Deborah Hale - Border Bride

The question tripped Con up. “I reckon I might have caused her a spot of bother in my time.” Was that how Enid had remembered him—as a troublesome tag-along?

They reached a copse of beech trees that bordered a large field within sight of the maenol. Though both children knew the chore was only an excuse to get them out from underfoot, Davy and Myfanwy quickly set to work, competing to see who could collect the biggest load of twigs. Con joined in their game, scrambling to assist whoever fell behind.

Would he ever know this kind of simple fun with children of his own? Con wondered as he dropped a fistful of twigs onto Davy’s pile. Fatherhood was a matter he’d never spared much thought before.

With good reason, he reminded himself. A child would tie him to one woman, possibly even to one place. That prospect held little appeal for a wanderer of his ilk. It wasn’t all selfishness that made him shrink from the notion of having a family, either. Con knew his own shortcomings too well to fool himself into thinking he’d make a good father.

It was one thing to gambol about with Enid’s youngsters, more like a fellow playmate than anything. He wouldn’t want to bear the ongoing responsibility for keeping them fed, clothed, sheltered and protected from harm. Yet, for the first time in his life, Con acknowledged the possibility that his solitary existence might be lacking something important.

They had amassed two fine piles of kindling when their uncle called from the gate, “Time to…eat.”

“Coming, Idwal,” chorused the children.

Davy lifted his heap of twigs only to have half of them fall to the ground again. His lower lip thrust out.

“Here.” Con unfastened his cloak and spread it on the ground. “Make a great bundle and I’ll carry it back for you.”

Pleased with the idea, the children shifted both piles onto Con’s cloak, than ran off ahead as he hoisted the light but bulky burden over his shoulder. He got halfway to the open gate when some ponderous movement out in the field caught his eye. A stocky youth manoeuvred a plow, pulled by two yoke of oxen. The beasts strained fitfully as the lad now and then poked the rumps of the hindmost pair with a stick.

“Boy!” Con shouted. “Did you not hear Idwal? It’s time to eat.”

The lad shook his head. “I want to finish this furrow before night falls, if I can only make these shiftless brutes pull as they ought. At the rate they’ve been going, this field won’t be fit to sow until midsummer.”

Con had forborne to criticize. He recalled all too well what it was like to have everyone picking on him and finding fault. But hearing something like a plea in this plowboy’s gruff young voice, he set down his load of sticks and vaulted over a low stile into the half-tilled field.

“Let’s see if between the two of us we can’t get this furrow plowed before supper’s all eaten.” Con rubbed the oxen’s brows between their long horns and crooned a few words of nonsense to them.

He held out his hand to the boy. “Give over that stick of yours, will you? Let me see if I can’t put it to better use.”

Beckoning with the slender rod until he drew the beasts eyes, Con began to walk backward, calling them to follow in the singsong litany he’d learned as a boy. “Hai, you oxen! Come, then, come. Plow you this last furrow, there’s the fine brawny fellows. Then we’ll set you free to drink and graze and rest.”

Straining into their yolks, the oxen followed him, as the astonished plowboy clung to the heavy share they pulled. A foolish flame of satisfaction flickered in Con’s heart that he hadn’t lost this homely skill he’d once despised.

When they reached the end of the furrow, he patted the beasts on their sweaty hindquarters and accepted the boy’s profuse thanks. Then he carried the children’s kindling into the maenol and deposited the great load of twigs in the bin beside the kitchen door. Finally he made his way to the hall, and tried to join the company unnoticed.

It didn’t work.

He had barely set foot over the threshold when Enid left her place at the high table and bore down on him. Con braced himself for a scolding at best, eviction at worst.

“Conwy ap Ifan, where have you been skulking?” She slipped one slender but capable hand into the crook of his elbow, drawing him toward the table. “Idwal and I have been waiting on you. Though I’m not so hungry, he has a sharp appetite from all the hunting and fishing the pair of you did today.”

Struck as dumb as any ox, Con let himself be led to the slightly raised platform. To his further amazement, Enid slid onto the bench beside her brother-in-law and pulled Con down next to her. Con peered the length of the table, surprised to see that Father Thomas had been relegated to the company of Gaynor and Helydd at the far end.

“Will you play and sing for us again, tonight?” Enid passed Con his round of lagana while Idwal heaped his own with meat. “Everyone enjoyed it so, last eve.”

“I…suppose.” Con heard his words struggle out in a halting manner, more like Idwal’s speech than his own glib prattle. “If you…like.”

What had gotten into the woman? If she’d greeted him with such warmth when he’d first arrived at Glyneira, Con would not have been surprised. But after last night’s frosty reception, this morning’s quarrel, and that abrupt kiss in the washhouse, Enid’s sudden change in manner left him puzzled and suspicious.

“Don’t look at me like I’m apt to bite you, old friend.” Enid longed to hug herself with glee—her plan was beginning to work already. If Con looked skittish now, imagine how fast he’d flee when she pretended to mistake some scrap of hollow flattery for a marriage proposal. “You and I got off on the wrong foot yesterday and I beg your pardon, for the fault was all mine.”

She had bungled things badly, Enid owned to herself. For a start, she should never have kept Con at arm’s length, seating him at the far end of the table, then spiriting the children away to bed and never returning to the hall for a word of good-night. If she meant to keep Con from finding out anything she didn’t want him to know, she must stick close to him, telling him only those things she deemed safe for him to hear, acting as a buffer against slips like the one Gaynor had made last night.

As she reached to scoop a bit of meat onto her bread, Enid let the back of her hand swipe against Con’s. When the touch set a giddy sensation wafting within her, she reminded herself it was only a ruse to drive him away.

“I was that surprised to see you again after so many years, it took me aback. I hope you’ll forgive me for being so ungracious, and let us start over.”

Con choked on a hasty bite of his bread, but gave a vigorous nod as he coughed to clear his throat.

“I knew you would.” Under the table, she pressed her knee against his, enjoying Con’s unease at the same time she felt uneasy over her enjoyment of the sensation. “You never did hold a grudge.”

No, he hadn’t been constant even in that. Was it any wonder he’d found his way from one woman’s bed to another? Perhaps it was a mercy from heaven that Con hadn’t stayed at her father’s house and been made to wed her, rather than running off to play at war and freeboot around the Holy Land. Sooner or later he’d surely have strayed, and broken her heart worse than his going had.

Howell hadn’t been without his faults, God rest his soul. But at least he’d never been unfaithful to her.

“So you’re content to have me stay awhile at Glyneira?” Con shifted her a sidelong glance as he helped himself to more meat.

“How could I expel a guest who’s claimed the hospitality of my house?” How, indeed? “You’re welcome to remain with us for as long as you wish, Con.”