Tempt Me With Kisses (13 page)

“That may be so,” he answered, still fiddling with the lace, “but you proved your mettle the first time you met him. He won’t be quick to tease you again.”

“Maybe he
should
tease me,” she said, wondering how long Caradoc was going to keep toying with her lace and if she should order him to stop. “I don’t want people to think I’m going to be angry or cry or be upset if he does. I assure you, I have a sense of humor and I have been teased plenty of times in my life.”

Caradoc stopped playing with her lace and looked up at her in a way that made her heart spin. “I remember what you told me, so it shall be as you desire. If he starts to tease you, I shall not try to stop him.”

“Good,” she said, telling herself it was also good that Caradoc had stopped fiddling with the lace without having to be asked, and the desire he meant was not the kind coursing through her now.

He tilted his head to regard her solemnly. “He is not the one who will give you trouble. That will be Ganore.”

His words doused her mood as effectively as a leap into the river.

“Patience it will take, and time, but I think she’ll come ’round eventually.”

Fiona wasn’t so sure, but she didn’t want to contradict him.

He got to his feet and held out his hand to help her stand. “Come now, the washing is nearly finished and it’s getting to be dusk. Dafydd and I always toss the last sheep together.”

She took hold of Caradoc’s hand and let him pull her up. Very strong he was, his grip like iron, and yet not so strong he hurt. As always, his touch thrilled her, even more when he did not immediately release her.

Wondrously, he grinned like a boy sharing a secret, almost marvelously mischievous.

Almost, because he was very much a mature man.

“And then I’m going to shove him in.”

Delighted and tickled by this unseen side of him, and having seen the altercation with the boots, she smiled. “Or perhaps he will push you in.”

Caradoc’s infectious grin grew and his eyes sparkled with determination as well as high spirits. “He can try.”

She was suddenly very sure Dafydd was in for a swim.

That night, as the mist came up from the river and down from the hills, Caradoc strode toward Dafydd’s stone cottage.

He rapped sharply on the rough wooden door and went inside when bidden, relieved Dafydd had not yet retired for the night. His friend sat beside the small glowing hearth, a mug of ale cradled in his hands. His face glowed bronze in the dim light, and the rest of his body seemed a part of the shadows.

“Ah, the mighty lord of the Llanstephan Fawr!” Dafydd declared, raising his mug in salute and half rising before Caradoc gestured for him to sit back down. “What the devil are you doing here this time of night? Not a problem with the sheep, is it?”

“No, it’s not a problem with any of the sheep,” Caradoc replied.

“If you’ve come to see if I’ve dried off yet, you’re a little late.”

“No, it’s not that,” he answered as he accepted the mug of ale Dafydd poured for him.

A look of comprehension dawned on Dafydd’s face, and he grinned so broadly, he looked like a gargoyle. “Questions for the wedding night, is it? Come to the right man you have, then, indeed.”

Although this was exactly the reason he had come, Caradoc scowled. Maybe he should leave … but as chagrined as he was, he wanted Dafydd’s advice too much to go.

Dafydd’s grin disappeared as quickly as it had come and his eyes widened in genuine surprise. “Is that really why you’ve come, Caradoc?”

He might as well admit it. “As a matter of fact, yes.”

Dafydd let out a low whistle and devilish delight shone in his dark eyes. “Well, well, well, an honor this is, and no mistake. Caradoc come to ask my advice about a woman. I never thought I would see the day the mighty lord of Llanstephan Fawr would humble himself to ask me, a simple bailiff with the biggest nose in Wales, for advice. Why, a man could swoon with the shock—”

Caradoc started to stand up. There was a limit to his patience and his tolerance at being the butt of Dafydd’s humor. “If you’re going to waste my time prattling—”

“No, no, I won’t, I won’t!” Dafydd cried, tugging on Caradoc’s tunic to pull him back. “Still, you must admit, Caradoc, the day you ask advice about anything from anybody is a rare one.”

