Off in his garden plot behind the church, Father Eudo dug and turned earth. A dog barked somewhere in the village. Yolande pressed a thumb to her stomach, hoping to trace the new life there, and tried not to think of Peter and poison, turning her mind instead to strawberries. Would Geraint have more when he returned?
A jangle of a horse harness did not make her turn, but a rousing, “On, boy,” had Yolande turning toward the church gate. Straight ahead, ambling along, was an ancient horse with an indifferent gait but pulling a covered wagon for all that.
Perched on the front of the wagon, Geraint snapped the harness and called again, “On, boy, on. Oh, God Almighty, I’ll be quicker by foot.” He leaped off the wagon and ran through the gate to her, groveling a low bow and grinning. “Our new home. What do you think, wife?”
Yolande caught the horse, which obligingly stopped at once. This was what Geraint and the smith and carpenter had been building. And it was excellent, which was why she should not laugh.
A snigger escaped her lips and Geraint stopped mid-caper. “You do not like it?”
“Show me around,” Yolande said, still striving not to chuckle.
Instead, her wild, wonderful husband swept her into his arms, threw her up, caught her then carried her to the back of the wagon, pointing out marvels as they went.
“There is a bucket for slops, another for water, pots and pans, a nice big bed inside, a box for a crib, hanging space, strong hide-and-leather top, lanterns. Have I missed anything?”
“Yes, my kiss,” said Yolande and she reached up and helped herself.
“You like it?” Geraint asked again, when they came up for air.
She stroked his chin. “I love it.” She kissed him again, right between his frowning brows. “Love it,
cariad
.”
“Hey, that is my word, and why are you laughing?” He set her carefully on the seat of the wagon. “Are you sure? If you do not…”
Yolande licked her lips and flicked one of her plaits. Later she would tell her anxious husband that she laughed for sheer delight. Heartened by the way she could stop his chatter, she leaned forward, allowing the snug seams of her gown to do their own talking.
“I think we should make sure the bed is comfortable,” she said.
Geraint cupped her chin. “It will be a pleasure to find out.”
“Remember to tether the horse first, husband.”
“I will, wife, I will.”
Lindsay Townsend is a multi-published historical romance and romantic suspense author living in England. She loves writing about the ancient and medieval worlds, and when not writing she enjoys reading, listening to music, walking in the countryside and spending time with her husband.
Lindsay welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email addresses on her
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Ellora’s Cave Publishing
Dark Maiden
ISBN 9781419941702
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Dark Maiden Copyright © 2013 Lindsay Townsend
Edited by Carrie Jackson
Cover design by Dar Albert
Electronic book publication June 2013
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