew was that she was here, she was beautiful, and he was aroused. With her husband away, he thought nothing or no one could stop him from taking what he wanted.

Well, Carys would try if it killed her. She would have done so for any woman, but this was her daughter. She would not give up so easily.

“My lord, I think I hear horses passing through the gate. Perhaps it is the rest of your retinue?” she said in an attempt to make him see he had better not think of doing what he had in mind. “Or the king himself, having made good time?”

“I hear nothing. But by all means, go and see for yourself. We don’t need you here.”

“I will?—”

“Just leave, woman!” With that command he finally turned to look at her. His eyes were swirling with ill-contained irritation. It was clear he was trying to suppress a show of temper not for her benefit, but so as not to scare Branwen, whom he intended to seduce into surrender. “Mistress Hunter was about to show me Welsh hospitality. I think it is high time I see for myself what it is about Welsh women that pleases men as discerning as Lord Sheridan.”

As he obviously took her for a servant, there was nothing she could do. Even if she revealed who she truly was, namely his host’s mother, it would not matter one bit. Someone like her, though not exactly a menial, was of no consequence to an earl. As a noble, he outranked her ten times over. As an English subject, he was her superior in every way. As a man, he could dispose of her with a flick of his wrist.

She had no choice but to leave and find someone who could actually stop him. If not a noble, at least a strong, English man who could physically restrain him. Because there was no way she would allow anyone to rape her daughter, be he the nephew of the King of England.

“I’ll go and get help,” she told Branwen in Welsh, certain the man did not speak the language. “I promise you won’t have to?—”

“Will you just cease your blabbering and leave, before I have you whipped for your insolence!”

“Go,” Branwen instructed her softly. She looked about to faint but determined to protect her from the man’s ire.

Heart in her throat, Carys flew out of the door. James. She had to get James. Somehow, between them, they had to stop the lecher. They could worry about the consequences later. The important thing was to save Branwen from assault. How long would the earl countenance her refusal to be wooed? Not long, in all probability. And when he saw he would never be able to charm an agreement out of her, he would simply take what he wanted by force.

As she drew near the barbican, she saw a horse thunder through the gate, his reckless pace betraying the impatience of the rider. It did not take her long to identify him. Matthew! Back from Wales at the most opportune moment. Finally, fate seemed to be on her side.

Relieved beyond measure, Carys ran up to him. “My l?—”

“What is it?” he asked before she could finish the word. Obviously her anguish was all too glaring. He jumped down from his horse and took her hands in his. His face was a mask of worry. “Is it the babe? Branwen? Where is she? Am I too late?”

“The baby is fine,” she reassured him, while James drew near. He, too, it seemed, had picked up on her agitation. Not that it was difficult, she imagined. She could feel herself tremble. “She’s in the great hall, with the king’s nephew, the Earl of Lancaster. He arrived earlier that morning.”

Matthew’s shoulders relaxed and she hated having to renew his fears. Because although there was no problem with the baby, Branwen was most definitely in danger, and she needed help. Carys exchanged a glance with James, who instantly tensed up. He’d understood what the issue was, then … Perhaps, like her, he’d been unsettled by the kiss on the hand earlier, or perhaps he’d heard unsavory stories about the earl while talking to the men in his retinue. It mattered not how he’d guessed what was going on. He knew, that was the important thing. She wouldn’t have to impress him with the urgency of the situation.

“I stayed with them at first but then he sent me away. I fear his intent, he was looking at her with?—”

Before she could say anything else, Matthew let out a roar and turned toward the main hall, murder in his eyes. He didn’t have time to take more than one step, however. James had placed himself in front of him, as solid as a wall.

“You stay right where you are, my boy.”

The shocking familiarity didn’t even register on Matthew’s face. He grabbed James by the tunic, drawing him so close their noses touched. “You don’t understand! I have to go to Branwen, I cannot have her alone with a man intent on … She cannot go through that again! Not again, do you hear! I married her, I promised to keep her safe. Let me go, I need to stop the bastard before he?—”

For all his determination and muscular physique, Matthew’s efforts at trying to push past James were in vain. The man was immovable. Carys shivered. She had never before noticed how strong he was and the realization made her quiver.

“No! If you go you’ll rip him to shreds. I’m not saying he doesn’t deserve it, but then you’ll get executed for killing the king’s nephew,” he said in growl. “What of your wife then? Your child? You cannot die, Branwen needs her husband and the babe needs his father. So I ’ll go. And I’ll stop him, I swear.” Before he went he threw a glance at her, one that burned a path all the way to her soul. “For the love of God, Carys, make him see that I’m right.”

With those words, he flew toward the great hall.

Carys’ heart lurched to a stop. He was right, damn him. If Matthew entered that room, he would prevent his wife’s rape. That was not in doubt. Anyone trying to hurt Branwen wouldn’t stand a chance against a man as strong and irate as he was. The earl would be stopped. But the problem was, Matthew would not leave it at that. He would not be able to stop himself from making the earl pay for all the other men who had assaulted Branwen over the years. By the time he had finished with him, there would be nothing left of the King of England’s precious nephew.

