Tamsin got up swiftly and started toward him with barely a limp. “No, you can’t! The night air—”
“Has never been harmful to me,” he interrupted, both happy and sad to see her move so easily. “I’ve slept under the stars many a time and, as you can see, haven’t suffered for it. And you’ve been out and about after dark, too.”
In your uncle’s courtyard, where we kissed.
“We’re grown. I won’t take a chance with a baby.”
Again Rheged saw that stubborn look in her eyes. He was closing the shutters when Joseph, usually a dour fellow, came bounding out of the back room. “Hildie! My lady! Did you hear him?” the thin man exclaimed. “He’s a healthy one and no mistake! And a son! God save me, I’m the happiest man in England—a fine healthy boy and Frida come through fine, too.”
He saw Rheged, stumbled and righted himself. “Oh, my lord! What brings you? You can’t have heard so soon.”
“I came to escort the lady home,” he replied. “I congratulate you on the birth of your son.”
“Thank you, my lord, thank you!” Joseph spun around like some sort of entertainer. “Where’s the wine?”
Smiling broadly, Hildie handed him the wineskin and patted him on the shoulder.
He grinned at her, then handed the wineskin to Rheged. “You’ll have a drink with me, my lord, won’t you? To celebrate? What a baby! What a boy! He’s got a full head of hair, too—black as his mother’s. Frida came through it like a veteran, the midwife says. Going to be fine and likely to have ten more as easy as jumping a log! By God, it’s hot in here!” he finished as he crossed to the window and threw open the shutters before Tamsin or Hildie could stop him.
The midwife, a plump woman of late middle years, gray-haired and wrinkled around her eyes, appeared at the door of the back room, a bundle in her arms and a smile on her pink-tinged face. “I thought the lady’d like to see him, seeing as she waited so long.” Sarah checked her steps when she saw Rheged. “My lord?”
“I’d like to see the child, too, if I may.”
With a nod and a smile, the midwife came forward. Instead of just folding back the blanket to show the child’s face, though, she shoved the baby at an obviously startled Tamsin and rushed toward the open window.
“By the Blessed Virgin, who opened the shutters?” she demanded as she pulled them closed. “We’ll all catch our deaths!”
Rheged heard the words, but his attention wasn’t on the angry midwife closing the shutters, or Hildie standing nearby, or Joseph taking a long pull at the wineskin. He was looking at Tamsin’s face as she held the babe, her expression one of joyful amazement, as if the child with the tuft of dark hair had magically appeared in her arms.
Rheged had never really thought about having children, except as something vaguely desirable when he got his castle and a wife. But now, when he saw Tamsin holding a baby, a powerful yearning took hold of him—a yearning not just for a child of his own, but for a child with Tamsin. A boy like him, or a girl like her, it didn’t matter, as long as it was theirs.
The baby’s bow-shaped mouth opened like a bird’s, and then he scrunched up his face and started to wail.
“What did I tell you?” the miller cried with delight. “Healthy as a horse—a herd of horses!”
“Aye, he’s a healthy one,” the midwife agreed with a smile. “And now it’s back to his mother to eat,” she said, lifting the child from Tamsin, who held him a moment longer than necessary before she gave the baby up to Sarah and watched her carry him away.
Rheged recognized that expression on her face, for he knew the feeling: longing for something feared unattainable, the desire for a future that might not come to pass.
“Here, my lady, have a drink to my son’s health!” Joseph cried, his eyes glowing both with joy and the effects of the wine as he shoved the wineskin at Tamsin.
She accepted and took a sip, then passed it back to the miller, who thrust it at Rheged. “And you, too, my lord! Have a drink to my son!”
Rheged took a gulp of the thin wine before handing the wineskin back to the excited father. “I think it’s time the lady returned to the castle.”
“First I’d like to take my leave of Frida, if I may, my lord,” Tamsin said.
The miller’s face fell and he flushed. “She’s asleep, my lady, and the chamber...well, it’s not put back to rights yet.”
“Then please pass on my good wishes to her. Hildie may stay here tonight, and tomorrow, too, to help you.”
“Thank you, my lady!” the miller and Hildie cried in enthusiastic unison.
Rheged put Tamsin’s cloak about her, then held out his arm to escort her to the door. She hesitated a moment before she laid her hand on his forearm, her touch as light as goose down but thrilling nonetheless.
