Windswept Page 8

  Morys shoved at Evan’s shoulders, but the school­master’s slender body was no match for Evan’s farm-boy physique. “Let me down, you fool!” Morys growled, twisting his torso in a futile attempt to get away.

  Evan pressed his hand against the man’s throat. “Not until you apologize!”

  “Go to hell, you . . . you . . .” Morys started to choke as Evan increased the pressure.

  Suddenly Evan felt Catrin’s hand on his back. “Please, Evan, let’s just go!”

  God, how he wanted to ignore her.

  But when he hesitated, she dug her fingers into his coat and whispered, “Please. I can’t bear to see anyone hurt.”

  Damn it all to hell. She’d suffered a great deal this evening, and watching two men fight over her wouldn’t help.

  With a curse, he released Morys and stepped back, breathing hard as he throttled his temper into submission. “You’re lucky Mrs. Price has a kind heart, for I would have dearly enjoyed thrashing you.”

  “Let’s go,” Catrin said, pulling on his arm.

  He turned toward her, so he didn’t see the fist come sailing at him until it landed on his jaw. “You bastard!” he barely had time to choke out before Morys launched himself at him.

  Morys’s weight sent them both to the ground. Evan’s mind registered Catrin’s scream, but his body reacted to the second punch Morys sent his way, blocking it easily and using Morys’s momentum to twist the man beneath him.

  Then the fight began in earnest. The schoolmaster proved quite a pugilist, his slender frame masking a lithe strength that enabled him to fend off some of Evan’s blows and get in a few of his own as they rolled on the ground.

  But no one was a match for Evan in a temper, and he was furious. He hated men who insulted women or tried to bully them. He hated being punched when he wasn’t looking. Worse, he hated knowing that Morys had kissed Catrin only yesterday. And the fact that he hated that infuriated him most of all.

  As the rage swelled behind his eyes, he took it out on the schoolmaster, pummeling the man over and over. After a few moments, Morys no longer hit back, but lay curled into a ball on the ground, groaning as he tried to avoid the punishing blows.

  “Stop it!” Catrin screamed, then caught Evan’s arm as he brought it back for another punch. “That’s enough, I tell you!”

  When Evan hesitated, she hung on his arm with all her strength. “Please stop! Can’t you see you’ve beaten him?”

  The anguish in her voice reached Evan somewhere in the red haze of his anger, making him aware of where he was and what he was doing. He dropped his fists to his sides, puffing hard. As he surveyed the schoolmaster, he realized Catrin was right. He’d thrashed Morys thoroughly. The man was coughing and clutching his head as if to protect it from any more blows.

  Evan’s anger drained from him. Good God, what had he done? While the man had deserved a beating, he hadn’t deserved to be nearly killed.

  As always happened after Evan’s temper got the best of him, shame stole over him, making his stomach lurch. If Catrin hadn’t been there to stop him . . .

  Morys rolled to his side, still coughing. Evan scanned him and prayed none of the man’s bones were broken. But though the schoolmaster appeared soundly whipped, it didn’t look as if he’d suffered any permanent damage.

  “We must go,” Catrin whispered. “We must leave him with his pride at least.”

  Evan couldn’t fault her logic. He stood to dust off his trousers. Something wet trickled down his chin that he wiped away. And he couldn’t see very well out of his right eye, which meant the flesh around it was probably swelling from another punch Morys had given him. Good God, he was a mess, wasn’t he?

  Catrin touched her hand to his mouth. “Your lip’s bleeding.”

  “Only a little.” He wiped away more blood and prayed she wouldn’t pass out again. His former fiancée would have done so, and Catrin was more timid than Henrietta had ever been.

  But Catrin surprised him. Though her face was ashen, she drew out her handkerchief and wiped his lip with a tenderness that made his breath catch. Then she touched the swelling above his eye. When he winced, she murmured, “You require tending.”

  He certainly did. At the very least, he needed a compress for the swelling. Pray heaven he hadn’t cracked a rib or two. He didn’t think so, judging from the lack of pain when he breathed. He knew exactly how a broken rib felt, having had several in his youth, thanks to Father’s beatings. This felt different.

