His Bride

by Gayle Callen

  “They’re taking care of the horses after such a long trip.” Gwyneth put her cloak over her arm as Ranalf opened the door. She stepped down stiffly onto a wooden box he pushed into place for her, then to the ground. When he doffed his cap, she touched his arm.

  “Ranalf, thank you for the care you’ve shown us,” she said.

  “Sorry for that last bit,” he said, pulling his head lower into his shoulders. “A mite rough.”

  “The roads are not your fault, now, are they?”

  He grinned and shook his head.

  Gwyneth looked about, watching as the gloom cast shadows everywhere. “Ranalf, do you know where the servants are?”

  “No servants stay the night, Lady Blackwell. Not since—” He broke off and blushed.

  “Not since…” Gwyneth repeated.

  “Not since the last mistress died, milady.”

  “Why is that?” She gave Lucy a puzzled glance and saw that the girl’s eyes were huge. “I see that the soldiers stay.”

  “Oh, yes, milady, in the barracks. We all know there’s no truth to the rumors, although it be difficult to convince the villagers.”

  “What rumors?” Lucy asked before Gwyneth could stop her.

  Ranalf’s face was now a fiery red. “I be speakin’ when I shouldn’t. Forgive me, milady. I’ll go take care of the horses.”

  He hopped up to his coachman’s box, grabbed the reins, and guided the horses toward the stables. The women were left standing alone, because even the cart with their trunks had already gone lumbering by. A chill seemed to be rising from the ground and swirling about them, even though summer was not entirely over.

  Gwyneth took a deep breath. “Well, shall we enter the castle?”

  “Are ye certain ’tis safe?” Lucy asked, sliding her hand under Gwyneth’s elbow.

  Gwyneth patted her hand. “’Tis perfectly safe, and our home now—well, my home at least. You don’t have to stay, Lucy.”

  “Oh, nay, milady, I can be as brave as you.”

  The two of them marched arm in arm to a large set of double doors that looked whole and sound. After they walked up three stone steps, Gwyneth knocked, but it sounded like only a tap against the hard wood. The second time she made a fist and pounded. Though she heard a satisfying echo inside, no one came to greet them.

  She was becoming annoyed now, so she grasped the latch, lifted it, and swung the door wide. Inside was a massive old medieval hall, with sooted rafters high above her and a hearth taller than she at each end of the room. There was even a set of rusty armor on either side of a dark doorway, as if standing guard. Two walls had tapestries covering them, but they were too dark and stained to make out.

  “Oh, my,” Lucy finally breathed with dismay.

  Gwyneth was glad it wasn’t she who had expressed such an opinion first. But she shared it. Though there were fresh rushes on the floor and a large, clean table before one of the hearths, the hall looked unlived in. For one aching moment, she remembered the warm fire and happy laughter of her own home.

  There was a sudden rustle of rushes from a dark corner, and to her horror several shapes rose up. With a shrill squeak, Lucy grabbed hold of her arm again. They heard the first low growls, and she realized with relief that it was a pack of dogs. But the growling continued, and the animals began to slink around both sides of the table, coming toward them. There seemed to be so many of them.

  “Should we run, Gwyn?” Lucy cried.

  In a calm voice, she said, “I think ’twould be the worst thing to do. Remain still. They probably just want to see who we are. They are Sir Edmund’s dogs, after all.” That sounded so foolish, but she could think of nothing else to say, not when her own fright was rising in proportion to Lucy’s.

  They were still standing there, frozen, when one of the many doors opened and Sir Edmund limped into the hall. There were joyous barks all around, and the dogs dashed for him, circling him and nosing his hand and bumping his legs. While Gwyneth and Lucy sagged against each other, he rubbed the animals, saying “Good dog” over and over.

  He stopped abruptly when he noticed the women, and Gwyneth couldn’t help wondering if he’d forgotten again that he was married.

  “There you are, my lady,” Sir Edmund said, frowning. “I was wondering where you had wandered off to.”

  She wanted to say they’d been abandoned and could have been attacked by wild animals for all the thought anyone gave them, but she restrained herself and instead gave him a tired smile. “When we saw no one in the courtyard, we decided to come inside, Sir Edmund. I hope you do not mind.”