“Thank you for coming, my lady,” Joseph said, following them to the door. “It helped Frida, knowing you were here.”
Tamsin gave him a smile as Rheged closed the door.
“I’m glad I could be of some use,” she said. They made their way to the horse and wagon now in a small byre by the mill. “Although I really did nothing. Hildie and Sarah did all the work. And Frida, too, of course.”
Despite her cloak, she was shivering, no doubt the result of coming out of that overheated cottage into the cooler night air. Rheged took off his cloak and, before she could protest, wrapped it about her as well, enveloping her in its warmth. Then he swept her up in his arms.
It seemed Tamsin wasn’t so very tired after all. “Put me down!” she demanded, struggling. “I can walk!”
“You’re exhausted.”
“But—”
“Oh, for the love of God, woman, can’t you just accept my help and be thankful?”
He waited for her to answer, then felt her relax. “Oh, as you will,” she conceded, her arms slipping around his neck. “If you’re going to be stubborn about it—but I’m fully capable of walking.”
“I don’t doubt you’re capable of nearly anything, my lady,” he replied truthfully.
He thought he felt her smile as she laid her head against his shoulder. “So long as you understand that I’m not helpless,” she said before she yawned.
“You are the least helpless woman I’ve ever met.”
When she didn’t answer, he glanced down to see that her eyes were closed and her mouth was ever so slightly open as her breasts slowly rose and fell.
A wave of tenderness swept over him, inexpressibly sweet and yet awe-inspiring, too. For in that moment, he knew that he could never give her up to Blane, or any other undeserving man.
Even if he could never be worthy of her himself.
* * *
With a sigh, Tamsin stretched and opened her eyes, realizing at once she was in the big bed in the upper chamber of Cwm Bron. She couldn’t tell whether it was day or night, though, because the only light was the feeble flame of a rushlight, and the shutters were closed.
Wondering how long she’d slept, she rolled onto her side—to see Rheged seated on a stool on the far side of the room, his back against the wall, his legs straight out in front of him, his arms crossed and his chin on his chest. It looked like he was deep in thought or...sleeping?
She glanced at the closed door. How long had he been there?
The last thing she remembered was Sir Algar helping her up the steps while she told him about the baby. One of the other maidservants—Elvina, the quiet one—had helped her get into the bed warmed with a heated stone wrapped in linen.
She also remembered Rheged carrying her to the wagon at the mill. She should have kept insisting he put her down. She shouldn’t have given in to the impulse to relax in his strong arms, no matter how safe and protected she’d felt.
Nor was it wise to recall how he looked when he appeared in the doorway of the miller’s house holding that torch, like Prometheus bringing fire—tall and strong and powerful.
Or when he watched her holding the miller’s baby, a look of such longing in his eyes. She
must
forget those things, or she would never be able to leave here.
She sat up and discovered she wore only her shift beneath the covers. She grabbed the blanket and pulled it up to her chin as Rheged, with something that sounded rather like a snort, abruptly raised his head. “You’re awake,” he said.
“How long have you been there?”
He rolled his shoulders, uncrossed his arms and stretched them over his head, his movements as smooth and sinuous as a big cat’s. If he had been trying to make her aware of his strength and athletic grace, he couldn’t have done so in any better way.
“Awhile. How do you feel?” he asked, getting to his feet.
“Quite well, thank you. Why are you here?”
“To make sure you haven’t taken ill.”
“What o’clock is it?”
He walked to the window and opened the shutters. “I make it barely past dawn.”
Since his back was to her, she grabbed the blanket to wrap around herself and got out of bed. Ignoring the chill of the stone floor on her bare feet, she hurried to close the shutters, lest people see him there.
“Since it’s morning, there’s no need to fear the night air,” he said as she backed away.
“It’s not that,” she said, feeling the heat of a blush. “My reputation has already been seriously damaged, and I would rather not compound the harm by having all and sundry know that we’re alone in your chamber and that you’ve been here for at least a part of the night.”
Rheged’s dark eyebrows rose, and unless she was mistaken, a smile lurked at the corners of his lips. “If it’s your reputation that concerns you, perhaps you shouldn’t have gone to the window dressed in little more than a blanket.”
“I don’t like to be mocked, my lord.”
