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Chapter Two

“ F orgive me. I didn’t know someone would be here.”

James had gone to the little room at the back of the solar to return the ledgers he’d taken earlier—and found himself face to face with Carys.

She shook her head, indicating she could not answer him, as he’d thought. She would have no idea what he’d said, even if she must have understood he was apologizing for having almost bumped into her.

He scowled, barely refraining a growl. Damn it all, this was impossible. How long would it be until she learned to speak his language? She had been at Sheridan Manor for more than two weeks already and she seemed to have no intention of making it easier for people to communicate with her. It appeared as if she was happy to take long walks in the forest and talk to no one else other than her daughters and her dog when she was in the castle.

Her dog. Silver, the wolfhound. It had been excruciating to stand there and watch as he’d mounted Goldie the other day. Though the two indiscreet lovers had been animals, it had been a disturbingly intimate scene to witness in the company of a woman he desired.

Desired. Yes.

The realization had taken him by surprise, but he desired the Welsh woman like he had not desired a woman since Joanne’s death.

He’d been struck by her allure the moment he had seen her dismount from her weary horse in the bailey. In view of this unexpected reaction, he had intended to spend time with her and get to know her better, see where this unexpected attraction could lead. Unfortunately, he had not counted on the frustration it would create to not be able to have any conversation with her whatsoever. As intriguing as Carys was, at the moment, he got as much satisfaction out of her as he would out of a wooden statue of a woman. A real pity, because he suspected that the Welsh woman would be all fire, exactly what he needed to thaw the ice that had started to encase his heart. He’d seen her joyous with Branwen, mischievous with Eirwen, playful with Silver. She was full of life, unable to hide her feelings.

But with him she was quiet and discreet, and this because they could not exchange more than basic greetings. It was infuriating.

As he was wondering how to take his leave without appearing too rude, the door to the solar, which he’d left open on his way in, closed with a bang.

“Are you sure we can?—”

A woman’s voice. Branwen’s? James couldn’t be sure, as she had spoken in a barely audible whisper, as if not wishing to be overheard.

“Yes, I’m sure. What would be the point of being master of Sheridan Manor if I cannot take you wherever I want, whenever I want?” Matthew’s voice was hoarse with need, confirming it was indeed Branwen in the other room. Too in love with his wife, he would never think of waylaying another woman. “Sit on me, Raven, like you did that first time. Make me come. Jesus, I’m bursting with the need of you.”

James stole a glance toward Carys. Though, mercifully, she would have been unable to make sense of the words, she could not have failed to understand what was happening. It would be clear to her that the man in the next room was about to take his lover with all the passion he was capable of. This was excruciating, and the worst was yet to come. Soon they would hear grunting, moaning, panting. It would be bad enough for him, but the woman about to ride her husband senseless was Carys’ own daughter. No one should have to listen to their children making love.

Had she recognized who the two lovers were?

Yes, she had, if her horrified expression was anything to go by.

He could not let her face this. It had been bad enough to watch Goldie and Silver copulate the other day, they would not today listen to Matthew and Branwen make love.

Taking her by the hand, he cleared his throat loudly to warn the couple that, contrary to what they had hoped, they weren’t alone and were about to be interrupted.

“Fuck!”

There was a series of curses and the rustling of material, betraying the fact that the frenzied lovers were restoring order to their clothes. James gave them a moment to make themselves decent. When he and Carys finally entered the room, Matthew was standing in front of his wife, shielding her from view, doing what he could to minimize her embarrassment. Placed behind his big body, Branwen would be able to avoid seeing who had almost caught her in the act of making love to her husband—her own mother. It was a relief.

“Forgive us, we were just?—”

“Yes, yes,” Matthew snarled, not best pleased at the interruption. “Just go.”

James didn’t need to be told twice. Still holding Carys by the hand, he made his way to the staircase.

Once they were safely out of earshot of the two reckless lovers, he turned to face her.

“I’m sorry about that.” To help convey his meaning, he raised both his palms in an apologetic gesture. Though it was not his fault, he could not help but say something. He’d left without a word the other day in the forest, and had regretted it ever since. It was not her fault that learning a new language was not something that could be accomplished in two days.

Carys bit her lip. “Branwen?” she asked, pointing in the direction of the solar.

