Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Five

So this was Spindle Cove’s excuse for a gaol.

Thorne had always wondered about this tiny building settled on the village green, not far from St. Ursula’s. At first he’d assumed it to be a well house for a spring that had long dried up. Then someone told him it used to be a baptistery for the original church.

At any rate, now it was the gaol.

The structure was small, round, and fashioned of windowless sandstone walls. It must have been built during the same era as the original Rycliff Castle—in other words, forever ago. The wood ceiling, of course, had long since rotted away. Instead, a lattice of iron bars overhead kept prisoners confined while admitting fresh air and golden shafts of sunlight. Here and there a bit of moss or fern sprouted from a crack in the wall.

As with all things in this village, it was a little too quaint and charming. But it would be effective enough. The only break in the stone walls was the single forged metal door. The handiwork of Aaron Dawes, no doubt, and Thorne knew him to be a capable smith.

A heavy set of iron cuffs encircled his wrists, linked by a chain. The shackles were genuine, taken from Sir Lewis’s collection. The only keys to both cell door and irons were in Bram’s possession, and he’d given his word.

Thorne was well and truly confined.

The night hadn’t been easy. Sitting chained in the dark . . . the silence poked at the wild, feral creature in him. But the restraints were good, and the walls were solid. Even if he went a bit mad and his resolve crumbled, he wouldn’t be muscling his way out of this cell.

Which was fortunate, because if he did muscle his way out of the cell, taking on the guards would be no difficulty.

“Tell me again how is it that you two,” he asked, “are the village gaolers?”

Finn and Rufus Bright sat outside the cell’s grated door with a pack of cards. They were twins, just nearing sixteen years old, and Thorne didn’t like trusting them with a few hours’ watch from the southeast turret of Rycliff Castle. He would have never set them to guard a dangerous criminal.

“Used to be our despicable sot of a father’s duty,” Rufus said. “He was the riding officer, before he switched sides of the law. Better money in smuggling, I suppose.”

“Once he was gone,” Finn said, “the task fell to Errol, as his eldest son.”

“And Errol’s gone to Dover this week.” Rufus split and shuffled the deck of cards. “So lucky you, you get us.”

Lucky them, the youth surely meant. As much hell as Thorne had given Spindle Cove’s youngest militiamen over the past year, he could only imagine they were enjoying this.

He heard Bram’s voice. “Finn, Rufus. I hope you’re treating your prisoner well.”

“Yes, Lord Rycliff.”

“Thorne?” Bram peered through the door grate. “Not yet wasted to bones, I gather.”

“Not even close.”

“Don’t think this isn’t costing me. My wife is not pleased. And in case you’re wondering, Miss Taylor—Lady Kate, I suppose I should call her now—is not pleased, either.”

Thorne shrugged, indifferent.

Katie would be pleased, eventually. In time, she’d see that this was best. Drewe could keep her safe and make her happy. She might have put on a brave face for him last night, told him she’d leave behind everything to be with him—but he knew her too well. She’d longed for a family all her life, and he couldn’t offer her anything to replace the Gramercys. And after last night, he knew he wasn’t fit to be a lady’s husband. He couldn’t even keep her safe.

“So what’s happening?” Thorne asked. “Have they seen the vicar for a license yet?”

“I’m not sure,” Bram said. “But she’s just come through the front door of the Queen’s Ruby.”

“How does she look?”

“Like she’s about to be married.”

A black, bottomless pit opened up in Thorne’s chest. He contemplated jumping into it.

“She’s walking toward the church,” Bram said. “All the rooming house ladies are following her. The Gramercys, too.”

“Tell me what she’s wearing.”

Bram cut him an annoyed look. “What do I look like to you? The Society columnist for the Prattler?”

“Just tell me.”

“Ivory frock. Two flounces and a great deal of lace.”

“Is she smiling?”

Stupid question.Her smile wouldn’t give any clues to her inner emotions. His Katie would be bravely smiling, even if she were walking to a guillotine.

“Her hair,” Thorne asked. “How is she wearing her hair?”

Bram growled. “Good God, man. I agreed to imprison you, not provide fashion reports.”

“Just tell me.”

“Her hair is up. You know how the ladies fix it—mass of curls on top, wound with ribbons. Someone’s stuck little blossoms between the curls. Don’t bother asking me what kind of flower. I don’t know.”

“Never mind,” Thorne scraped out. “That’s enough.”

He could see her in his mind’s eye. Floating in a lacy cloud, tiny stars of jasmine studded in her dark, shining hair. So feminine and beautiful. If she’d taken that much care with her appearance, she must be approaching her wedding with joy, not unwillingness or dread.

