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  When he slid his hand down to her behind, she kicked him, then bucked against him in a panic, bringing her knee up in an attempt to drive him away.

  With a cry, he fell back and bent over double. She didn’t know what she’d done, but she wasn’t staying to find out. Lifting her skirts, she ran for Plas Niwl.

  “I shan’t relent, Catrin!” he called out. “Somehow I’ll find a way around your curse, and then you’ll marry me! You and I were meant for each other!”

  She ran faster, praying he didn’t come after her. All she could think was thank heaven she hadn’t told him the truth about the chalice. Or she’d really have a fight on her hands.

  Blackheart stood inside a deserted cottage near Llanddeusant, watching the path leading from the overgrown woods. When a shiver wracked him, he took a swallow from his flask, wishing the sweet burn of port were stronger.

  If that fool David Morys doesn’t have news for me today, he’ll regret it. Catrin Price has been back for days now. He ought to know something.

  When he saw the familiar lanky form emerge from the trees, he shoved the flask back in his pocket. Morys entered the dilapidated room, and Blackheart barked, “You’re late.”

  Morys’s expression turned mutinous. “Can’t blame me for that. I just today got the chance to talk to Catrin Price. I came as soon as I could.”

  “What did she say about the chalice?” Blackheart considered Morys a posturing fool, but he had his uses. “Does she have it?”

  Morys shook his head.

  “What do you mean? Of course she does. That’s why she went to London, isn’t it?”

  “She says it turned out to be the wrong one, so she didn’t purchase it. She says she’s given up the search.”

  Blackheart frowned. “Perhaps she’s lying to avoid refusing your offer of marriage. The chit is woefully tenderhearted.”

  With a haughty lift of his chin, Morys faced down his interrogator. “Have you ever known a woman to refuse me? Especially one of Catrin’s age, with an uncertain reputation and no prospects for a husband?”

  “Who is also an attractive, wealthy widow wary of fortune-­hunters. She might be a quiet sort, but she’s no fool,” Blackheart said.

  That was how she’d evaded him in London: Somehow she’d sensed him watching her. With a canny nature worthy of her grandmother, she’d left the inn another way and changed her lodgings that very night. She’d even returned by coach instead of ship to elude him. Now she was back in her stronghold, surrounded by servants, making it impossible to discover where she might have hidden the chalice on her property.

  Morys flushed. “It’s not Catrin’s money I’m interested in.”

  “Are you telling me you don’t want to be a gentleman farmer, lording it over a substantial estate?” Blackheart gave a harsh laugh. “If so, then you lie.”

  “You don’t have an ounce of passion in your veins, do you?” Morys growled. “That’s why Father called you Blackheart, because there’s nothing beneath your ribs but coal.”

  “And because I wouldn’t forgive the debts he owed me. Or, should I say, the debts he still owes me, since you wouldn’t have that position at the school if not for me.”

  Morys glanced away. “That’s not true.”

  Blackheart chuckled. “Do you think they would have hired you here if I hadn’t taken care of the mess you got into at your previous position, when that . . . passion you regard so highly prompted you to impregnate a student?”

  A stony silence was his answer.

  “As I recall, you didn’t offer to make the girl your wife. In fact, I believe you were more than pleased when I had her blamed for some petty crime and transported to Australia before she could betray you. So don’t talk to me about black hearts. Yours isn’t exactly pristine, is it?”

  “You may not believe this, but my desire to marry ­Catrin is pure. I love her. She’s the only woman in this ­accursed town who appreciates the finer arts.”

  “She’s also the only woman who owns the finer arts. And you covet them so badly, you can’t even separate true feeling from greed.”

  “Think what you will.” Morys tossed his head. “But I want Catrin—and everything that goes with her. And I will have her.”

  “How? Without the chalice, she’ll never accept your suit.”

  With a scowl, Morys paced the study. “Surely there’s a way to end that blasted curse! If I could only get another peek at that diary, I could find out where that chalice is and get it myself.”

  “I doubt that. I saw the diary, too, remember? I’m the one who proclaimed it to be genuine.”

