by Gayle Callen
At the tavern where they had dinner, Edmund asked for directions to the jail. On their way, they even passed the church where they were married. Gwyneth glanced at him, but he seemed not to realize the significance, and her shoulders drooped. But she was in this battle until victory was declared, and she would fight on.
The jail was a small, single-story building on a back street. There were bars in the window that they passed, and she shuddered when she heard two men yelling at each other from within. When they stopped out front, Edmund gave her a searching glance.
“You should visit the shops,” he said. “There are some nearby, so you won’t be too far away.”
“Edmund, Harold is my cousin, and I might deal with him better than you can,” she replied, holding onto the pommel. “The two of you have an unpleasant history.”
“You do not know what he’s capable of, Gwyneth. I’m not sure I want you exposed to his anger.”
“You think he’ll be angry that I married his sister’s husband?”
He glanced at the jail. “I don’t know.”
“It is sweet of you to want to protect me, but I can handle this.”
“I am not being sweet.” He studied her for a moment, then shrugged. “Very well. But you must promise me that if I tell you to leave, you will do so immediately.”
“I promise.”
They found stables behind the jail, where they left their horses contentedly munching on hay. Gwyneth moved a little stiffly, but walking loosened her muscles. After they knocked on the front door, it was opened by the constable himself, a burly man wearing the red coat of his office, with a long black truncheon tucked into his belt.
“And who do ye be?” he asked in a growling voice.
“I am Sir Edmund Blackwell, lord of Castle Wintering. You sent me a missive about Harold Langston.”
The man’s grim expression lightened, and he gave a weary shake of his head. “So I did, Sir Edmund. Do come in.”
“This is my wife, Lady Blackwell,” Edmund said.
He put his hand on her lower back to guide her in, in that possessive way she so enjoyed. She looked about her at a bare room, with a scuffed wooden floor, a cupboard, several chests, benches, and a table scattered with paper. There was a faint, unpleasant smell she couldn’t quite define.
The man doffed his cap to show a head of gray curls. “I’m Constable Bayler, milady.”
“A pleasure to meet you, sir.”
“Could you tell us what Langston has done?” Edmund asked.
“Causin’ trouble in the local taverns mostly. In the last week, I’ve put him behind bars to sleep off a couple drunken revels, but he’s begun damagin’ property. The tavern owners banded together, and I was forced to bring charges.”
“Has he seen the Justice of the Peace yet?”
The Constable nodded. “Sentenced him to a public flogging, which he’s already had, and a few more days in jail, which end tomorrow.”
Gwyneth was suddenly elated; they would have to stay the night in Richmond!
“That cannot be all,” Edmund said, “or you would not have written to me.”
“There’s a fine to be paid for the damages.”
“What happens if I choose not to pay?”
“He stays in jail until someone does. I admit, Sir Edmund, I’m hopin’ ye’ll take him off me hands. His temper is not an easy one.”
Before her husband could say anything, Gwyneth touched his elbow. “We should pay it, Edmund. I would feel very guilty leaving my cousin in this place. It could take weeks for his parents to send money.”
He looked at her with disapproval, but all he said was, “Constable Bayler, can you take me to see him?”
When the man nodded, Edmund looked down at her, but before he could speak, she quickly said, “I should like to come too. He is my cousin, and my presence might…soften things.”
He sighed. “Are there other prisoners, Constable?”
The man shook his head.
“Very well, Gwyneth, but jail is not an easy thing to see.”
Even with that warning, she was unprepared for the dreadful stench and the poorly lit cells with filthy straw covering the floor. She was certain that the straw was moving as things scurried beneath. Each door had bars for a window. When the constable stopped at her cousin’s cell, all she could see was the corner of a rickety pallet.
Edmund felt himself getting angry as he neared Harold Langston. He didn’t like the whole situation, especially Gwyneth being there. If he’d come alone, he would have left Langston to rot, but now he had to worry about her feminine sensibilities.
