by Gayle Callen
Irwin clutched his hat, and Langston imagined infected fur trailing from his fingers.
“My lord, I found them all in Richmond, and it was there they were married.”
“You’re certain he did not change his mind?”
“I watched the ceremony from just outside the church courtyard.”
Langston sat back in his wooden chair with relief. His plan had begun. “Did you travel to the lead ore site?”
“Aye, my lord. ’Tis undisturbed. Blackwell doesn’t realize its value.”
“You had better pray that no one saw you.”
His eyes went round. “Nay, my lord, I swear it!”
“Did you meet with my agent at Castle Wintering?”
“Aye, my lord, though it was difficult. But no one saw us. The person is as yet undiscovered and assures you that all is going as planned.”
Langston nodded slowly, allowing his eyelids to drift half closed as he mused on his successes. For a soldier, Blackwell was easily duped.
“Go back to Durham, Irwin. I shall send for you when I need you again.”
The man’s eyes widened. “Perhaps my report to you could come by messenger next time.”
Allowing his eyes to blaze, Langston surged to his feet.
Irwin gasped and jumped back, giving a quick bow. “I’ll do whatever you need, my lord,” he called as he fled out the door.
Langston allowed his satisfied smile to return. Then he sent for a maidservant to scrub Irwin’s dirt off the floor. Now, if only Gwyneth were pregnant with a girl child, then even the marriage contract would be against Blackwell.
At dawn on the eighth day of their marriage—rent-collecting day—Gwyneth packed a basket with all the baked goods she had prepared the previous afternoon. Each small cake or tart was wrapped individually in a small cloth and tied with string. She wanted to have something to offer Edmund’s tenants when she was introduced.
And she vowed to meet them this day, although she hadn’t informed her husband yet. She’d decided that surprise was the best course of action—in front of witnesses too.
To that end, she ate in the kitchen while he broke his fast in the winter parlor. When he went outside, she lingered in the doorway and watched him limp across the courtyard, admiring the way his doublet stretched tight across his back and his breeches clung to his thighs. He was a fine figure of a man.
When he reached the stables and greeted the grooms and soldiers gathered nearby, Gwyneth lifted her basket in both hands and walked awkwardly to join them. The sun was already blazing low on the horizon, and not a cloud marred the lovely blue of the sky. She wore a new gown she had made with Mrs. Haskell’s help. All in all, she felt confident.
As she approached Edmund, whose back was turned, she watched the soldiers straighten and smile. Alerted, Edmund glanced over his shoulder and saw her. She gave him her brightest smile and adjusted the heavy basket in her grip.
“My lord, if you don’t mind, I would like to come with you on your errands today.”
As he began to frown, she rushed on. “I’ve baked some gifts that I would like to hand out.” Let him try to turn her down now.
He didn’t. The frown intensified, but she had plotted well, and he was neatly caught. In his eyes was the knowledge that she had done this with deliberation. She smiled more sweetly.
“’Tis too long a day to walk, my lady,” he said as he approached her. “We shall have to ride.”
Her smile faltered as her gaze shot to the stall where his large warhorse waited, pawing at the ground and eyeing her. “Could we not ride in a cart?”
There was laughter all around her, and Edmund shook his head, a look of triumph rising in his eyes.
“’Tis too steep a course through the dale.”
He was already turning away to his horse, dismissing her. He lifted a huge saddle onto the animal’s back, and she thought for certain there were few men who could have done it without standing on a stool. Everything about that horse frightened her—but she couldn’t let fear stop her. She took a few deep breaths, already feeling light-headed.
When he had the girth cinched, she stepped forward. “I’m ready.” She forced herself to smile.
He glanced at her, and those clear blue eyes were dazzling as they swept over her. “You still mean to go?”
“If it’s all right with your horse,” she said doubtfully, eyeing the beast.
Laughter broke out again, and she thought even Edmund’s frown showed signs of cracking.