James hesitated. This was awkward. He had not expected her to ask confirmation about the identity of the lovers. Then he saw the anguish in her eyes. Because she hadn’t understood what Matthew had said, and she hadn’t seen the woman hidden behind his bulk, she was worried her daughter’s husband had been sneaking around with a mistress under his wife’s nose. An understandable concern. Too many men he knew would do just that. As embarrassing as it was, he could not let her worry on this score. It was not fair to anyone. The couple in the solar hadn’t been doing anything wrong, and Matthew did not deserve to have his morals put into doubt just because he couldn’t keep his hands off his wife.

Being in love and reckless was a feeling James remembered too well.

“Yes. It was Branwen.” For good measure, he nodded. For once, he was grateful he and Carys weren’t able to communicate better, as he didn’t want to talk to her about the fact that she had almost overheard her daughter riding her husband.

He could tell his answer had reassured her but she didn’t know what to say. For a long, uncomfortable moment, they stared at one another. What was the point of staying here, he wondered? He should just leave.

After one last bow, he did just that.

How embarrassing.

Carys would never have admitted to anyone, including herself, that the urgency in Matthew’s voice, the very explicit noises she had heard, the realization of what was happening in the other room, had inflamed her imagination and heated her blood. Standing next to James in that little room, she had felt her body respond in a most unsettling way. Perhaps it was due to the long abstinence imposed on her, or perhaps to the proximity of a man exuding virility, she didn’t know. Either way, it was worrying.

“Holy Mother of God, have mercy on me,” she said to herself.

Why did she have to feel attracted to a man like him, so stern and unyielding? Richard, who could not communicate with her any better, always went out of his way to make their encounters less awkward, using noises and hand gestures to make his meaning clear.

Not James Mortimer. He just stood there, assessing her with those unfathomable black eyes. It was as if he thought she was not worth making the effort of trying to communicate. Or was it even worse than that? Had he guessed she was not immune to his charm? Was it his way of discouraging her? Right now, in the little room, had he been as affected as she when they’d overheard the two lovers? He had acted with decision, taking her away before it was too late, and she was grateful for it, but … but perhaps she wouldn’t have minded if he had pressed her against the wall and started to?—

Carys shook her head. What was happening to her? She had yet to exchange a single sentence with the man and she could not decipher his moods. The stern steward should be the last man she entertained such notions about.

Was that what the appeal was then? Was she attracted to him because she thought he could give her what she was after, a romp between the sheets with no consequences? No real connection, apart from physical pleasure? At her age, that was all she was looking for, and perhaps James Mortimer could provide it.

She had been deeply in love with her first husband, and in the eighteen years since his death, had never even considered she could fall for another man. A meaningless tryst, she could imagine. After all, she was a still a woman with needs, for all that she was a widow and she had, on occasion, given in to men’s advances.

But the only problem was, a tryst with James would have consequences. He lived here, and so did she now. There would be no avoiding him after the deed was done.

Besides, how did you bed someone you could not talk to? Part of the pleasure was in the sharing of the moment and the exchanging of heated declarations. It would be impossible to tell James to go slower, to take her harder, to make him understand how she wanted to be touched. And did she really want someone like him in her bed? He might look good, but if he could not even smile when he was amused, would he be able or willing to let his passion burst through while making love to a woman? She would spend her time wondering if he was enjoying himself or what she was doing wrong.

In any case, there was little point asking herself those questions. There was no reason to think she would ever end up in his arms.

Resolving to push the incident, and the dour James Mortimer, out of her mind, Carys headed off toward the forest, taking Silver with her. With Branwen’s help, Avice, the cook, had asked if she could go gather some herbs for tonight’s meal. Carys had been only too happy to agree. Busy filling her basket with nettles, wild garlic and dandelion leaves, she managed to forget all about the steward.

But that night in bed, her mind started to meander down dangerous paths.

Where did James sleep? Did he sleep naked? Was he big and dark all over? Her cheeks burst into flames when the question crossed her mind. Had she just tried to imagine the color of his intimate hairs and the size of his manhood? Yes, yes she had, and this while lying next to her young daughter. By her side, Eirwen, was breathing evenly, lost to the innocence of sleep.

Horrified at her wantonness, Carys left the bed and started to pace around the room. After a while she grew even more restless and she decided to leave. A walk over the battlements would be the very thing to clear her mind of inappropriate thinking before attempting to go to sleep. Though it was not cold, as she was only wearing her nightshift, she wrapped herself in her cloak for modesty and exited the room.