  But his leg hurt, for when Morys had hurtled himself at Evan and they’d gone crashing to the ground, Evan had cracked the side of his knee on a rock.

  “Come with me,” she said. “I’ll see you’re taken care of. You probably won’t believe this, but I know a bit about doctoring.” She added softly, “I made sure I learned something about it after Willie’s death.”

  He let her lead him away, trying not to show the pain that each step sent shooting up his right thigh. But when it became apparent she wasn’t returning inside, he asked, “Where are we going?”

  “To my estate.”

  He stopped short. That was the last thing he needed tonight . . . more time spent with sweet little Catrin. Despite everything that had just occurred, he still wanted her. Badly. And acting on it wouldn’t be remotely wise.

  “You don’t want to return to the breakfast looking like that, do you?” she said. “It’ll ruin Tess’s celebration. And since going through there is the only way to reach your room upstairs, you don’t have much choice. It’s either go home with me and get your scrapes and bruises tended, or walk the streets of Llanddeusant until the celebration is over, which may be hours from now.”

  He hated to admit it, but she had a point. And going home with her might give him a chance to search the place for the chalice or the letter. It would enable him to find out more about why that drunken man at the reception had accosted her. That is, if he could keep his hands off her long enough to ask questions.

  Still, it irritated him to skulk away from the scene like a criminal. “What about him?” He jerked his head toward Morys, who’d managed to sit up, though the effort had given rise to a fresh set of moans. “Don’t you want to take care of his bruises and scrapes, too?” After all, yesterday you were kissing him.

  And how was it that the mere thought of her kissing Morys made him see red again?

  Fortunately, she didn’t seem to notice the jealous edge in his voice. “I’ll go inside and tell Annie about David. She’ll make certain he’s tended to without creating a fuss.” She nodded toward the alley. “You’ll find my carriage out front. Mine’s the one without a coachman. John’s inside celebrating with everyone else.”

  When Evan merely stood there, she gave him a push. “Go on now. I’ll be there in a moment.”

  She didn’t stay to watch as he limped down the alley. Instead she disappeared inside, leaving him to stumble toward the front alone. As he headed for the carriage, favoring his right leg, he couldn’t help smiling. Only Catrin would let her coachman join the celebration.

  With some difficulty, he hoisted himself inside, then settled into a seat barely wide enough to accommodate his large frame. He propped his leg on the seat opposite him and winced at the pain that shot through it.

  Had he really fought over her? Kissed her, despite all his warnings to himself? He still had the warm, sweet taste of her on his lips. Her skin had been soft as rose petals, pure pleasure to kiss, and her thick curls had twined about his fingers like satin ribbons. Was the skin—and hair—in other, more secret places of her body as lush? Would he ever know?

  As he hardened again, he cursed. He’d lost his bloody mind. He couldn’t think of her without wanting to bed her, just as he’d been unable to resist kissing her when she’d begun to cry.

  A woman’s tears had affected him profoundly ever since he’d been forced as a child to watch his mother sob after her beatings. Now that he was grown, he had this desperate urge to make any woman’s tears go away. But he
didn’t usually do it by kissing her senseless. Then again, no one like Catrin, with her hesitant smile and her imploring eyes, had ever burst into tears in front of him.

  Just thinking of her mortification after that drunken bastard in the inn had made his disparaging remarks roused Evan’s protective instincts again. He could hardly believe what he was feeling for a woman he suspected of treachery. Yet despite knowing she’d acted suspiciously the night of Justin’s death, he couldn’t reconcile the scheming woman he’d expected with the shy, endearing one he’d kissed. How could she have had anything to do with the murder?

  She couldn’t have. He couldn’t believe it.

  The carriage door opened and Catrin climbed in and took the seat opposite him. He wondered if she’d had to suffer any embarrassment inside the inn, but if so, she kept it well hidden as she ordered her coachman to set off.

  Once they were moving, she lit a carriage lantern and glanced at his propped-up leg. “Did you hurt it, too?”

