Page 65 of The Ladies Least Likely
“No, you can’t put that in our brew. It’s not malt.” Her voice was unsteady, and she clutched the bucket to her middle as if it could hold her together. The cut on her finger throbbed as her heart drummed.
He scowled. “Looks like grain.”
“This is darnel. Delerium grass. I spent all day picking it out of our barley, and I put it high so the goats can’t find it.” She moved to replace the bucket on the shelf. “It looks like regular grain, but its effects are worse than drunkenness. A man can go mad, hallucinate, develop tremors. Too much will void the stomach, enough will stop the lungs.”
Pen reached for the bucket, his warm, strong fingers clasping hers. She wanted to sag against him, let herself bask in the heat of his touch. But he was angry, and she had to know why.
He stared into the bucket of innocuous-looking seeds. “And you put that in beer? Or bread?”
“Of course not. It’s poison.”
Slowly Pen tugged the bucket from her grasp. “I want to use it.”
On them? Her heart clenched with fear. “Why?”
Lines fanned from his eyes as his face tensed. He’d grown tan from working outdoors, wearing the face of an honest laborer as well as the attire of one. Next to Daron’s or Vaughn’s milky whiteness and silk waistcoats, he exuded virility, assurance,strength. A tendril other than fear curled through her belly. Simply being near the man made her vibrate like a string on her harp.
Seeing only his rough clothes and ungloved hands, Vaughn had dismissed the Viscount Penrydd as a rough laborer, just as Barlow had. But had Pen recognized Vaughn?
He swiped up an empty bucket and stomped to the well. “Are you going to take him back?”
“No.”
He grunted as he hauled on the winch, muscles flexing across his shoulders and back, visible beneath his rough woolen coat. She longed to touch him, to smooth away the tautness in his body, the grim lines around his eyes. She longed to hide within his arms and let the rest of the world float away.
“But he wants you.” He unhooked the full bucket and set it on the ground. She passed him an empty bucket and shivered as their fingers brushed.
“Wanting isn’t having,” she said, heartache in her voice.
He lowered the second bucket into the cold depths of the well. His tense, coiled strength sent a thrill through her, but she couldn’t tell if it was danger or desire.
“Isn’t he rich? He could give you the money to buy this place from that lord you mentioned. Take you away, give you fine things. Treat you like a queen.” A long pause filled with the creak of the rope as he hauled up the bucket. “Isn’t that what you want?”
“I want to keep St. Sefin’s.” Her voice shook. Was this the reckoning at last?
“You wouldn’t give it up to be a rich man’s wife?” The second bucket sloshed as he dropped it to the ground.
“Daron isn’t rich any longer. He came here because he thought I have money. That’s the only reason he offered.”
His snort startled her. He lifted the heavy buckets with ease and strode back to the brewhouse. “Gwenllian ap Ewyas. Are there no mirrors in this place? Neither of those men wants you for a dowry.”
Was he trying to tell her that was howhefelt about her? It was purely a sexual urge, the instinct of a man to sow his seed?
She watched as he returned to the brewhouse and poked at the oven, spreading the fire to heat the water he poured into a second vat. The first, the ale she’d made that morning, belched the thick, yeasty smell that told her it was ripe and nearly ready to be poured into casks.
“Why do you want the darnel?” she asked again as he took the bucket of poison from the shelf. The grains held the blackish tint of the fungus that caused hallucinations. She’d learned the hard way how to distinguish them.
“Revenge.” He emptied the bucket into the vat of fresh water.
Her heart stopped. “On us?”
He scowled and, with a long stick, poked at the sodden mash in the vat. “Are you the only one allowed to keep secrets?”
Her throat closed completely. He knew she was lying to him. He just didn’t know how much.
What would he do to her once he knew?
He dropped the stick and stalked toward her. Gwen backed up until the rough wooden wall of the brewhouse bumped against her rear. He braced an arm against the wall and leaned in, and her head swam with the delicious scent of him, earthy heat and virile male. She was lost to coherent thought when he stood this close to her.