When Langston jumped to his feet and gripped the bars, his lank yellow hair fell into his eyes. “Are you releasing me?” When he saw Edmund, his jaw sagged for a moment before fury twisted his features. “Why didn’t you just send money, you bastard? That’s all I wanted from you.”
Edmund folded his arms across his chest. “Have a care with your words, man. My wife is present.”
Langston looked disdainfully at Gwyneth. “So you found a wench to marry you after you killed my sister.”
Edmund was able to ignore the constable’s sudden interested look, but Gwyneth didn’t.
“Harold, what foolishness! Edmund did not kill your sister.”
“And you believe everything he says?” Langston said with a sneer.
“I was there when she died. I am your cousin, Gwyneth Hall—now Blackwell. We met in London.”
His gaze narrowed as he studied her. “I might have seen you before.”
“I was your sister’s companion, and I found her body. It was an accidental death, as your father must have told you, but regardless, Edmund was in France when it happened.”
Edmund wasn’t sure how he felt about Gwyneth defending him. He took her hand and pulled her back to his side. “Gwyneth, allow me to handle this.”
She nodded, although she didn’t release his hand.
“Langston, the constable has told me of your crimes and your punishment. There is the matter of the fine before you can be released from jail.”
“It will take weeks to contact my parents and have money brought here,” Langston said sulkily, his face pressed against the bars.
“Aye, it will. If I pay the fine, you’ll have to return to Castle Wintering to work off what you owe me.” And Edmund could keep close guard over him.
“Work off—” He stopped and spat into the straw. “I’m not working for you, Blackwell.”
“Harold,” Gwyneth began in a reasonable voice, “I do not see that you have much choice. Edmund treats his servants fairly, and he would treat you the same.”
Unlike the earl, Edmund thought, remembering how downtrodden the village had been when he’d first arrived with Elizabeth as his bride. “Langston, I certainly do not want you at the castle, and it suits me fine to leave you here. Enjoy the accommodations.”
“All right, all right!” Langston yelled, when they headed to the door. “So pay it and release me.”
Constable Bayler opened the door. “You have one more day of your sentence, Langston. You better hope Sir Edmund decides to come back for you on the morrow.”
As they left the jail cell, Edmund could hear Langston cursing and thought the pallet might have hit the door.
“Beggin’ your pardon, Lady Blackwell,” the constable said. “’Tis a shame ye had to see such a thing.”
Gwyneth shook her head. “I come from London, constable. There are whole streets much worse than your jail.”
She turned to look at Edmund, and he could see the excitement she was trying to repress. “Is there a nearby inn where we can spend the night?”
So that was it, he realized with dismay. He was going to be subjected to another attempt at a seduction he had to refuse, something that was getting more and more difficult. Pretending to give her a chance was making his life hell. He made arrangements to bring the money in the morning, then escorted Gwyneth outside.
She took a deep breath
that ended with a relieved sigh.
Edmund gave a reluctant smile. “It is good to get away from the stench.”
“I fear it is clinging to my garments.”
He leaned down very near her ear and inhaled the scent of her hair. “I think you’re safe.”
She blushed and smiled up at him. “Shall we find an inn before we shop?”
“Shop?” he echoed with distaste.
Edmund could have kicked down the door to the bedchamber Gwyneth had rented at a small inn below Richmond Castle. He’d allowed her to make the room arrangements, while he stabled the horses. Naturally she’d taken only one chamber instead of two, and he knew he’d humiliate her if he went down and insisted on separate rooms.
So now he had to spend an entire night in the seductive company of Gwyneth, a woman using all of her ample capabilities to make this marriage real in every way. He’d encouraged her purchase of ribbons, fabric, and even a few spices for the kitchen, hoping she’d be distracted. But nothing had distracted him from the memory of her wet and naked in the tub.
After she followed him into the bedchamber, she set the packages on the table. “Is this not lovely?” she cried, looking about.
