Page 9 of Suddenly a Bride
To her mortification, her husband seemed to choke as he whirled his horse about.
“To the coach, then!” he called to his men.
He did not offer her a ride this time, and it was just as well. Her face had to be as red as her mother’s roses.
Chapter 3
Gwyneth and Lucy clung to each other as the coach threatened to tip over because of the steep grade of the road. Sir Edmund was right, but she just couldn’t give him the satisfaction of admitting the truth. He would only want her to get up on his fiendishly tall horse. The thought of sitting on such a wild animal terrified her. But the coach was slowing everyone down, and she could see her husband glancing at the setting sun with obvious impatience.
Impatience for what?she wondered, feeling a little shiver of nervous excitement. Could it be that he was anxious to come to their wedding bed, that he thought her too beautiful to resist?
Gwyneth knew she was getting carried away by her fancies. He didn’t have to resist her; he had earned the right through marriage to do whatever he wanted to her. She chewed on her lip and imagined the kind of lover he would be. Would he hurry, or would he take his time to make her feel comfortable? Her mother had told her that the latter was important in a man, that it was a husband’s duty to make his bride feel cherished. She could not imagine Sir Edmund Blackwell whispering poetic words in her ear.
As the road leveled off, Lucy tugged on her arm and pointed out the window. “Milady, look!”
“Surely ’tis not more sheep,” she teased.
Lucy just rolled her eyes and leaned farther out. Gwyneth peered past her shoulder. The road was following a small river. Rocks broke up the smooth flow of the water and also littered the grassy slopes of the steep hills. Far in the distance, where the valley narrowed, a small castle cut into the hillside. Its single turret pointed to the sky. With the sun setting, only the opposite side of the valley was still light; the castle blended in with the shadows.
“ ’Tis lovely,” Lucy breathed.
Gwyneth could only agree. She’d only been a little girl when they’d lived on a farm, so she had almost forgotten what such open spaces felt like. It was freedom, wild and pure as the wind that blew her hair about. It was peace, without the London sounds of hawkers shouting their wares and the jingle of many horses crowding the streets. Could it become her home? Or would her husband always make her feel like the second wife, the intruder?
Gwyneth leaned out the other window and saw Sir Edmund in the lead, practically standing in his stirrups as he leaned forward. No matter how impassive he’d seemed back at the inn when they’d discussed his estate, she could tell by his proud expression that he thought of Castle Wintering as his home. Though he’d lived there only two years, it was apparent he put his heart and soul into it.
Geoffrey caught up to him, and a challenging glance between them sent them galloping down the dirt road like mischievous boys. The soldiers streamed behind them, shouting and taking bets amongst themselves. Cheering on her husband, Gwyneth waved her own hand in exultation. When she couldn’t see them well anymore, she sat back in the coach, wearing a smile that wouldn’t leave her face.
Lucy was watching her with bewilderment.
Feeling embarrassed, Gwyneth asked, “Is something wrong?”
“For a woman who never met her husband before their weddin’ day, ye seem awful happy.”
Her smiled faded as she contemplated Lucy’s words. “All along I have had no choice in this matter. Why should I make it worse on myself and everyone else by being miserable?”
Lucy lowered her voice and couldn’t quite meet her eyes. “Are ye not…afraid?”
“A little,” she conceded.
“He’s a big man—a stranger.”
“Aye.” Gwyneth’s anxiety rattled back to life. She glanced out the window again. The sun was totally behind the hills now, and the closer they got to Castle Wintering, the more something seemed wrong. Clearly there had once been a high wall encircling it, for now she could see rubble where it had collapsed in sections. There were no people on the road except them, although along each side of the valley, she could see herds of grazing sheep and cattle, and the occasional shepherd. Farther up the valley stretched acres of orchards and gardens and farmland. But the closer they got to the castle, the more decayed and overgrown it looked, hunched against the hillside, a dark, silent presence marring the valley.
Finally they passed between the broken gates and into a large courtyard carpeted with weeds growing in random tufts. She could see outbuildings along the walls and the last soldier leading his horse into what had to be a stable. But except for Ranalf, their coachman, she and Lucy were alone. Somewhere a door slammed, and then there was silence, but for hens clucking in the dirt.
“They forgot us again,” Lucy said morosely.
“They’re taking care of the horses after such a long trip.” Gwyneth put her cloak over her arm as Ranalf opened the door. She stepped down stiffly onto a wooden box he pushed into place for her, then to the ground. When he doffed his cap, she touched his arm.
“Ranalf, thank you for the care you’ve shown us,” she said.
“Sorry for that last bit,” he said, pulling his head lower into his shoulders. “A mite rough.”
“The roads are not your fault, now, are they?”
He grinned and shook his head.
Gwyneth looked about, watching as the gloom cast shadows everywhere. “Ranalf, do you know where the servants are?”