This was good, he told himself. The best possible outcome. He’d worried she might hold out longer, strictly for the sake of being stubborn. But she must have seen the wisdom of it, once she had a few hours to reflect.

“Susanna’s with her,” Bram said. “I’ll go inquire about their plans.”

Restless, Thorne paced the small round cell. He lifted and spread his arms, pulling against the irons. Every primal instinct in his body wanted to break free. He’d been prepared for this. This was why he’d exacted the promise from Bram—because when the time drew close, he knew only physical restraints could keep him from going after her.

Less than an hour now, surely, and it would be over. A matter of minutes, perhaps. When the church bells sounded, he’d know it was done.

Instead of church bells, however, he heard a scraping of metal in the lock. In response, his body screamed, Make ready. Prepare to bolt.

He turned his back on the door, clenching his hands in fists. “Devil take you, Bram. I told you not to open that door. You gave me your word.”

“I’m not releasing you,” Bram called. “I have a new prisoner, so you’ll have to share the cell.”

“A new prisoner?” Thorne glared hard at the wall as the door clanged shut. “I’m the first prisoner this gaol has seen in years. Now two in one morning? What’s the offense?”

A soft, melodic voice answered him. “Possession of a nuisance animal. Destruction of property.”

No.

His iron chains seemed to double in weight, and they pulled directly on his heart. He turned.

Of course it was Katie.

She was here, in gaol with him. And Bram had no future in Society columns, because his account of her appearance was a mere ghost of the reality. A man might as well witness a comet streaking across the sky and describe it as something resembling a glowworm.

Her frock was gauzy—sweet and revealing, all at once. Her hair was piled in dozens of intricate coils and twists, and her skin could have made angels weep. She was radiant.

A bit of fire flashed on her finger.

Sweet mercy. She was still wearing his ring.

Thorne pushed down the unwelcome surge of hope. His spirits shouldn’t be buoyed by her presence. He shouldn’t want her here at all. She didn’t belong with him in a gaol of any sort—not even a relatively quaint and charming one.

“Well . . . ?” She twisted, trying to catch his approval. “I wanted to look my best for my wedding.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said. “What the hell sort of game is Bram playing at?”

“It’s not a game, unfortunately. I’m under arrest.”

“For what?”

She pulled a thick black book from beneath her arm. “You were right. Letting Badger chew books was horrendous neglect on my part. Just look what the little beast has done.”

Thorne couldn’t risk drawing any closer to her, but he cocked his head and peered at the book. It was old, thick, bound with black leather . . . the gold leaf letters on the spine had been mostly destroyed, and most of the pages were shredded.

“Jesus,” he breathed as realization dawned. “Tell me that’s not what I think it is.”

She nodded. “It’s the St. Mary of the Martyrs parish register.”

“Not the one that—”

“Contained my birth record. Yes. As well as the record of my parents’ marriage.”

Thorne couldn’t believe this. “You allowed Badger to do that. On purpose.”

“It doesn’t really signify how and why it happened, does it? It’s done.” She squared her shoulders. “There’s no paper record of Katherine Adele Gramercy. Not any longer.”

The enormity of her words swamped his mind for a moment. He groped for some cord of reason or logic in the vast, nonsensical sea.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “Destroying that book doesn’t change who you are. You’re still Lady Katherine Gramercy.”

“Oh, I know who I am. And the Gramercys know it, too. But this mishap”—she held up the mangled register—“makes my identity more difficult to prove. Evan says we’ll need more witnesses before we even can approach the courts. It could take us years to have it all sorted out—until well after Lark’s season, I expect, and after Evan has a chance to arrange the finances and prepare me to inherit.”

“So you’re saying . . .”

“I’m saying I’m free, for now, to do as I please.” She approached him slowly. “I’m saying that someday I’ll take the Gramercy name, legally and publicly. But in the meantime . . . I’m hoping to share yours.” Her voice went husky with emotion. “I told you I’d give up everything, Samuel. I can’t fathom any life without you in it.”

Thorne stared at her a moment. Then he went to the door of the cell. “Bram!” He rattled the bars. “Bram, open this gate. Now.”

Bram shook his head. “Not a chance. I gave my word.”

“To hell with your word.”

“Curse me all you like. Rattle your cage as you please. You asked for this. You told me to keep you in gaol until Miss Taylor is married.”

“Well, she can’t get married while she’s locked in here.”

“On the contrary,” she said. “I believe I can.”

He turned to find her gazing at him from beneath lowered lashes. A shy smile played about her lips.

