Windswept Page 7

  Trying not to look as out of place as she always felt, Catrin picked at her mutton and potatoes, but Evan ate with the lusty enjoyment of a farmhand. In fact, he seemed more at ease with the locals than she. He wasn’t fastidious and didn’t wrinkle his nose at the strong ale. He didn’t complain about having to stand to eat. If it hadn’t been for his fine clothes, she might have thought him just another laborer enjoying the festivities.

  While the men talked about farming and husbandry, she kept quiet but paid close attention, for she often gleaned helpful advice from listening to farmers.

  Suddenly she felt Evan’s eyes on her. “Tell me about your estate,” Evan said. “I thought I spotted pastures on my way to Plas Niwl. Do you raise sheep?”

  “Mrs. Price has some of the finest sheep this side of Black Mountain,” a laborer put in as he wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve. He turned to her. “And how did you fare with the shearing this year, Mrs. Price?”

  Evan’s gaze unnerved her so much that she answered haltingly at first. But he joined the others in prodding her to speak, and before she knew it, she was talking with earnest animation about the shearing and wool prices and the feeding and care of sheep.

  Evan asked particularly knowledgeable questions, and she soon forgot he was a scholar of amazing reputation. Instead, he became more like the farmers crowding the room than like David, who stood at the far end holding court with a bevy of females and looking down his nose at their uneducated male companions.

  After she’d been talking awhile, one of the farmers said, “Why, Mrs. Price, you know as much about the sheep as your old granny. No wonder ye’ve been gathering a fine price for your wool these past two years.”

  The compliment meant more to her than anything David had ever said about her hair and eyes. And when she heard Evan murmur his agreement, her face flushed with pleasure.

  When the music started, Catrin had to remind herself that Evan Newcome wasn’t another country Welshman, ready to dance a lively jig. No doubt he was accustomed to more sophisticated forms of entertainment.

  She flashed him an apologetic smile. “I’m afraid there won’t be a single minuet played here. I hope you don’t mind.”

  He smiled as he held out his hand. “I know a jig or two from my boyhood. I’m a bit rusty, but I’ll try not to tramp on anyone’s feet. Shall we?”

  Trying to hide her pleasure, she let him lead her to the floor.

  She seldom got to dance, and now she realized how much she’d missed it. Fortunately, Evan proved far from rusty. Although she had to show him some of the steps, he was a quick study. Before long he was falling into step with everyone else, linking arms and kicking up his heels like any other native Welshman.

  After three dances, her face was aglow. For the first time in years, she felt part of the community, and the smiles of Evan and the farmers helped her ignore the scowls of David Morys and Sir Huw. Even when she had to stop to catch her breath, her spirits remained high.

  Until Sir Huw appeared at her side and bent down to mutter, “Why, if it isn’t Mrs. Price, the merry widow.”

  Despite the stench of liquor on his breath, she tried not to panic. Her father-in-law had always intimidated her, but it was worse today, for she desperately wanted to avoid arguing with him in front of half the town. “G-good day, Sir Huw,” she stammered. “I hope you’re enjoying the breakfast.”

  “Not nearly as much as you seem to be.” He leaned heavily on her shoulder. “No one’d ever guess you buried a husband not long ago.”

  “Five years ago,” she reminded him.

  “I guess that seems like a long time to be without a husband, eh? But it’s an even longer time to be without a son.” He scowled. “I suppose you think you ought to start looking for another husband. I see you’ve picked out a new prospect. Does he realize keeping company with you can be dangerous to a man’s health?”

  Startled, she stared up at him. “What do you mean?” He couldn’t possibly know about the curse. Unless David had revealed it out of spite after what had happened yesterday.

  “Come now, I’m not a fool.” His voice rose, and she winced when the people nearest them turned to listen. “I can see the pattern. Your great-grandfather. Your grandfather. Your father.” His black eyes smoldered. “And my Willie. All dead within a short time after marrying a Lady of the Mists. Think you I can’t tell what all of you were after?”

  “And what is that?” Anger rapidly replaced her embarrassment.