It was pitch black in the staircase and she regretted not taking a candle with her. Should she go back and light one? No, she could not risk awakening Eirwen. It took time, but feeling her way along the cold stone, she made it safely to the bottom of the stairs. Outside, the moon was casting enough light for her to get her bearings and she decided against taking a torch. Much better to have a free hand to hold the hem of her shift and cloak while she climbed the ladder to the north battlements.

She could have stayed in the bailey, of course, but she needed to feel the wind in her hair.

From the top, Carys could see miles into the distance. A silver ribbon gleamed beyond the dark forest, catching her eye. Was it the sea? She had never noticed any blue expanse of water during the day, where it would have melted into the horizon, but perhaps it truly was there? Her heart leapt. How she longed to go to the sea! Dewi had said he would take her one day, but in the end they had never made the effort to get there. Of course she could have gone on her own after his death, but somehow, it would have felt like a betrayal.

“I miss you,” she murmured, sending her message to the wind. “Perhaps we will go to the sea together one day, my love.”

Just then footsteps were heard and soon, someone was ascending the ladder she had climbed only moments ago. Everything within Carys dissolved. The tall, looming shape dressed in black could only belong to one man. The only other man who could have matched him for bulk at Sheridan Manor would never leave Branwen’s bed in favor of wandering around at night alone.

No, this was not Matthew but James, the man she had tried to imagine naked only moments ago. She could not see him now, not when she knew she would take advantage of the darkness to stare at parts of his body she should not even consider looking at.

She stayed where she was, hidden in the shadow of a tower, still as a statue. Would he see her? And what would he do if he did? She would be unable to explain what she was doing here in English. Not that it was any of his concern. Or perhaps it was, in a manner of speaking, considering why she had left her bed in the first place.

I came out because I was getting agitated imagining how you looked naked. There. Are you satisfied? And now that you’re here, could you put an end to my wondering by removing your clothes so I can see you? The moonlight might be sufficient for me to answer the most pressing question, namely ? —

He spoke, his voice gruff. Unsurprisingly, Carys didn’t understand what he’d said but she guessed he was asking if anyone was out there. As steward, he was in charge of the safety of the place. Was he worried there was an ill-intentioned stranger about? Perhaps he had heard her talk to Dewi, perhaps he’d seen her cloak fluttering in the wind. Who knew?

She didn’t move, barely dared to breathe. As if to help her vanish into the night, the moon chose that moment to hide behind a cloud, taking with it what little light had been illuminating the battlements. In her dark cloak Carys would blend in with the stone wall. The only way James would see her now was if he came within touching distance of her.

After a while, she heard his footsteps in the bailey and then saw his dark shape retreat to the main hall.

She waited a moment to make sure he was not coming back out and then descended the ladder herself. It was time to go back to bed and try to sleep.

“How pathetic,” she muttered to herself as she crossed the deserted bailey. She had always spoken what was on her mind out loud. Dewi had found the habit endearing, but she knew most people were annoyed by it. Still, she could not help herself. “I came here to avoid imagining James naked and who should I see but the man hims?—”

Carys fell and landed on something both softer than the stone she expected and yet too hard to be comfortable. A person. A man.

James Mortimer.

“What the?—”

James stopped the curse already on his lips when he realized that the person who’d just landed on top of him was a woman. Then he saw he could swear all he wanted, as the woman in question wouldn’t understand a word he’d say anyway.

Carys.

She had been the one lurking about earlier.

As he’d exited the main hall, he’d caught sight of something that could have been a fluttering cloak on the battlements. Always on the look out for trouble, he’d instantly been on his guard. Had someone scaled the ramparts? Was Sheridan Manor about to be attacked?

After straining his eyes in vain for a while, he had decided he had been mistaken and retreated back inside the hall. It was time to go to bed. He had crouched down to retrieve a key he’d dropped and the next thing he knew, a soft, warm, sweet-smelling woman had toppled over him. Yes. A woman. So warm after the chilly breeze wafting in from the sea, so soft in contrast to the stone digging in the muscles of his back, so sweet-smelling, like freshly picked herbs and something else, something, quite stupidly, he thought might be Welsh air.

Carys.

Without knowing why, he just knew it was her.

Thankfully, he had somehow managed to cushion her fall and avoid her smashing her skull on the hard floor.

