His Bride

by Gayle Callen

  He couldn’t confront her; he needed to know if she meant to tell him the truth. He decided to wait and judge her by her actions. But her sadness was one answer, and he didn’t know how to make it better without revealing his own.

  He would keep some distance between them. But that proved very difficult to do. He was drawn to her like a frozen man to a fire. She had brought his entire castle to life, filled it with people who no longer feared him. She joined in every task, whether it was herding pigs out of the woods or helping hang the meat for smoking. She made him realize that success with the land was not as rewarding as success with his people.

  Yet even that was melting away. When he could not find his unseen enemy, the mill was targeted next. People were forced to grind grain by hand over the week it took to fix the problem. The worry in their eyes only made his frustration and rage grow. Everything—including his marriage—seemed to be falling apart, and he couldn’t stop it.

  But nights were the worst. He had not made love to his wife since he’d discovered the truth about her family. Always there was a reason: her sickness, his exhaustion from the harvest. Because when Gwyneth lay in his arms, the pain he tried not to feel became unbearable. Did it hurt so much because he was falling in love with her and had sworn not to?

  Earl Langston was sitting at his elaborately carved desk in his withdrawing chamber when his wife swept in, holding a bedraggled, folded piece of paper between two fingers.

  “This arrived for you, my lord. The man insisted that I see it into your hands personally, and then he fled.”

  Langston arched a brow and set aside his quill, inspecting his fingers meticulously for ink before he reached out a hand to his wife. She gave him the missive with reluctance and stood there watching impatiently.

  And then he saw the discreet identifying mark carefully drawn on a corner of the paper, and his anticipation increased.

  “This is from our agent at Castle Wintering.”

  “Our agent?” she repeated. “Surely you can tell me the identity now.”

  “I cannot take that risk, my lady wife. If even one soul finds out—and you would brag to your sister before the day is out—all of my carefully laid plans could fall into ruin. Surely you understand that.” He gave her the smile that always pacified her, even as he wondered how much longer he could bear to have her in London. He would have to send her to their Lincolnshire country house soon.

  He broke the wax on the stained letter and then held it to his chest when Letitia leaned over the desk to read it.

  “My lord—”

  “Be patient,” he said in a low voice tinged with the menace he knew cowed her.

  She stiffened, then began to pace while he read. When he was done, he folded the letter, set it before him, and stared at it for several moments until his wife was gripping her skirts with frustration. Then he slowly began to smile, looking up at Letitia in triumph.

  “’Tis all coming together,” he said. “My plan has succeeded beyond what I’d hoped. Blackwell’s control of the estate is slipping away because he’s been unable to find the person responsible for the crimes. The villagers are about to revolt. My agent asks if we would come take control before the lawlessness gets out of hand.”

  She shared his grin. “It has not been three months yet, and already we have almost vanquished Blackwell. We can be mining for lead ore by spring. Who will you trust to go to Wintering?”

  “I shan’t trust a soul but ourselves, my lady wife. I must be there to enjoy Blackwell’s defeat. How do you feel about spending a Christmas holiday in the wilds of Yorkshire with our son?”

  Chapter 20

  Gwyneth had never lived with a lie before, and it weighed on her soul. A cheerful demeanor was a chore, and pretending everything was fine wasn’t going to work much longer. She knew her mother was watching her closely, and Caroline was giving her puzzled looks. Even her husband made excuses to keep his distance from her. If any of them actually questioned her, she knew the dam behind which she held back her tears would burst. Then they’d all know what kind of person she was: a liar.

  She couldn’t blame Edmund for his distraction. He was worried about the person jeopardizing their winter stores. There was violence inside him now as he plotted with Geoffrey for ways to catch the villain. It seemed to shimmer beneath his skin—a burning anger that she feared would turn on her if she told him the truth. She was such a coward.

