by Gayle Callen
“Don’t be. It made me realize that I don’t care to be part of a society where clothes and scandal are more important than making one’s family happy. And even when I was angry with Elizabeth, it was easy to pity her.”
Had his grip tightened? Or was it only a reaction to the water flowing between and around them, pulling them apart.
“Elizabeth knew nothing of happiness,” she continued, “or how to achieve it. She pursued her vanity, because it was all she knew.”
“Then you know what she did to herself,” he said in a low voice.
She nodded.
“I tried to stop her. I even destroyed the potion.”
“She had more made. She was determined to look like the queen, regardless of the fact that the queen came by her thin figure naturally.”
“Why did she not just paint her face, as so many other women do?” he asked hoarsely.
Gwyneth gripped his hands even tighter, wishing she could put her arms around him. “Because it wasn’t natural enough for her. One of her friends told her about the ratsbane, how eating small amounts made a woman pale and weak.”
“From illness. God, she was such a fool.”
“And she paid for it with her life. I am certain she was trying to heighten her pallor by taking even more of the poison, and that’s what killed her. But Edmund, ’twas not our fault that we couldn’t save her from it. And you were not to blame. You were out of the country. I don’t understand why people think that you…” She trailed off uncertainly.
“That I murdered her.”
She didn’t answer.
“A loyal villager said they were told that while I was in France, I hired someone to kill her.”
“And no one would say where such a lie came from?”
He shrugged. “They were too afraid. But I have other sources, and I’ve traced the rumor back to one man.”
“Who would do such a thing?”
“Earl Langston.”
She couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her. “Edmund, he knows the truth. He was the first one I ran to when I found Elizabeth’s body.”
“The truth doesn’t matter to him. I was not his choice for Elizabeth’s husband. Surely that is obvious.”
She hesitated, hoping she didn’t hurt his feelings. “I will admit that I wondered why they did not give her in marriage to someone more influential.”
As the current dragged at her feet, he hauled her close. He was as immovable as any rock formation that survived the pounding of the river.
“Did they not tell you why Elizabeth and I were married?”
Holding her breath, she could only shake her head and pray he continued. She so wanted to understand him.
“I did not court her like an honest man. I had a wager with my friend on who could kiss a maiden first. Only I did not stop at a kiss.”
She stared up at him. “You are not telling me everything. I know you could not force yourself on a woman.”
“You think you know me so well in but a week?” he said thickly. “I don’t know you.”
When he pressed her against his body, she stared into his face, seeing the pain he didn’t want to show.
“You made a wager over a kiss.” She kept her voice calm. “But the attraction between you went further.”
“I bedded her,” he said harshly. “In the end it didn’t matter that she was willing that first time.”
That first time? she wondered.
“All that mattered was that her brothers discovered it. She was compromised, and I offered to marry her.” He laughed harshly. “I thought we suited each other. I should have known better, since she tried to blame my friend Alex for her disgrace.”
She wanted to hear more, but his eyes seemed to search the past before they settled back into impassivity, as if he was hiding something from her.
“The earl was furious that his plan for her successful marriage had come to naught. The thought of a scandal kept him from rejecting me outright, but he worked on Elizabeth during our marriage. And then he used her against me in death. There is no one else who hates me enough to see me an outcast. So you can see why her parents might want people to think I murdered her.”
“No matter what the earl thinks he can get away with,” she said heatedly, “we both know ’tis not true.”
He stared down at her, eyes intent, his grip even more purposeful. She felt his body along every inch of her, felt the hardness against her stomach that he didn’t try to conceal.
Without planning what she meant to do, she raised herself up on tiptoes, slid her hand behind his head, and pulled. Obviously surprised, he bent, and she put her mouth against his.
She had wanted to comfort him, to convince him that she was not like other women, but she didn’t know how a man should be kissed. With her eyes closed, she pressed several gentle kisses against his unmoving mouth. His lips were unexpectedly soft, moist, and a shudder moved through her with the realization that she wanted to taste him too. Could she do such a bold thing?
But before she could attempt it, he gave a mighty groan and slid his arms about her, molding her to him. Her feet left the rocks as she gladly put her arms around his neck. He tilted his head, and his mouth opened over hers. With a single thrust his tongue entered her, stroking the roof of her mouth and sliding over her teeth. The shock of it settled like a heat storm through her middle and made her body shiver helplessly against his. Her breasts ached where they were pressed hard to his chest, and she didn’t know how to assuage this yearning. She could only run her hands through his soft hair and kiss him back, letting new sensations overwhelm her, even boldly stroking his tongue with her own. As his big body shuddered against her, his hand slid over her hip to pull up her knee. For the barest moment, she felt the wild pressure of him between her thighs.
Then suddenly he set her down, grabbed her arms, and held her away from him, leaving her bewildered by the ache spreading through her. As she stared into his hooded eyes, she felt as though she was watching him board up every speck of humanity behind a fence.
He was so wounded by what Elizabeth and her parents had done to him. She understood him so much better, that he needed to feel comfortable with their marriage. She was no longer hurt that he was taking his time getting to know her. But she would still attempt to hurry the process.