He sighed. “Then pick a horse and I shall saddle it, my lady.”
“But I don’t know how to ride. I thought I might ride with you.”
He shrugged and looked about him until he spotted one of the grooms, a boy close to manhood, who flinched when Edmund looked at him.
“Boy, where do you keep the pillions?”
“A pillion?” she echoed, aghast. “You mean that little seat that perches on a horse’s rump, with no support, no—”
“Then what do you wish?” he interrupted with exasperation.
“Could I not ride—with you?” A blush shot through her as she imagined saying, “in your lap” or “in your arms.” She simply couldn’t say the words.
There wasn’t even the ghost of a smile on his face now. “Very well,” he said softly, as he led his black horse out into the sunlight.
Gwyneth followed him, still grappling with the basket. Geoffrey appeared at her side, and she smiled up at him when he took it from her and set it on the ground.
“First I’ll hand you up, my lady,” he said as Edmund mounted.
Gwyneth leaned back to look up at her husband, and the little tremors of panic in her stomach were rapidly expanding. He was as high above her as a mountain overshadowing a meadow. How would she even get up there?
“What—what is his name?” she asked in a choked voice.
Edmund looked down at her. “The General.”
“Because he’s in charge?” That made sense with a horse this size.
Geoffrey smiled, but her husband didn’t, even as he gave an abrupt shake of his head.
“I shall tell you why, my lady.” Geoffrey placed a stool by her side and took her hand, urging her to step up. “Because it makes Edmund feel that he’s leading the army generals around by the bit.”
She managed a smile as she balanced on the stool.
“Ignore him,” Edmund said.
He reached for her, and she took his hand.
“Put your foot on top of mine, and then I’ll lift you up across my lap.”
“Do you want me to ride astride?” she asked.
Edmund only blinked at her, and she heard Geoffrey give a muffled cough. She looked from one to the other frowning, but then Edmund was pulling on her, and after a step up, she found herself turned about and sitting sideways across his lap. The pommel pressed with little discomfort into her right hip.
She looked into his face, just above hers, felt his hard thighs supporting her and his arm about her back, although she did her best to sit up straight and not be a bother. He took the reins in both hands. And then she foolishly looked down.
The ground seemed to waver at an impossible distance below her. Her muscles stiffened, and she clutched his arm where it rested across her thighs.
“Easy, Gwyneth,” he murmured, lowering his face until it brushed her hair. “I shan’t drop you.”
His breath across her ear distracted her, and she unclamped her fingers from his arm. “I hope I didn’t tear your garments.”
“I can handle it.”
Was that humor in his voice? She wanted to look up again but couldn’t tear her gaze from the horse’s massive head as it arched its neck and shook its mane.
“Edmund,” Geoffrey said.
They both saw the basket he was holding.
Edmund’s frown deepened. “Can we not put the contents into saddle packs?”
“They’ll be crushed,” she said. “I shall carry the basket in my lap.”
Geoffrey handed it
up to her, and she gripped it tightly, glad to have something to hold instead of foolishly clutching her husband. Edmund gave a little grunt.
“How heavy is that, Gwyneth?”
She smiled up at him, trying to relax and enjoy the close-up view of his face. “I’ll manage. Will you?”
“I think you weigh less than my armor,” he said gruffly as he urged The General forward.
She couldn’t answer that, because she was too busy bouncing with the horse’s trot. They left the courtyard and rode northwest, deeper into the dale. Nearby pastures and fields fell behind them and soon they were traveling where she had never been before.
Edmund had been right about the cart. The driver would have had a difficult time following the meandering road that wound steeply up the hillsides and sometimes on the rocky banks of the river. At first she did not try to converse with him; she was pleased that she’d gotten her way and intent on conquering her fear of her rocking perch.
After a while she trusted her husband and tried to relax. He adjusted her position once, pulling her a little more toward one hip.
Soon they arrived at the first small house of gray stone and gray slate roof. Although chickens and geese roamed the yard, no one was in sight.
