‘I did not come here to quarrel,cariad. Nor do I intend to leave upon one. We know each other better than that. If I have rubbed salt into a wound then I am sorry. You never gave me cause to believe that it ran any deeper than a mutual pleasuring.’
Rhosyn bit her lip and dug her nails into her palms, striving for the control to smile lightly and say that yes, he was right, it had not run any deeper. She felt his hand lightly on her shoulder turning her to face him. ‘I needed to know how you fared.’
‘Well, now you do,’ Rhosyn would have drawn away except that he held her fast and kissed her averted temple, the corner of her eye, her cheek and her mouth, refusing to release her and, indeed, her struggles were only half-hearted and soon ceased.
‘I am foolish, Guy,’ she murmured, setting her arms around his neck. ‘I see the moon in a pool and I am disappointed when my hand despoils the illusion instead of grasping the reality. Be welcome for whatever time you choose to stay.’
Their embrace deepened, warm, sweet and poignant, desire sweeping but hard-held by the presence of the children a thincurtain away and, in Guyon, by a reluctance to cause Rhosyn a deeper wound than she had already suffered. He broke away first, his breathing ragged, and prowled to sit at the fire. His body protested. It had been a long time since he had lain with a woman and his hunger was keen. Keen, but not desperate. Whatever his detractors said, sexual liaisons were not to Guyon an immediate necessity of life. Given the leisure, the right circumstances and a willing partner, he enjoyed indulging his senses. But as now he possessed only the latter, he drew several deep, slow breaths and made his mind busy with other thoughts.
‘Where is your father?’
Rhosyn sat down beside him, just out of touching distance and picked up her distaff. Her fingers were trembling. She concentrated on the raw wool until the hot weakness left her limbs. ‘Gone to Bristol. We expect him home tomorrow or the day after. I worry about him, Guy. He is not well. He gets pains in his chest and Rhys is too young to take more than an apprentice’s responsibility.’
Guyon turned his head, eyes sharpening. ‘The pack routes are no place for a woman,’ he warned.
She did not answer, but the line of her mouth grew mulish and she gave all her attention diligently to the distaff.
‘Rhosyn, so help me, if I hear you have stirred from your hearth to go tramping about the borders in a drover’s cart, I will carry you off to Oxley myself and lock you up like a caged bird, in truth!’
‘You have not the right!’
‘I have every right. You carry my child. I will not see you dead in a ditch like Huw ap Sior!’
‘I won’t … What did you say?’ Her fingers ceased their nimble twirling. Her eyes opened upon him, wide with shock. ‘Huw, dead?’
‘At the hand of Robert de Belleme and his gutter sweepings. Huw’s pack-load of sables was brought to myself and Judith as a blood-smirched wedding gift.’ Sparing her nothing, he gave her the details.
‘He was my father’s best friend,’ she whispered jerkily when he had done. ‘They were boys together … Oh sweet Virgin!’
Their bodies closed again of necessity as Guyon grabbed hold of her, afraid that she was going to faint. She leaned her cheek against his jerkin, shivering, sick to the soul with grief and fear and shock.
‘Promise me,cariad,’ he murmured, stroking her hair.
She made a little movement against his chest. Her fingers gripped his arms.
‘Promise me.’
‘What good is an oath given under duress?’ Rhosyn replied shakily. ‘I could give you my word and it would be worthless.’ She uttered a desolate laugh. ‘Welsh oaths always are.’
‘Rhosyn …’
She pushed gently away from him and, having wiped her eyes, poured herself a cup of mead. ‘I might be fickle, Guy, but I am not about to step deliberately within de Belleme’s ring of fire. I will swear you this much honestly: that I will not stir from here until after the child is born and only then by necessity. And I will send to you for an escort.’
Guyon studied her through half-closed eyes but did not seek to persuade her further. He had her concessions in his grasp and was not going to jeopardise them with bitterness and anger.
‘Very well,cariad,’ he said quietly. ‘I do not suppose I would care so much were you not so cursedly independent.’ He sat down beside the fire and picked up the mead that Eluned had poured for him earlier.
Rhosyn stared at him in the firelight. With his Welsh clothing and dark complexion he might have been of her own race andclass – no barrier but the fire’s glow between them. It was a bitter-sweet illusion. Merchant’s daughter and marcher lord, already married for the sake of convenience and dynasty. He looked tired, she thought. The shadows beneath his eyes were not all the result of the dull light.
‘Does your wife know your whereabouts, Guy?’
He took a swallow of mead, swirled its golden surface and looked at her with rueful amusement. ‘She may have a suspicion,’ he admitted. ‘For sure, if I am not over the drawbridge come dawn, I’ll have to deal with a hellcat … and not for the reason I can see on your face.’ The amusement became a wry chuckle. He drank the remainder of the mead and did not offer to elucidate.
Rhosyn swallowed the temptation to ask. If Guyon was on this side of the border after dark, dressed in native garments and murmuring about scorching the devil’s tail, then it was best to know nothing. ‘What is she like?’
‘I think she would surprise you.’ He put down the cup to fondle the cold thrust of Gelert’s nose at his thigh. ‘God knows, she certainly surprised me … and continues to do so.’
‘Is she pretty?’
