Dream Catcher Read online

  About the Book

  The wedding of Llinos Savage, the beautiful young saviour of the Savage Pottery, and the fascinating Joe Mainwaring has set the small sea front town of Swansea ablaze with gossip. Joe, the son of a Native American squaw and a wealthy British businessman, was always perceived by the Swansea elite as a foreigner and an outsider.

  When Llinos’s father dies after a long illness Llinos is devastated, but her grief turns to fear when Joe is accused of his father-in-law’s murder and is incarcerated inside the walls of the castle along with thieves and debtors. There, among the filth and dirt, Joe makes friends with a wise old man, and this brief friendship, formed in the most ill-fated circumstances, sets in train a series of events which unexpectedly threaten to destroy the marriage and the very lives of Joe and Llinos.

  Dream Catcher continues the dramatic story of the Savage family begun in Firebird.

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  About the Author

  Also by Iris Gower

  Copyright

  Dream Catcher

  Iris Gower

  To Dr Lorainne Cook,

  whose love of history exceeds

  even my own and whose

  expertise has proved invaluable.

  To the girls, Hilary, June and Babs.

  CHAPTER ONE

  THE RAIN HAD ceased and a pale sun elbowed aside the clouds. The brighter light enhanced the green of the folding Welsh hills, slanting in through the stained-glass windows of the tiny church of St Mary and falling like a benediction on the couple standing before the altar.

  Llinos Savage looked up at the man at her side, Joe, tall and splendid, his long dark hair tied back from his face. His skin gleamed red-gold now, the sunlight skimming the fine contours of his jaw and highlighting the sharpness of his cheekbones. He looked so foreign, so wonderful, and she loved him so much it hurt. How she had longed to be his wife. How she had waited in a fever of impatience to possess and be possessed by the man she loved. But now, after many weary months of waiting, she was going to become Joe’s bride.

  The vicar smiled down at them as if they were old friends, and so they were. Martin, appearing strange now in the accoutrements of his calling, had dined at Pottery House on many occasions, sharing with the couple a glass of port or a mug of beer. He began now to speak in the resonant tones of a man used to projecting his voice into the vaults of old churches and Llinos felt tears burn her eyes. It was as though the words of the marriage ceremony were new and fresh, invented specially for her on this wonderful day.

  Joe’s hand touched hers and she clung to it, curling her fingers into his. He smiled down at her and his eyes were full of the dreams and promises he had shared with her so many times. His voice was strong and rang through the church, echoing high into the rafters. A fine, cultured voice, a voice at variance with his appearance.

  He slipped the ring onto her finger, a simple ring of silver chased with the designs of his culture: the buffalo, the twisting curve that indicated the great river that wound through the plains of America and the tiny sun and moon that promised happiness and fruitfulness. He lifted her veil and kissed her tenderly and her heart soared with happiness.

  The music from the ancient organ swelled majestically through the church; a paean of triumph as the couple walked down the aisle towards the sun-splashed porch. Llinos was aware of faces turned towards her. Joe’s sisters, Charlotte and Letitia, who had travelled miles from the marches of Wales to be with their brother on his special day, smiled their blessing along with the familiar, loved faces from Llinos’s childhood, her neighbours and friends. Her dear, best-loved friend Eynon Morton-Edwards inclined his head, his unhappiness clear to read as he looked at the girl he had loved for so long, the girl he had irrevocably lost.

  Old Celia from the end house of Pottery Row, midwife, nurse and layer-out of the dead, smiled toothlessly as the couple passed. And there was one face dearer than the rest: that of Llinos’s father. He was sitting in his chair, sick and weak, just well enough now to attend the marriage of his only child. But his recovery was an illusion, the colour in his cheeks not brought there by health but by fever. Llinos pushed the thought aside; this was her day, hers and Joe’s. It was one she would remember until the day she died.

  ‘We are really married.’ She looked up in wonder at her husband standing a foot or more taller than she and for a moment was frightened. Would the reality live up to the dream she had harboured for so long? The dream of belonging to Joe? She belonged to him in spirit, in soul, in the depths of her being, but would their physical love enhance or destroy the harmony that had grown between them?

  ‘Don’t be afraid.’ Joe had the uncanny knack of knowing her thoughts almost before she did. ‘We are meant to be with each other – it’s our destiny, you know that as well as I do.’

  He leaned closer. ‘In any case, I can’t wait to taste the delicious fruit so long denied to me.’ He was laughing at her now, the old Joe, her friend and soon to be her lover.

  She shuddered in anticipation. How many times had she longed to forget everything? To forget that her father was sick, to forget the ring, the marriage service, and give in to her desire to make love to Joe? But now she was happy that they had waited until her father could witness this day.

  At the door of the church she turned and watched the approach of her father. It had been Joe’s idea to make a chair with wheels so that Lloyd could have at least a small degree of independence. As the sickness progressed and Lloyd Savage became increasingly fragile, a more comfortable chair had been made, padded with plump cushions and a rest for Lloyd’s head.

  ‘You look lovely, Llinos.’ Lloyd held his hand towards her. ‘Kiss your father. Show me that I still have a place in your life.’

