Forced to Marry

by Barbara Cartland

  Lord Locke turned to Bates.

  “Send somebody over to the stables for two horses to be saddled immediately and brought to the front door and be quick about it.”

  “Very good, my Lord!”

  Bates repeated the order to the footman standing behind him.

  Lord Locke then walked quickly across the hall to the salon.

  As he expected, Perry, who had come down earlier, was standing in front of the fire and he had a glass of champagne in his hand.

  “They have kidnapped Gytha!” Lord Locke announced to his friend.

  “Kidnapped her? Who has?”

  “The Sullivan brothers, of course. I imagine that they will have taken her back to The Hall, and, if we ride cross-country, we can be there before them.”

  Perry put down his glass.

  He knew by the note in Lord Locke’s voice that he was giving orders.

  It was the way he had spoken when they were together in the Army, sharp, clear and decisive. Orders that were to be carried out at once.

  He walked across the room.

  “Are we to change?” he asked.

  “No, there is no time for that.”

  Perry accepted the decision without comment.

  As they went out into the hall, Lord Locke said to Bates,

  “Our evening cloaks and order a closed carriage to follow us to Sullivan House with four horses.”

  As Perry put on his cloak and hat, Lord Locke walked quickly away.

  Perry guessed that he was going to the gun room and he returned with a duelling pistol in each hand.

  The horses were already coming round from the stables.

  Lord Locke handed one of the pistols to Perry, saying as he did so,

  “It is primed.”

  Without comment Perry put it into his pocket.

  As soon as his cloak was over his shoulders Lord Locke did the same thing and the two men ran down the steps and swung themselves into the saddle.

  They set off at a fast pace.

  Lord Locke led the way towards Monk’s Wood, which would be the quickest route.

  As he watched them go, Bates ejaculated beneath his breath,

  “I’ve never in all me born days seen such goings on. Never!”

  Chapter seven

  It was growing dark.

  The two riders had to slow their pace slightly in the wood.

  Lord Locke was very conscious that it was here that Vincent had fired at him and only by a hair’s breadth had he escaped being killed.

  The mere thought of it made him more and more angry.

  And he vowed that when he caught up with the Sullivan brothers he would teach them a lesson.

  Then he was worrying over Gytha.

  He was aware how much being carried off in such an unpleasant manner would distress her and he felt as if he could see her large eyes dark with fear.

  She had pleaded with him to save her.

  And he knew that it was something he must do and very quickly.

  ‘It is intolerable that any woman should be treated in such a brutal fashion,’ he muttered to himself beneath his breath.

  Then he realised that he was not thinking of just any woman but specifically of Gytha.

  She was so helpless.

  She was also sensitive and very easily frightened.

  He remembered how she had trembled the first day she had come to Locke Hall to ask him for help.

  How shy she had been and how difficult for her to tell him what she wanted. Her eyes would not meet his.

  As he thought about it, he knew that shyness was something he had seldom, if ever, encountered in a woman.

  It was, he thought, extremely attractive.

  She was enchanting when her long eyelashes touched her pale cheeks.

  When he made her blush her skin was suffused with colour like the dawn rising in the sky.

  ‘She is beautiful,’ he said to himself. ‘If she was taken to London and presented to the Social world, she would shine like a bright star.’

  Then he thought perhaps that might spoil her and he wanted her to remain as she was.

  Unspoilt, unselfconscious, gentle and sweet to a degree that he had never found in any other woman.

  At the same time she was intelligent

  Perry had appreciated it first and he had been forced to acknowledge it later.

  ‘She is quite exceptional,’ he murmured as he rode on.

  Then he thought furiously that it was no less exceptional for her to have endure this sort of traumatic experience. It was quite inconceivable for a young girl ordinarily.

  Who could imagine that Gytha would be pressured by her despicable cousins into accepting one of them as a husband.

  That she would be kidnapped from his own house and that she would be taken away in such an unseemly fashion.

  “I will kill them for this!” he exclaimed through his clenched teeth.

  He quickened his pace so that Perry was pushed to keep up with him.

  They reached Sullivan House to find it shrouded in darkness. There was no light shining out of any of the windows.

  Lord Locke drew his horse to a standstill under some trees opposite the front door.

  As Perry drew alongside him, he said,

  “I should imagine that we have come here more quickly than the carriage because it is longer by road, but they should arrive at any moment now.”

  Perry did not answer.

  He was adjusting his evening cape and thinking that it was extremely uncomfortable to ride in evening clothes.

  He and Lord Locke were both wearing the long drainpipe trousers invented by the Prince Regent and on less formal occasions they replaced the knee-breeches that had hitherto been compulsory for dinner.

  “The house certainly looks gloomy,” Perry ventured at last.

  “Sir Robert has not yet been buried,” Lord Locke replied.

  As he spoke, he turned his head.

  He was looking down the long drive.

  At the far end of it was the churchyard, where he knew that Sir Robert would soon be laid to rest.

