Free Marriage By Arrangement by Anne Greene

from battle who suffered still from what they’d experienced. And certainly Avondale looked like a man who’d experienced horror. Had he fought at Culloden?
    She took her husband’s clenched hand, but he pulled free and again paced from window to window, staring out of each one.
    “Listen! Listen! Can’t you hear Bloody Billy calling me?” He cupped a hand over his ear.
    She held her breath and listened. The wind howled almost like an angry voice. She pressed her ear to the thick window glass, but only the hissing sleet driving against the unyielding stones of the castle reached her ears. “There’s no one there. It’s all right. No one is outside.”
    Lurching from side to side, her husband continued to pace, his single boot thudding on the thick carpet.
    Doors creaked open in the upstairs hall.
    She could imagine guests, nightcaps askew, peeking out.
    Again she tried to calm him. “Come to bed, my dearest.”
    He shook off her hand and strode to the doorway to the hall. “He shall not get you. You must hide. I shall lead him away.” Shoving aside the heavy furniture as if each piece was a toy, he flung the door open, clattered out, sped down the long hall, and took the stairs at a run. Soon, the back castle door slammed open and shut.
    She rushed to the window. He dashed through the downpour and slopped through puddles on the path to the stables. Would he injure himself? Already his soaked jacket and bedraggled shirt clung to his body.
    Soon a horse galloped out the stable door. Avondale rode bareback in a line to the open moor, his wet clothes clinging to his body. He would catch his death of consumption.
    Someone coughed behind her.
    She turned. “Hennings?”
    Avondale’s muscular valet stood just inside the open door.
    She pulled her robe closed. Her hand trembled. “Please send someone to fetch His Grace back to the castle.”
    “Yes, Milady.” Hennings backed out the door. “I shall go myself.” He rushed down the hall, his nightclothes flapping about his bare ankles.
    She followed.
    Heads were indeed peeking from bedchamber doors.
    “I’m so sorry, we awakened you. Everything is fine. His Grace had to see to an emergency. Please go return to your beds.”
    Yawns, nods, and a few curious looks met her gaze. Then one by one, each returned to his room and closed his door.
    Mums bustled down the hall. “Is everything well?”
    “I don’t know.” She tried to smile.
    Mums looked so worried.
    “However, I believe I shall entail Rafe to accompany Avondale, should he be called out again in the middle of the night.”
    “Rafe?”
    “The brawny Scot who shoes the horses.”
    “Whatever for?”
    “To keep my dear husband safe.”
    Mums eyes widened. Her mouth thinned. “To be his guard, you mean.” She frowned. “Isn’t his valet enough?”
    So Mums had not missed Avondale’s valet’s real mission. How many others understood as well? If only the too long lingering wedding guests would return to court or to their own homes. Perhaps they enjoyed the Scottish country air more than the more polluted atmosphere of London. Certainly the hunting here was superior to that in England.
    Or perhaps Mums’s fine cook kept them too happy.
    And Papa would never be rude to such high born gentry by asking them when they planned to return to their homes.
    Cailin shook her head. “Apparently Avondale’s valet sleeps at night. I must see that Rafe does not.”
    “Oh my dear, whatever can be wrong with His Grace?” Tears glistened in Mums aqua eyes.
    “I wish I knew. I’ll call for his royal mother. Perhaps she’ll know what to do.”
    “Oh, heavens.”
    “I wouldn’t send for her if I was not just a bit desperate.” Cailin bit her lip.
     
     
     
     

9
     
    Cailin watched Avondale stir, open his dark chocolate eyes, and stretch. Her heart ached at the loving expression in their warm depth.
    “Ah, my dearest wife. I’ve just enjoyed the soundest sleep. I say, what time is it?”
    “Almost