His Bride

by Gayle Callen

  He whispered her name again as he came down on his side and gave her a deep kiss before returning to her breasts. With his mouth tormenting her with slow strokes, she felt his hand sliding up her inner thigh, then brushing lightly across her curls. Any thought in her head was drowned out by sweeping passion and need. When his fingers slipped deeper, parting the folds of her flesh, she could only cry out and push her hips hard against his hand. He stroked and teased and caressed, even sliding a bit inside her, though that was slightly uncomfortable. And then his fingers found a spot that seemed to start a fire racing out to make every part of her body even more sensitive. He continued rubbing it and licking her nipples at the same time, until she was aching and wondering how she could find what her body was seeking.

  Suddenly she froze as her feelings reached a violent crescendo that shuddered through her and made her rock under him. She said his name over and over again until the passion inside her lulled with contentment. Breathing hard, she opened her eyes and found him watching her with a soft gaze, his palm resting on her bare stomach, his upper body braced on his elbow.

  “Edmund,” she whispered.

  He gave her a crooked grin that was so endearing, even as he slid her smock back over her knees, then closed her bodice.

  “I have never felt anything like that.” Tears pricked her eyes as she was overwhelmed by how much pleasure he’d given her. She started to sit up so that she could take him into her arms when a sudden twinge low in her back caught her by surprise.

  His smile faded as he watched her face. “Gwyneth?”

  She tried to bend her knees, and sharp pain made her muscles clench. “Edmund, forgive me, I’m suddenly…very sore. I was stiff yesterday, but I never thought—” She bit her lip.

  He helped her to sit up, and it was all she could do not to moan when she lowered her legs over the side of the bed. She watched his gaze dip to the open front of her smock, and only then did she remember what they had not finished.

  “Edmund, you—you didn’t—we didn’t—”

  She reached for the buttons on his shirt, but he clasped her hands between his.

  “No, Gwyneth, I wasn’t sure either of us was ready for the next step anyway.”

  “But—”

  “Do you not see? You rode a horse for the first time in a long while yesterday. I should have realized you’d be sore. I’m surprised you felt nothing earlier.”

  She blushed. “My mind was on…you.”

  “I shall go have a hot bath sent up. It will make you feel better for the trip home.”

  She couldn’t help wincing at the thought. He laughed, a deep, wonderful sound that made her realize she must be falling in love with him.

  “Do not worry so. You can ride home with me.”

  She gave him a trembling smile as he strode to the doorway. “Thank you, Edmund—for everything.”

  After a last searching look into her eyes, he left the room.

  While Edmund watched two servants haul up a wooden tub and fill it with hot water, he couldn’t keep his gaze from straying to his wife. Gwyneth had overwhelmed him with a passion he’d never imagined a woman could truly feel. He was incredibly thankful that she was saddle sore, because he’d almost made love to her and demolished every plan and suspicion he’d built for himself.

  When the servants had gone, Gwyneth dropped the blanket she’d been holding about herself and struggled to her feet. She took a few painful-looking steps toward the tub, almost stumbling when she tried to pull her smock off. He crossed the room, quickly pulled the smock up and over her head, then swung her up into his arms. Before she could do more than gasp his name, he gently lowered her into the steaming tub. When the water didn’t quite cover her breasts, he knew he had to leave.

  “I shall go order food,” he said. “Take your time.” He moved a chair next to the tub, then piled it with towels and a ball of soft soap.

  He made the mistake of looking at her, seeing her soft, grateful smile and the beaded moisture that clung to the curves of her breasts. He left as quickly as he could, then stumbled to a halt in the corridor and leaned back against the wall.

  His determination was crumbling in ruins about him, and he tottered on the edge of abandoning it all. He couldn’t imagine another wife in place of Gwyneth. Was this just what the earl wanted? Had the man known how irresistible Gwyneth would be to him?

