Celeste Bradley - [Royal Four 01] Read online

“Feed ‘im good and bed ‘im better, and he’ll never stray.”

  Willa laughed again. “You sound as if you speak of a hound.”

  “Willie, my girl—my own, as much as any daughter could be—men are the greatest hounds ever to walk the good earth.” Moira wrapped her in one last hug. “Now you go and see the world, Miss Willa, like you’ve always wanted.”

  Tears came into Willa’s eyes in earnest as she realized that Moira, at least, wasn’t trying to get rid of her but only trying to set her on the path of her dreams. She mounted her mare and followed her husband out of the stable yard with a last wave to the villagers gathered there to see her off.

  The path of her dreams, she told herself. She was finally on the path of her dreams.

  4

  Nathaniel had been married for several hours now and he certainly didn’t feel any different. He was still on Blunt, although their pace was frustratingly slower than yesterday. He was still on the road after Foster, only without a chance in hell of catching the man before he got to London.

  He was still the Cobra, still reviled in public as Lord Treason, still hell-bent on seeing the last of the Knights of the Lily put to the noose.

  Only now the Cobra had a headache. In his more charitable moments, Nathaniel knew the ache in his skull came from his fall. In every other excruciating moment, he was positive the pounding in his head was caused by the endless chatter coming from behind him. It seemed he’d become quite accustomed to the silence of his isolation. Furthermore, it seemed his companion had never encountered a topic of conversation she didn’t like.

  “If you look to your left,” she was currently saying, “you’ll spy the droppings of an owl beneath that elm. Of course, the nest will be nowhere near here, for that would only attract other predators. I once found an entire set of bones of a snake in the droppings of an owl. I made Moira a necklace from the vertebrae, but the string broke on the first wearing and the bones were lost—at least that was what Moira claimed at the time. I do think she might have been a bit squeamish about it. I suppose I can understand why now, but when I was a child I thought the bones very lovely….”

  At first he’d attempted to respond politely, although it scarcely seemed necessary. Then for a time he’d simply nodded occasionally. Now he was riding a length ahead, wishing he had a woolen muffler to wrap about his ears.

  All right. He was married, there was no denying that. He traveled with a bride and all the trappings for a cottage of their own. No doubt the girl thought that was precisely where they were headed. A little hearth and a large family.

  Alas, a life such as that wasn’t for him. To carry on his ignominy, to have his children labeled with his infamous name, was unacceptable. His legacy of disgrace would end with him.

  As for a wife, perhaps he could find a place for her, a place where she would not be before him to tempt him with the life he could never have.

  Unfortunately, there was no time to look into that now. He was on his way to fulfill the duty he couldn’t refuse, and this mess of a marriage would just have to wait until he had done what he could for the Royal Four.

  It was past twilight when he and Willa approached an inn. They had been on the road for several hours—too few by Nathaniel’s calculation, but he couldn’t ask more from a woman, sturdy country sort or not.

  Fortunately, she was no frail hothouse flower. She’d not stopped talking for one moment of their journey, of course, but Nathaniel had to admit that not one single one of her comments had been a complaint.

  Willa shifted uncomfortably. The sidesaddle she rode was not her own and the horse was unfamiliar and inclined to be skittish. Each time the mare started, it threw off Willa’s precarious balance.

  The mare had finally settled, her freshness wearing off as they rode through the countryside. Willa would have thought the scenery monotonous if not for her enjoyment of the fact that she had never seen that particular hedgerow before, nor that singularly constructed stone wall.

  Still, as the evening waned, the glow of novelty had worn off the landscape much as the comfort had worn off her saddle.

  By the time the Idiot Male had declared that it was time to stop for the night, Willa was beginning to gather her mad. It had been a full day since the ceremony—she still had trouble thinking of it as her wedding—and the man in front of her had yet to say an entire sentence to her.

  When the Unholy Beast finally halted his gelding after turning into a circular drive that led to an inn, Willa fell out of her saddle as quickly as she could unhook her knee from the pommel.

