Blaze Wyndham

by Bertrice Small

  Easing himself gracefully from his saddle, Anthony walked over to Blaze’s mount. Lifting her down, he felt her stiffen as his fingers tightened about her narrow waist.

  She moved away from him as quickly as possible, saying as she did, “I am ravenous, sir. I hope this halt is so we may eat. I am certain the Ashby cook has not let you get away without providing food for our journey.”

  “The halt is mainly for the benefit of the horses and so that the men may relieve themselves, madam,” he said wickedly, enjoying the deep blush that reddened her cheeks.

  “Ohh, you are insufferable!” she cried.

  “Perhaps you would like to relieve yourself,” he said, continuing his gibing. “We will not stop again until we reach RiversEdge.”

  “Cease your teasing, Master Anthony!” said Heartha, who had managed to dismount her pony by herself. “Ohh, he’s got a wicked reputation for such behavior, my lady. Pay him no mind. There’s a lovely spot over there by those trees for you to rest and eat. Poor lamb,” she rattled on, “ye’ve had naught to eat today, have ye? Well, the Ashby cook did pack a fine basket, which is in the coach. As for you, Master Anthony, ’twill be up to the countess as to whether you gets anything to eat or not.” She led Blaze to the spot she had so quickly located. A small narrow brook not clearly visible from the road tumbled over its rocky bed just past the trees where Heartha ensconced her mistress.

  “Oh, how lovely,” said Blaze as she knelt down to bathe her face and hands in the crystal cold water. Then, spreading her skirts, she sat down, her back against a tree.

  Heartha, who had gone to the coach to fetch the basket of food, now hurried back with it. Blaze motioned her servant to sit, and together they rummaged through the contents. Within the basket were two loaves of freshly baked bread, each loaf carefully wrapped in a linen napkin with a small slab of marble that had been heated to keep the bread warm, which it still was. There was a small pat of butter, and a wedge of hard yellow cheese. There was a broiled rabbit which had been cut into several pieces, a little plum cake, several apples, a few pears, and a small corked bottle of sweet golden wine.

  “Eat!” Blaze encouraged her tiring woman as she tore into a loaf of bread, spread it generously with the butter, and topped it with a slice of cheese she cut off the wedge with her own knife. “Ummmm,” she said happily, and reaching for the wine bottle uncorked it. Heartha held out a cup, which Blaze filled while chewing happily upon the bread and cheese. Swallowing, she reached for the cup and quaffed down a deep swallow. “Oh, that tastes so good! Heartha, eat something yourself. I can’t finish this all.”

  “What of Master Anthony, my lady?”

  Blaze looked toward the road where Anthony Wyndham stood amongst his men speaking while they appeared to be eating something. “What are the men eating, Heartha?”

  “They carry wine and bread with them, my lady.”

  “Does Lord Anthony have a ration?”

  “I do not know, my lady. I believe he expected to dine with you.”

  Blaze frowned. “I cannot let him go hungry as he leads our party,” she said. “Take him some food then, Heartha.”

  “ ’Twould be unkind before the men, my lady,” Heartha gently advised her young mistress. “You should really ask him to join you.”

  Blaze’s pretty mouth made a moue of annoyance, but she nodded to her servant. “Very well, then, Heartha. Ask him to join me.”

  Anthony came, silently determined not to offend this prickly new aunt of his. That Blaze seemed to dislike him was evident to him, although he did not really know why, for their acquaintance was much too short for her to have formed an opinion. Perhaps because he was Edmund’s heir right now she resented him. Proprietary little witch, he thought, amused. He hoped that once she found he was not really a threat she would like him better. They were a small family, and they should be close, for a close family was a strong family. It was time, he suddenly realized, that he choose himself a wife. Perhaps one of the other fetching Morgan sisters would do him. Gentle Blythe was a possibility, or perhaps the merry Delight.

  Reaching Blaze, he was his most charming. “Thank you, my lady, for offering to share your meal with me. May I sit?”

