His Bride Page 13

  That night, when Gwyneth was alone in her bedchamber, she told herself that she’d won a victory of sorts. But it didn’t help with the loneliness, and she tried not to think of her family, so many boisterous, happy voices in one small house. She’d already sent them several letters, but she knew it would be weeks, if not months, before she heard back.

  She knew better than to expect Edmund to come to her bed. She wanted more kisses. She wanted his hands on her, touching her in other places—and she wanted them both to be naked while he did it. She imagined him in the great bed at her side, whispering words of love, looking at her as if she was the most important thing in his life. She sighed at her foolish dreams.

  She’d made inroads today, winning a skirmish, not the battle. It was time to begin seducing her husband in earnest, and if she had to learn as she went along, so be it.

  Chapter 11

  At midmorning the next day, Edmund was working with the masons he’d brought from Richmond. He’d had to hire extra workers to repair a wall in an empty wing of the castle. It was heavy physical work dealing with large slabs of stone, and in only a few hours, he and the men were sweaty and exhausted.

  The sun was at its zenith and he was helping to build wooden braces to hold a freshly mortared section of the wall in place when a low buzz seemed to move through the workers. The man he was working beside straightened with a smile.

  Puzzled, Edmund turned around to find the whole contingent of maidservants from the castle gathered around Gwyneth. When had his household staff grown so big? Each of the women held a bowl or pan, and beside them a trestle table was being set up. Gwyneth spread out a large tablecloth, then directed where she wanted the food to be placed. The women giggled and eyed the appreciative male audience, who’d already begun to set down their tools and move toward the feast.

  Edmund watched dispassionately, knowing he’d forgotten to tell Gwyneth that the workers brought their own meals. As she stood among the men piling their plates with food, she smiled at each compliment, but her gaze sought and found his. She lifted her chin a bit, as if to say, “You won’t eat with me? Then I’ll bring the food to you.”

  Wiping his hands on a rag, he limped toward her. That confident smile never left her face, and she boldly slid her arm around his waist before all the men.

  “A good afternoon, husband,” she said demurely, but her eyes glinted at him.

  He nodded. “Gwyneth.” He studied the food, trying to pretend that with a single touch of her body she was not undoing all his efforts to be objective about her. He had no choice but to let his arm drape itself across her back and his hand rest on her hip. Beside him, she seemed a shy, fragile wisp, not meant to bear well the regard of so many men—or the weight of his body. But she continued to surprise him.

  She looked up at him innocently. “I hope you were ready to stop for a meal.”

  “How could I refuse when you’ve offered the men such temptation?”

  She blushed, which only brought out the sparkle in her brown eyes. “I hope you mean the food.”

  A man nearby overheard her and laughed out loud, then ended on a cough when Edmund gave him a sharp glance.

  “What else would I mean?” he asked, knowing he was challenging her.

  She only shrugged and stepped away from him. “Come, my lord, rest yourself while I prepare you a plate.”

  “I can serve myself,” he said.

  “Then indulge me by allowing me to serve you.”

  She pushed him toward an empty bench in the shade of a tree near the garden but still well in view of all the men. Most people were openly smiling at Gwyneth’s antics. He imagined not many men thought he’d let a woman be playful with him.

  When he finally sat back heavily on the bench, Gwyneth stood above him, resting her hands on his shoulders. He stilled when she began gently rubbing the muscles in his neck.

  “You are very stiff and tense,” she said, wearing a delicate frown of concentration.

  She didn’t know how stiff. Edmund couldn’t stop staring at her lovely face, and then lower to a bodice that was more revealing than the one she’d worn on their rent-collecting journey. It gaped away from her breasts until only their peaks escaped his gaze. He stood there stupidly staring down her gown, wishing he could touch, wishing even more that he could taste.

  Suddenly she leaned toward him, and he was too stunned to avoid the kiss she pressed to his cheek.

  With a waft of subtle perfume, she left him, walking back toward the table of food, her hips swaying in an ancient, alluring rhythm. She looked over her shoulder, saw that he was still watching, laughed, and gave a little wave.