  She hugged him carefully, fearful of breaking the brittle-thin bones. ‘You will always have a place in my life, Father,’ she whispered, and he looked up at her with the over-large eyes of the mortally sick.

  ‘Even when I’m dead and gone?’ he asked.

  Llinos swallowed the lump in her throat and smiled. ‘Especially then.’ She forced herself to speak briskly. ‘Then the angels will have to put up with your nagging.’

  He pinched her cheek. ‘That’s my brave girl.’ He turned to look over his shoulder at the thin young man standing behind him, large hands, potter’s hands, resting on the cushioned chair back.

  ‘Come on, Watt, let’s get back home before the weather turns nasty again.’

  Llinos touched Watt Bevan’s arm. ‘Look after him for me and mind he doesn’t have you at his beck and call for the rest of the day. If you’re lucky, you might even have a chance to check the ovens.’

  The pottery workers had all been given a day off in honour of the marriage, but the large, bottlenecked kilns needed to be kept at a steady temperature or the pots ins
ide would be ruined.

  ‘Damn the pottery.’ Lloyd spoke thinly. ‘You work too hard, Llinos, and worry too much. The business will be there long after my day, yours too, my girl.’

  Llinos watched as her father was wheeled away. He did not turn; his head was back, resting against the chair as though he had no strength to hold himself erect. Llinos stifled a sigh and slipped her arm through Joe’s.

  ‘We’d better climb into the carriage or we’ll be late for our own wedding feast,’ she said, attempting to force a note of lightness into her voice.

  The wedding breakfast was to be held in the great room at the Morton-Edwards residence. Eynon had insisted on it. As the carriages entered through the open gates of the lush park the doors were flung wide and the entire staff stood to attention on the steps. Maids in crisp white and serviceable black and butlers and footmen in livery lined the entrance hall and, at the head of the line, Maura Dundee, Eynon’s housekeeper, watched the proceedings with an expert eye, ensuring that nothing went wrong on this important occasion.

  Joe led Llinos inside. The smell of roasted wild boar and mint and honey permeated the air.

  ‘I’m very hungry,’ Joe whispered in her ear, ‘but perhaps not for the food.’

  ‘Behave!’ Llinos reproved him, but suddenly her worries about her father were forgotten. Her heart seemed to dance and her eyes brightened with mischief.

  ‘Just because you are my husband doesn’t mean you can boss me around, you know.’ She looked up at him. ‘I might yet refuse to have you in my bed.’ She arched her brows at him. ‘I will see how I feel, later.’

  He slipped his hand around her waist. ‘I will make sure that later you will feel very happy indeed.’ He pinched her cheek. ‘If I’m in the mood, that is.’

  ‘You always have the last word!’ Llinos said in mock anger. ‘I feel like stamping my foot at you.’

  ‘Not quarrelling already?’ Eynon was at their side. ‘I knew marriage was not a good idea. I told you what a vixen she could be, didn’t I, Joe? I did warn you.’

  ‘Hush!’ Llinos said. ‘You men always stick together.’

  ‘Where’s Lloyd?’ Eynon looked around him, his eyes searching the crowd. He was a handsome man, Llinos thought, with his fair hair and his pale eyes. If Joe had not come into her life she would probably have married Eynon.

  ‘He asked Watt to take him home. He’s very tired,’ Llinos said. ‘I think his own fireside is the place for him to be.’

  Eynon touched her hand. ‘Try not to worry. Lloyd wouldn’t want to spoil this day for you.’

  ‘I know.’ Llinos swallowed hard. ‘But he will be all right, won’t he?’ She looked questioningly at Joe.

  ‘Of course he will. I’ve told Watt to give him his medicine as soon as possible,’ he said gently. ‘Your father will sleep for a few hours yet.’

  ‘Come along,’ Eynon said. ‘No mournful faces, I will not allow it. A feast is waiting to celebrate this long-overdue marriage.’

  The great table was polished to perfection; crystal and crisp linen napkins gleamed in the light from the candelabra and guests were already seated, awaiting the arrival of the bride and groom.

  ‘I feel like a lamb going to the slaughter,’ Joe said and Llinos began to smile. She pushed him forward, speaking quietly behind his back. ‘You’ve got it wrong there, my lad. It is always the bride who is the sacrificial lamb.’

  The celebrations seemed to stretch endlessly towards evening. Voices rose and fell, wine was drunk by the barrelful and food brought continuously to the table only to disappear as rapidly as it had appeared. At last, when fresh candles were brought, Llinos looked at Joe. ‘I think it’s time to go home.’

  He rose to his feet and in his fine, cultured voice, began to speak. ‘Eynon, our good friend, thank you for your hospitality, which has been great indeed. And to our neighbours and guests, my wife and I,’ he paused and smiled, ‘offer our gratitude. We shall treasure your gifts as mementoes of this, the happiest day of our lives – so far!’ To a burst of applause and laughter, Joe took his bride’s hand and led her from the hall.

