Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

“ F ather, did you know that Sian means Jane in Welsh?” Jane asked, taking her stepsister’s hand in hers.

Connor saw Esyllt blush. Now he understood her reaction when he’d announced his daughter’s name. She had seemed caught out. At the time he had attributed the flush to the realization that the mysterious Jane was not, contrary to what she’d thought, his mistress. Now he knew different.

“No, I did not know, for no one told me,” he answered, looking at his wife pointedly. She blushed again, and he felt his lip curl. Teasing that delicious color out of her had become his favorite pastime. It made her glow.

“Sian said she would teach me to speak Welsh. That way we can have secrets just between the two of us. Isn’t that great?” the little girl said, oblivious to the direction his mind had taken.

Connor clenched his jaw, all thoughts of his wife’s beauty instantly forgotten. He knew very well what Jane was really saying, and why the idea of a secret language appealed to her so. How had he not seen this coming? To her, Sian would be much more than a friend, or even a stepsister. That was what he had wanted, but he hoped it would not end up causing her more pain.

“Your plan has a flaw in it, little niece. You are forgetting that Lady Sheridan speaks Welsh, as do all the people in this castle,” Matthew pointed out, earning himself a grateful glance. His brother had come to his rescue without prompting, as per usual. Unsurprisingly, Matthew had guessed what was playing on his mind and he had drawn Jane’s attention away from him to give him time to recover.

“It will be a secret from Father and you, that is the important thing,” Jane said with the air of someone talking to a simpleton. Then she turned to Esyllt with an angelic smile. “My lady, will you promise to keep anything you hear Sian and me say a secret from my uncle and father?”

“I do,” his wife answered solemnly. Indeed, who could have resisted that smile? Not him. “Though I do not believe there should be secrets in a marriage.”

Connor could not help it. He arched a brow. This comment had been meant for him, that made no doubt. Was she saying she believed he was hiding something from her? He cleared his throat. He was not, not precisely...

“That’s not a problem,” Jane told Esyllt, looking suddenly much older than her seven years. “You and Uncle Matthew are not married, are you?”

“No, we’re not, and I bet he’s mighty glad of it.”

“Then he’s a fool, for you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I cannot wait for you to give me another sister.”

Another sister.

Connor felt his insides wither.

Another sister.

There was no prize guessing what Jane meant. After such a short time she already considered Sian as her sister. Esyllt’s heart melted when the two little girls clasped hands. To think she had worried about her daughter’s well-being while she’d waited for her groom to arrive. But having a new family might well be the making of her. She turned to throw Connor a grateful glance, but something about the way he was clenching his jaw froze the smile on her lips. He looked... He looked like he had never looked before.

Like a man in pain.

His eyes were also shinier than usual. Was he about to cry? From the way Matthew was gesticulating to keep his niece’s attention focused on him, Esyllt understood that she was not wrong. Something was amiss, and he didn’t want Jane to realize it.

“Come, girls, I know that the cook is making apple and walnut tarts today. The smell almost had me swooning when I walked past the kitchen earlier, and I think you two might be able to charm one out of her for me.”

Jane gave a scoff. “If we manage to get one, we’ll share it between us, be sure of it! You won’t get a crumb.”

“We’ll see about that. Let’s try and get that tart first, shall we?”

Esyllt shook her head in disbelief. Whenever the children were present, Matthew was a different man, cheerful and carefree. She’d often thought that his only redeeming feature was the unconditional love he bore his brother. Now she would have to add the feelings he harbored toward his niece to the list. He doted on the little girl, who adored him in turn. As if that was not enough, he had also taken to Sian, who regarded him as the uncle she’d never had. All that made it impossible for Esyllt to hate him, as she felt sure she should.

But perhaps she should not be surprised, for it was just as she had suspected. With people he trusted, he was all charm and smiles. The girls adored her, his men respected him, Connor considered him as a real brother, the servants had nothing to say about his behavior. It was only with her that he insisted on showing his boorish side.

