Welshman's Bride

by Bancroft, Blair

  Anxious voices—talking about me. Rhys pounding on the door, demanding entry. At that, a spark of warmth flashed through me, and I somehow managed to croak, “Rhys, I want Rhys.”

  A nod from Lady Aurelia, and Alice ran to open the door. “We will return in five minutes,” Lady Aurelia intoned before sailing out with Alice and Miss Farnsworth in her wake.

  “Jocelyn? Jocelyn, look at me.”

  But having suddenly remembered more than my overwhelming need to see my husband, I turned my head away. Yes, I wanted Rhys. Desperately. But I also recalled he had not believed that Liliwen abandoned me. He had taken her word over mine. I clutched the bedcovers, wondering if my inner battle with myself was visible on my face. If so, it must be twisted into the grotesque contours of a gargoyle.

  “Jocelyn, listen to me. I have spoken with Liliwen, and she admits to leaving you. She cried copious tears, claiming she only wished you to become more independent, more of a seasoned Welshwoman than a fragile English bride.”

  My head swiveled toward him, delivering a look incredulous enough to cause Rhys to throw up both hands in denial. “She knew a storm was coming!” I cried.

  “And so she admitted, after a good many more sobs than I can stomach.” Rhys heaved a sigh that seemed to come from his soul. “I did not press her, but I too suspect the cause was deeper than she admits. Perhaps deeper than she is aware. Liliwen has been accustomed, you see, to being the most beautiful, most desirable young woman in the valley. Daughter of the chatelaine of the castle. The lodestone for all male eyes. And now . . .” Rhys shrugged. “And now she has lost all but her dowry, for you are the most beautiful woman in the valley, and she also sees her mother’s power slipping, soon to be gone.”

  “She sees that you mother dislikes me.” I was trying to be reasonable but could not keep the petulance out of my voice.

  “That too,” Rhys returned softly, “and I am most sincerely sorry for it.”

  “And you believe her to be jealous? It scarcely seems possible—when she is so lovely and I a married woman who is most certainly not a rival.”

  “But you have drawn Dawnay’s close attention.” Rhys offered me a challenging look that said quite clearly he was offering a fact impossible to dispute.

  A-ah. There was a home truth I did not care to examine too closely. Yet Liliwen’s interest in that direction came as a surprise. “I had thought her interest fixed on Trystan,” I said, my brow wrinkling into a frown.

  “An attachment I have discouraged,” Rhys returned in a voice so stern I abandoned the subject, not having the strength at the moment to argue the rights of an inimical sister-in-law.

  Only now did I realize Liliwen’s problems had been a welcome diversion, for I was left with nothing but my own. In addition to dissension in the family, I had caused a great deal of fuss and bother. I had been heedless, intent upon my own pleasure. I failed to check the lowering sky, and only supreme arrogance could have made me think I could manage on my own instead of promptly following Liliwen off the mountain.

  In short, I’d been a complete lackwit.

  I peeped at Rhys from under my eyelashes. “Are you not angry with me?”

  “God, no!” he exploded, offering no apology for his profanity.

  “That is enough, young man,” Lady Aurelia declared as she swept back into the room. “Off you go. Women do not care for their men to see them when they are all forlorn.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, but a sneeze shook me from head to toe. Oh no! I had always been a hardy soul, seldom sick beyond the customary childhood illnesses. Surely not . . .

  But, inevitably, I was sick as a dog for nearly a sennight. The doctor strapped my ankle tight and prescribed a variety of noxious brews, which I dutifully drank. But, willy nilly, the streaming head cold ran its course, ignoring every attempt to check it. Lady Aurelia, in spite of her age, controlled the sick room, allowing only the doctor, Emily Farnsworth, and Alice through the door—with the exception of my mother-in-law, who paid a daily thirty-second duty call to ask how I was going on. (Disappointed, no doubt, that I had not succumbed to an inflammation of the lungs.) Liliwen I did not see at all. Some days I pictured her contrite, not daring to show her face. Other days, I had visions of her gloating because she had managed to take the arrogant English heiress down a peg or two.

