His Bride

by Gayle Callen

  But that would have been foolish, because she was starting to know him too well. Although they’d just spent hours doing the most intimate things together, he’d never spoken words of love—or even trust. There was a part of him he held away from her, a distance she wished he wouldn’t keep. She was glad that he had finally shared his bed with her, yet she wanted him to share his soul.

  But there was all the time in the world for him to fall in love with her, and she considered their night together a wonderful start.

  “I must leave,” she said breathlessly, when he’d pulled her bodice wide and her smock down to take her nipple into his mouth.

  “Wait a moment,” he murmured against her.

  Only when she was shuddering, bent back over his arm, as his tongue licked and tormented her, did she blurt out, “This is not fair.”

  He pulled her upright. “Not fair? How?”

  “I feel…I feel all…restless inside.”

  He released her, and she stumbled back as he stood up, rising so tall above her. “Ah, then we shall feel the same thing all day until we’re alone again. Of course, we could meet for a private dinner instead.”

  When he raised his eyebrows playfully, she burst into laughter. “I cannot. What would I say to my family on their first full day here?”

  “So you mean we should have done this much sooner, when no one would have cared if we had disappeared for an hour in the middle of the day?”

  “I wanted to, if you’ll remember,” she said sternly.

  “And you are not going to let me forget, are you, my lady?”

  He caught her to him and kissed her hard, and she showed all her love for him with her tight embrace. But he only smiled down at her and let her go.

  Edmund felt distracted as he watched the masons begin their daily work on the wall. He should have been joining them, but instead he found himself wandering into the lady’s garden, which Gwyneth had worked so hard on throughout the autumn. The sounds of men working seemed distant, muted, and instead he heard the call of chirping birds as they chased one another from tree limb to tree limb. Though most of the flowers were now gone, a few late-blooming daisies still shivered in the wind. He stared down at them and thought of his wife, who’d fought him for a real marriage as hard as these flowers fought the coming winter. And she’d won. She’d practically tamed him, made him choose her and an uncertain future.

  He picked a daisy and stared at its stubborn petals. His body was pleasantly sated, his mind overcrowded with memories of her passion. He didn’t hear anyone approaching until the crunch of boots on dead leaves. He glanced over his shoulder to see Geoff leaning against the gate. His friend wore a smile, but his gaze was more probing.

  “You’re picking flowers,” Geoff said.

  “Without thinking, I assure you,” he replied, tossing the daisy onto a bench.

  “Don’t throw it away. Your wife might want a remembrance. This is the first morning after she made a true husband out of you.”

  Edmund frowned at him.

  “Don’t bother to deny it. And I haven’t been spying on you either. I’ve seen Gwyneth’s smile, and now I’ve seen you picking flowers. You could have written it on a banner across the great hall, and it wouldn’t have been any clearer.”

  “Geoff—”

  “Worry not, your shouts of pleasure did not echo through the castle.”

  Edmund rolled his eyes. “I am not worried. I am merely asking you to refrain from discussing what goes on between my wife and myself. After all, it is none of your concern.”

  “Ah, but it is my concern, because I brought it all about.”

  “Only if your name is Earl Langston.”

  “Who do you think made you jealous enough to feel protective of your wife?”

  “Jealous?” Edmund asked, his eyebrows raised. “There is nothing to be jealous about, because she is my wife.”

  Geoff sauntered forward. “’My wife.’ I can hear the possessiveness even now. You can thank me any time.”

  “I do not see why—”

  “For a man well renowned for his ability to bluff an enemy, your face has been a study in openness. All I had to do was bring a cloak out to her when it was raining or take her on a private tour of the estate or dance with her on the village green. You were steeped in jealousy, though to be fair, I don’t think you knew it.”

  Though Edmund wanted to issue a sharp denial, Geoff’s words had the ring of truth. “I remember being annoyed with you, not jealous.”

  “Ah, an admission of guilt.”

  He reluctantly smiled. “I suggest you go about your business.”