Without a word, he grabbed her hand and began to walk back to the riverbank. She watched his slow step and realized that it must be difficult to maneuver over mossy, wet rocks when he couldn’t bend one knee. One moment she felt guilty, and the next she was again resolute. He had kissed her, and surely the result was worth his efforts.
Ah, what a kiss it had been! She knew she should be concentrating on where she was stepping, especially now that her skirts clung sodden to her legs and hampered her. But she let Edmund pick the path and dwelt on how wonderful it had felt to be held in his arms against that powerful chest while their hearts pounded and their mouths mated.
Her mother had been right. Kissing was wonderful. And she wanted more of it.
In her dreamy state, she forgot to pay attention to what she was doing. Her foot slid down a slanted rock. Losing her balance, she tried to release Edmund’s hand, but he only gripped her harder.
Both feet flew out from under her, and she landed in a small pool of water that soaked her to her hips. As Edmund fell, his elbow struck her shoulder hard enough to make her wince. He landed in a heap face down at her side.
Wide-eyed and aghast, she stared as he came up on his hands and one knee, spitting water and shaking it from his hair.
When he glared at her, she timidly asked, “Are you well?”
“I distinctly remember telling you to watch where you were stepping, my lady.”
Biting her lip, she tried not to laugh. “But are you well?”
“I am wet but fine. Besides a bruise on your posterior, I think you’ll have another one from my elbow.”
He stood up with remarkable grace, then hauled her up as if he was
plucking a carrot from hard earth.
When they reached dry land, she stumbled the last few steps to a big rock and collapsed on it, spreading her wet skirts, then leaning back on her arms to lift her face to the sun.
“Put on your shoes,” he said. “We still have another stop before we reach the castle.”
She lazily opened her eyes and watched her husband as he looked over the river, not at her. Was he regretting their kiss? Saints above, they’d been married for over a week! She wanted to question him but sensed he wasn’t in a talkative mood. Was he ever? she thought, trying not to smile.
“But Edmund, hunger weakens me. I made all these delicious treats. Do you not want to sample them while we let the sun dry our garments?”
She thought if his jaw was clenched any tighter, his teeth would break. Was he trying not to kiss her? What a provocative idea.
“Gwyneth…”
Ignoring him, she knelt down in the sandy dirt and opened the basket. She brought out a selection of tarts and cakes, removing the string from each package and spreading them before him.
“Pick what you want,” she said. “I can describe each of them for you if you like. Or you can kneel down here and smell them.”
And then she realized that he couldn’t kneel, not with both legs. Her gaze shot to him as she wondered if her thoughtless words would send him stomping to his horse.
“Edmund, forgive me, I spoke before thinking.”
With a shake of his head, he brushed her words off. Dripping with little rivulets of water, he limped to the large rock she’d just vacated and sat down. Grinning, she lifted a tart and a cake in her hands and awkwardly moved a few steps on her knees until she was between his wet boots. Boldly she rested one elbow on his bent knee to prop the food up for him.
“Which appeals to you?” she asked.
But her smile slowly died as he stared into her face, not at the pastries. His eyes had lost their distance and now smoldered with a blue flame. She was practically between his legs, and she wanted to press herself against him and demand he give her another soul-shattering kiss. Was he thinking about it too?
But she was not so brave. When he took the tart from her hand, she sat back on her heels and bit into the sweet cake. She watched him eat. He looked across the river rather than at her. He could have pushed her away when she kissed him, but he hadn’t. He’d been just as swept away as she was. She would have to make sure they kissed again—soon. She could do nothing about the hurt inflicted on him by his first marriage except show him that she would not treat him that way. As for his relationship with her cousin the earl, she still sensed that there was much he was not telling her. Should she bide her time and hope he’d confide in her, or should she find someone else who would speak for him?
When he was finished, she offered him another tart, but he shook his head and got to his feet. She closed the basket, then followed her husband back through the woods, looking over her shoulder as the beauty of the falls faded between the trees. It was a wonderful place for her first kiss.
When she stumbled, he called back, “Perhaps you should watch the ground better than you watched the rocks.”
That might have been an actual attempt at humor, and she smiled with satisfaction at his broad back. He was warming to her.
Once they were mounted, and the horse was trotting onto the road, she asked, “Are we going back to the castle now?”
“We have one more farm to visit,” he reminded her.
She thought he sounded rather grim, which confused her. After a half-hour, he guided The General off the road. Low stone walls flanked a dirt path that wound its way up the side of the dale. The higher they rode, the more the whole valley spread out behind them. There was a beautiful symmetry to the different squares of green pastureland, broken up by the occasional checks of oat fields, all separated by stone walls. Flocks of sheep grazed like white clouds across a green sky. She held onto her husband and looked back beyond his shoulder, thinking that she could enjoy this view forever.
“Oh, Edmund,” she breathed, unable to give voice to the beauty of the Yorkshire dales.
He glanced down at her, but she didn’t immediately take her gaze away from the valley. When she realized he was still looking at her, she turned to him, wishing the basket weren’t in her lap. Otherwise she could slide her arms about his neck in hopes that he’d kiss her again. She shivered at the thought.
