Page 6 of A Second Chance for Carys
“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 hecould 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?
Chapter Three
Four months later
“What’s the matter, Branwenbach?”
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.