“Come, I’ll race you to the kitchen!”

The three of them disappeared in a chorus of laughter.

“My lord, are you quite all right?” Esyllt asked once she and Connor were alone.

Their eyes met, and she had the sensation someone had punched her in the stomach. He was glowering at her. For a moment she could not understand what she might have said, or done to provoke his anger, then she realized it was not really aimed at her. He simply hated that she’d seen his moment of weakness. Up until then he had always been the one in control, the one who could make her recoil or grow weak at the knees.

But now...

Now he was the one ill-at-ease and she felt as if she had the upper hand.

Ignoring her question, he stood up and helped himself to a cup of ale from the pitcher on the trestle table. When he came back to face her, he was his usual commanding self once more. She knew then that he would not reveal what had happened, and that she would not force him.

“Let us go to the village today and meet the people.” He was as composed as if he had not been on the verge of a collapse moments ago. “It is time for my new tenants to be introduced to their lord, and for me to see what the feeling toward the English is.”

Esyllt gave him a slanted look. “I can already tell you what that feeling is. Wariness in the main, fear mingled with suspicion for the rest, and of course the occasional burst of hatred.” No, unfortunately, she had no illusion about the welcome the English lord of Castell Esgyrn would get.

He heard the news with equanimity, as she could have guessed. “Well then. It is lucky I’ve never been a man to turn down a challenge.”

“It is indeed, for you will have your hands full. Not to mention that you don’t speak their language.” She didn’t mean to make him feel bad but, undoubtedly, that was a complication.

“No, I don’t. But if I remember correctly, I am married to someone who does.” The smile that followed the words would have reduced any woman to a quivering mess, Esyllt told herself to justify the weakening in her knees. It was not that she was too easily swayed, it was simply that he was too irresistible for words. “Will you come with me and face the hordes of enemies baying for my blood?”

“Yes.” The word was out of her mouth before she could think.

In truth, she was impressed to see that her English husband wanted to introduce himself to his new tenants rather than stay hidden away behind the castle walls like a mighty lord, was brave enough to confront people he knew would not give him the best welcome and wanted to earn their approval. That he’d asked her to accompany him was the proof that, just like he’d told Gruffydd, he wanted to include her in the managing of the estate. She knew he was not taking her along just because she spoke Welsh.

He took her hand and kissed the fingers in a gallant gesture that had now become familiar. “Come. With a lady like you at my side, I cannot fail to win every heart.”

Alas, it was not to be. As far as Esyllt could tell, no heart had been won that day.

As they left the village, her ears were still ringing from the shouting they’d had to endure and her body was still trembling from indignation and fear combined. Connor did not seem overly affected by the reception he’d gotten, however. Cantering by her side, he seemed as relaxed as he had been when they had set off that morning.

“What did you say? Suspicion at best, hostility at worst? I think I know which category the men we just saw belong to,” he said, bringing his horse back down to a trot. “Perhaps the next village will not be as bad.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” she mumbled.

“Your honesty does you credit, wife, and I fear you may be right.” He flashed his teeth, not in the least worried. “In the end it was probably a good thing that my sword broke. I should perhaps thank the blacksmith who forged it, for I’m not sure what would have happened otherwise.”

Esyllt could not believe he was talking so blithely about what had been one of the worst moments of her life.

Morgan, the cooper, had attacked Connor with an axe. An axe! She had scarcely been able to credit it, and the violence of the ensuing confrontation had deeply shocked her. It was one thing watching men practice swordplay in the bailey to hone their skill, but this had been different. There was no doubt the Welshman, who was a notorious drunkard, had aimed to kill his lord in the most gruesome manner imaginable.

Even though Connor had done his best not to hurt the man, faced with such a weapon, he’d had no other choice but to defend himself. His skill as a knight had been enough to ensure he came to no harm against a drunken novice but, as he was parrying a particularly vicious blow from Morgan, his sword had broken clean in half. Cries of protest had instantly filled the village square. One could not wield an axe against an unharmed opponent, they all agreed to that at least. The villagers had all rushed to Morgan in case he decided to forget all sense of honor and carried on anyway. It was one thing meeting a knight in combat, quite another hacking at a defenseless man.

