Page 8 of Cadell the Dragon

A non-committal grunt was all the answer she got. Oh dear, this was not promising. Should she persist or try to engage in conversation with the lady to her left? No. Not only was the woman laughing with the man on her other side, but Johanna was not sure she would be able to speak English. Not many people here seem to be.

This had to be why Siaspar had asked Cadell to sit next to her, she realized, because he was able to talk with her. His sitting next to her had not been a coincidence, like she had first thought. He was simply one of the few guests able to converse with her.

“You speak my language remarkably well,” she told him, choosing a slice of cheese from the plate he was offering her. Despite his stiffness, his manners really were faultless. He was as attentive as he should be. “You always have. Why is that?”

“My grandfather insisted his two children learn English, considering what was happening in the country, and by the time I was born, it seemed even more important that we did, so my father made sure to teach me.”

“You barely have an accent.” The hint of a lilt that lingered in his speech, far from being an issue, added to the pleasure it gave her to listen to his deep voice.

He shrugged, as if there were nothing remarkable in this. “When you learn a language from such a young age, it is easy to pick up, I suppose. And the opportunities to practice are plentiful.”

Yes, they would be, with so many English lords having been given land in Wales, a country they now considered theirs to use. She didn’t comment, not wanting to remind Cadell of that difficult situation. Not that he would have forgotten it, of course. As he’d said, he had to deal with the consequences of the late King Edwards’ ambition every day.

“I wish I had been taught Welsh as a child, instead of trying to learn the language now, because it is not exactly easy,” she told him.

As befitted a lady in her position, she had been given a French tutor as a child and she had a reasonable grasp of Latin, but Welsh had not even been considered. No one in her family could have imagined she would marry someone from Wales, and in England, Welsh was seen as a coarse language not worth bothering with. Though she didn’t agree that it sounded rough, it was undeniably difficult to master. Still, she was certain that, being in the country, she would make more progress than she previously had. Rhun had spent so little time with her these last few years that she had not had much chance to practice what she knew.

“My language is difficult you say?”

Oh no. He had interpreted her words as criticism.

“I… I only meant that⁠—”

“It is not so hard, certainly not for people who heard it while their mother fed them.”

Cadell cursed inwardly as the comment passed his lips.

Really, what the hell was wrong with him? Why did he have to snap at Johanna at every turn? And why, oh why, did he have to mention women’s breasts of all things? They had been talking for less time than it took the servants to distribute the meat platters and here he was, talking about suckling nipples. Couldn’t he tell her anything pleasant instead, tell her how beautiful she looked tonight? Wasn’t he supposed to try and woo her, make her see how charming he could be?

But everything was going wrong. He was alternating between acting like the timid sixteen-year-old he had once been, wanting to impress her and yet unable to string more than a few sentences together, and a grown, rough-hewn man snarling at her at every turn.

The reason for this inability to behave in a way that made sense was not hard to guess. He was in hell, mentally—and most especially physically. Under the table he was stiff as a lance. Johanna’s voice charming his ear, Johanna’s beauty overwhelming his senses, Johanna’s scent making him dizzy, Johanna’s leg brushing against his… He was surely going to expire before the meal was over. What had possessed him to ask Siaspar for the seat next to her?

Well, it was too late to change anything, he was here now.

“Once again, I must apologize for my rudeness,” he said, picking up his knife. “I didn’t mean to sound like a brute or to insult your intelligence.”

“You didn’t. You merely said that the Welsh language, like any other, could be picked up by young children. Which is true.”

How generous she was being when he was being a boor. He was sure he didn’t deserve her leniency but he accepted it gratefully.

For a while they ate, surrounded by the merry laugh of the other guests. Then, unable to stand the silence any longer, Cadell spoke.

“I heard about your husband’s death. I’m sorry for your loss.”

It was the right thing to say, and a way to earn back her good graces but, in truth, he was not sorry at all that she was a widow. Bastard that he was, he thought that was the best thing that could have happened to him.

“Thank you.” It was obvious she didn’t want to talk about Rhun’s death, which suited him fine. He didn’t want to talk about the Welshman either.

“What do you think of the pie?” he asked her next.

Food. Yes. That should be a safe topic. He gritted his teeth when the thought crossed his mind. Really, what was he doing? Searching for safe topics of conversation, like he would with a stranger he didn’t care about when she was anything but.

“It’s very tasty, if unusual. I can taste leeks but do you know what fish it might be?”

Cadell peered at the filling, realizing that, with his attention wholly on Johanna, he had not tasted anything. “Trout, it would seem.”

“Ah, that will explain it. Where I grew up we don’t use much freshwater fish.” She smiled. “Well, I am looking forward to sampling other local specialities.”