Tempt Me With Kisses (37 page)

Fiona leaned close to her blushing husband. “Whatever happened at the Bull and Crown, not a shame, is it, for the Welsh?” she teased, putting her hand on his thigh and quite shameless fondling his leg.

She was also thinking of what might happen later. When they would be alone.

“Cordelia’s right,” Caradoc announced, his voice slightly strained. “A song, my lady, if you please. Otherwise, I’m going to embarrass myself, you temptress,” he finished in a mockingly chastising whisper.

“For you, my lord, my love, anything,” she replied, giving him a seductive smile.

“Been hanging about too much with Dafydd, you,” her husband chided, his tone grave but his eyes dancing with merriment. “No way for a lady to speak, that.”

“I was not born a lady,” she pertly reminded him as she rose. “I am a merchant’s daughter, remember?”

“Aye, I remember a lot of things, especially when we were in the solar.”

She warmed beneath his steady, passionate gaze as she cleared her throat. Then she began to sing.

She delighted the gathering with a rollicking Welsh ballad Cordelia had taught her. When she got to the chorus, she gestured for Cordelia to stand up and join her, and the two women’s voices joined and blended and filled the hall with joyful music.

Bang!

The door to the hall burst open and hit the wall. A man stood on the threshold, limned in the afternoon sunlight.

“A celebration for the return of the prodigal son, is it?” he asked, his deep voice very like Caradoc’s, and his hair just as savagely long. “Have you killed the fatted calf, too?”

“Connor!” Cordelia screeched as she rushed from the dais and threw herself into the arms of the stranger, who was really no stranger at all.

Connor of Llanstephan was a rather unforgettable personage—not nearly so impressive as Caradoc, of course, Fiona thought, but he did have a fairly commanding presence, too. Tall, dark-haired, so handsome it could make a woman gasp, he had the build of a warrior, and the confidence of a champion of tournaments, which he was.

The soldiers and servants, the brothers of Bronwyn, Bronwyn herself, Father Rhodri—as excited as a boy—and Dafydd hurried to cluster around Connor. They all talked at once, asking questions and trying to tell him about Ganore, Caradoc’s injury, his subsequent illness, and the visit of Lord Rhys.

Caradoc slowly got to his feet and she wondered what he was thinking, for here was Connor, the favorite in the flesh.

“Give me your hand, Fiona,” he said quietly.

As they approached Connor, Fiona noticed that Rhonwen hung back, and she knew exactly how she felt. For days now she had been living with a happy confidence and security such as she had never known but now, suddenly, she was once more Freckled Fiona, sure she was lacking and trying not to show it.

“Watch the shoulder, rabbit, watch the shoulder,” Connor genially warned as he embraced Cordelia with his right arm, his left held against his chest. “Out of joint twice it’s been, and if I hurt it again, my wife will be having my head on a plate. And one at a time, the lot of you. I cannot make out half of what you’re saying.”

Tall enough to look over the women and several of the men, Connor saw them draw near, a curious smile on his face as the crowd parted to let Caradoc and Fiona through. Tension began to replace the merriment, and she realized everybody was watching them very keenly. No doubt there would be tales about this reunion, too, in time to come.

“Greetings, brother,” Caradoc said, his tone considerably cooler than anyone else’s had been.

Fiona glanced at him uncertainly, then back to Connor.

“Greetings, Caradoc.” Connor smiled, as charming as always, his features lighting with it. “This must be the bride of Llanstephan.”

Fiona tried to look pleased to see him.

Sudden recognition dawned on Connor’s face. “Why, it’s little Fiona MacDougal all grown up, isn’t it?”

“I am,” she answered, stunned. She had no idea he had even known she existed.

She slid another glance at Caradoc, who looked as dumbfounded as she.

“How could I forget the only girl who never paid a jot of attention to me before I went on Crusade?” Connor amicably demanded. “Hurt my feelings and my pride, you did, Fiona MacDougal, but I forgive you. You must be quite a woman to win my brother’s hand in marriage.”

He gave Caradoc a condemning look. “You might have let a brother know you married.”

Caradoc stiffened. “So might you—and by a swifter method than Sir Ralph de Valmonte.”

Instead of taking umbrage at his brother’s tone, as she had expected, Connor chuckled. Perhaps he had learned to curb his temper, as impossible as that seemed. “Ah, the good Sir Ralph de Valmonte.”