  Rhys, of course, could not be banned, but Lady Aurelia had been correct when she said women did not care for their men to see them when they looked abominable. Which I surely did, with eyes as red as my nose, my body wracked with coughs and sneezes. Revolting. So I never let him stay long. Besides, everyone in this enlightened age knew that colds were easily passed from one person to the next, and I had no desire to bring my husband as low as myself.

  Yet the moment he left me, I worried. Was he actually in his bed? Or was he climbing the secret staircase to the floor above, taking his pleasure in Eilys’s arms instead of mine?

  Suspicion ate at me, likely slowing my recovery, though on the morning of my fifth day in bed, Lady Aurelia seemed to believe I was well enough for more serious conversation than we had previously exchanged. After instructing Miss Farnsworth to place a chair beside my bed and making sure her companion had exited the room, she lowering herself into the chair and favored me a long enigmatic look. “I came to Glyn Eirian as a bride a dozen years before my husband’s father passed on,” she told me. “When he died, his wife was so stricken by grief she passed the reins of the household to me with infinite relief. Gwendolyn came here many years before my own dear Gwilym passed, so she too had ample time to adapt. And though I could not like her, when my time came to relinquish my authority, I, the properly raised daughter of an English earl, knew I must step down.”

  I stared at Rhys’s grandmother, my attention fully caught. Obviously, this was a conversation with a purpose. “But when my son died three years ago, taken too young,” Lady Aurelia continued, her breath hitching before she continued, “Rhys was not married, so Gwendolyn remained in charge of the household. And therefore clings to the position long past her time.” Lady Aurelia’s kindly gray eyes darkened. “I fear ousting her will not be easy, but know that you have my support, my dear. You must convince Rhys the situation is intolerable. And it is not just the servants who are confused. Liliwen is at a most sensitive and difficult age, perhaps affected most of all by the confusion.”

  Emboldened by these confidences, I asked, “What about Eilys?”

  Lady Aurelia rolled her eyes, a rather startling gesture in such an elderly and dignified lady. “Dear child, do not be naive. Surely your mother instructed you in the ways of men.”

  Biting my lip, I studied the bedcovers. “Yes, my lady,” I whispered.

  “Then no more nonsense about that,” she declared. “What’s done is done and cannot be undone. When you are fully recovered and returned to the beauty you undoubtedly are, you must convince Rhys that this household will not hold together until the new year. You must take command now. After all, I am more than able to assist you with any oddities peculiar to this house.”

  Oh no! I could not possibly . . . I had agreed to Rhys’s compromise.

  Correctly reading the consternation on my face, Lady Aurelia patted my hand. “As I said, my dear—not until you are stronger. Just think about what I have said. There are forces at work that need . . . curbing. Yes, I believe that is the best word. Undoubtedly, Gwendolyn will keep a few of her supporters, but you must seize the day and hang on tight. Glyn Eirian is yours now, as is the valley, which Gwen ignores unless the problem concerns some precious Welsh tradition from a half a millennia ago.”

  “My lady, I don’t know what to say.”

  “You may begin by calling me ‘Grandmama.” If you do not mind, that is. I suspect you have two of those already.”

  “Oh, my lady, I couldn’t—” I broke off, swallowed hard, tears welling in my eyes. “It will be a privilege to have three grandmothers . . . Grandmama.”

  Lady Aurelia reached out and clasp
ed my hand. “Courage, child. All will come right in the end. I will leave you alone for a short while to contemplate what I have said.” And then the comfort of her delicate blue-veined hand was gone, and I was left with my head in a whirl.

  Seize power? But how?

  I had agreed to a New Year’s deadline.

  Rhys would never support any change in his deci—

  A cough jarred through me, further scattering thoughts that refused to settle into some semblance of coherence. No, not quite. One thought stood out from all the rest. Lady Aurelia was a dear, but was she showing a touch of senility? She could not possibly expect me to defy my husband, renege on our agreement?

  And yet . . . what if she were right? What if confusion about who was in charge was damaging life at Glyn Eirian . . . possibly even responsible for Liliwen’s wayward behavior?