  Yet for all her self-preoccupation, she was the one who noticed Prudence Atwater sneaking into the castle just after most of the men had left to spend the day slaughtering pigs for winter meat. Gwyneth was so grateful to be distracted from her morbid thoughts that she followed the widow without alerting anyone to what she was doing. Prudence hurried down a corridor into a wing of the castle that wasn’t repaired yet. Both of them had to stumble over rubble littering the floor. Prudence at least held a torch, while Gwyneth didn’t dare grab one for fear of being seen.

  When she lost sight of Prudence, Gwyneth peered around a corner in time to see a door being opened from the inside. She held her breath as Martin Fitzjames, the old steward, leaned out, grinned at the widow, and then pulled her inside.

  Gwyneth leaned back against the wall in amazement. Were Prudence and Martin conspiring together? Fearing that they’d leave before she could return, she ran back the way she’d come as fast as she could, tripping over objects that had previously been illuminated by Prudence’s torch.

  When she finally found Mrs. Haskell, the woman’s eyes widened when Gwyneth leaned out of breath against the kitchen wall.

  “My lady!” she cried, grabbing her arm.

  Gwyneth shook her head. “Forgive me—I am well. I forgot to tell Sir Edmund something, and I was trying to catch him. Do you know where he went?”

  “The last I saw him, my lady, he and Sir Geoffrey were heading for the stables. Allow me to send one of the servants with a message.”

  “Nay, I shall do it myself. Thank you!”

  As she approached the stables, Will Atwater was leaving. His eyes were big with worry, and suddenly she tried to imagine what his life would be like if his mother was proven guilty.

  “Milady, ye don’t want to go in there. His lordship is talkin’ real serious to Sir Geoff, and they want to be alone.”

  “Thank you, Will, but they’ll see me.”

  She found the two men engaged in an intense discussion. She didn’t even want to know what it was about, just simply barged between them and looked up at Edmund.

  “Prudence is here,” she said, glancing back to the courtyard to make sure Will couldn’t hear her. “I followed her into an unused section of the castle.”

  Edmund grasped her upper arms. “Gwyneth, I told you to be careful.”

  “I was. I did not approach her. But I saw her meet Mr. Fitzjames.”

  She watched the two men exchange glances over her head.

  “Tell me where they are,” Edmund said.

  “’Tis easier to show you. Follow me.” Before he could protest, she left the stables, not bothering to make sure they were behind her. She was beyond caring how they must look, all marching across the courtyard in a line. She just wanted this over with, so Edmund’s anger would fade. But how could things be the way they were, since she was lying to him?

  Shoving the bleak thought aside, she concentrated on quieting her steps as they neared the room where Prudence and Martin were. At the last corner, she pointed to the chamber, and Edmund and Geoffrey moved into the lead. The three of them paused at the door, listening. When they heard a giggle, Gwyneth looked up at the men with wide eyes. Shrugging, Geoffrey slammed the door open.

  As the two men moved in before her, she could see nothing but their broad shoulders. They came to a sudden stop, and she was able to squeeze between them in time to see Martin and Prudence in bed together, a single blanket clutched up to their chins. The room was bare of all else save cobwebs. In dead silence, they all gaped at one another.

  At the same moment a
s Prudence began, “How dare ye—” Martin yelled, “’Tis not what you think!”

  Biting her lip to keep from laughing, Gwyneth touched Edmund’s arm and already felt some of his tension fading.

  He raised a hand, and Martin and Prudence stuttered into silence. “Dress yourselves quickly, or in my impatience, I will toss you out into the courtyard however you’re dressed. We will be waiting in the corridor.”

  The three of them trooped back out of the room. Gwyneth tried not to smile hearing frantic whispers and scrambling feet. Edmund and Geoffrey said nothing as they exchanged glances.

  When the door flew open, Martin was standing there, the collar of his doublet half bent, his feet bare. Prudence sat on the edge of the bed fully dressed, her hands clutched together in her lap.

  Edmund shouldered his way into the room, followed by Gwyneth and Geoffrey, and Martin hastily backed away to stand at Prudence’s side.

  “There was great secrecy to this meeting, Fitzjames.”

