Royal's Bride Read Free Page B

graystallion, Jupiter, saddled and waiting. Fortunately, his father hadn’t had the heart to sell Royal’s favorite horse. Dressed in riding breeches, a dark blue tailcoat and high black boots, he vaulted into the saddle, his heavy scarlet cloak swirling out around him.
    He whirled the stallion, nudged the animal into a trot, then a canter, the sound of hoofbeats muffled by the thick layer of snow. As Jupiter carried him down the road, he cast a last glance at poor old Greaves, who stared worriedly from the porch.
    He would be back at the house before Jocelyn arrived, he told himself. In the meanwhile, he needed a little time to prepare. The fact he’d had more than a year to ready himself for this meeting seemed inconsequential. 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 andcrossed 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,