His Bride Read online

  But he didn’t, not until he’d stripped every article of clothing from her body. She was fearless, and he admired that. He yanked at his own shirt, felt buttons at his neck pop free, and then let her hands push his aside. He couldn’t wait, but she worked just as feverishly as he would have. And the feel of her hands pulling on him raised his desire to uncontrollable heights.

  When they were both naked, he pulled her down onto the pile of their garments and spread her out for his viewing. She lay on her back, trembling, reaching for him, but he pressed her arms above her head with one hand and looked his fill. With his fingers, he skimmed her breasts and belly, and she moaned and writhed for him. He cupped the heat between her thighs, and though she was already wet for him, he stroked her anyway, needing to see in her eyes what he could make her feel, this thing between them that she couldn’t deny.

  He bent over her and suckled her breasts, still not allowing her to touch him. When she was so close that she couldn’t stop shuddering, he came down between her legs and entered her in one hot thrust. They gasped against each other’s mouth, and he felt her bare arms hugging his ribcage. As he braced himself on his arms to move inside her, her fingers teased his nipples. Her beautiful face was flushed; her breasts trembled with each movement of his body.

  She was his, his body said, claiming her over and over. Nothing would separate them; he would find a way. He kissed her hard, and when he felt her woman’s pleasure shudder about his cock, he poured his seed—their future—into her.

  Gwyneth held back her cries, holding Edmund’s body close against her. She took his frustration, his violent need for her inside her, made it a part of her. She wanted him focused on her, not on his quest to destroy Earl Langston.

  “You don’t have to prove anything to me,” she whispered against the damp hair behind his ear.

  He slowly lifted his head. “What?”

  “I am worried for you.” She pressed kisses to his chin, his cheek, and his lips. “I’m frightened where this villain is leading you.”

  “You think I am proving something to you?” he demanded with disbelief.

  “Are you not? We can call the constable to deal with the earl and his son.”

  “They are trying to destroy what is mine.” Edmund pulled out of her and got up on one knee. “I shall not stand back like a coward.”

  A chill of despair and anxiety deepened as she watched him floundering in his anger.

  “Do you not understand?” He grabbed up his braies and breeches and pulled them on. “I have to do this alone, I have to prove—”

  “To prove what—that you can kill again? That you are still a soldier?”

  He froze, his shirt hanging from one hand, his eyes pale blue flame. “I care nothing about that. I have to protect what’s mine. I have to protect you!”

  Stunned, she fell back on her elbows to stare up at him.

  “I will not let him destroy everything I’ve worked for, everything I want to leave to my children.”

  Her despair deepened into nausea. “Edmund, please—”

  He pulled his shirt over his head. “What, Gwyneth? Please what?”

  Her tears spilled over. She needed to tell him everything, but how could she say the words that would damn her in his eyes?

  Chapter 21

  Gwyneth watched Edmund pull his doublet on and stride to the mouth of the cave, keeping his back to her as he looked out at the valley. She dressed herself, unable to stop crying. She couldn’t lie to her husband for another minute. His anger had to be better than this horrible deception that hovered between them like a vulture.

  “Edmund!”

  He turned to face her as she approached him, holding her gown up at her shoulders, her cloak over her arm. Showing no emotion, he turned her about and laced up the back.

  “Edmund.” This time his name was but a whisper. When she looked into his beloved face, it was even harder to admit what she knew she must. “I have to tell you something.”

  His narrowed eyes studied her, but he said nothing; instead he drew her out into the sunlight, took the cloak from her hands and wrapped it about her. The valley—their valley—spread out before them. Far in the distance was Castle Wintering, only a speck beside the sparkling river.

  Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to gaze into his eyes. “Ten days ago, someone slid a copy of our marriage contract beneath our chamber door when I was in there alone. I cannot imagine who might have had a copy. I read it, but I still did not understand why someone wanted me to. It wasn’t until I puzzled over the clause about everything reverting to the Langstons should we not have a son that I began to think. It never occurred to me before I read that contract, that—that there might be something wrong with my family.”