  He knew he should go back to work immediately, should pretend that he wasn’t hungry—anything to escape this assault on his senses and on his resolve.

  But Gwyneth was too quick for him. She came back with a full plate, like a courtier bearing gifts to her king.

  “You’ll need to spread your knees,” she said softly.

  With his mind no longer functioning properly, he could think of no reason not to do as she wished. To his amazement, she perched on his left knee and handed him the plate. From a pouch at her waist, she removed a spoon, an eating knife, and a napkin.

  When she went to spread the napkin over his lap, he said hoarsely, “I can manage that.”

  She smiled up into his face. “Of course you can. Forgive me.”

  Knowing he had to stop looking at her and start eating, he turned to his right and began to put food into his mouth. He wasn’t sure about what he was eating. It all tasted rather bland and identical, since his senses were consumed by the feel of Gwyneth’s backside pressed into his thigh. Her gaze was a caress that left scorching heat in its wake. He might have finally melted under her innocent seduction if he hadn’t caught sight of Geoff turning a corner of the castle and coming to a halt. His friend seemed confused at first until he looked at Edmund and Gwyneth. Then his smile turned into a broad grin, as if Edmund had openly confessed that he trusted in her innocence and was now going to follow her to bed.

  “Gwyneth, stand up,” Edmund said in a low voice, as Geoff began to walk toward them.

  “But why? Surely Geoffrey understands that we’re married.”

  Edmund shifted his knee as if he was going to spill her into the dirt. She rose hastily and gave him a searching glance.

  “What a cozy display,” Geoff said, giving a dramatic court bow to Gwyneth, one leg bent, the other straight. “Is there plenty for another hungry mouth?”

  Without thinking, Edmund curtly said, “Plenty of what?”

  Geoff only laughed and regarded him a little too intently.

  Gwyneth smiled. “If you see nothing to your liking at the table, Geoffrey, just tell me, and I’ll search out more in the kitchen.”

  “I’ll be content with whatever morsels are here, my lady. Perhaps you could point out a good selection.”

  When she glanced uncertainly at Edmund, he found himself suddenly reluctant to let her go. How ridiculous.

  “I’m going back to work,” he said, handing his plate to Gwyneth, who took it with perhaps a touch of disappointment showing in her eyes. “See to Geoff.”

  For the next hour Edmund caught glimpses of Gwyneth walking among his workers. They smiled when she left them with a few simple words of kindness, and seemed to work even harder. More and more this castle seemed like a home, and it was all because of her. It made him feel wary, as though he should be looking over his shoulder.

  That night, as Gwyneth walked down the corridor toward her bedchamber, Lucy opened her own door just as she passed. The draft almost blew out Gwyneth’s candle, and she shielded it as she smiled at her friend.

  “Milady, I’m so sorry I startled ye.”

  “Think nothing of it, Lucy. Could you not sleep?”

  The girl shook her head, then motioned her to enter. By the light of the fire and the few scattered candles, Gwyneth could see that the room was much cozier than it had been the last tim
e she was there. The rushes on the floor had been changed, and the bed was hung with curtains. An old chair and small table were positioned near the hearth. Lucy guided her to the chair, and Gwyneth took a seat as Lucy pulled up a stool.

  “Milady, I have a question for ye, and I hope ye don’t think me forward.”

  “Go ahead, Lucy, and please, can’t you go back to calling me Gwyneth?”

  “I don’t want to forget meself when I’m with the other servants,” she said, even as she fiddled with her skirt and avoided Gwyneth’s eyes. “Milady, aren’t ye…afraid of your husband?”

  “Afraid?” she echoed, surprised.

  “Well, I saw ye sittin’ on his lap outside today. Ye treat him like a man ye wanted to marry. And the way ye look at him…”

  The girl trailed off, obviously uncomfortable.

  “Why should I be afraid?”

  “I’ve been speakin’ with the other servants, milady, and though I don’t mean to be passin’ on rumors, they say”—she lowered her voice even as she stared purposefully into Gwyneth’s eyes—“that he killed his first wife.”