Edmund knew there was other furniture in the room, but all he saw was the massive bed with curtains hanging from the canopy for privacy. He began to perspire. “We should go down and have supper.”
“I’ve already asked the innkeeper to send some up,” she replied.
She wore a sweet smile that he knew must mask her triumph.
“Why don’t you remove that travel-stained doublet?” she said, already reaching for the buttons on his chest. “I can brush the dirt out for you.”
He backed away, and when he hit a chair, he sat down heavily. “I can manage to remove my own garments, Gwyneth.”
Would you? her sparkling eyes seemed to say.
He tried to remember that he intended to find a new wife, but his current one was unlacing the small lace ruff about her throat. When she removed it and rolled her head with a sigh, he couldn’t stop staring at how the delicate muscles of her throat met in the hollow between her collarbones. He wanted to press his mouth there and suck the sweetness of her, feel her pulse quicken to match his own. His heart seemed to roar within his chest, and already his loins felt afire after he’d been alone with her for only minutes. He would be dead by morning.
Someone knocked on the door, and when Gwyneth went to open it, Edmund slumped back in his chair with relief. A cheerful maidservant bustled in, setting a heavy tray on the table beside him. The aroma of good food spread through the room, and he tried to resurrect his appetite for something besides Gwyneth.
While they ate, she kept up a steady patter of conversation that he only occasionally had to answer. He kept looking at the bed and hoping the floor was comfortable.
Gwyneth berated herself for talking so much, but didn’t seem to be able to stop it. Edmund was barely a part of the conversation, and she felt that she had to do something to fill up the awkward silences. He hadn’t been so uneasy with her in days—but she could guess why.
They were spending their first night alone together, and there was only one bed. She was alternately exhilarated and frightened. She didn’t have the first idea how to make him consummate their marriage. If she came right out and asked him and he refused, it would be even worse than not knowing. So she decided to just carry on with her usual nighttime routine and see what developed.
When they were finished eating, she set the tray in the corridor beside their door and slowly straightened, rubbing an ache low in her back. Her legs were mildly sore, and she hoped the morning would not find her worse. When she turned around, Edmund had removed his black doublet and tossed it on the end of the bed. He knelt on one knee at the hearth to start a fire. Picking up his doublet and draping it across the back of a chair, she used her hands to brush out as much of the dirt as possible.
Then she stood in the center of the room, awkward and shy again, knowing all that was left to do was remove her clothing and climb into bed.
Chapter 14
For a wild moment, Gwyneth wondered what Edmund would do if she removed everything, then decided she couldn’t bear the rejection. She would just have to wear her smock as a night rail and hope that he wished to remove it for her.
She wore a feminine version of a doublet, snug to her waist and ending in a point at her stomach. Though the sleeves were tied on at the armholes, she merely unbuttoned the front to remove it. Just as she was shrugging it off her shoulders to reveal her smock, he stood up before the fire and turned around. They both froze, staring at each other, and it took her a moment to remember what she’d been doing.
He didn’t look away.
Lifting her chin, she unbuttoned her skirt and let it drop before picking it up and draping it over the same chair. She removed the padded roll about her waist and followed it with two petticoats. She was wearing only the long-sleeved smock, which fell to her ankles. Edmund stared at her, making her unsteady from the warm languor stealing over her.
Not breaking his gaze, she sat down on one chair and propped her foot against the other chair. She pulled her smock back until her leg was exposed from the knee down. After untying her stocking from her garter, she slid it the length of her calf and off the end of her foot. When she turned to her other leg, this time she daringly let the folds of her smock slide toward her hips.
When she dropped the second stocking and both garters, she glanced up to find her husband staring at the floor, his hands fisted on his hips. Slowly she rose and started walking toward him. Would he allow her to touch him?
“I’ll let you finish preparing for bed,” he said in a hoarse voice, as he limped around her and out the door. “There is no need to wait for me.”
