Chapter 6
Chapter Six
As agreed, in the morning, Alexander told his brother about his plans to leave for Scotland that very same day.
“I’m afraid I cannot delay, but you’re welcome to stay here as long as you like.”
This graciousness cost him little, now that he was assured he would not have to endure their presence any longer.
Colin did not answer, but Lady Isabeau bit into her slice of cheese with unnecessary slowness, holding his gaze all the while.
Had she appealed to him in any way, he would have gone rock hard at the lust dancing in her eyes.
As she stirred nothing in him except disgust, he cleared his throat and cut himself another slice of pie.
Thank God he was leaving. His meeting with the little Buttercup had been most propitious indeed.
By mid-morning, everything was ready.
“I must commend you on your choice of groom, my lord,” Lady Isabeau simpered. She had been hovering by his side during the whole of their preparations. “Peter is a most…efficient young man. Tireless and conscientious.”
Alexander gritted his teeth at the blatant allusion but didn’t respond.
Didn’t the woman have an ounce of decency or discretion?
She was speaking within hearing distance of Gwenllian, which was bad enough, but also of Colin.
Didn’t she care to spare her lover’s sensibilities?
Apparently not, and after all, his brother already knew what she had done the night before. Mayhap he had even participated.
A shudder went through Alexander at the thought.
He would have to go see Peter, make sure the lad had not been forced.
Thankfully, it was all too possible that he hadn’t.
A young man in his prime and full of vigor might well have jumped at the chance of bedding a beautiful woman the likes of which he would normally never approach.
Still, Alexander had to be certain that was the case, or his conscience would never be clear.
He walked over to the stables. Peter smiled when he saw him and nodded to Starburst, who was looking around with interest.
“He’s all ready for you, my lord.”
“Thank you, so I see. And, Peter, if I may…”
Alexander made a grimace. Jesus, but this was awkward. Still. It had to be done. He didn’t want the people he employed to think he considered them as pawns to be used for his or his guests’ convenience.
He cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “I hope that what happened last night happened with your consent?”
The man flushed, as if he’d hoped his indiscretion would pass unnoticed, which was all too understandable. “I… Yes. It did. Please don’t think ill of me, my lord, but when I saw—”
“I don’t think anything. I just wanted to ensure you hadn’t been coerced.”
“No.”
By the looks of things, the groom had spent the best night of his life. Alexander was relieved. At least something good had come of the whole debacle.
After one last nod at Peter, he walked back to Gwenllian.
“I have asked for our newest mare to be saddled for you. If you find her suitable, you can ride her to Scotland. Or if you prefer, you can borrow a horse from your uncle’s stable, one you’re more familiar with.”
He could tell from the way she ran her hand over the animal’s neck that she was still pained by the disappearance of her beloved mare.
He was glad he had reminded his steward to redouble his efforts to find the horse while they were gone.
He refused to think all was lost. The mare could not have gone far.
“Thank you, she’s beautiful,” Gwenllian said, smiling at him. “What’s her name?”
His mouth quivered. He had hoped she would ask him that question. “Buttercup.”
The pleasure the shared jest gave him was disproportionate. But perhaps he should not be surprised. Because he never allowed himself to get too close to a woman, he had never been in a position to build such a connection before.
“Buttercup. I’d say she was made for me.”
“I’d say so. Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
He turned to his brother, who had barely said a word the whole morning.
“Colin. I doubt you’ll still be here when I come back. Lady Isabeau should be sufficiently rested by then.”
“Indeed.”
She might well have bedded all the men she could find by then. Well, good luck to them, he didn’t need, or want, to know. He nodded at Gwenllian, who nodded back, seeing his eagerness to leave, and then deftly climbed into the saddle.
“Let’s ride.”
The following morning, as she stood on a hill watching Sheridan Manor’s familiar shape from a distance, Gwenllian reflected that she had never ventured so far north before. Usually, her rides took her to the rolling hills on the south side of her family lands.
But here she was today, on the road to Scotland.
Though, in truth, she was convinced she had already found the adventure she’d been looking for.
Her meeting with Sir Alexander Rathbone had offered her all the excitement she had hoped to find on the way to Nead an Diabhail.
The only downfall had been losing her beloved Gwlithyn.
But she hoped the animal would be recovered by the time she came back to Sheridan Manor in the summer.
This ride to Scotland would not be in vain anyway, as she would get to see Bethan again and meet her son. And, of course, it meant that she would spend a couple of weeks by Alexander’s side.
She gave the mare a pat. Buttercup. How ironic that the animal should share the name Alexander had chosen for her when he didn’t know who she was. It seemed like a sign, almost like something Old Myfanwy would say.
“Do you feel more at home here or in Wales?” Alexander asked, nodding to the castle.
“In Wales. I was not born in England, unlike Jane, whose real mother was English, like our father. And out of my two other sisters, I’ve always been the ‘Welsh one.’ Sian has a home here with her English husband, even if they rarely visit it, and Seren has been saying from the moment she could talk that she would go to live in England when she grew up. ”
Unlike her, who would end up in Wales.
“You speak English without any trace of accent though, which is why I never suspected you might be related to the people at Sheridan Manor.”