  “I knocked my knee on one of those boulders. It may only be bruised. Or I might have fractured it.”

  “Oh, I hope not. This is awful. And it’s all my fault!”

  He cast her a wry smile. “I think Morys had something to do with it.”

  “But he would never have come at you if he hadn’t seen us . . . if we hadn’t been . . .” She dropped her gaze. “It was wonderful of you to defend me. And I do appreciate all that nonsense you said about how good my essays were. I know it wasn’t true, but it sounded lovely.”

  “How do you know it isn’t true?”

  She looked up. “Because you told me you only came here because of what the Vaughans said about me.”

  “But I have read one of your essays, and I found it to be exactly what I told Morys.” Actually, he remembered little, but no one would wrench that confession out of him when his remark had clearly meant so much to her.

  He hated the way she held him in such awe. It made him feel like an impostor. He was surprised she hadn’t guessed the truth about him after how he’d laid into Morys. But if she ever did learn of his poor upbringing, she wouldn’t be looking at him as she was now . . . with shining eyes and a smile that stopped his breath. No woman had ever looked at him like that before. Not even his former fiancée.

  “It’s all right,” she murmured. “You don’t have to pretend. I know you only sought me out because of confusing me with Grandmother. She was a fascinating woman; I can see why you would have been interested in her. I’m only sorry you had to be stuck with me instead.”

  Her gaze locked with his, and something twisted in his gut. “I want to study you. And I don’t regret being ‘stuck with you,’ as you put it.”

  “But I’ve ruined every moment of your stay. I shouldn’t have come with you tonight. I should have known David would act foolishly.”

  The jealous words were out before he could stop them. “Especially when you were kissing him only yesterday.”

  “I didn’t kiss him—he kissed me. There’s a vast difference. I . . . I tried to make him stop, but he—”

  “You mean the bastard forced himself on you?” Evan sat up straighter. “Now I wish I hadn’t stopped beating him.”

  “Don’t say that. And anyway, it would have done no good. He can’t seem to understand that I can’t marry a man I don’t love.”

  “That’s why you refused his suit? Because you don’t love him?”

  “Of course.”

  “But I thought you refused it because of some curse.”

  Alarm lit her eyes. “Some curse?”

  “The one Morys kept blathering about.”

  She turned her face to the window.

  “Tell me about the curse,” he prodded. “Did you lie to get rid of Morys?”

  “Not exactly.”

  When she said no more, he frowned.

  “Is there a curse?” Evan persisted. “I think I have a right to know what story you told Morys that got him so angry over our . . . involvement.”

  She was silent a long time. When she spoke again, her voice quavered. “You’ll think me mad.”

  “I already begin to think you’re dangerous to be around.”

  “You sound just like my father-in-law,” she said in a hurt tone.

  He stared at her in confusion. “Your father-in-law?”

  “Sir Huw. The man shouting at me inside the inn.”

  Evan crossed his arms over his chest. Mrs. Llewellyn had mentioned her late husband’s father. “Sir Huw was the man who said you were poison?”

  “Yes.” She looked wary. “How much did you hear?”

  “Not much. I didn’t notice him badgering you until the music stopped and he shouted something about your making his wife barren.”

  “It’s not true, you know.” She stared him down. “All that stuff about my casting a spell on her.”

  “I didn’t think it was.” Remembering what Mrs. Llewellyn had told him about the rumors, he added gently, “I don’t believe in things like spells and curses, and I certainly don’t believe you cast a spell to send your husband to his grave or put a curse on Sir Huw’s wife. Is that the curse Morys was referring to?”

  “Sort of, but—” Her eyes went wide. “How did you know Sir Huw thinks I cast a spell on my husband, if you only heard him accuse me of making his wife barren?”

  Deuce take it. Ah, well. The damage was done. “Mrs. Llewellyn and I chatted about you. She told me that Sir Huw, among others, thinks that . . . well . . .”

  “I put some enchantment on Willie.” She sounded wounded. “I know what they think, but I didn’t expect Annie to pass on such gossip.”