  “I’ll let you get back to the daisies. Give Gwyneth my best wishes for a happy marriage.”

  Gwyneth found her mother and sisters in the kitchen, getting to know Mrs. Haskell and the rest of the staff. It pleased her that the two older women conversed easily, as if they might become friends. Even Lucy joined in the fun, for once acting more like a friend than a servant.

  When Lydia put her hands on her hips and stared hard at Gwyneth, Gwyneth was amazed to see that her littlest sister was now taller than she was.

  “Gwyn, you never showed us your room yesterday.”

  She felt herself blush and glanced at Mrs. Haskell, who was suddenly polishing a pot with great determination. Surely the woman had known that their marriage had had a shaky start.

  “Lydia,” her mother began in a warning voice.

  “Nay, Mama, ’tis all right. Lydia, I wasn’t certain my husband would want you to see our room. The castle was much worse when he first came here, so he took a room in the servants’ wing.”

  “Good of him,” Lydia said, nodding. “I like him.”

  “You barely know him,” Gwyneth said with a smile.

  Athelina studied her. “Neither did you when you married him. You did not talk about your wedding much in your letters.”

  “I was more concerned with Papa and all of you, I guess. My wedding was very small, at a church in Richmond. There were only a few people there. See—not much to tell,” she finished brightly. She looked at Lucy, who returned her smile.

  Caroline put her arm around Gwyneth’s shoulder. “Regardless, you were very brave. Now come sit and break your fast with me.”

  Her sister led her out of the kitchen. The great hall was mostly deserted, as the servants were already about their business. Gwyneth knew she too had to get to the orchard, but she could spare a moment for her sister.

  Caroline pulled her down on a bench, then broke a loaf of bread and handed her half. “So, do you like all the people here?”

  “They’ve been very nice, especially Mrs. Haskell.” She lowered her voice. “You must understand that when I first arrived, none of the servants would even spend the night in the castle. They were very afraid of Edmund.”

  “Did that have something to do with those rumors that he murdered Elizabeth?”

  “Rumors only, and you know that. But see how things have changed! It feels like a home to me now.”

  “Did the soldiers feel the same as the servants?”

  “No, they’d been with him in France. They trusted him. It just took me a little longer to do the same.”

  “What about his friend, Geoffrey Drake?”

  With new attentiveness, Gwyneth studied Caroline. “Geoffrey is Edmund’s good friend, and he’s a very kind man.”

  “Is he?” Caroline asked innocently.

  “He’s handsome too, is he not?”

  Her sister’s face reddened, and she immediately began to eat with gusto. Gwyneth could only laugh.

  Later that morning, while the kitchen staff was preparing dinner, Lucy pulled Gwyneth aside.

  “Lady Blackwell—Gwyn—I just wanted to tell ye how…happy ye look.”

  Surprised, she could only stare down at the girl who was brave enough to travel all the way north with her. “Why, Lucy, what a sweet thing to say.”

  Lucy brushed the compliment aside. “I guess I just wanted to
know if ye were happy in truth. Are ye?”

  Her eyes were direct, and Gwyneth was touched that the girl took their friendship so seriously. “More and more every day. Are you trying to find out if it’s all right for you to return to London?”

  Her eyes widened. “Oh, no, milady. I am content here.”

  “And Hugh Ludlow is here,” Gwyneth added.

  Lucy’s face went fiery red. “Aye…he’s here too.”

  “Then we’re both content.”

  Two weeks passed, and they were the happiest of Gwyneth’s life. At night she lay in her husband’s arms, experiencing his gentleness and passion, falling more and more in love with him every day. She knew she should be grateful and fulfilled—but always there was a nagging sense of incompleteness, a feeling that he was holding something back. She was not fool enough to think that he had left his anger with the Langston family behind, not when he believed the earl was responsible for the rumors about Elizabeth’s death.