The amusement left his features. “Nor do I,” he admitted. “And that is poor recompense for your kindness to the miller and his wife, so I hope that you’ll forgive me, my lady.”
He sounded so sincere...and she shouldn’t have been so harsh. After all, he’d been there—and sleeping on a stool—because he was worried about her health. And she, of all people, knew how ingratitude could sting.
She gave him a smile that she hoped would show that she regretted replying with annoyance. “I wonder how Joseph is feeling this morning.”
She was relieved to see the hint of a grin return, as well as the sparkle of laughter to his brown eyes. “No doubt his head aches, at the very least.”
“Frida is an excellent weaver, my lord. You should buy whatever she can make and sell it at Shrewsbury, or even London. I’m sure you’d turn a good profit.”
“If you’re sure, I will. You’re a very shrewd and clever woman.”
The blanket slipped and she tugged it back in place as she took a step back. “Thank you, my lord.”
“And beautiful, too.”
He thought her beautiful? She could count the number of compliments she’d received on the fingers of one hand. All had been dutifully spoken, without a single ounce of sincerity—until Rheged had arrived at Castle DeLac. The warmth of a blush flooded through her.
“Forgive me if I’ve upset you,” he said softly.
Upset? Sweet Mother Mary, he’d done considerably more than upset her since she’d met him. He’d turned her whole world on its head. “I’m not used to compliments.”
He came closer. “You should be.”
“Mavis is a beauty, my lord. I’m not.”
“Your cousin is lovely, I grant you, but...” He fell silent when he remembered how she’d bristled the last time he said something less than flattering about her cousin. Her beautiful cousin, who surely would have been that old lecher Blane’s first choice for bride.
Tamsin knew the man, knew how his wife would surely suffer, and yet she insisted on fulfilling the marriage contract—because if she did not...
another might have to take her place?
He cupped Tamsin’s shoulders, and his gaze searched her face. “The betrothal—if you don’t return...?”
Elvina entered the chamber without so much as a tap on the door.
“Oh, I—I’m sorry, my lady,” the startled Elvina stammered, looking from Tamsin to Rheged. “I came to help the lady dress.”
Tamsin stepped free of his grasp, her heart racing like a hare being pursued. “Rheged is leaving.”
“I bid you adieu, my lady,” Rheged said, walking to the door.
Tamsin told herself she was glad he was leaving before...before things went too far. It didn’t matter what he’d been about to say, the question that was in his eyes.
Elvina sidled into the chamber. “I really didn’t mean any harm, my lady. We all thought he’d be gone by now.”
They
all?
If everyone in the castle knew that Rheged had been there, alone, with her, it would be more cause for scandal and a ruined reputation and servants’ disrespect—except that judging by the remorseful expression on Elvina’s face, she really was sorry for intruding. Indeed, it was as if she wasn’t surprised because Rheged was there, but because he hadn’t yet left.
As if everyone assumed they were already lovers and had been for days.
If that was so, she should be appalled. Angry. Indignant. Fearful for the future.
Instead, she felt...free. Liberated.
As though she no longer had a secret that was becoming more and more difficult to keep.
Chapter Thirteen
I
n the huge kitchen of Castle DeLac, well aware of the other servants watching, Mavis faced an angry cook and a sobbing spit boy who’d let a pot of porridge burn.
Tamsin would know exactly what to do and what to say at such a time. Tamsin would be able to handle this situation with calm dispatch, while
she
felt as if she were drowning.
Poor Tamsin! Please, God, let her be all right!
Mavis silently prayed, as she had so many times since that Welshman had taken her away for his own selfish purpose.
Armond the cook cleared his throat loudly, bringing her back to the present, although her fears for Tamsin were always with her, an ache in her heart that wouldn’t go away.
Momentarily ignoring the irate Armond, Mavis spoke to the crying boy. “No need for tears, Ben. I’m sure you’ll take more care next time, and it would be much worse if you’d been burned.”
The lad sniffled and wiped his nose on his sleeve, then hiccupped and nodded.
“As for your behavior, Armond,” she said, turning to the cook, “there was no need to strike the boy, and you’ll never do it again. My dear cousin gave you a warning about such behavior that you have apparently chosen to ignore. Therefore, you will pack your things and leave Castle DeLac today.”