  The ground came up too quickly and she staggered. Her fingers dug into the mare’s mane so tightly for balance that she grunted and stepped on Willa’s toe.

  “Get off!”

  A large male hand pushed at the snowy hide an inch from Willa’s face and the horse moved off. Willa felt her legs dissolve like sugar in water and slowly sank to the grass.

  A pair of dusty boots appeared before her. “Are you unwell?”

  She cast a blinding smile up at the silhouette of the man against the glow of the inn’s windows. “Of course not. How ridiculous. A mere eight hours in a saddle when I’ve scarcely ridden in years? Why would I be unwell? I am only a tiny bit tired. Nothing to worry about at all. I’ll be up and about as soon as I remember how to walk.”

  “Oh, did you misplace your knees? I saw them by the roadside a mile back. Didn’t know you needed them.” A large hand entered her field of vision and waited, palm up, for hers.

  Slowly, Willa placed her own into it. The heat from his hand seared directly through the leather of Willa’s riding glove and sank into her skin. Her new husband was very warm, and very large. She rightfully ought to be wary of him, but when his fingers wrapped around hers, Willa could quite honestly say that she had never felt so safe in all her life.

  A tremble of another kind went through her. Not fear. No, this was something altogether different and altogether more interesting. He pulled her to her feet with ease and took her arm to help her to a bench near the inn’s front door.

  “Rest here for a moment while I seek out a stableman,” he said. “I don’t think they anticipated any arrivals this late in the evening.” He strode off a few steps, then turned to look at her over his shoulder. His hat was off and the glow from behind Willa glanced off his fair hair. If she was not mistaken, his lips quirked slightly. “Perhaps your knees will find their way home while I’m gone.”

  He strode off and Willa’s mouth dropped open. Humor? From the Hell-Husband? And rather fresh humor at that, for it was most improper of him to refer to any part of her anatomy hidden by her skirts.

  Amazing. Apparently, she had wasted her entire day hating a perfectly nice man. Oh well, one should always keep one’s practice up. He could turn out to be not-so-nice, after all.

  By dint of gradually stretching one leg, then the next, Willa was able to feel her feet once more. At the other side of the yard she saw the stable doors open and a fellow emerge with a lantern to take the mounts.

  Nathaniel tossed the stable boy a coin and turned back to the inn. The establishment was nothing special, but it was convenient and, more important to Nathaniel, would not be populated by the upper crust of Society. To be truthful, it likely wouldn’t be populated by the middle crust, either, from the looks of it.

  All the better. Such a place would not demand names or answers to questions that Nathaniel didn’t yet feel up to providing. Even if the folk therein had heard of Lord Treason—and likely they had—they wouldn’t know him on sight.

  Miss Trent was on her feet when he got to her, evidently much recovered. When he took her arm and guided her into the inn, she was hardly limping at all. Good. He’d been remiss to make her ride so far the first day.

  She would have to ride even farther tomorrow. If he could put her on a coach for London tomorrow, he would, but he was unwilling to send her alone. She was an inexperienced, sheltered creature. He’d sooner throw a lamb to the wolves.


  Not that marrying him wasn’t damage enough.

  He showed her the two items of their luggage he’d retained from their gear, the remainder of which would spend the night in the stable with the mounts. “Will you need anything other than this for the night?”

  She shook her head. He gestured her on before him into the inn. The taproom of the inn was empty, which was a relief. The fewer people he saw, the less chance of being recognized, even in this rough place. With its thatched roof, huge beams, and stone floor, it could as easily have existed two centuries past as now.

  The burly innkeeper nodded, his face impassive as he polished tankards at the tap.

  “Be ye needing a room for the night?”

  “Yes, thank you, and one for my… companion.” Nathaniel simply couldn’t seem to wrap his tongue around the word wife yet.

  The man’s expression changed. He slid his eyes to Miss Trent, who was craning her head to look about the common inn room as if it were a palace chamber. The innkeeper said nothing, but the knowing disdain in his eyes spoke volumes.

