by Gayle Callen
Edmund scowled but said nothing.
She went to stand beside him and linked her arm through his. “You have many potential enemies, Edmund, and that’s just right here. Could there be others from your soldiering days, men who’d want to see you fail?”
“None that I’ve seen lurking about Swaledale. And I would have heard if strangers had come here to live. Geoff was keeping watch on a man who came to our wedding, then appeared on our land the next day, but he has not been seen again. For now, we shall concentrate on the people we’ve mentioned. Geoff, keep an eye on Ludlow, while I take Langston. We shall both watch Fitzjames.”
“I did see Prudence at the castle recently,” Gwyneth said. “I’ll watch for her.”
Edmund glanced down at her. “You are not to put yourself in danger, Gwyn.”
She smiled and leaned against his shoulder. “I promise.”
As they stared into each other’s eyes, her smile died at the passion that she could read in him. As if from far away, she heard Geoff clear his throat and bid them a good evening, but then her senses forgot everything but the heat in Edmund’s eyes and in his touch. Roughly he lifted her and set her on the edge of the bed, spread her legs and pressed himself against her, regardless of the garments bunched between them.
There was no slow fondling, no gentleness, only a feeling of sinful excitement. Kissing him deeply, she pulled her own skirt back and felt him unbuttoning his breeches. She started to slide back on the bed, but he only pulled her closer to the edge and entered her swiftly.
Moaning, she linked her legs about his hips, felt his hands slide up her thighs to cup her backside. She was no longer even resting on the bed but held to Edmund’s body by his incredible strength. He lifted and brought her down over and over. She felt the tension in his thighs splayed beneath her, the hardness of his arms where she gripped him. The hot fever of release called to her, and the rubbing of his hips against hers made her blind to everything but her aching need. Edmund gave a final groan and buried himself deep inside her. Feeling the flexing of his muscles as he climaxed, she realized that she wasn’t ready to join him.
She found herself dropped back onto the bed, his perspiring head resting against her neck.
Should she tell him she had not experienced…everything? But then he lifted his head and trailed his cheek along her bodice. She tensed, squirming against his penis still buried inside her. He lifted his laughing eyes to her and then gently bit her nipple through her garments. When she gasped, he nibbled at the other one and tweaked the first with his fingers.
“I am wearing too many clothes,” she said, trailing off into a groan as he sucked hard on her nipple.
“I can work around such hardship,” he murmured, and then reached between their bodies to stroke her.
With his mouth teasing her breasts, his hand pleasuring her, and his erection thrusting hard inside her, she erupted in a quick climax and smiled through her satisfied stupor as he did too.
Feet still braced on the floor, Edmund put his hands on the bed and looked down at her. “This did not make me totally mindless, Gwyn. You are to let Geoff and I deal with whoever is targeting me.”
She gave him a slow smile and reached beneath his shirt to feel the hard muscles of his abdomen. “I hear you—although I am quite mindless. I am so mindless that you could easily take advantage of me again.”
With a groan, he left her body and crawled up on the bed to sprawl on his back. “You are an insatiable woman.”
A woman in love, she thought to herself. She just snuggled against his side and said a little prayer that someday her husband would fall in love with her.
When Gwyneth awoke the next morning, the sun was already well above the horizon and Edmund’s side of the bed was cold. She stretched and then hugged herself, remembering the pleasurable hours she’d spent in her husband’s arms. But there was much work to do, and how would she explain to her family why she’d overslept?
She madly dashed out of bed and was dressed in her smock and stockings before she noticed that something was on the floor. Frowning, she walked to the door, where a sheaf of papers now lay, as if someone had slipped them beneath the door while she slept. It must have been done after Edmund had left, for surely he would have picked them up otherwise. She set them on the table and continued to dress.
When she heard footsteps in the corridor, she ducked her head out to find Mrs. Haskell passing by.
“A good morning, my lady,” the housekeeper said with a smile.
“The same to you, Mrs. Haskell. Could you tell me—did you see someone slide papers beneath my door?”
“Papers, my lady? What are they?”
She pointed to the table. “I have not read them yet, so I know not what they are.”
“I saw nothing,” the housekeeper said with a frown. “I can ask the maidservants.”
“Nay, do not bother. I’m sure ’tis nothing important.”
But suddenly she knew it was important, or someone would not have been so devious as to hide his or her identity.
“I am sorry to keep you from your duties, Mrs. Haskell. I shall come to the kitchen as soon as I’m ready.”
She ducked back into her room to finish dressing while staring at the papers, feeling a looming sense of dread that she couldn’t explain.
She finally sat down at the table and began to read. Someone had written a copy of the marriage contract that Edmund had signed. Instead of her father, Earl Langston had acted as her guardian, offering an impressive dowry.
But why would someone want her to read it now?
Glancing through it again, she stumbled on a clause that she’d only skimmed the first time. It stated that should Edmund die without a son, the castle and its lands would revert to the Langston family instead of going to an heir designated by him.
Was someone trying to warn her that if Edmund died, she’d be penniless again? But nothing was mentioned about his own money and any newly purchased land. Surely he would provide for her.
