A Christmas Bride Read Free Page A

drew her out of the morass of horror. “’Tis all right. You are safe now.”
    She gazed up at a woman who was nearly as round as she was tall. A smile stretched the woman’s apple red cheeks beneath her gray hair.
    â€œI am the innkeeper’s wife, Mrs. Bridges,” she said, wringing out a cloth.
    She sighed with delight when the cloth brushed her cheeks. Her relief vanished as she heard the irritating man’s voice from the other side of the room.
    â€œI need to speak with her alone, Mrs. Bridges.”
    â€œBut, Mr. Wayne—”
    â€œAlone.”
    The innkeeper’s wife’s cheerful expression became a scowl, but she turned away from the bed. The door closed softly in her wake.
    â€œDo you think you can stay awake more than a minute this time?” asked Mr. Wayne as he came to stand by the bed.
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œThen I shall explain this to you quickly. Tell me your name.”
    â€œI told you. I don’t remember it.” She winced, but pushed herself up to sit against the pile of pillows. Looking past him, she saw that the rest of the room was as spare as the ceiling. Plain boards ran along the walls, and the only other piece of furniture than this narrow bed was a washstand by the door. No window broke the wall, but she could hear the sound of something hitting the roof. Something icy. It had been raining when … She was not sure when, but she knew it had been raining.
    â€œWhat do you remember of the accident?”
    â€œI am not sure.” Were the nightmare images and sounds memories or just something dredged from her pain?
    â€œDo you remember the names of the people you were traveling with?”
    â€œNo.” She dampened her lips. “Are they hurt?”
    He shook his head. “Not exactly. They are dead.”
    She pressed her hand to her bodice. Realizing she wore only a nightgown, she pulled the blanket up to her chin. She saw a pile of soaked clothing on the floor. When she looked up at Mr. Wayne, his smile was cold.
    â€œMrs. Bridges put you to bed here.” He sat on its edge. “Listen closely to what I have to say, because I must say it before Timothy returns.”
    â€œTimothy? Who is he? Another passenger?”
    â€œJust listen.” He smiled as he leaned toward her. “Just listen, and I can guarantee that you will be glad you did.”
    Timothy swung down off the borrowed horse in front of the Old Vixen Inn. He handed the reins to a stable lad who looked as drenched as he was. For the past two hours he and Jenkins had been helping the local constable and vicar deal with bringing the dead to the village. His pockets were lighter by the cost of three burials. Even though they would be temporary, for their families would want to claim the bodies once the young woman could tell them the names of the dead coachee and the man and woman in the carriage, the corpses could not be left out in the storm.
    Nothing in the carriage had given them a clue to the passengers’ identities. When he had seen all the footprints in the frozen mud around the carriage, he had guessed thieves had helped themselves to anything of value in it before he was able to return.
    â€œThank you, my lord, for your assistance,” the pudgy vicar said from within his closed carriage. His smile warned that he did not intend to step out into the snow piling up in the yard in front of the inn.
    â€œI wish it had not been necessary.”
    â€œThe young woman—”
    â€œI left her in Mrs. Bridges’s care.”
    He nodded, both of his chins bouncing together. “Please let her know that I would be glad to speak with her if she wishes.”
    â€œAnd the constable is sure to want to speak with her.”
    The vicar shrugged. “I doubt if she can tell him anything other than the names of her companions. Then he can contact their families and deal with transferring the bodies. From what we saw on the