Tempt Me With Kisses (26 page)

He shook Ganore off and pushed the bag of coins at her. “Get out, Ganore. Take this and get out of Llanstephan. Out of my castle. Out of my village.”

As she sobbed and protested, he felt not a jot of pity for her. He felt nothing at all except a great vast emptiness, as if he were all alone in the middle of a desert.

No, not alone. Fiona was apart and different, too. Fiona was not accepted, not wanted here. He had her to cling to, to love.

And there were others.

Rhonwen. She, too, had been held apart by Ganore and the others. He had Dafydd, his friend. And Bronwyn’s brothers. Even Eifion.

He drew himself up, the lord of Llanstephan Fawr once more, and not a lonely, isolated child. “Make your farewells to Cordelia, pack your bags and be gone. I never want to see your face again.”

Ganore clutched the money to her skinny breast. “Give me your word you won’t tell Cordelia about your sainted mother.”

“The word of a Norman’s bastard is good enough for you?” he asked, his voice soft and low, and the more frightening for that. “Have no fear, Ganore. I am not like you, happy to hurt. I will not tell her, for there is no need for her to know.”

He would not have Cordelia’s world shattered, too.

Fiona helped Rhonwen adjust the silken coverlet over her bed. She enjoyed sharing such quiet, simple tasks with her maidservant. During that time they would sometimes talk about Dafydd. It was, she suspected, one of the few indulgences Rhonwen allowed herself, although Fiona feared it was the closest Rhonwen ever got to voicing her attraction to the man. She was fairly certain Rhonwen was far too bashful to say anything to Dafydd himself.

Nor did Fiona consider lingering in the bedchamber hiding, exactly. It was just that she saw no reason to go quickly back to the hall, where Ganore still ruled by subterfuge and disrespect despite her continuing efforts, and Cordelia still sneered at her as if she were a Scottish harlot.

It was getting more difficult to get through the day without losing her patience, and it wasn’t only the situation with Ganore and Cordelia and the ever-condemning Father Rhodri that made her tense and edgy.

It was her marriage.

Her relationship with Caradoc seemed fine on the surface. He was polite, so was she; they made love often, and with passion and desire.

But beneath that placid surface was a sense that they had lost the lovely intimacy they had shared after their wedding. As the days passed, she began to wonder if they could ever restore the growing affection their quarrel had seemingly blighted.

Caradoc never spoke of the argument, though, and she was loathe to mention it first, afraid she might make things worse.

Indeed, he never spoke to her save for inconsequential things. She learned of the missing sheep from Rhonwen, as well as the growing belief that the sheep thieves had fled Llanstephan.

Perhaps if she could bear Caradoc a child, their delightful and affectionate intimacy would be restored and he would begin to confide in her. Unfortunately, she had already had one menses since she had arrived, and while Caradoc had not acted as if he was troubled by that, she could not forget what Ganore had said—that if she didn’t bear him a son, Caradoc would make her go.

She realized Rhonwen seemed distracted this morning, too. She wasn’t going about her tasks as efficiently as usual, and she looked anxious.

She suspected the girl’s agitation had something to do with Dafydd, but she wasn’t sure what she should ask, or if she should interfere at all. Rhonwen might consider questioning an unwelcome intrusion. Fiona did not want to risk the one female friendship she had.

Suddenly a great commotion erupted in the courtyard. Fiona recognized Ganore’s harsh, condemning voice. She was so loud, it sounded as if she was berating every single inhabitant of the castle.

Wondering what this boded—and sure it was nothing good—Fiona hurried to the window and looked out. Ganore stood near the stables, where one of the grooms was trying to hitch a donkey to a cart. She gestured wildly, nearly striking him. Her face was fierce and every word seemed a denunciation. A little crowd of maidservants had gathered around her, and a few of the soldiers. Cordelia was there, and although she didn’t speak, she seemed to be just as frantically upset.

Absolutely baffled, Fiona turned to look at Rhonwen, and found the girl wringing her hands with dismay.

“What is it?” she demanded, upset by this mystery. “What is going on?”

“Ganore is leaving Llanstephan today,” Rhonwen replied, her voice little more than a whisper.