  But the person in charge was Rhys Maddox.

  Pure sophistry. I had not assumed my rightful place at his side. And according to Lady Aurelia, this was causing confusion. Perhaps worse.

  Well, devil fly away with it all! I thought, seizing on my brothers’ extensive vocabulary of profanity to express what my “proper lady” vocabulary could not. The least I could do was consider the possibility. Even if Lady Aurelia was wrong and my fate was to limp along for the next few months, subservient to my mother-in-law, the time would pass, I would be chatelaine of the castle. What was the point of attempting to seize my position before the appointed date?

  Or had my new grandmama been intimating that bad things could happen if loyalties remained undefined?

  With some vehemence I heaved a pillow at the window where the sun shone brightly, as if not a single care beset the world. Of course it landed short, far short. Like my attempts to unravel Lady Aurelia’s words, my position at Glyn Eirian, and what Rhys Maddox and his mother might do if I broke our agreement.

  A fit of coughing forced me back against the remaining pillows at my back, and the misery of my cold swept away all thoughts of rebellion.

  On the next to last day of my confinement, Rhys strode into my bedchamber through the door from our sitting room, stood aside, and motioned a clearly reluctant Liliwen into the room. Shoulders hunched, face set in a pout, she trudged toward me while Rhys crossed his arms over his chest and watched from a distance.

  Her amber eyes did not quite meet mine as she intoned, “I did not wish for you to be ill, Jocelyn, though I confess I thought to challenge you to find your way home on your own. You are so”—she sucked in a breath, obviously rethinking what she was going to say—“English. So out of place here.”

  “Enough,” Rhys snapped. “You are here to apologize not find excuses.”

  Stung by her brother’s words, Liliwen bowed her head. “I am truly sorry, Jocelyn. Please forgive me.”

  I must accept her apology, of course, even though I suspected she was only sorry she had not managed to frighten me back to England, or possibly see me into my grave.

  Unkind. I was making high drama from nothing more than a childish fit of irresponsibility.

  “Of course I forgive you, Liliwen,” I said. “I must learn to look out for myself, must I not? Learn to be as independent and competent as a born Welshwoman. Is that not what you were trying to teach me?”

  Rhys overrode any reply Liliwen might have made, declaring in his lord-of-the-manor voice,“ From now on Liliwen will confine her lessons to which path leads where, and she will not leave your side. That is, if you will allow her to continue as your guide.”

  What could I say? That I would not allow Liliwen to guide me up the stairs to the attics? (My initial reaction.) I managed a serene smile. At least I hope it appeared serene. “As soon as I am recovered,” I said, “I look forward to continuing our explorations.”

  Liliwen sank into an exaggerated curtsy before striding out of the room, her head considerably higher than when she came in. Drat! She likely thought she’d gotten the better of that exchange.

  Rhys, looking glum, caught my eye. “Thank you,” he said. “I fear I ask too much of you in the name of keeping the peace.”

  Yes. He did. But I was far from fit enough to engage in that battle at the moment.

  When, Jocelyn? When? my inner voice chided.

  I took the coward’s way out. “Please leave,” I murmured, sinking down under the covers. “I am tired.” I scrunched my eyes tight and turned my back on him, taking a full breath only after I heard the snick of the closing door.

  Chapter Twelve

  The next day, I ventured downstairs for the first time in more than a week. Although Gruffydd promptly welcomed me and extended his dignified hope for my continued recovery, I could not help but glare at him when he informed me that Lord Dawnay had twice visited Glyn Eirian to inquire about my health.

  “And no one told me?”

  A look flashed over the sensechal’s face that might have been a wince. “Beg pardon, Mrs. Jocelyn, but Lady Aurelia guarded your bedchamber like a dog with a bone. Nothing was allowed to disturb you while you were ill.” Clearly choosing his words with care, he added, “My lady spent so much time in the sickroom, it is possible she did not know of his lordship’s visits.”

  Which was Gruffydd’s way of saying that Gwendolyn Maddox had not passed on the news of the viscount’s visits. Which also explained why the seneschal had been so prompt to inform me when I finally came downstairs. Gruffydd, it seemed, was not numbered among my enemies, and for that I was extremely thankful. I needed all the help I could get.