  Nathaniel’s protective hackles rose. “On second thought, we will share a chamber,” he ordered. “Your largest chamber.”

  Miss Trent brought her attention back to the conversation at that. She shot a questioning look at Nathaniel, who shrugged. He pulled the innkeeper aside for a brief sotto voce discussion. Then Nathaniel grabbed their sacks, tossed them over his shoulder, and tilted his head at the stairs. He went up them without waiting for her.

  Willa hesitated at the foot of the stairs. Despite Mr. Stonewell’s interesting attributes she was in no hurry to begin her wedding night.

  The burly man came and went, bringing items to and from the kitchen.

  He kept his gaze openly on her while he moved about the room, sweeping so idly that it could be nothing but a pretense.

  Well, then. Yes. Definitely time to follow Nathaniel. Willa shot up the stairs, feeling the man’s eyes on her back all the way up.

  Mr. Stonewell stood at the top of the stairs against the candlelight, looming just a bit. Willa swallowed. Big scary man downstairs, big semiscary man upstairs. Decisions, decisions.

  “Aren’t you coming to bed?”

  Miss Trent stood apparently frozen there on the middle step, watching him. Her eyes were as wide as twin blue moons in the meager candlelight.

  What was the matter with the girl? When he’d realized she wasn’t right behind him he’d thought she might have ducked out to the necessary. He’d waited, just a moment, before remembering the innkeeper’s assumption.

  “I really think it would be best if you stayed with me at all times, miss—ah, Willa,” he said gently. She didn’t respond. If he was not mistaken, she was actually holding her breath. Why? What had he—

  Aren’t you coming to bed?

  Ah. He cleared his throat. “I did not mean—” He stopped. There was no real hope of clearing that one up here in the hallway. He stepped back and bowed, gesturing toward the open door of the room. “Your chamber awaits, milady,” he said grimly.

  She lifted one foot to the next step, then hesitated again. “My chamber? Don’t you mean ours? I am your wife.”

  Well, actually, no, not really. Something else best not discussed in the hall. “I will take the floor,” he assured her.

  For some reason, she did not seem as relieved by that as he would have thought. She sent him a peevish glance and stomped the rest of the way up the stairs, sweeping past him—if he was not severely mistaken—with a decided sniff.

  What had he done this time?

  He followed her to their rough room and shut the door, closing them in together.

  Willa started at the turn of the key in the lock. She shivered. The room was chill, of course. This was not a true haven of hospitality like John and Moira’s inn. No one had come up before them to light the hearth or to warm between the sheets with a pan full of hot coals, something Willa had done many times for guests in the past.

  She knelt to the hearth to do it herself with the tinderbox supplied on the mantle. Mr. Stonewell peered over her shoulder to see what she was doing. “Here, now. I’ll take care of that.”

  “Already done,” Willa said cheerfully, and it was. Within seconds she’d struck the steel against the flint, creating sparks to drop onto the tinder beneath where the meager coals sat on the grate. She stood, dusting her hands. “It won’t warm up in here for hours, unfortunately.”

  She turned to see Mr. Stonewell gazing at her strangely. “What is the matter?”

  He blinked. “Nothing at all. I simply don’t know many women who can start their own fire.”

  Willa snorted. “Then I daresay you must not know many women.” She stepped to one side, hoping he’d take the hint and move away so she could get past. He didn’t, only remained there, gazing at her as if he were seeing her for the first time.

  Suddenly Willa became very aware of the fact that she was alone with the handsome—albeit slightly odd—Mr. Stonewell. Alone, in an inn room, with her husband on her wedding night.

  Wed him and bed him. Moira’s voice seemed very far away and long ago. That had sounded so simple, if a bit daunting, this morning. Well, she’d wedded him. Cross that one off.

  Abruptly he seemed to become aware that he was blocking her way. He stepped back, then turned swiftly to pull their packsacks into the dim circle of light from the single tallow candle provided by the inn.