Then why was she supposed to read the contract, and who had made sure she did?
Even more confusing, why would the Langstons insist that Edmund have a son and put it in writing?
Gwyneth spent the day puzzling over her little mystery. Though she was careful to watch out for Prudence Atwater, the woman never appeared, and Gwyneth’s mind lingered over the contract as she waited for the evening, when she could discuss it in private with her husband.
She spent the day in the kitchen, preserving fruit from the orchard, hard work that left her fingers and back sore. That night her mother and sisters gathered before the fire in the great hall to sew together and exchange stories of the day. But she felt distant and preoccupied as she stood watching them from the kitchen corridor.
Suddenly an image came to mind of a firelit hearth in London and a grander home she’d visited often as a child. She remembered being a little girl, listening to her mother’s many sisters gossip and laugh as they, too, spent an evening together.
Just like her own mother, her grandmother had never borne boys. And now that Gwyneth thought on it, none of her aunts had sons either.
Was this a pattern she had never seen but the Langstons had? Had they written the marriage contract with this in mind, knowing that her side of the family never had sons? Was this the way the earl meant to ruin her husband?
Married to her and denied a son, Edmund would lose everything he’d worked so hard for.
Chapter 19
Pleading a headache—which wasn’t a lie—Gwyneth escaped to the quiet of her bedchamber to pace with ever-growing frustration and despair.
Had Edmund read the contract? Even if he had, surely he wouldn’t understand what that one terrible clause could mean. She hadn’t understood either until this moment. She had never thought about children in so mercenary a way. To her, they were a blessing. But to the Langstons, a girl child was nothing but revenge. She felt overwhelmed by hatred for the first time in her life.
&n
bsp; The anxiety and despair she’d felt when Edmund wouldn’t treat her like a wife came back in double strength. He’d maybe begun to love her a little, and now he might lose his land because of her family. He would surely set her aside if he found out she couldn’t bear him a son.
This land, this castle, was everything to him. He wasn’t a soldier any more. How would he feel if every improvement he’d made at Castle Wintering went into Langston coffers?
His legacy and future were at stake—but so were hers. She’d finally begun to help her family and see them settled. Even if her sisters never had dowries, they would not starve. Yet if she told Edmund what she suspected, her family would lose everything. He’d try to annul the marriage and give back the dowry, for surely he wouldn’t want to risk forfeiting his land.
Honesty and trust—things she valued above all else. But now she’d have to break them. She would lie to Edmund and pray she’d be the first in her family to bear a son. Then her falsehood wouldn’t matter, would it? After all, every woman had to trust in God that she’d bear a healthy child.
Gwyneth slid her arm about the bedpost and pressed her face against the cold wood, telling herself that she was doing the right thing. But a hollow, sick feeling had invaded her stomach. She was betraying a man who gave his trust so cautiously, so carefully. And it hurt.
Arms around her middle, she sat down on a chair and bent forward, as if she could keep her sobs buried inside her. They emerged as hot tears on her cheeks and a faint moan of despair. Had she been lying to herself all along? Had she insisted that it was her family, her sisters, she wanted to save when it was only a desire to protect herself?
Never in her life had she felt secure. Marriage to Edmund had staved off the oppression of poverty, the looming threat of starvation. Deep inside, a selfish, desperate part of her had wanted security for herself. Perhaps she was no better than her cousin Elizabeth. Gwyneth wanted Edmund’s money too—and she would remain silent to keep it.
She had never imagined how worthless she could feel.
When Edmund came to bed, Gwyneth lay still, pretending to be asleep. She felt the mattress dip when he slid under the coverlet, closed her eyes in despair when he pressed up against her from behind. Still she didn’t move, even when his arm slid about her waist.
“You are not asleep,” he whispered into her ear.
She forced a smile onto her face and looked over her shoulder to find him braced on his elbow over her. “As if you would ever be fooled.”
“Your mother said you were not feeling well.” He slid his big hand over her stomach. “Could there be a very motherly reason?”
Chilled to the bone, she shook her head. “’Tis surely too soon, Edmund.”
“Then it must be because you have been working so hard. You are the lady of the castle. There is no need for you to spend every day in the orchard or in the kitchen.”
“I cannot sit about while others work.”
“Then humor me just for tomorrow. You are not well. Everyone will understand.”
She opened her mouth, and he covered it with his hand.
“No protests. Sleep.” He grinned down at her, then gave her a kiss. “Though it pains me greatly, even I can leave you alone for one night.”
Gwyneth blinked rapidly, trying to repress the tears that stung her eyes because of Edmund’s thoughtfulness. She didn’t deserve it. He lay back on his pillow and moved away from her, leaving her strangely cold, even with the blankets piled on her. She could not begin to comprehend the depth of her sorrow if he never came to her bed again.
Edmund lay still, waiting for Gwyneth’s breathing to slow. Something was wrong. There was a tension about her he’d never felt before. Surely it was only this illness.
Just the touch of her soft lips had made him want to forget her comfort and satisfy his desires. Instead, he slid farther away from her, so she would not notice how easily she aroused him.
