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Chapter Three

Four months later

“ W hat’s the matter, Branwen bach ?”

Carys sat down next to her daughter, who was warming her hands on the brazier in front of her. It wasn’t the first time Branwen had looked preoccupied. As the summer heat had begun to fade, so had she started to get more and more withdrawn. Her daughter was not prone to such seasonal melancholy, and as she was now married to a man she loved and who worshipped her in turn, Carys couldn’t help but worry. What was ailing her? Was she homesick? It was possible.

To her surprise, she herself did not feel out of place at Sheridan Manor. After her initial doubts about living in England, she had accustomed herself very well to her new surroundings. Many Welsh people felt hatred toward the English invaders, and she could understand the feeling to a certain extent. Some of them had abused their power. But, in truth, being here was just like being at home. Once you got to know them, you saw that the people here were just like the people she’d known all her life. Some, like Matthew and Connor, were good men and loving husbands, others like Avice and Richard were trustworthy friends. Some like the groom, the master of hounds and the washerwoman were conceited, dull as rain and with a penchant for gossip just like the baker, the miller and the brewer’s wife had been in her village. There was the odd aggressive one, but really how was that any different from, say Morgan or Dafydd, who’d been all too ready to use their fists?

Mostly, they were just like her old friends and acquaintances had been, and now that she could at last communicate with them, she fit right in.

The similarities between the two peoples made the conflict between their two countries all the more ridiculous. Carys saw in ways she had not seen before how it was all just about the greed of one man, the King of England. Most likely, his subjects would have been happy left to their own devices.

“Do you want to tell me what is troubling you?”

Branwen examined her nails in an attempt at avoiding having to give an answer, but Carys knew her daughter had always welcomed the opportunity to share her burden when asked. When she finally looked at her, her eyes were filled with tears.

“I’ve started to bleed. Again.” Unsure what to say, Carys waited. “Ah, Mam, Matthew and I have been married for months, more than half a year already and my womb has yet to quicken. I thought it would have happened by now, that I would get to hold my child in my arms in the new year, but nothing is happening. What if we can’t have children?” She shook her head. “It’s not as if we weren’t trying either.”

“No.”

This, Carys knew all too well. There was no mistaking the looks her daughter and her husband exchanged whenever they thought no one was looking. And, of course, there had been the scene she and James had interrupted shortly after their arrival at Sheridan Manor. No, Branwen and Matthew were doing all that was required to ensure a babe was conceived. That was not the problem.

Was there even a problem? She dearly hoped not.

Carys bit her bottom lip. She had always been there for Branwen but unfortunately, in this instance, she wasn’t sure what to tell her. The pain of wondering if you would ever get to bear your own children, of waiting for your courses every month, their arrival betraying the fact that life had not blossomed in your womb despite all your prayers, she knew all too well. How had she not guessed the lack of children would be weighing on her daughter’s mind? What happy bride did not want to start a family with the man she loved?

“Give it time. Your life was turned upside down when you met your husband, and much has happened since your wedding. You’ve left your country and you’ll need to adapt to your new environment. Your body will need time to adjust to all the changes. It’s been less than year, and you’re still young, surely there is no cause for concern yet.”

“I know, but … As you know, for years I took herbs to prevent conception,” Branwen reminded her in a deathly voice. Thinking back to her difficult past was always painful. “What if the effect was permanent? What if after so long fighting to prevent a man’s seed from taking root in it, my body had?—”

Carys stopped her with a hand on the cheek. Unfortunately, she knew all about the reasons her daughter had been forced to protect herself from birthing children imposed on her by men who’d gone to her thinking only of their pleasure, and she had to admit that perhaps her fears were not unfounded.

But fretting about it would accomplish nothing. She had learned it the hard way. Better to seek advice from people who knew than struggle in her own.

“Thinking like this will do you no good whatsoever. I’m certain your body is not damaged, but perhaps it needs some time to rid itself of the effect the plants had on it.” Now that she thought about it, it would not be surprising if this were the case. “We can go and ask a midwife’s advice tomorrow if you wish. Children will come in time, and if they don’t, then you will make your peace with it, like I did. The important thing is for you to be happy. Are you happy?”

The question was unnecessary, and Branwen did not even hesitate. She straightened up, a defiant gleam in her eyes.

“Matthew is the man I never thought to find. I love him so.”

“Is he worried about you not having conceived yet?” Was that what the problem was? Was her husband putting pressure on her, talking about the heir he wanted, making her miserable? Carys doubted it, and Branwen’s horrified expression was enough to tell her that was not the issue.

“He’s perfect. I know he wants children, but he’s never addressed me with a single word of reproach. Esyllt told me she got with child the first night she spent with Connor, and here I am, still waiting.” Her eyes filled with tears, and she bit her bottom lip. “I cannot help but think there is something wrong with me.”

