His Bride

by Gayle Callen

  Chapter 16

  “I am perfectly capable of walking,” Edmund said.

  He probably was unaware that his words were starting to slur together. Gwyneth noticed he didn’t protest when she held him around his waist and pulled his arm over her shoulders. Together they walked down the corridor into the servants’ wing, where she pushed open his door. He moved slower and slower, and she staggered under his weight once inside the room. Guiding him to the bed, she propped him against it. He sat on the edge, blinking at her, while she studied him.

  “Let us begin by removing your garments,” she said firmly.

  When he said nothing, she allowed herself to relax and enjoy the chance to touch him as she’d always wanted to. She remembered their morning at the inn, when she’d been naked beneath his caresses. If she did the same thing to him, surely he wouldn’t resist consummating their marriage then?

  Working his boots off was difficult, but he managed to help by lifting his legs when she requested it. The stockings came next, and she saw a rough-looking scar that snaked down from higher up his leg. Although the room was lit only by firelight, she knew he watched her, felt his gaze never leave her face. After unbuttoning his doublet and pushing it back off his shoulders, she let her hands slide down his arms. He felt so big and warm and safe that she wanted to bury her face in his chest and smell the clean scent of him.

  She settled for unbuttoning his shirt and spreading the neck, letting her fingers graze through the hair on his chest. He was too tall for her to pull the shirt over his head. Feeling brave and even seductive, she put her fingers on the buttons of his breeches then slowly opened them one by one. Her face felt hot, and she couldn’t meet his eyes until the breeches sagged down his lean hips. Then she glanced at him, only to find him watching her hands instead of her face.

  “Stand straight, Edmund.”

  He almost fell, but she caught him around the waist, even as his breeches dropped to the floor.

  “You’re still too tall,” she whispered, sliding a stool closer and pushing him down onto it. He kept his right leg straight out to the side.

  Their eyes were almost at the same level, and he watched her as she pulled his shirt up over his head. Her breath caught as she took a step backward to look at him. She’d seen his naked chest and arms, massively muscled and so impressive, and the small linen undergarment at his hips. He had long, heavy legs, well shaped until that last dreadful battle. Though the room was mostly shadows, she could see his misshapen knee and the painful-looking scars that cut across it.

  When she touched the hard ridge of one scar on his thigh, he flinched and fumbled for her hand.

  “Gwyneth, nay.” His words weren’t slurred so much as too slow and careful.

  “I want to touch you,” she whispered, evading his hand. Stepping between his spread thighs, she let her fingers trail up his skin ever closer to his hips.

  Suddenly his head dipped, and he rested his forehead against her shoulder. “I don’t want to hurt you,” was his harsh whisper.

  He’d said such words before, all in an attempt to elude her. But this time she heard a wealth of pain he was too drunk to disguise.

  “You won’t hurt me,” she answered softly, sliding her hands up his neck and into his hair, stroking him.

  He slung his arms about her waist and pulled her closer until his face was pressed between her breasts. “Whenever I came to Elizabeth’s bedchamber, she cried.”

  Gwyneth cradled his head tighter against her, feeling an aching lump lodge in her throat. “What do you mean?”

  “She never wanted me to touch her.” He broke off, his voice muffled. “I stopped going to her. And she was happier.”

  She kissed his soft hair and then rested her cheek there. “I am not Elizabeth, as I keep telling you.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you.” It was a desperate whisper.

  “My mother told me that as long as I relaxed and enjoyed your touch, it would hurt only the first time. I trust her, Edmund.” She tilted his head up so that she could look into his eyes. “And I trust you. After how you touched me and cherished me in Richmond, I want nothing more than to give myself to you, to prove that you’re wrong.”

  “But if I let myself love you, you’ll be in danger.” His voice suddenly grew hoarse, hesitant, and he again dropped his head to her shoulder. “I refuse to be the cause of that.”