“Morgan will have been relieved with this outcome, even if he would never admit it,” she observed, doing her best to hide how distraught she had been to see Connor face a madman brandishing an axe. “He’d probably started to realize that he would never best you, addled though his mind was by drink.”

“My wife is a connoisseur of swordplay, then.” Connor arched an eyebrow. “I’m impressed.”

“I know a good swordsman when I see one, so I know you did not fight as hard as you could have.” It had quickly become clear, even to the untrained villagers, that her husband was doing nothing more than prevent Morgan from hurting him, allowing him to vent his rage without posing a threat to his life.

“Of course I didn’t. If I had, he would have found himself with the tip of my sword through the heart in no time.”

The bloody image made her grimace.

“Why did you hold back? You could have bested him a dozen times over and, in truth, he deserved it. He was the one who attacked you.”

She had been thoroughly disgusted and ashamed by the man’s behavior. How were the English supposed to want to treat her countrymen like equals when they behaved with such crudeness and exhibited such lack of judgment? It had been clear that Connor had come in a spirit of conciliation and yet he had been met with nothing but hostility. Before he’d even had the chance to explain what plans he had for the village, Morgan had launched himself at him.

“Would you have rather I humiliated him in front of the whole village? That would not have been the wise thing to do,” Connor said. “I think he would have preferred I cut his hand clean off. He would never have lived it down if I had sent him sprawling to the dirt with his friends, and perhaps his enemies, watching.”

“Yes... Of course, you’re right.”

Esyllt sighed. Indeed it was better that way. She was certain the Welshman would never have provoked Connor if he had suspected him of being such an accomplished knight. Just before he’d run at him, axe in hand, she’d heard him tell his friends he would teach the pretty boy a lesson. Pretty boy! She had almost laughed out loud. For all his beauty and smooth manners, her husband was all man, as Morgan had found out to his cost.

But perhaps all was not lost.

When they had left, she could tell the tide had started to turn in favor of Connor. Faced with his skill and determination not to kill or even hurt a man who had struck first and would have deserved to be taught a lesson no one would forget, the villagers had reluctantly given him the respect he had hoped to earn.

It might not be as hard as she had first feared to make them see they had been lucky to be placed under the protection of a man like him, English though he may be. They might come to accept their new master as easily as the servants at Castell Esgyrn had, as easily as she had made her peace with the idea of being married to him.

Because she was now not only accepting of the idea, but proud to be his wife.

During the fight she had wanted him to win, not Morgan, and when his sword had broken, her heart had almost stopped beating. For a dreadful moment she had feared for his life and the distress this had provoked inside her had been so acute she knew she was going to have to examine her feelings soon. Perhaps pride was not the only feeling Connor elicited inside her.

“But how could your sword break so?” she asked, as they came to halt by the river. After the long ride, the horses needed a drink and she was glad of the respite herself.

He merely shrugged. “Who knows? It is rare but it happens. One can never rule out a defect in the making of a sword or indeed of any object. Oh, well, better now than in the midst of battle, I say.”

Yes. Cold invaded her. Indeed.

“So, do you think?—”

Connor abruptly stopped and frowned, looking into the distance. A group of small grey and chestnut horses had just crested the hill and was thundering toward them.

“Welsh ponies,” Esyllt murmured, echoing his thoughts. These were not English knights mounted on destriers, but possibly rowdy villagers running after them, in search of trouble. “We must hide,” she cried, looking at his empty scabbard. Evidently, she worried he would be unable to defend himself if they were attacked.

Before he could point out that he was not a man to cower and hide, she drew him to the other side of the oak tree. At its foot was a shallow ditch. She all but pushed him down into it then came to lie next to him, covering their mercifully dark clothes with dried leaves.