  Prudence’s chin came up. “There be nothin’ wrong with what we’re doin’.”

  Martin shot her a pleading look. “Allow me to speak, Pru.”

  “Aye, please, do,” Edmund said. “Many other things have been done in secret at Castle Wintering. Are the two of you conspiring against me?”

  Martin’s bewhiskered jaw sagged open. “Conspiring—surely you—” His voice trailed off as he looked between Prudence and Edmund. “My lord, we just want to be together and could find no privacy to do so. If you’re talking about the crimes that have been committed lately against the castle, I can assure you that neither of us was involved in such things.”

  “And why should I believe you? You have made your feelings against me known.”

  “But my feelings were because of Pru!” he cried.

  When the woman in question stared suspiciously at him, he addressed his words to her.

  “Pru, I knew how you used to feel about him. I thought after his wife died, he’d stay away, and you would be mine. But then he returned. Naturally I was angry! I didn’t want to lose you.”

  Prudence sighed. “Ye haven’t lost me, Marty. All I want is a man to love me and take care of me. And that’ll never be him.”

  Martin reached for her hand, and she smiled at him and rose to stand at his side.

  Gwyneth stepped forward and looked at the widow. “Then why did I see you ask my husband to dance only weeks ago?”

  Prudence blushed. “Just tryin’ to make Marty jealous.”

  Martin leaned toward her, devotion shining from his eyes. “That wasn’t necessary, my dove.”

  “That is enough,” Edmund said, shaking his head. “Fitzjames, you were angry that I replaced you as steward.”

  The man shrugged. “I knew I’d miss the money, but that paled in comparison to the relief of not being hated any more.”

  “Hated?” Edmund echoed.

  “How do you think it felt having to carry out the earl’s dreadful orders? I had no wife, no friends. I was glad to give it up. And glad, too, to see you make this place come alive again, my lord.”

  “Even though I was a murderer?” Edmund asked impassively.

  Martin’s face paled. “It was me that said those things, my lord, you know that, don’t you?”

  “Aye.”

  “I couldn’t…they wouldn’t let me stop.”

  “Who?”

  “Lord Langston. It was a horrible thing he made me do, and afterward I wrote and told him I was finished and that if he tried to harm me, I would make sure people found out what he’d been up to.”

  “’Twas my idea,” Prudence said with a proud lift of her chin. “The old earl never answered back, so we thought Marty was safe.”

  “I ask your forgiveness, Sir Edmund,” Martin said, going down on one knee. “You have my allegiance, and you hold my fate in your hands.”

  Catching her breath, Gwyneth stared up at Edmund, whose face betrayed nothing. She had a good feeling about the lovers and believed they had both put their pasts behind them. But mayhap her husband needed more proof.

  Edmund sighed. “I accept your apology. I suggest the two of you formalize this union or else find a safer place to meet. This section of the castle is dangerous. And do not speak of our discussion to anyone else. Do you understand?”

  “Of course, my lord. Thank you!” Martin grinned at Prudence. “Do you want to get married, my dove?”

  Prudence glanced at the three of them. “Perhaps ye could ask me at a more…romantic time?”

  Geoffrey and Gwyneth filed into the corridor, and then Edmund pulled the door shut behind them. Gwyneth walked before the men, feeling relieved.

  Edmund raised his torch higher. “You seem light in your step, wife.”

  Picking her way through the rubble, she glanced over her shoulder and smiled at him. “I am merely waiting for your congratulations.”

  “Congratulations?” He didn’t smile back; rather, he stared at her intently.

  “I did remove two suspects from your list, did I not?”

  “That you did,” Geoffrey agreed. “We thank you heartily, my lady.”

  “Oh, no thanks are necessary.”

  She heard Edmund grumble something.

  “What was that, my lord?”

  When they reached the great hall, she turned to face them.

  “You performed admirably,” he admitted.

  Just looking up at him, remembering that things were no longer the same made her heart give a painful shudder. She wanted that closeness back. She desperately wanted to have his son. How to bridge this awkwardness she’d caused?