  “What were you speaking to the innkeeper about, downstairs?” she asked him. Not that she was curious—except that she always did seem to be curious—only she wanted him to speak to her, to have conversation, to ease the way the room seemed to be shrinking around them. “Is there something of which I should know?” She put one fist on her hip. “Are you ever going to answer me?”

  He gave her a brief glance. “No.”

  An answer at last! “Wait—which question are you answering?”

  He went still for a moment, then shook his head with a rueful twist to his sensual lips. “You choose for me. I’ve lost track again.” He bent to take some items from his bag, then swung it into the corner. All very interesting, and Willa did so enjoy watching her new husband in motion—especially all that bending over—

  He stepped away and she followed, for some reason compelled to make him speak to her. Her foot trod on something on the floor where he’d been sorting through his things. A small packet, wrapped in a simple handkerchief. Willa picked it up and unrolled the linen to drop a thick gold ring into her hand. “What is this?” she asked, holding it out to him.

  Nathaniel reached automatically, then went very still when the ring dropped into his waiting palm. It was heavier than he remembered, but that was somehow appropriate. The Reardon crest had been carved into the old gold in the days of knights and tourneys, when the title of Marquis of Reardon was first created by a grateful king and the ring given by the royal hand itself. The stone had been reset a few times through the intervening centuries, so last spring Nathaniel had felt no qualms replacing the inferior emerald that had previously occupied the setting.

  The large stone was a fine ruby, cut and polished in Vienna by the finest jewel smiths in the world. He knew because he’d chosen the stone himself. His former fiancée, Daphne, loved rubies, though they reminded Nathaniel of blood. Now the ruby simply reminded him of all that he had freely given up yet still mourned.

  His mission fired within him anew. Downstairs he’d taken the innkeeper aside for a moment to ask if he’d seen Foster. The man grudgingly had affirmed that Foster had indeed passed this way. The traitor was an entire day ahead now.

  Oddly, Nathaniel had not truly expected Foster to take this route. Nathaniel had diverged to the south road in order to reach London all the faster and deal with his unfortunate marital situation. He’d hardly dared hope that Foster would be traveling the same road.

  And why? Why had Foster also turned suddenly hard toward London? At great speed as well, according to what the innkeeper had said. Nathani
el’s fingers tightened unknowingly on the ring in his palm, until he felt the gold edges pressing deeply into his skin. He eased his grip enough to display the ruby in the candle’s glow once again.

  Willa seemed fascinated. She reached to stroke the insignia worked into the shoulder. “Is that a boar? And a sword? What does that mean?”

  “Not a bloody thing.” Not anymore.

  She pulled her hand back and Nathaniel cursed his harsh words. But how could he explain the fresh loss he felt just looking at the damned thing? The grief welled within him again, the destruction of his honor and with it all his private dreams. With a swift motion, he pulled back his fist to throw the ring into the fire.

  “No!” Willa reached out to stop him but halted when she saw his bleak face. Nathaniel seemed almost sinister, lit spookily as he was by the flickering fire.

  Yet he stopped. With a curse, he shoved the ring back to the bottom of his pack.

  “You’ll sleep there,” he said brusquely, indicating the bed. “I’ll spread a blanket before the fire.”

  Then he stalked to the door.

  “Wait!” Willa suddenly didn’t mind his presence. Suddenly the strange shoddy room seemed more dangerous without him. “Where are you going? May I come with you?”

  He stopped with his hand on the door. “To the necessary. And no, I’d rather you didn’t.”

  She subsided, blushing. “Oh. No, of course. That would be—”

  He seemed to relent a bit. “I’ll be no more than a moment. Turn the key after I leave if you wish.”

  He was being kind again and she was being silly. “I shall be fine,” she said gamely. “I’m of age to spend ten minutes in a room alone.”

  He only nodded shortly and left her. Willa dutifully restrained herself from locking him out. Instead, she spent those suddenly precious moments getting herself ready for bed. A quick swish in the chill water kept in the pitcher on the washstand and into her wedding night gown.

  Just in case. So far Mr. Stonewell didn’t seem inclined to claim his marital rights, but that didn’t mean she shouldn’t expect something of the sort from him.