Page 8 of A Second Chance for Carys
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 areyou 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 eyeshadsparkled.
“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’sfurry 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 torememberthem?
“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.