“No. Don’t think it. It’s not going to happen.”

“Why not?”

“For God’s sake, I’m not going to marry you in a gaol.”

“Would you rather we do it in the church?”

“No.” He growled with frustration.

She tilted her head and regarded the sunlight streaming through the lattice of iron overhead. With her fingertips, she brushed a bit of ivy curling through the wall. “As prisons go, it’s rather a romantic one. This is consecrated ground, so there’s no difficulty on that score. We did have the banns read over the past few weeks. I’m all dressed for the occasion, and you’re still wearing that devastating suit. There’s no impediment whatsoever.”

No, no, no. This was not going to happen.

“Lord Rycliff, would you kindly send for the vicar?” she asked.

“Don’t,” Thorne ordered. “Don’t. I won’t go through with it.”

“I thought you might say that.” Katie dropped onto the room’s only bench—a simple wood plank. “Very well. I can wait.”

“Don’t sit on that,” he exhorted. “Not in your wedding frock.”

“Shall I stand and call for the vicar, then?” When he didn’t answer, she stretched her legs out in front of her and crossed them at the ankles. “I’ll just wait until you change your mind.”

Thorne snorted. So that’s how she meant to play this. A war of wills.

Well, she’d made the first fatal mistake in battle—underestimating her opponent.

He leaned against the wall—as far away from her as he could possibly put himself, in the small round cell.

“You can’t wear me down,” he told her. “You cannot outlast me.”

“We’ll just see, won’t we?” She looked up at the shards of blue sky. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Kate stayed true to her word. She didn’t go anywhere.

Neither did he.

Of course, that didn’t stop all Spindle Cove from coming to them. Over the course of the day it seemed every man, woman, and child in the village had a turn at peeking through the barred door and sharing words of encouragement or wisdom.

The vicar came to offer counsel. The Gramercys came to call. Evan gave them his blessing, in case Samuel was waiting on it. Samuel made it clear he wasn’t. Aunt Marmoset passed Kate spice drops through the bars.

Mrs. Highwood dropped by to suggest, in rather obvious fashion, that if Lord Drewe were still interested in getting married today, her Diana would be available.

At suppertime the Fosburys brought over some food. Kate offered Thorne a morsel of cake with her fingertips, but he warned her off with a stern glare.

She popped it in her own mouth instead, making a show of licking her fingers clean.

Don’t think you’re hiding that flash in your eye.

He was so stubborn. After the fight last night, he’d thrown everything he had into building up one last fortified wall. But she would break it down. She’d be damned if she’d let him live in that cold, unfeeling prison he’d constructed. Not now, when she knew how much love and goodness he had to give.

And as Kate saw it, she was simply repaying a favor. All those years ago, he hadn’t left her behind. His conscience hadn’t let him leave the Hothouse without her. She would not leave this gaol without him.

By evening the whole village had gathered on the green. Kate and Samuel’s standoff had turned into an impromptu festival. Ale was flowing freely, thanks to the Bull and Blossom. The militiamen organized a betting pool, placing wagers on how long the couple’s imprisonment would last.

As the sun was setting, Badger came by. After depositing the gift of a limp church mouse just outside the door, he settled down in the grass and propped his head on his paws. Waiting. For hours. Until moonlight poured through the gaps overhead, like streams of quicksilver.

“Think of the dog,” she crooned. “Look at him. You know he won’t leave. He’s going to sit there all night long. Out, exposed in the elements. Poor little pup, shivering in the cold.”

Thorne made a dismissive noise. “This is all his doing.”

Well, if concern for the dog wouldn’t move him . . .

“I’m cold.” She trembled for effect. “Won’t you come sit beside me, or are you just going to let me shiver, too?”

At last she’d found the argument to move him. With obvious reluctance, he came and sat beside her on the small, unyielding bench.

She caught his wrists by the iron manacles, still chained together, and ducked her head to slip into the circle of his arms. He didn’t fight her as she leaned against his chest, snuggling into his warmth. Pressing her ear to his shirt front, she found his heartbeat, strong and steady.

“You should go,” he murmured. “Go back to the Queen’s Ruby and sleep in a warm bed.”

“A warm bed sounds lovely indeed. But only if you’re in it. I’ll wait to go home with you.”

His hands flattened against her back, pulling her close. With his thumb, he stroked light caresses up and down her spine.

“I’m not leaving this place without you, Samuel. You didn’t leave the Hothouse without me.”

“That was decades ago. We were children. There’s nothing you owe me now.”

