Tempt Me With Kisses (36 page)

“Fiona!”

Surprise and delight tumbled through him. He grabbed her hand with all the strength he possessed and struggled to sit up. “Stop!” she commanded, gently pushing him back down. “You are to rest. The physician says so.”

He obeyed, but he pulled her down beside him and kissed her deeply, ardently, joyfully. Wonderfully.

To think she was with child—their child!

A new happiness beyond anything he had ever known, even Fiona’s love, filled him. A new life. A new beginning—for both of them, too.

Panting, she broke the kiss and sat back, out of reach. “You’re supposed to rest. The physician says you are not to exert yourself, in
any
way.” She tilted her head to regard him critically but with love shining from her eyes. “Shall I have Jon-Bron detail a guard to make sure you obey your physician’s orders?”

Caradoc scowled, half serious in his annoyance. He wanted to kiss her more than he wanted to sleep.

But she needed to sleep, too. He could see how tired she was, and if she was with child…

Then he got an idea. “Lie here beside me and rest with me.”

Her lips turned up in a wonderfully wicked smile of approval. “Rest, you say?”

“Caradoc!”

Cordelia rushed into the chamber and, unaware of how she had startled and interrupted them, skittered to a halt beside the bed as Fiona rose. She clasped her hands together as if she might fly out the window if she did not contain her excitement.

“I’ve been so afraid you were going to die, Caradoc,” she said fervently. “If you had, I would never have forgiven myself for quarreling with you all the time. I’m sorry for that, and for everything else I’ve done to upset you. And I’m glad you married Fiona. She saved your life, Arundel says, and I believe him. I’m sorry I was cruel to her, too.”

Then she threw herself on his chest and started to sob.

Her tearful confession was nearly as surprising as Fiona’s revelation. Not quite, but almost—and as welcome, too.

“It’s all right, Cordelia,” he said softly, stroking her back and smiling at Fiona over her shoulder.

“It was Cordelia who went for the physician, Caradoc,” his lovely Fiona told him. “With Jon-Bron as escort.”

“So you see, all that riding had some use after all,” Cordelia declared as she straightened, her apparent defiance reduced by her sniffling and her tremulous smile.

“I’m glad I let you, then,” he replied with mock gravity.

“You
let
me? I didn’t think you even knew what I was doing.”

“Of course I knew. I knew every time you gave your guards the slip. I was just too wary of your temper to try to stop you.”

“Wary? Of my temper?” she demanded incredulously. “You never seemed to care how angry I was.”

“Well, I did.”

“Cordelia,” Fiona interjected gently, “he really should rest now. There will be plenty of time for talk later.”

Cordelia nodded and obeyed without protest, and he was most impressed. It seemed his illness was having one benefit, at least.

“Until later, Caradoc,” his sister said in farewell. “And do as Fiona says.”

“Always has to have the last word,” Caradoc noted to his wife as he patted the bed beside him. “Come here, Fiona,” he crooned.

“You really should rest, my love.”

“Then sing me a lullaby in your beautiful voice,” he wheedled, truly hoping for a song, but more for her to sit beside him.

Before she could, Dafydd careered into the room. “Saints be praised, there he is, awake at last.”

“Are you drunk?” Caradoc inquired, his momentary frustration at this new interruption giving way in the face of his friend’s obvious delight.

“Only with joy, my friend, only with joy,” Dafydd retorted as he bounced toward the bed. He airily kissed his hand to Fiona. “A wonderful day, my lady, is it not?”

“I know you’re glad to see him, but he’s supposed to rest,” Fiona said, by her tone a little peeved and frustrated herself.

Regardless of her admonition, Dafydd plunked himself on the bed. “Oh, I have permission from Arundel. In the kitchen he is now, bragging how he saved your life, Caradoc. Me, I think it was Fiona. And sweet little Rhonwen, too. Either way, estate business I have, you see. I promise not to take long.”

“Very well,” Fiona conceded. She sat on the stool beside her dressing table and, with her elbow resting on it, leaned her head on her hand.