  “If I’d known you’d take such an interest, I’d never have involved you.”

  “Too late for that. And I can get Catrin for you, if you get me that chalice.”

  “What is your interest in the blasted thing anyway? To keep her from remarrying? Because if so, I won’t let you have it. I will marry Catrin.”

  “If it’s true you only want her for ‘love,’ that’s easy enough to arrange. Find the chalice, and I’ll make certain you get what you want from her . . . as well as the fortune you crave.”

  “I’ll hold you to that. But how can I find it when she doesn’t have it?”

  “A woman like her wants a husband, so she won’t stop looking for it. And when she finds it, I want you to know about it.”

  “Watching her won’t be easy. She says she can’t bear to be around me, knowing that my pursuit of her is hopeless.” Morys stiffened. “But that won’t last. She’ll come around. I kissed her today, and she didn’t resist until I went too far. I can tell she has some feeling for me.”

  Blackheart rolled his eyes. If that were true, she would have at least offered to make Morys her lover. The girl had clearly lied about her acquisition of the chalice to get rid of the man.

  In any case, Morys would not relinquish his pursuit of her, which was all to the good. Blackheart could wait awhile for Morys to uncover more useful evidence or Catrin herself to reveal the truth. But if Morys wasn’t successful soon, Blackheart would have to change tactics. ­Because he must have that chalice.

  “I’d best go back now,” Morys said.

  “Fine, but I want to be kept better apprised of what occurs between you and Catrin. I want regular reports. Leave them here for me.”

  Morys gave a weary sigh. “I don’t understand all this subterfuge. Why can’t I just go to your estate and—”

  “No! There must be no connection between you and me. I explained that when you first came to Llanddeusant. I don’t want to lose everything I’ve worked for, if your past ever emerges and my part in covering it up is discovered.”

  Morys shot him a shrewd glance. “No, I don’t suppose that would do.”

  Blackheart narrowed his gaze. “Don’t use that threatening tone with me. The only way I’d be found out is if you were. Then you’d lose any chance at snagging Catrin. So you will keep this secret and do as you’re told. I don’t think your father will put up with any other mistakes on your part.”

  Anger glinted in Morys’s eyes before he wisely masked it. “Whatever you say, sir.”

  Much better, my boy. Don’t even consider taking me on. You wouldn’t win. No one ever does.

  6

  ·s the wedding bells chimed and the couple rushed down the aisle with faces aglow, Catrin stifled a sigh. Five years ago, she, too, had left the chapel smiling, her husband on her arm. But the bells hadn’t been tolling her happy future; they’d been foretelling her husband’s tragic death later that day.

  Though her grief had subsided to a dull ache over the years, today’s celebration resurrected it. It didn’t help that Sir Huw Price, her late husband’s father, was here, too. As usual, he ignored her, but she was all too aware of his presence in the small chapel.

  He’d been against the marriage from the beginning, hoping to find his only son a better match. When Willie had died, the light of Sir Huw’s life had gone out. So he’d turned his anger and grief toward the only
person he could blame. Her.

  She understood it since, thanks to the curse, she already blamed herself. But that didn’t make his hatred any easier to stomach, especially on an occasion like this, when she could have used his sympathy and support.

  You mustn’t dwell on it, she told herself as she rose from her seat. It’s time to put the past behind you and start anew.

  As the bride and groom left the chapel, Evan, who’d sat beside her during the ceremony, offered her his arm. She took it with a grateful smile, then turned to find David at the back of the church, watching as she and Evan moved down the aisle. She saw him scowl at the sight of her companion, but ignored him when his eyes bored into her as she and Evan passed.

  Put the past behind you and start anew, she reminded herself.

  Today she would enjoy herself and forget her troubles. She would eat and drink and dance. With Evan.

  A blush stole over her as she glanced up at the stalwart Welshman. He’d been attentive through every aspect of the wedding, murmuring a question or two about certain traditions. There’d been something so intimate about those whispers and the feel of his breath brushing her hair.

  How foolish of her to think of him like that. His presence here had nothing to do with her. Yet even David’s assault yesterday hadn’t dimmed her attraction to Evan, for she sensed that he was as different from David as Wales was from England.

