Page 45 of A Second Chance for Carys
That decided her.
Next time she saw him, she would drag him back to bed and make love to him. If he had accepted that he wanted to be with her, as she suspected, then he would allow himself to enjoy the physical pleasure she could bring him without worrying about the consequences. With Margaret out of the way, and the last of his doubts and fears mastered, they would finally be able to be together as lovers should be.
But once again, fate had other ideas.
As if it had decided that they would have to earn the right to be together by weathering all the setbacks a couple was capable of enduring, that morning, a boy came from the village to inform them that Eirwen had fallen ill with the measles.
The need to go to her daughter wiped everything else from Carys’ mind. She stared at Branwen, who shared her dismay, then ran to the stables, where she asked for the gentle mare to be saddled.
“Oh, Mam,” Branwen whimpered when she had caught up with her at last. Her great belly made her slower than usual, something she hated. “I wish I could go with?—”
“No, you are not to place yourself or the babe in any danger, do you hear?” Her daughter could not fall ill as well, not when she was so near her term, not ever. What Matthew would say if he found his wife in bed with a fever when he came back from Wales was too dire to contemplate. Howshewould feel knowing she had not done what was needed to protect Branwen and her baby didn’t bear thinking about. She would have to do this trip alone. “I will go to Eirwen, stay with her for as long as I have to. I won’t come back to Sheridan Manor until she has recovered. Tell the people here no one is to visit me.”
Tell James, especially, she wanted to add. He would want to bring her whatever comfort he could. But he was not to come anywhere near her, not when he could bring the illness back to the castle with him, not when he was barely recovering from alife-threatening fever himself. Carys had had the measles as a child, so she hoped she would not get it again, but even without this assurance, she would have gone to tend to her daughter. There was no choice. It was what mothers did.
Branwen nodded and placed a hand on her rounded stomach. “Tell Eirwen I love her and wish I had come. Tell her my son is impatient to meet his aunt.”
“I will.”
After one last kiss, Carys kicked her mare into a trot, wishing she had the skill to urge the animal into a gallop. But now was not the time to be reckless. If she broke her neck, it would not help anyone.
At the cottage, she found Mistress Ivy racked with guilt.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, coming to hold the reins while Carys dismounted. “She insisted on helping with my neighbor Bessie’s daughter, who fell ill three days ago. I should have insisted she stayed at home, but?—”
“None of this is your fault.” Carys forced herself to be reasonable, and say the right thing, but her chest felt hollow with worry. “Working with you has given Eirwen a purpose in life, I wouldn’t want that taken away from her now. I know she would have wanted to help. And fortunately, you know all there is to know about the illness. If anyone can save her, it is you. Please take me to her.”
Mistress Ivy tethered the horse to the fence and led her inside the cottage, where they found Eirwen sleeping on the pallet. Her face and neck were covered in red spots, her hair was matted with sweat and her breathing was much too fast. To combat the fever, she was dressed in only her shift. It was as bad as Carys had feared.
She fell to her knees and took her daughter’s hand in hers. “Cariad. I’m here. It will be fine. I’m here.”
There was no reaction.
“Don’t let her lack of answer worry you.” Her friend placed a hand on her shoulder. “The important thing is to keep her cool and make sure she drinks plenty.”
“Yes. How long has she been like this?”
“It started yesterday. I didn’t want to call for you straight away but when she was still the same this morning, I?—”
“You did well. Now please, show me where you keep your supply of linen.”
As she bathed her daughter’s forehead later that night, Carys thought of James.
James, who had lost four children. James, who had fought for his life as well last year. James who had held her through the night, James who was afraid of his feelings for her. James, who was waiting at Sheridan Manor.
He needed to be told not to worry, that she would be back.
“Can I see your nephew again?” she asked Mistress Ivy in the morning, as she took the time to break her fast. She had not eaten anything the evening before and she was famished. “I need to send a message to Sheridan Manor.”
“Of course. I’ll ask Ellen to go get him. And then it’s off to bed with you. You look half dead from exhaustion.”
The day Carys and Eirwen finally came back from the village, James was not there to welcome them. He’d taken to helping the woodcutters fell the trees in the forest in a bid to stop obsessing about the fact that he’d once again been denied the chance to act on his desire for the woman he now felt able to be with.
She regularly sent him messages through the healer’s nephew, assuring him all was as well as could be hoped with Eirwen. Her daughter was finally over the worst but still toofeeble to be moved. In turn, he kept assuring her that all was well with Branwen, who was getting lovelier by the day and was now eager for her husband’s return.
When he walked through the barbican one evening, exhausted by a whole day spent swinging his axe, he saw three women standing in the bailey. Three women talking in Welsh together, two with flowing dark hair and a blonde one dressed in a soft white gown. Someone he would have known anywhere.
At last.