In the next moment, she was asleep.

She must be exhausted, and while he appreciated her nursing and her concern, he worried she had done too much.

Dafydd playfully punched his leg, drawing Caradoc’s attention from his worried contemplation of his wife.

“What the devil were you about, man?” he demanded. “Thought to be the center of things, did you? You picked a poor way to do it, if you ask me. Half the women been in tears and the other at prayer. A man could hardly get a bite to eat or so much as a word from one of them.”

Caradoc gave him a skeptical look. “What about
sweet little Rhonwen
?”

“I tell you, it’s ashamed of myself I am, to think all this time she was right there under my nose.” He grinned, as irrepressible and merry as always. “Maybe that was the problem, eh? I couldn’t see her in the shade of it.”

“What is this business you mentioned?”

“The wool merchants have come to buy the fleece. They’ve been hanging about waiting, because nobody dared to deal for you. That Heribert is driving Bronwyn mad with his gossip, and the rest of them have drunk nearly all the ale in her tavern. It’s getting to be a serious state, Caradoc, so somebody had better deal with them. Who shall it be if you can’t get out of bed? Me?”

Caradoc shook his head. “Fiona.”

“You want your wife to sell the fleece?”

Caradoc nodded, absolutely certain that this was the perfect thing to do. “She’s a wool merchant’s daughter, after all.”

“Ah, you’re right. She ought to know something of the trade.”

“And she drives quite a bargain.”

Dafydd chuckled. “Back to your old self in no time, you’ll be. Eifion’s been predicting your death these past five days. I’ll be glad to be able to tell him he’s wrong again.”

“Not so glad as I am. Is Lord Rhys still here?”

“No.”

Caradoc sighed and closed his eyes, relieved. “Thank God.”

“Aye, he’s a trouble. I think he’ll be back sooner rather than later next time, though. He kept talking about Fiona’s voice. Mind, he seems wary of her, too, for all that, and last I heard, he was muttering something about your sons.” Dafydd fixed him with a sharp and shrewd look. “So, are you keeping more secrets from me, Caradoc, or what?

Caradoc thought it was too early to tell the world Fiona’s joyous news, but he couldn’t help giving a hint, so he winked.

Dafydd’s eyes lit up like a bonfire on a winter’s night.

“Keep it a secret, Dafydd, though,” Caradoc urged, suddenly regretting he had revealed that news. “It’s early days yet.”

Dafydd put his hand to his heart as if mortally offended. “I can keep a secret. Why, did I announce to all and sundry that you were passionately in love with your wife?”

“I never told you I was.”

“Eyes in my head I have, and I’ve known you all your life. Indeed, I think I knew it before you did.”

“It might have made things easier if you’d told
me
what I was feeling,” Caradoc growled.

Dafydd chortled. “Ah, you’re on the mend, all right.” He sobered when Caradoc yawned, for he was still weak and weary despite his joy. “About the sheep those louts stole… I am thinking we could ask for compensation from King William since that bastard you killed was so proud of his connection to the king.”

Caradoc wanted nothing more to do with King William or any man from Scotland. “Leave it.”

Fiona’s head jerked up. “I must have nodded off,” she said, stifling a yawn. Her beautiful eyes narrowed. “How long have you been here? He’s supposed—”

“To rest. I know,” Dafydd finished as he got to his feet. “We’re done with business.” He grinned. “Caradoc here says you’re to deal with the wool merchants.”

Obviously taken aback, she limply pointed to her chest. “Me?”

“Yes, you,” Caradoc answered, giving her a loving smile that could not convey all the love he had for her in his heart, but was better than words. Yet he would tell her some things, too. “I trust you absolutely.”

Her loving smile blossomed.

Blushing as if he had interrupted them making love, Dafydd backed toward the door. “I think it’s time I left and let you rest like you’re supposed to. And your lady, too, I should think.”

“We shall rest,” Caradoc promised.

“You had better, you bloody great git.”

“Blackguard.”

