Free Chosen for the Marriage Bed by Anne O'Brien

knowingly on Elizabeth, before continuing. ‘I believe it is customary to use the bride’s hair in sewing the wedding gown, for good fortune,’ she informed her as she set her stitches with exemplary skill, the needle no sharper than her tongue, her eyes on her stitches, a smile on her lips. ‘I doubt that will be possible, dear Elizabeth. We could, of course, sew in one of mine. It would be perfect.’
    Elizabeth might curb her instincts, watch her words through necessity, but Mistress Bringsty sprang to her defence. ‘We’ve no need of such ruses, which smack of nothing less than witch craft, Mistress Anne. I can think of better charms from nature’s own goodness to bless this union.’
    So into the hem was sewn leaves of periwinkle and a handful of the flat translucent honesty seeds, to promote a lucky and happy marriage. Elizabeth eyed them ruefully. She feared she would need far more than a handful of seeds to bless this marriage. Particularly if, even now as she waited for his return, her bride groom was enjoying a heated liaison with Mistress Joanna.

    Richard’s business in Hereford took longer to complete than he had expected as he had a particular commission of his own, so unavoidably he returned to Ledenshall less than twenty-four hours before the ceremony, which, if he had thought about it, should have warned him of possible consequences. He found Ledenshall in festive and lively uproar, every avail able space housing some degree of relative or family dependant. He also discovered a bride waiting for him in the court yard, a bride who had little time for him, spine strikingly rigid, face set, hardly willing to grant him, or her brother David, more than a few words in passing. Certainly not a smile as might be expected between a lady and her betrothed. Much as on his departure, he received nothing but a flat stare.
    ‘Welcome home.’ Her tone said it all.
    Richard dismounted. ‘Elizabeth. We were delayed.’
    ‘I am aware.’
    ‘You are well?’
    ‘Yes. As you see.’
    He frowned, displeased with her short reply, her brusque manner. So he would push the issue of their relationship a little more. Stern-faced, his eyes never leaving hers, he held out his hand, palm up in a tacit demand that she respond to him. Instead, his gentle bride thrust her hands behind her back.
    Richard held firm, conscious of every eye on the pair of them. Pride stiffened his jaw. He would not be defied in this manner in his own castle by a girl who was not yet his wife. He waited. Until Elizabeth flushed, and, with obvious reluctance, touched her hand briefly to his. With instinctive re actions, he pounced, closed his hand on her sleeve when she would have pulled away. Then raised her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingers with slow deliberation.
    ‘Elizabeth. I have not abandoned you, as you see.’
    ‘No, my lord.’ But the tension from her fingers did not ease.
    Is that what she had feared? That his absence meant rejection? Surely not. He could hardly refuse to wed her now that she was ensconced in his home as his accepted bride. He swung round at a request from Master Kilpin, to give orders for the disposition of the pack animals and their burden. To discover when he turned back again that the only view he had was of the lady’s re treating figure, shoulders still formidably straight as she marched towards the door.
    ‘Well…’ He pushed a hand through his disordered hair, admitting to a brush of anger, until he caught David’s grin and raised brows. ‘What did I say?’
    ‘Nothing.’ David chuckled. ‘And not for some days. That’s the problem.’
    ‘So what should I have done?’
    ‘Got back here before the eleventh hour. Elizabeth has a temper.’
    ‘As I know.’ He cuffed the lad gently on the shoulder. ‘Should I fear her retaliation, do you suppose?’
    At which David guffawed inelegantly. ‘I am not afraid of Elizabeth.’
    Richard’s lips twitched at the implication. What had he expected from