  And then he felt a cold sense of horror. Could she be in danger if he fell in love with her? The earl would easily go that far to make him suffer. He wished the man would just send an assassin, someone he could fight instead of having to play this shadow game that made him question everything.

  When he returned an hour later, she was already dressed, though sitting in a chair, as if the process had taken a lot out of her. When she saw him, she smiled sweetly and blushed. Her long, golden hair hung free, the way he liked it, and he resisted the urge to touch it. Instead, he tortured himself by watching her eat.

  “Did the bath help?” he finally asked.

  She nodded. “I feel better, though I will admit that even the thought of riding Star makes me wince.”

  He smiled. “I shall not force you.”

  They left the inn and walked to the jail, holding their horses’ reins. Each step was painful for his wife, so Edmund kept his pace slow. He paid the fine, then left Gwyneth with the constable while he went in to talk to the prisoner.

  He pointed out the futility of trying to escape and was reluctantly impressed by Langston’s anger that he should question his honor. Edmund refrained from asking if Langston had conveniently forgotten his honor the last time they’d tangled.

  But that the man professed himself honor-bound to pay his debt did not make him a pleasant companion on the journey. Though he had already lost his horse in a wager, he grumbled about having to ride Gwyneth’s mare.

  When he discovered the reason that she was riding in Edmund’s lap, he gave a superior sniff and said, “My sister, Elizabeth, was an excellent rider.”

  Edmund felt Gwyneth stiffen in his arms, but she made no response, and he was determined to follow her example. Traveling with Langston made him miss the pleasant conversation he and Gwyneth had shared the day before. She was easy to be with. But in their silence, he was free to remember the touch and taste of her, to imagine himself fulfilled inside her. Even her hand on his arm was erotic, and her backside rubbed repeatedly across his groin. Surely he was losing his mind in lust.

  When they arrived at Castle Wintering at mid-afternoon, Edmund was distracted from his feverish thoughts seeing Prudence Atwater entering the stables. It had only been days ago that the woman had told Gwyneth she’d tried to seduce him. It was brave—or foolish—of her to visit her son here rather than in the village.

  But he forgot about Prudence in the process of helping Gwyneth inside and finding Langston a decent chamber to sleep in. By the time he remembered the widow, she’d already been seen leaving the castle. Mrs. Haskell had not spoken to her but assured Edmund that the widow had friends among the servants that she could have been visiting, besides her son.

  “Sir Edmund,” Mrs. Haskell continued, as they stood alone in a corridor, “might I ask you another question?”

  “Of course,” he said, though his mind was already dwelling on what work he’d assign Langston.

  “Did Lady Blackwell talk to you about the missing linens?”

  “Aye.”

  “I’ve never been able to find them, which is a bit peculiar. And now I’ve discovered that some of the money I’d set aside for foodstuffs is gone.”

  That earned his attention. He narrowed his eyes as he looked at her. “Are you saying that we have a thief?”

  She held up a hand. “I cannot imagine such a thing being so, my lord. Perhaps it is my own memory at fault.”

  “You’ve never struck me as the kind of woman with a faulty memory, Mrs. Haskell.”

  He thought she might actually be blushing.

  “Thank you, my lord. I sha
ll see what I can discover.”

  After she walked away, Edmund’s first thought was that petty crime seemed beneath Earl Langston. The man went for something more elaborate and devious. But there was Prudence’s visit. Damn, but he couldn’t believe she’d be foolish enough to make mischief because of something that had never happened between them. And she’d come right out and told Gwyneth the truth. Not something a person with plans of revenge would do. But he’d keep an eye on her all the same.

  Yet how many people could he keep watch over without missing something crucial?

  That night, Gwyneth stood in the corridor outside Edmund’s chamber, waiting for him. She’d taken another bath after supper to ease the continued soreness from horseback riding and felt ready. She tried not to pace with anxiety, but she didn’t know what else to do. She had spent the entire day reliving how her husband had touched her that morning—every gentle caress, every demanding kiss. He knew how to awaken her body to what could exist between a man and a woman, feelings she’d never imagined. She blushed even remembering what he did to her—but not out of embarrassment. Never that. She wanted him to make her feel alive again, and she wanted to do the same thing for him. If only he’d allow her to touch him, to see everything beneath his garments. With a shudder, she closed her eyes and hugged herself as she imagined being held in those strong arms.

