Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

“ S o... Your husband is back.”

“Yes.”

Esyllt didn’t know what to tell her friend. Branwen had heard her complain about her union with a stranger many times in the past few weeks, but today, she didn’t feel like ranting about Connor. The day before, when he had introduced her to his daughter, had made her look at him in a different light. The way he had kissed the little girl had moved her deeply. Then, later that evening, there had been Sian’s joy at meeting a stepsister her own age. She had been beside herself with joy and declared them the best of friends.

It was difficult to speak ill of the man who had given her daughter such a gift.

And, of course, there was the small matter of what he had done to her on the night of his return... Not that she would ever mention that to anyone, even her best friend, but it meant that she didn’t know quite what to think of her husband anymore.

“I don’t envy you,” Branwen observed. “Being married to a domineering Englishman has to be what every Welsh woman dreads.”

“He’s not domineering, exactly.”

No. That was not the word she would have used to describe him. With Gruffydd, perhaps, but not with her. With her he could be devious, stern, even manipulative at times, but never domineering. It was one of the things she liked the most about him. Whatever their differences, he dealt with her as an equal who could, and would defend herself, and what was even more important, she was never afraid of retribution.

So no, her virile warrior of a husband was not domineering.

Just then, as if he’d sensed she was talking about him, Connor strode into view. Crossing the bailey, he made his way to the stables with fluid steps that gave the impression he was about to break into a run.

“There he is,” Esyllt said, struck anew by his masculine presence.

“ He ’s your husband!” For all that they had discussed him at length, Branwen had never seen him before and her shock was evident. “But... I thought you said he was a monster!”

Esyllt gave a sigh. She had said that, when Gruffydd had informed her of her impending marriage, because that had been what she’d feared at the time. She had then repeated it while he was in England, when she had wanted to hang on to the pretense that she was better off without him. As a consequence, her friend could be forgiven for thinking the worst of Connor.

“Yes, well,” she said with a cough, not knowing how to rectify this impression without appearing like a lovestruck fool.

“He doesn’t look like a monster from where I’m standing, not even near.”

“No,” Esyllt agreed. He did not. In fact he looked nothing short of stunning. A groom brought his stallion to him, and he started to examine the animal as if in search of an injury. His touch was gentle, his gestures slow and careful. For a long moment he ran his hands over the horse’s legs, then, apparently satisfied, gave him a tap on the rump.

Esyllt’s buttocks tingled as if he’d just patted her there and heat crept to the place between her legs, the place where he had placed his mouth only the other day. Arglwydd Mawr , was she ever going to forget the sensations he had awoken in her with his tongue? To think they had not even yet shared a real kiss, only a swift brushing of the lips...

With difficulty, she tore her gaze from her husband and made to lead Branwen into the solar where she had asked refreshments to be brought earlier. After reminiscing about the scandalous encounter with Connor, she was in sore need of a drink. But her friend did not move and instead kept looking in his direction. She was fascinated, which was all too easily understandable. Anyone would be.

Esyllt waited, hoping he would not see the two of them leering at him. They were hidden in the shadow of the tower but you never knew.

“And who is that?” Branwen asked as a second man emerged from the stables.

“That’s his brother Matthew.”

“Brother! They look nothing like each other. Are we to question the late Lady Sheridan’s morality?” she asked in a mischievous giggle.

Esyllt laughed in turn, relieved at the break in tension. “No. Matthew is his milk brother, actually. But I’ve never seen two men share a closer bond than these two.” The laughter died in her throat when she thought back to the trick they had played on the night before their wedding.

Indeed. The two men did everything together. Had they ever shared a woman, she now wondered? It was not impossible.

At that moment Matthew turned to face the tower. Branwen sucked in a breath, clearly as struck as Esyllt had been the night of his arrival.

“My word. I might have to change my opinion of Englishmen.”

“Don’t. This one is an ogre,” Esyllt warned. “He might be one of the most good-looking men you’ve ever seen but he despises the Welsh. I’m not sure he doesn’t despise all women, come to that.” She made a face. Since his arrival, he had not had a kind word for her. The only compliment he had paid her had been when he’d posed as her betrothed. Oh, how he must have enjoyed duping her. “The man is as stubborn as they come and seems determined to make my life uncomfortable.”

As if to prove the truth of her words, it wasn’t long before he spotted them. He must have a sixth sense where she was concerned. A smirk on his lips, he walked toward them while Connor vaulted on top of his stallion.

“Plotting again, Lady Sheridan?” Matthew always made a point of using her title and making it sound as if she had usurped it.

“No. I’m afraid the Welsh language is far too primitive to discuss anything as subtle as political upheaval,” she answered, as Connor started to ride toward them. My... He was at one with the strong animal, and just as elegant. She could not tear her eyes from him, even as she carried on talking to Matthew. “All we can do is talk about the awful weather plaguing our country or compare our respective skin diseases. Be assured that all the plotting that is conducted against England is conducted in English.”

Connor laughed as he brought his horse to a halt by her side. It was a warm, appreciative laugh that reached a place deep inside her. He might not like to be challenged, but he seemed to like it when she challenged others. It was a start.

“Well, Matthew, that is all good information for you, desperate as you are to further your knowledge of all things Welsh.” He tilted his head to her. “Thank you, wife, that puts us back in our place. We shall leave you and your friend so you can discuss your revolting bodies and ungodly weather in peace.”

