Page 91 of Suddenly a Bride
He lifted his sword and the scabbard that covered it from the coffer. As he strapped it about his waist, the metal glittered in the firelight. Words failed her as she stared in horrified fascination.
“I thought I wanted more out of life than soldiering,” he said in a low, husky voice. “But ’tis what I am good at.”
“But not all,” she cried, grabbing for his arm.
Edmund gently released her, even as he surrendered to the bloodlust of battle, which honed his senses and banished emotions from his thoughts. It made things easier.
He spent several hours fighting a fire in the bitter cold of December. If he could have found Harold Langston, he would have insisted he work at his side before putting him in jail.
At dawn, he returned to Castle Wintering to find Gwyneth and her family still in their nightclothes, waiting for him. The servants rushed to feed the other men who’d worked at his side, while his wife stared at him, wide-eyed, before taking his arm.
“Edmund, you’re hurt,” she said, reaching up to turn his head so that she could see his face.
“ ’Tis nothing. I don’t feel it.”
“You will if that burn on your cheek worsens. Sit down and let me see what else is damaged.”
He did as she requested, then watched her determination as she cleaned the wound on his face and one on the back of his hand.
In a low voice, he said, “Is Langston here? I was a fool to remove his guards.”
She spared him only a quick glance, then returned to her work. “Mrs. Haskell said he was seen at the tavern last night, drinking.”
“And who saw him?”
“Apparently one of the maidservants has begun a friendship with him.”
“Do not tell me ’tis Nell, the girl I stopped him from attacking.”
She shrugged as Mrs. Haskell set a tray of medicines at her side. “He always said he wasn’t trying to hurt her. Apparently, he was quite convincing in expressing his remorse.” She hesitated. “You know what I think about this whole matter.”
“‘Send for the constable’—I know,” he said heavily.
But before he could say anything more, the doors to the great hall were thrown back, and a tall stranger dressed for the cold entered.
“I need to speak with Sir Edmund,” he said to the first serving maid he saw.
Edmund stood up. “I am Sir Edmund. What is your errand?”
The man produced a sealed letter from inside his cloak. “For you, sir.”
Edmund studied the elaborate script that his name was written in before glancing back up at the messenger. “Do you await a reply?” When the man shook his head, Edmund ordered a hot meal served to him and then walked over to sit before the fire and break the letter’s seal.
Gwyneth followed him. “Who is it from?”
He spread the paper wide and frowned at the elaborate signature. “Your cousin the earl.”
He glanced up to see her face whiten, but she said nothing until he’d read the letter.
“What does he want?”
“He says they are coming to spend the Christmas holidays with us—and their son, of course. Good timing, is it not?”
“Why would you say that? You despise them.”
“Perhaps we can end this duel between him and me. Do you not you wish for that, Gwyneth?”
She nodded solemnly. “More than anything. But Edmund, what about Harold? Are you going to send for the constable?”
