Free Captive Bride by Katharine Ashe Page A

so. He didn’t seem the sort to withhold threatening information. Bea wouldn’t miss this experiment for the world.
    Lady Bronwyn’s eyes brightened with anticipation. She must have been wretched these past months, such a vivacious girl, all alone but for her frail grandmother’s companionship and two elderly servants.
    The party dispersed, the ladies to don sturdy shoes, before they all gathered again near the rear gate. The fortress was not quite as large as Bea had at first imagined it, but still sizable enough to require a thorough investigation. After lunch, while the others rested, she would go exploring.
    A vast courtyard stretched from the pair of towers to either side of the main gate, accessed over a bridge crossing a waterless moat. The parlor, bedchambers, and dining chamber were situated in this section. The massive front battlement of the fortress ran along a ridge of the hill to a thick, round tower, even taller than the main towers. Another, much lower, rectangular edifice with two modest turrets completed the castle’s rough-shaped triangle. It was a marvelously unusual construction and thoroughly menacing.
    Thomas and Bronwyn led the way through the rear gate. It stood wide open, a rotten portcullis wedged into the embrasure above. As propriety demanded, Tip offered his arm to Lady Marstowe , who came along with a frown. Bea linked elbows with her other great-aunt. The sun sparkled over the gray stone ramparts behind and the treetops ahead that were gnarled enough to seem as old as Lord Iversly claimed to be.
    The path from the castle ran alongside a gently rising hill. Sheep grazed above in velvet pastures bordered with low stone walls, clusters of evergreens and brown- and gold trees stretching into a pine forest as the mountain rose steeply beyond. Nearby, a walkway paved in slate led a distance along the glade to an ancient oak of broad branches scored with mint-colored lichen. Beneath, a stone bench invited dalliance.
    Bea stared at Tip’s back, trying to imagine his scent. The night before, she’d been far too preoccupied with feeling to fully appreciate the rich, musky aroma of his cologne, but she knew it well enough. He had worn the same for years.
    What would he say to her when they were again alone? She had no doubt he would apologize. He was too much of a gentleman not to.
    Upon rising, with the memory of his kiss still stirring in her senses, she concluded that he’d been distracted. Her nerves were constantly tingling here. Perhaps his were too. After all, he looked so odd the night before, and Bea’s mother and Sylvia often said that men’s lustful natures encouraged them to act impulsively on the merest provocation. The discovery of Lord Iversly was certainly a cause for being overset. The close, dimly lit corridor probably helped.
    Or, perhaps, he had just wanted to kiss her. Finally.
    After seven years?
    No . That seemed too remarkable. No man had ever wanted to kiss her.
    They ascended the gradual incline beneath a canopy of grand old cherries with fallen leaves crackling underfoot. When they reached the bench under the oak, the great-aunts sat to rest.
    “You young ones should not halt here on our account,” Aunt Julia said brightly. “The view is lovely and Grace and I will be more than happy to await your return.”
    “A fine idea, Aunt Julia.” Thomas eagerly drew Lady Bronwyn farther up the path.
    “Go along, Beatrice,” Lady Marstowe ordered, gesturing after them, “and don’t lose sight of them. That boy will ruin himself if he does not take care.”
    Bea was rather more concerned with Lady Bronwyn’s ruination. Her brother was a careless fellow. He seemed enamored enough of the girl, but he had seemed the same with at least a half dozen other ladies in the past few years.
    She continued along the path and Tip fell in beside her. As soon they passed out of earshot of the great-aunts, he spoke.
    “Bea, I beg your pardon for my presumption last night. I hope you