Tempt Me With Kisses (38 page)

“And we will,” Fiona vowed.

A long while later, Caradoc sighed and leaned back in his chair. He sat behind his table, and Connor in front, so they looked like two generals conferring about strategy. The warm glow of the beeswax candles in the stand encircled them and added to the congenial atmosphere that Caradoc was determined to keep, now that he was over the first shock and irascibility his brother’s unheralded arrival had occasioned. “So now you know all that has happened while you’ve been gone.”

Connor shook his head. “You married, a babe on the way, Ganore dead, and Dafydd and little Rhonwen to wed. It is a lot to take in all at once.”

“So was the news of your wedding and how it came about,” Caradoc replied. He took a deep, strengthening breath, determined and sure of what he was about to say next. “There is one thing more. The day I sent her away, Ganore told me something, Connor, and now I must tell it to you.”

Grimly resolute, Caradoc related the gist of Ganore’s sordid story.

When he was finished, Connor studied him as if trying to see the truth of it in his face. “What did she say the man’s name was?”

“DeFrouchette. Do you know it?”

Connor nodded slowly, his eyes as grave as Caradoc had ever seen them, or more. “I know it very well. I knew the man himself. Him it was tried to kill the king. Him it was
I
killed preventing it.”

Shocked, Caradoc struggled to come to grips with what Connor was saying. If DeFrouchette was his natural father, and the same man Connor had killed, his real father was not just a rapist and a villain, but a traitor.

A wild, desperate hope flashed through him. “Even if Ganore’s story is true, maybe it wasn’t him, but a relative—a cousin, or brother.”

“I have to tell you, Caradoc, the age would be right, and he had blue eyes. He was tall, like you.”

“And you.”

“Aye, and I have been searching your face for any other likeness.” Connor smiled with compassion. “I do not see any.”

Caradoc heard his words and saw his smile, but it was to the depths of his brother’s eyes that he looked for the truth.

He saw it, and it was different from his words. “Don’t lie to me, Connor. If there is a resemblance, say so.”

Connor frowned with frustration as he got to his feet and started pacing. He threw his hands in the air. “Who can say? There may be, but he was older and thinner, not so dark as you.”

He halted and faced his brother. “I absolutely refuse to believe this story, and I don’t think you should, either.”

“It would explain some things,” Caradoc answered quietly, nevertheless grateful that his brother wanted to deny it.

Connor returned to his chair and sat heavily. “Aye, it would,” he admitted. “Things I’ve wondered about, too. And tried not to remember.”

Again Caradoc took a deep, strengthening breath, for he had come to the most important thing, beyond his personal pain. “If I am a bastard, Llanstephan may not be mine by law.”

The familiar, fierce expression of temper appeared on Connor’s face. “What, you think it should be
mine
?”

Slapping his hands on the arms of his chair, Connor rose abruptly once more. This time he did not pace, but glared at his brother, hands on hips, as righteously indignant as Caradoc had ever seen him. “You are still our mother’s son, and Llanstephan comes from her line, not our father’s. Besides, nobody deserves to rule here so much as you—and nobody will be able to do it so well, or be as welcome. I know that as much as anybody and I’m insulted—
insulted!
—that you would even
imagine
—”

Caradoc held up a placating hand. “All right,” he said, secretly pleased—and relieved—by Connor’s declaration. “Stop before you start frothing at the mouth. Very well, I shall keep Llanstephan.”

“Good!”

“Sit down, brother.”

Connor threw himself into a chair, and scowled. “Insulted, that’s what I am,” he muttered.

“Whether it’s true or not, I think we should tell Cordelia.”

That calmed Connor down. “Why?” he demanded. “It will only hurt her, and there is no proof. It could just be Ganore’s spiteful lie.”

To keep this secret from Cordelia had been his first reaction, too, but having thought long and hard upon it as he had recovered, Caradoc had decided otherwise. “I have seen what secrets and deception can do. Ganore may not be the only one who knew, other than those directly involved. Cordelia may come to hear rumors or stories. I would have her prepared.”

Connor did not look quite convinced, but he shrugged his shoulders nonetheless. “You are the elder brother, Caradoc. Whatever you decide, that is what will be done.”

