His Bride

by Gayle Callen

  She felt a draft of cool air, and her skin prickled with gooseflesh. What was she doing here in the dark with no protection? The only soldiers were out in the barracks; the servants lived in the village. Somewhere in this entire castle, only Lucy, Geoffrey and Sir Edmund had chambers.

  Trusting that the rumors of her husband’s supposed crime gave his home protection of sorts, she decided to follow the sound she’d heard. She remembered that the corridor she was following led to the servants’ wing, but only one door, the last one, showed a flicker of firelight beneath it. Holding her breath, she pressed her ear to the wood and listened. Who slept here?

  Certainly not Geoffrey. Mrs. Haskell had mentioned that he’d chosen one of the barren chambers up on Lucy’s corridor. The housekeeper had had to have pieces of furniture moved there quickly.

  So did one of the servants actually stay in the castle unbeknownst to Edmund? And why would one of them be roaming the corridors at night?

  Making up her mind, Gwyneth lifted the latch and slowly pushed the door open. She couldn’t see much of the room, except that it was dark with a low ceiling. When her gaze fell on the bed, she smothered a gasp.

  Sir Edmund lay there on his side, blankets pooled about his waist. She couldn’t see his face, just the broad width of his bare back. For one moment, she had the insane urge to climb up beside him, to touch him. Would he continue to ignore her then?

  Her face burned with embarrassment as she quickly yet quietly shut the door. What was her husband doing in the servants’ quarters, when he could have had any chamber, including hers? Had he and Elizabeth kept separate chambers, as she’d begun to suspect? Was it him she had heard roaming the castle or only her imagination?

  She picked up her pace as she moved through the great hall, suddenly worried about what he would think if he found her creeping about at night.

  But as she returned to her tower room and closed the door behind her, she couldn’t stop wondering what it would mean if Sir Edmund had actually come to her chamber.

  At dawn, Edmund was dressed and striding down the corridor to the winter parlor, where Mrs. Haskell usually had his bread and ale waiting. He opened the door, the castle accounts awkwardly balanced under his arm, and came to an abrupt halt.

  Gwyneth sat at the table in the chair next to his, wearing a plain gray, high-necked gown with a white kerchief about her shoulders and small ruffles at her throat and wrists. She gave him a smile of greeting, but he saw the faint smudges beneath her eyes that bore testimony to how little she had slept the previous night. He remembered barely making it back to his room before she did and feigning sleep. He’d felt her stare for endless moments, as though someone had branded him. After she’d gone, he’d lain awake and thought begrudgingly that she was brave, traipsing through a dark and nearly empty castle. And of course he tortured himself imagining her in the sheer night rail because she wouldn’t have had time to don anything else.

  “A good morning to you, my lord,” Gwyneth said in a bright voice.

  He nodded, waiting for her to mention the night’s escapade, but she didn’t.

  “I hope you don’t mind that I am joining you without asking your permission. I don’t normally sleep in as late as yesterday,” she said, blushing, although her gaze remained locked with his.

  “You may eat anywhere you wish,” he answered, reluctantly sitting down at the head of the table, with Gwyneth to his left.

  She poured him a tankard of ale from a pitcher, then another for herself. When he reached for the loaf of bread, she murmured, “Allow me,” then used a knife to cut him a slice instead of pulling it apart with her hands.

  She pushed a small crock toward him. “Butter?”

  “My thanks.”

  For a few moments they ate in silence.

  “I would have had porridge made for you, but Mrs. Haskell told me you preferred a simple meal to break your fast.”

  “Aye.” He looked longingly at the account book. He was desperate to think about numbers instead of her nearness.

  “If you do not mind, my lord, I have a small favor to ask you.”

  Although her voice was soft and pleasant to his ears, his tension increased. He met her gaze and felt himself redden beneath her steady regard, as if she knew everything he was thinking about her.