  “She wanted to set me straight before I heard the gossip from anyone else. But she made it perfectly clear that it was all balderdash.”

  “Did she tell you I’m not the first woman in my family to be accused of such ‘balderdash’? Did she tell you I’m descended from a long line of women who’ve all sent their husbands to early graves?”

  How many was that? “Of course not. She merely said you’d had a great deal of tragedy in your life.”

  She sucked in her breath. “Tragedy. I suppose she does look at it that way. But everyone else believes that the Ladies of the Mists marry their husbands for their wealth, then send them to their dooms with a spell or two.”

  “They’re just superstitious fools. You shouldn’t take their words to heart.”

  “Oh, but I do.” Her gaze shot to his. “You asked about the curse. Well, Sir Huw wasn’t entirely wrong when he said we are poison. The female line of my family has been cursed for some time.”

  He couldn’t prevent an indulgent smile. “Surely you don’t believe that.”

  Her lips tightened. “I know it sounds ridiculous. I don’t consider myself a credulous person, either. Although I enjoy collecting folktales, my interest in them has always been academic. But even the wildest story has a grain of truth. And sometimes the evidence of supernatural events is incontrovertible.”

  “What evidence?”

  She tilted her chin up. “My great-grandfather and my grandfather and my father all died within three years of marrying. In every case but Mama’s, the women outlived their husbands by many, many years. As I am doing now.”

  Despite his avowed disbelief, a chill shook him. “Four men? One after the other? Good God, that is a strange coincidence. How did they die?”

  “My great-grandfather died at sea, my grandfather was accidentally shot on a hunting trip, and my parents’ carriage went over a cliff. And you know about Willie.” She straightened her shoulders. “All the deaths were accidental, and all the men except Papa left behind wealthy widows. A few had sons to inherit, but since the sons never produced children, the widows always left Plas Niwl to their daughters rather than entail it.”

  “That’s a wild tale. And you truly believe those men died because of some curse?”

  She stiffened at his condescending tone. “I’ll admit that at first I was skeptical, but after looking at my f
amily history, I had to accept the veracity.”

  “Then why did it only start after four generations?”

  She flashed him a defensive look. “It was only four generations ago that the female descendants stopped drinking from—”

  When she stopped short, his heart sank. “Drinking from what?” he prompted, though he knew the answer. A chalice. A druidic chalice.

  Turning pale, she glanced out the window. “Oh, look. We’re here. Come, let’s get your leg tended to, shall we?”

  As the carriage jerked to a halt, he gritted his teeth. There was no way he was leaving here tonight until he got her to talk about the chalice.

  But ten minutes later, as he sat in a kitchen chair while Catrin, Bos, and a housekeeper named Mrs. Griffiths hovered over him, he wondered how he could get Catrin alone again to question her.

  “We need to have a look at his leg,” Catrin said as she put a cold compress on his eye. “He’s not sure if it’s broken or bruised or what.”

  “Then you will have to ask the gentleman to remove his breeches, madam,” Bos said.

  Catrin went crimson. “Of course. I suppose you should look at it, then. Mrs. Griffiths and I will leave.”

  “That would be advisable,” Bos said, looking down his nose at Evan.

  Evan took umbrage at being the object of the man’s contempt. “Now see here, you should leave the tending of my leg to a physician.” Or at least someone more competent than a butler, anyway.

  “As you wish, sir,” Bos said.

  “Really, Evan,” Catrin said, “you should let him look at it. He knows more about such things than I do. Bos was the upper butler for the Earl of Pembroke, and one of his duties was to care for the earl whenever he was wounded while hunting or riding, which apparently was often. The earl is a dreadful rider, I’m afraid.”

  Bos said nothing, although he obviously disapproved of his mistress’s frank disclosure of his former employer’s faults. And her use of Evan’s Christian name.

  It occurred to Evan that getting Bos alone might be useful. If the butler had previously worked for an earl, Catrin’s household represented a sad drop in his fortunes. Though Evan didn’t have much blunt to spare, he certainly had enough to bribe a butler. And judging from the man’s cold demeanor, Bos harbored little affection for his mistress.