Redeeming Jack (28 page)

Carys let go of his hand and stared up at the ceiling. “When you returned to Wales, I didn’t even try and see you before your father demanded my presence in his study that last morning. I was convinced you no longer loved me.”

“But I made no effort to talk to you either. Perhaps we were equally to blame for what happened afterwards.”

Jack allowed another silence to fall between them. Outside, the sea continued to murmur. Two blackbirds challenged each other’s territory with the melodic weapon of song. He stroked Carys’s arm with deceptive calm. “Will you let me see Owen?”

Carys rolled away from him, and Jack followed. He ended up on top of the blankets, pinning her to the bed.

“Do you still intend to deny me my son?” He tensed over her, fighting to breathe, ready to fight.

“It’s not that…” She hesitated long enough to make him consider shouting the question louder. “Owen is only four. I don’t want him to become confused.”

“Confused by
what
? I’m his father.”

“He thinks I’m going to marry Oliver.”

Jack sat back on his heels and put his hands on his hips. “Well, tell him you’re not.”

Her chin came up, and he cursed himself for trying to compel her obedience.

“That’s not the point. When you are a parent, you can’t just think of yourself.”

“I’m not a fool. I understand that.”

She looked away from him, but not before he’d seen the hint of fear in her eyes. And what exactly was she afraid of? That he’d steal the boy away from her?

“I need to think about the best way to tell him. You must let me deal with Owen in my own way.”

Jack reined in his temper and his gathering doubts. Things were complicated enough without muddying them further with hurt pride. Cary had learned to make decisions for herself, and he had no intention of taking that power away from her.

“I want to see Owen. If you don’t wish him to know that I am his father, I swear I will not be the one to tell him the truth.”

Carys studied his face. “All right. I’ll take you to meet him. You deserve that at least.” She swung her long legs over the side of the bed. “We need to get up—it’s almost midday.”

Jack lay on the bed and tried to picture his son. Would he recognize the lad? Surely he would. What if Owen had inherited Gareth’s red hair and freckles? Would it matter? Jack’s hands fisted as he imagined touching his son for the first time. It would take years to make up for all the things he’d missed.

He tried to recall how he’d felt at four but it was too far back. Perhaps Owen wouldn’t remember the years his father had been absent from his life at all. Jack hoped so with all his heart.

After he was sure that he’d regained some measure of calm, Jack washed and made his way down to the kitchen. Carys was busy picking up their discarded clothing and hanging it near the fire to dry. She frowned at his nakedness.

“Most of your clothing is far too wet to put back on. I’m sure I kept some of your old things in my dower chest upstairs. I’ll go and find them for you.”

Jack caught her arm as she brushed past him and drew her close. “You kept my clothes?”

Carys rubbed her cheek against his bare shoulder. “Your father had all your remaining belongings delivered to me when I moved into the cottage. I couldn’t bring myself to throw everything away.”

“Thank goodness for that,” he murmured as he took the opportunity to kiss her soft mouth. She smelled of lavender soap and their lovemaking. His body heated and he kissed her more deeply, his hands roving over her body.

She pulled away, her gaze skimming his aroused body, the thrust of his cock against her skirts. “We don’t have time for any more of…that.” She ran up the stairs, and Jack followed her. He shut the door behind him as Carys knelt to examine a painted wooden chest beneath the window.

He came down on his knees behind her and wrapped his arm around her waist. “Are you sure?”

She shivered as his fingers found her breast and closed over her nipple. “Yes, Jack, I’m…”

He didn’t allow her to finish her sentence, taking her mouth in a commanding kiss that demanded her complete attention. Her fingers stilled on the lid of the chest. He pulled up her petticoats, baring her to the waist.

“I’ll be quick,
anwylaf
. I know you’re ready for me.” He eased his cock inside her and only released his breath when he filled her completely. Her body curved gracefully over the chest, her hands pillowing her averted face. Jack swept her long red hair to one side. He kissed the nape of her neck and bit down slowly on her earlobe. She arched beneath him. He slid deeper.

“God, I’ve missed you, missed this…” Jack whispered.

Jack braced his hands on either end of the painted chest to take his weight. He slowly circled his hips. He loved the sensation of her tightness drawing him in, the sweet, hot clasp of her body beneath his. He closed his eyes and thanked the god he’d almost stopped believing in for giving him a second chance.

