My Favorite Bride Read Free

inquire if wolves still ate the villagers. Whether she would have to rescue the children from bears. And if Colonel Gregory kept his livestock in the house. They were all questions that needed to be raised, but the groom from the Hawksmouth Inn had taken offense and dumped her here.
    The scenery proved as terrifying as she had feared. Trees lined the road and extended back into a dark forest where, she was sure, bears lurked with long claws and blood-flecked teeth. Bearswhich now stalked her while slobbering with hunger, waiting only till dark to leap on her and rend her to pieces. And just ahead, she could see an open area. One of those meadows, she supposed, like so many the coach had passed on its trip up here. A meadow, vast and green, rising and falling, etched by lines of white drystone fences that extended as far as the eye could see. Sheep strolled the meadows, large-eyed, chewing grass, watching constantly for . . . wolves.
    Yes, wolves. She would wager there were wolves here. She could imagine wolves slinking along, their red eyes fixed on a meal of fresh mutton, when suddenly they veered away, for they spotted a larger, more tender meal. Her.
    She shuddered and slowly lowered herself onto the trunk. Adorna must have felt sorry for her protégé, for she had taken care that Samantha should be well dressed for her exile, gifting her with an extravagance of gowns, shawls, petticoats, hats, and boots. Unfortunate that they would be left to rot on the side of this lane; for night would descend, Samantha would still be sitting out here, every fanged creature would take its chance to eat her, and no one would hear her screams.
    She came to her feet and started toward Silvermere. Her skirts swished in the dirt. She glanced behind her, and all around. The shadows were deepening in the trees. The sun dropped toward the horizon, toward the maw of the mountains, where it would be devoured. If she were wise, she would go back to the trunk and spend her last precious moments with her garments, but the will tosurvive was too strong. Even though she knew it was useless, she had to try to get to Silvermere.
    She adjusted her reticule on her arm. She only hoped the decaying castle waited at the end of the road.
    She passed beside a lake, a still, blue, frightening depth, cold and deep. Things inhabited it. She knew they did, because occasionally something plopped on the surface. It might be a fish. On the other hand, it could be a monster, lurking in the depths. She’d heard about lake monsters. She’d just read a novel about one in Scotland.
    As she began to trot, she remembered the gothic novels she had so lovingly packed in that trunk. If she lived through this, she was going to toss them . . . well, not in the lake. That might disturb the monster. But away.
    She looked ahead, hoping to see a building. Any building. There was nothing. Nothing but the road, twisting and turning, rising and falling. The trees, a relentless green. And above everything towered those mountains, austere, rocky, uncaring. The young driver had pointed them out and had told her they called them “fells” here in Cumbria. She had asked whether they were called that because people fell down them, or because they fell down on people. It seemed a logical question, but he’d begun to get surly right then.
    The sun sank too rapidly, touching the peaks with red. Mist boiled out from the trees in puffs, then slid away as if sucked in by the breath of a hidden giant. Dusk gathered in the pockets of the forest and the dips in the road.
    A stitch grew in her side, and she slowed down and pressed her hand to her corset.
    Actually, any self-respecting wolf would refuse to eat her. She’d been traveling for four solid days—two days on the train, a brief night in an inn in York, then two days on the coach. Her eyes were gritty from lack of sleep, her gown of sturdy brown worsted looked much the worse for wear, and her feet