But whatever was bothering her did not go away in the coming days. Her usual vibrancy and joy seemed flat. In bed at night, she abandoned herself to him feverishly yet afterward seemed almost sad.
Was she worried about being pregnant? The thought of her swollen with his child both frightened and lured him. He needed the security of a male heir, but he did not want to harm her. When he thought about losing her to childbirth, he felt sick inside. He couldn’t imagine his life without her any more. What would be the purpose?
But a pregnant Gwyneth worried him, so he found himself searching for privacy to speak to her mother. After he saw Sir Chester enter the great hall early one morning, Edmund went up to the tower room. Lady Hall was already dressed and gladly welcomed him inside.
No longer did the chamber hold Elizabeth’s angry ghost. He could only remember the image of Gwyneth sleeping here and how at the time he wished he could have too. Now he had her in his bed, and the consequences worried him.
“Lady Hall,” he began.
She put up a hand to stop him. “Please, Edmund, you are my son by marriage. Do call me Alyce.”
“Very well, Alyce,” he said. “I thank you.”
“You have made my daughter happy, and my gratitude for that will never end.”
“Is she happy, Alyce? Do you think…a baby would make her happy?” He grimaced at his lack of subtlety, but he had no other way to bring up the subject.
Her eyes widened. “Only God can know such things, my son. Has she said she carries your child? It would bring us all great joy.”
“She has said nothing to me. I just…worry.” He took a deep breath and then blurted out the truth. “I was a large baby, and my mother died birthing me. I wouldn’t want—that is, I worry that—” He broke off, feeling foolish.
But Alyce gave him a warm smile and put her hand on his arm. “Your worry for my daughter touches me, Edmund. But we cannot live wondering what will happen every day of our lives. We have to enjoy life for what it is and cherish the good times we spend together. Besides, it will likely take Gwyneth many births before she has a baby boy.”
“What do you mean? Surely ’tis God’s will what sex the child is,” he said, feeling a growing sense of unease.
“It is not easy for my family to have sons.” She frowned. “In fact, all of my sisters had girls, who have since birthed daughters.”
He opened his mouth, but he could think of nothing to say. That foolish clause in his marriage contract seemed to emblazon itself on his brain.
“But surely you, my son, will easily put this silly family curse to rest.”
Family curse?
Edmund knew he smiled at her, knew he somehow took his leave, but he remembered little of it. He found himself climbing higher up into the castle until he was out on the battlements, overlooking the whole valley. The brisk wind chilled him and blew the last of the colorful leaves from the trees. The encroaching winter matched the bleakness that hovered over his soul.
Gwyneth’s family only had girls. No wonder they were the poor branch of the Langston family. All their money had been given away in dowries generations ago.
It explained why Earl Langston had been almost cheerful as he handed over another wife and dowry to a man he hated. In his arrogance, Edmund had thought they could do nothing to harm him except damage his estate, and even then he would catch the culprit eventually.
But when he wouldn’t sell them Castle Wintering, they had made sure it would come back to them someday.
He refused to believe that Gwyneth had known of this, not his innocent wife. She would have told him. How could she have known—surely the earl hadn’t shown her the contract.
But he found himself striding down through the levels of the castle until he reached his bedchamber. He didn’t have to worry that Gwyneth would find him. She was in the weaving room, off her feet, as he’d requested, but unable to keep her fingers idle. Pushing away his guilt at pawing through her things, he made himself look through her trunk.
At the bottom, he found a copy of their marriage contract. S
ince she was not the kind of woman who’d ignore such a document once it was in her possession, she’d certainly read it and knew the clause about having a son. How could she not know that her family only birthed girls? And yet she’d said nothing to him.
He got to his feet, letting the papers drop to the table and staring blankly at them. Why had she withheld the truth?
Edmund had always known that Gwyneth was desperate to become a true wife to him and that she needed his help for her family. After all, hadn’t he married her for the money and the land? Perhaps she was just afraid to tell him. But that would mean she didn’t trust him, yet she’d promised that she did.
And now he knew how she had felt that night so many weeks ago when he’d told her he didn’t know if he could trust her. He had taken Gwyneth’s trust for granted, and now it broke his heart to know she felt she couldn’t confide in him about something that could damage their future.
The door suddenly opened, and he saw Mrs. Haskell give a start and put her hand to her chest.
“Do forgive me, Sir Edmund,” she said. “I came in to change the bedsheets.”
He nodded distractedly and looked back at the table.
“Sir Edmund, did Lady Blackwell ever find out who gave her those papers?”
He glanced at her sharply. “These papers?”
“Aye. A few days ago she asked me if I knew who had slipped them beneath the door.”
“Did she say what they were?” he asked, feeling tension crackle through him.
“She had not read them when we spoke. Is it something important, my lord?”
“No, ’tis nothing. But I have work to do here. Could you change the bed later?”
With a nod, she left the room.
Edmund stared down at the papers again. So Gwyneth had only seen them for the first time a few days ago. Though he was relieved that she hadn’t known from the beginning, why hadn’t she told him the truth about her family when she read the contract? He saw now that he’d been right, that he couldn’t trust this closeness between them. It was better to reserve a part of himself than to give it all to her.