He simply wasn’t yet ready for marriage and certainly not to a woman he had never met.
Still, he would keep his word.
Royal urged the stallion into a gallop and turned off on a narrow dirt road that bordered the fields surrounding the house. It was white for as far as he could see, the trees twinkling in the sunshine as if they’d been sprayed with starlight.
Twelve thousand acres surrounded Bransford Castle. That much land meant dozens of tenants, all of whom looked to him to make important decisions. The acreage was entailed with the title, or much of it would probably have been sold.
Royal shifted in the saddle. He didn’t want to think of his duties now. He simply wanted to clear his head and prepare himself to meet the woman who would share his future.
He rode for a while, took several different lanes and crossed a half-dozen fields. It was time he returned to the house, time to accept what could not be changed.
He took a different route home, skirting a dense grove of yew trees and eventually winding up on the road leading from the village to the castle. As he rounded a bend in the lane, something glinted off the snow up ahead. With the sun reflecting off the ice, it was incredibly bright. Royal squinted and tried to make out what it was.
Urging the horse from a walk to a canter, he rode closer, began to hear an odd, creaking sound in the light breeze blowing off the fields. All of a sudden, the images all came together, a carriage lying on its side, one of the wheels spinning whenever the breeze pushed it. In the field to the left, the carriage horses, still in their traces, stood huddled together as if awaiting further instruction.
Royal spotted the coachman lying next to the road. He urged the stallion closer, rode up beside him and swung down from the saddle. Kneeling next to the driver who lay unconscious in the snow, he checked for cuts or broken bones. A nasty gash on the head seemed the man’s only injury. Royal made a quick survey of the area, searching for anyone who might have been in the carriage and been thrown from the coach. He climbed up and looked through the open door, but saw no one and returned to the man on the ground.
Apparently sensing Royal’s presence, the coachman groaned and began to awaken.
“Take it easy, friend. There’s been an accident. Don’t try to move too swiftly.”
The beefy man swallowed, moving his Adam’s apple up and down. “The lady …? Is she … is she all right?”
Worry gripped him. A woman had been in the carriage. Royal glanced back at the overturned conveyance, noticing for the first time the opulence of the gleaming black coach. His gaze shot to the four blooded bay horses in the field, animals of the finest caliber, and a chill went down his spine.
“Jocelyn …” Rising swiftly to his feet, he began a second search of the area around the coach. Vast fields of white blinded him and for a moment, he couldn’t see. A further search and he spotted her, lying like a broken doll in the thick layer of white covering the field. She was dressed in a modestly cut gown of rose velvet, her fur-lined cloak bunched beneath her still figure.
Royal hurried toward her, knelt at her side. He checked for a pulse and felt a strong, steady throbbing beneath the soft skin at the base of her throat. She was unconscious, but he saw no blood or other obvious injuries. He gently checked her limbs for broken bones but discovered none that he could see. He prayed her injuries were not internal and that she would soon recover.
When a soft moan slipped from her lips, he took her cold hand and rubbed it between his gloved fingers, hoping to warm her, hoping she would awaken. “It is all right,” he soothed. “I’m the Duke of Bransford and I’m going to take you home.” He was hesitant to move her, but when her eyes fluttered, lifting long golden lashes away from her pale cheeks, he breathed a sigh of relief.
“Your … Grace,” she whispered.
“Just lie still. There was an accident. You’re safe now and everything is going to be all right.”
For the first time, he allowed himself to look at her. She was as beautiful as his father had said, with a slender figure and delicate features. Lying in the snow, her skin was nearly the same white hue. Her mouth was full, her lips delicately curved, though paler, he imagined, than they usually were. A bonnet fashioned of the same rose velvet as her gown lay several feet away. Her golden hair had come loose from its pins and tumbled around her slender shoulders. Her eyes opened wider, a lovely pale shade of green.
She moistened her lips. “I think I … must have hit my head.”
“Yes … Perhaps when you were tossed from the carriage.” He removed his glove and felt her cheeks, her forehead, as smooth and clear as glass. “Are you hurt? Can you tell where you might be injured?”
Her pretty mouth faintly curved. “I am too cold to know.”
He almost smiled. He could feel her shivering and wondered how long she had been lying out here in the snow. He thanked God he had come along when he did. “I need to get you somewhere warm. I’m going to lift you. If it hurts in any way, tell me and I will stop.”
She nodded and her eyes slid closed. Very carefully he lifted her into his arms and cradled her against his chest. The big gray stallion stood a few feet away. Royal set her sideways in the saddle then swung up behind her, settled her gently in front of him and eased her back against his chest.
“All right?” he asked, sliding his arm protectively around her waist to hold her securely in place.
She turned her head and her sea-green eyes fluttered open. When they settled on his face, something tugged deep inside him. Royal felt as if a hand had reached inside his chest and begun to squeeze his heart.
“Just a little … dizzy.” Her eyes slowly closed, then flashed open again. “The coachman … Mr. Gibbons … is he … is he all right?”
Royal’s gaze went in search of the man. The driver was on his feet and walking into the field to collect the horses.
“He appears to be fine. Was there anyone else in the carriage?”
“No, just me.”
Her mother was to have come with her, he thought. It seemed odd she would be traveling without so much as a ladies’ maid.
The explanation would have to wait. Royal rode toward the coachman, careful to keep a firm hold on the lady in his arms.
“Can you make it back to the village?”
The driver grunted a yes. “Just a bit of a bash on the head, is all. I’ll ride the wheelhorse back to town, get the animals properly stabled till I can put the carriage to rights.”
“Good man. I’m the Duke of Bransford. I’ll see to the lady. If you need anything, just send word to the house. Everyone knows where it is.”
“‘Twere highwaymen,” the man said darkly. “Tried to outrun ‘em, but there were ice on the road. They were gone when ye got here?”
“I saw no one, just the overturned carriage.” A jolt of anger followed his answer. Brigands had attacked the coach! Perhaps they had searched the overturned vehicle and taken anything of value. A similar incident had happened a month ago on the road outside Swansdowne, a nearby village. Royal had hoped it was a onetime occurrence.
He