  “I am accustomed to bathing in the evening,” she began, and he noticed that she could no longer meet his gaze, “but there are no servants at night. Would you mind if I bathed during the day?”

  He stared at her, feeling utterly dull and stupid, as he imagined the sun across her wet nakedness. He licked his lips, then almost winced when her gaze dropped to his mouth.

  Chapter 6

  Gwyneth felt a little shock crackle through her as she stared at her husband’s lips. She had not been so close to him since their wedding meal, and even then he’d sat at her side, where she hadn’t been able to look directly into his eyes. But now they looked at each other face to face, only an arm’s length apart. She saw again the pale, pure blue of his eyes, the hard, masculine lines of his face.

  More and more she looked at him and thought Handsome, although that had not been her first impression. And just a glimpse of his tongue made her mind have strange imaginings. He was wearing a well-worn leather jerkin over a loose white shirt, which emphasized his dark hair and tanned skin.

  “I have already told you, my lady, that you may do as you wish. Bathe any time it is convenient.”

  His voice sounded gruff and stern, but his face did not seem angry. Could he be…embarrassed? Or just unsure of how to deal with her? That could explain so much.

  “Thank you, my lord,” she murmured, still watching him.

  Sir Edmund’s gaze seemed to search hers for a moment, and then he buttered another piece of bread and took a bite. She wanted to ask when he bathed, for the scent of his body did not offend her.

  She could barely keep her questions down. With her gaze, she begged him for answers. Why didn’t he come to her and make a true marriage of whatever was between them? And could it have been he who had been haunting her tower last night? Why do such a thing, if he meant to remain so remote? She had so many questions and was too embarrassed to ask them. He seemed oblivious to her turmoil.

  She took a bite of her own bread, chewing in silence, wishing he would begin a conversation so she didn’t seem to be the only one trying to start this marriage.

  “I have never lived on such a large estate,” she began awkwardly.

  He frowned at her, but she was determined to press on.

  “How do you busy yourself during the day?”

  He swallowed a mouthful of ale, and she watched the movement of his throat with surprised fascination.

  “I thought I said you could discuss this with Mrs. Haskell.”

  “I don’t mean me,” she countered, smiling, “but you. What do you do all day?”

  Again that frown, and she wondered if he ever smiled. If his sober face made her heart beat faster, she imagined his smile would affect her very breathing.

  “I keep the estate running smoothly. I was going to go over the account books while I ate.”

  She heard the reproof in his voice and tried to ignore it. “Is that what you’re going to do all day?”

  “No. I will be visiting all the fields and pastures and outbuildings this morning as well, to speak with my tenants.”

  “Oh, might I go with you? I would enjoy meeting everyone.”

  “I am too busy to play the lady’s companion, Gwyneth.”

  Though the words weren’t what she wanted to hear, it was the first time he’d called her by her Christian name. She liked the sound of it said in his deep voice. And she hadn’t really expected him to agree, not right away. It would take much effort on her part. And she had something else she felt the need to do today.

  “Forgive me if I have offended you…Edmund.”

  She watched him from beneath her lashes, saw how he glanced at her sharply then back to his meal. But
he didn’t forbid the familiarity. It was enough for a beginning, so she let him eat the rest of his bread in silence. He could eat a lot of bread.

  After a while, even he must have felt awkward, for he said, “I hope your chamber is comfortable.”

  “Oh, yes, Edmund, it is quite astounding in its luxury. And the view is everything you promised. I had heard Yorkshire was a wild, barren place, yet its beauty quite amazes me.”

  “I thought much the same thing before I came here,” he said slowly, and seemed to be really looking at her.

  She looked back.

  Abruptly he surged to his feet. “I will leave you now, my lady.”

  “Will you be back for dinner?” she asked.

  “I am not certain.”

  He busied himself lifting his account book instead of meeting her gaze, and her good humor faded a bit.

  “Have a pleasant day, Edmund.”