“Shall we return later?” Gwyneth asked uncertainly.
Edmund just sighed. “They’re here. Hardraw is probably out in the barn, so his wife will remain inside until he’s here.”
“Can you put me down, so I can try the door?”
He looked at her for a minute, and in his eyes was that assessing expression that she’d seen so much recently. She had asked for a chance for their marriage, and he’d said he was trying, but always skepticism lurked inside him. She tried to imagine what it must have been like married to Elizabeth. Had it changed him, made him the distant man he was?
With the pressure of his thighs, he guided the horse to a low stone wall that separated the road from a cow pasture.
“Hand me the basket,” he finally said, and when she did, he continued, “Grip my hand with both of yours, and I’ll lower you until you can reach the wall.”
Contemplating pushing herself off The General with nothing but one of Edmund’s hands for support was even more frightening than mounting had been. She gave a little gasp as she leaned off the side.
“I have you,” he said patiently. “Go ahead and take the step.”
He had her firmly in one hand, and she clutched him. For a moment she felt as though she was swinging in midair, but the stones were suddenly beneath her feet and she achieved her balance. With a breathless laugh, she looked up at Edmund, still holding his hand. He was leaning over her, motionless, with an expression she couldn’t read. Then he released her hand, and she lightly jumped down from the wall.
“It is good to be on solid ground again,” she said, as she reached up for the basket.
He only gave a noncommittal grunt as he dismounted, then turned to pull his account book from his saddlebag. “I’ll be at the barn.”
Wistfully she watched him walk down the hillside. She had hoped he would introduce her. “Edmund?”
He looked over his shoulder.
“What are their names?”
“Ian Hardraw. I know not his wife’s name.”
He continued down the sloping, rocky path, and she watched him negotiate it carefully with his limp. She took a moment to admire his impressive speed before turning to face the house. Except for the clucking of chickens and the distant lowing of the cattle, there was no sound. Surely Edmund was wrong about someone being home. She approached the wooden door and knocked.
“Hello? Mrs. Hardraw?”
No one came to the door, but she heard a child’s cry quickly hushed.
“Mrs. Hardraw? I’m—” She was about to say “Gwyneth Hall,” remembered “Lady Blackwell” with lingering disbelief, and finally settled on “Gwyneth Blackwell. I recently married Sir Edmund, and I wanted to introduce myself.”
There was definite movement inside, and she leaned closer to the door. “I’ve brought a gift,” she called sweetly.
The door opened a crack, and out peered a woman’s face wrinkled by exposure to the sun and wind, if not age. “Ye’re Lady Blackwell?” she asked suspiciously.
Gwyneth smiled. “I am. Are you Mrs. Hardraw?”
“I never saw the other Lady Blackwell. Didn’t know he managed to catch another wife.”
She fought to keep her smile from faltering. “Might I give you a small gift?” She reached into her basket and offered a wrapped cake.
The woman stepped beyond the doorway to take the package, keeping the door closed behind her. She was dressed in a plain, sturdy gown, and she was obviously well fed, which said much about the success of the farm. She eyed Gwyneth, and Gwyneth smiled back.
“Do you have children, Mrs. Hardraw?” she asked, wondering what else she could talk about with such a reluctant woman.
She nodded slowly. “Three.”
“How wonderful! How old are they?”
In the few minutes they talked, Gwyneth pulled only a few facts from Mrs. Hardraw and only glimpsed a child’s smudged face, but she was thankful that the woman’s suspicion seemed to be retreating.
Until Edmund walked back up the path with Mr. Hardraw.
His wife pushed the child back, ducked inside, and firmly shut the door. Gwyneth stood there feeling foolish as she stared at the closed door, then back at her husband.
Edmund’s look asked, What did you expect? Aloud he said, “Hardraw, my wife Lady Blackwell.”
Mr. Hardraw clutched his hat between his hands and gave her an embarrassed nod. “Milady.”