“Good?” Caradoc rumbled as his grip on her tightened with agitation. “The man took six weeks to get here.”

“I meant that in a general way,” Connor explained. “The man’s as big a dolt as they come, but he has his uses.”

“Why do we not all sit down?” Fiona suggested, hoping to prevent another quarrel, especially so soon after Connor’s arrival. “I’m sure you must be weary after your journey, Sir Connor.”

“As a matter of fact, I am. And since we are related, do not call me by my title.” His expression brightened as he looked at the food on the tables. “Is that fish? How the devil did you get Gwillym to cook fish when it’s not Friday?”

“As you said, my wife is a very special woman,” Caradoc growled as he turned and led the way to the dais, holding Fiona’s hand as if he feared she might take it into her head to bolt.

Father Rhodri quickly made way for Connor to sit at the high table. He went to join Jon-Bron and his brothers and his sister below the dais.

“Why the hell did Richard trust Sir Ralph with such a message?” Caradoc demanded before Connor was even fully in his chair.

“Is that what he told you, that Richard sent him?” Connor threw back his head and laughed. “Richard went back to Europe weeks ago, right after I was married.
I
sent Sir Ralph with the message because I could not come myself. The physician wouldn’t allow me to ride, and my wife wouldn’t, either.”

Caradoc was obviously not mollified. “Pretty poor choice of messenger, brother.”

Connor flushed and seemed most fascinated with the fish, for he kept his gaze on the dish before him as he answered. “I wasn’t sure how you would take the news, so I thought a little delay might not be amiss.”

Caradoc brought his fist down on the table so hard, the goblets rattled. “
Amiss
? It was very
amiss
of you to keep me worrying when all had been made well. It would have been a relief to me to know about the taxes, at the very least. How else did you think I would take the news?”

Worried where this would lead, Fiona gave Cordelia a pleading look, silently urging her to intervene, but Cordelia simply shrugged her shoulders.

“I thought you might not take kindly to my help,” Connor said.

“It was you caused the problem in the first place, with your temper,” Caradoc declared, leaning forward on his elbow to glare at his brother.

Connor raised his head to fasten a steadfast gaze on his brother. “I know that. But you are as proud and stubborn as Cordelia and I. I was afraid you would take it as an insult to your ability to run Llanstephan, or think it charity.”

Just like Lord Rhys, and Fiona was no more impressed that Connor used the same reason. To be sure, her husband was an expert at hiding his feelings and behaving as if he wanted no assistance, but surely they should have offered.

“Do you honestly believe I would put my pride before keeping our home? Or that it would not wound my pride worse to lose it?”

Connor shrugged his broad shoulders and looked apologetic. “I could never figure out
what
you were thinking, or feeling, from the time we were children.”

Caradoc brought his fist down on the table again. “Just because I don’t go flying into a temper the way you do—”

“The way you are now,” Fiona observed, afraid this would herald another argument on a day she wanted everything to be pleasant, in spite of Connor’s unforeseen advent. “Caradoc, Lord Rhys used the same excuse when I asked him why he did not offer to help.”

“You asked that of Lord Rhys?” Caradoc demanded incredulously. “When?”

She swallowed hard. Every person in the hall seemed to be watching her with rapt attention, especially Connor and Cordelia. She wished she had spoken of this to Caradoc alone, but the fleece was off the sheep now. “Before he left.”

Caradoc’s brows lowered, and more than ever she wished she had not broached this subject. “I don’t imagine he took kindly to your criticism,” he said.

“No, he did not.”

His lips curved up in a smile. “Good.”

Her jaw dropped at his pleased response.

“You are not the only one who thought the offer should have been made, but I liked your offer of marriage better.” He studied her face and his smile was warm, and gentle. “Don’t worry about Rhys. I’ve been dealing with the man for years and he makes a fearsome noise, but he’s not a fool. He would think twice before he would move against the lord of Llanstephan Fawr.”

Relief coursed through her and she let out her breath.

“Especially one whose brother is close enough to the king of England that he could call on him for help,” Connor added. “And you see, Caradoc?
Everybody
thinks you are too proud to accept money.”