The only problem was, having a soft, warm, sweet-smelling woman lying on top of him was creating havoc in the lower part of his body. Had he been thirty years younger, he might well be hard now. As he was not an excitable youth any longer, he managed to hold on to enough sanity to stop his body from responding.

“What are you doing here at this hour?” he growled, not best pleased by this development. He knew she could not understand him, much less answer, but he had to say something to defuse the tension between them.

A sentence in husky Welsh was all he got in return for his trouble. He closed his eyes and let it wash over him. He’d heard it said many times that Welsh people were barbarians and their language offensive to the ear of civilized Englishmen, but he could not agree. All he could think was that he wished he could pluck those raspy words out of Carys’ mouth with a kiss.

When she fell silent he forced himself to move. There was nothing to be gained by lying there on the cold stone. Twisting his body, he scrambled back to his knees and brought himself to a standing position. All the while, he kept Carys close. Close as only two people who were about to kiss could be.

“Good night, then. Sleep well.”

She never answered. For a delicious, heady moment, he thought she would raise herself onto her tiptoes and kiss him. He stilled, not wanting to discourage her. He would not take the first step, of course, but if she initiated it, he would respond. It would be one way of communicating how he felt about her, he supposed. Yes. But then what?

He waited, not knowing whether she would dare kiss him, not quite sure he wanted her to. She raised her head and whispered something. Why did it sound so enticing not to understand what she was saying? Because he could imagine what he wanted, that was why. For all he knew she had told him she wanted him to make love to her out there in the moonlight.

“Do you want me, Carys? Is that why you are staying in my arms longer than you should?”

A gasp. She wouldn’t have understood the question, but she could not have failed to note that he’d called her by her name. Before he could say anything else, she turned and fled. James found himself only grasping at thin air.

English air that didn’t smell of anything.

“Is there a problem?” Matthew entered the room as James was folding the piece of parchment and did not miss the frown on his face. “Can I help?”

“No, I thank you. And there isn’t a problem, exactly.”

James tapped his finger on the missive he’d received earlier that morning and fell deep in thought.

After his encounter with Carys, he’d spent an agitated night reliving the moment she had been draped all over him like a comforting, living blanket. By dawn he had decided he would make some effort to reach out to her. Why should she be the only one trying to be understood? Branwen could help at first, teaching him a few words of Welsh and anyway, living here now as she did, Carys was bound to pick up words of English. With time, the two of them might get to find some way of communicating.

But time was precisely what he wouldn’t have, because he was about to leave.

“My sister-in-law Margaret has written to say that her youngest son and only daughter died of a mysterious illness last month,” he explained to Matthew, who was still waiting for an answer. “Her only remaining son recently left to get married and has his own family to look after. She’s been a widow for quite some time and is now alone in the world. I feel I should go see her.”

Matthew placed a hand over his shoulder and nodded. “Of course you should. Offer the woman whatever solace you can at this difficult time.”

This answer didn’t surprise James. Matthew Hunter had always been a good man and a generous master. He’d guessed he would allow him to go. The only problem was, he didn’t really want to. Not only had he never warmed to Margaret, but he had received the letter the very day he’d decided to do something about the attraction he felt for Carys. It felt particularly harsh.

Nevertheless, he could not voice his concerns and would have to pretend he didn’t mind doing the right thing by his sister-in-law.

“Thank you. I promise to be back as soon as I can. Although I might also take this opportunity to go see my parents while I’m there.”

If he had to leave Sheridan Manor anyway, he might as well make the most of it. From Margaret’s village, it would only be another day’s travel to his parents’ hut. He hadn’t visited them in years and, considering how old they were, this might be the last time he ever saw them. Though they weren’t particularly close, he was their son.

Or … At least he was his mother’s son, which was almost the same.

The irony of a man his age still being in a position to go see his parents was not lost on him. The couple had both entered their ninth decade, an almost unnatural age, whereas none of his four children had survived infancy. His two sons had died before reaching the age of two and his two daughters had never even drawn a single breath. It was only because he’d had to be there for Joanne that James had not gone mad with grief.

It was a cruel twist of fate. A man his age should have had to bury his parents, not his offspring.

“Do what you must, and fret not,” Matthew concluded. “We will survive without you. Come back when you’re ready.”

“Thank you. I will.”

The next morning, James left without having found the chance to have a word with Carys. But with them being unable to communicate, what would he have said anyway?