And tomorrow, when Edward arrived, there would be retribution. It didn’t bear thinking about. Her daughter would never survive the loss of her husband.

Carys lifted pleading eyes to Matthew, knowing that if he decided he could not stand idle while his wife was in danger, she would not have the strength to restrain him physically. She needed to appeal to his reason.

“Just wait a moment before going in. James will stop the earl. He promised he would and I trust him. He’s right, it’s the best solution.”

“This is all my fault. I should never have left!” The pain, the powerlessness etched on his face was enough to tear at Carys’ heart. His beloved wife was being assaulted and he could not help her, in the same way she could not help her daughter. It was an awful sensation and she could only sympathize with him. “You know what she suffered … You know why I cannot bear to?—”

“I do. I’m her mother.” Indeed she knew about her daughter’s traumatic past. She had hoped that now that Branwen was happily married, they would be able to put it all behind them. Apparently, it was not that easy. “But I also know she would beg me to stop you from getting into that room. You need to let James do this, however hard it is, because she would die without you.”

“Of course.” Despite the agreement, he sounded less than convinced.

It was only then that the reality of the situation hit Carys.

When the English king arrived, James would be the one facing royal retribution.

Sitting in the damp, stinky cell, James was cradling his head in his hands.

This had been a disaster. He had feared all along it would end badly for him, but there had been no other choice. Someone had to stop the earl from raping Branwen, and that someone could not be Matthew. No matter what, James would not allow a man who was about to become a father to put himself in danger.

There was, of course, another reason for his intervention.

Guilt.

He had promised Matthew he would safeguard his wife before he went to Wales, and he had failed. The least he could do now was make sure no one but him suffered the consequences of his inability to protect the woman Matthew loved and their child.

When James had burst into the hall, he’d found the earl bent over a deathly pale Branwen. Her bodice had been ripped open and her hands, wrapped around her swollen stomach in a protective gesture, were shaking. The vile man was fumbling at his hose, his intent all too clear.

“You bastard!” James said between his teeth, before rushing over to her. Thankfully, he’d arrived in time, though not early enough to spare Branwen a fright.

She let out a gasp when she saw him. “James. Diolch .”

As soon as the words had left her mouth, she fainted. It was as if after having done her best to hold on to her sanity while she was alone, she was finally allowing the full horror of what was happening to overwhelm her. James could barely imagine what Matthew would have done if he had been the one walking in on the appalling scene. If he, who was not in love with Branwen, had felt his blood shoot straight to his head, her husband would have gone mad.

He fell on the younger man like a rabid dog on its victim. The earl deserved to be torn to shreds for what he’d wanted to do. How dare he assault a woman, and a woman who was married, heavy with child and nearing her term! Had his men not chosen this moment to come get him, he might well be dead right now.

As it was, the king’s nephew had been saved in extremis. Alone against six men, James had had no choice but to surrender.

Once he’d regained the ability to talk, the earl had ordered his attacker be taken to the dungeon, for the king to deal with on the morrow. Matthew, who had rushed into the hall along with the royal guards and run straight to Branwen, had been unable to do anything to prevent his arrest. Too bruised to stand on his own two feet after the beating he’d received, James had been carried to the dank cell where he’d spent the remainder of the day and the whole night pondering what his punishment would be.

Death, obviously.

One did not try to throttle a member of the royal family and live to tell the tale. One was made an example. The only thing he didn’t know was how he would die. In all probability, it would be both gruesome to watch and excruciating to endure.

Heaven help him, but he didn’t know how he was going to bear it.

The trap door above him creaked open, the sound ominous in the darkness.

His whole body tensed up in dread. Was it dawn yet? Or had the earl and his men decided to come and amuse themselves with him before his execution? They had ruled that the king would be the one to decide his fate but no one had specified that the prisoner should be in a state to hear the judgment pronounced. He could well end up being brought in front of Edward still breathing, but wishing to be dead already.

The yellow light of a torch filled the dark hole above him, then the ladder was lowered down. James screwed his eyes shut, in a vain attempt at keeping calm. The mysterious visitors were actually coming down, which meant they were not going to be satisfied with simply shouting taunts from above. Shackled as he was, weakened by the earlier beating, he would be unable to defend himself. Well, at least he would not give them the pleasure of knowing that he dreaded what was in store for him.

The wood groaned when the first tormentor started to descend the ladder. How many were there? There was no noise coming from the room above, no scuffling of boots, so perhaps the man was alone. He waited, knowing he would find out soon enough who had come to make him regret attacking the prestigious Earl of Lancaster. But the person standing in front of him when he finally dared to open his eyes was the last one he’d expected to see.

Carys ?

Was he dreaming? He’d been in that cell practically all day and most of the night. As a result, he was chilled to the bone, thirsty and slightly delirious. Was he imagining the woman he most dearly wanted to see? It was all too possible.

“What are you doing in the dungeon?” he croaked, hoping she was really here. He’d so dreaded dying without being able to speak to her one last time.

“I’ve come to take you out.”