“Oh, so in this you will listen to me?” Caradoc chided, only half joking. “Now you will give me respect?”

Connor regarded him steadily, and sincerely. “I’ve always respected you.”

This, too, was difficult to believe, given the teasing he had endured from this supposedly respectful sibling. “You have an odd way of showing brotherly respect,” he observed with a hint of his past displeasure.

“Well, I did, in my own way,” Connor protested. “And envied you, too.”

“
You
envied
me
?” That was
impossible
to believe.

Connor raked back his long dark hair with his slender yet powerful fingers. “I’ve envied you all my life, Caradoc. That’s why I teased you the way I did.”

Caradoc continued to stare at him with skeptical disbelief.

“I envied the way you stayed so calm and in control all the time.” He spread his hands. “Look you all the times Cordelia and I tried to get a rise out of you—and nothing. I could never understand how you managed it, because try as I might, I could never rein in my temper. And there were times, brother, I dearly wished I had.

“The envy it was made me goad you, you see, and comfort myself with thoughts that you were jealous of me for my skill at arms and,” he flushed a bit, “other things. I’m sorry.”

Caradoc didn’t know what to say. Once again, his heart was too full of feeling to find expression in words.

“And you are to have a child—another thing to envy you for, Caradoc.”

As Caradoc looked at his brother, the last of his bitterness and jealousy ebbed away, never to return.

“You have not yet been married long enough to fret about that,” he replied, wanting to offer some comfort.

Not that it seemed Connor needed any comforting, for a broad grin came to his face. “No, and I’m doing my best to remedy that lack.”

Which reminded Caradoc that Fiona was surely awaiting him in their bed.

“If you’ll excuse me, Connor, I’m tired,” he said, pushing back his chair and coming around the table. “You must be, too. Why don’t we retire for tonight? I trust you’ll be staying awhile.”

Connor grinned his devilish grin as he rose. “A few days, but no more. My wife will be missing me too much, and I her—and I do not mean only for genial, marital conversation.”

Connor had never jested this way with him before, the way he did with Dafydd and the other men, and Caradoc suddenly had the pleasant sensation that he had been admitted into some kind of secret fraternity.

Then his brother clapped his hand on his shoulder, and despite the merriment that had been in his eyes moments ago, Caradoc saw brotherly love there, too. “I’m glad you didn’t get killed, Troll.”

For the first time in his life, Caradoc didn’t bristle when he heard that name. “I’m glad you didn’t, either, brother.”

Fiona sighed and nestled against her husband, secure against his shoulder. Her fingers traced the edge of the bandage on his arm.

“And you truly didn’t quarrel?” she asked tentatively, not wanting to imply that he had been less than truthful, but he had been somber since he had joined her in their bedchamber.

For a moment, she feared he wasn’t going to answer, that he would shut her out as effectively as if he was in the solar with the oaken door between them.

“We didn’t quarrel again,” he replied softly. “I told him what Ganore said before she left.”

So that explained his state. “What did he say to that?” she asked, knowing how it must hurt him to speak of this.

“He refuses to believe it and denies any claim to Llanstephan.”

Relieved, she breathed again. “Is that not an end to it, then, if he does not wish to question it?”

“Until I tell Cordelia, as I think I must. She must be prepared, in case there are rumors.”

She would not disagree with his urge for honesty. Lies and deception had cost her too dear to protest.

“And there is more,” he said, his voice soft in the darkness.

He raised himself on his elbow to regard her. “The man Connor killed when he saved the king’s life—he may have been the man who raped my mother.”

She sucked in her breath, her eyes wide with the shock. “Then he would be—”

“My natural father, and a traitor as well as a villainous rogue.”

Hearing his anguish, knowing his inner pain, she caressed his rough cheek. “You cannot help what he was, if indeed Ganore spoke the truth, and I, for one, am not willing to accept her words at face value.” Nevertheless, she had to ask the question uppermost in her mind. “Did Connor see any resemblance between you?”

Caradoc lay back down and held her close again, closing his eyes as if he was too ashamed to look at her. “I think so, but he would not say it.”

