Page 68 of Almost a Bride
No, she had found the right life for her—the safe life. When Spencer was gone, everything would be normal again; she would know how every day would unfold, without this horrible, aching uncertainty.
But after she hitched a workhorse to a small two-wheeled cart and led it back toward her cottage, she couldn’t help watching Spencer gallop across the horizon.
~oOo~
By the time Roselyn returned to Wakesfield in the early evening, the heat was oppressive, and dark clouds seemed to capture the air and hold it still. Her gown clung to her back as she walked along beside the horse, whose head drooped forlornly.
As they neared the barn, she heard the distant clash of metal on metal. She thought at first that the blacksmith might be working inside, but this was a lighter, deadlier sound.
She left the horse tethered outside, then went around to the rear door of the barn, which let her into the shadows behind the stalls.
Spencer was holding a sword on Thomas Heywood.
For a moment, Roselyn’s dread became an all-encompassing pain that threatened to shatter her. By her foolish desire, had she brought danger to them all?
Spencer grinned. “Now, see how I’m holding this, Tom? Try my grip.”
Her mouth dropped open, but when she noticed the sword in Thomas’s hand, she felt like her bones had melted clear out of her. Spencer wasteachingthe young man.
She wanted to giggle in sheer, draining relief and collapse back into the straw. But that lasted only a moment—she found her eyes drawn to Spencer, and she realized with a start that he had altered his cane, nailing a piece of wood perpendicular to it, like the hilt of a sword. His right knee rested on the cross, holding him up and freeing his hands. As long as he didn’t try to walk, he could balance and fight.
She stayed hidden within the empty stall, watching. Of course he would be good with a sword—he would naturally have had to defend himself after any number of his famous scandals.
But the patience he showed impressed her. He didn’t belittle or scold the boy for his lack of knowledge, even though she knew that at Thomas’s age, eighteen years, Spencer must have been far superior with the weapon.
Their voices became murmurs as she found herself studying his body, watching the way every muscle moved. She remembered his naked chest, gleaming during his bath. Cocooned in these new and heady sensations, she wasn’t surprised when Spencer looked over Thomas’s shoulder, right toward her hiding place.
She was trapped in his gaze, knew he could see her, but he merely smiled and continued teaching Thomas.
But his awareness of her was potent, powerful, and when he complained of the heat and removed his shirt, she knew he did it just for her.
She could see the lines of his hipbones disappearing into his low-slung breeches. His skin glistened beneath the scattering of hair across his chest.
Roselyn knew with wicked certainty that if Thomas left, her wild self would emerge from long slumber, and she would draw Spencer into the shadows with her, and pull him down into the straw. She licked her dry lips and clenched her shaking hands, and wondered what he was thinking as he glanced at her again, his face intent—and not on sword fighting.
Chapter 20
“Thomas!”
Spencer was so caught up in the heat of Roselyn’s gaze that he was barely aware of Thomas, let alone who called the boy’s name.
But he recognized John Heywood’s voice immediately, although the anger in it was unfamiliar. John strode into the barn, staring at Spencer and his brother with an uneasiness he could barely conceal.
“He’s teaching me to fight,” Thomas said excitedly.
“That is kind of him,” John said in a clipped, tight voice. “But right now, Father needs you out in the orchard.”
Spencer watched Thomas leave, then turned to eye John. This hardly seemed like the same man who had courted Roselyn so gently—but that was when John thought he had no rival.
With a sudden stab of pain, Spencer realized that he reallywasn’tJohn’s rival, that Roselyn deserved so much more.
John folded his arms across his chest. “My brother doesn’t need your help, Thornton. He’s learned well enough here with us.”
Spencer reached for his shirt and pulled it over his head. “Every man could use a more refined technique, Heywood. He saw me practicing and asked me to work with him.”
“And why are you bothering to practice? You can’t even stand unaided.”
Spencer lowered his broken leg to the dirt floor, and leaned on his cane. “In case you have not noticed, there’s a war going on. I need to be able to defend myself,especiallylike this.”