  “Cold?”

  Her eyes snapped open to find Edmund frowning down at her. He must have just followed her from the great hall.

  “Nay, not cold,” she whispered, then cleared her throat. “I—I wanted to talk to you. Might I come in?”

  She saw his hesitation, the way his glance darted to the door and back to her. Then suddenly he cupped her face in his hands and made her look up at him.

  “It was a mistake to move so quickly this morning, Gwyneth.”

  Her eyes widened in dismay.

  “You won’t be joining me in bed tonight.”

  She gripped his arms. “But Edmund, I want to be with you. Did I do something wrong? Did I make too much noise, or was I supposed to do more?”

  “My God, it was nothing you did,” he said. “You were…perfect. We both need more time, though you may not realize it. I have been married before, so trust me, I know what I’m talking about.”

  “I am not Elizabeth!” she said, with more anger than she’d known she felt.

  He smiled and gently pushed her hair behind one ear. “Believe me, I know. Can you do this for me, Gwyneth? Trust me?”

  “Of course I trust you. I just wish you’d trust me.”

  His smile faded, and as he cupped her cheek, she thought he looked almost wistful.

  “I don’t know if I can. A good night to you.”

  She stood still, even as he closed the door in her face. If it wasn’t Elizabeth, then what made him distrust her so? Had bringing Harold Langston here only brought back even more memories of what the Langston family had done to him? First Elizabeth, then Harold, then the earl himself. Could Edmund only think of them, her relatives, when he looked into her eyes? How could she make him see only her?

  She ran back up through the castle, stumbling because of the tears that burned in her eyes and only releasing them when she was safely in her chamber, in this beautiful room that felt cold and lonely without Edmund.

  Chapter 15

  Trust her?

  Edmund wiped a hand down his face and continued pacing before the hearth. Gwyneth wanted his trust, as if it were something he could easily hand over. He braced his arms on the mantel and stared down into the fire.

  Was this so difficult because he really was beginning to trust her? After all, he had only the deadly challenge from the earl to make him suspicious of everyone. What had Gwyneth ever done to make him doubt her?

  Just the thought made his head hurt and his mouth go dry. Hadn’t he learned his lesson by now—especially where her family was concerned?

  He remembered her lying almost naked in bed that morning, willing to let him do whatever he wanted with her. She wore goodness like a garment. And she seemed to trust him.

  And he wanted to trust her, no matter how it would open him up to even more danger. More and more he wanted her in his bed and in his life. Saying no to his desires where she was concerned was becoming impossible. He couldn’t think without his passion for her clouding his thoughts. He felt he was losing his judgment, his pride, and his sanity. He was at war with himself, because when he allowed himself to believe in her, he would be at the mercy of the earl, who could use this new weakness against him.

  Edmund was awakened by a pounding on his door that did not sound as if it could be made by his dainty wife. He pulled on his breeches and flung wide the door, only to find a disheveled Geoff standing in the corridor.

  “Edmund, you’d better come.”

  As his stomach clenched, he grabbed a shirt and pulled it over his head as he followed his friend. “What is it? Is Gwyneth all right?”

  “’Tis not Gwyneth but her cousin Harold.”

  Edmund almost groaned. He’d brought a Langston home and only had him watched by one guard. “Damn, what has he done?”

  “Mrs. Haskell and a few of the kitchen maids decided to spend the night to get an early start on some baking project that they had planned for the workers tomorrow.”

  “The women actually decided to spend the night in my castle?” Edmund asked.

  “I’m sure ’tis Gwyneth who makes them feel safe,” Geoff said with a grin.