  He frowned. “Not at all. I assume the dogs did not startle you.”

  She wanted to roll her eyes. Did all men think that a pack of smelly dogs was a welcome touch in a woman’s household? And there were ten dogs!

  “I saw Mrs. Haskell before she returned to the village,” Sir Edmund continued, “and she said she’d left supper for us in the kitchen.”

  “Mrs. Haskell?”

  “The housekeeper.” He looked down at papers he held in his hand, even as he still absently petted the dogs. He gestured over his shoulder. “Follow this corridor to the end, and you’ll reach the kitchen.”

  Gwyneth walked toward him, feeling Lucy cling to her elbow, as if the dogs had been the final insult to the girl’s idea of a proper welcome. Several of the large animals approached them and began to sniff at their skirts.

  “Will you not eat with us, my lord?” Gwyneth asked, putting out a hand and sighing with relief when one of the dogs only licked it.

  Her husband didn’t even lift his head. “I have business to attend to.”

  She stiffened at his dismissal of her. She understood that she was not an important part of his life yet. That might come with time, and she could be patient. But there was still the wedding night, which he probably wouldn’t ignore.

  She and Lucy walked around Sir Edmund as if he were a statue in their way and entered what seemed like a dark hole in the wall. She almost wished one or two of the dogs would accompany them. But the oppressive stone corridor was short, and there were torches in wall brackets to light their way. The kitchen itself was almost cheery, with a hearth and oven built into one wall and a heavy wooden table with benches. A full kettle steamed over the fire, and as both women inhaled the wonderful scent, they smiled at each other.

  Edmund waited until he was certain Gwyneth was gone before he flung the papers onto the table and sank into a cushioned chair before the hearth. It was the end of summer, so no fire had been lit, but he could have used the cheerfulness. Samuel, his favorite hound, dropped his big head on his knee, and Edmund fondled his furry ears.

  He almost wanted to follow the women into the kitchen and listen to them talk. Since Elizabeth had died and the rumors had begun to spread that he’d killed her, the last of the servants had found places in the village to live. They needed his employment but were too afraid to spend the night, as if he only murdered people in their beds.

  He wiped a hand down his face, then through his short hair. He couldn’t blame them. They had at first thought of him as their savior, the man who released them from service to the Langstons. The earl had always taken much of Castle Wintering’s profits without reinvesting it in the estate. But after Edmund had become the owner of the castle, Elizabeth had used her parents and the steward to get at the profits for herself. He’d been forced to go back to mercenary work. He’d spent months away from this place—his first real home. He loved it here, even the harsh winters, but he had to support it somehow. So Elizabeth had remained in London at court, and he’d traveled with the army one last time.

  But Castle Wintering was home, even though it had suffered much ruin wrought by war. Its curtain walls had been shot down by cannon fire, and it had almost been given over to the rats under the earl’s rule, but Edmund could see a future here. It would simply take time—and money.

  But there was a bride along with the dowry, and already the hall smelled different, and
he could imagine feminine laughter drifting from the kitchen. One of the dogs sitting near the corridor sniffed and whined. Edmund knew how he felt.

  He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the carved wood of the chair. He almost wished he could tell Gwyneth she wasn’t a real wife to him. How else could he explain that he wouldn’t be coming to her bed?

  But then she’d go running home, and the dowry would be withdrawn, and he’d be back where he’d started, without money to pay the taxes or buy the grain for the winter sowing. And he wouldn’t have bested Earl Langston.

  He had no choice but to let Gwyneth think he was merely thoughtless and cruel while he bided his time before sending her away. When the estate had earned enough money and he annulled the marriage, he would give Gwyneth a dowry to lure a new husband, to set her free of the Langstons, if she wished it. Then he’d find his own bride, a common girl without noble relatives, who would give birth to a son to inherit the castle and all his hard work.

  When enough time had passed for Gwyneth and her maid to be finished eating, Edmund stood up and motioned the dogs back to their corner, though they whined their dismay. He went down the corridor toward the kitchen, keeping silent as he approached the doorway. He hesitated, for he could see his new wife perfectly, with firelight flickering across her pretty face, her eyes bright with laughter, and her smile—

  He took a deep breath and fought the desire that he’d kept simmering low out of sheer willpower. Lust was an annoyance, but he’d live with it.