  Perry also turned to look in the same direction and then he exclaimed,

  “Is that the Church? If so, they must be holding a Service.”

  As he spoke, Lord Locke saw that there were lights showing through the branches of the trees.

  “By God! That is where they have taken Gytha!” he almost shouted.

  He spurred his horse forward as he spoke and galloped down the long drive.

  He reached the lychgate of the churchyard.

  He saw, as he had expected, a closed carriage standing outside it.

  The coachman was sitting on the box and there was a footman standing beside the horses.

  Lord Locke flung himself from the saddle.

  Sharply and in a tone of authority he demanded of the footman,

  “Hold our horses.”

  Then he and Perry were racing up the narrow path that led from the lychgate to the Church door.

  *

  The carriage containing Gytha had been travelling for nearly a mile before she spoke again.

  Then she said in a low pleading voice,

  “Please – Cousin Vincent – listen to me. I am prepared to – give you every penny – I possess if I do not have to – marry you.”

  “I don’t intend to discuss it with you any further,” Vincent answered sharply. “You will marry me and I am not making idle threats when I say that I will wound you if you make a fuss.”

  He added with a sneer,

  “Moreover I will certainly make sure that your precious Lord Locke does not escape me another time.”

  “Perhaps dear little Gytha would rather marry me!” Jonathan then chimed in.

  “Shut up!” Vincent said rudely. “I have no intention of having my plans disrupted and I have promised to look after you once I have Gytha’s money in my hands.”

  “I only hope you will keep your word,” Jonathan whined.

 
“I consider it an insult that you should question it,” Vincent retorted.

  Hearing the two brothers wrangling with each other, Gytha wanted to scream.

  It was what, she thought, she would have to listen to for the rest of her life and inevitably the bone of contention between them would always be her money.

  The idea was just so horrible.

  She was praying again for Lord Locke and she felt as if her whole being winged towards him.

  She had, however, little hope that he could come in time to save her.

  Once she was married to Vincent, there would be no escape.

  She would be his wife.

  No one, not even Lord Locke, could then take her away from him.

  ‘I love – you! I love – you!’ she cried in her heart. ‘Save – me! Oh, please – save – me!’

  The horses came to a standstill.

  She saw the lychgate through the carriage window and knew that her last hope had now gone.

  The footman climbed down from the box to open the door.

  Jonathan stepped out first, followed by Vincent.

  They walked each side of her up the path that led to the Church porch.

  She felt like a prisoner being taken to the place of execution.

  As they passed her mother’s grave, she gave one last silent cry for help.

  ‘Help me, Mama, help me! If I have to – marry Vincent – then I must die, for I could – not tolerate living – with him!”

  It was a cry of sheer desperation.

  She felt that she was drowning and the waters were closing over her.

  Then they entered the Church and the candles were lit on the altar.

  The old Vicar who had christened her and whom she had known all her life was waiting in the nave.

  At the sight of him she thought that here was one last chance.

  He was very old and rather deaf.

  She knew, however, that if she pleaded with him, he would refuse to marry her to Vincent.

  Instinctively Vincent guessed what was passing through her mind.

  He stopped still and said in a low voice,

  “If you make a scene or try to persuade the old fool not to marry us, I will shoot him as well as you. So keep your mouth shut unless you want his blood on your hands.”

  Gytha did not reply.

  She only closed her eyes.

  She felt it was impossible that any man who bore her father’s name could be so utterly despicable.

  Vincent put her hand through his arm.

  He started to walk slowly and with what he thought was dignity up the aisle.

  Jonathan followed behind them.

  They reached the altar steps and stopped in front of the Vicar.

  He was going blind and he peered at Gytha through his spectacles.

  Then he smiled at her.

  “Bless you, my child,” he said. “I understand that you wish to be married to your cousin Vincent.”

  Gytha parted her lips to insist that it was the last thing she wanted.

  “You have the Special Licence,” Vincent said in a hard voice to the Vicar. “Get on with the Service.”

  He spoke in a manner that would have been unpardonably rude to any servant.

  But it was grossly insulting to an elderly Clergyman.

  The Vicar looked at Vincent reprovingly.

  And Gytha had a faint hope that he would refuse to marry them.

  Slowly he opened his Prayer Book and began the Marriage Service,

  “Dearly Beloved. We are gathered together here – ”

  “Cut all that!” Vincent ordered. “And just marry us.”

  “I have been performing the Marriage Service for many years, Mr. Sullivan,” the Vicar replied quietly, “and I will not alter what is set down by God in the Prayer Book.”

  “Very well,” Vincent said sullenly, “but we are in a hurry.”

  Deliberately slowly because he was shocked by Vincent’s behaviour, the Vicar began again,

  “Dearly Beloved. We are – ”

  At that moment there was a clatter of footsteps outside the Church.

  Gytha held her breath.

  She heard the door that Jonathan had closed behind them being pushed open open.

  She knew with a leap of her heart who had now come into the Church.

  “Stop this marriage!” Lord Locke’s voice rang out.