  His eyes remained impassive, even as she silently begged him to believe her.

  “Only then did it dawn on me that my grandmother never had sons, my mother’s sisters never had sons, and my parents never had a son. I realized that the earl must have figured this out long ago and decided to use it against you. And I felt…terrible.” She rubbed her wet eyes, wishing desperately that he would say something.

  “But even though you supposedly trust me, you did not confide in me.”

  “I was afraid you would set me aside! You are the most wonderful, gentle man, and I could not bear being parted from you. And I also could not help fearing for my family’s welfare.”

  Edmund turned to look out over the valley. “When you discovered the purpose of the clause in our marriage contract, you could have told me immediately and given us both a chance to come up with a solution. Instead, you kept it hidden.”

  “But I’m telling you now!” she cried, pulling on his arm until he looked down at her. “I admit it was a mistake, but I was frightened of your reaction. I was worried you would annul our marriage if I couldn’t bear a son. I couldn’t do that to my family or to us. We had discovered something wonderful between us. I was praying every night that I would eventually give you the heir we need.”

  “I didn’t want to trust you. I have never trusted many people, because when a hidden truth comes out, it always feels like betrayal.”

  “Edmund—”

  “Allow me to finish. There’s one more truth unsaid between us, and I see now that holding it back will only cause more harm. I’ve told you almost everything about this plot by Langston to ruin me except my own response to it. My plan was to earn enough money to pay back the dowry and annul our marriage. And then I was going to find another wife, one not connected to the Langstons.”

  His words were like a physical blow. Shocked and sick at heart, Gwyneth said, “Was that why you never came to my bed?”

  Something flickered in his eyes, but he only nodded.

  “It wasn’t because we needed to know each other better or because you cared that I wasn’t hurt?”

  “I did not want to hurt you,” Edmund said, his voice hoarse. “I thought you would be better off with your family, able to find a husband of your own choosing. I would have given you a settlement to see to your comfort.”

  “But I forced you to take me, didn’t I,” she said sadly. “That changed all of your plans.”

  “I changed my own plans. I could have resisted you. But I had thought we could make this marriage work, that we would have a son and then the contract wouldn’t matter. But you didn’t tell me the truth.”

  “It was just one lie,” she whispered, “and only a few days old. But you’ve lied from the beginning, planning a temporary marriage when I wanted a real one.”

  Stunned by the truth of her words, Edmund knew in his heart that it was only hurt that made him speak, hurt he thought he’d never feel again. “I thought you were being forced to wed, that you would be better off without me.”

  Lifting her chin, she gave him a sad look. “You had your reasons to lie, and I had mine. Are you saying we can never trust each other? Isn’t there a way past this?”

  “Maybe there is, Gwyn, but I don’t kn
ow how to do it. As you know from my first marriage, I didn’t succeed before.”

  “Can we not begin again, to find love now that there are no secrets between us?”

  “I will not put you aside, if that is what you’re asking. I can become content again with this marriage, as I was before. But love?” How could he give her that power over him, when he didn’t know if there was any trust left between them?

  Her eyes filled with tears. “I love you.”

  She turned and fled from the mouth of the cave. She mounted Star and rode back to the castle, leaving him to follow on The General.

  Could she honestly love him? If he let himself love her in return, she could hurt him worse than Elizabeth ever had.

  Gwyneth had managed to compose her face before guiding Star into the courtyard. She gave a tired smile to the groom who took her horse, then entered the great hall, only to find everyone gathering for dinner. She wanted to run sobbing to her mother, but no one but herself could make this marriage work. She couldn’t even regret what she’d told Edmund, because she’d finally spoken the truth. She loved him, and it was time he knew it.

