by Gayle Callen
But she had to admit that the servants finally seemed to be accepting her. No longer did they act as though Edmund was the only authority on something as trivial as what the dairymaids could leave out for the shepherds’ meals. She could sense a place growing for herself here, if not in her husband’s heart.
When they were done eating, she let Lucy drag her out to the courtyard. Lucy wanted to watch the soldiers train and felt foolish going out by herself for a second time in one day. Together they found a bench under a shady tree at the edge of the tiltyard and watched Geoffrey lead the soldiers through their sword training. Before they’d barely begun, Hugh Ludlow, Lucy’s friend, stalked off angrily, and Lucy begged Gwyneth’s leave to run after him. She watched the girl take hold of his arm and say something, but he didn’t look mollified.
Geoffrey turned and saw Gwyneth, waving as he strolled over.
“Lady Blackwell, it is good to see you out on such a nice day.”
“There is much to keep me occupied, Geoffrey, but Lucy asked me to come. She’s gone to be with Mr. Ludlow.”
He looked in the direction of the barracks, where Hugh stood listening to Lucy.
Geoffrey shook his head. “It might be a while before she’s soothed him.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s just found out that Edmund has promoted me to lieutenant over him. He didn’t take kindly to it.”
“But surely Edmund’s decision is all that matters.”
“Hugh and I were both sergeants under Edmund’s command in France, which put us on the same level. But Hugh had bad luck with the men assigned to him and couldn’t control them. They were slaughtered in battle.”
“How terrible! But surely that was only simple misfortune.”
“Edmund gave him another squadron to command, and this one”—he looked away, his face reddening—“abused the women in a village. Hugh was away on leave at the time.”
“Good heavens.”
“Those men do not serve under Edmund any more.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” She glanced again at Lucy, who talked so earnestly to her young man. “But Geoffrey,” she said, smiling, as she changed the subject, “are you not also Edmund’s steward?”
He grinned, pointing his sword into the dirt and leaning on the hilt. “My lady, you force me to admit that Edmund does most of that work himself, and I only assist where necessary. After everything that happened with the Langstons’ steward, I think he feels the need to keep things under his own control.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, hoping that she would hear something that would help her understand her husband.
Geoffrey hesitated as he studied her, then finally shook his head. “It is not my place to tell you about Edmund’s life—or his first marriage, my lady. But I will say that Martin Fitzjames was secretly under Langston control when Edmund was lord of Castle Wintering.”
Secretly under Langston control? What did that mean? Had the earl done something underhanded to Edmund, his daughter’s husband?
Though still curious, Gwyneth knew that Geoffrey would say nothing more. “If my husband is in command of every aspect of the estate, I am surprised he is not out here training the men as well.”
She meant it as a light-hearted comment, but Geoffrey’s smile died, and he gave her a meaningful look.
“My lady, since his injury, he doesn’t even train with me any more.”
She stiffened. “But surely there is much he can do, even with the limp.”
“I’ve always hoped that managing Wintering will show him that he’s more than a soldier,” Geoffrey said softly. “I’ve long worried that fighting is all Edmund thinks he’s good at. It was how he supported his first wife, after all.”
He straightened abruptly, as if he thought he’d said too much. Gwyneth felt a cold sadness envelop her. Again she wondered how her cousin had come to be married to him. Edmund had been so good a soldier that he’d been knighted. How must he feel, having to stop doing what he’d spent his whole life on? No wonder the estate meant so much to him.
As the sun set, Gwyneth was watching from her tower window when her husband rode into the courtyard. She watched his easy mastery of his large horse and felt again the strange sensations he made her feel as she imagined those same hands touching her. She wanted him to come looking for her, to tell her of his day, to treat her like a wife, but she knew he wouldn’t. And she couldn’t go looking for him, not after he had caught her in his bedchamber twice.
But when enough time had passed, she still went down into the castle, making sure all the candles were out and the fires safely banked, as her mother had always stressed. In the kitchen, she ate the last slice of her ginger cake, then sat staring into the fire until she was almost dozing. She shook herself awake, then went back along the corridor, intending to fall asleep planning her next strategy for dealing with her reluctant husband.
Just before she reached the great hall, she heard an unusual sound coming from it. It was the slide of steel on steel, a sound she’d learned to avoid on the London streets, where she knew it meant a foolish fight. But here in the castle, they were supposed to be alone but for Geoffrey and Lucy.
Taking a deep breath, she walked the last few steps to the great hall, then stood in the shadows and gaped. Edmund had built a large fire in the hearth at this end of the hall. He stood in its harsh glare, naked from the waist up, his massive chest crossed with scars. In his right hand he held a wickedly pointed rapier, and in the other was a dagger, just as lethal. Before she could even understand the heat that burst inside her at just the sight of him, he began to move.
Gwyneth’s mouth went dry as she watched the play of his muscles. He thrust forward with his rapier, then parried an imaginary opponent’s sword with his dagger. Even with the limp, he moved with the grace of a court dancer, and the intensity on his face made her wish he’d look at her like that, as though she meant something to him.