Smiling to himself, Connor allowed Esyllt to do as she saw fit. If the men were really from the village and bent on trouble, then he agreed he would be better off out of the way. He was unarmed, after all. And even if the riders turned out to be mere travelers, their arrival could still spell trouble. He was not worried about himself, but he would not be able to defend Esyllt without a weapon if they decided to try their luck with a beautiful woman.

More to the point, it warmed something inside of him to see her jump to his defense and want to protect him from harm. And being pressed against a warm, beautiful woman was not exactly unpleasant. So he dutifully lay on the ground when she gave him a shove that would have failed to move a kitten.

“Stay still,” she whispered. “Let them ride past. They won’t see us hidden where we are.”

“I daresay they won’t. We are buried in dried leaves. I’m grateful they are not soggy with rain, at least.”

“I’m sorry, I panicked,” Esyllt murmured in his ear, sounding contrite. She must have realized how ridiculous it was for the lord and lady of the castle to lie on the forest floor under a pile of leaves. He smiled. Not ridiculous exactly. Endearing rather. “I don’t think you’re a coward, only it?—”

“I know.” He could not quite hide the laugh in his voice. “You thought that I was only one man. I’m sure I cannot fault you for that observation, however much it hurts my vanity.”

He felt her tremble against him and thought for a moment she was beside herself with fear, then he understood she was fighting a giggle.

A moment later the forest filled with the noise of snorting horses and laughing men. Welshmen. It soon became clear that they were merely travelers pausing to water their horses, not angry villagers who had set off in pursuit of their English master with the intention of hacking him to pieces. Still, now that they were hidden, they had better remain where they were. It would be awkward to be seen coming from a ditch together, covered in leaves, and draw unnecessary attention to themselves.

With his wife pressed tight against him, Connor closed her eyes. It felt good to have her in his arms. Allowing everything to disappear from his mind, he reveled in her touch while the men caroused in the distance.

And then the noises around them changed. Laughter stopped. He guessed that the men had seen their two horses and realized someone else was out there in the forest.

Connor’s eyes snapped open. “What are they saying?” he asked Esyllt. “Can you hear?”

“They are wondering where the horses have come from and where the riders are,” she whispered back.

He nodded. He had suspected as much. “Are they suspicious?” Were the men about to pounce?

“No. They seem to think...” She stopped.

“To think?” The two words made it clear she had better finish her sentence. He needed to be ready in case the men decided to look for them.

“They have guessed from their build and saddles that they belong to a man and a woman. They seem to think that two lovers have gone into the woods to...”

“Gone for a tryst, you mean,” he supplied when she faltered again.

“Yes.”

He barely repressed a snort, utterly charmed by her embarrassment.

Then coarse laughter reached their ears and Connor stiffened. Why was he amused? This was serious. If the men thought a woman was this moment naked and in close proximity, they might well think to dispose of her vulnerable lover and take his place between her legs. By the sound of things, there were at least five or six of them. With such odds, it would not be long before he was overpowered.

“Are they considering coming to find the hapless pair and make the most of the woman’s charms?” he growled in her ear.

“No,” Esyllt breathed, sounding as appalled by the prospect as he felt. “But I fear they are considering taking the horses with them.”

Of course. How had he not thought of that? His stallion alone would be worth a fortune, an irresistible temptation to poor people.

Should he go to the men before it was too late and impress them with his status and physique?

Before he could make a decision, Esyllt pressed her palm over his chest. She had read his intentions and was telling him not to move. “They won’t. One of them has pointed out that a man in possession of such a mount is probably an important knight, able to hold his own against untrained opponents. They will not risk his wrath now or retribution later. They know Storm will be too easily recognized when you start looking for him.”

“Good.” The travelers had shown themselves to be sensible and honest. The rest of his fears were allayed. Such men would not hurt Esyllt, even if they saw her. He relaxed again.

A moment later a thunder of hooves was heard. The men were gone.