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Chapter One

England, May 1297

E ngland.

So this was it. Carys looked at the landscape surrounding her, finding it not so different from the rolling hills she was used to. And yet. Yet it could not be more different. She was now in enemy country, away from home, away from everything and everyone she knew, with little hope of ever returning. The Welsh part of her life was over.

Of course, she could have stayed behind, but she had been unable to let her daughters go on their own. The two sisters, who were only her daughters by choice, would now reside in England. Branwen, the eldest, had just married a powerful English lord’s brother and he had agreed Eirwen could come live with them at Sheridan Manor. When given the option of going as well, Carys had taken it. How could she not? They were her only family. She would not be separated from them.

But England…

Carys had been twenty-six years old when the English king, Edward, had invaded her country. Since then, she had heard the English described as the enemy, and it was true she had seen some horrible deeds since they had implanted themselves in the conquered land. But she refused to believe they were all the same. Matthew Hunter, her new son-in-law, at least, was a good man, as was his brother, Connor, who everyone agreed was the fairest and most efficient ruler Castell Esgyrn had ever seen. They were heading for the two men’s family seat so she had hopes she would be made welcome there, and not be treated as an oddity, or a savage. There was little chance Matthew, who loved Branwen fiercely, would allow anyone to bother his wife or her kin.

Still, on her first night on English soil, she barely slept for nervousness. Then, little by little, as she realized that nothing she was seeing could be called worrying or even out of the ordinary, she started to relax. Perhaps this would be all right.

By the time they came into view of Sheridan Manor, five days later, she had lost most of her diffidence. But the first glimpse of her future residence stole her breath away.

Arglwydd Mawr!

It was even grander than she had supposed. How had Branwen married a man who was, despite his lack of title, master of such a place? She stole a glance at her daughter. Atop a magnificent bay palfrey with her husband by her side, himself riding a snow-white stallion, she had never looked more regal or, which was the important thing, happier. Carys could never thank Matthew enough for having given Branwen the life she deserved. If that life was to be in England, then so be it.

As long as her daughters were happy, she could face anything. As a woman well past her fortieth year, and a widow, her life was over anyway.

Later that afternoon, the retinue passed through the gate and came to a halt. Half a dozen men were waiting in the bailey to welcome them. A rider had been sent ahead, so they would have been warned about their master’s arrival. A tall, elegant man dressed in black approached. The steward, probably. She’d heard about this James Mortimer who had made it possible for Matthew to be reunited with his father Richard, a humble carpenter. By all accounts the man was efficiency personified. Judging from his stern demeanor, she could well believe it.

Matthew jumped down from his horse and addressed him with a smile. Carys did not even try to understand what they told each other. She only knew a handful of English words, and she doubted the two men were thanking one another or counting up to ten She would have to learn the language, she reminded herself for the hundredth time, now that she had arrived in her new home. Her life would be hell otherwise.

The man glanced at her and she couldn’t help inhaling in surprise. He had the blackest eyes she had ever seen. The only black eyes she had ever seen, she amended quickly. She hadn’t even known eyes could be black up until now. The effect was stunning, rather like staring into the night sky with all the stars sucked out of it, leaving only the dizzying void. But considering his complexion, any other eye color would have jarred, rather like seeing a stray crystal amongst a sea of obsidian. Everything about him was sombre. His hair was the blueish hue of a raven’s wing, even if it was streaked with silver stands at the temples, his skin was darker than the average person’s and he was dressed fully in black.

All in all, he was the very image of the English warrior she had dreaded to meet. Not that his expression was in any way threatening or that he was carrying any weapons. He didn’t have any scabbard and he looked mild-mannered and kind. But striking nonetheless.

While he turned his attention back to Matthew, she jumped down from the saddle with undisguised relief. A week on the road had taken its toll on her body. Even as a young woman, she would have found the trip taxing, as she had not ridden horses often. There simply had been no need.

“All right, Mam?” Branwen asked, guessing she would be stiff after the long ride.

“Aye, cariad , don’t worry about me.” Carys nodded toward the people assembled in front of them. “The English will want to welcome their new mistress, go speak to them.”

After one last smile, Branwen turned her attention back to the men.

“I think you and your guests will find everything to your satisfaction,” James told his master, noting that the young man had never looked better. Marriage seemed to suit him.

“I’m sure I will. When have you let anyone down, James?”

“Never, I hope.”

