Page 34 of Suddenly a Bride
“They’ll be crushed,” she said. “I shall carry the basket in my lap.”
Geoffrey handed it up to her, and she gripped it tightly, glad to have something to hold instead of foolishly clutching her husband. Edmund gave a little grunt.
“How heavy is that, Gwyneth?”
She smiled up at him, trying to relax and enjoy the close-up view of his face. “I’ll manage. Will you?”
“I think you weigh less than my armor,” he said gruffly as he urged The General forward.
She couldn’t answer that, because she was too busy bouncing with the horse’s trot. They left the courtyard and rode northwest, deeper into the dale. Nearby pastures and fields fell behind them and soon they were traveling where she had never been before.
Edmund had been right about the cart. The driver would have had a difficult time following the meandering road that wound steeply up the hillsides and sometimes on the rocky banks of the river. At first, she did not try to converse with him; she was pleased that she’d gotten her way and intent on conquering her fear of her rocking perch.
After a while, she trusted her husband and tried to relax. He adjusted her position once, pulling her a little more toward one hip.
Soon they arrived at the first small house of gray stone and gray slate roof. Although chickens and geese roamed the yard, no one was in sight.
“Shall we return later?” Gwyneth asked uncertainly.
Edmund just sighed. “They’re here. Hardraw is probably out in the barn, so his wife will remain inside until he’s here.”
“Can you put me down, so I can try the door?”
He looked at her for a minute, and in his eyes was that assessing expression that she’d seen so much recently. She had asked for a chance for their marriage, and he’d said he was trying, but always skepticism lurked inside him. She tried to imagine what it must have been like married to Elizabeth. Had it changed him, made him the distant man he was?
With the pressure of his thighs, he guided the horse to a low stone wall that separated the road from a cow pasture.
“Hand me the basket,” he finally said, and when she did, he continued, “Grip my hand with both of yours, and I’ll lower you until you can reach the wall.”
Contemplating pushing herself off The General with nothing but one of Edmund’s hands for support was even more frightening than mounting had been. She gave a little gasp as she leaned off the side.
“I have you,” he said patiently. “Go ahead and take the step.”
He had her firmly in one hand, and she clutched him. For a moment she felt as though she was swinging in midair, but the stones were suddenly beneath her feet and she achieved her balance. With a breathless laugh, she looked up at Edmund, still holding his hand. He was leaning over her, motionless, with an expression she couldn’t read. Then he released her hand, and she lightly jumped down from the wall.
“It is good to be on solid ground again,” she said, as she reached up for the basket.
He only gave a noncommittal grunt as he dismounted, then turned to pull his account book from his saddlebag. “I’ll be at the barn.”
Wistfully she watched him walk down the hillside. She had hoped he would introduce her. “Edmund?”
He looked over his shoulder.
“What are their names?”
“Ian Hardraw. I know not his wife’s name.”
He continued down the sloping, rocky path, and she watched him negotiate it carefully with his limp. She took a moment to admire his impressive speed before turning to face the house. Except for the clucking of chickens and the distant lowing of the cattle, there was no sound. Surely Edmund was wrong about someone being home. She approached the wooden door and knocked.
“Hello? Mrs. Hardraw?”
No one came to the door, but she heard a child’s cry quickly hushed.
“Mrs. Hardraw? I’m—” She was about to say “Gwyneth Hall,” remembered “Lady Blackwell” with lingering disbelief, and finally settled on: “Gwyneth Blackwell. I recently married Sir Edmund, and I wanted to introduce myself.”
There was definite movement inside, and she leaned closer to the door. “I’ve brought a gift,” she called sweetly.
The door opened a crack, and out peered a woman’s face wrinkled by exposure to the sun and wind, if not age. “Ye’re Lady Blackwell?” she asked suspiciously.