Matthew bowed, looking none too pleased. It was not hard to imagine that, usually, the two brothers were on the same side and he had not like being mocked.

Branwen let out a little nervous cough. Never one at ease with confrontation, especially with men, her friend tried to soothe the sting of her rejection. “Forgive Esyllt, she’s?—”

“Who?” Matthew cut in, contempt curling his lips.

“Me!” Esyllt cried, goaded beyond endurance. “Believe it or not, my name is not Lady Sheridan.” She knew the wretched man thought she was only allowed to exist in relation to Connor, an Englishman. “It is Esyllt ferch Llewelyn.”

“Of course it is,” Matthew said on a laugh. She glared at him. Difficult as he might be, at least her husband would never dare do anything so hurtful as to mock her just for having a Welsh name. “And how on earth are we supposed to say that?”

“With your mouth, like everyone else. And if you can’t, then I suggest you keep it shut.”

With this sally, she stormed in the direction of the solar.

Later that afternoon, shortly after Branwen had left, Esyllt received Gruffydd’s visit. She braced herself for a difficult moment. The old man’s behavior, never what she would have called pleasant, was quickly becoming unbearable.

“How are things going with the Englishman?” he asked, looking around with an eagle eye. “Has everyone turned against him yet?”

“No, and that might well never happen, for he is a fair and measured master. The people here at Castell Esgyrn have nothing bad to say about him. He has not given them any cause for complaints, quite the contrary.”

This answer, for all its honesty, was not to his liking. “We had better start giving them cause for complaints, then, hadn’t we?”

“What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “Rumors can ruin a man. A few chosen words falling into the right ears, and someone who was admired can become the most reviled man in the country. Lechery, murder, everything would be believable coming from an Englishman. No one would question what they hear. Besides, as he cannot understand what the servants would say, or even realize they were talking about him, he would be unable to set things right. ’Tis perfect.”

“You would stoop so low?” Esyllt was both incensed and disgusted.

“I would do whatever is necessary to make the accursed English think twice about coming here and stealing what’s ours.”

He meant to lie and paint Connor as a lecherous, dangerous tyrant, a murderer. He could try, but she would have no part in it. “I will not spread slander against my husband,” she said with decision.

If Connor was to be hated or despised, let it be for something he had done, not because an evil man was working in the shadows to besmirch his name.

Gruffydd had made her marry him, and in doing so, he had placed her in a position of strength. She was no longer a pawn in his game. She was a married woman now, mistress of her own castle, with men ready to do her bidding. She was not powerless anymore. He could not make her do his dirty work.

“I’m not sure it would work anyway,” she said more amenably, thinking it safer not to antagonize him too much. Perhaps he could be made to see reason. After all, if what he wanted were better conditions for the local Welsh people, this could be achieved through peaceful means. “I told you, his actions have made clear to all that he is not to be feared in any way. The fact that he turned out to be so reasonable in his dealings with our people could be used to our advantage. He could perhaps win around some of his more powerful friends to our way of thinking. It would be a more long term, profitable solution, as I’m sure you’ll agree. If you get rid of him, he will only be replaced by another, less amenable lord.”

Gruffydd was not interested in her arguments. He grabbed her by the elbow and drew her to him. “Stop trying to justify the unjustifiable. You will heed my instructions or, I swear I?—”

“Are you threatening my wife?”

Connor appeared as if out of nowhere. His voice was calm, but there was no mistaking the intent in his voice or in his eyes. He was glaring at Gruffydd, certain he’d interrupted an argument. Though he didn’t understand Welsh, he would have picked up on the aggression in the man’s voice and her defensive position.

“Your wife!” Gruffydd scoffed. “You need not behave as if you doted on the woman. You only married her because I arranged it.”

“That doesn’t make her less my wife than if I had arranged the union myself.” Connor was still calm but the undertone in his voice was now icy. Esyllt shivered. In a moment he might well start making threats or even draw out his sword.

“Do not pride yourself on the fact. I could have married her myself. God knows I thought about it often enough.”

Esyllt sensed Connor had turned to face her, but she could not look at him. She was too busy staring at the Welshman in open-mouthed astonishment. This was the first time she had heard about a possible union between the two of them. Was it true he’d considered making her his wife, or was he making it up to earn himself some legitimacy over the Englishman? Perhaps. In any case, the idea of her being married to the old goat sent shivers up her spine. Welsh as he was, he would prove an awful husband.

As if guessing she needed some support to stop herself from crumbling, Connor placed a hand on the small of her back. She barely refrained from sagging against him in thanks. Never had any show of unity been more appreciated.

“You might have almost married her but you did not,” he said, putting an end to the loathsome matter. “ I did. And now she’s my wife. You had better remember it.”

Esyllt shivered again. He sounded fierce, proprietary, but not in a worrying way, rather as if he were proud to call her his, and would do anything to protect her.

Gruffydd, who was not a fool for all his bluster, did not miss the veiled threat and stayed silent. Despite the frosty atmosphere, something warm bloomed inside Esyllt. Whatever their disagreements in private, in public Connor would stand by her whenever the need arose. The hand on her back slid lower, spreading the warmth even further.

“I believe the two of you were finished?” His tone made it clear it was not a question.

She nodded, eager to escape the Welshman’s oppressive presence. “Yes, we were.”

With luck, that would be the last she saw of the man.