James acknowledged the praise with a slight bow. Matthew was the only one here to call him by his Christian name, instead of “Mortimer.” But then again, he was not of noble blood either, only Lord Sheridan’s milk brother. Secretly, James had always considered him like the son he’d never seen grow up. By coincidence, his little Edward had died only weeks after Matthew’s mother, Rose. The bastard son of the poor maid had been raised by the late Lord Sheridan alongside his heir, Connor. But James had been the one to teach him all he knew. The orphan and the father without a son had been natural allies, and helped one another.

Putting those unhelpful considerations to one side, he turned his attention to the rest of the retinue. The two women standing either side of Matthew looked rather similar to one another, with their long, dark hair and full, red lips, and both appeared as if they could be his bride. Which one was Branwen, he wondered? The third woman, slightly to the left of the group, was blonde and markedly older. He barely spared her a glance. Probably a lady’s maid they had brought from Esgyrn Castle to assist the two women. Behind her was Richard, Matthew’s long lost father, who nodded his greetings. The rest of the group consisted of the men at arms who would have ensured the safety of the women during the travel, and a huge gray wolfhound.

“Meet my wife, Branwen.” Matthew wrapped an arm around the waist of the woman to his right, who could not help a blush. She had extraordinary golden eyes, James noticed, of a color rarely seen.

“You are right welcome at Sheridan Manor, my lady.”

No one pointed out that, strictly speaking, she had no right to the title, being married to a man of low birth. Everyone here called Matthew “my lord,” anyway.

“Thank you. I am glad to be here.”

“This is her sister, Eirwen.” The other dark-haired girl gave a brief nod. James returned it, noting that her eyes were of a more common brown. “And this is Carys, their mother.”

Ah, he’d gotten it completely wrong. The older woman was not a servant at all. Of course! He’d been told the Welsh bride would bring her mother with her, so he should have guessed who she was, as there were no other women in the retinue. In his defense, with her fair hair and blue eyes, she looked completely different from her daughters, so much so that he had not for a moment thought she could be Matthew’s mother-in-law. And … perhaps to be more soon. The way Richard was hovering by the woman’s side indicated a desire to further their acquaintance. Or perhaps they were already involved with each other. It was possible. They were of an age, and they had spent a month in Wales together, as well as a week on the road. It would not surprise him if the carpenter had been struck and tried to woo the woman.

Because now that James had taken the time to look at her, he saw that she was, well, striking.

Some women looked good in their young years, before losing some of their appeal when life made their features harden. Others only became more attractive with age. He suspected that Carys was one of them. Not that she would not have looked good twenty years ago, he imagined. But maturity undoubtedly suited her.

The lines following the corner of her eyes and bracketing her mouth were testimony to a life rich in happiness and laughter. Her eyes were of the celestial blue he’d always associated with innocence and honesty. Her mouth was rosy pink, her skin creamy white, her hair bursting with shades ranging from copper to silver to gold, her dress the kind of green only ever seen in spring, on newly grown grass. She was vibrant with energy and colors. Next to this explosion of life he felt rather drab, like a dried leaf would be, while lying on the ground next to a tree in full bloom.

If that was what Welsh women looked like, then it was no wonder both Connor and Matthew had fallen in love with them.

Carys blushed slightly under his scrutiny, as if ill at ease. How would she feel here, in a foreign country, away from everything and everyone she knew? Not only that, but as a Welsh woman, she would be under the impression she’d entered the wolves’ lair.

He frowned. Why was he worrying about all that? He should be ushering Matthew and his new wife into the great hall, offering them refreshments, seeing to the comfort of everyone and giving the grooms their orders, not staring at a woman he didn’t know and wondering how she would fare in England, no matter how beautiful she looked.

“Please, let’s get you all settled. You’ll find everything you need in the great hall. If you will follow me?”

Unable to resist, he had addressed this last sentence to Carys. But instead of moving, she shook her head. Was she offended? Why? What had he said?

Branwen placed a hand on her mother’s arm. “Mam doesn’t speak a word of English or understand more than ‘yes’ and ‘no’, I’m afraid.” With this apology, she translated his words to her mother.

Carys nodded and surprised him, and probably her daughter as well, when she turned to him and said, very distinctively: “Thank you.”

“Well.” Branwen let out a tinkle of a laugh. “I guess she does know a few words. I had no idea.”

