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Chapter Five

“ W hy did you take my defense?”

It was only when they reached the cover of the trees that Carys found the courage to ask the question. She had been grateful to see him spring to her aid so promptly, but surprised nonetheless.

James stared at her, looking more than a little bit offended. “Do I really need to explain? Weren’t my reasons clear enough?”

“Yes, they were.” The women had been awful toward her, and might well have turned violent, safe in the knowledge no one could see them on the deserted beach. “But I think there’s something else.”

There had been an unusual intent in his eyes. It could have been due to what had just happened between them on the blanket, of course, but she suspected he was hiding something from her. There had been something possessive, almost feral in his attitude. It would have been hard to justify coming from anyone else. Coming from a man as controlled and quiet as he was, it was almost worrying. So what was it? Did he know the women? Did he have a score to settle with them? Say what he might, there had been more to his reaction than mere outrage on her behalf.

Though he didn’t answer, Carys didn’t insist. She knew him well enough to guess he would talk when he was ready, since her question was a reasonable one.

“You’re right,” he sighed eventually, proving her right. “I guess I cannot stand by and watch anyone being mocked because of their origins when I have suffered from the same prejudice myself.”

This was the last thing she had expected to hear. Who had dared mock a man like him? “You? But you’re not Welsh, are you?”

“No. I think we have safely established that by now.” He gave a small smile. Indeed they had. “But you will have noticed I am darker than most.”

She had, but stupidly she had attributed it to the fact that he was English, and therefore different to the men she was used to. Now she felt rather silly because, come to think of it, the people she had met here were indistinguishable from the ones she had left behind in Wales. Except James Mortimer. She had focused so much on how unsettled she felt in his presence that she had failed to see that the effect was not simply due to his dour countenance and black clothing. He was, just as he’d said, darker than most. His eyes, his hair, his skin.

He did stand out. Like a foreigner.

“What are you then? You sound very English to me, just like Matthew.”

“Oh, I am English, only … my father wasn’t. My real father, I mean. Not the one I visited in the winter, who lives with my mother, as her husband. I owe my coloring to the man who sired me. Not many people would dare raise the issue now that I’m a grown man, but as a child, I suffered my share of insults because of it. It was obvious when one saw me next to my older, blond siblings that, not only was I not of my fair father’s getting, but also from a different origin. It made for an easy target.”

He stared into the distance, as if lost in unpleasant memories of that time. Carys’ chest tightened at the idea of James being taunted and perhaps hurt as a young boy. It was hard to imagine such a forbidding, confident, strong man being chosen as a victim but perhaps his body had developed belatedly.

Besides, she knew children could be cruel. Her daughter, Eirwen, being slower than most, had suffered her share of jibes as a young girl. More often than she cared to remember, Carys had had to intervene to chase her tormentors away. Even now, most people didn’t know how to handle her, even if they didn’t mock her openly. So she could well believe the boys in James’ village would have taken pleasure in taunting him for something he had no control over. There was safety in numbers, and one didn’t have to be brave to assault a lonely boy when it was ten against one.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “That must have been hard.” Perhaps it had contributed to the forging of his stern personality. It would make sense if it had.

He nodded, his gaze still on the road ahead. “My parents were successful merchants, with ambitions of furthering their lot in life. One day, when my mother was nearing her fourth decade and their five children were no longer babes, they decided it was time to try and fulfil their dream. They went to a distant city on the continent called Venezia to trade with merchants from the Levant. Upon arrival, they met with silk traders from an even farther land called Egypt.”

Now Carys thought she knew where he might be going with it. Presumably people from that mysterious land were possessed of black eyes, black eyes, and dark skin.

Just like he was.

“One of them, whose name my mother has always refused to tell me, agreed to look after her and teach her all he knew about precious fabrics while my father went on to visit the neighboring islands in search of rare objects. Blown glass vases, mirrors and other luxury items they meant to take home. When they set left Venezia a month later, having been separated all this time, my mother was with child.”

Though she had already guessed as much, Carys knew her shock would show on her face. Fortunately, James was still staring straight ahead.

“What did your father say?”

He shook his head slightly. “Even if he’d had doubts about who the father of this child was, it wouldn’t have taken him long to see that the babe born nine months after my mother’s sojourn in Venezia bore no resemblance to his other children but instead shared his coloring with their Egyptian host. It is not hard to imagine he would have felt the betrayal keenly, but I am proud to say he did not make me suffer for my mother’s lapse.”

Lapse … Had his mother gone to her lover willingly then, rather than been forced? She didn’t dare ask. The confession was painful enough for James.

“What about the relationship between your parents?” she asked instead. Having to live with the proof of his wife’s infidelity would have been hard for any man.