  In the house at Pottery Row Lloyd was asleep, as Joe had predicted. Llinos looked down at her father for a long moment and then left the room. The bridal chamber was waiting, decked with flowers and washed with rose water. Dried lavender hung over the bed, a sign of health and fertility. Joe was in the dressing room and the maid who had followed Llinos upstairs began to undress her mistress quickly, as though eager for the consummation of this beautiful couple, who were so much in love that joy radiated from them.

  Llinos felt the coolness of her nightgown as it slipped over her shoulders and fell to her feet. The maid turned back the bed, waiting for Llinos to slip between the sheets.

  ‘Thank you, Meggie,’ Llinos said. ‘I can manage now.’

  When the door closed Llinos crossed the room and turned the key in the lock. This was the night she was to become a wife and she wanted it to be free of interruption. It must be perfect, a night she would cherish for the rest of her life.

  Joe came into the room and stood for a long moment looking at her. He was naked and his broad shoulders and lean belly gleamed in the candlelight. He came to her and undid the fastenings of her gown, slipping it from her shoulders and allowing the soft cotton to fall to the floor. They stood there, naked, and Llinos knew it was the right way to be. There would be no false shame, they would be as natural as the birds of the skies and the animals of the fields.

  ‘You are so beautiful.’ His voice was thick with emotion. He took her in his arms and she felt him warm against her. She felt the power of him as she ran her fingers along his back and tentatively touched the roundness of his buttocks.

  He bent his head to kiss her mouth and she drew in a ragged breath. Desire flared through her, desire that no longer need be denied. She was his wife.

  He led her towards the bed and together they lay, side by side, exploring, touching, learning about each other. Love grew like a fireball inside her, searing her skin as his fingers traced her breasts. She felt him kiss her neck, moving between her breasts to the flat of her belly. She moaned softly, wanting him so that it was almost a pain. She wound her arms around him, drawing him even closer to her. He touched her innermost secrets as he caressed her and then, when she felt she could stand it no more, he came to her.

  There was little pain; Joe was a skilled lover. He took her tenderly, kissing her mouth, her hair, her eyelids. She began to move with him, crying now in her pleasure. It was as though the roaring winds and the rolling waves were possessing her, lifting her from the earthly world into a place where she had never been before. The joy, the sensation, went on as though it would never cease. She lost herself in the delight of it; her mind no longer functioned, she was all feelings and emotions.

  When it was over she lay beside her husband and kissed the silk of his shoulder. ‘I never knew it could be like this, Joe,’ she said.

  He turned to her and tangled his fingers in her hair. ‘The night is only just beginning, my wife, my Firebird.’ As he uttered his pet name for her, he drew her close. She felt his arousal and marvelled at the strength of this man who was hers for now and for always.

  She closed her eyes and let the fire of their love draw her into the wonderful red-gold flames of passion.

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE RAIN HAD stopped, but the wind continued to howl, twisting the swaying branches of the pine trees into grotesque shapes, shedding leaves, iced with rain, which settled, needle sharp, on the grass. Across the sands, the sea ran in pewter bursts towards the shore as though trying to escape from the cold clutches of the wind.

  As she glanced up at Joe, loving him even more than she had on the day of their wedding, Llinos smiled. She was Mrs Mainwaring now, a fulfilled woman, a happy woman. The only cloud on her horizon was her father’s increasing pain and weakness.

  Against all the odds, Lloyd had lingered on for the long weary months of winter, tired of living but unabl
e to die. He was a wasted, unhappy man. No-one who knew him as the robust pottery owner he once was would recognize the gaunt, pain-ridden figure who was too weak to rise from his bed.

  She forced the thoughts from her mind. She was determined that nothing would spoil the day, the one day, she had managed to snatch alone with Joe.

  ‘You’re a handsome devil. Has anyone ever told you that?’ She paused, touching his cheek, brushing back the long dark hair which clung wetly to his strong face. Even now, in the cold of a November day, his skin glowed golden in the dim light. ‘I don’t know what I would do without you, Joe. I would be lost, I couldn’t survive if we were ever parted.’

  He kissed her mouth and she clung to him for a moment, in spite of a group of ladies tutting in disapproval. ‘We’d better get home,’ she said softly. ‘The coach is waiting and, in any case, we’re shocking the old ladies over there!’

  Joe held open the door and Llinos climbed aboard the coach and seated herself on the creaking leather seat. She shivered, feeling the cold as her damp clothes settled around her. Joe sat beside her and took her hands in his, rubbing them. ‘Here,’ he said, ‘put on your gloves, you should have had them on all the time, you silly little girl.’ Joe was smiling indulgently as he settled back in his seat. The carriage jerked into motion and Llinos rested her head against his shoulder.

  ‘It has been good to get out of the house,’ Llinos said. ‘It’s given both of us a break. You get the sharp end of Father’s tongue, I know, but he relies on you so much now and he is fond of you.’

  ‘I’ve known Lloyd for a long time. I understand the pain he’s in and make allowances.’

  She felt love for him overwhelm her. Joe was so good, so caring. How lucky she was to have found a man like him. Of course, her father did not share her views on her marriage, and that still had the power to hurt.

  ‘My father knows you care and he’s grateful,’ she said, as though answering her own thoughts. ‘It’s just that he . . .’ Her voice trailed away.