His Forsaken Bride by Alice Coldbreath

Author:Alice Coldbreath
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Medieval
Publisher: 0
Published: 2018-03-20T18:30:00+00:00

He cleared his throat. “Mr Roberts,” said the man, addressing her husband with some reluctance.

“Carleton,” replied her husband with a nod. “It seems you do recognize me outside your establishment after all.”

The old man’s face creased in what Fen assumed was a smile. “So it would seem, sir. So it would seem.”

He looked curiously toward Fen, but made no comment. Oswald seemed to pause a moment, before continuing: “Allow me to introduce my wife. Mrs Roberts, meet Mr Carleton.”

Fen tried not to react to her new name, but instead extended her hand to shake.

Mr Carleton also struggled not to look surprised, and shook her hand. “Mrs Roberts,” he said, giving her a hard look.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Mr Carleton.”

The two men bowed again and Mr Carleton disappeared into the throng. Oswald offered his arm and she took it.

“So… not your doxy then,” she joked, glancing up at his profile. He still looked a little stern and for a moment she thought he was angry. His expression relaxed almost immediately, and he raised her hand to kiss her knuckles. “Your hand is cold,” he frowned.

“Nothing to signify,” she hurried to assure him, but he was already glancing around and then tugging her in the direction of the tavern. Fen, who had been enjoying herself, was in no hurry leave the hustle and bustle of the market place. “Which house do the Robertses live in?” she asked, gazing about her.

Oswald cast her a curious look, before falling in with her playful mood. “The biggest one of course.”

Fen laughed appreciatively. “That one?” she pointed to a large timbered monstrosity of a town house, at least four floors high and boasting an impressive courtyard and adjoining stables.

“Naturally,” he inclined his head. “Only the very best for the Robertses.”

“Mr Roberts must be a very successful merchant, I think,” mused Fen aloud. “Perhaps even a town alderman or a councilor?”

“I like to perform my civic duty,” he murmured with a mock-modesty that had Fen giggling again. They had reached the inn by now, and Oswald opened the door for her. Fen gazed around at the low ceiling and dark interior. There were great swathes of ivy pinned and draped across the ceiling beams in honor of the midwinter festival and tied with bright red ribbons. A fire burned merrily in the hearth, casting an inviting flicker over the far wall. Oswald headed straight for it, towing her in his wake. He had no sooner helped her out of her cloak and seen her settled on a corner wooden bench than a server approached. Oswald ordered a wassail bowl to share a hot spiced punch and seated himself at the bench opposite her. “Warm enough?” he asked, reaching for her hand.

Fen nodded, feeling the warmth from the blazing fire at her back. “Tis very cosy in here,” she assured him. “And it does one’s heart good to see the decorations up for the midwinter festivities. Back home-” she stopped herself. “Back in Sitchmarsh,” she corrected herself quickly.

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