Gwyneth smiled back at him. “Good day, Mr. Hardraw. Please tell your wife that I enjoyed our conversation and look forward to seeing her again.”
Edmund nodded to the farmer and turned toward his horse. Gwyneth quickly caught up.
“Can you use the wall to mount?” he asked.
She nodded and received a pleasurable surprise when he put his hands on her waist to boost her up. She was back in his lap in no time, and the height did not seem as frightening. As they trotted away, she waved toward the house in case someone was watching.
Feeling thoughtful, she rode in silence, leaning against his chest with a bit more confidence than she had before.
“Did she actually talk to you?” Edmund asked.
“Aye, she did, though it was a strangely coerced conversation.”
“I have never seen her before.”
She glanced up at him sharply, but he was staring over her head at the path that angled beside the river.
“Some women are shy,” she offered, watching his reaction.
One corner of his mouth tilted upward, but it wasn’t a smile. Was he implying that it was fear of himself that kept Mrs. Hardraw in her house when he came by?
Chapter 9
They spent the morning visiting farm after farm with varying degrees of success. Gwyneth met all the wives, while her husband collected the rents. Most women did not cower in their homes as Mrs. Hardraw had when Edmund approached, but their wariness was ever present, although they gladly accepted her gifts.
Children never made an appearance.
At each house, there was always a stone wall or stair-stoop for her to step on to mount The General. Only once did Edmund have to lift her straight up from the ground until she could reach the stirrup. She felt like a sack of wheat suspended in midair, and in her embarrassment, laughed up into his face.
He was not angry; in fact he seemed almost bemused. To Gwyneth’s amazement, she heard chuckles from the couple they were visiting and thought that the wife gave her a fond smile such as one would bestow on a blissful bride and groom.
She leaned sideways against Edmund and thought that that was an accomplishment of sorts.
“And what is our next destination?”
“Swintongate is just around the hillside,” he said. “Unless you have a meal in that basket, we shall eat at the tavern.”
She should have thought of that, Gwyneth berated herself. She could have spent precious time alone with her husband. At least there was one good point to his notoriety—not many people would be bothering them at the tavern.
To see the village, she turned in the saddle to face forward. Tentatively she leaned back against her husband an inch at a time. When he didn’t object, she let herself relax fully against him, enjoying the feel of his hard warmth behind her. With her arms still wide about the basket, they rested along his as he held the reins.
It was a pleasant if wishful fantasy to imagine being in his embrace for reasons other than supporting her on the horse. He felt so warm, so safe. He seemed to be an honorable man, a quality she held very dear, and dealt well with his people, even though they were afraid of him. She let her mind drift as she wondered how different things would be if he smiled.
Edmund suddenly put a hand on her shoulder and shook her a little. Surprised, she tipped her head up to find him looking down. Their lips were inches apart, and she felt the warmth and pleasant sensation of his breath across her mouth. Her own breath caught on a gasp at the strange shock moving through her. Couldn’t he feel this new awareness between them?
He cleared his throat. “I thought you were falling asleep and didn’t want you to slide off.”
“Thank you for your concern. I guess my mind was wandering.” She smiled at him, at her own silliness. What did she think he would do—kiss her passionately out in the open dale when he wouldn’t kiss her in a bedchamber?
As he lifted his gaze back to the road, she looked forward and saw Swintongate. The village was a collection of gray stone houses built into the hillside near the Swale. An ancient bridge with three arches spanned the river, which sparkled in the sun.
“How lovely!” she exclaimed, leaning forward with excitement. “This village truly belongs to you?”
“The land does,” he said, but she thought she heard a note of pride in his voice. “The villagers rent from me.”
Behind each house she could see spacious garden plots that gave way to pastures and fields.
“Are all the people farmers?”
“Some. Others are in trade. There’s a tavern, as I mentioned, with a few rooms to rent above it. The smith who works for Wintering has his business here.”