  She frowned and stared down at him. Before she could ask him to explain what he meant, he slumped against her, and she staggered beneath the weight of his upper body.

  “You’re right next to the bed,” she said into his ear. “Help me. I cannot do it alone.”

  She groaned as he seemed to press down on her in an effort to stand. Then he collapsed back on the bed, and she was able to help him swing his legs up. He lay on top of the coverlet, snoring softly now, but she found a blanket inside the chest at the foot of his bed. She looked at his body one last time, amazed at how well made he was. She imagined spending every night pressed against him, before with a sigh she covered him up to his chin.

  Her plan to seduce him this night no longer mattered. She leaned against the edge of his bed and brushed the hair back from his face. Pressing her lips against his cheek and then his forehead, she berated herself for her selfish plan to make their marriage work only to help her family. There were so many more reasons why she wanted to have a good life with this man. She wanted to make him happy, she wanted to bear his children. She wanted him to love her as much as she loved him. She was certain he was falling in love with her; he had almost admitted it.

  Surely his words about her being in danger were only the drink talking.

  In the darkness before dawn, Edmund left his room, dressed in leather breeches, jerkin, and a heavy shirt for another day of backbreaking labor harvesting his crops. He was the master of this castle and controlled the bounty of all its lands—but he was trying to avoid his dainty wife.

  He didn’t remember exactly what he’d said to her the previous night. Words had seemed to pour out of another man instead of him, and now were unintelligible. But he knew she’d removed most of his clothing and put him to bed. He had a vivid memory of his face pressed between her breasts and a terrible suspicion that Elizabeth’s name had come up. What had he said?

  But he wasn’t about to ask Gwyneth. All he could do was inwardly curse himself for getting drunk.

  Yet she was there at his table in the winter parlor, smiling gently at him, warming the start of what was going to be a long day.

  “A good morning to you, husband,” she said.

  The softness in her eyes pulled at him—yet made him uncomfortable too. “The same to you, Gwyneth.”

  He sat down and watched as she cut him a large slice of bread, then pushed a crock of butter toward him. He took a sip of ale and then began to speak before she could.

  “I do not remember how I got to my bed last night. I hope I did nothing to embarrass myself.”

  He saw the flash of her disappointment, but she hid it quickly behind another smile.

  “Edmund, you were ever the gentleman. I was the one who helped you to bed.”

  “I seldom drink like that.” He spoke words, but all he was thinking about was that his wife had undressed him and he didn’t even remember it.

  “I know.”

  “Did I—what did I—never mind.” He picked up the bread and pushed himself to his feet.

  She reached for his free hand and held it. “You talked a little about Elizabeth.”

  Appalled that his memory was accurate, he stared down at her.

  “But you won’t want to talk about it again, will you?” she continued with a sigh.

  He shook his head.

  When he continued to just stare at her, worried about what he’d said and done, her smile grew broader and she stood up. She leaned lightly against him, her breasts so soft, her hips slight but rounded, and reached up to touch his cheek.

  “I’ll miss you today,” she murmured.<
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  Enthralled by her scent, by her touch, he leaned forward and brushed a kiss against her cheek; her fingers played in his hair. He almost groaned as he imagined swiping everything off the table and spreading her atop it as his feast. He turned his head and captured her mouth with his, hauling her up against him. He kissed her deeper and harder, memorizing the taste of her, saying with his need and frustration everything he didn’t know how to say aloud. How had he thought he could ever give her up? Though he would have to guard his heart, he would take pleasure in her body and give her pleasure in return.

  Though he was bound by a marriage contract to the Langston family, at least when a male heir came along, the land would not leave his descendants. That clause in the contract would be easily fulfilled, since he planned on keeping Gwyneth abed with him much of the time.

  Only when he was having trouble breathing did he break the kiss and lean his forehead against hers, staring into her warm, gold-flecked eyes.

  “I shall see you tonight,” Edmund heard himself say in an unrecognizable voice.