  “Land. Each time the ladies marry, they insist upon a fine settlement that includes the right to keep Plas Niwl. And each time their husbands die, they have the freedom to run it as they wish. You married my Willie to secure your inheritance. Then you killed him so you could do as you pleased with it.”

  Tears welled in her eyes, especially when she noticed people drinking up the conversation. It was so unfair! At least Evan was too far away to hear Sir Huw’s drunken accusations. “Even if I wished it—and I don’t—I could no more cause a man’s death than I could make the sun rise. I have no such power! And I would never have hurt Willie, anyway. How could you think it?”

  She tried to slip away, but he grabbed her arm, his face contorted with an anger born as much of grief as of liquor. “When I took a wife after Willie’s mother died, I thought I could sire another heir, but my wife is barren.” He shook her roughly. The music had stopped, and now everyone could hear him. “Barren, do you hear? And who is keeping her from giving me another son if not you, with your druid spells and enchantments?”

  “Why on earth would I do that?”

  Annie pushed her way through the crowd. “Here now, Sir Huw, what’s this all about? Leave the girl alone. We’re celebrating a wedding, and I’d thank you not to spoil it by manhandling women and spouting nonsense.”

  He shoved Annie aside, snarling, “It isn’t nonsense. This . . . this witch shouldn’t even be here. She’s poison to all men, like her mother and grandmother before her.”

  He thrust Catrin against a wall, but before he could do more, Evan jerked him around, his eyes glittering dangerously. “Leave her be, unless you want to find yourself facedown in the gutter outside.”

  Sir Huw flushed. “Who do you think you are, sir, to threaten me? You stay out of this, or I’ll take you apart! Go back to your dancing, so we can finish our discussion.”

  Evan’s gaze shot to her. “Do you wish to continue talking with this mannerless lout?”

  Mortified by Sir Huw’s public accusations, she could only shake her head.

  Evan faced Sir Huw with fists clenched. “It appears that your discussion is over, so I suggest that you do as Mrs. Llewellyn asked and leave Mrs. Price alone.”

  When Sir Huw bristled, Annie stepped in again, having fetched her husband and new son-in-law. “Come along, Sir Huw.” Though her tone was cajoling, it was clear she would have Sir Huw carried forcibly from the inn if he didn’t behave. “You haven’t had any roast goose in capers yet, have you? It’s my special dish, and I’ll be insulted if you don’t sample it.”

  He hesitated, looking from Evan to the scrappy little Mr. Llewellyn and then to the groom, a hulking farmer with hammy fists. Then his lips thinned, and he let Mrs. Llewellyn lead him away.

  Catrin collapsed against the wall, unable to face the inquisitive eyes around her. A sudden dizziness assailed her and her breath came in quick gasps.

  “Are you all right?” Evan asked.

  “I . . . I think I may faint. I must get out of here.” When she veered toward the side door, Evan caught her about the waist and led her through it, closing it firmly behind them to cut off the chorus of questions from other guests. With quick efficiency, he led her to a wrought-iron chair, which she dropped into. White spots appeared before her eyes as her stomach roiled.

  “Put your head between your legs.” He knelt beside her. “It will help.”

  She did as he said, and the dizziness and nausea lessened a fraction.

  “Breathe deeply,” he urged
.

  She was already sucking in great lungfuls of air. But she felt silly in the bent-over position. She lifted her head, then her stomach lurched once more, forcing her to clap her hand over her mouth for fear she’d disgrace herself.

  “Not yet,” he murmured. “Give it a moment.”

  “I-I’ve never done this before,” she stammered into her skirts. What a coward he must think her. Grandmother would never have fainted. She would have cut Sir Huw into pieces with her sharp tongue, then had him thrown bodily out the door. “I’m not the f-fainting sort, truly I’m n-not.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” His voice was kind as he stroked her back. “Under the right circumstances, anyone can get light-headed. Besides, you scarcely ate anything and you’ve been dancing on an empty stomach in a crowded room. It’s a wonder you didn’t faint before.”

  She said nothing, but as she continued to breathe deeply and keep her head down, the fainting spell seemed to pass. Slowly she became aware of the chill in the air now that dusk was approaching.