* * *

“Jack, please…” Carys tried to push back against Jack’s long, lazy thrusts, but his weight held her captive. She could do nothing to hasten her enjoyment and settled in to enjoy the unusual, sensual experience of being subject to Jack’s will. Her pleasure rose as he continued his measured dance of advance and retreat. In desperation, she slid her hands along the chest and grabbed Jack’s wrists.

He groaned at her touch and began to move faster. She dug her nails into his flesh as pleasure engulfed her. Her body clenched, shuddered and fell into ecstasy. He collapsed over her, his frantic heartbeat echoing hers, his breathing ragged.

When he rolled away and collapsed on the threadbare carpet, Carys struggled to remember what she had been doing. She stared down at the chest.

Clothes for Jack.

She shook out a faded linen shirt and a pair of patched brown breeches. “These will have to do. You’ll have to use your own coat and cloak. I doubt you’d fit into any of your old ones.”

Jack stretched his arms over his head and flexed his shoulders. “I suspect I have grown a little over the past few years. Manual work puts muscle on a man.”

Carys swallowed hard and pretended to search the shirt for moth damage. To her mind, it was a shame that Jack ever had to wear clothes. He was quite perfect without them. Fearing he could read her thoughts, she rose to her feet, his clothes over her arm.

She fixed Jack with a stern look. “I’ll be in the kitchen ironing your shirt. I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

JACK WAITED AT the crossroads for Carys to reappear with the horse and gig she’d gone to borrow. He shivered as the breeze caught at his still-damp cloak. Carys didn’t want to be seen with him in the village. He scowled into the brisk head wind. Did he look so disreputable? Even the local farmer who’d passed by a few minutes ago hadn’t offered him a ride in the back of his cart. The farmer had looked suspiciously at him and made sure Jack saw him twirl his whip.

When Jack offered to fetch the horse from the local schoolmaster, a man he’d grown up with, Carys had refused outright. The thought rankled, even though Jack knew she had a right to be wary. It seemed he had a lot to prove to his wife before she’d truly accept his intention to remain in her life for good.

The thought no longer scared him. A year ago, if anyone had suggested he might settle down in peace and harmony with his wife and son he would’ve laughed. He was amazed at the strength of his feelings for a child he had never laid eyes on, humbled by the depth of his love for Carys.

The creak of a gig and steady thud of a horses hooves announced Carys’s arrival. She stopped to allow Jack to climb on board and then proceeded down the rutted grass track that passed for a road. Jack watched her calm competence with the reins and settled back to enjoy the view.

After the storm filled night, the sea seemed benign—a smooth silver mirror reflecting the cloudless sky. He shaded his eyes and looked out over the curve of the bay. Worms Head was clearly visible on his left, and to the far right was Burry Holmes.

Carys tapped the horse with the whip and turned inland.

Jack touched her arm. “Isn’t Owen at Gareth’s house?”

“No. I didn’t think it was safe to leave him there.”

Jack frowned. “Do you mean from me?”

Carys threw him an exasperated glance. “Why would I hide Owen from you when I didn’t realize you knew he existed?”

“From whom, then?”

She gathered the reins in her capable hands and slowed the gig. A straggling herd of sheep crossed in front of them, attended by a shepherd and two alert sheepdogs. “I’m not sure if I want to discuss this with you.”

Jack glared at the sheep, repressing an urge to leap out of the gig and hurry them along himself. “Is this another example of your ‘thinking things through’? Am I still considered untrustworthy?”

Carys spun around, her eyes flashing. “One of the first things you need to learn about being a parent, Jack, is that nothing is as important as the safety of your child—
nothing
.”

“Do you imagine Owen is in danger? For God’s sake, he’s only four years old!”

Carys flicked the reins, and the horse moved forward. Jack grabbed hold of the back of the seat as the gig lurched to one side.

“What is it,
cariad
?” he asked quietly. “If you don’t tell me, how am I ever going to learn to become a better parent?”

Carys kept her attention on the indistinct pattern of the road ahead. “Perhaps you are right to question me. Sometimes I can scarcely believe it myself.” She sighed. “I asked Martha to take Owen to her brother’s farm down near Pilton Green. I didn’t want him at Gareth’s or my parents’.”

