Tempt Me With Kisses (22 page)

“I’ll say he was—and that’s how she got her husband. I heard she came with twenty carts full to the brim with gold and silver. If I had known the old buzzard had left her so well off, I wouldn’t have paid so much for their warehouse, and I would have asked for her hand myself, red-haired or not.” He chortled and winked.

Iain knew full well that Fiona wasn’t rich enough to fill twenty carts with gold and silver. He began to wonder if this tale was really true. He would have to endure this fool’s company a little longer to be sure.

“Twenty carts? It was a mercy then that she wasna set upon by thieves.”

“Well, perhaps it was not twenty—but the dowry was three thousand marks.”

Iain’s jaw clenched at the mention of the familiar sum. “No wonder the Welshman jumped at the chance to marry her. What was his name again?”

“Lord Caradoc of Llanstephan, and he needed the money bad.” Leaning on his elbow, Heribert held up his hand, his thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “He was this close to losing his home because he couldn’t pay his taxes. Lucky for him she came along.”

“I dinna think it was luck,” Iain said with a genial smile.

Had Heribert been sober, he might have noticed that the look in Iain’s eyes was anything but friendly. “Her father used to buy a lot of wool from the Welsh, and she used to travel with him,” Iain said. “Maybe she met this Caradoc before.”

“Indeed?” Heribert muttered as he looked at the bottom of his mug, clearly more concerned with the fact that it was empty than Fiona’s past.

“This Llanstephan, is it near here?”

“Oh, about fifty miles over the hills. The roads are muddy—Wales, you know—but not too bad this time of year.” Heribert’s bleary eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Who did you say you were again?”

“Oh, just a soldier heading north for home,” Iain replied amicably. “I’ll certainly have a tale to tell when I get there.”

“That you will,” Heribert agreed. “Well, good luck to her, I say, even with that much money. Takes more than money to make a marriage and with him for a husband…” He let his words trail off suggestively.

Iain’s ears pricked up. “What’s that?”

“Weeelll, he’s not a, um, civilized man at all. Not like yourself,” the merchant added, glancing down at his empty mug again.

“More ale here for me and my friend!” Iain called to the serving wench, a plump little dumpling of a woman he wouldn’t mind bedding. It would be worth another ale to hear about the man who had robbed him of more than some property.

“Ah, that’s kind of you, sir, very kind. He would never do anything like that, even if he had the money. He’s close with his coins, that one. Always has been,” Heribert said, shaking his head.

Probably drove a hard bargain, Iain thought with disgust for all merchants and other money-grubbers. Still, it was pleasant to think of Fiona married to a miser. “Is he a handsome fellow?”

“Oh, not nearly so good-looking as yourself, sir,” Heribert replied at once, grinning drunkenly. “Big, hairy brute, he is. Hair past his shoulders, black beard—he looks more like a bear than a man. And gruff! Sounds like a bear, too. She must have been desperate for a husband.”

Iain leaned closer, and asked the question that had been skulking in his mind for days now. “Maybe she needed a father for her child?”

“Oh, I doubt that. He never would have wed her then, by God. He may look like a bear, but he’s a proud man if ever there was one. The whole family is as proud as if they were kings. His brother got into trouble with Richard for arguing with him. I mean, that tells you something right there! Imagine the gall to upbraid the king to his face! And he’s the
younger
brother,” Heribert finished, obviously considering pride and arrogance to increase with rank in the family, as it generally did among nobles.

The serving wench arrived with more ale.

“Ah, Bessie my beauty,” Heribert cried as he eagerly reached for the ale before the plump young woman had a chance to hand it to him.

“Thirsty work, all this chat,” he said by way of explanation when he caught the look of contempt on Iain’s face.

“Of course it is, and I’ve certainly pestered you with questions,” Iain replied, once again settling his features into a genial mask.

He looked across the room, where Fergus and the others were sitting in a morose little group. His men had not been pleased coming here, and even his promise to share some of his recovered wealth was beginning to lose its luster.

But they were his kinsmen, and he had his wounded pride that must be assuaged, one way or another. Besides, they were cowards, the lot of them, so they would never dare rebel against a man like him.

He looked back at Bessie and gave her his very best smile. Now that he knew exactly where Fiona was, he could take a little time for his own amusement—until he could really amuse himself by introducing himself to Fiona’s proud and noble husband. Surely this Caradoc or whatever his name was would like to meet the man who had taken his wife’s maidenhead.

Or maybe he would give Fiona the chance to keep her little secret.

For a price.

Chapter 11

A
fortnight later, Caradoc sat in the solar and studied the scroll in front of him listing the names of all the tenants and the tithes they owed him. He had always been as lenient as he could be with those who had trouble paying through no fault of their own, and in view of his recent prosperity, he was considering ways to lessen their obligations even further.

Despite his belief in this necessary mercy, every time he tried to concentrate on the task, his thoughts returned to his wife and the horrendous chasm that had opened between them.

Although they still loved passionately and often, something had been lost after their argument. He had assumed, after the way she welcomed him into their bed that night, that she had forgiven and forgotten. As the days passed, she said no more cross or angry words and gave him no scornful looks. All was as it had been before.

Or so he had tried to convince himself. Now, he could not find comfort in that pleasant delusion. Things were very different. They had lost that wonderful intimacy that went beyond the physical, and with every day that passed, the barrier between them seemed to grow.

Time and again, he opened his mouth to speak of their quarrel and apologize for losing his temper. But always his fear that he would say the wrong thing rose up to silence him. He told himself that she would understand without him having to speak; that he could show her, as he held her in his arms, that he was sorry.

Unfortunately, he could not even tell if she noticed anything amiss. Maybe she didn’t speak because she thought there was nothing to discuss, and the sense of loss was only on his part. Perhaps their mutual desire was enough for her, and she neither felt nor suffered the absence of anything more.