  She glanced from one man to the other. “What were you two discussing so intently when I found you in the stables?”

  Edmund kept his face impassive, not wanting to show how much he admired Gwyneth’s pursuit of Prudence Atwater. “Nothing you need to concern yourself with.”

  She put her fists on her hips and frowned up at him, lovely as a brave kitten. He wanted to hold her close, to ask why she would keep secrets from him. He must love her, for his heart was breaking.

  Traitorous Geoff smiled at Gwyneth. “I’ve had men high up in the dale, looking for lead ore. It’s been mined in these parts for centuries, so why should Edmund’s land be any different?”

  “Did they find some?” she asked, her lovely brown eyes alive with excitement.

  “That they did. ’Tis Castle Wintering’s future. I’ve told Edmund where it is. Why don’t the two of you go look?”

  Edmund opened his mouth to protest, but it was too late. In their excitement, Gwyneth and Geoff crossed the great hall. His wife picked up a cloak from the chair by the door and wrapped herself in it before stepping out into the courtyard. He followed them.

  The wind was cold, and the sky was muddy with clouds that hinted of snow.

  “The weather might change, Gwyneth,” Edmund said. “You should remain here.”

  Geoff entered the stables, but before she followed him, she turned back to face Edmund. “I want to be there with you for this. Mining could save our people, save our home, regardless of what this villain does.”

  Our home. He wanted to share it with her, but all he could think of was the Langstons taking back all his hard work someday. When he died, all of his daughters and Gwyneth would be left with nowhere to live. Why did she not say something, so they could make plans together?

  But her eyes called to him, her body drew him, and he could only watch as Geoff brought out Star for her to ride.

  Two hours later, Edmund led his wife into a small cave, from which a stream of water flowed down the hillside to join the River Swale. He could barely stand upright, and when Gwyneth joined him inside, they were pressed close together. He could feel her warmth, smell the flowery scent of her. It had been a week since he’d been inside her, a week without her passion.

  She touched his arm. “Edmund, where is the ore?”

  He pointed to the stream. “Buried here. We have to dam the water to see th
e veins. Then we keep digging into the hillside.”

  “This will help the castle, will it not?”

  In the murky light, her eyes glittered. She pushed her cloak back from her shoulders, and he saw the curves of her breasts.

  “Not this winter,” he said hoarsely, fighting the worry that simmered inside him. “We’ll have to ship it to the smelting mills in Richmond come spring.”

  “But if it’s a good thing, why are you so upset?” When he said nothing, she nodded. “I know you’re thinking of the crimes against the estate. Surely we’re closer to discovering who is behind it.”

  “It has to be Harold Langston,” he answered, transferring his anger to where it would do more good. “I want to shake the truth from him, to punish him with my fists before I send him back to jail.”

  “Edmund, nay,” she said with dismay, grabbing the sleeves of his doublet as she leaned closer. “You mustn’t. No one has seen who the villain is. And Harold is a trained knight, is he not? And you’re—”

  When she broke off, he laughed harshly. “And I am lame. Think you I cannot take that puppy, even like this?”

  “I did not mean—I only wanted—” She pressed herself against him, reaching up to cup his face in her hands. “Edmund, please, this is torture for me. I only want to help.”

  “There is only one way you can help.”

  The words sounded angry, even to him, but it was anger with himself, for he could not keep from kissing her. She moaned beneath his mouth, and her hands slid from his waist up his back. He could feel her grip his garments with a desperation he knew too well.

  “Aye,” she whispered.

  Her tongue tracing his lips induced a madness he no longer tried to control. She was his wife—he wanted her—she wanted him. He let passion thrust everything else aside. As his hands unlaced her gown at her back, he tasted her neck, sucked on her skin until she shuddered and moaned.

  In a dazed voice, she asked, “Could someone see us?”

  “Do you care?” He stared down into her eyes.

  “No—just touch me, please.”