  Evan gazed down at her. “Did you enjoy the wedding? Sometimes you didn’t look as if you did.”

  She managed a smile as they emerged from the church. “It was lovely. I only hope you didn’t find it too dull.”

  “Quite the opposite. I’d forgotten how colorful Welsh weddings are. English ones are rather boring by contrast.”

  English ones—why, she still didn’t even know if he was married. How could she ask without making him wonder at the question? “Do you go to many weddings?”

  He glanced around as most of the guests set off toward the Red Dragon, where Tess’s parents were hosting the wedding breakfast. “Not too many. Most of my friends are bachelors. University fellows aren’t allowed to marry.”

  So he wasn’t married. He couldn’t marry. “Ever?” she asked, trying to ignore her ridiculous dismay.

  “Ever. When a fellow decides to marry, he leaves the university to engage in another sort of work. As you might imagine, we lose fellows all the time.”

  He sounded so casual about it that she wondered if he’d ever considered leaving the university. She started to ask, but noticed that his gaze was now fixed on David, who stood a short way off.

  “Who’s that man there?” Evan asked.

  With a groan, she tugged Evan toward the Red Dragon. “David Morys.”

  “The man you were avoiding yesterday? Mrs. Llewellyn told me he’s something of a scholar. She thought I might find him helpful in my research. She was planning to introduce us when he came, but he was late arriving and I wanted to walk about the village, so I missed him. Is he as knowledgeable as she said?”

  “Yes, although he knows more about poetry and Welsh antiquities than about local superstitions.”

  Evan cast her a searching glance. “That doesn’t explain why he’s been scowling at me for the last hour as if I were the devil incarnate.”

  She sighed. “It’s not you he’s scowling at. It’s me.”

  “I beg to differ. Although I’ll admit he watches you incessantly, he only scowls when he looks at me.”

  “If you must know, I suppose he is . . . er . . . perturbed to see me with another man, no matter how innocuous the circumstance.”

  “Ah. A suitor of yours, I take it?”

  “An unwelcome one. Unfortunately, he won’t take no for an answer. That’s why I’ve been avoiding him.”

  Evan’s gaze probed her again, but she refused to acknowledge it. A plague on David! Must he act as if she were his personal property?

  “Why don’t you wish to marry Mr. Morys?” Evan asked. “He looks like a handsome enough chap, and if he’s as learned as Mrs. Llewellyn claims, you ought to get along with him very well.”

  Oh, how to explain this embarrassing situation? She said the only thing she could think of. “We aren’t suited to be husband and wife.”

  “I see.” Evan’s voice hardened. “I don’t suppose a schoolmaster is an appropriate husband for a woman of your ­station.”

  “What?” Her gaze flew to his. “That’s not it at all! If I loved him, I wouldn’t care about his station.”

  Evan searched her face. “Then you’re different from most women.” He lowered his voice. “And I well understand why Morys pursues you.”

  Under his steady gaze Catrin colored, then glanced away. By heaven, he was as smooth-tongued as David. So why did his words affect her so differently? Why did her heart quicken at his praise? Clearly she had a very foolish heart.

  A voice behind them fortunately saved her from further embarrassing herself. “Good morning, Mr. Newcome, Mrs. Price. Lovely wedding, wasn’t it?” When they turned to find Sir Reynald approaching, he added, “I see you two have finally met.”

  Belatedly, she remembered that Sir Reynald had witnessed her shameful behavior two days ago.

  “Yes,” Evan said, “Mrs. Price seems fully recovered. And by the way, Sir Reynald, you were mistaken about who that was on the path to Llyn y Fan Fach. As it turned out, it was only someone who resembled Mrs. Price.”

  Catrin’s gaze shot to Evan’s. He gave her the faintest smile, and her heart lurched. How considerate of him to protect her from embarrassment.

  Even if Sir Reynald did look skeptical.

  “Quite a resemblance,” the middle-aged knight murmured, but he seemed content to say no more, so the three of them walked on together.

