his household that kept him staring at the ceiling well after everyone else slumbered.
Trying to fall asleep in the barracks with all the noise the men made would have been difficult enough at the best of times. With all that had happened that day rushing through his mind creating eddies of desire and whirlpools of dread, fervently anticipating his wedding night while fearing he would rue accepting Fiona’s offer, sleep had eluded him.
Finally, toward the dawn, he had dropped off into an uneasy rest, to dream of Fiona naked in his arms while around his bed, Father Rhodri and everybody else in Llanstephan chastised him for a stupid, silly little boy whose father would be justly ashamed of him.
Despite that nightmarish aspect of his dream, when he had awakened, he had been astonishingly aroused and it was the memory of Fiona in his arms that lingered longest.
He heaved the bleating, struggling sheep into the river, then turned to Dafydd, who nodded toward the tables set near the big ffridd where Fiona and the maidservants were clearing away the food and drink. “For her, is it?”
“She’s still there?” he asked, his voice a rough croak as he tried to sound unconcerned, although he knew full well she was.
He had not expected her to be at the river, but when he had seen her, he had been undeniably pleased. Too many highborn women cared only about the finished wool and the income it provided, not the way it was obtained, or the work that went into caring for the animals that produced it.
He had almost waved and called out to her, until it had occurred to him that she might be appalled a lord would do such labor. What if she thought helping his shepherds beneath him?
If that proved to be, he had decided, he wouldn’t trouble himself to explain that he enjoyed being out in the mountains with men who were his friends as well as his tenants. Here he felt free and happy, unencumbered by his cares and worries and duty.
When she stayed, he began to think she must not disapprove. He had even begun to hope that she was impressed.
Not wanting to be teased by Dafydd or any of the others, though, or seem as if he was becoming too enamored of a woman he had only just met, he had ignored her for as long as he could.
When he couldn’t do that anymore, he walked over to the tables where she was speaking to Lowri, allowing himself the simple pleasure of watching her as he did. Her auburn hair glowed in the sunlight, and her supple body had a grace such as he had never seen before, as if she were dancing even when she stood still.
He had overheard Lowri’s insolent response and braced himself for Fiona’s answering burst of temper.
None came. Instead, she replied calmly, yet with a hint of iron in her voice that was most impressive.
Obviously Fiona MacDougal was not a woman to be trifled with, yet she was willing to help with a menial task when she could have stayed in the castle doing whatever it was well-bred women did.
He hoped that would go some way toward showing his household that he had not made a disastrous choice of bride.
“Of course she is still here,” Dafydd said, “and she keeps looking at your manly form, as I’m sure you know. That is why you’re going to do this until you drop, aren’t you, fool that you are?”
Caradoc wasn’t about to admit that there was some basis for Dafydd’s observation. “Since you’ve finally stopped talking with the women and come, now I’ll go.”
“Oh, my fault, is it?” Dafydd asked sarcastically as he stripped off his tunic, revealing a body as lean and hard as Caradoc’s. “That’s right. Blame me—but go and talk to her before her eyes fall out of her head.”
Caradoc gave him a critical look that didn’t fool his friend for a minute, as Dafydd’s good-natured laughter showed. “But wash yourself first, Caradoc. You stink worse than these sheep.”
God’s wounds, he did. “Varlet,” he muttered as he pulled off his boots.
“Bastard.”
He
Trying to fall asleep in the barracks with all the noise the men made would have been difficult enough at the best of times. With all that had happened that day rushing through his mind creating eddies of desire and whirlpools of dread, fervently anticipating his wedding night while fearing he would rue accepting Fiona’s offer, sleep had eluded him.
Finally, toward the dawn, he had dropped off into an uneasy rest, to dream of Fiona naked in his arms while around his bed, Father Rhodri and everybody else in Llanstephan chastised him for a stupid, silly little boy whose father would be justly ashamed of him.
Despite that nightmarish aspect of his dream, when he had awakened, he had been astonishingly aroused and it was the memory of Fiona in his arms that lingered longest.
He heaved the bleating, struggling sheep into the river, then turned to Dafydd, who nodded toward the tables set near the big ffridd where Fiona and the maidservants were clearing away the food and drink. “For her, is it?”
“She’s still there?” he asked, his voice a rough croak as he tried to sound unconcerned, although he knew full well she was.
He had not expected her to be at the river, but when he had seen her, he had been undeniably pleased. Too many highborn women cared only about the finished wool and the income it provided, not the way it was obtained, or the work that went into caring for the animals that produced it.
He had almost waved and called out to her, until it had occurred to him that she might be appalled a lord would do such labor. What if she thought helping his shepherds beneath him?
If that proved to be, he had decided, he wouldn’t trouble himself to explain that he enjoyed being out in the mountains with men who were his friends as well as his tenants. Here he felt free and happy, unencumbered by his cares and worries and duty.
When she stayed, he began to think she must not disapprove. He had even begun to hope that she was impressed.
Not wanting to be teased by Dafydd or any of the others, though, or seem as if he was becoming too enamored of a woman he had only just met, he had ignored her for as long as he could.
When he couldn’t do that anymore, he walked over to the tables where she was speaking to Lowri, allowing himself the simple pleasure of watching her as he did. Her auburn hair glowed in the sunlight, and her supple body had a grace such as he had never seen before, as if she were dancing even when she stood still.
He had overheard Lowri’s insolent response and braced himself for Fiona’s answering burst of temper.
None came. Instead, she replied calmly, yet with a hint of iron in her voice that was most impressive.
Obviously Fiona MacDougal was not a woman to be trifled with, yet she was willing to help with a menial task when she could have stayed in the castle doing whatever it was well-bred women did.
He hoped that would go some way toward showing his household that he had not made a disastrous choice of bride.
“Of course she is still here,” Dafydd said, “and she keeps looking at your manly form, as I’m sure you know. That is why you’re going to do this until you drop, aren’t you, fool that you are?”
Caradoc wasn’t about to admit that there was some basis for Dafydd’s observation. “Since you’ve finally stopped talking with the women and come, now I’ll go.”
“Oh, my fault, is it?” Dafydd asked sarcastically as he stripped off his tunic, revealing a body as lean and hard as Caradoc’s. “That’s right. Blame me—but go and talk to her before her eyes fall out of her head.”
Caradoc gave him a critical look that didn’t fool his friend for a minute, as Dafydd’s good-natured laughter showed. “But wash yourself first, Caradoc. You stink worse than these sheep.”
God’s wounds, he did. “Varlet,” he muttered as he pulled off his boots.
“Bastard.”
He
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