It didn’t take James long to understand why Matthew might have fallen under the woman’s spell. Her beauty was not just surface deep. Her voice was sultry, her accent endearing, her manners delightful. He looked at Carys again, wondering how mother and daughter could look so different. She was as fair as Branwen was dark, her eyes, as he’d remarked before, were blue rather than golden, and her face a completely different shape. All in all, she looked nothing like her or Eirwen. Maybe the girls took after their father, then. Where was the man? Had he decided to remain in Wales? Was he dead, perhaps?

He started. Here he was again, allowing himself to get distracted by the Welsh woman when he should be ushering the hungry travelers into the great hall.

With slow deliberation, he turned away from her. “This way.”

“Good boy. I bet you are itching to have a good run, aren’t you? Don’t let me stop you. I wish I could go with you.”

Carys ruffled Silver’s hair affectionately. The dog had been given to Branwen by Matthew some months ago and had become a family favorite. That morning she had taken him with her on her walk because, unlike the people at Sheridan Manor, he didn’t mind her speaking in Welsh. It would take her a while to make friends here, since she could only communicate with her two daughters.

While she sat on a log to watch the river flow in the sunshine, as she’s predicted, Silver shot away to expend his pent up energy.

When he came back a moment later, he was accompanied by another wolfhound the color of ripe wheat.

“You’ve found a special friend, I see,” she told him with a smile.

The dog would belong to someone at Sheridan Manor and might even be a distant relative of his. Matthew’s brother, Connor, had probably taken some of his hounds to Castell Esgyrn when he’d come to marry his Welsh bride.

Castell Esgyrn.

She’d always wondered why that name had been chosen. Bones Castle seemed an unlikely, gloomy name for such an elegant castle. More to the point, she was surprised to see that the thought of her old home did not provoke any pangs of nostalgia within her. But after all, as long as she was with Branwen and Eirwen, she could be anywhere. At the village, no one would miss her. She had not even minded leaving Dewi’s grave behind. Her beloved husband would live forever in her heart, that was all that mattered, she didn’t need a piece of stone to remember him by. When she thought of him, it was as a man vibrant with life, not as a skeleton buried underground. She heard his laugh, his declarations of love, his groans of pleasure. Would those memories fade away with time?

She fervently prayed they wouldn’t, because then she would be truly alone.

A voice cut through her musings, and Silver’s friend bounded in the direction of the caller, obviously his master. Carys watched as James Mortimer appeared from behind a cluster of trees. He was dressed in black, just like the day of their arrival, just like every day, in fact. Every time she’d caught a glimpse of him, he’d been the same stark, slightly forbidding figure. She had made sure not to find herself alone with him, something she didn’t do with anyone else. Not only would they be unable to communicate, but she could not deny he impressed her.

Avoiding him now would be impossible, though, so she stayed where she was. Walking away when he had seen her would just appear rude. But what could they tell each other? Nothing. He spoke even less Welsh than she spoke English.

Feeling at a loss, but not wanting to stand there like a fool, she pointed at her dog. “Silver.”

To her relief, James seemed to understand she was introducing him and decided to help her along in her pitiful attempt at conversation.

“Goldie,” he answered, pointing at the other wolfhound in the same way she had.

A gleam appeared in his black eyes. It seemed to her that he found the association of the two names amusing. Why? She would make sure to ask Branwen later what “Goldie” meant.

“It’s very beautiful here,” she tried next, looking at the river flowing down below. This time it was clear James had no idea what she was talking about. He shrugged. In a moment he would walk away, bored by the awkwardness of the exchange, and she could not blame him. He probably had better things to do than talk to a stranger he could not understand.

Carys was wondering what to do when Sliver, who’d been sniffing and nuzzling at his new friend with sudden interest, mounted her with undisguised enthusiasm. There was no need for translation. This time they could both understand what was happening. Carys’ cheeks started to burn.

James arched a brow and she had the feeling he was fighting a smile. She found herself wondering what she could do to coax such a reaction out of him. She had rarely seen a more impassive man.

All too soon, Silver let go of his new friend, who Carys now knew to be a female—and possibly pregnant. The two dogs spent a long moment nuzzling at each other. Fascinated, she watched on. There was such tenderness in the caresses that something tugged at her heart. It felt almost human. Suddenly she did miss home, and Dewi, terribly.

“I think we might have a litter of beautiful puppies soon,” she could not help but say out loud.

There was no answer.

James had already left.