Somehow he must have guessed what she was thinking, for he looked at her mouth. On either side of her, his arms stiffened, and she could feel every bulge of his muscles. She had never imagined a man’s body could excite her like this. The wild, restless feeling overtook her again, burning through her, making her yearn to know where it would lead.
He suddenly looked up, then pulled on the reins to bring The General up short. “We’ve arrived.”
She let out the breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding.
Both the farm and the house were vastly different than the ones they’d seen earlier. The hillside was much steeper; there was little flat ground to grow crops. The house was small, built of uneven wood with dirt patches covering the holes. A few skinny chickens pecked through the yard.
Gwyneth looked up questioningly at her husband, but he only dismounted and helped her down. Why would he rent out such a hard piece of land to work? Surely money wasn’t that important to him. She shivered at the bleakness of the place. Edmund went up to the house and knocked, and she followed.
After a moment, the door slowly opened. A wiry, small man stood there, clothed in brown homespun. When he saw who it was, he gave a nervous smile and opened the door wider.
“Sir Edmund, please come in.”
“Yates, we’re a little damp. We would understand if you’d like to talk outside.”
The other man looked up at the sky, then back at them in puzzlement. “Did it rain and I not know it, milord?”
Edmund sighed. “Nay, we fell into the river.”
“It was my fault,” Gwyneth quickly offered.
Edmund glanced impassively at her. “Thomas Yates, this is my wife, Lady Blackwell.”
The man bobbed his head. “Me wife’ll be pleased to meet ye, Lady Blackwell. Come right in, for a little water won’t hurt us none.”
She smiled at him and preceded Edmund inside, knowing that he had to duck to avoid the door lintel.
There was only one room, with an earthen floor and a small fireplace. There were two beds, a table, and benches. Beside the hearth stood a pale young woman, barely out of girlhood, though with two children at her skirts and a baby in her arms.
Gwyneth smiled at the girl, whose eyes widened as she nodded in return. Mr. Yates motioned for Gwyneth to take a seat on the bench, and Edmund sat at her side, with Mr. Yates opposite. His wife stayed where she was, hushing the baby, who whimpered against her shoulder.
“How have things been this month, Yates?” Edmund asked.
The man looked at his folded hands. “Not good, milord. But they’ll get better. I know ye tol’ me not to take this land, but I’m workin’ hard and I’m sure things will turn around.”
Gwyneth glanced at her husband with relieved curiosity. So he’d tried to talk the Yateses out of renting this property.
“The sheep and goats seem to be healthy,” her husband continued.
Mr. Yates straightened with pride. “That they are, milord.”
“How is the farming?”
The little man’s shoulders sagged. “Comin’ along,” was all he said. He glanced at Gwyneth as his face reddened. “I’m sure next month I’ll be on time with the payment.”
“You know,” Edmund began in a casual tone that she hadn’t heard from him before, “I have a small parcel of land near the castle set off from the rest of the field by trees, so ’tis difficult for me to work properly. It will need harvesting soon, but I won’t have the time or men. Would you like to take this over? I’m sure when you bring it to market, you can get good money for the oat crop. A
nd then it will not have gone to waste.”
Mr. Yates’s eyes brightened. “Aye, milord, I’d be happy to take it over.”
“’Tis a distance to walk,” Edmund cautioned, “and it’ll be hard to work alone. I can wait for the payment until after harvest.”
As Yates pumped his hand in agreement, Edmund wished that Gwyneth hadn’t been there. That soft look was back in her eyes, the one he’d seen only an hour ago, when he’d broken away from her compelling kiss.
What had he been thinking? he wondered, as they said their good-byes to the Yateses and went outside to The General. He was supposed to rid himself of this new wife, and instead he was kissing her like a besotted groom.
And she’d tasted incredible. He could have drowned in the sweetness of her, in the passion and heat of her response. He’d barely been able to keep his hands off her body and had only come to his senses when he’d realized he could have easily taken her there on the wet rocks. Then there would be no annulment, no breaking of this link between him and the Langstons.
Yet he was confused. The earl had sworn him to secrecy about Elizabeth’s death and certainly wouldn’t have told Gwyneth for fear the story would spread to become the scandal the Langston family dreaded. Yet Gwyneth knew all about it. She wanted his trust, but for what purpose?
He would have to play her game, pretend he was beginning to trust her, and see if she would betray him. He realized that he was hoping she wouldn’t prove false, though where that would leave him he preferred not to speculate. As she continued to ride in his lap, it was all he could do not to kiss her again.
When they arrived at the castle, Gwyneth was prepared for Edmund’s coldness. She knew he felt he had violated some kind of oath to himself by kissing her. But he seemed almost mellow as he let her off the horse in the center of the courtyard, handed down the basket, and then rode to the stables. She stared after him until he disappeared inside, remembering how gentle he’d been to the poor Yates family, feeling a quiet pride that such a good man was her husband.
He didn’t come in for supper. Geoffrey and Lucy were interested in her journey, and she enjoyed telling them about the people she’d met.