  She made it a point to talk often to Edmund, to tell him of her life before their marriage, hoping that he would reveal something that would make her understand him better. He told her about his time in London with his friend Alex Thornton. She listened, fascinated, to the stories of the court parties he’d attended and how the ladies dressed. But every time he made a personal comment and she thought she was getting closer to him, he would give her his seductive, wicked smile, and she’d be mindless with passion again.

  Her family accepted Edmund and their new life quite easily. They loved living in the country again, even though a colder autumn foreshadowed a bitter winter. Caroline and Athelina made friends in the village, while Lydia contented herself following Edmund about and getting in the soldiers’ way. Instead of being angry, Edmund only teased her, and Gwyneth knew he’d made a lasting friend in her youngest sister.

  Gwyneth should have known her idyllic time couldn’t last. A flock of sheep was stolen, and when she heard about it, she followed Geoffrey and Edmund to her bedchamber after supper.

  Without knocking, she pushed open the door and found the two men sitting at the small table, conversing.

  Her husband frowned at her. “Gwyneth?”

  She shut the door behind her and climbed up the short set of stairs to sit on the edge of the bed. While her feet dangled, the two men stared at her.

  “I’d like to hear about the stolen sheep too,” she said. “Go ahead, Geoffrey.”

  Smiling faintly, Geoffrey looked from her to Edmund and shook his head. “She deserves to hear this too. ’Tis her home now.”

  She could tell Edmund wanted her to leave but was too polite to throw her out—at least not in front of Geoffrey. She wished he wouldn’t try to protect her.

  Edmund sighed. “Go ahead, Geoff.”

  “There’s not much more to say,” he said. “I heard from the shepherds an hour ago that a flock of sheep disappeared during the night.”

  “Why did they not tell us this morning?”

  He shrugged. “They thought the sheep might have just wandered off. So they searched the high pastures before coming to me.”

  “Edmund,” Gwyneth said, “these occurrences are not accidents or something so easy to explain away. They must be deliberate.”

  Edmund glanced at her. “I will not deny that it seems evident that someone enjoys making mischief for Castle Wintering.”

  “’Tis not just mischief,” Geoffrey said.

  “But who could be doing it? And why?” Gwyneth asked.

  Edmund got to his feet and began to pace, as if his outrage would no longer allow him to sit still. The anger and frustration rolled off him, and she could sense he wished his sword were the only answer he needed. Though she admired his commanding figure, she hoped he would find a solution other than violence, something he’d had to give up since his injury. He could be killed, she thought bleakly. She ached for him, wishing there was another way.

  When no one answered her question, Gwyneth offered her own response. “Who is angry with you, Edmund?”

  He smiled wryly. “Someone is not?”

  “We’re not angry with you, are we, Geoffrey?” she asked, trying to lighten the somber mood.

  Geoffrey shook his head playfully. “Not I. But perhaps being married to Edmund isn’t as easy as you make it appear.”

  She sent her husband a secret smile. “Now, Geoffrey, you must understand that Sir Edmund Blackwell is not an easy man to live with. I have suffered great personal sacrifice to remain his wife.”

  While Geoffrey chuckled, Edmund advanced on her, and with a laugh, she scrambled backward on the bed until she sat in the middle of it. With sly eyes, she sent him a daring look. His smile faded, and his eyes smoldered beneath his dark brows, but with a shrug he turned back to Geoffrey.

  The knight slumped back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest as he watched them. “Tell her the truth, Edmund.”

  Gwyneth caught her breath as she looked at them both.

  “Geoff—” Edmund began, but she interrupted.

  “He is right, Edmund,” she said. “I would have to be a fool not to know that something is going on. I can bear the truth.”

  When her husband remained silent, Geoff leaned forward, wearing a serious expression. “Not knowing could get her hurt.”

  With a sigh, Edmund leaned back against the bed at her side. He took her hand and looked into her eyes. “There is more between me and Earl Langston than you already know. He used this marriage as a challenge, a duel between us, knowing that I could not refuse the dowry money. He told me outright that he means to ruin me but that I’ll have to discover how on my own.”