“I’m not sure what their relationship was before they left for Venezia but they managed to find a way to live together. What other choice did they have?” James asked bitterly. “I’m certain they would have preferred to go their separate ways but they had children to raise and a business to run. They just behaved as if nothing had happened. But I know they never left England again, and never made the fortune they’d hoped to make that summer.”

“How terrible.” Say what he might, James’ father, or rather the man acting as his father, would have resented him not only for reminding him of his wife’s betrayal, but also possibly for putting an end to his dreams of grandeur.

“Yes. When I was old enough to understand such matters, I started to wonder if my mother had been forced or seduced by the Egyptian merchant.” Carys stayed silent. She had been wondering the same thing a moment ago. Did he have the answer to that terrible question? “Then one day, when I was about sixteen, she told me she had been unable to resist the lure of a man the likes of which she had never seen before. She told me I looked exactly like him and would one day be able to get all the women I wanted in my bed. It took me a long time to forgive her this confidence I didn’t want to hear.”

Yes, she could well imagine such a confession would have been a burden to him. But how not to sympathize with the woman? If the Egyptian merchant had possessed half of his son’s dark appeal, it was no wonder she had succumbed to temptation. Hadn’t Carys herself done the same that very afternoon?

Yes, she had. But, unlike James’ mother at the time, she was not married. She had been free to act on the desire she felt toward James, and she shouldn’t feel guilty about what they had done. She didn’t exactly, or at least, she didn’t feel she had betrayed her husband’s memory. It was not so much the fact that they had shared intimacies only lovers shared that made her ill-at-ease, but rather the nature of those intimacies. Their tryst had been wild, and it had all been for her benefit.

James had not gotten any pleasure out of it, save the one of?—

“Don’t worry about it,” he said in a low rumble.

Carys started. How had he guessed what she was thinking about? Had she talked out loud again, as she was wont to do? It was possible.

“And there is no shame in what we did,” he continued. “It cannot have been new to you. I have not missed the way you speak about your late husband. You loved him and he loved you, so it stands to reason he would have wanted to ensure your satisfaction in bed. Do not tell me he didn’t give you such intimate pleasure?”

Well, as far as personal questions went, this one was rather blunt. Why was she even surprised? The man was nothing if not blunt. Nevertheless, she answered.

“No, of course Dewi pleasured me, in more ways than one.”

Carys blushed, unsure whether James would like her answer. Would he not prefer to hear he’d been the only one who’d ever made her explode in pleasure? Men had their ego, she knew, but she could not have lied and pretended Dewi had not cared about her needs or tried to bring her satisfaction in bed. He had. But he had never been that scandalous. He would never have lain with her outside in the open, at the risk of being walked upon. He had never made her beg for his attentions. He had never feasted on every part of her, including the most forbidden one. Up until that day, she would not have thought such a thing possible, and if she had, she would have thought James Mortimer the last man willing to indulge in such decadence.

“What about your wife? Did she give you pleasure?” she asked, not feeling equal to the task of discussing what she and Dewi had done or not done in bed. Being on horseback and not looking at one another helped with the awkwardness of the conversation, but it was still rather intimate.

“Yes, she did.” He didn’t hesitate. “I loved her, but, even if I hadn’t, as I’m sure you’re aware, it is much easier for a man to reach his pleasure anyway.”

Another blunt statement. But he had a point, Carys had to admit. She had not felt much during her encounters with Alun, the first man she had taken to her bed after Dewi’s death, but he certainly had, even if he had not felt anything special toward her. There definitely was an inequality between men and women’s ability to feel pleasure, her discussions with her female friends had made that clear. Not many of them had a satisfactory marriage in that respect. As far as she could tell, she had been one of a few whose sensual needs had been fulfilled by their husbands.

Which only made what she had found with Dewi, and now with James, more special. She would fight for it.

“Why didn’t you, then?”

“Didn’t what?”

“Reach your pleasure, earlier. With m-me.” Not having expected to have to spell it out, she was stammering dreadfully. Surely he knew what she meant? “Why didn’t you take me after you … ” Her voice trailed when he finally looked at her. His eyes were two black pools of fire.

“Because it is only too possible that, in taking you, I would lose a part of me. And I fear I haven’t any left to spare.”

It was a few days before Carys built up the courage to look James in the eye.

His unexpected, puzzling answer was lingering between them like heavy mist, muddling her thoughts, blurring her understanding. In taking you, I would lose a part of me. And I haven’t any left to spare. What had he meant by those cryptic words?

She had no idea.