  She nodded regally, motioning with her hand to a place opposite her. Then, handing him a napkin with buttered bread, cheese, and the haunch of a rabbit, she said, “Eat, Master Anthony.”

  His fine white teeth tore into the meat, and quickly he stripped the bone clean. Fascinated, Blaze handed him another piece of the rabbit, which disappeared as swiftly, to be followed by the bread. Blaze nibbled daintily upon a single piece of meat, her appetite having been eased by the bread and cheese.

  “Wine, sir?” she offered him as with her nodded permission he helped himself to more bread and cheese.

  “I’ve some of my own, thank you, madam, and there is, I think, just enough for you. I would not deprive you.”

  There was little other conversation between them. Blaze broke the plum cake into three pieces, sharing it with Anthony and Heartha. When she had devoured the sweet, a particular favorite of hers, she ate both an apple and a pear. As nervous as she was about getting to RiversEdge—and they were already halfway there—she felt at ease for this break in their journey.

  Anthony Wyndham wiped his hands upon the napkin, and arose saying, “We will be on our way shortly, my lady. Forgive my lack of delicacy, but this really is the last opportunity you will have before we resume our journey to, ah, attend to, ah, personal matters for yourself.” Then, before she might reply, he turned and hurried off.

  “He is right, my lady, and nothing’s more uncomfortable than riding along when one has to ... well, you know, my lady,” put in Heartha.

  “Aye,” said Blaze with a grin, “I know, but ’tis still very annoying to have to be constantly reminded, as if I were a child, Heartha. Keep watch for me now.”

  They continued upon their journey, and soon they could see the River Wye before them stretching its silvery self in the warm, golden midafternoon sunlight. When they finally reached its banks a ferryman was awaiting to transport them across the water.

  “Is this the bride then?” he asked Anthony frankly.

  “Aye, Rumford, this is your new mistress, the Countess of Langford. Madam, may I present to you the keeper of the Michaelschurch ferry, Master Rumford.”

  Blaze smiled at the weathered man. “I’ve never crossed a river before,” she said. “It cannot be an easy task to bring the boat safely to the shore each time, Rumford.”

  “Aye, m’lady, and a child could do it,” the ferryman replied modestly, pulling his cap from his head and bobbing politely. “I’ve been the boatman for his lordship since my father grew too old for it, and I’ve three sons to carry on after me. ’Tis Rumford business to guide the boats, and yer not to worry, for the old Wye is as smooth as glass today. ’Twill be no more than a glide across a millpond.”

  The ferryman was true to his word, and three trips saw them all safely across the river and on the other side.

  “You’re now on Langford land,” said Master Anthony. “There are two roads to RiversEdge from here. The more direct one runs along the river, and the house is but three miles away. If you are not too tired, Edmund wanted you to go the long way around, which will take you through two of his villages before you reach RiversEdge. I was to leave it up to you.”

  Blaze stretched in her saddle. More than anything she wanted to reach her journey’s end and have a hot tub. She had never ridden so far in her life. She was both tired and sore. Still, it was important that she get off on the right foot with her husband. He wanted her to do this. “We’ll visit the villages,” she said quietly.

  “Good girl!” he approved, and though his patronizing tone annoyed her, she was relieved to have her judgment confirmed.

  Afterward she was glad that she had done it. The warmth of her welcome and the obvious approval of the villagers in Michaelschurch cheered her, giving her courage for what was to come. They poured f
rom their houses smiling and greeting her with friendly words. A small girl rushed up to her mare to press a hastily made bouquet of Mary’s Gold and asters into her hand. She smiled down at the child, calling her thanks, and received a host of, “God bless yer ladyship,” from the little lass’s family. Her welcome in the second village was even warmer, and her cheeks grew pink as she overheard several groups of goodwives loudly approving her form as a good one for successful childbearing.

  “They mean well,” Master Anthony said, “and though they do not wish to embarrass you, they are anxious that my uncle have an heir of his loins.”

  “I understand,” said Blaze tightly. “Is that not the purpose of this marriage? Has it not been drummed into my head for the last two months?” She smiled and waved at the last of the villagers as they passed by them by moving out onto the open road again.