  Nearly ten more days passed before I began to feel myself again, a young woman able to cope with whatever life threw at her. At least I hoped so. Since my mother-in-law seemed to have forgotten she was supposed to be instructing me in the management of Glyn Eirian, I concentrated on getting my strength back. Accompanied by Alice, I once again explored the house from top to bottom before venturing outside for short walks. Our first excursions were limited to Glyn Eirian’s modest park or a middling distance along the road that wound down to the village. And finally we undertook the challenge of following some of the easier paths that wound up into the mountains that surrounded us. Physically, I discovered, I was ready. Mentally, I quavered, nasty memories flooding my mind with images and emotions I wished only to forget. Struggling to shut them out, I focused on the rugged beauty of the Welsh landscape, inhaling the crisp autumn air like a tonic, enjoying the sunlight sparkling off mica embedded in granite boulders, the screech of a hawk circling high above, the clusters of sheep searching for grass among the rocks. This was the Wales I could admire, a serene and calming sight, as non-threatening as one could ask for. Gradually, my fears faded, and I allowed optimism to blossom. I could, I would survive in this strange land.

  Somehow.

  Lord Dawnay continued to call twice a week, much to the delight of most of the household, including Liliwen. Rhys might well be correct about her interest in that direction, even though I had frequently seen her casting sheep’s eyes at Trystan, our resident poet. But why should she not? She was young enough to wish to practice her wiles on any young man who came her way.

  Yet girls that age—she was three years younger than I, after all—took things so seriously. Fool that I was, I should have realized that jealousy might be another count against me. Yet could I help it if Hugh Dawnay seemed to find me attractive? His interest in pursuing our acquaintance was one of the few bright spots in my days.

  For shame. As Liliwen’s senior and a married woman, I should be above such petty thoughts.

  Yet it was difficult to be magnanimous about someone else’s love life when my own seemed to have plunged into an abyss. Rhys had not come back to my bed. At first I told myself he was playing the perfect gentleman, giving me time to recover, but nearly a fortnight had passed since I left the sickroom . . .

  He had returned to Eilys, I knew it. Liliwen’s jealousy was nothing compared to mine.

  He sits with you nightly. He has explained how much time he is spending on plans to improve the
copper mine.

  Ignoring my inner voice, I pictured that dark, narrow staircase leading upward from Rhys’s study. Tonight, I promised myself. Tonight I will do it. I will ask him if Eilys has once again captured his heart. And, quite incredibly, while Rhys sat in a chair pulled up to the side of my bed, I did exactly that, scarcely believing my ears as the words tumbled out,. His eyes went wide, expanding into pools of blue deep enough to drown in. “You think I— Good God, Jocelyn, are you mad? I’ve been making a supreme effort to be the considerate husband, waiting, waiting for you to give the slightest hint you were ready to be a wife again—yet nothing, absolutely nothing. You might as well be one of the standing stones.”

  Oh. I wasn’t certain I believed him, yet his indignation had the ring of truth.

  And illness tended to lead to fantasies of the mind . . .

  Perhaps I should have been more careful with my response, but I was extremely tired of my Englishness being cast in my face as a grave fault. “I am truly sorry I am more reserved than the women you are accustomed to,” I said with great dignity, “but lacking the–ah–generous nature of a Welshwoman does not mean I do not care. You married an Englishwoman. You should be prepared for the consequences. I am what I am,” I added hastily as a scowl darkened his ruggedly handsome face. “If I must adjust to Wales, so must you adjust to me.”

  He was going to stalk out, another night lost . . .

  And why shouldn’t he after those icy words?

  Instead, Rhys bent his head, breathing hard, fingers pressed to his face. Fighting his temper, no doubt. When, oh when, would I learn to keep my tongue between my teeth?

  Finally, after yet another of his long-suffering sighs that had become so familiar, he lowered his hand from his face and gazed at me with what appeared to be resignation. Then, with his shoulders set in stoic stiffness, he stood and returned his chair to its place against the wall.