She laughed wryly. “Only my life, health, happiness, and all the love in my heart.” She slid her arms around his waist and looked up at him. “This isn’t about the past, Samuel. It’s about our future. I can’t imagine being happy without you.”

“Katie, you must know . . . it’s only because of you that I can imagine being happy at all.”

She swallowed back a lump of emotion. “Then why are you resisting me now, after everything? Is it solely a matter of your bull-headed pride?”

A half smile tugged at his lips. “If my ‘bull-headed pride’ is inconvenient, you should know that any pride I have is entirely your fault.”

He closed his eyes and pressed his brow to hers.

“It’s all your fault.” His voice was rough with emotion. “You listened when I needed it. Laughed when I needed that. You wouldn’t go away, no matter how I scowled or raged. You loved me despite everything, and you made me look deep inside myself to find the strength to love you in return. I’m a different man because of you.”

Her heart swelled with joy.

“But that’s not enough. I’m not enough. What if I’d hurt you last night? What if it happens again?”

“You didn’t hurt me,” she insisted. “You’ve never hurt me. Even when you’ve . . . slipped away in the heat of the moment, you’ve always come back. You’ve always kept me safe.”

“What if . . .” His voice trailed off. He cleared his throat and continued. “There’d be children. I worry about children.”

She hugged him tight. “We needn’t be in any rush to start a family. You’ve been one year back in England, after spending a decade on campaign. Give yourself some time to heal. You don’t have to quarantine yourself to some uninhabited wilderness. The darkness will ebb eventually. When it does, I’ll still be here.”

“You shouldn’t have to wait. You deserve someone who’s not broken and brutish and . . .” He exhaled roughly and gripped her tight. “There are better men, Katie.”

“Really? I’ve yet to meet one.”

As she pressed her lips to his in a sweet, tender kiss, Kate could taste victory. The battle was nearly won.

She kissed the stubble-roughened edge of his jaw and made her voice a sultry whisper. “You know, we could be starting our honeymoon in less than an hour.”

She twisted in his embrace just a little, letting her breasts rub against his chest. Teasing them both with the exquisite sensation. He moaned deep in his chest.

“Do you know what Aunt Marmoset told me once? She compared you to a spice drop. Overpowering and hard at first, but all sweetness at the center. I’ll admit, I’ve been desperate to try an experiment.” She gave him a teasing look. “How many times do you suppose I could lick you before you crack?”

His every muscle tightened.

Smiling, she tucked her face into the curve of his neck and ran her tongue seductively over his skin. “There’s one.”

“Katie.”The word was a low, throaty warning. It made her toes curl.

She nuzzled at the notch of his open shirt, pushing the fabric aside. The familiar musk of his skin stirred her in deep places.

With a teasing swirl of her tongue, she tasted the notch at the base of his throat. “Two . . .”

“Finn,” he called in a booming voice, lifting his head. “Send for the vicar.”

She pulled back, shocked. “Two? That’s all, truly? Two? I’m not sure whether to feel proud or disappointed.”

Finn’s face appeared in the grate. “If it’s all the same to you, Corporal, do you mind holding off another half hour? I’ve got midnight in the betting pool.”

“Yes, I do mind. Fetch the vicar. Now.”

Kate smiled. That was her future husband. When he finally made up his mind to do a thing, no one had better stand in his way. Thank God.

She smiled at Samuel in the dark. “I hope the blossoms in my hair aren’t too wilted.”

“They’re perfect.” His blue eyes roamed her face. “You’re so beautiful, Katie. I haven’t words.”

She didn’t need words. What woman could want flattery, when she could have such pure, raw adoration? The pride and love in his gaze were palpable.

She stroked his unshaven jaw. “You are unbearably handsome, as always. I couldn’t have dreamed a more perfect wedding. All our family and friends are already gathered outside. With a few candles, this funny little building will make a romantic chapel. But do you think Lord Rycliff would remove the irons before we say our vows? I’ve heard men call matrimony ‘getting shackled,’ but this is a bit extreme.”

“Extreme? This from the woman who tied me to a bed.”

She laughed softly, ducking her head to rest against his chest.

His chin settled, square and heavy, on her crown. In the silence, she could feel him thinking, pondering. When he spoke again, his voice had that thoughtful tone—the one he could never seem to muster unless she’d turned her gaze away. She kept her face buried in his sleeve, unwilling to break the spell.

“Bram should leave the irons,” he said, “until after. That’s the oath he swore, and it seems fitting, somehow. For other men, marriage might be a trap or a prison. Not for me, Katie. Not for me.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “When I marry you, I’ll walk free.”