“There is nothing wrong with you.” Carys drew her daughter into her arms the way she had when she’d been a child in need of comfort. “Now, no more crying. This is no one’s fault and no cause for concern. We’ll go and see Mistress Ivy, the village healer, tomorrow.”

“Yes,” Branwen said through her sobs.

“I’m sure you’ll soon tell me you’ve missed your courses and I know everyone at Sheridan Manor will rejoice when your first babe is born.”

An image of James Mortimer came to her mind. Why him rather than Richard, Matthew’s father, she wondered? Indeed, technically, the carpenter would be the babe’s grandfather, not him, even if she knew the steward had been a father figure for Matthew during his childhood.

Probably because she jumped on every opportunity to think of him.

He’d been gone for months, so long that she was starting to wonder if he would ever come back to Sheridan Manor. She had not dared broach the topic with anyone, not even with Branwen, who might be privy to what was going on, because what he did should be of no interest to her.

But try as she may, she could not get him out of her head.

The moment she had found herself draped on top of him was branded in her mind, which was little wonder. Only lovers found themselves in such a position. He had felt so strong underneath her … how would he feel over her?

No, not again! She had to stop thinking about him in such terms.

Clearing her throat, she squeezed Branwen’s hands. “Be ready at dawn, we’ll go pay the healer a visit.”

Winter came and went, and soon enough, the snow began to melt.

It seemed to Carys that Branwen had taken heart since her meeting with Mistress Ivy. As promised, they had gone to the village the day after their discussion and the kind woman had reassured them in a matter-of-fact manner.

“My girl, the only thing that will stop a woman as healthy as you from conceiving is the lack of man’s attention. No one but the Virgin Mother could create life without a man’s seed. Or are you telling me your husband will not do his duty by you in bed? Is that what the problem is?”

Carys had found it hard to keep a straight face when Branwen’s cheeks had gone the color of a summer sunset. “No. That is not the problem.”

“I see.” Mistress Ivy’s eyes had twinkled in appreciation. “Then I’m sure I will soon be summoned to deliver your child, and what’s more, I’m sure he will be the first of many.”

By the end of February her daughter had been restored to her usual behavior and Carys was starting to wonder if new life was not budding at Sheridan Manor, inside her daughter’s womb as well as in the fields yonder. Certainly, there had been no more discussions about courses coming when they were not wanted. Mother and daughter might well have another kind of discussion in the spring, one where Branwen told her she was to give her her first grandchild.

Her heart singing at the happy prospect, Carys went down the spiral staircase—and found herself face to face with James Mortimer. So close that they almost collided and fell to the floor, just like they had that night back in the summer.

What was he doing here?

He was the last person she’d expected to see, but that was hardly surprising. He’d been gone for eight months and they hadn’t had word of his arrival. What had possessed him to come back in such a stealthy manner, as if he’d just gone for a drink at the village inn?

She took him in swiftly and was dismayed to find him looking rather worse for wear, as if he was recovering from an illness that had caused him to lose some weight. His jaw was covered with a dark stubble he’d not bothered to shave for several days, and his black eyes glimmered with a new intensity. He was still as forbidding as ever and her insides liquefied at his proximity.

“You’re back! I thought we would never see you again.” Shock made her sound more shrewish than she would have liked and his eyebrows shot to the roots of his hair. Oh, dear, she had offended him. The first words she had told him in months, and they had sounded like an accusation. “I only mean that you … You know what I meant.”

“You learned to speak English,” he replied instead of confirming that he did. Relief swept through her. He wasn’t offended at her lack of manners, simply surprised to hear her speak his language, which made sense. He’d only ever heard her utter a handful of words in English before. “I thought I would never see the day.”

“Yes. I did learn.” She flushed. For some reason, it felt like a very private admission. The impression that she had made the effort just so that she could communicate with him when the time came flitted through her. Odd. She had never thought about it before, but now that he was in front of her, she could not help but wonder if that were not the case. “You’ve been gone for the best part of a year. It was great time I learn.”

A gleam danced in his eyes and she guessed she had made a mistake in her use of English. She didn’t care, because this gleam was one of the most fascinating things she had ever seen. It shouldn’t have been possible to see eyes as dark as his light up, in the same way that ice would never catch on fire, or the sun would never shine at night, but she had not mistaken what she had seen. For the briefest of moments, his eyes had sparkled.

“How long have you been back?” she asked, instead of lingering on the pleasure it had given her to provoke a reaction, small as it was, in such an impassible man.

“I’ve just arrived, as you may have guessed.” He gestured at his stubble and dusty clothes. “As a matter of fact, you’re the first person I have seen.”