Weak and suddenly breathless, she put a hand against the wall to steady herself. But the movement must have betrayed her, because he suddenly stiffened and looked about.
Chapter 8
Although Gwyneth thought she’d been seen, she heard a voice at the far side of the great hall, and her husband turned toward it.
“Why, Edmund Blackwell,” Geoffrey said, coming out of the darkness of a corridor, one hand behind his back, “what have you been keeping from me?”
Her husband relaxed and lowered his weapons. “You need not know every detail of my life,” he said with amusement in his voice.
Geoffrey was dressed more casually than Gwyneth had ever seen him in a loose shirt and breeches. The hand he’d kept hidden slid forward at his side, and a sword reflected the firelight.
Edmund nodded with interest.
Geoffrey grinned. “You don’t need to tell me every detail of your life—I already know most of them.”
“You flatter yourself. But I see that you came prepared.”
“Of course.”
Geoffrey reached the center of the hall, and suddenly the two men were circling each other, both wearing intent but amused expressions, as if they’d done this many times before.
“I didn’t think you were still training,” Geoffrey said. “I’m happy to see that I was wrong.”
“Then you must be happy much of the time,” Edmund said.
Suddenly his sword flashed out, and Gwyneth gasped when the two weapons connected between the men.
Geoffrey stepped back and shook his head. “Insults now, eh, Edmund?”
“Why should things be different?” Edmund tossed his dagger on the table so they were matched in swords alone.
“Indeed.”
This time Geoffrey attacked first, striking hard with his sword in an overhand arc. Gwyneth bit back a scream even as Edmund parried then staggered. She sagged against the wall and put a hand to her heart, as if she could keep it from pounding out of her chest. She didn’t know how much longer she could watch the two men
play with each other like little boys.
“Are you all right?” Geoffrey asked in a more serious tone of voice.
Edmund put a hand on the table to steady himself. “Do not concern yourself with my injury. I could defeat you with two lame legs.”
Gwyneth couldn’t help smiling.
“Then I guess ’tis pointless for me to fight,” said Geoffrey, as he lifted his hands in mock surrender. “Instead, I’ll go search out the last of your wife’s ginger cake. I haven’t had any, and I hear it’s quite delicious.”
Edmund frowned, echoing Gwyneth’s own puzzlement.
“What is that supposed to mean?” he asked, bringing up his sword again.
The two men came together again in a flurry of thrusts that had Gwyneth wincing and covering her face, only to peer between her fingers. Geoffrey staggered back with a laugh. As Edmund went to press his advantage, his leg twisted, and he fell heavily into the rushes.
Before Gwyneth could run into the hall, Geoffrey was at Edmund’s side, his laughter replaced by concern.
“Let me help you.”
“Do not trouble yourself.” Edmund pushed his friend’s hands away, got his good leg beneath him, and pushed himself up to stand.
Geoffrey lingered near, his eyes narrowed with uncertainty.
“Now you see why I don’t train with you any more,” Edmund said. “You’re too worried you’ll hurt me.”
Gwyneth thought his good spirits sounded forced.
“Edmund—”
“Go find your bed, Geoff. I’m not finished yet.”
Geoffrey looked as though he wanted to say more but only nodded. “A good night to you, then.”
Edmund waited for his friend to leave, and only then did he lean against the table and frown at the pain. He looked at his useless leg, and thought again how much had changed in his life from one skirmish gone wrong. He picked up the sword from where it had slid beneath the table.
Suddenly he heard a suspicious noise, but it was coming from the wrong corridor to be Geoff. Who would be spying on him?
Gwyneth.
She was there again in the shadows, his wife, looking at his foolishness.
“Gwyneth,” he said sternly.
He saw her flinch, but she came out of the dark with a steadiness he reluctantly admired. She stopped before him, and her gaze flickered between his weapons, then moved up his body. When she lingered on his chest, he knew she only stared at his scars. But his body wouldn’t listen, and he was suddenly so aroused it was painful.
“You must stop spying on me,” he said, trying to rein in his anger with this whole frustrating situation.
She lifted her chin with clear defiance and stared into his face. “I am not spying on you, Edmund, although I admit it looks otherwise.”
She dared to lie to him outright? He dropped his weapon, caught her by the upper arms, and leaned down into her face. Still she showed no fear, although he wanted to see it in her eyes. Maybe then she’d leave him alone—and leave his thoughts.
“What could you be doing in the shadows of my castle at this time of night?” he demanded.
“Only what I have been trained to do since I was a young girl,” she said in a calm voice. “It is always a woman’s duty to ensure that every candle is out, every fire safely banked.”
“I do all that myself.” He watched in amazement as her gaze lingered on his mouth. She wasn’t fighting him either, just letting him touch her.
“Then perhaps you need to allow others to help you. Geoffrey was trying to.”
Her voice had softened, and he found himself pulling her even nearer, until her gown brushed against his breeches—which she would see were concealing little if she thought to look down. So she wanted to help him. How did it help him to have her constantly putting her slender body before him, constantly tempting him?