“Which doesn’t mean I wouldn’t have if I stood to lose Llanstephan,” Caradoc retorted. “Nor does that absolve you from sending that fat dolt with such important news.”

“That
fat dolt
is what brought me here,” Connor replied, folding his arms over his chest. “He sent a very odd message to me telling me I had best go home for a visit. He seems to be under the impression that you are on the verge of madness.”

“Madness?” Fiona gasped.

“He thought he should let me know before the king found out.”

Caradoc scowled. “I am no more mad than he is.”

“So I see, but what exactly did you do when you read my message?” Connor asked, raising a quizzical brow. “He implied you were likely to go on a murderous rampage, at the very least, and suggested I should get here as quick as I could. I thought I had better come see what had happened and why my brother, the most steady and stable of men, had given him the impression that he was about to go off like Attila the Hun.”

“He lost his temper,” Cordelia said.

Caradoc glared at her as if he was about to go on a murderous rampage.

“Well, it’s true. Isn’t it, Fiona?” she protested, appealing to her sister-in-law.

Fiona wasn’t quite sure how to respond. Caradoc had most certainly flown into a temper, as she very well remembered, but she didn’t want to be in the middle of an argument.

Before she could answer, Connor smiled with sly satisfaction, which was not, Fiona thought, the way to mollify her husband. “So now you know how I felt the day I berated Richard and started all our troubles.”

Caradoc blinked. Then he lowered his brows. “Our troubles started when you insisted upon going on Crusade.”

Connor met his glare with the beginning of a glower. “It was my Christian duty to free the Holy Land. I won’t apologize for wanting to do my duty, disastrous though it was in the end.”

This was going to lead to disaster here, and she wouldn’t have it—not now and not ever.

“A fine way this is to treat your brother when he’s just arrived, Caradoc,” she said, putting her hand on his arm. “Let the past be in the past. It doesn’t matter anyway. You are not in debt, you both have fine estates. Stop quarreling like bickering children and behave like civilized knights of the realm.”

“Fiona,” Caradoc warned.

“Or, if you cannot do that, perhaps it is time you finally fought it out. What say you, Cordelia? Shall we let them brawl like boys until all is settled between them?”

Her rebuking gaze going from one brother to the other, Cordelia said, “What a wonderful suggestion. That may be best. They are like two boys with one bow between them. Shall we ask Jon-Bron to oversee the fight?”

“No, he’ll favor Caradoc,” Fiona replied, taking great satisfaction talking over their heads as if they weren’t there. “I think Eifion.”

Cordelia rubbed her chin, as Caradoc did when he was thinking. “He’ll whine about the time it will take.”

Caradoc and Connor exchanged the baffled looks of men caught with their breeches about their ankles.

“Emlyn-Bron, then?” Fiona suggested, still ignoring them.

“What about Bronwyn?”

“Maybe we don’t need anyone to oversee it. They’re both wounded, so I think it will be generally fair.”

“Wounded?” Connor demanded, looking at his brother in amazement. “How in the name of the saints did you get wounded? You’ve never fought a battle in your life.”

“He most certainly has,” Cordelia retorted, finally paying attention to him. “That’s what Jon-Bron was trying to tell you.”

“Aye!” Jon-Bron shouted, reminding them that they had an audience. It also sounded as if he and his companions had been sampling the
braggot
again.

“The wound nearly killed him,” Cordelia continued. “It would have, except for Fiona’s nursing.”

Connor sat perfectly still for a moment, regarding his brother. The mood in the hall shifted, to one grave and serious. “You nearly died?”

Caradoc nodded.

Connor slumped back, staring at him with shocked disbelief.

Then Caradoc gave him a sardonically proud smile. “I am finally going to have a scar better than any
you’ve
got.”

Connor straightened and the spark of brotherly competition lessened the grim mood. “I doubt it.”

Caradoc shoved up the sleeve of the shirt beneath his tunic, exposing the bandage on his healing wound. “We’ll compare, shall we?”

“Caradoc, you keep that wrapped,” Fiona cried, afraid that he was going to tear off the bandage then and there.

“All right,” he agreed. He got to his feet. “Come, Connor, let’s go to the solar where men may talk in peace.”

He gave his wife and sister a wry look. “I promise I will do my best to keep my temper, but if you hear the furnishings being tossed about, you may interrupt.”