Margaret Moore - The Overlord's Bride

“There were no marks on her, my lady—at least none that people ever saw.”

Which did not mean they were not there, beneath the woman’s gown, or that he was not cruel to her in other ways. “Was he harsh with her?”

“Not that I’ve heard, my lady.”

Again, that only meant not in public. However, considering the open nature of a lord and lady’s life, the servants would know if things were seriously amiss between them. “He has his scar and ruined voice for proof that he was attacked.”

The woman flushed and remained silent.

“Why did she want to kill him?”

“I don’t know,” the woman mumbled.

“Rual, if you don’t believe my husband’s explanation, you must have some reason to think he wanted her dead.”

“Perhaps he suspected her of infidelity.”

“With whom?”

Rual shrugged.

“Does anybody hazard a guess?”

“No, my lady.”

Elizabeth sighed with relief. If there had been infidelity, or more than the merest suspicion of it—or any other hint of a motive on Lord Kirkheathe’s part for wanting his wife dead—rumor and gossip would have flown from one part of this castle to the other. She had learned that well enough.

Rual shifted nervously. “My lady, I think I had best get these linens below.”

“Thank you, Rual,” Elizabeth replied, seeing the wisdom of Lady Katherine’s admonition never to listen to the gossip of servants, no matter how tempting. “Has my uncle eaten this morning?”

“He and his men departed at first light on my lord’s orders.”

Elizabeth stared at her incredulously. “He is already gone?”

“Once Lord Kirkheathe got the dowry, he sent him off, with his men grumbling all the while. Your uncle felt so sleepy and poorly from the wine, he could barely keep his seat.”

“But Lord Kirkheathe was here when I awoke.”

“Came back, that’s all.”

“I didn’t hear a thing.”

Rual smirked. “You were sleeping sound, I expect.”

“I suppose,” Elizabeth replied, paying little heed to Rual’s expression as she wondered how long he had been there, watching her.

“Have you no warmer gown, my lady?”

“No. The hall will have a fire, will it not?” Elizabeth answered.

“Aye, a good one. Lord Kirkheathe insists upon it.”

“Then I shall go there and get warm,” Elizabeth said. “And when you are done with the laundress, will you come back and show me about my new home?”

“Aye, my lady.”

“There, my lord, do you see?” Aiken said, pointing at the footings of the bridge. “It’s rotting. The bridge’ll collapse come spring.”

Holding his tunic up out of the mud of the riverbank with one hand, Raymond noted the decayed wood.

Thank God, he had the money to pay for repairs. Or, to be more precise, thank Elizabeth’s uncle, who had no notion of just how desperately Raymond needed money, or he would have haggled the dowry lower. Now, however, Raymond could afford much-needed repairs to various buildings, roads and bridges on his estate.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.