James could barely talk for surprise. He had not expected Carys to be the first person he would bump into at Sheridan Manor. He’d been on his way to see Matthew, and inform him of his arrival, as was proper. And here she was, in front of him, looking lovelier than ever. She had lost the haunted look she’d had upon her arrival, as if she had finally found her place away from home. Speaking the language would help her fit in, undoubtedly.

His shock at hearing the English words in her mouth had been great. He had not dared hope she would have learned to speak his language while he’d been away. In fact, he had tried his best not to think about her at all.

With little success.

Frustration swelled within him. Not a vain man, James found himself deploring the bad timing of their meeting. Carys had never looked better, and he had never looked worse. In his travel clothes, with the beard on his jaw, and the gauntness he still had not recovered from, he would present a frightful sight, whereas she was as neat as a pin and as fresh as a rose in her sky blue gown.

Most ridiculously of all, now that he could finally converse with her, he was struck dumb. What a waste that was! He should start talking, now. But what could he say? He had no idea.

Joyous barks were heard in the distance, providing a welcome distraction. It appeared that someone else at Sheridan Manor knew he was back.

“Goldie!” He turned in time to catch the mighty dog bounding to him. She was followed by two younglings of a striking russet color who threw themselves against his legs when they saw the welcome their mother was giving him. “And who are these?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

They were none other than the pups that had been conceived in front of his very eyes that day by the river. He ruffled his dog’s furry head affectionately. The encounter had borne fruit, as he’d suspected. Carys’ lips quivered, confirming his suspicions.

“Meet Gweiadur and Rhwd,” she said, laughter dancing in her voice. “The rest of the litter was given to a friend of Matthew’s who visited one day but Eirwen had fallen in love with these two, and they were allowed to stay.”

“Couldn’t you have kept the ones called Blackie and Snowy, or some such?” he grumbled. How was he supposed to call the dogs with such impossible names? How was he supposed to remember them?

“You can call them Copper and Rust if you prefer. That’s what everyone else does, but I kept the names Eirwen chose in Welsh.” The laughter bubbling in her throat finally burst through. It was as charming as he remembered it, perhaps even more so, as he now knew what made her laugh. “We thought that given the parents’ names, the metal theme was fitting.”

It was. He had been struck by the fact that the two dogs bore matching names when she had introduced Silver to him. It had seemed significant somehow, a way of bringing their masters together.

“Copper and Rust it will have to be,” he agreed. “Which one is which then?”

He reached out to the pup next to him. At the same time Carys’ hand landed on the dog’s head. His fingers covered hers. They both froze. He should have removed his hand. He did not. She could have stepped away. She did not. Time froze. His heartbeat increased.

“This one here is Rhwd,” she breathed, staying very still.

“Rust, I’m guessing?” He sounded just as breathless.

“Yes.”

Damn it all, he should definitely move. It was not like that day last summer when they had happened to land one on top of the other. This time it was not dark, everyone could see them, and the touching was deliberate. Instead of doing what he should, he got lost in Carys’ eyes, two blue shimmering pools capable of drowning an unsuspecting man. Under his fingers he could feel her hand, so soft and small. Was she trembling? Or was it him? He could not be sure.

But something was happening.

“Ah James, there you are.” Matthew’s voice, calling from behind them, brought him back to the present. “I thought I’d seen your horse by the stable.”

James lifted his hand from Carys’ as unobtrusively as he could and turned to face him. With luck, he wouldn’t have seen anything suspicious, just two people fussing over a dog.

“Yes. I just arrived.”

Matthew crossed his arms over his chest, not looking best pleased. “It’s been eight months. You could have sent word of your impending return, you know.”

“I know. I didn’t.”

This blunt, uninformative answer elicited a snort. “Evidently. Come, you must be thirsty, and Branwen will be glad to see you. We’ve just finished eating, but I can ask for some food to be brought to you.”

He nodded to Carys as well, and all three of them made their way to the solar. Branwen, who’d been writing a letter by the window, stood up at their entrance, a smile lighting her face.

“Look who I found in the bailey, Raven.” At first, James had been surprised by the unusual nickname Matthew used for his wife but then he had told him that her name, Branwen, meant beautiful or white raven.

“James.” She looked so pleased to see him, his heart gave a little jolt. It was almost as if he were more than the castle steward in her eyes. The thought moved him, because to him she was more than the mistress of the place as well. Brief as their acquaintance had been, she was the daughter-in-law he’d never thought to have. “Welcome back. I thought I heard a horse trot in earlier. But then nothing happened so I thought I was mistaken.”

“You were not, my lady.” He bowed to her. “I trust you’re doing well?”