  He nodded and limped from the room, while she watched his awkward stride thoughtfully, biding her time. She looked out the large mullioned windows that spanned one wall and saw him stride to the stables. A few minutes later, he and Geoffrey rode out of the courtyard. Her last glimpse was of them racing again.

  Mrs. Haskell came into the parlor. “Might I get you something else, my lady?”

  “No, thank you, Mrs. Haskell.”

  The housekeeper put the dishes on a tray and took them away. Gwyneth waited a few more minutes then darted down the corridor, through the great hall, and into the deserted servants’ wing.

  Before her courage fled, she opened the door to Edmund’s bedchamber and closed it quickly behind her. Her guilt, although bothersome, faded compared to her curiosity. She’d only had the briefest glimpse of this room, and she wanted to see more.

  The hearth was cold and bare this summer morn. A large window had recently been cut into the stone wall, but there were only shutters, not draperies, to cover the glass. There were no rugs for warmth, no tapestries to keep out the drafts, no cushioned chair as befitted the lord of a castle. Except for a single chest, a crude wooden table, and a chair, there was only the bed.

  As she’d seen only a few hours before, it was big enough for a man his size. There was room for her too, and she ran a hand across the wrinkled coverlet.

  She tried not to let memories of her family haunt her dreams. She missed them and worried for them. Every hour her husband treated her remotely was another hour of worry about whether she could gain his help someday, which wouldn’t happen if they didn’t have a real marriage.

  When the door suddenly opened, she flinched and found herself stepping back. Her legs hit the bed.

  Edmund stopped on the threshold and stared impassively at her.

  She bit her lip and tried to think of something to say, but all she felt was dread that she’d damaged their already fragile relationship. Why had he returned from his ride so quickly?

  He closed the door behind him, set the book on the paper-strewn table, and started walking toward her. She thought he meant to frighten her, but she wasn’t frightened. She felt a thrill of danger, an awareness of him as a man—and the big bed that pressed into her thighs.

  “If you meant to wait here for me,” he said in a deep voice, his brow heavy with a frown, “you should have informed me.”

  “I was merely exploring, Edmund.” Her voice sounded too brittle. Should she have called him “sir”? She arched her neck to look up at him as he finally stopped in front of her. “I hope my curiosity does not offend you.”

  He put his hands on his hips as he looked down at her but said nothing. Gwyneth had the strangest sensation that he was trying to frighten her away but could only make the attempt with his appearance. How could she tell him that his face, his body, hardly made her want to run away?

  “Curiosity can be a dangerous thing in such an old castle, my lady,” he said slowly, “for I’ve not yet had time to see to all the repairs that need my attention.”

  She heard his words, but she paid more attention to his eyes and the way his gaze strayed to her mouth twice. Without thinking, she reached out and touched his arm, felt the solid strength and warmth of him through his shirt. He seemed almost frozen.

  “Edmund, is it not cold down here in the winter?” she whispered.

  He took two steps back from her. With disappointment, she let her hand fall to her side.

  After clearing his throat, he said, “I have seldom been here during the winter.”

  “Then where did you go?”

  “London, as Elizabeth wished, then France most recently.”

  He turned his back on her, standing at the table with one hand on the account book. She longed to question him about Elizabeth but knew that would put up a wall of ice between them.

  “And you fought with the army there?” she asked, moving closer.

  He nodded, and she wished she could see his face. She took a step at a time nearer the hearth. His profile looked dark and troubled. When he saw her watching him, all expression was wiped from his face as he gazed at her with his ice-blue eyes.

  “I did what I had to to survive.”

  She tried to soften him with a compassionate gaze. “Of course you did. I—I understand that that was how you raised money for Castle Wintering.”

  “Did Geoff say that?”

  She nodded, wondering if he would be offended that she’d spoken about him with his friend. But it had been a long journey, with little else to say in the evenings.

  Strangely, he seemed to relax. “Bringing a place like this back from near ruin requires more than just the money earned from a good harvest. And we haven’t had many of those lately.”