  “Edmund is a good man,” Anthony ventured. “I hope you will learn to love one another. I believe that love is important to a marriage.”

  “Did my lord love his first wife?”

  “Aye, he loved Cathy. They had known each other since they were children.”

  Blaze grew silent. If he loved his first wife, was he capable of loving her? Oh, she hoped so! She did not know what love between a man and a woman was, but she knew that she wanted to feel that most fabled and desired of emotions. To think of going through life without knowing that emotion was very frightening.

  Then suddenly Anthony said, “Look! There is RiversEdge.”

  They had climbed to the top of a hill, and below them, the River Wye, its eastern boundary, RiversEdge was placed like a fine jewel within a parklike setting. Its well-tended gardens were abloom with early-autumn color. The house was built in the shape of an H to honor the king who had elevated the Wyndhams to their earldom. It was of dark redbrick, its walls embraced by shiny green ivy. From the gray slate roof at least half a dozen chimneys soared. Blaze could see the busy daily activity about the house as they descended the hill, and her heart began to beat quite quickly.

  She dared not look for fear of what she might see. What if she were disappointed in him? What if he were disappointed in her? Of its own volition her mare came to a stop. Strong hands reached up and clamped themselves around her waist, lifting her from her mount’s back and setting her firmly upon the ground.

  The thumb and forefinger of an elegant hand caught her chin and tilted her head up. She found herself staring into a pair of the warmest and kindest brown eyes she had ever seen. The most beautiful voice she had ever heard—a deep and caressing voice—said, “Welcome home, Blaze Wyndham. I am your husband, Edmund.” The eyes twinkled down at her. “I am most anxious to know if I meet with your approval, madam.”

  “Oh, yes, my lord!” she burst out, the relief in her voice very evident. Then she blushed, realizing how her words must sound to him, but Edmund Wyndham laughed.

  “It only dawned upon me this morning as I awoke that although I had been most happy to carry away from Ashby a miniature of you, you had no possible idea of what I might look like because I thoughtlessly neglected to send you a miniature. I hope you will forgive me, Blaze. I promise I shall make up for that neglect if you will but let me.”

  Again she blushed. Did his words hold a deeper meaning than they appeared to, or was she simply imagining it? Seeing her confusion, Edmund Wyndham tucked her small hand within the safety of his, and led his bride into the house. She was very charming, he thought. He realized that he was surprised by her complete innocence, but then, should he be? His single visit to Ashby had told him the complete and utter isolation of the Morgans’ life.

  As for Blaze, she was greatly relieved to have a moment to recover her poise. She could not yet believe her good fortune. When she had hidden with her sisters behind that hedge at Ashby and spied upon Lord Wyndham and her father, she had not really been able to see him, nor had it even mattered at the time. Then she had learned her fate, and she could not for the life of her remember any of the earl’s features. Now she was delighted to discover that she was married to an extremely handsome man. How envious Bliss would be if she but knew!

  She must write to her sisters! Write and tell them that her husband was as tall as Lord Anthony. That his hair was a dark brown, and that his eyes were the warm color of sherry wine. Curiously she gazed down at the hand holding hers. It was not an overly big hand, but large, the fingers long with well-shaped almost square nails. He was dressed in black velvet with a doublet that was heavily encrusted with jewels. The dark fabric made his fair skin even fairer.

  He led her into the Great Hall of RiversEdge, a marvelous room with a soaring ceiling and carved beams that were gilded with a scrolled design. There were four huge fireplaces, all burning fragrant cherry wood, and beautiful windows which lined both sides of the hall high up. Through those windows that faced west could be seen the beginning of sunset. The high board was carved beautifully of golden oak. Behind it, centered, were two thronelike high-backed chairs. The room was filled with servants.

  “I know how tired you must be, Blaze,” the beautiful voice said in a low, intimate tone meant just for her, “but can you compose yourself just enough to greet your servants, my dear?”