  Her smile widened, and she caressed his face. With a groan, he leaned down to kiss her again.

  They both heard someone discreetly cough. Though Gwyneth started to push herself away, he held her against his side. They turned to find Geoff watching them, wearing a satisfied grin.

  “Excuse me for the poorly timed interruption,” he said, pulling out a chair and sitting down.

  “It had better be important,” Edmund answered, trying to sound stern, while still bestowing light caresses on Gwyneth’s waist.

  She squeezed his fingers and then broke away, saying breathlessly, “I’ll allow you gentlemen to talk. I have so much to do.”

  She gave Edmund another brilliant smile as she left. He stood there staring after her, unable even to remember what he should be doing.

  “Please tell me you’ve bedded your wife already.”

  He shot a frown at Geoff. “What did you say?”

  “Any fool can see that she’s in love with you.”

  Edmund gaped at his friend, then back at the door where Gwyneth had just disappeared. In love with me?

  “That must mean you didn’t bed her, right?” Geoff laughed at his own joke.

  “Must I show you the way to the orchard?” Edmund pulled him up by the front of his doublet.

  He only laughed harder. “My duty is to the soldiers, remember?”

  “You have to eat this winter, remember? We’re all picking fruit today.”

  After a long morning overseeing the harvesting of apples and pears, Edmund sat in the great hall with his aching feet stretched toward the fire. Behind him, the servants bustled between the kitchen and hall, preparing dinner for the weary laborers. Gwyneth hovered over him occasionally, but he sent her off to help Mrs. Haskell. Men and women slouched with exhaustion at the trestle tables, talking tiredly amongst themselves. When the harvest was all over, there would be a joyous celebration of relief.

  Before he could sit down to a much-welcomed meal, he saw Geoff stride in, wearing a grim expression. Edmund stood up, even as the voices in the hall were lowered to murmurs, and Gwyneth came to his side.

  “Geoff, what is it?”

  His friend gave an angry shake of his head. “We’ve discovered holes in the roofs of a couple of the grain storage sheds. The rain a few days ago ruined some of the grain.”

  Edmund felt his gut tighten at this new threat to the health of his people. “How much did we lose?”

  “Not too much. We should be all right.”

  Martin Fitzjames came over to the fire. “Sir Edmund, surely you knew to have the sheds examined before harvest.”

  Edmund felt his face redden even as the friendly eyes of his servants became suspicious. Though he’d worked hard here the past few years, he knew some people would always consider him a soldier, not a landowner.

  “Be still, Fitzjames,” Geoff said angrily. “Just a week ago Edmund ordered every shed examined for repairs. Those holes weren’t there before, and I don’t think they accidentally appeared.”

  Edmund ignored his old steward as well as the rumblings of dismay from the servants. “Geoff, I cannot believe someone would do such a thing deliberately. More likely an accident happened and the culprit is too ashamed to step forward. We shall set guards patrolling the sheds and barns. Come talk with me about scheduling it.”

  He drew Geoff closer to the hearth and lowered his voice. “You know what I really think, do you not?”

  Geoff nodded, and the two of them looked casually over the great hall. Most people had gone about their business. Gwyneth did not hide her interest in their conversation, but she didn’t attempt to join them.

  “Such a thing doesn’t happen accidentally, Edmund. Why would someone do this?”

  “There’s more you might not know about. Some linens and garments disappeared after laundry day, and then household money.”

  “A thief?”

  “I thought so at first, but now I don’t know.”

  “You cannot think the great Earl Langston would stoop to something so trivial.”

  “I never would have thought so, but the incidents are intensifying, are they not? And I’m worried about Gwyneth.”

  Geoff rolled his eyes. “I saw you kissing her. You can’t still think she’s involved.”

  “She is involved—because she’s married to me. I’m worried she’s in danger from that fact alone. Do not think the earl would hesitate to harm her just because they’re cousins. Let us just be ever vigilant, even if it means more soldiers patrolling. I’d rather the villagers wonder what was going on than be left unprotected.”