  Hesitating, she asked, “What was it like?”

  “The harvest?”

  She smiled and shook her head. “Being in the army. Living away from home so much.”

  With a shrug, he leaned back against the table. “I’ve only ever been a soldier before now. What could I compare it to?”

  “Did you not miss your family?”

  His direct eyes seemed to cloud over. “My mother died birthing me, my father only a few years later. What was there to miss?”

  Her chest tightened with sorrow for him. “I am so sorry. I cannot imagine such a lonely life.”

  “I did not grow up alone in the woods,” he said, with a touch of sarcasm. “A friend and his family took me in. They were almost a real family to me.”

  “I am very glad.” The pain in her heart eased. “Was that where you learned to fight?”

  He nodded.

  “Yet the last time, you were not so fortunate.”

  “Nay,” he said shortly, still watching her. “Does it bother you that I am lame?”

  “Lame? You seem to do everything you want to, with that small limp. Why should it bother me, when it doesn’t bother you?”

  But did it bother him? she wondered, reading nothing in his eyes. Of course she didn’t know how extensive the damage truly was or if the pain still lingered. A cold, sick feeling of pity washed through her. Was that the problem? Was he wounded in ways she didn’t understand, ways that would make him feel that he could not be a real husband to her?

  “How did your injury happen?” she asked, then winced at how hoarse her voice sounded.

  “A simple attack, from more men than I could handle alone,” he said unemotionally.

  Geoffrey had told her that Edmund had gone against five men in defense of his squire. He must be brave and certainly did not boast about himself, as some men did. She found herself feeling very proud of her new husband, even as she worriedly looked down again at his leg.

  “How recently did this happen?” she asked, searching his face.

  “Four months.” He picked up his account book with obvious impatience. “You are full of questions today, Gwyneth.”

  “Why don’t you let me look at your wound?” She dropped her gaze, feeling embarrassed heat sweep over her. Quickly she added, “I am accounted a good healer, and I brought my medicines from home.
”

  Edmund could think of absolutely nothing to say, and the very air about them was filled with tension that had nothing to do with healing and everything to do with sex. She expected him to strip off his garments and lie quietly beneath her ministrations? All he wanted to do was lean her back on the bed, on the table, on the closest thing he could find, and taste every part of her. He had an excellent imagination, and it was filled with how she would look naked. She was a bold thing, coming to his chamber like this, and he wondered how else she would be bold.

  Yet—why was she in his chamber? Surely curiosity couldn’t be the only reason. He thought again of Earl Langston’s smug triumph when Edmund had signed the marriage contract.

  He tried to put his mind back to their conversation, but it was a moment before he could remember. All he could do was look into her deceptively beautiful face and wonder what she was lying about. “My wound is well healed, my lady, but I thank you for your offer. Now I have business to attend to. Do you need help finding duties to occupy your day, something to keep you…busy?”

  He knew she understood the unspoken order not to return to his chambers. He watched the blush turn her skin from the color of peaches to the palest strawberries. He starved for her as a hungry man in need of food.

  “I was going to work in the garden today,” she said softly. “We could use more servants, now that the harvest is approaching.”

  “Hire whomever you wish.”

  “’Tis difficult to do that when I haven’t met anyone yet.”

  She spoke with cool necessity, not a whine, as Elizabeth would have done. And she had so easily manipulated him out of his anger at her spying.

  He glanced at her, saw how her eyes bravely met his, and he almost let himself smile. “Be patient, Gwyneth. Now if you please—”

  “Aye, my lord,” she said, walking calmly around him and out the door.

  Edmund closed it firmly behind her.

  Gwyneth spent much of the day in the lady’s garden, letting the memories of her early childhood on the family farm wash over and soothe her. She’d been a child the first time her father had sickened, when he was no longer able to work as a farmer. Though the move to London had been jarring, she’d adapted easily enough. But she hadn’t realized how much she missed the country.