“I don’t care if the meanest, most despicable lout in England was supposedly your father,” she declared. “You are the best, most wonderful, generous, kindhearted…”

He took her by the shoulders and pulled her to him for a passionate kiss. She rolled so that her breasts crushed against his chest as his mouth claimed hers.

“Cease your compliments,” he ordered when they broke the kiss, “or I will be getting conceited. I am not used to such fulsome praise.”

She shifted back, the sensation of his aroused body beneath hers wonderfully provoking. “Well, you will have to get used to it, my love,” she murmured, her voice a low, seductive purr, “because I’m going to compliment you every chance I get.”

She kissed his chest. “You are owed much there, and I intend to make up for the lack.” She raised her head and gazed up into his handsome, rugged face. “I mean what I say, Caradoc. It doesn’t matter who your father was—not to me, not to anyone who knows you. Llanstephan is yours and should be. You have worried and worked for it all your life, and nobody deserves to rule it as much as you do.”

He nodded and toyed with a strand of her hair, yet she could see that he was still distressed. “That is what Connor said, too,” he murmured.

“Then let us leave the matter to rest, Caradoc. DeFrouchette is dead, and so are your parents. Connor does not dispute your right to rule Llanstephan, so nobody else will.” She sighed. “I suppose we should be glad Ganore could keep a secret as well as she did. Maybe that’s why her mouth was so tight all the time.”

Caradoc’s chest quaked with the low rumble of his chuckle. “I cannot thank God enough for you, Fiona,” he said when he stopped laughing.

His voice lowered to that deep, seductive growl she found so alluring as he trailed a finger down her arm, sending delicious shivers outward along her body. “I do not have to tell Cordelia right now.”

“No, I think it can wait,” she agreed with a tremulous sigh.

His hand began to slide along the curve of her hip. “I seem to recall a certain day in the solar when I sat upon the chair…”

“A chair?” she whispered as the heat of desire stirred within her.

He stroked her breast, his long, strong fingers moving with deliberate, delicious enticement. “Is your memory failing, my love?”

She lifted his hand and, gazing steadily at his desire-darkened eyes, brushed it across her lips. The pulse in his neck started to throb. “At least your brother recognized me without being told who I was.”

“I remembered who you were,” he retorted, shifting closer so that she could feel more of his flesh against hers.

She slid her fingertips across his nipple, then playfully tweaked it. “Only after I told you my name.”

She thought she had been playful, but the low moan he made suggested to her that it had felt somewhat more than playful.

“I had a lot on my mind in those days,” he muttered as he pressed his warm, soft lips to her shoulder. The excitement flashed from there to the rest of her.

He regarded her with mock sternness. “Since when have you and Cordelia become thick as thieves?”

Was this sudden shift in mood designed to tease her, and increase her already surging ardor? “Since you two proved grown men can still act like boys.”

He frowned.

Well, he had asked, and if he didn’t like her answer… “This is hardly a time for questions, my lord,” she noted, letting her hair sweep over his chest.

His frown disappeared, and in an instant, desire shone in his brilliant blue eyes.

“It’s a pity Connor didn’t bring his wife, though. I would like to meet her,” she remarked.

It seemed he regretted starting a conversation, for he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her forward, bringing his mouth to hers for a passionate kiss.

She arched back and his lips trailed across her chin and down the slender column of her throat. “We could go to your brother’s estate,” she offered breathlessly as she tried not to give in just yet to the passion throbbing through her. “Wouldn’t that be nice, to travel?”

“I would rather stay right here with you. Right
here
,” he repeated. “In this bed.”

As he took her mouth again, she willingly and joyfully gave herself up to the hunger coursing through her.

Mindful of that day in the solar, and excited by the memory, she maneuvered herself to sit on his hips, then put her hands beside his head and leaned closer, inviting him to pleasure her breasts.

With delicious, deliberate slowness he did. He swirled his tongue around the hardened peak of her nipples, making her pant and sigh.

Stroking and caressing, kissing and touching, she explored his body as he did hers, until the excitement seemed too much.

Yet not enough.

She raised herself and guided him into her, then slowly, slowly, lowered herself until he filled her. Thus joined, she tried to move with equal leisure, to take the time to enjoy every element of their passion.