Page 31 of A Second Chance for Carys
Then she turned to Margaret, who was reaching for the pitcher of mead, and plucked the cup from her hand before the woman could fill it up again.
“Come,” she said firmly. “We’ll leave these good people to work while we enjoy the sunshine outside. I was about to go for a stroll round the lists and I could do with some company. It’s always good to meet new people, don’t you think?”
To her relief, Margaret followed her without comment. She really was quite small, barely reaching to her chin, Carys observed, and rather scrawny. Next to James, who was at least a head taller than herself, she would look ridiculous. Not that it signified anything, of course, but still…
Wondering how best to broach the topic, Carys led her to the far end of the lists, toward the west tower. At first she commented on the various features of Sheridan Manor and the fine weather they’d been having of late. Then, once she was certain no one could hear them, she took a gamble.
“I understand you’re James Mortimer’s sister?”
Let’s see how the woman would rectify the mistake. The wrong assumption might pique her ego and make her want to boast about her future with the castle steward. Margaret didn’t disappoint. She giggled and took her arm as if they were the best of friends.
“Youaremistaken, I’m afraid. I am his sister-in-law, and soon to be wife.”
Well, that was clear enough. The woman did not doubt what would happen. But was she basing this on anything other than hope? That was the question.
“Congratulations.” It was hard to infuse much warmth in the word when her mouth felt as if it had been filled with ash but Margaret didn’t seem to notice anything. “Have you known each other long?”
Another giggle. Or rather another squeak. The woman reallywasjust like a mouse. “I’ve known him for almost thirty years if you’ll believe it. And I’ve been in love with him all this time. My sister met him thanks to me, and yet she was the one who got him in the end. How is that fair, you might ask? We looked very much alike, and our eyes were the exact same shade of blue. There was no reason for him to choose Joanne over me. If he wanted a blue-eyed wife, he could have had me.”
What a stupid thing to say. As if the way one looked was all that mattered. What about the way one smiled, the way one talked? The warmth in their eyes, or lack thereof, when they looked at you, the sensuality in their gestures, the timbre of their voice? And that was even before you considered what was in their minds. Choosing a life partner was a decision based on much more important considerations than the color of their eyes. Margaret had to have drunk more mead than Carys had supposed if she could think things like that, much less utter them out loud.
Or perhaps she was just as unlikeable as James had hinted.
“I can understand why you might have fallen in love with him,” was all she said.
This at least was no lie. Carys could well imagine falling for a man like James. Perhaps she had done more than imagine it. Perhaps she had already fallen for him. What else could explain her reaction when she’d been told she could never have him because he was going to marry another woman, a woman who was carrying his child?
Nothing.
Dear God, what a time to realize that you had fallen in love with someone, while she was talking to the woman who would be married to him before the week was out if she were indeed carrying his child.
“Do you know James then?” Margaret sounded delighted by the notion, as if this would only make her revelations more satisfying.
Know him…Carys bit her bottom lip. Yes, one could say that.
A memory of James ordering her to beg to be licked flashed through her mind. She ruthlessly forced it out.
“We have crossed paths on occasion.”
Her whispered answer was brushed to the side as if unimportant. “He’s everything a woman could wish for in a man,is he not? Tall, strong, with eyes that burn a path all the way from your breasts to your…”Instead of finishing the sentence, Margaret closed her eyes and gave a little moan. But Carys knew exactly where the heat of James’ gaze could reach. The description was surprisingly accurate, even if she hated to admit it. “Dear, oh, dear. You don’t meet men like him every day. The only way I could bear my husband’s touch all these years was by imagining James’ hands on me when he bedded me.”
The conversation was making Carys increasingly uncomfortable but she pushed on. This was not about her, but about finding out what had happened while James had been ill and, the more she heard, the more suspicious she became. He was right. Something was odd.
Margaret leaned in to her, as if about to confide something. Carys forced herself not to recoil when the sickly smell of mead hit her nostrils. She couldn’t betray her discomfort, not yet. “We slept together once more than twenty years ago, you know, the evening of my cousin’s wedding. He thought I was Joanne and he fucked me so thoroughly I almost passed out with the pleasure of it.”
Every single muscle in Carys’ body seized up. The woman had tricked her sister’s husband into sleeping with her? How? Did she even want to know? It could only be a sickening story, one that had nothing to do with what she was trying to find out, so she stayed silent. If she opened her mouth, her contempt would become too obvious to miss, even for a drunken woman, and Margaret would not utter another word.
How could she steer the conversation away from the woman’s unsavory dealings and back to what had happened while James had been in her cottage? In the end, she didn’t have to worry about it. Margaret was only too happy to gloat.
“I never forgot the pleasure he gave me that night so when he came to see me back in the summer, I thought I would die withhappiness.” She sighed. “But he didn’t seem interested in what I had to offer. Fortunately, he fell ill before he could leave for good. I could not believe my luck. Having him naked and all to myself in a bed night and day was the best thing that could have happened to me.”
The best thing? James had gone to her because two of her children had died in tragic circumstances. Then he had been so ill he’d fought for his life. And all Margaret could think was that she’d had him all to herself in bed. Carys thought she might be sick. What had the woman done while he lay at her mercy? It was little wonder James didn’t remember sleeping with his sister-in-law if Margaret had stroked him while he was unconscious and taken her pleasure without his knowledge or consent.
Was it even possible to make love to a man in such a state? To get him aroused physically while his mind could not fight the physical sensations, enough to allow intercourse to happen? She had no idea and, in truth, the less she thought about it, the better.
Bile in her throat, she waited for the rest of the distasteful story.
“I hoped when Joanne died that he might find comfort in my arms. I was freshly widowed myself then, and all available. But he never even came to see me. I suppose he took advantage of his new freedom to sleep with all the women in the county.”