  When he stepped into the kitchen, their faces lifted to his. The maid’s laughter died immediately, while Gwyneth quickly hid what could only be nervousness behind a shy smile. ’Twas a shame he couldn’t tell her there was no reason to be nervous about the wedding night.

  He turned to the maid first, and she seemed to shrink from him, which he was used to. “What is your name again, girl?”

  “Lucy Tyler, milord,” she said in a small voice.

  “As you can see, Lucy, you have your choice of chambers here. The servants’ quarters are—”

  But he caught her panicked look at Gwyneth.

  “Sir Edmund,” Gwyneth interrupted, “might Lucy have a bedchamber closer to mine? She has never been away from home before.”

  He heard the unspoken implication that Gwyneth had never left home either. He couldn’t imagine anyone calling Langston House a home, but that only proved why he must be wary of her.

  “I have no problem with this. Come, I’ll show you to your chambers.”

  He lit candles at the kitchen fire, handed the holders to Gwyneth and Lucy, and then led them back to the hall. Joyfully the dogs gathered round them. He watched Lucy stiffen with terror, but Gwyneth smiled and reached to pat the nearest furry neck. As a pack, they all trooped to a corridor across the hall. He could smell the damp, unused odor of the place. If he had really wanted to make Gwyneth despise him, he should have made sure the tower room wasn’t prepared, but he’d found he couldn’t do that to a woman. Mrs. Haskell wouldn’t have approved of such rudeness anyway.

  At the last chamber before they reached the tower, Edmund opened the door and walked in, motioning for the dogs to wait outside. Gwyneth and Lucy followed him inside. Though the room hadn’t been used in years, it was decently furnished, and had a fresh pile of wood in the hearth. The maid glanced around with her big, dark eyes, then back at him with barely concealed horror.

  He forced himself to be gruff instead of sympathetic. “The servants’ quarters were readied for you, Lucy, but you chose not to use them. I shall send the servants to help you clean it on the morrow as well as bring your things up.”

  “Aye, milord,” she murmured.

  When Lucy knelt before the hearth, Edmund could see her hands shaking as she fumbled with the wood. Brushing her aside, he knelt down on one knee to start the fire for her. He felt a little foolish with his injured leg straight out to the side, but the women would get used to it. Soon the fire began to glow, chasing the room’s shadows away. He saw Lucy assess the large bed and the carpet before the hearth, and thought she relaxed a bit.

  But she still followed them back into the corridor. Lucy could spend the night with Gwyneth and it wouldn’t matter, because he had no intention of joining his wife.

  When they came to the tower, the dogs suddenly stopped. They paced about one another, growling and whining. Elizabeth had never liked the dogs, and it was obvious they had long memories.

  “’Tis all right,” Edmund said, “get up if you’re going.”

  Then they were barking cheerfully and chasing each other. Following the dogs, Edmund, Gwyneth, and Lucy wound their way up the stairs that hugged the circular walls. He pushed past the dogs and opened the door into a chamber that was spacious and well furnished, with glass windows that looked out on the valley in four directions. The dogs followed him in first.

  It was Elizabeth’s chamber, her sanctuary, where she’d spent the majority of her time and money when she wasn’t in London. No luxury was too expensive for her. He could only look upon this room with distaste, for it reminded him too much of her. He had seldom set foot here, especially not after the first year of their marriage. The thought of lying in the same bed with Elizabeth had grown repulsive.

  He turned to see Gwyneth’s reaction, but she was on the tower landing, fighting to get past the dogs and still keep a hold on a cowering Lucy. Edmund suppressed a laugh, though she glanced at him sharply as if she recognized his amusement and disapproved. He barked a command at the pack, which promptly swept back down the stairs. The two women pressed themselves against the stone wall as every dog in the pack of ten brushed their skirts. He knew from experience the amount of hair they left behind.

