He had taken a route that would bring them onto the upland moors above Tegfan and Ty-Gwyn again. He guided his horse toward the ruined hovel that had been home. Yes—home. He had experienced all of a mother’s love here, and more lately he had known the love of a woman here. It was ironic that such a bleak and sorry little hut should have housed so much love. He thought of the magnificence—and the coldness and loneliness—of Tegfan.
Marged stirred as soon as his horse stopped. He dismounted and lifted her down, tethered his horse beside the house, where it would be very difficult for anyone else to see, and lifted down the blanket. Marged was standing waiting for him. He backed her against the wall of the house and kissed her. She was warm and relaxed from sleep. It was amazing, he thought, how quickly one could become dependent upon the love of another person. Not just physical love, though he was aroused and ready for her, but emotional love too. He had become dependent upon her affection and respect and friendship. It was rather frightening when he remembered that those gifts were being given to a man who did not exist. And yet he needed the gifts as he needed air to breathe and water to drink.
“Let us go inside,” he whispered against her lips, “and make ourselves comfortable.”
The warmth and relaxation disappeared. She pushed away from him and turned her back on him, gazing out into the night beyond the corner of the hut.
“There is something I must tell you,” she said.
His stomach lurched. She was with child. Oh, God, she was with child. There was an uncomfortable churning of excitement and despair inside him.
“I love you,” she said. “I did not believe it was possible to love as I love you. And yet—and yet I am not sure I have been faithful to you.”
He stood very still and waited for her to continue.
“When Ceris Williams was arrested two days ago,” she said, “I thought they were going to drag her away to jail and perhaps torture her for information. You heard that she had been arrested, did you? I thought she would be transported even though she was innocent of everything except caring about the safety of the rest of us. So I went to Tegfan and told the Earl of Wyvern that I was the one who had been seen on the road by the smashed gate, not Ceris. I told him I was one of your followers.” She paused. “I even told him we were lovers.”
Marged! So incurably honest. He knew now what she was going to say to him, though he wondered exactly how she would describe it.
“That was incredibly brave of you, cariad,” he said.
“Incredibly foolish,” she said with a bleak little laugh. “I still do not know quite why he chose to believe that I was lying.”
“Who would confess freely to such a thing if it were the truth?” he said. “Why do you think you might have been unfaithful to me?”
He could hear the raggedness of the deep breath she took. “When I still thought Ceris was in custody,” she said, “before I learned that she had been set free, I told Ger—the earl that I would do anything to persuade him to release her. No, don’t say anything yet,” she said hastily as he drew breath to speak. “You understand what I am saying, don’t you? I touched him and put myself against him. I was offering my body.”
“But he did not accept the offer?” he asked her.
“No,” she said.
“Then no harm was done.” He set a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off.
“But I would have done it,” she said. “I would have given myself to him as many times as he chose to take me. I made the offer. It was he who rejected it, not me.”
“You did it to save a friend,” he said, touching her shoulder again. This time she let his hand rest there. “We all know the Bible quotation ‘Greater love hath no man than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.’ Or something like that—I am not sure I have it word perfect. You were prepared to give something of perhaps even greater value than your life, Marged. I can only honor you for it.”
Was it such a sacrifice to give herself to Geraint Penderyn that she had suffered this anguish? He could feel the anguish—and the guilt—being passed on to him.
He turned her then and even in the darkness he could see her eyes huge with tears. He drew her against him and kissed her. “Let’s go inside,” he said.
But she was still not relaxed. She drew back her head and gazed at him. “That is not all,” she said. “I have to tell you the rest.”
“What, cariad?” he asked her.
“I wanted to,” she blurted, and she stiffened against his hands. “I don’t understand it, but I have to tell you the truth. I love you. I love you with all my heart, though even that seems absurd when I know so little about you. And I hate him with all my heart. And yet I wanted him. It horrifies me, yet it is true. So I was unfaithful, you see, for I was not only willing but even eager. I will walk down to Ty-Gwyn now and you can ride safely home. I will—perhaps I will not come out the next time we are called. In fact I definitely will not. Forgive me. I did not mean to—”
“Marged.” He pulled her hard against him. He did not believe it was possible to feel so elated and so wretched all at the same time. She had wanted him. And with Marged desire would never be just a physical thing. If she did not hate him so much, and with such good reason, she would love him again. And surely something in her subconscious mind was putting the two of them together—Geraint and Rebecca—and understanding the connection.
And yet there was wretchedness. She had been startlingly honest with him, and yet in his dealings with her as Rebecca he had been nothing but deceitful and dishonest. What he should do, he thought, was tell her the truth right now. He owed her the truth. And no matter what her reaction, he knew her well enough to know that she would not betray him.
“Marged,” he said, “there are things in all our lives that we are ashamed of. There are many in my life.”
“Don’t tell me,” she said quickly, looking up into his face again. “Don’t say any more. If you feel you must make confessions of your own just to make me feel better, don’t. I feel bruised and battered. All I have to believe in at the moment is you and my love for you. Don’t say any more tonight. Can you forgive me? If not, let me go home with no more said. If you can, then let us make love. I need you—if you will still have me.”
He gazed into her shadowed eyes. It was tempting. So tempting.
“Please,” she said. “Say yes or no. Nothing more than that. I could not stand more than that tonight.”
“Let us go inside, then,” he said. “I love you, Marged.”
He could see that she was smiling. “One day you will tell me everything,” she said, “all the sordid details of your life. But not tonight. This is the first night when I do not even want to know. I want to love. I want to prove to you and to myself that only you matter to me.”
“We will love,” he said, guiding her through the doorway and over to the dark corner where they had lain before. “I am on fire for you, cariad.”
He spread the blanket and lowered them both to it.
She lay relaxed and sated in his arms. He was asleep, something he rarely did during their encounters. She felt happy again. She knew that she was where she wanted to be, where she belonged. Whatever it was that had happened with Geraint two days ago, it was not love. She had confessed all to Rebecca, and he had accepted it. It had made no difference to his feelings. He was a man of incredible generosity, she thought.