At the threshold of the chamber, Dafydd’s homely face shone with a beaming smile of warmth and relief. “I’m glad you’re not dead, you nit.”

“So am I,” Caradoc murmured as he reached for Fiona and pulled her down beside him, to nestle against him at last. “So am I.”

Chapter 17

F
our weeks later, on a warm and mellow August evening, Caradoc was finally well enough to come down to eat in the hall. Everyone was there for the occasion, except Arundel, who had gone back to Shrewsbury, fully intending, Fiona was sure, to brag of how he had cured Caradoc of Llanstephan with his incredible skill.

Dafydd sat close beside Rhonwen. In fact, he was so close to her, Fiona wasn’t sure how Rhonwen was going to move her right arm to eat. But she looked so happy, and he looked so totally besotted, she was sure food was not uppermost on either of their minds.

Father Rhodri, who had been offering thanksgiving masses for days, rose to say grace.

“Oh, God and St. David, patron saint of Wales,” he began humbly, in a normal voice, although loud and resonant enough to reach the back of the hall, “thank You for shining Your countenance upon us, especially those who have been ill. We also give thanks for those who live Your love in the care they give to others.

“Oh God, I would also ask Your forgiveness for those who have not acted with Christian goodness, mercy or charity, but who have seen the error of their ways and seek to reform.

“And finally, Heavenly Father, we thank You for this bounty before us. Amen.”

As the priest sat down in the silence that followed, Caradoc held up his hand to command the attention of everyone there.

“I want to thank you all for your good wishes,” he said, his voice not as strong as it had been, but firm and steady. “And I have some joyful news I would share with you now.” He looked at Fiona with love blatant in his blue eyes. “My wonderful wife is with child.”

The hall erupted into spontaneous cheers and claps and stamping feet, and in the next moment, Fiona was being nearly strangled by an over-enthusiastic Cordelia.

“Oh, I am so happy,” her sister-in-law sobbed as she hung about her neck. “So happy! I shall be the
best
aunt!”

Whatever else she said was muffled as she wept into Fiona’s hair.

Caradoc disengaged her. “Sit down, Cordelia and dry your eyes. This is a time for celebration, not tears. And let’s eat. I’m sure Gwillym has outdone himself. Look you—isn’t that fish?” He winked at Fiona. “I do enjoy a nice bit of fish.”

Never had Fiona enjoyed a meal more. It was like Christmas and Easter and every other holiday rolled up in one marvelous celebration of thanksgiving. The food was superb, Gwillym having exerted himself once more. The stock of ale had been replenished and flowed freely, and it seemed Caradoc and Dafydd were determined to outdo one another regaling her with tales of their youth.

“So there he was, his head in a bucket,” Dafydd concluded at the end of one such recitation. “Just sitting and not saying a word, like he was in holy contemplation, while I had to fetch the shears.”

“I was too angry to speak, you nit,” Caradoc growled with a bogus scowl. “You’re lucky I couldn’t see or I would have knocked you down. Haven’t been able to stand the smell of honey since, or
braggot
, either, although not such a loss there, I grant you.”

“But I was dying a thousand deaths fearing what our fathers were going to do when you came back with your hair looking like some beast had torn out pieces. I thought they might think I’d decided to practice the shearing on you. And hell to pay there was, too. Why, I couldn’t sit for a week.”

“I looked like I had the mange for more than that,” Caradoc countered.

“Why don’t you two stop quarreling about past times better forgotten and let Fiona sing?” Cordelia demanded, having heard this story—and the mutual accusations—about a hundred times before. “Next thing we know, we’ll be hearing again about the Bull and Crown.”

“What happened at the Bull and Crown?” Fiona asked innocently, although she had her suspicions about what sort of thing had happened when Caradoc glanced sheepishly at Dafydd and blushed.

“Nothing,” her husband said.

“Farther afield, is it?” she inquired.

Caradoc looked as if he had swallowed a bug.

“No, no, not far at all,” Dafydd swiftly lied, but he was not fooling her for instant. “Close by, really. About five miles over the hills to the south.”