  “That isn’t true, you know,” Gwyneth said calmly.

  “How can ye be so certain?”

  “You know that his first wife was my cousin. I’m not permitted to speak in any detail, but I was with her the last few months of her life. Sir Edmund was in France when she died.”

  Lucy shook her head. “Still, he could have hired someone. Everyone thinks it, so there must be a reason they’re all ready to believe such a thing. And milady—ye don’t sleep in the same chamber.”

  “You don’t know him as I do, Lucy. And the rest of them won’t take the time to know him. He’s nothing like he shows the world. I find him…intriguing, and I want to prove to him that he can trust me.”

  “Do ye love him?” she asked, wide-eyed.

  “I don’t know,” Gwyneth said thoughtfully. “But I am willing to try.”

  The next morning, Gwyneth was up and dressed before dawn, unable to wait for the servants to bring her bath water. She had a busy day planned, and the first obstacle to get by was her husband. She had to catch him before he escaped the castle.

  After walking into the servants’ wing, she knocked briskly on Edmund’s door. She heard a muffled, “Come in,” so with surprise, she lifted the latch and entered.

  Edmund stood with his back to her before a cupboard on the far side of the room, naked from the waist up. She stared in wonder at the broad, flexing muscles of his back as he pointed at the hearth.

  “I’ve set the tub before the fire. You may start filling it up.”

  “But I haven’t brought any water,” she said softly, walking toward him.

  He turned around very quickly for a man with a lame leg, then stood unmoving as she approached within a foot of him. She lifted a hand, meaning to touch that wondrous chest.

  “Don’t.”

  Frozen, she looked up at him, wishing she could understand whatever he was hiding. “But I want you to kiss me again.”

  Tension crackled between them.

  “I seem to recall that I did not initiate that kiss,” he said, so mildly that she was disappointed.

  “But do you not want to?” She placed her palm on his chest, regardless of his wishes. His skin was hot, and she wanted to lean into him.

  “Of course I want to,” he murmured, leaving her hand where it was. “But we need more time. We barely know each other, and I do not want you to be hurt.”

  “You won’t hurt me,” she whispered, sliding her palm across the hair on his chest. When her touch swept over his nipple, she lingered, and she could see his swift inhalation.

  He gently took her wrist and held her hand away. “Why did you come to my chamber?” he asked, his voice huskier than before.

  She hesitated, still staring at his chest, feeling befuddled, before she finally shook herself and looked up into his impassive eyes. “I would like your permission to walk to the village.”

  He frowned. “It would take more than an hour. And the roads can be dangerous.”

  “I don’t mind the journey. I’m a strong woman.”

  He lifted one eyebrow. “And what would your errand be?”

  “I would like to visit the villagers that you introduced me to. Mrs. Haskell gave me a list of people who could use work. I’m rather worried about harvesting the kitchen gardens and the orchards.”

  “I already have men to help.”

  “But aren’t they needed in the fields?”

  He shrugged.

  “Then ’tis good that I go. Perhaps you could send a groom to escort me, a lad you trust.”

  “I would want you to ride a pillion behind him.”

  “On a horse?” she said, aghast. “Without you to keep me from falling? Nay, we can walk. So who do you suggest?”

  He touched her chin, and she held her breath, wondering, hoping that he might kiss her. He just stared seriously into her eyes.

  “And if I ask you not to leave the castle?”

  “You will confine me here?”

  “Nay, but if I ever need to ask such a thing of you, will you obey me?”

  “Well, you are my husband.”

  He slid his fingers up to cup her cheek. “Does that mean you will obey me?”

  “Aye,” she answered, wanting to rub against his palm like a lonely kitten. “But I pray you would at least tell me why.”

  “If I can.” He lowered his hand. “Ask for Will at the stables. He’s a sandy-haired lad with a good head on his shoulders. Be home before supper, so you don’t lose the light.”

  “Thank you, Edmund.” She smiled up at him, wishing she could come up with a reason to stay.