  With every word he spoke, she felt a sickening sensation clamp down tighter on her stomach. “But…you know not what he has planned, or…what he’ll do?”

  Edmund shook his head. “Nay, but I think he has begun.”

  “With sheep?” she demanded in astonishment.

  “Before that. I think he has someone under his control living either here or in the village. It started with the stolen linens and money, and now ’tis sheep.”

  When he said nothing else, she clutched his hand tighter and whispered, “You think it’s going to get worse, do you not?”

  He nodded and put his arm around her, but she shrugged him off and slid off the bed to face them both, hands on her hips.

  “Why did you not tell me this from the beginning? I would have been more aware of anything suspicious. I might have seen something and not known what I was looking at!”

  “And you could have put yourself in danger,” Edmund said.

  “We’re all in danger,” she answered angrily. “Why would you not tell me what the earl was up to?”

  When neither of them responded, the answer swept over her like a cold bath on a hot summer day, chilling her. She hugged herself and said, “Because you thought I might be involved.”

  Geoff reddened and looked away.

  Edmund continued to watch her, his face inscrutable, like a soldier dealing with a difficult subordinate. She wanted to stay angry; if only it weren’t so easy to understand why he’d suspected her.

  “Gwyn, Langston gave you to me, though he hates me. I had to think there was a sinister reason for offering me a woman as wonderful as you.” Instead of saying more, he closed his mouth and appeared chagrined at what he’d revealed.

  Her anger began to fade away, replaced by weariness. “I do understand. And I’m thankful that you now trust me enough to reveal the truth. But we still don’t know who could be the earl’s accomplice. We should make a list of people that he could easily sway. Edmund, did you tell Geoff about the Widow Atwater?”

  Her husband shot her a warning look.

  “Prudence Atwater?” Geoffrey said, his eyebrows raised. “Will’s mother?”

  Gwyneth reached for the bedpost and leaned against it. “She tried to seduce Edmund when he was still married to Elizabeth. He refused her, which did not make her happy.”

  “So that is why s
he is angry with you,” Geoffrey said slowly.

  “She is but a woman,” Edmund said.

  Gwyneth tilted her chin. “I could do any of the things that have been done to us so far. Most women could.”

  Edmund smiled. “I do not think these are enough reasons for Prudence to risk her life.”

  “Gentlemen, I still think the widow should be a suspect. And what about Hugh Ludlow? Was he not angry that you replaced him, Geoffrey?”

  “And Martin Fitzjames,” Edmund said. “You are his replacement too.”

  “At this rate, why isn’t someone trying to kill me?” Geoffrey said dryly.

  “Martin was a loyal servant of the Langstons,” Edmund continued. “I know he said he feared for his life because of the earl’s threats, but he could have been lying.”

  Gwyneth hesitated. “You said he was the one who gave Elizabeth the castle profits, did you not? Well, I had a conversation with Mrs. Haskell about who she believed started the rumors about Elizabeth’s death.”

  “Gwyneth,” Edmund began.

  “I know—I should not be discussing such things behind your back, but the Langstons are my kinsmen, and I am embarrassed by their behavior. I had to know, and I trusted Mrs. Haskell to tell me.”

  “And what did she say?” her husband asked guardedly.

  “She says the guilty person wasn’t fool enough to tell her his lies, but in her opinion, it could only have been Mr. Fitzjames.”

  Edmund shrugged. “He was always my first choice. Who else had been proven to be under Langston control? Yet I felt that I would rather keep an eye on him than banish him from the estate and wonder how desperate that might make him.”

  Geoffrey grimaced perceptibly. “And speaking of the Langstons—”

  “Harold,” he said with a nod. “Getting himself put in jail might have been deliberate, so I’d have to come for him.”

  “I don’t think he is a bad sort,” Gwyneth said. “The servants tell me his arrogance has quite receded. I’ve actually had a pleasant conversation with him once or twice.”