“I’ve never been married before,” Caradoc dryly noted. “So this
is
a very rare occasion.”

“Aye, just so.” Dafydd set down his ale and assumed a very studious demeanor. “Now, to business. What do you want to know?”

Caradoc reconsidered and once again started to stand.

Once again Dafydd pulled him back. “Caradoc, I am here and you have a question, so you might as well speak. I promise you I will not tell anybody.”

“You said that about the time I got my head stuck in the bucket.”

“Different that was, Caradoc. I had to say what had happened to your hair. Otherwise, your father might have thought I took the shears to it for no reason at all.”

“It would have been better if you had told me that there had been honey in the bucket and you hadn’t cleaned it before you put it on my head.”

“I forgot.”

Caradoc gave him a disgruntled look. He had always believed, and believed it still, that Dafydd had let him put that honey-coated bucket on his head for a joke.
Let’s play knights. Here’s your helmet
. He should have been more suspicious.

“Look you, Caradoc, are we going to talk about that, or your wedding night?”

Caradoc took a swig of ale, set down the mug and rubbed his hand over his stubbled chin before answering. He thought himself prepared to be matter-of-fact, but when he opened his mouth, the words stumbled out. “Since Fiona is a virgin—”

“She told you that?” Dafydd interrupted, shocked.

He shook his head. “No. I just assumed. The Scots hold their honor dear, and like the Normans they are in this.”

“Aye, I’ve heard that, too.”

“So assuming that she is,” Caradoc continued, “I don’t want to … you know … be too quick.”

Dafydd’s brow furrowed studiously as he silently regarded his friend.

“I don’t want to hurt her,” Caradoc elaborated. “I want it to be good for her.”

Especially after their conversation by the
ffridd
. Despite his stupid awkwardness and his lack of facility with words, he had never enjoyed such a talk with a woman. It gave him hope that his decision to marry her was one of the better ones of his life.

Still Dafydd looked at him as if Caradoc were speaking a foreign language.

“God’s wounds, Dafydd,” he growled, “don’t play the fool with me. You understand what I’m talking about well enough.”

His friend grinned mischievously. “Aye, I do. Just wanted to know why you wanted to take your time. That’s important.”

“It is?”

“Aye. Virgin or not, a good lover thinks of the woman as much as himself, if not more. Glad I am that you have figured that out for yourself.”

Caradoc felt a flush of pride at his words. Nevertheless, he was also glad it was dark so that Dafydd wouldn’t see it. “So, what should I do?”

Dafydd made a great show of stroking his chin and appearing to be musing deeply. “Well, my friend, as you have realized, it is best to concentrate on
her
pleasure, not your own. You must make sure she is very ready for you, if you follow me, so that the pain is not too bad. And lots of tender love talk I would be saying.”

The first suggestion was fine. And the second. But the third? “What do you mean, tender love talk? I am not Connor, you know.”

Dafydd gave him a wry look. “Aye, I know. He was forever trying to tell
me
how to handle women, the arrogant pup.”

“So let’s forget any notion of tender love talk.”

“You don’t have to be a bard, Caradoc. Just tell her she’s the most beautiful woman in the world, that sort of thing.”

“Everyone keeps telling me she’s not pretty, and Fiona herself is no fool, so I don’t think she’ll believe that.”

Dafydd stroked his chin some more. “Tell her she’s very exciting, then.”

“That’s true,” Caradoc reflected.

Dafydd’s mischievous grin returned twofold. “Really?”

Caradoc wished he had kept his mouth shut about that. “Anything else?”

“Listen, and listen well. Let her guide you.”

“If she’s a virgin, she won’t know what to tell me to do.”

“Are you a dolt, Caradoc, or what?” Dafydd demanded, exasperated. “You would think you had never been with a woman before, and since I was losing my virginity at the same time you were thanks to those two sisters at the Bull and Crown, I know you have. Women make
noises
, boy.”