Fiona stared at her. Her prayers had been answered! Then she glanced again at the commotion, and thought perhaps her joy was premature.

It was.

“Lord Caradoc has sent her away,” Rhonwen clarified, to Fiona’s dismay.

That must have been why he did not break the fast with her. She had assumed it was estate business that had sent him to his solar so quickly, and in so businesslike a fashion.

Instead it was a disaster, at least for her. Cordelia and the others would blame her and resent her even more. “Where is my husband?”

“Still in the solar, I think.”

Fiona did not wait to hear more, but left the chamber at once.

She found Caradoc sitting in the solar with his parchment scrolls and records before him as if nothing was wrong.

“It is a mistake to send Ganore away,” she began without preamble, too concerned for what this boded to be cautious and polite.

The look in his eyes!
Fiona had never seen his expression so bleak, never imagined that it could be. Immediately any concern for what Ganore’s banishment would mean for her fled like dust before the wind.

Yet why had he done it, if it was going to hurt him like this?

He rose and went to stare out the window. His shoulders slumped as if he bore the weight of the world upon them—or terrible guilt. “The woman gave me no choice. There could be no peace in my household until she was gone.”

She should have found a way to get along with Ganore! For his sake, she should have done anything it took to endure the woman’s animosity.

“I regret that I couldn’t overcome her prejudice against me,” she said, meaning it more than she would ever have thought possible.

He turned back, his brow wrinkled quizzically. “You have done nothing wrong and you must not blame yourself in any way. It was not only you she did not like, you know. I kept her here for Cordelia’s sake, and by God, I am sorry I did.

“Indeed, Fiona…” His voice broke and he turned away as if ashamed of the depth of his feelings. “I am more sorry than I can say.”

She stared at his broad back, dismayed and anxious. But why was he so stricken? Ganore had not treated him with the respect befitting his station, either, and—

And she had probably said terrible things to Caradoc because he was making her leave. Horrible, hurtful things, based on long years of knowledge. Every foible, every mistake—she would know them all, and Fiona did not doubt for a moment that Ganore would use each one as a weapon against him.

Her heart full of sympathy, she took a step toward him, determined to offer him all the comfort she could, as best she could.

Cordelia burst into the room.

“How could you?” she cried, glaring at Caradoc and ignoring Fiona. “How could you order Ganore to go?”

Anger and frustration surged within Fiona when she saw Caradoc flinch. She opened her mouth, ready to chastise her, when Caradoc pivoted on his heel and looked at his sister. The expression on his face was no longer hurt, no longer vulnerable, but stern and forbidding, and that look made Fiona hold her tongue.

“I have ordered her to go, and go she will,” he said, firm conviction in every word. His sister might try to argue, but he was not going to yield.

Cordelia must have seen that, too, for she said no more to him. Instead, she turned on Fiona.

“It’s your fault!” she declared, shaking her fist at her. “You made him do this! Don’t think I don’t know!”

“I did not ask him to do it, but I cannot be sorry that Ganore is leaving,” Fiona replied, righteously indignant for Caradoc’s sake. “I think he should have done it long before I came.”

“Why should
she
be banished? You came here like some sort of Lady Bountiful with your money and your jewels, to marry my brother like he’s a stallion you want for stud. If anyone should go, it should be
you
.”

Fiona glared at the furious young woman, equally enraged as her patience shattered. “What of the way that woman treated your brother all these years? Good God, I have never met a girl so willfully blind, so incredibly selfish! He put up with Ganore for your sake, and yours alone, and what thanks does he get? Nothing but conflict because of the wife he has married—again, for your sake.

“If you had an ounce of wisdom, you would realize all that he has done for you. You would see him for the kindhearted brother he is, one who spoiled you and gave you your own way too often and for too long, even though you treated him worse than he ever deserved. How could you call him troll? How could you tease him all those years and not see the hurt you caused?”

