Page 21

Dusk was descending over the land, throwing broad stripes of pink, crimson and gold over the flawless blue sky. James had come to the battlements to watch the sun set over a glorious day. He smiled. All the days had been glorious of late, or so it seemed.

Next to him, Carys let out a happy sigh, echoing his feelings. “I could stay and watch them forever,” she murmured in his ear.

“I know. Me too.”

Down below was a scene of domestic bliss he would never tire of. Branwen was singing a Welsh ballad to little Yoyo while Matthew cradled their newborn daughter as if she were the most precious thing in the world. In a way, she was, of course. The babe had been born just over a week ago, this time with her father in attendance, and she had already won everyone’s heart, including that of her eighteen-month-old brother.

To add to James’ delight, the name that had been chosen for her, Rhian, was relatively easy to pronounce. No matter how much he was trying, he just could not match Matthew’s ease with the fiendish Welsh language. A lesser man would have surrendered by now and he was sorely tempted to give up. He only persisted because the spark igniting in his wife’s eyes when he tried to say anything never failed to warm his insides.

In the months since their wedding, he had grown to love her more than he thought possible.

“Carys. Your parents called you ‘beloved’ when you were born. Then Dewi made sure the name could apply to you all through the first part of your life. Now, if you will allow me, it will be my honor and privilege to ensure you feel it is the most fitting name you could have been given for the rest of our lives together,” he’d told her as they’d exchanged their vows in the little chapel at Sheridan Manor.

Eyes filled with tears, his bride had only been able to nod.

“Do you know what is odd about seeing Branwen married and with children of her own?” she said, talking to herself as was her wont. “In my mind, I am still her age. In my mind, I am young enough to be Iorwerth and Rhian’s mother.”

“I know exactly what you mean, and let me assure you that you look nothing like a wizened grandmother.” James whispered, his mouth at her temple. Her delighted giggle warmed him all the way to his toes.

“And you look nothing like a wrinkled old man.”

“That may be because I am married to a woman who brings the best out in me. It keeps me young at heart, and in my mind, I look just like him.” He nodded toward Matthew who was nuzzling at his daughter’s neck. “Only with darker hair.”

“Yes. Darker everything, for my delight.” Carys let out another sigh, wistful this time. “They have a family, and their whole lives ahead of them. It’s hard not to be envious.”

Just then, the babe let out a wail. Matthew instantly started to pace in a soothing rhythm up and down the rose-bordered alley. He had done little else than rock his daughter to sleep in the past week, or so it seemed. James felt another smile tug at his lips and he leaned in to speak into Carys’ ear.

“Yes, they are young and in love. But so are we. In love, I mean.” He gave her a long, lingering kiss to prove the truth of his words. He felt better than he had in years. “And they have a crying babe to look after. Whereas we … we have nothing to stop ourselves from spending the night in exactly the way we want.”

With a flourish, he lifted her into his arms. Carys let out a gasp, as he’d hoped she would. He knew she loved it when he acted extravagantly. As her husband, he had learned to be more spontaneous. It was impossible to remain stern when in the company of someone like his little Welsh miracle. He now owned no fewer than three colored tunics, even if he still favored black, and he had been known on occasion to laugh out loud at Yoyo’s antics.

It was liberating, the life he had thought lost forever.

“Am I to understand you have plans for the night, Master Mortimer? Plans that involve me?” Carys asked, her voice hoarse with longing.

He let out a purr. All his plans involved her, in some way or another, and they would continue to do so until the rest of his life. He could not wait.

“Take me to bed, Mistress Mortimer, and you will see.”