“Very well, thank you.” She glanced at her husband, who automatically wrapped an arm around her waist to draw her closer to him. These two were still madly in love, he was glad to see.

“So tell us. How is your sister-in-law doing?” Matthew asked, while they all sat down.

“She’ll be fine.”

Both Matthew and Branwen arched their brow at this terse answer but James had no wish to discuss Margaret, now or ever. His stay under her roof had been an uncomfortable one. He had been unable to rid himself of the impression that she wanted more from him than mere comfort. The number of times she had alluded to the fact that they were now both widowed and alone had been far too high.

If truth be told, the whole affair had been a disaster.

He had meant to be gone a month, two at the most. In the end, he’d spent the best part of a year away from Sheridan Manor. First, he’d had to console Margaret, who had clung to him more desperately than he had anticipated in her grief. It had taken weeks to restore her to a semblance of sanity. Then, when he’d thought he could finally leave, he had been roped in the rebuilding her son Henry’s barn. That had taken a while, as the villagers had not exactly been forthcoming with their help. James had the feeling that the man wasn’t well-liked and it had not taken him long to see why. The lad was underhanded, lazy and incapable of keeping his hands to himself when in the presence of women.

Nevertheless, James had helped, for the sake of Henry’s newly wedded wife. The poor woman, who was with child, deserved to have her supply of hay and grain kept dry in the winter. Life with a man like her husband would be hard enough. Once the work had been completed, he had gone to his parents, as planned, and found them both abed with a fever. He had nursed them back to health, which, given their age, had been a rather lengthy process. While he was there, he’d made sure to put everything in order for them, cutting a supply of wood that would see them through to spring.

At long last, he’d started his travel back to Sheridan Manor, stopping at Margaret’s cottage for the night, as promised. In the morning, he’d been forced to deal with yet another complication. A severe chill he’d been unable to shake off had kept him in bed. To his intense surprise and annoyance, James had been incapacitated for over three weeks.

The unexpected delay had taken its toll on his mood. Then, as if all that had not been enough, snow had made his travel back home slower than he would have liked.

“I’m glad to be back,” he concluded, putting an end to that discussion. He simply wanted to put the whole episode behind him. “I confess that I regretted not being at Sheridan Manor to celebrate Christmas.”

“I imagine you would have felt rather lonely.”

“I did. All the people I care about are here.”

As he spoke he glanced over at Carys, who had settled herself in a corner of the room, and was working on embroidering a shift. It looked to be exquisite work, an utter extravagance for a garment destined to be hidden from view. James knew of few people who would be willing to lavish such effort on something no one would ever see. Too many of his acquaintances did things because they wanted to impress others. Carys, on the contrary, was only trying to please herself, and surround herself with beautiful things.

Was the shift she was wearing right now as lavishly decorated? One way of getting an answer would be to lift her skirt, he supposed, and examine the hem. How low did the decoration he could see peeking above the bodice of her blue gown go? Was the whole of her shift covered in leaves and flowers? Dare he undress her to find out?

He shook his head and bit into the pie Matthew had asked a servant to bring him. What was wrong with him? He’d barely been back a moment, and he was already thinking about Carys in inappropriate terms.

“Have I missed something here?” he asked once his composure had been restored. Thank God they were sitting down and no one had noticed the bulge in his hose.

“No. Apart from Carys and Eirwen having started to speak English. They are doing well.”

Yes, he knew that already, but he didn’t say so. For a reason he could not fathom, he didn’t want anyone to know he’d stopped to talk to Carys before he’d gone to see them. It was ridiculous. After all, it was not as if they had done anything forbidden, and Matthew had seen them together anyway.

“I am pleased. It will be easier for everyone,” he commented. “I saw my Goldie gave birth to her first litter.”

“Yes.” Branwen smiled. “We suspect Silver to be the father.”

James didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to have to explain why he knew for certain Silver was the father. He couldn’t, however, stop himself from stealing a glance at Carys. She was working very hard at untangling a thread that had somehow become knotted on itself. A most unexpected mishap to happen to such a talented embroiderer. Was she, like him, remembering the day by the river when they had seen the dogs? Perhaps, too, the night back in June when she had fallen on him?

Was that the reason for her unrest?

“What about you, James?” Matthew asked roundly. “Forgive me for saying as much, but you look as if you’ve not been well.”

“That’s because I haven’t. But I should be over the worst now.”

“Oh, dear.” Branwen sounded full of concern. “I hope you don’t intend to overtax yourself now that you’re back.”

“I won’t.” James stood up more abruptly than he’d intended. “If you will excuse me, however, I will go and see that everything is in order. I’ve been away for too long.”

Yes, too long, but not long enough to forget the Welsh woman doing her best to blend into the background.