Cordelia stared at her, incredulous, her face reddening. “How dare you!” she cried. “How dare you upbraid me! I am not your servant and you are not—”

“I will tell you what I am,” Fiona said, very slowly and very deliberate as she interrupted. “I am your good brother’s wife. Whatever else I am, this is what should be first and foremost. For his sake, you should not be rude. I do not expect you to be my dearest friend. I do not ask for that. I ask you to be friendly, as a noble lady should be to anyone in her hall.”

“I will not be criticized in this manner! I am not a child!” Cordelia retorted, stamping her foot.

Fiona looked down at Cordelia’s foot, then back at her face. “No?”

“Enough!”
Caradoc thundered, and both women stared at him, shocked by the force and commanding power of his voice. “I have decided the woman must go. There will be no discussion, no argument. If she is upset, she need look no further than her own sharp and bitter tongue for the reason why, and she should be grateful I allowed her to stay as long as I did. Do you understand, Cordelia?”

When Cordelia didn’t answer, he bellowed,
“Do you understand me?”

Her eyes puddled with tears as she silently nodded.

“And this woman is my wife,” he declared.

He strode forward and put his arm around Fiona, drawing her close. But his grip was gentle for all that, and more wonderful and welcome than she could say. “You will respect her, you will obey her. Like her or not as you will, you are to treat her as is her due.”

He let go of Fiona and pointed at the door, his hand steady, his gaze resolute. “Or you, too, can leave with Ganore.”

With a cry of anguish, Cordelia ran from the room.

As Fiona stood dumbfounded, Caradoc returned to the window, gulping great breaths of air as if he found it hard to breathe.

She didn’t know what to say. Everything that had come before this day, the quarrel and the distance between them, suddenly melted away. She cared for this man, and ached to see him in such pain.

She had always cared for him, from that first day when he had seemed so lonely and apart.

Now she must hold him. Embrace him. Comfort him. Show him that she sympathized with his pain and wanted to do what she could to make it dwindle.

She went to him and slid her arms about his waist, and laid her head upon his heaving chest.

He sighed raggedly as he encircled her with his arms and held her close. “Fiona, I’m sorry for what I said the day Sir Ralph came.” He spoke haltingly, as if unsure of how his words would affect her, and yet they gave her only joy, a joy more boundless and delighting than she had ever felt in all her life. “I did not marry you just for your money. No one has ever made me as happy as you do. If I had said no, I would have blighted my life.”

Thrilled to be in his arms and feeling as close to him as she had in those first days of her marriage, her embrace tightened.

“I think I have loved you since that first day I saw you in the courtyard when you waved at me,” he murmured.

She eyed him warily even as her heartbeat tripped like a dancer on midsummer’s eve. “But you did not remember me.”

“I remembered the girl. I did not recognize the bold and beautiful woman, at least not with my mind. My heart knew you the moment you waved again, and it told me I should be glad. I am glad you came back, Fiona, and very much more than glad that we are wed. Can you forgive me for what I said, and how I lost my temper?”

She sighed, leaning against him, cherishing him more than she had ever even imagined. “Of course.”

He drew in another great, quavering breath.

“What is it?”

“Cordelia,” he said wearily. “I did my best with her, but I’ve failed. She hates me now, when all I was trying to do—”

His breath caught in a way that made Fiona’s heart ache even more for him.

“All I was trying to do was get her to like me as much as Connor.”

“
I
like you, Caradoc. More than like,” she offered, looking up at him and willingly revealing the depths of her affection. Letting herself be vulnerable, because she could do nothing less. “I love you. I have loved you from the first time I saw you.”

His eyes widened, and then, in the shifting, brilliant depths of his eyes she saw what she had longed to see—the depths stirred by love, and love for her.

“You love me?” he asked, as if afraid to believe it.

“So much, I cannot bear the thought of ever living without you.” She took his face gently between her hands and sealed her vow with a soft, slow kiss.

“I could not bear living without you, either,” he whispered.

She had no words to say how she felt at that moment, yet it was there in the language of her kisses and her caresses. She was tender as she had never been before, yet passionate, too. She leaned against him, relaxed and bending like a willow in the wind.

For a time they kissed and did no more, wordlessly comforting each other with the tender touch of their lips. Then, after a time, their kisses deepened. Their feelings called for more than kissing, and their hands began to rove and explore.