  Now that she understood him, she saw where his plan to defeat Earl Langston had come from. He was a man who’d been rejected at every turn and saw only one way to make things better—all on his own. He had built his life on the ashes of his childhood poverty and then rebuilt it again after the Langstons had stolen his hard work. Why should he have trusted her when no one else had ever proven trustworthy? How could she make him see that he was an honorable man and that all she wanted to do was love him?

  And how could she stop him from risking his life in a desperate plan of revenge against the Langstons?

  Gwyneth went to sleep that night thinking that Edmund hadn’t returned to the castle. But in the middle of the night, when someone pounded on their door, he was there beside her, a warmth she’d unconsciously burrowed into. He threw back the blankets and vaulted from the bed, and as she blearily sat up, she noticed he wore his breeches. He flung back the door to see Geoffrey, who was still tucking in his shirt.

  “What is it?” her husband demanded.

  “Edmund, one of the small sheds is afire, though ’tis not near the main barn. The alarm has already gone out to the workers here at the castle.”

  “I’m coming,” he said grimly, shutting the door and picking up a shirt.

  His face looked cold and empty—deadly. Feeling panic at the rage that must be building up inside him, Gwyneth slid out of bed and pulled on her dressing gown. “Edmund, please do not just assume this is another attack against us. This could be an accident.”

  “An accident?” he said with weary disbelief. “This is an attack, and I will not be made to look like the fool.”

  “But if you send for the constable instead of trying to deal with it yourself—”

  “This is what I have been trained for, Gwyneth.” He buttoned up his jerkin and bent to open up a coffer near the door.

  She had never been so afraid in her life. He could never be the soldier he once was—but would he kill himself trying? Especially when he seemed so resigned. “Please, Edmund, you must listen to me. I’m so afraid for you.”

  He lifted his sword and the scabbard that covered it from the coffer. As he strapped it about his waist, the metal glittered in the firelight. Words failed her as she stared in horrified fascination.

  “I thought I wanted more out of life than soldiering,” he said in a low, husky voice. “But ’tis what I am good at.”

  “But not all,” she cried, grabbing for his arm.

  Edmund gently released her, even as he surrendered to the bloodlust of battle, which honed his senses and banished emotions from his thoughts. It made things easier.

  He spent several hours fighting a fire in the bitter cold of December. If he could have found Harold Langston, he would have insisted he work at his side before putting him in jail.

  At dawn, he returned to Castle Wintering to find Gwyneth and her family still in their night-clothes, waiting for him. The servants rushed to feed the other men who’d worked at his side, while his wife stared at him, wide-eyed, before taking his arm.

  “Edmund, you’re hurt,” she said, reaching up to turn his head so that she could see his face.

  “’Tis nothing. I don’t feel it.”

  “You will if that burn on your cheek worsens. Sit down and let me see what else is damaged.”

  He did as she requested, then watched her determination as she cleaned the wound on his face and one on the back of his hand.

  In a low voice, he said, “Is Langston here? I was a fool to remove his guards.”

  She spared him only a quick glance, then returned to her work. “Mrs. Haskell said he was seen at the tavern last night, drinking.”

  “And who saw him?”

  “Apparently one of the maidservants has begun a friendship with him.”

  “Do not tell me ’tis Nell, the girl I stopped him from attacking.”

  She shrugged as Mrs. Haskell set a tray of medicines at her side. “He always said he wasn’t trying to hurt her. Apparently he was quite convincing in expressing his remorse.” She looked into his eyes. “You know what I think about this whole matter.”

  “‘Send for the constable’—I know,” he said heavily.

  But before he could say anything more, the doors to the great hall were thrown back, and a tall stranger dressed for the cold entered.

  “I need to speak with Sir Edmund Blackwell,” he said to the first serving maid he saw.

  Edmund stood up. “I am Sir Edmund. What is your errand?”

  The man produced a sealed letter from inside his cloak. “For you, sir.”