  Then other things caught her attention . . . Evan’s hand rubbing her back with soothing motions . . . his leg only inches from hers as he knelt on one knee at her side . . . his breath feathering her hair.

  Her awkward position was becoming uncomfortable, too. Fortunately, this time when she tried to sit up, her stomach didn’t revolt. Yet he kept his hand on her back, his fingers still tracing circles on the silk of her gown while he watched her with obvious concern.

  His kindness was too much to bear, especially after he’d been forced to subject himself to Sir Huw’s insults. “I’m sorry I put you in such an abominable position.”

  “Kneeling at your feet?” His tone was light. “It’s not so bad.”

  How could he joke about what had just happened? “N-no, I mean—”

  “I know what you mean. Forgive my jest, but I thought it might cheer you.”

  “I can only imagine what you must think—”

  He touched a finger to her lips. “I think you’re a woman unfairly maligned and little understood.”

  His words only made her feel worse. After all, Willie’s death had indeed been partly her fault, since she was accursed. “How can you say that when you don’t even know me?”

  When a tear trickled down her cheek, he rubbed it away with his thumb. Then he traced the rise of her cheek and the curve of her jaw until his thumb came to rest beneath her chin. “You’re right.” His voice grew husky. “I don’t know you well at all. Perhaps it’s time I remedy that.”

  She met his gaze, and her mouth went dry. He looked at her as if he could fathom the depths of her soul. Suddenly she realized how close he was, how intimate his thumb beneath her chin, how vibrant and rich his eyes in the dying light. He was close enough for her to feel his warm breath quickening on her face.

  He leaned forward to touch his lips to hers.

  His kiss bore no resemblance to David’s. Light and undemanding, it was the merest whisper of a caress. She didn’t know what instinct made her close her eyes and sway toward him, but for a moment, they were frozen like that, only their mouths touching.

  Then he drew back, his face tautening with surprise before something more ancient shone in it. “So sweet. I need more.”

  The plain statement affected her as David’s flowery phrases never had. So when he clasped her chin and his mouth covered hers in earnest, she melted.

  She scarcely noticed the taste of mulled wine on his breath or the rasp of his whiskery cheek against hers. She knew only the heady pleasure of being kissed by a man who knew exactly what he wanted and how to get it.

  His hand now stroked her neck as he plunged his tongue into her mouth in a bold caress of terrifying intimacy. His kiss was hungry, even voracious . . . a raw, real thing. He devoured her mouth with shameless satisfaction, his long, hard strokes seeming to say, I know what dark urges you have in the night. I can fulfill them. I want to fulfill them.

  It ought to frighten her. Instead, it made her answer with a kiss equally bold, offering herself to him like a sacrifice to the ancient druidic gods.

  She forgot about David and even Willie. This felt like the first time, the only time a man had touched her. The pleasure was too intense for words. A silky heat rose from her belly to fire her hunger until it was an aching pulse in her loins.

  As he cradled her neck in his hand and ravaged her mouth over and over, she abandoned herself to the wild kisses, leaning into him to get more of them.

  The next thing she knew, he was on the ground pulling her off the chair into his lap. His arousal pressed into her bottom, but instead of rousing her panic, it made her blood run even hotter. The dusky evening was sweet and secret, scented with summer flowers. She wanted to go on kissing him forever.

  His kisses grew more fervent. With a groan, he rained kisses on her temples . . . her cheeks . . . her neck. Then he returned to plundering her mouth, stabbing deeply with his tongue until he’d reduced her to a puddle.

  Only then did he tear his mouth from hers. “Good God, you’re enchanting.” He buried his fingers in her unruly curls. “I was right at the lake. You can’t possibly be real.”

  “Oh, but I am.” Without thinking, she laid his hand on her heart. “You see? My heart beats like everyone else’s.”

  When his eyes glittered, she realized she’d actually placed his hand on her chest. Without taking his gaze from her, he slid his hand down to cup her breast through her gown. At her startled gasp, he covered her mouth with his again.