  “How do you find our quaint country weddings, Mr. Newcome?” Sir Reynald went on.

  “Not as quaint as the ones in Carmarthenshire. When I was growing up, anyone who could afford it raced to the wedding on horseback, with the groom and his men pursuing the bride and her guardian. Sometimes they raced to the breakfast, too. As I recall, it made for an animated procession.”

  At once, Catrin tensed.

  Sir Reynald cast her a sympathetic glance before saying dismissively, “Oh, horse-weddings are much too dangerous. We don’t have them here.”

  “It’s a shame to put an end to the colorful practice on the slim chance that someone might get hurt,” Evan persisted. “Besides, young men need an outlet for their energies. I must ask Mrs. Llewellyn why her daughter was so skittish as to not have a horse-wedding.”

  When Catrin bit back a sob, Sir Reynald said quietly, “Tess Llewellyn chose not to have a horse-wedding because Willie Price was killed at his. During the mad dash from the church to Plas Niwl, his horse stepped into a hole and sent him flying into a rock. He hit his head and died shortly after.” Sir Reynald ran his hand over his thinning hair. “Ever since, couples here have been reluctant to follow the tradition.”

  “Good God.” Evan’s gaze shot to hers. “And here I am talking about— I’m terribly sorry, Catrin. I wouldn’t have mentioned it if— I mean, I heard that your husband died in an accident, but—”

  “It’s all right,” she murmured, staring ahead at the road. “You couldn’t have known.”

  Sir Reynald seemed perturbed by the entire exchange and murmured something about finding a friend, then wandered away.

  Evan covered her hand. “I am sorry. No wonder you were so quiet during the ceremony. It must have brought back terrible memories.”

  She squeezed his hand, grateful that he understood. “I . . . I have learned to deal with them.”

  But that wasn’t entirely true. At night, sometimes, she couldn’t sleep for reliving that horrible day . . . Willie galloping at breakneck speed behind her . . . his face flushing as he struggled to gain on the horse ridden by her and the old friend of the family playing the role of her guardian . . . the wind whipping her hair into her face as she leaned back to shout encouragement a
t Willie and laugh at his harried expression. Then the horse going down . . . Willie hurtling headfirst . . . the sickening crack of his head as he hit the rock.

  She’d screamed and fought to turn her horse around. But they’d returned to find his with its leg broken and Willie lying motionless, blood streaming from his wound. She’d known instantly that he would die, although it had taken him two days to slip from unconsciousness into eternal sleep.

  Poor Willie had never stood a chance. The curse had seen to that. Still, how could she have known? She didn’t even discover the diary until after his death.

  Fortunately, she and Evan had finally reached the inn, giving her an excuse to change the subject. “Here we are. I do hope you’re prepared to eat a monstrous amount. Mrs. Llewellyn has probably been baking and roasting and boiling all manner of delicious things for two days.”

  To her relief, he made no more mention of Willie’s death as they waited to greet the bride and groom at the door. And once they were inside, milling with the other guests, she relaxed, grateful to drop the subject of her late husband.

  A fiddler was already tuning up, while two harpists set up their instruments. Roast beef and goose, mutton, turnips, cabbage, and potatoes covered the tables pushed against the walls to make space for the dancing. True to form, Mrs. Llewellyn was dashing about, directing servants. And in one corner, as was customary at Welsh weddings, the groom’s father was recording each gift, mostly money or livestock, in a ledger that would be consulted to repay the gift obligation when it was the giver’s turn to marry.

  Catrin breathed in the warm air with a smile. At least the wedding breakfast wouldn’t bring back memories. Thanks to the accident, she and Willie had never made it to theirs.

  “Would you like a drink?” Evan asked. “It appears that Mr. Llewellyn has already opened the taps.”

  “That sounds wonderful. I’m parched.”

  For the next half hour they said little. Catrin was still a bit intimidated by Evan, and Evan seemed reluctant to speak. But there was no need, since everyone else was chattering away. Some recounted their own weddings. Others teased the bride and groom. All of them included her and Evan in the merriment, which touched her deeply, reminding her that plenty of people ignored the vicious rumors about her.