Free Tempt Me With Kisses by Margaret Moore Page B

earthly need. Pardon the worship of mammon, oh God, and the lusts of the flesh. Show all those tempted into sin the error of their ways and lead them onto the path of redemption and reconsideration. Have mercy upon the impetuous, oh God, and teach them the wisdom of patience. Blessed heavenly Father, take pity on the weak and give them strength.
    “Grant us these things, we pray, in the name of Your beloved Son who first made known His divine nature at the wedding feast at Cana where He was a guest, a ceremony not agreed upon in haste and leading to disaster. Amen.”
    Caradoc shifted and mentally rolled his eyes, frustrated nearly to speaking. He had guessed the man’s grace was going to be bad, but this was beyond anything he had anticipated.
    Yet he would not reveal his anger. Father Rhodri had been here too long and was too beloved by the people for him to chastise. Besides, Father Rhodri would take his complaint all the way to the pope if Caradoc even tried.
    “Thank you, Father,” Caradoc said, managing to keep his voice level with great effort.
    “You’re welcome, my son,” Father Rhodri replied, sounding very well pleased with himself.
    It was tempting to send the man on a long pilgrimage, preferably somewhere that would take years to reach.
    “This food smells wonderful. I didn’t realize how hungry I am,” Fiona remarked as the aromas of fresh bread and roasted mutton filled the hall. She was apparently no more disturbed by Father Rhodri’s impertinence than she was by Dafydd’s comments.
    A wonder indeed, thank God. He had known from the moment he had agreed to marry her that it was not going to be easy for her to be accepted. Fortunately, it seemed she wasn’t going to let that trouble her. It appeared he need not fear complaints and grumbling or hot-tempered demands from his wife.
    That would be pleasant.
    Of course, a far more pleasant change to his circumstances awaited him at night. Thinking of that and emboldened by her comments to Dafydd, he didn’t resist the impulse to put his hand on her thigh.
    Her muscle tightened and he imagined her legs gripping him, holding him to her as he loved her.
    “My lord,” she said as she lifted his hand away, her voice low so that only he could hear, “perhaps my response to your friend, made in the same jesting spirit as his remark to me, has caused you to think I am somewhat wanton. I am not.”
    Despite her chiding remark, he was not willing to return to polite distance yet. “If I think you are somewhat wanton, it is because of the kiss we have already shared.”
    “Be that as it may, I must remind you that we are not yet married,” she retorted, sounding surprisingly prim considering what she had said to Dafydd and in view of that breathtaking kiss. “Although I have given my word and mean to keep it, I will not be treated like a piece of merchandise to be pawed over.”
    He had heard that critical tone too often from others and he hated it.
    Nor did he deserve such severe censure for a relatively harmless gesture. “We have made a bargain, Fiona,” he likewise reminded her, his voice as stern as when he passed judgment in his courtyard.
    She did not seem overly impressed. “I know that as well as you, but you do not own me yet, so please do not treat me as if you do.”
    “As you wish,” he replied. “Besides, my people already think you very brazen, and perhaps it would be best not to confirm their impression. And what would Father Rhodri say? His next grace would surely condemn you as a Jezebel.”
    “ I am brazen?” she countered, her eyes fairly blazing with indignation. “I am not the one putting hands on thighs.”
    He leaned slightly forward, his gaze dropping to her luscious lips. “You are the one who proposed to me, Fiona, not the other way ’round,” he whispered, his voice deep and low and intimate.
    “But you are the one who needs my money.”
    It was as if she had slapped his face, or risen to berate him in his