  “Yes, my lord,” she answered him softly, thinking: If you asked me to fly to the moon right at this minute, I believe that I could. Was there another man alive so thoughtful and kind? She had been so afraid that he would be like his arrogant and mocking nephew.

  The next few minutes passed, and it was as if she were within her own body looking out at all that happened about her. She greeted all of the house servants and the headmen of the outdoor hierarchy graciously, smiling, and with a kind word for each. Her mother, she thought, would have been proud of her, for she hid her real feelings well. All she wanted to do was to be alone with this man with the marvelous voice. To learn more about him, to please him. Yet she stood straight, doing her duty as the new Countess of Langford, until the last servant had gone his or her way.

  “That was well done,” the earl approved, to her intense delight, when they were once more alone in the Great Hall. “You are tired, I can see. Let me take you to your apartments, my dear. When you have bathed and are comfortable, I have arranged for us to have supper within your chambers if that pleases you.”

  “Oh, yes, I should like that very much,” Blaze told him. “It was just about this time yesterday afternoon that I learned I was to come to you today. It has all happened so quickly that I can scarcely believe that I am here myself.”

  Edmund Wyndham smiled at her ingenuousness. “I realize,” he said, “that having our wedding date changed so precipitously must have been a shock, but I am certain that Tony explained to you and your parents the pressing reasons for it. You came through Michaelschurch and Wyeton, and you could see yourself the happiness that your arrival has generated. The events of this summer have frightened my people. There were those old and superstitious goodwives who claimed that someone had put the evil eye upon Langford, her master, and its people. It was necessary that I counteract such rumors as quickly as possible. I would not have stolen your wedding day from you except for those circumstances. I shall make it up to you, however, Blaze Wyndham. That I promise you.”

  They had walked from the Great Hall while he was speaking, and he had led her up a wide staircase and down a wide hallway that was lined with windows on one side. Stopping before a dark oak door and turning the brass handle on the door, the earl flung it wide. Then to her complete surprise he picked her up and carried her over the threshold into the room. When he placed her back upon her feet Blaze was not quite certain that she was going to be able to stand, for her legs were suddenly wobbly.

  “I will leave you in Heartha’s capable hands,” he said quietly. “When you are ready to receive me, you have but to send for me.” Taking her by the shoulders, he placed a gentle kiss upon her brow, and turning, left her.

  Blaze stood there rooted to the floor, staring at the door which had closed behind him
. She should get down on her knees and thank the Blessed Mother for providing her with such a wonderful and kind husband. She almost laughed aloud to think of how reticent she had been about this marriage. Ohh, if only he would love her! she thought. She believed she was already falling in love with him.

  “My lady.” Heartha lightly touched her shoulder.

  Blaze looked up and laughed softly. “I think I have been moonstruck,” she said in gentle self-mockery.

  “We all want you to feel that way about him,” said the tiring woman quietly. “He is such a good man, my lady, yet his luck these last few years has not been good. We all believe that you will bring him good fortune as well as healthy children. Come now, your bath is ready for you.”

  For the first time since she had entered the house, Blaze concentrated upon her surroundings. The receiving room in which she stood was paneled in linenfold paneling. Upon the well-polished wide board floors was a beautiful red-and-blue wool carpet such as she had never seen. At Ashby the hall floor was covered with herbs and rushes, and the bedchamber floors were bare except in deep winter, when they had sheepskins upon the cold boards. The lead-paned casement windows were hung with French-blue velvet draperies. The furniture was carved and polished oak, and upon a long table was a pottery bowl filled with pink roses. A cheerful fire burned in the fireplace.

  Blaze had never seen such a lovely room, but she had scarce time to admire it, for Heartha was leading her into her bedchamber. Blaze’s mouth made a small O as she viewed this second room. Like the receiving room, the bedchamber walls were linenfold panels and the windows velvet-draped. The great oak bedstead was also hung with the soft blue velvet. The bedchamber had a fireplace too that even now warmed the room. There were several carved oak chests about the chamber, and small tables set on either side of the bed. Upon each was a silver candlestick with a pure beeswax taper.