Priceless. Sharon KendrickЧитать онлайн книгу.
of him might have wanted to punish her for challenging his authority and thwarting his plans of a grand alliance, but another part had likely just wanted to protect her in the way she now longed to protect her own children.
“Mam!” As if summoned by her thoughts, Davy came tearing into the wash shed. “Mam, come see. Idwal and the bard have brought meat and fish!”
O Arswyd! For a moment Enid struggled to catch her breath. She should have known it would not be so easy to rid herself of Con ap Ifan. As a boy, he’d deafened his ears to scoldings until all but the most severe physical punishment rolled off his back. His temper might have flared a little when they’d spoken that morning, but Con had never been one to nurse a grudge. His quickness to make up a quarrel had baffled and infuriated her by turns when they’d been young.
How would she ever get rid of a man who refused to take offense and leave? Unless she defied the most sacred traditions of her people by chasing off her unwanted guest at the point of a sword?
“Come, Mam!” Impatient with her delay, Davy grabbed Enid by the sleeve and tugged her into the courtyard.
For a moment, she could barely see Con through the crowd that had gathered around him and Idwal. As Davy towed her toward them, though, the flock of admirers parted.
Idwal toted a mess of fat brown trout, while Con held aloft a pair of good-sized hares by the hind legs. Catching sight of Enid, he waggled the rabbit carcasses and flashed her a smile of such infectious appeal that the corners of her lips twitched in spite of her.
“Now, no talk of guests sitting idle and being entertained while the rest of the household is scurrying to make preparations,” Con insisted. “Clever fellow that he is, Idwal found the means to satisfy both. I enjoyed a fine day’s hunting, and we’ve brought back a fair catch to stock the larder.”
The look of beaming pride on her brother-in-law’s broad features made Enid bite back the sharp words that tingled on the tip of her tongue. What could she say that wouldn’t knock poor Idwal flatter than a cake of lagana?
Did Con understand just how dirty he was fighting?
“A few more days like this,” quipped the bard-turned-hunter, “and you’ll be able to gorge Macsen ap Gryffith until he’s as round as the old Earl of Chester!”
In what she hoped would pass for a bantering tone, Enid replied, “Lord Macsen won’t thank us if he grows too heavy for his horse to bear him. Still, we should be able to furnish a good table with such a fine catch.”
She glanced around at those who’d gathered. “Don’t forget, we have other preparations to make for our expected guests from Hen Coed, and our regular spring tasks besides.”
As the small crowd dispersed back to their chores, Gaynor took the hares from Con. “Let me go hang these, won’t you? My, they’re fine and heavy. Bring the fish along, Idwal, that’s a good fellow.”
The children ran off after their aunt and uncle, leaving Enid and Con standing alone outside the wash shed.
A ridiculous wave of bashfulness suddenly swamped the mistress of Glyneira. Swallowing several times in quick succession, she nodded toward the low building behind her. “Can we talk for a moment, Con? In here, where we won’t risk being overheard by anyone who cocks an ear.”
He followed her into the shadowy interior, lit only by what sunrays spilled through the open door and by the small fire that crackled under the dye cauldron. Beneath the faint reek of smoke and the sharp aroma of the dye plants hung the smell of wool.
Enid spun around to face Con…too quickly. He blundered into her and for a heart-pounding instant they gripped each other to keep from falling. The innocent fumble of Con’s hands on her fully clothed body made Enid burn for him as she never had for her lawful husband, God rest him.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“No, Enid. I’m sorry.” Con’s hand trailed down her arm to offer her fingers a fleeting squeeze before letting go. “Sorry for bumping into you just now, and sorry for making such an ass of myself this morning. Of course it’s no business of mine who you wed or when.”
And nothing could persuade him to make it his business. Enid dismissed that twinge of regret the way she would have swatted off an insistent fly.
“As it happens,” Con said, “I have a bit of business to discuss with Macsen ap Gryffith. And Glyneira would be a better spot to meet with him than Hen Coed, for a number of reasons. You’d be granting me a great favor if you let me stay. In the meantime, I’ll put myself at your service to do whatever needs doing around here. Be it to prepare for your company or to get your spring crop sown. I’m not the mischief I used to be as a lad. I swear, you’ll never know I’m around.”
Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Con ap Ifan. Enid nearly choked to prevent that thought from coming out in words. She would know he was around. Her body would tingle with the knowledge from daybreak until dusk every day. Through the dark, empty hours of the night, that tingling would intensify to an unbearable itch.
But how could she deny his request without blurting out the secrets she dared not reveal?
Just as when they were young, he’d woven a circle of words around her—all the reasons and sound arguments his facile mind could spin so easily. He even seemed able to anticipate her objections and counter them before she got them out of her mouth.
All she had was her tenacity and patience. Sometimes, if she clung to her opinion stubbornly enough, she would wear him out. But not often. More frequently, he would dizzy her until she lost her grip and tumbled into his sticky web.
Perhaps he suspected her present silence was an effort to dig in her heels against him, rather than a desperate scramble to rally a reply.
Grabbing the tip of the long braid that hung over her shoulder, he tickled her cheek with it, the way he’d often teased her in their younger years. “Come, now, Enid. I don’t mean you any harm.”
Of course he wouldn’t mean it. He would cause her harm, though, if he stayed. She tried to hold on to that painful certainty, even as her head spun and she tilted toward Con.
Somehow, their lips found each other.
On several special occasions Enid had tasted mead, sweet and intoxicating. Con’s kiss was better. It seemed to transform her blood into honey, flowing in a thick, languid pulse. In her breasts and her loins it distilled into something hot and tipsy.
Before she could melt into a puddle of seething need on the floor beneath him, Con wrenched himself away from her, muttering some guttural Saxon-sounding oath.
“I beg your pardon, Enid.” His easy poise shaken for once, Con staggered back toward the door. “I didn’t mean to do that! I don’t know what came over me.”
As he fled, Enid struggled to bring her rebellious feelings back under control.
Though that kiss had hoisted her high only to cast her back down again, she did not regret it. For she had glimpsed the key to ridding Glyneira of Conwy ap Ifan.
Nothing would spur him to run so far and so fast as if she made believe she wanted to keep him here with her.
Forever.
Chapter Four
Have a care now! Con’s tiny voice of caution fairly bellowed as he reeled his way out of the washhouse. Enid’s kiss resonated on his lips like a perfect golden note plucked on an enchanted harp of the Fair Folk.
How could he have stolen that kiss?
True, he tended to speak before he thought and act before he spoke. Over the years he’d learned to exercise some prudence, though. Particularly when there was much at risk…as there was now.
Kissing the lady of the maenol, uninvited, might constitute offense enough for her to withdraw the hospitality of her house. And