  “Of course.”

  “I just caught Harold chasing one of the maidservants through the great hall, trying to steal a kiss, or so he claims. She claims he invaded her bedchamber.”

  “And where was the soldier I had watch him?” Edmund’s anger began to simmer.

  “In the privy. I guess we’ll need two men from now on. The girl said she wasn’t touched badly. She’s just afraid it will happen again—or something worse.”

  “The fool,” Edmund said as they entered the great hall.

  They found Mrs. Haskell, wearing a heavy dressing gown, with her arm around a girl dressed only in her smock. Harold Langston was sprawled in a chair before the fire, looking as if he was about to doze into a peaceful sleep. Behind him a sheepish-looking soldier whitened when he saw Edmund, though he came to attention. His jerkin was still caught in his breeches, giving evidence that he’d been interrupted.

  Edmund ignored him and nodded to Mrs. Haskell and the maid. “Your name is Nell, is it not?”

  The girl nodded and shyly ducked her head away from him.

  “I am sorry this happened, Nell. Can you tell me your story?”

  Before she began, he kicked Langston’s legs, and the man bolted upright.

  “Wha—” he yelled, then settled back when he saw who stood around him. “Nice staff, Blackwell.”

  Edmund knocked the chair out from under him, then hauled him up by the shirtfront until the man’s toes only trailed through the rushes. He smelled strongly of ale. “You will listen to this recitation of your deeds, Langston.”

  Edmund nodded to Nell, who haltingly repeated what Geoff had already told him.

  “Put me down, Blackwell,” Langston said in a choked voice, his face reddening above Edmund’s fists. “I did not harm her.”

  “Aye, but you intended to, and I will not stand for it. I’ll take you back to the jail at dawn.”

  His eyes widened even as they started to bulge. “Nay! I p-promise it shan’t happen again!”

  Edmund shook him like a puppy before setting him roughly on the ground. He hauled him by the arm to Nell.

  “Now say something to her.”

  Langston gulped air as he straightened his clothing, and his eyes showed a flash of immature anger. “I’m sorry, girl. It won’t happen again.”

  Nell bobbed a nervous curtsy to the man who’d tried to attack her. She shot a quick smile at Edmund before running back into the servants’ wing.

  “Do you need me for anything else, Sir Edmund?”
Mrs. Haskell asked.

  As Langston shook off his hand and turned toward the fire, his shoulders slouched, Edmund shook his head. “Go find your bed, Mrs. Haskell. My thanks for your help. I shall see you in the morning.”

  Geoff followed the housekeeper out, turning about to grin at Edmund before leaving the great hall. When they were alone but for the soldier, Langston tried to walk away.

  “Not yet,” Edmund said. “I can see now that I made a mistake in not setting out the rules immediately.”

  “What rules? I work until the money is paid back—or until my parents send you the sum. I’m sending them a letter first thing,” he said smugly.

  “You do that. The sooner I have my money, the sooner I can be rid of you. But until then, you’re to work for me for three months.”

  “Three months!” Langston said with belligerent defensiveness. “That fine was paltry, and surely my work is worth more than that! I say one month.”

  “Unless you are a skilled craftsman, you have no worth to me except as a strong back.”

  “I could train your soldiers.”

  “I have lieutenants with war experience for that. Have you even been in battle?”

  His face reddened.

  “I thought not. So what do you know how to do, besides chase helpless, frightened girls?”

  “I thought she wanted me to!”

  For a moment, Edmund saw shame and bewilderment in the young man’s eyes. How old was he—had he even seen twenty years? And what else should he have expected from the son of Earl Langston?

  “Then I have your word that this will not happen again?”

  Langston nodded sulkily.

  “Very well, I’ll give you another chance. And you will work for three months. But if you cause trouble again, you shall live in the barracks with the soldiers.”

  He shuddered.

  “Tomorrow I expect you up at dawn ready to work.”

  “What will I be doing?” he asked with fading bravado.