Free Jo Beverley by Forbidden Magic

saw Nims there, patiently waiting.
    â€œBut I will strive,” declared Sax, puffing out the last flame, “and Nims will stand as my trusty squire, to ready me for the fight.”
    He put the candleholder in Owain’s hand, said a fond good night to Brak, and gently closed the door between them.
    Through the wood Owain heard him declare, “I will stand proud and valiant, and will have the endurance of ten men and the patience of Job. Just pray that I don’t get his boils. Sweet dreams, Owain.”
    Owain went off to his study, laughing, and wrote a long list of instructions for the staff. When he sought his own bed, however, he was plagued with anxieties on behalf of Miss Gillingham and her needy brothers and sisters.
    Sax was so damned unpredictable.
    Though Meg had been exhausted, she hadn’t found much sleep. She’d lain awake most of the night, imagining the worst possible consequences of her action. Always, however, the image of Sir Arthur returned to remind her of the very worst.
    At the first morning light, she eased out of bed and broke the thin layer of ice on her washing water. A brisk scrub of her face brought up a bit of color. Then she brushed her hair until it crackled.
    She still didn’t look like a countess.
    However, with her week’s grace gone, Meg’s greatest fear was that she was the victim of some malicious trick. Today, Sir Arthur would come for his answer, and when she refused to let him have her sister, they’d be out on the street. A glance through the frost-laced window showed a scattering of snow on the dormant garden, and the trees whipping in the wind. They could freeze to death out there.
    And there was worse to fear.
    If this marriage didn’t happen, Laura was quite capable of sacrificing herself.
    Impossible.
    But horribly possible if Laura ever suspected Sir Arthur’s plan. And he’d tell her.
    No, the sheelagh had found a solution. As usual, it came with a sting—that Meg must marry a deranged and possibly deformed stranger. But it provided for all their needs.
    As she woke her sisters, therefore, she prayed most earnestly that it not be a trick.
    She picked up the earl’s letter and re-read it. It seemed clear, and why should such a man take it into his mind to trick poor Meg Gillingham?
    Why should such a man take it into his mind to marry poor Meg Gillingham?
    Putting the letter aside, she helped the others to dress, fingers clumsy with cold, nerves, and guilt. After all, if the earl did turn up at the church, he would have no more idea why than the baker’s son.
    It was wrong, but she couldn’t let that sway her.
    Whatever the cost to her or him, her siblings must have security and hope for the future. Laura must be saved.
    Weaving Rachel’s fine hair into a plait, Meg told herself that Lord Saxonhurst was getting exactly what he’d bargained for. A hardworking, honest, dutiful wife.
    Her sister was one long wriggle. “Is it true that you’ll be a countess, Meg?”
    â€œI suppose so. Sit still.”
    â€œI wish I were going to be a countess. Will you go to Court?”
    â€œI have no idea.” Pushing aside that terrifying thought, Meg tied a tight ribbon around the end. “There. You’ll do. Go start the fire.”
    Laura was nearly as bad. “You’ll have robes, won’t you? And have to take part in state occasions.”
    â€œI dearly hope not. Let me fasten your buttons.”
    Laura stood with her back to Meg. She’d chosen a pretty dress far too flimsy for such a day, but Meg hadn’t the heart to make her change. She’d be warm enough with her woolen cloak over.
    â€œWhat if the king dies? He could, couldn’t he? Then there’d be a coronation, and you’d be there!”
    â€œLaura, you can’t wish for the poor man’s death!”
    â€œI’m not. I’m just thinking.”
    Meg’s sensible gown buttoned at the front,