“I knew that.” He just hadn’t noticed for a long time. For the past few years, his couplings had been swift releases and nothing more.

“Listen to them. That way you’ll know what’s working.”

Dafydd rose and began pacing just as Father Adolphus had when he was trying to drum a Latin verb into Caradoc’s head. “Listen and she’ll teach you what excites her most. Every woman is different, my friend.”

Unlike Father Adolphus, who always clasped his hands behind his back when he paced, Dafydd gestured expansively. “Some like one thing, some another. Some scream, some make only the smallest of whimpers. It is your task to discover what will—”

“I understand, Dafydd,” Caradoc interrupted, having heard what he needed. “I don’t need a lecture. I’ve already endured enough of those, thank you.”

Because Dafydd had known Caradoc all his life and seen the way things had been at Llanstephan when they were both lads, he nodded and answered without rancor. “Aye, I suppose you have at that.”

Chapter 7

F
iona watched the activity in the courtyard below as she waited for Rhonwen to return with fresh, hot water. She had put on her finest shift of thin white silk, and her wedding gown of deep, rich burgundy velvet. Gold and silver flowers had been embroidered around the curving neck and along the hem of the long flowing sleeves lined with cloth of gold. Her girdle, made of gilded leather, lay ready on the bed, to be put on after Rhonwen returned and tied the laces at the back of her gown.

Only a short time remained until the wedding, and from her vantage point, Fiona could watch the servants coming and going as they completed the final preparations for the wedding feast to come.

Last night as she had supped in the hall beside Caradoc, he had warned her that the feasting and drinking and singing was likely to last a long time today. She had wondered if he was telling her that as a warning not to expect him to come too soon to the bridal chamber.

She hadn’t asked. Indeed, she hadn’t said much of anything. Her emotions had been in a tumult and seemed to be getting more tumultuous every moment she was with Caradoc.

It wasn’t only that he stirred her passions when they were together. Caradoc’s effect upon her was something more than the mere excited desire she had felt for Iain. It was deeper, stirring the depths of her heart rather than simply skimming the surface the way a stone could be made to skip across water.

Surely, because of that, she was not wrong to hope that this marriage could be more than a mere bargain.

Ganore bustled out of the kitchen and across to the storeroom where the ale was kept. Fiona didn’t have to see the woman’s face to know that she was nearly apoplectic with annoyance. When she had seen Cordelia earlier in the day, the girl hadn’t looked any happier, either.

Except for Rhonwen, it was the women of this household who gave her the most trepidation about her chosen course of action. They might never accept her, and she would be as isolated as she had been in Dunburn.

It would help if Father Rhodri would quit condemning her and her marriage during grace. Last night he had referred to the plagues of Egypt as if she were one of them. And again, Caradoc had been stonily silent. Maybe he thought the man would cease his thinly veiled denunciations after the ceremony.

Maybe Caradoc was right, but in view of the level of Father Rhodri’s hostility, she doubted it.

The chamber door creaked open. Holding her untied bodice to her chest, she turned, expecting to see Rhonwen with the water.

Caradoc stood on the threshold, his face full of wonder as he surveyed the refurbished chamber.

Despite his openmouthed surprise and his plain clothing, he looked marvelous. His simple black wool tunic fit as if it had grown on him. His breeches hugged his muscular thighs, and his boot were polished so well, they shone. He had shaved again, and his dark, curling hair had been combed into smooth waves.

Her rational mind told her it was improper to be alone with him since they were not yet wed, yet she couldn’t find the words to tell him to leave.

Tonight, this incredibly handsome, virile man would return with her to this chamber, and he would remove those clothes. He would take her in his arms and his lips would touch hers…

He stopped surveying the room and his blue-eyed gaze came to rest upon her as the door swung shut behind him. Her vision of being in his passionate embrace was still strong upon her, and she suddenly feared he knew exactly what she had been imagining.