  Edmund studied the elaborate script that his name was written in before glancing back up at the messenger. “Do you await a reply?” When the man shook his head, Edmund ordered a hot meal served to him and then walked over to sit before the fire and break the letter’s seal.

  Gwyneth followed him. “Who is it from?”

  He spread the paper wide and frowned at the elaborate signature. “Your cousin the earl.”

  He glanced up to see her face whiten, but she said nothing until he’d read the letter.

  “What does he want?”

  “He says they are coming to spend the Christmas holidays with us—and their son, of course. Good timing, is it not?”

  “Why would you say that? You despise them.”

  “Perhaps we can end this duel between him and me. Do you not you wish for that, Gwyneth?”

  She nodded solemnly. “More than anything. But Edmund, what about Harold? Are you going to send for the constable?”

  He sighed. “I shall look into the matter of where he was last night. If I find no definite proof that he was involved, I will wait until his parents arrive, when I can confront them all together. Christmas is only a few days away.”

  Gwyneth looked worried, but he knew no words would reassure her.

  Chapter 22

  On Christmas morning, Gwyneth awoke alone, as usual. Edmund always left before dawn. She knew a holiday could not make everything right, especially not with Earl Langston due to arrive at any moment. But she had dreamed of her family warm and safe by Christmas, and since they were, she was determined to pretend everything was all right rather than worry them.

  She had thrown herself into preparations for the season, decking every room in the castle with holly and ivy. Wonderful smells wafted from the kitchen for days as the feast was prepared. Last night, the Yule log, still dripping with snow, had been dragged into the great hall, and one of the woodsmen had been Harold Langston himself. Gwyneth had watched her husband most carefully, but all he’d done was smile as all the castle residents had gathered around the hearth to sing.

  Though she’d gone to bed alone and awakened in the same state, he had been at her side through the night, which offered her comfort—and hope. She lifted his pillow to her face and breathed deeply of his scent and prayed that somehow
on this glorious day she could magically make him love and trust her.

  Hearing a soft knock at the door, Gwyneth drew on her dressing gown and opened it. When she saw Lucy’s tentative smile, she drew the girl inside.

  “So how is it being the consort of the Lord of Misrule?” Gwyneth asked, smiling. Hugh Ludlow had been elected by the villagers as the head of the Christmas festivities. Both Hugh and Lucy had become so much a part of Swintongate that Gwyneth assumed they’d soon be living there as husband and wife.

  Lucy smiled tremulously, then dissolved into tears, throwing her arm over her eyes.

  “What is it?” Gwyneth cried, ushering her friend to a chair before the fire. She pressed a handkerchief into Lucy’s trembling hands and watched her mop her face. “Have you and Hugh had a quarrel?”

  “Oh, ’tis not that, Gwyn. I fear I’ve done somethin’ awful and ye’ll never forgive me.”

  “You couldn’t have done something as drastic as that,” she said, pulling up the other chair to sit across from her friend. “Do tell me, so I can make you feel better.”

  “Nothin’ can do that,” Lucy wailed, burying her face in the handkerchief.

  Gwyneth waited for her sobs to lessen. The girl finally composed herself and stared with anguish into Gwyneth’s eyes.

  “’Tis all me fault,” she whispered, then hiccuped on a sob. “The earl is comin’ because of me.”

  The first hint of worry settled in Gwyneth’s stomach. “I do not understand.”

  “We sent him a letter, Hugh and me. We didn’t know what else to do. We thought that surely Sir Edmund could deal with him!”

  “Why did you send him a letter?”

  “Because ’tis me who’s at fault, me who persuaded Hugh to do these horrible deeds.”

  Gwyneth sat back in her chair and stared aghast at Lucy, whose tears dripped onto her bodice. “What are you saying?”

  “I only came with ye to Yorkshire because the earl forced me to. He said he’d hurt me family if I didn’t do what he wanted. He paid me so they wouldn’t starve.”