  “Very well.”

  Geoff’s smile was forced, and Edmund had never seen his unflappable friend so uneasy.

  Gwyneth watched Edmund and Geoffrey until they separated to approach the tables laid out for dinner. She didn’t know what they’d said, but she knew neither of them thought the holes in the sheds appeared by accident. Was Edmund’s pride too great to allow him to show his worries to his wife?

  She sat down beside him at the head table, pleased that he was eating with his people. The servants brought platters of meat for his choosing, and she waited to speak until he’d filled his plate and begun to eat.

  “Edmund, ’tis a shame my father has not arrived by now. He could help.”

  “What?” he said distractedly.

  When his eyes finally focused on her, she was pleased to see that he was staring at her mouth. She moistened her lips with her tongue.

  “My father has spent many years guarding the wares of merchants in London. He has great experience in matters such as these.”

  “Such as what?”

  “Whoever is chopping holes in sheds and stealing money.”

  He took another bite of lamb and chewed as he watched her. “Let it go, Gwyneth. Nothing is deliberate here.”

  She was almost angry that he was shutting her out, but all she said was, “Is it not?”

  He smiled, and the pleasure of looking at his face mollified her. She leaned closer to him.

  He sipped his beer. “So you think your father can ferret out some kind of truth here?”

  She nodded with confidence.

  “You seem to believe everyone in your family is skilled in some area.”

  “They are,” she said slowly, not quite sure where he was going with this conversation.

  “So what are you good at?”

  She suppressed a little shiver at the way his low voice moved through her. In her mind she relived his kiss that morning and the way he’d promised to see her that night. “I am competent at many things.”

  He leaned closer. “But is there not one thing that gives you special pleasure?”

  She opened her mouth, but could think of nothing clever to say. “Well, not just one thing,” she murmured.

  He rested his arm on the table, his shoulder brushing hers, his mouth near her cheek. “I think you’re exceptionally good at kissing.�
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  Chapter 17

  Gwyneth’s breath caught and her heart sped up like a galloping horse. She knew everyone was openly staring, and still Edmund flirted with her.

  “Children give me pleasure,” she whispered.

  His eyes widened, and wearing a half-smile, he straightened to continue eating. When his hand settled on her thigh, she quivered.

  She knew he did this deliberately to make her forget her suspicions—and perhaps to make their marriage look real for his people. But oh, how such things gave her hope!

  The double doors at the entrance to the great hall were suddenly flung open, and two soldiers strode in, throwing damp cloaks back from their shoulders to drape down their backs and catch on the swords at their waists.

  “We’ve returned, Captain Blackwell,” the one said with a smile. “We had good weather.”

  As Gwyneth realized what was happening, she pushed her chair back so quickly that it fell to the floor. Edmund smiled and nodded toward the main doors. She ran across the hall and out into the courtyard, where a gentle mist had begun to fall. She saw a covered cart piled with baggage and then a single coach behind, its doors swinging open as people jumped out.

  “Mama! Papa!” she cried, waving her arms and jumping across puddles to reach them.

  With shrieks, her sisters reached her first, and she was enveloped in warm, grateful hugs. Two months had not passed since she’d seen them, but she could not stop the happy tears that ran from her eyes.

  Lydia, the youngest at fourteen, escaped the group embrace and stared up at Castle Wintering. “Why, Gwyn, ’tis just like the story of the princess! Has he rescued you yet?”

  She laughed along with her sisters and then exchanged a fond smile with Caroline, the one closest in age to her. “I guess he did.”

  Caroline’s smile was filled with relief, and Gwyneth put her arm around her.

  “Truly, you are happy?” Caroline whispered.

  “Oh, yes,” Gwyneth breathed softly. “I think I love him already.”

  “I cannot wait to meet the man who put such happiness in your eyes, Gwyn. Truly he must be wonderful to invite us all to live with you.”