The Elusive Bride by Deborah Hale

Author:Deborah Hale
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Harlequin Enterprises
Published: 2013-10-15T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Was she running away from her only chance at happiness? Cecily feared so.

Between the steady downpour of rain and the vexing flood of tears that rose in her eyes, she could scarcely see the road before her. She could feel it, though. By turns, the mud sucked her feet down or forced them to skid out from under her. As long as she sailed this river of mud, it would eventually cast her up at the gate of Ravensridge, like a piece of flotsam.

What would she find when she arrived there? Cecily tried not to dwell on the subject lest her resolve weaken and she fly back up the road and into John FitzCourtenay’s waiting arms.

The questions continued to nag at her, like persistent insects whining in her ear. However he had reacted to the Empress’s edict, Lord Rowan had evidently decided to follow it. Else why would he have sent his brother all the way to Brantham to fetch her?

Would he change his mind once he discovered the bothersome baggage his bride brought with her? It would take more than an exchange of wedding vows for Baron DeCourtenay to gain control of Brantham. For that he would have to venture outside his stronghold in Gloucester, cross another county with a large enough force of arms to wrest the castle back from Fulke DeBoissard.

And if he did not succeed, he’d be saddled with a dowerless wife. One whose heart belonged irrevocably to another man.

What little she knew of her intended husband led Cecily to doubt he would accept such a situation with good grace. Not that she believed Ranulf Beauchamp’s horrible insinuations about DeCourtenay murdering his first wife…exactly.

There was some dark mystery, though, swathing the events of Lady Jacquetta’s death. One so impenetrable that even Lord Rowan’s own brother could not fathom it.

Cecily shivered.

The rain and wind had turned colder. The sound of the latter had risen to a high keening wail. A great hulking shadow rose up before her, suddenly shielding Cecily from the worst of the storm.

Ravensridge. She had reached her destination at last.

Swiping the tight sleeve of her kirtle across her face, Cecily smoothed back her hair as best she could. Would Lord Rowan’s guards admit such a bedraggled creature into his keep? Or would they laugh themselves hoarse at the very notion that she might be the Tyrell heiress?

There was only one way to find out.

With the edge of her fist, she hammered on the porter’s wicket beside the main gate.

“Hallo! Is anyone there?” Could they hear her above the high whine of the wind? “I pray you, let me in!”

Someone peered through the wicket.

“By Our Lady!” came a voice from within. “What are you doing abroad in weather like this, lass?”

“The storm gathered quickly and I was caught in it. I am Cecily Tyrell of Brantham. I have journeyed here to wed Lord Rowan, by order of the Empress.”

“What? All the way from Berkshire? On foot? By yourself?”

Cecily opened her mouth to say that she had been escorted by Lord Rowan’s own brother.

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