As the door closed, Gwyneth felt a painful ache of defeat build in her chest before she overcame it with a renewed sense of determination. She crawled into the cold bed and pulled the blankets up, wiping away a single angry tear. She affected him, but that was only slight consolation. Somehow she had to make him forget Elizabeth—and the Langstons—and learn to trust her.
When it was past midnight, Edmund softly opened the door to their chamber. He had been careful not to drink too much, so the room only wavered instead of spun in the dying light of the fire.
Taking a deep breath, he turned and looked at the bed—and then wished he’d slept on a bench in the taproom. Gwyneth lay curled on her side facing the door, her arms clutching a pillow beneath her head. As he neared, he saw the faintest glistening of tearstains on her cheeks, and pain clenched tight about his heart. He hadn’t meant to hurt her, had hoped she would be relieved to go home to her family. He had never imagined she could have feelings for him, feelings that seemed so real.
Torturing himself, he removed his boots and slid into bed beside her. He lay on his side so he could look into her slumbering face. With a shaking hand, he slid her hair back from her cheek, then gently caressed her soft skin. She murmured something, then rubbed her cheek against his hand.
Edmund pulled away and lay still, watching her, and felt that it was hours before he slept.
A rooster crowing in the courtyard beneath the window awakened Edmund. Still half asleep, he was warm and comfortable and at peace.
And then he felt the soft body burrowed into his side. Stiffening, he opened his eyes and glanced down at Gwyneth, whose head was tucked beneath his chin, her arm thrown across his chest, her breasts pressed into him. Her bent knee rode against his erection, and if he hadn’t been fully clothed, he probably would have been inside her in an instant.
He pressed his free hand over his eyes and tried to think about anything else—calculations for the wall braces he was working on, the acreage of fields to plow in the coming weeks. But in her sleep, Gwyneth moaned and squirmed against him, and he held his breath to keep from groaning along with her.
Slowly he began to inch toward the edge of the bed. Her head slid from his shoulder t
o his arm, and suddenly she was awake. With a gasp, she lifted her head and looked the length of his body up into his face. Her hair was gloriously tousled about her face, and her wide eyes, framed with thick brown lashes, were almost golden in the low light. Her lips were parted, and he didn’t even move his head when she leaned down to kiss him.
Stop! his mind cried, even as he caught her face with both hands to turn her head and deepen the kiss. With a swift movement he rolled her onto her back. His rational mind had succumbed to the onslaught, and all he could do was feel.
Caught in the passion of his kisses, Gwyneth lay still and marveled at her husband as he rose above her. His lips and tongue stroked and explored her mouth, then he was kissing her neck and biting her earlobe and suckling a path down to her shoulder. Somehow she knew his hand worked at the buttons between her breasts, and she thrilled to the knowledge that he desired her as much as she did him.
She felt a draft of air across her chest at the same moment that Edmund stopped kissing her. He looked down at where he’d pulled open her smock. Though her garment still covered everything else, she felt naked to his gaze, strangely shy, though he’d already seen much of her.
“Sweet Gwyneth,” he whispered, and with the back of his hand, he stroked across the peak of one breast.
She quivered helplessly as her nipples tightened and ached.
“You are too beautiful,” he whispered.
Then he lowered his head and took the tip into his mouth. She cried out and arched her back, pressing herself up to a wondrous sensation she’d never imagined feeling, hugging his dark head against her. While her hands stroked through his hair and down his shoulders, he rasped his tongue along her breasts, teasing each nipple until she shuddered and squirmed against the bed. This was magic and ecstasy and passion, and she pulled his shoulders down so that he might rest his body on hers. But he resisted.
As he licked slow circles across her breasts, she felt his hand sliding the smock up her legs. Though she quivered in longing for his touch, still she wanted to press her legs together in embarrassment, especially when he lifted his head to look at what he’d revealed.