  It seemed to echo round and round the building.

  Gytha turned to see him coming down the aisle.

  As she did so, she was aware that Vincent was pulling his pistol from his pocket.

  “Be – careful! Be – careful!” she screamed. “He will – shoot you!”

  As she spoke, she flung herself against Vincent.

  She tried to force the pistol that was pointing at Lord Locke up into the air.

  Vincent thrust her violently away from him.

  In doing so he inadvertently pulled the trigger.

  With a resounding explosion a bullet seared its way into one of the pillars.

  It gave Lord Locke time to reach Vincent.

  With a strong uppercut on the chin he knocked him over the communion rail round the altar and he fell unconscious on the other side of it.

  As he did so, Jonathan gave a cry of horror.

  Lord Locke then turned and punched him in the same manner.

  He fell backwards onto the tiled floor with a crash.

  Gytha had staggered when Vincent pushed her away from him, but she had not lost her balance.

  With shining eyes she threw herself against Lord Locke, crying,

  “You – came! You – came! I prayed to you to – save me, but I – thought you would be – too late.”

  As he looked down at her, they heard the old Vicar ask quaveringly,

  “What is happening? This is wrong, very wrong in God’s house!”

  “I am sorry – Vicar,” Gytha said a little unsteadily, “but – I was being forced into – marriage against my – will and now Lord Locke has – saved me.”

  “Against your will, my child?” the Vicar repeated. “Why did you not tell me so? I thought such a hasty marriage was wrong, but that it was what you wished.”

  “I will see to it that everything is explained to you tomorrow,” Lord Locke said, “but first I must take Gytha away.”

  In a quiet calm voice he went on,

  “I suggest, Vicar, that you go back to the Vicarage and leave the two Sullivan brothers, who have behaved so disgracefully to recover their senses.”

  The Vicar looked around him in a bewildered fashion.

  Lord Locke saw that lying on the side table next to the altar there was a Special Licence.

  He bent over the rail and picked it up.

  He noticed as he did so that Vincent, sprawled in an undignified position on the other side of it, was still unconscious.

  There was a faint smile on his lips and he put his arm around Gytha and helped her down the aisle.

  Perry having said a few further words of apology to the Vicar followed them.

  By the time they had walked through the churchyard the sky was dark and the stars were just coming out one by one.

  They reached the lychgate.

  As they did so, they saw coming down the road the lights of Lord Locke’s carriage drawn by fine four horses.

  Lord Locke with his arm around Gytha’s shoulders could feel her trembling against him.

  The carriage came to a standstill and the footman jumped down from the box.

  “Ride Hercules home, James,” he ordered. “Major Westington will show you the way.”

  “Very good, my Lord.”

  Lord Locke’s horse and Perry’s were still being held by Vincent’s groom, who was staring at them open-mouthed.

  Perry opened the door of the carriage.

  Lord Locke, having lifted Gytha in, stood outside and spoke to Perry in a low voice.

  He was giving him, Gytha was sure, instructions.

  She could not hea
r what they were and she had no wish to do so.

  All she was thinking and feeling was that like the Archangel Michael, Lord Locke had saved her.

  He had swept down from the Heavens at the very last moment.

  She had thought despairingly that she was completely and utterly lost.

  Then she heard Perry say,

  “I will do what you say, Valiant, and let me add that I have never seen you in better form. Gentleman Jackson would have been proud of you!”

  “I am rather proud of myself,” Lord Locke said with a smile.

  He stepped into the carriage and the horses turned round to drive back the way they had come.

  Lord Locke put his arms around Gytha and pulled her gently against him.

  “It’s all over,” he said quietly, “but this must never happen again.”

  It was then for the first time that Gytha burst into tears and hid her face against his shoulder.

  She was crying with sheer relief because her prayers had been answered.

  “You – saved me, you – saved me,” she whispered. “I-I knew that – if I had to – marry Vincent – I would rather – d-die.”

  “It’s all over,” Lord Locke assured her again.

  He touched her shoulder soothingly as he spoke and realised that she was very cold.

  “You must be frozen,” he exclaimed.

  He undid the clasp of his evening cloak, drew it from his shoulders and wrapped it round her.

  Then once again he pulled her close to him and she was no longer crying.

  “How could – you have been so – wonderful as to come so – quickly?” she asked. “I thought you would not – understand what had – happened to me and even if you – followed us – you would be – too late.”

  “You are not to think about it anymore.”

  She looked up at him.

  As there was a candle-lantern alight inside the carriage, he could see the fear in her eyes.

  Her lips were trembling as she said,

  “Vincent – said if I did not – marry him – he would – kill you.”

  “Did that upset you?” Lord Locke asked.

  “Upset – me?” Gytha repeated. “How can you – ask such a – silly question? How can I let you die? How – can I bear it – if he wounded you?”

  There was an agony in her voice.

  It revealed very clearly her terror that such a thing might still happen.

  “Then if you feel like that,” Lord Locke said, “I have a very easy solution to offer.”