He did. A hope for a life beloved and cherished, accepted and at peace, had taken hold of his heart the very day she arrived and flourished at the beginning of their marriage. Now that hope could not simply be plucked out of his heart to wither and die. It had grown too powerful, and more to be sought than the mere sating of his lust.

Sighing again, he stared at the parchment and raked his hand through his hair. What he would not give to have Connor’s smooth fluency or Dafydd’s merry charm for just half a day! Then he would confront Fiona and speak.

“Caradoc, there’s trouble.”

He glanced at Dafydd waiting on the threshold, then once more returned to his scroll as if what was written there was completely absorbing and vitally important.

“What kind of trouble?” he muttered as if he begrudged rather than welcomed the interruption. “A lover’s spat? A leaking bucket in the kitchens? I haven’t heard a call to arms, so I don’t think we’re under attack from marauding Norsemen.”

Dafydd came inside. “I’m serious, Caradoc. We’re missing sheep. I make it half a dozen from the lower slopes at least, and probably more.”

Shocked and regretting his selfish attempt at levity, Caradoc growled a curse. Although there was no way to keep an accurate count of the sheep that ranged in the hills, he knew better than to ask if Dafydd was sure about the number. “Another fox?”

“No,” Dafydd replied, shaking his head as he drew closer. “No bodies where they graze. Just trampled grass and bracken. No blood, so it wasn’t animals or arrows or throats slit.”

Caradoc’s frown deepened. “What, like they’ve just vanished?”

Dafydd grinned at that. “Now you sound like you’ve been listening to Ganore too much.” He sobered as quickly as he had smiled. “If they’ve been slaughtered, they’ve been taken to be killed elsewhere, probably where there’s plenty of water to wash away the blood, like on a riverbank. Clever it is, but I’ve seen it before.”

“A band of outlaws?”

“Could be.”

“Normans run wild?”

That suggestion made Dafydd grin again. “Normans don’t run wild. They get drunk. Besides, most of them wouldn’t know how to get hold of a sheep if they tried, I’m sure.”

Caradoc hated to ask it, but the question hung in the air regardless. “Welshmen, then?”

Dafydd shrugged, but Caradoc saw the dismay lurking in his friend’s brown eyes. “Could be, although ashamed I am to say it. Whoever it is, they’re quick and they’re good. Nobody’s seen anything or anybody suspicious, and I’ve asked.”

Caradoc rose. “I’ll order more patrols, starting today. I’ll lead one out right now.”

“What about what you were doing?”

Gesturing for Dafydd to follow, Caradoc marched to the door. “That can wait. For too long I’ve had to stay at my scrolls like a clerk. Thank God those days are done,” he said, meaning it.

It was important that he lead by more than hunching over his lists and calculations, but when he had to account for every ha’penny, he had had little choice about it. Now he had the freedom to ride with his men and see for himself what was happening on his estate.

It didn’t take them long to mount a patrol, for Dafydd had already mentioned his suspicions to Jon-Bron before going to the solar. The garrison commander had a troop of ten mounted and was waiting for orders by the time Caradoc and Dafydd entered the courtyard.

“I’ll lead us out,” Caradoc announced. He ignored the flare of surprise on Jon-Bron’s face as he strode past him to the stable and ordered a horse saddled. The groom leapt to obey.

His horse was ready by the time Dafydd had retrieved his. Mounting, Caradoc briefly wondered where Fiona was and what she was doing, then berated himself for letting his mind wander at such a time. Right now, the most important thing was finding whoever was stealing his sheep.

He raised his hand and signaled the men to follow him out of the gate. They made a silent and grim group as they followed, for every soldier appreciated the seriousness of the crime Dafydd had discovered.

“Show me where you first realized the sheep were gone,” he said to his friend as they rode through the village.

Dafydd nodded and led the way, coming to a halt near a large boulder on the low slope. “Remember that big white ewe with the one blind eye? That was her place.”

Caradoc nodded. He did remember that ewe, for a more nasty tempered beast he had rarely encountered. Like the other sheep on his land, she grazed where her mother had, as her mother had before her, each sheep seeming to inherit their grazing ground the way Caradoc had inherited Llanstephan, which was why they did not need fences in the mountains.

“When I saw she wasn’t there, I started to search. I couldn’t find her, or her body, or her lamb. No sign of them at all, and then I realized more sheep were missing.”

“All from the lower slopes?”

“Aye,” Dafydd confirmed. “Easier to catch the sheep there, without climbing or having to bring them down.”

Caradoc stood in his stirrups and surveyed the slope that was covered in bracken, then the wood near the river a short distance away. “If they killed them, they probably took them through the wood to the river there.”

“Aye.”

Jon-Bron likewise nodded his agreement.

Caradoc turned his horse and headed for the river, where they all dismounted and searched.

They found nothing. No churned up mud, no fleece clinging to branches, no blood, no footprints or hoof prints.

Holding his reins in his hand, Caradoc stopped studying the ground to look at his friend. “Maybe they’re planning to sell them far away from here.”

“Aye, or they’ve eaten them.”

Caradoc straightened. “Let’s hope the patrols find something.”

“If it’s outlaws, they may already have moved on,” Dafydd proposed hopefully.

That was true, and while Caradoc hated to think of outlaws getting away with theft, he would be happy to learn they were off his land. Warning messages to the other estates nearby would alert them to the brigands, and if they were still in the area, soon they would be caught.

Then they would be hung, for stealing sheep was a crime punishable by death.

“Let’s ride up to that ridge there,” Caradoc ordered, pointing. “Maybe we’ll see something. Smoke, or other sign of men where men ought not to be.”