“I need no help,” he whispered.
He pulled her hard against him, and she gave a little gasp. He hoped it meant she finally understood how much power he had over her. But to himself, it only proved how little control he had. He wanted to clasp her hips and press himself against her. He wanted to take her mouth and understand the mystery of her. Her breasts were hard points against his chest, and this fleeting contact with her body was maddening.
And still she looked up at him, though now her own breath seemed to tremble quickly between her lips. “Maybe you do not need help, but I want to offer it. Will you not give me a chance?”
“I’m trying.”
He was deliberately misleading her, and part of him hated the deception. He let her go, and she stumbled away from him, wide-eyed. He saw the quick rise and fall of her breasts, but she composed herself and nodded her head.
“Then that is a start,” she said. “Might I stay with you longer?”
“Go to bed, Gwyneth.”
It was there, the unspoken request that he join her, the request that could lead him to disaster if she was the Langstons’ ultimate revenge.
But she only said, “Good night, my lord.”
When she turned and walked away, Edmund was left feeling more alone than he had ever imagined he could feel. He was beginning to question his wisdom in accepting the earl’s challenge.
Once she was in her bedchamber, Gwyneth barely restrained herself from slamming the door. How could Edmund possibly think he was giving her a chance when he was trying so hard to shut her out of his life?
No longer could she think it was because he was injured. When he’d pulled her up against him, she’d finally understood exactly what her mother had told her about what a man’s body did to prepare for lovemaking.
She sank back against the door and covered her face, still overwhelmed by the sensations she’d felt when his hips pressed into her stomach. The long hard ridge of him had made her insides burn. When his chest had touched hers, she’d almost cried out at how good it had felt. For those nights when she’d wondered if he desired her at all she was somehow vindicated. But she was still too much a coward to slide into his bed. She wasn’t afraid of him but ignorant. How did she go about seducing her own husband? Her mother certainly hadn’t told her that. How could she make Edmund like her?
She forced herself to calm down, to have faith that he really was trying to give her a chance. All she could do was spend more time with him, hoping to learn about his first marriage and understand his relationship with her family. Once he knew her, he’d let her into his life.
But a niggling doubt kept her awake that night. Geoffrey had said Edmund never trained any more, but now they both knew that wasn’t true. Edmund must need to keep in practice, ready to defend their home. Home. Had she really thought of it that way, when she didn’t even feel like a wife?
Yet why did he train like this in secret, especially if he never meant to go back to mercenary work? Did this have something to do with Earl Langston and the steward who’d been under his control?
For a few days, Gwyneth backed away from her husband, wanting him to think she was sufficiently cowed by their midnight encounter in the great hall. Yet she felt better when Mrs. Haskell presented her with yards of fabric from the castle stores, saying that Sir Edmund had reminded her of it. More pleased than she could have imagined, Gwyneth spread the fabric out and thought of the new gown she could make. She and Mrs. Haskell exchanged triumphant smiles and went to work.
Edmund remained away much of the time, whether in his fields or at the village, Swintongate, which she still hadn’t seen yet. She was going to have to remedy that soon, for how could she make a place for herself here if she was always isolated at the castle? And how else could she help the villagers be comfortable with her husband?
With that resolve, she questioned Geoffrey about when Edmund would next have to visit his tenants, and he told her that in two days’ time, the rents would have to be collected. He was certain Edmund would once again insist on doing it himself.
So Gwyneth laid her plans.
Edmund spent several days free of
mysterious visits from Gwyneth, and he told himself this was a good thing. He must have sufficiently scared her, and she was letting him take their marriage at his own pace. This meshed perfectly with his plans.
Yet he’d never been as lonely as he felt now, something he wouldn’t have imagined possible. He knew Gwyneth was captivating his servants with her sweetness and smiles. She and Mrs. Haskell were apparently forming a friendship, and the fabric he’d offered seemed to make them both happy. He was not looking forward to seeing her in her new garments, though they certainly couldn’t make his desire any more painful than it already was.
He was forced to watch from the shadows as Gwyneth wove her spell about Castle Wintering. She was a regular visitor to the tiltyard, bringing ale and cakes and laughter. She worked alongside the maids with a natural authority but easy friendship. The wild lady’s garden became a serene place under her ministrations, and he had secretly indulged in its peacefulness. He even saw her feeding scraps to his dogs as they gathered worshipfully about her skirts.
Much as his household seemed more harmonious, he didn’t trust it. Instead of living his life, he was becoming endlessly suspicious over the possibilities of what could bring about his downfall.
When Earl Langston heard that the bailiff from his Durham properties had arrived, he ordered the man shown into his private withdrawing chamber, anxious to hear his report on Blackwell’s wedding. George Irwin entered, looking about him hesitantly, and his travel-stained boots trailed dust across the polished floor.
Langston frowned as the man pulled a ragged fur hat off his balding head. “I have waited far too long for this report.”
“It took me but a week of travel, my lord,” Irwin said, bobbing his head. “And that was through a fierce rainstorm!”
“Give me no more excuses. Tell me about Blackwell.”