  She forgot they were seated on the ground a few feet away from an inn full of people. She forgot that it wasn’t yet dark, that anyone who came into the garden would see her nestled in Evan’s lap. All she knew was that his kiss was the most glorious thing she’d ever tasted. And when he kneaded her breast with his palm until the nipple hardened into a tight, aching kernel beneath her silk bodice, she leaned into him with a satisfied sigh.

  So engrossed was she in the wild, consuming sensations coursing through her body that she didn’t at first register the sound of a door opening. But she couldn’t miss the sharp intake of breath or the angry slam.

  She didn’t need to hear the hissed words “Unhand my fiancée, you bastard!” to know that the one person she hadn’t wanted to deal with tonight had chosen this inopportune moment to seek her out.

  David.

  7

  Evan moaned as Catrin scrambled out of his lap. It took a moment for him to clear his head. Kissing and caressing Catrin had driven all thought of where he was from his mind.

  But as his wits returned, he recognized the man standing there. David Morys. Unhand my fiancée. But hadn’t Catrin said she’d refused to marry the schoolmaster?

  Evan looked to Catrin, but her eyes were fixed on David. “I’m not your fiancée, and you know it!”

  “But you should be! I won’t stand by and watch some blasted stranger take advantage of you!”

  Jumping to his feet, Evan prayed that the dimness of dusk would mask his heavy arousal. The last thing he needed was a jealous suitor on his back. Evan didn’t like being caught in the middle, even if the woman involved had just been firing his blood to unbearable heights.

  Her voice grew acid. “The man you’re insulting is Evan Newcome, the scholar from Cambridge who wrote The Development of Celtic Languages.”

  As Morys’s face registered fury, then resentment, Evan groaned. Why must Catrin throw Evan’s credentials at the man? Weren’t matters bad enough?

  “He’s here researching a book on folktales,” Catrin added, “and he’s asked me to help him with it.”

  Morys glared at Evan. “Why would a scholar of your vast reputation ask for the help of a woman who’s written only a few measly articles for small journals?”

  Catrin’s flinch sparked Evan’s anger. Hadn’t the woman endured enough for one night? Deuce take them, some of these villagers were damned cruel.

  Stepping between Morys and Catrin, he put on the superior air that used to
cow even his father. “I’d heard you were an intelligent man, but apparently not. Mrs. Price has an uncanny gift with description, and her talent at retelling legends is astounding. I’m only surprised I’m the first to seek her expertise.”

  Morys’s hands balled into fists. “Is that what you were doing out here? Seeking Catrin’s expertise?”

  “That’s not your concern,” Evan bit out. “Mrs. Price has made that perfectly clear.”

  Morys shifted his gaze to Catrin. “Don’t you see what he’s after? I know his kind, always looking for a quick tumble from a country girl who doesn’t have the sense to know she’s merely a night’s entertainment!”

  Evan’s temper flared higher, and it took a massive effort to contain it. “Listen here, Morys—”

  “You listen, you London bastard! I’ll not have you mauling my Catrin—”

  “I’m not your Catrin!” she cried. “You have no claim on me!”

  “Because of the curse!” Morys retorted. “You said if not for that, you’d marry me!”

  What the deuce was he talking about?

  Catrin tipped up her chin. “That’s not what I said. If you’ll recall, I told you we weren’t suited.”

  “Because of the curse,” Morys insisted.

  “What curse?” Evan said.

  Morys sneered at him before glancing at Catrin. “You haven’t told him, have you? Is that because you know he’d never marry you?” Then his expression turned stormy. “Unless you lied about the curse.”

  “I didn’t—” Catrin began.

  “Are you planning to make him your lover?” A muscle worked in Morys’s jaw. “You kissed me, too, only yesterday, but you wouldn’t make me your lover. You said you were worried about your reputation. Yet you’re willing to play the whore for a blasted scholar?”

  As shame slashed over Catrin’s face, Evan’s control over his temper snapped. He lifted Morys by the collar and thrust him against the wall. “How dare you call the lady a whore? Apologize! Or I swear I’ll tear out your tongue!”