So she kept her distance as much as she could and, whenever they met, as was inevitable in such a small place, she did not exchange more than a perfunctory word with him. Mercifully, he did not push the issue, allowing her time to come to terms with the sudden and puzzling development in their relationship. The weather decided to help her by holding off rain and going as far as letting the sun shine. This clemency meant that she could spend her days away from the castle, foraging in the forest for plants to bring back to Avice.

Spring was now well underway and Carys let the simple pleasure of being out in nature wash over her. This was her first English spring, and it felt somehow significant, like a fresh opportunity to be seized.

But a fresh opportunity to do what?

All she could think of revolved around James. But he didn’t seem prepared to give them a chance, crippled by fears she didn’t understand.

In taking you, I would lose a part of me. And I haven’t any left to spare.

Just what did he mean? It was an odd thing to say, as anyone would agree. But perhaps the oddest thing of all was the thought whirring in her own head in response to his statement: In allowing you to take me, I would gain a part of me I refused to accept I needed. And it would finally make me complete.

Really, what nonsense this all was. She had better focus on tonight’s dinner. The ground was carpeted in soft dandelion leaves waiting for her, all the way from where she was standing to the oaks she could see spreading their branches in the distance. They, rather than James Mortimer, would benefit from her attention that afternoon.

Later, with her basket full, she decided to go to the herb garden to see if she could find something to add to the leaves she’d gathered. Encouraged by the generous sunshine, the first shoots were coming out. Perhaps some burnet, borage or chives would have dared venture above the soil. But in the end, Carys didn’t make it past the stone arch doorway. Matthew and Branwen were standing by the bench in the far corner and something about their attitude told her an interruption would not be welcome. Their fingers were entwined and they were gazing into one another’s eyes. There was such raw emotion on their faces that she could not help a smile. Was there anything better than to love and be loved in return?

If there was, she’d yet to find out what it might be.

Slowly, so as not to alert them to her presence, Carys retreated back into the lists. But before she could turn around and disappear, Matthew did something that froze her into place. He fell to his knees in front of Branwen and kissed her stomach. There was such reverence in the gesture that there was no need to hear what her daughter had just told him. She was with child at last. As if to confirm it, Branwen started crying. Even from a distance, it was clear that these were happy tears. And unless Carys was mistaken, Matthew was sobbing as well, holding his wife as tightly as if he wanted them to fuse as one.

In a way, they had, in the form of a babe they would soon get to hold in their arms.

Her first grandchild.

Carys found her own cheeks were wet with tears when she took a final step back to hide herself from view. A grandchild. How wonderful. She had started to suspect Branwen’s secret but had not dared to hope, or talk to her about it in case she was mistaken. Now she knew it wouldn’t be long before they had another discussion.

“Are you all right?”

The deep voice sent a shiver up her whole body. Hastily she wiped the tears from her cheeks before turning to look at James. He would know she’d been crying but there was no helping it. If he hadn’t suspected it already, he would not have asked the question.

“Yes, yes. I’m … I’ll be fine.”

“Is it my fault?” he asked, looking more anxious than she had ever seen him. His usually inscrutable face now appeared ridden with guilt. “Was I too forceful with you the other day? Is that why you’ve been avoiding me these last few days?”

Forceful? That wasn’t the word she would have used. Outrageous? Most definitely. Did she regret it? No. Did she want more?

A hundred times yes.

“No. You did nothing wrong and I was not crying because of any distress you might have caused me,” she assured him, realizing only now that by having avoided him, she had allowed him to worry about his treatment of her the day on the beach. It had not been her intention.

“What then? There is something.”

Her eyes burned anew with unshed tears. Yes, there was something. “Unless I am mistaken, I am soon to have a grandchild.”

James’ whole body seemed to relax now that she’d made clear he was not responsible for her bout of crying. Slowly, so as to reassure him further, she nudged him toward the arch doorway and nodded at Matthew and Branwen, who were still locked in a tender embrace.

“That’s wonderful news,” he said, sounding somewhat gruffer than usual.

Carys stilled. Was he fighting tears as well? A smile came to tease her lips. It certainly sounded as if the impassible man was moved at the idea of a woman being with child. Who would have thought it? Every day she discovered a little bit more about him. He could be passionate, whimsical, protective, emotional even, in his own way. And every day she liked him a bit more. Moved herself, she took her hand in his. Just like that, the awkwardness she had felt in the last few days was gone. She just wanted to share this incredible moment with him because she knew why the news had affected him so much. Having lost his children, he would have thought never to know the joy of becoming a grandfather.

For different reasons, they had both been in the same situation. And now, they were both to know a joy they had thought out of their reach.