  When she was finally in the room, Gwyneth turned about, looking everywhere, even as Edmund lit tallow candles one by one at the small fire in the hearth. When he stood up, he saw her looking at the massive four-poster bed. The touch of trepidation in her eyes turned to embarrassment when she saw him watching her. Then she straightened her shoulders and turned about as she absorbed the room.

  “Sir Edmund, ’tis quite lovely here,” she said.

  “You’ll enjoy the view from the windows when the sun is up.”

  Her delighted smile beamed at him like a far-off light in a storm, beckoning and entrancing. When he didn’t stop staring, she turned shy and cast down her lashes. The need to send Lucy away and bar the door against all intruders was such a powerful force that he came up on the balls of his feet as if to heed it. Every part of him yearned for what her smile promised, and that was what finally stopped him.

  It wasn’t true, that smile, for they were strangers to each other.

  Chapter 4

  Gwyneth felt her smile die as Sir Edmund’s eyes suddenly went from the blue heat of flames to a pale glacial color. The chamber that had seemed welcoming in its luxury now seemed dwarfed by his size and his cool detachment. She wanted to ask if she had done something wrong but felt hindered by their very strangeness to each other. They were in their bridal chamber, and all he had to do was send Lucy away and they’d be alone. Certainly Gwyneth was frightened, but she was ready to consummate her marriage, to begin the duty she owed her family.

  But instead he looked down at her coldly, a broad, tall stranger, and the shivery heat that she had hoped to feel again was gone.

  Lucy backed toward the door. “I’ll leave ye be, milady—milord.”

  Edmund shot Lucy a quick glance. “Nay, your mistress needs your help.”

  Without another word, he limped past Lucy and began his halting descent of the stairs. Biting her trembling lip, Gwyneth went to close the door but instead remained to watch him. He never looked up, and as the staircase curved down, he dropped out of sight.

  When even his bobbing shadow was gone, she slowly closed the door and leaned back against it. Lucy was staring at her, wide-eyed.

  Gwyneth gave her a perfunctory smile and went to open her trunk, which must have been brought up while the
y ate.

  “Lady Blackwell,” Lucy began in an uncertain voice, “what do ye make of him?”

  Gwyneth held up a hand. “Do not speak of him. We shall unpack and settle in. ’Tis a beautiful chamber, is it not?”

  “Aye, milady.” She bowed her head and opened the trunk, beginning to set out a small pile of garments.

  For once, Gwyneth could not bring herself to help. She gave in to a need to explore her new chamber. The walls were hung with expensive tapestries, not painted canvas, and there were even framed paintings of gardens and cottages. A large cupboard held a basin and ewer and was scattered with more lotions and washes than she could imagine having a use for. Her nose tested each fragrance, and she planned which lotions she would use first. There were balls of delicate, fragrant soap next to the softest towels she’d ever touched. Part of her relaxed and rejoiced, because Sir Edmund had prepared a special place for her, as if he meant to give their marriage a real chance for happiness instead of treating it like a duty.

  But she should have known it would not be so easy.

  “Lady Blackwell!” Lucy suddenly called in a strange voice.

  She turned and found the girl bent over a coffer, one that had already been in the chamber. Slowly Lucy lifted up a pile of red velvet, and as she shook it out into the shape of a gown, emeralds and pearls sewn to the bodice glittered in the candlelight. Both women gasped.

  “Gwyn!” Lucy whispered, as she carefully placed the gown across the bed and lifted out another. “Aren’t they heavenly?”

  Gwyneth felt a shock run through her at the expense and beauty of the garments. Had Sir Edmund had these made for her? For a moment, the fantasy she’d dreamed of each night almost became real. He wanted to cherish her; he wanted to be a true husband to her. He just didn’t know how to go about showing it when they were together. But then she recognized the next gown, black and white satin scattered with tiny diamonds.

  These were Elizabeth’s gowns.

  She shook her head in disbelief at how wild and foolish her thoughts had almost become. Of course they were Elizabeth’s. Sir Edmund had agreed to marry Gwyneth only a few weeks ago, certainly not enough time to have a whole wardrobe created for a woman he’d never met. She knew with certainty that Sir Edmund had meant nothing cruel by giving her a dead woman’s garments. Such richness and expense shouldn’t go to waste, and most women would have welcomed the gift.