“Can you tell me why?” Jack’s thoughts flew to Captain Fury and his earlier threats.

“Because your father wants him.”

Jack grabbed the reins and stopped the horse. A sick, cold feeling settled in his stomach. “Why would he concern himself with a child of mine?”

Carys bit her lip. “He sees Owen as an insurance policy for the future of his line. Until Robert or Edward marry and produce an heir, Owen could inherit the title.”

Jack stared at her and tried to work out the legal implications of the duke’s thinking. Was that why his father had wanted to talk to him? It seemed horribly likely. “When did he tell you this?”

“He cornered me when I went to visit your mother. He intimated that it would be quite easy for him to have Owen removed from my care.”

Jack gave her back the reins. “Unfortunately, he’s right. He has a considerable amount of power and influence at court and with the local authorities. But why now? What possible motive could he have to try and steal Owen now?”

Carys focused her gaze on the tarnished brass buttons of his coat. “Perhaps it is because Oliver Rice wishes to marry me.”

Jack struggled to remain calm. “Aye, I should imagine that might be it.”

He stared blindly at the road, which wound its way down the hill into a shallow valley scattered with farmsteads. He couldn’t bring himself to continue the discussion. The mere mention of Rice’s name made him want to smash his fist into something.

“I won’t let him take Owen, Carys. I swear it.”

She turned to look at him and he saw the strain on her face as she nodded. He could understand that. He hadn’t exactly proved himself to be a good protector in the past.

She pointed at a huddle of whitewashed stone cottages set in an awkward circle. “Martha’s brother, Geithin, farms here.”

Jack studied the surrounding fields dotted with sheep. Wispy smoke billowed from the recently thatched roof of the main house. It reminded him of a wooden farm set he’d been given one Christmas when he was a boy.

“I’ve been here before,” Jack said. “Martha must have brought me when I was a child.”

They continued down the narrow lane bordered with high hedgerows. Jack dealt with the reins while Carys stepped down and knocked on the blue front door. No one answered.

She studied the blank windows. “Perhaps they are out working in the fields.”

Jack tied the horse up and fell into step beside her. A large goose appeared flapping its wings, honking its disapproval of their arrival. Jack stood his ground and stared it down, while Carys hid behind him. “Let’s try the barn first.”

The doorway to the barn had settled so low in the ground that Jack had to duck his head to enter. Arrow slits let in splinters of light through the thick walls. An eye-watering smell of chicken dung and damp hay assaulted his senses. Something brushed up against his boot. In the thick darkness, it took him a moment to focus on the chickens roaming the barn floor.

“Watch your step, Carys. There are chickens in here, although I don’t see anyone else.” He cleared his throat. “Is anyone here? Hello?
Schumae
?”

Carys tugged on his sleeve, and he allowed her to pull him back into the sunshine. Her gaze darted from the house to the open fields behind him.

Jack took her hand. “Would it be better if you called out for them? Perhaps they are suspicious of strangers. I doubt they’d remember me.”

“I hadn’t thought of that. Shall we check behind the house? Eleri might not have heard the door.”

The back garden bore signs of recent occupancy. Washing billowed on the line and a rug lay over the fence, ready to be beaten. Shrill barks erupted from a sheepdog puppy tied to the handle of a half-filled tin bath.

“Now then, puppy, what’s all the commotion?”

Carys ran toward the elderly woman who appeared out of the house, carrying a pile of washing in a basket.

“Eleri, how are you this fine morning?”

The grey-haired woman smiled and hugged Carys before turning her attention to Jack. Jack took the opportunity to relieve her of her basket. He set it down on the grass.

“You look familiar,” Eleri said, her bright blue gaze focused intently on Jack.

He bowed. “I believe we have met before. I’m Jack Llewelyn. Martha was my nursemaid when I was a boy, and she brought me here for a visit.”

Eleri looked politely confused. “That’s not who you remind me of, but I think you must be right. Martha often brought the Llewelyn boys down here on her days off.” She glanced at Carys, the gleam in her eye unmistakable. “So this is your husband, then? He’s a fine-looking man. Much more handsome than Lord Rice.”