Page 83 of Suddenly a Bride
Honesty and trust—things she valued above all else. But now she’d have to break them. She would lie to Edmund and pray she’d be the first in her family to bear a son. Then her falsehood wouldn’t matter, would it? After all, every woman had to trust in God that she’d bear a healthy child.
Gwyneth slid her arm about the bedpost and pressed her face against the cold wood, telling herself that she was doing the right thing. But a hollow, sick feeling had invaded her stomach. She was betraying a man who gave his trust so cautiously, so carefully. And it hurt.
Arms around her middle, she sat down on a chair and bent forward, as if she could keep her sobs buried inside her. They emerged as hot tears on her cheeks and a faint moan of despair. Had she been lying to herself all along? Had she insisted that it was her family, her sisters, she wanted to save when it was only a desire to protect herself?
Never in her life had she felt secure. Marriage to Edmund had staved off the oppression of poverty, the looming threat of starvation. Deep inside, a selfish, desperate part of her had wanted security for herself. Perhaps she was no better than her cousin Elizabeth. Gwyneth wanted Edmund’s money too—and she would remain silent to keep it.
She had never imagined how worthless she could feel.
~oOo~
When Edmund came to bed, Gwyneth lay still, pretending to be asleep. She felt the mattress dip when he slid under the coverlet, closed her eyes in despair when he pressed up against her from behind. Still she didn’t move, even when his arm slid about her waist.
“You are not asleep,” he whispered into her ear.
She forced a smile onto her face and looked over her shoulder to find him braced on his elbow over her. “As if you would ever be fooled.”
“Your mother said you were not feeling well.” He slid his big hand over her stomach. “Could there be a very motherly reason?”
Chilled to the bone, she shook her head. “ ’Tis too soon, Edmund.”
“Then it must be because you have been working so hard. You are the lady of the castle. There is no need for you to spend every day in the orchard or in the kitchen.”
“I cannot sit about while others work.”
“Then humor me just for tomorrow. You are not well. Everyone will understand.”
She opened her mouth, and he covered it with his hand.
“No protests. Sleep.” He grinned down at her, then gave her a kiss. “Though it pains me greatly, even I can leave you alone for one night.”
Gwyneth blinked rapidly, trying to repress the tears that stung her eyes because of Edmund’s thoughtfulness. She didn’t deserve it. He lay back on his pillow and moved away from her, leaving her strangely cold, even with the blankets piled on her. She could not begin to comprehend the depth of her sorrow if he never came to her bed again.
Edmund lay still, waiting for Gwyneth’s breathing to slow. Something was wrong. There was a tension about her he’d never felt before. Perhaps it was only this illness. Since just the touch of her soft lips had made him want to forget her comfort and satisfy his desires, he slid farther away from her, so she would not notice how easily she aroused him.
But whatever was bothering her did not go away in the coming days. Her usual vibrancy and joy seemed flat. In bed at night, she abandoned herself to him feverishly yet afterward seemed almost sad.
Was she worried about being pregnant? The thought of her swollen with his child both frightened and lured him. He needed the security of a male heir, but he did not want to harm her. When he thought about losing her to childbirth, he felt sick inside. He couldn’t imagine his life without her any more. What would be the purpose?
But a pregnant Gwyneth worried him, so he found himself searching for privacy to speak to her mother. After he saw Sir Chester enter the great hall early one morning, Edmund went up to the tower room. Lady Hall was already dressed and gladly welcomed him inside.
No longer did the chamber hold Elizabeth’s angry ghost. He could only remember the image of Gwyneth sleeping here, and how at the time he wished he could have too. Now he had her in his bed, and the consequences worried him.
“Lady Hall,” he began.
She put up a hand to stop him. “Please, Edmund, you are my son by marriage. Do call me Alyce.”
“Very well, Alyce,” he said. “I thank you.”
“You have made my daughter happy, and my gratitude for that will never end.”
“Isshe happy, Alyce? Do you think…a baby would make her happy?” He grimaced at his lack of subtlety, but he had no other way to bring up the subject.
Her eyes widened. “Only God can know such things, my son. Has she said she carries your child? It would bring us all great joy.”
“She has said nothing to me. I just…worry.” He took a deep breath and then blurted out the truth. “I was a large baby, and my mother died birthing me. I wouldn’t want—that is, I worry that—” He broke off, feeling foolish.
But Alyce gave him a warm smile and put her hand on his arm. “Your worry for my daughter touches me, Edmund. But we cannot live wondering what will happen every day of our lives. We have to enjoy life for what it is, and cherish the good times we spend together. Besides, it will likely take Gwyneth many births before she has a baby boy.”