She tilted her head because he’d made it sound as if he regretted the fact that she didn’t speak with an accent. This surprised her. English people usually avoided any mention of her Welshness, finding it odd at best, uncouth at worst.
But she had always felt truly Welsh at heart.
Was that why Old Myfanwy had told her the prediction?
Because she was so irremediably, deeply Welsh, that she would never feel at home anywhere other than where she was born?
Castell Esgyrn? Although, if fate was going to be so particular, she should remember that, strictly speaking, Gwenllian had been born in the cottage where her aunt, Branwen, had been living at the time, not at the castle.
“I speak English without any accent because I’ve been speaking it from the moment I was born,” she told Alexander.
“Which do you prefer?”
Once again, the question shocked her. No one had ever asked her that. The English naturally assumed that she preferred to speak a “civilized” language, and the Welsh didn’t imagine anyone could prefer another language to the one they were so proud of.
“I don’t prefer one over the other. It depends what I’m doing, rather, or who I’m speaking to. But I feel somehow that for anything close to my heart, I think of it in Welsh.”
“Mm. It must be good to have a choice.”
“It is.”
She had always felt privileged to have two cultures, two languages, two homes.
“Ready, then?” Alexander asked gently.
“Yes.”
“No second thoughts?”
“No. Worry not. I will not send you back to the wicked Lady Isabeau, Monseigneur.”
He barked a laugh, just as she’d hoped. “You cannot know how relieved I am to hear that.”
They set off, going down the hill at a sedate pace. Gwenllian lifted her head to the sun and smiled. How wonderful to be riding on such a fine day in the company of a man like Alexander. It could all too easily not have happened.
As she’d feared, her cousins had been more than reluctant to let her leave with only one escort, but she had not let herself be swayed.
Hadn’t she come to England with only one of her father’s guards?
By an extraordinary stroke of luck—if one could call it that—the Welshman had injured his foot while she was staying at Audley, rendering him unsuitable to accompany her on such a long journey.
Gwenllian had insisted she did not need anyone else besides Alexander, who had already volunteered and was one of Christopher’s most trusted friends.
After hearing about Alexander’s daring rescue, her cousin Rhian had argued that he seemed capable enough.
If she could come to Sheridan Manor with only one man, she could go to Nead an Diabhail with another, equally reliable one.
Gwenllian had been too grateful for the support to wonder if Rhian suspected the attraction she felt for the dashing knight. One thing was sure. Had her uncle Matthew been here, she would never be here alone with Alexander. So she would make sure to enjoy the unexpected boon.
“Do you speak French as well as Welsh then?” Alexander asked as they rounded a thicket.
“Un petit peu. A little,” she added for his benefit when he cocked his head. “Our mother insisted we learn. But I will admit I’m not as good as she would like because I don’t really like speaking it.”
“Welsh suits you a lot better. It’s…less polished. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to say it is a barbaric language, far from it,” he hastened to add, as if fearing she would take offense.
But she had not. Though over the years she had heard many disparaging comments about the rough language, the coarse food and the uncivilized customs of her supposedly barbaric countrymen, she sensed Alexander was not one of these prejudiced people who considered the Welsh as a folk good only to be conquered.
Besides, she knew exactly what he meant about her speaking French, and she agreed.
It was too sophisticated a language for her, somehow, it did not allow her to be herself.
In much the same way a beautifully embroidered gown that might look good would be too stiff to allow her to ride across fields as freely as she liked.
Such language and such clothes were good for the likes of Lady Isabeau, not her.
“Do you speak another language?” she asked Alexander.
“Apart from the Latin I use in the managing of my estate, no. Even then, I wouldn’t say I speak it. I merely understand the legal documents required to be an efficient administrator.” He sighed. “I’m afraid I’m rather boring.”
“There is nothing boring about you!” Gwenllian interposed.
Quite the opposite. He was the most exciting man she had ever met, as dashing as his friend Christopher, as fiercely protective as her other brother-in-law, Griffin, more handsome than the two of them put together, as dark and brooding as they were blond and sunny.
“Oh? Tell me more.”
She reddened, realizing how her vehemence must have sounded. “I don’t think I should, as it might inflate your opinion of yourself.”
Far from being chastened, he shot her a dazzling smile. “Now, if your opinion of me is that good, I might well force you to tell me more.”
Force her? How? And would she really hate to find out?
She was not sure, because she had the dizzying impression that he intended to kiss the truth out of her.
That thought caused her insides to flutter in anticipation.
A kiss from the dark knight would be the best way to start her adventure, would it not?
It would be passionate, languorous, decadent.
Sinful.
He threw her a look that seemed to indicate he was thinking the same thing, and he was more than ready to indulge her.
Just then, as if to help them regain their composure, they reached a stream, and the steep slope leading to the water obliged them to concentrate on the managing of their mounts.
By the time they had crossed the stream, Gwenllian’s embarrassment was forgotten.
All that was left was the pleasure of the ride with her handsome escort.
The first part of her adventure. Where would it take her?
Nodding at one another, Gwenllian and Alexander gave their horses their head.