“You know, this baby is going to be my grandchild without actually being related to me by blood,” she murmured. He knew now she had not given birth to Branwen or Eirwen. “By the same token, it will be yours as well. Didn’t you tell me you and Matthew had more of a father-to-son relationship than anything else? That you helped raise him when he was adopted by the late Lord Sheridan as a young boy?”

He hesitated. “Aye, I did, when he had no one else to look up to. But we always knew I was not really his father. Richard is, and now they have been reunited.”

Though he didn’t say the rest, she understood all too well.

Now he doesn’t need me anymore.

Her heart melted. Raised by a man who had not been his real father, taking care of a boy who was not of his loins, he’d never felt secure in his place. Except as Joanne’s husband. But his wife was now dead, and he did not have anything to show for their years of love. His children were long gone, as was she, and he didn’t have anyone left.

It was a lonely life, even more lonely than hers, who at least had Branwen and Eirwen to love.

“It makes no difference whether Matthew has been reunited with Richard or not. You were the one who was there for him when he needed it the most. He will not forget it just because he is a grown man and about to have a child of his own. On the contrary, he will want you to be a part of his son or daughter’s life.” Certain of herself, she gave his hand a squeeze. “In any case, I hear it was thanks to you that son and father were reunited. He will be grateful for that, if for nothing else.”

She had heard the whole story through Branwen during their travel to England.

A year ago, the carpenter had come to Sheridan Manor in search of Matthew’s mother, Rose. He’d just lost his wife and now that he was free, it had been his intention to marry the love of his life at last. Unfortunately, the poor maid had been long dead by then. Up until that day Matthew had believed his father to be an unscrupulous nobleman who had raped his mother and never bothered to find out if the encounter had resulted in a child.

Overwhelmed, unable to tell the devastated man the truth, Matthew had let Richard go without revealing he had fathered a son during his week of happiness with Rose some thirty years ago.

James, alerted by instinct, had suspected Matthew would come to regret his cowardice and want to know where to find his true father when he finally found the courage to speak to him. He’d befriended Richard and taken it upon himself to ask where he was residing. And indeed, less than a month later, the information had come in useful. Connor had summoned the carpenter all the way to Esgyrn Castle in Wales.

Thanks to James, father and son had been able not only to meet, but also to start to build a relationship. Without him, they might not have found each other again, and Richard would not now be living at Sheridan Manor. Matthew, who was a good man, would not forget what he owed the steward, just because his wife was about to give birth. On the contrary, becoming a father would show him all he owed to the man who had raised him as his.

“You have nothing to fear,” she concluded. “This babe will be your grandchild as much as he will be mine.”

James swallowed. Carys’ words of reassurance meant everything to him but just as important was the fact that she had seemed to get over her new shyness in front of him. For days she’d gone out of her way to avoid being alone with him and he’d hated it.

But she had just taken him by the hand and was smiling the radiant smile that never failed to clutch at his heart. Relief almost floored him. He had so dreaded to see her withdraw from him after their encounter on the beach. It would have been his fault if she had, and it would have been well deserved. Lost to his desire for her, he had been rather scandalous. At the time he’d had the impression that she had loved everything he’d done but the fact remained. He had taken liberties he should not have taken, and allowed his desire to overwhelm him. Never had he tasted a woman in such a scandalous manner before, but it had been unstoppable, delicious. He’d wanted to devour her whole, make her his in every way he could.

He still did.

The urge was more than a little frightening, because only last month he had thought to be done with women. When Margaret had tried, not so subtly, to make him understand she would be amenable to an arrangement between them, he had balked at the idea. He was too settled in his ways for the headache this would create, too old to even want to attempt something of the sort, too wary of the pain it could bring. Hope and lust were all well and good when you were a young lad eager to start a family, but a man his age should know better and be able to be satisfied with a more sensible arrangement. There was always an accommodating woman or two to be found in the village when his body demanded release and surely that was all he needed?

At least that was what he’d thought for years.

Now he was wondering if the issue had not been with the women offering to give him a second chance. None had captured his interest, they had only stirred his senses long enough for him to ease the tension in his body. But now … What had seemed unthinkable with Margaret didn’t frighten him half as much with Carys. Perhaps with a woman like her, he could find both pleasure in bed and contentment outside of it.

Yes. Perhaps. On principle.

Because in actual fact, he knew it would never happen. He was still too scared, and he didn’t see how that would change.

Years later he still remembered the awful, gut-wrenching pain of being handed a stillborn baby, or worse, of holding the dead body of a child you had rocked to sleep, learned to love and hoped to see grow one day into a man. Nothing would convince him to risk such a thing again.

No.

It was best to carry on like he had for years—and forget all about his unfortunate desire for delightful Welsh women.