  But there was a knock on the door and servants lugging in buckets of water, and she found herself in the corridor with Edmund firmly closing the door in her face.

  How had he done that? she wondered with frustration. She stayed in the great hall until the servants had left Edmund’s wing of the castle. She even waited a few extra moments for good measure. Then she marched back to his bedchamber, took a deep breath, knocked quickly, and walked right in.

  “Oh, my,” she breathed, and promptly forgot whatever excuse she’d made up for barging in.

  Edmund had been leaning back in the tub, his thick arms resting on the edge, one leg bent in the water, the other resting on the rim of the tub. After she’d burst in, he sat up so straight that half the water must have sloshed out the sides and formed pools about it.

  “Edmund, forgive me for startling you,” she said with forced sincerity, even as she walked toward him.

  “What are you doing here?”

  His voice was a growl that did not scare her.

  “I—I forgot the groom’s name,” she said, hoping that God forgave her the lie. “My, I wouldn’t have believed you could fit inside that tub.”

  And then she was standing over him. Before her eager gaze could move lower than his damp, hairy chest, he snatched a towel off the stool and dropped it across his hips. Gwyneth could only sigh as it soaked through and sank to cover him.

  “The groom’s name is Will,” he said. “He works in the stables, in case that slipped your mind as well. Now would you mind leaving, so I can enjoy my bath in peace?”

  Not breaking their shared gaze, she dipped her fingers in the water, then splashed a few droplets across his chest. “You cannot enjoy your bath with your wife waiting on you?”

  This time she was certain he hesitated.

  “I have not needed help bathing since I was a child.”

  “I understand. But I would like to kiss you again. Therefore, in order to make me leave, you shall have to oblige me.”

  He frowned. She grinned. But his gaze was on her mouth. Resting both hands on the tub, she leaned over him. Edmund tipped his head back to look at her. He was not smiling, but she thought she saw reluctant amusement in his blue eyes.

  “You have grown quite bold for a new wife. Allow me to explain certain facts
to you. I am in command of this castle. When I call, my servants will come running.”

  “And they will certainly be aghast when they see the lady of the castle in her husband’s bedchamber. ‘How dare she?’ will be the horrified comment that spreads throughout the castle.”

  Closing his eyes, he sighed. “Will you not be reasonable about this? I have much to do today, and the delay—”

  “Is your own fault,” she interrupted. “All I ask is a kiss.”

  He suddenly cupped his hands and splashed her. With a gasp, she backed away. When he threatened her again with the same motion, she retreated to the wall near his account books. She picked one up and held it before her, peering over the top.

  “I’m still not leaving. And if you splash me again, some of your valuable work will be ruined.”

  He suddenly hoisted himself up to his feet, and she caught a glimpse of his white backside for only a moment before he wrapped the wet towel about his hips and stepped out of the tub. Wearing a frown that was almost mild, dripping water everywhere, he advanced on her. Her breath came rapidly as she pressed herself against the wall and waited with great anticipation. What a wonderful idea this had been!

  She gave another gasp of surprised excitement when he planted his hands on either side of her head. His hair dripped a steady stream onto her face, and she blinked, but didn’t stop staring at him. Should she purse her lips? She’d only had one kiss, which she’d initiated. How would he do it?

  But he reached to open the door, grasped her underneath the arms, and lifted her off the floor.

  “Edmund!” she cried as she dangled awkwardly from his hands.

  He put her in the hall, then lifted her hand to briefly kiss her knuckles. “Tell Mrs. Haskell to send more hot water.”

  Then the door slammed shut. Pouting, she folded her arms across her chest. Why hadn’t she specified what kind of kiss?

  Will, the groom, perhaps ten years old, not only had sandy hair, but a cheerful face full of freckles. He bowed low before Gwyneth, then strode off at her side, pleased to be chosen. The walk into town only took an hour, and the boy kept up a steady stream of chatter about the plants they passed and the places he’d visited that never varied farther than twenty miles from Swintongate.