Lost Love Read Online Free PDF

out dung?"
    "Aye."
    She placed her hands on her hips and glared at him. "Nay! I shall not do it! 'Tis not the duty of a wife!"
    "I will not tolerate disobedience, milady."
    Her eyes sparked fire at him. "Tolerate what thee will—I refuse to lower myself to thy demands." She spun on her heel and began to storm off, only to come to an abrupt standstill, as his big hands fell upon her shoulders.
    She felt his hot breath on her neck when, with a voice laced with steel, he said, "Thee will obey my every command. Should I find at matins that thee hath failed to attend Marec, thee will take the consequences. Now go lady and think upon my words!"
    She shivered as much from his speech as his touch. Without a backward glance, she made haste towards her bed chamber. She had no intention of doing his bidding. But how she would escape the odious chore she had no idea. It was time to plot.
    The next morning, John arose bright and early. Fully dressed and his ablutions done, he strode into his wife's bedchamber fully expecting to find her abed, but was pleasantly surprised to find the room empty. Mayhap she had taken heed of his warning. He immediately frowned. What was he thinking? Arabella had said not a word to him, but her body language had spoken volumes. She had no intention of helping Marec, but why was she gone from her chamber? Had she run away? Nay, the guards would have notified him. With a suspicious mind, he made his way down to the stables.
    From a distance, he could hear the clanging of metal coming from the blacksmiths where Marec would be found to be working. An affable fellow, he was a steadfast and dedicated serf. Cautiously, John approached the stables remaining out of sight of the main entrance. He could hear someone wielding a broom, and the sunlit rays were filled with dust and tiny pieces of flying straw—indication that someone was definitely cleaning the stalls, but the burning question was—was it his wife?
    He moved nearer to the door and peered through the hinged aperture. When his eyes had adjusted to the darkened interior he could make out a red cape. His wife's cape. He smiled with satisfaction. So she had decided to obey him after all.
    Stepping inside, he made a sudden entrance. "Good morrow, Arabella. Wherefore dost thou wear thy best cape to clean in?"
    A shriek of fright filled the air and in that instant, John knew he'd been fooled. This was not his wife. In a heartbeat he had hold of the miscreant, and thrusting down the hood, exposed them for their true self.
    "Esme!" His jaw dropped.
    She dropped the broom and cried. "Milord! Oh, prithee forgive me!"
    "Forgive thee?" He spat angrily. "Upon my soul I would sooner give thee a good hiding. What is afoot?"
    "Milady asked me to take her place," she whimpered.
    "For what return?"
    Esme licked her lips and lowered her eyes to the floor. "A pair of lace gloves, milord. 'Tis for my daughter on her wedding day."
    John let out a heavy sigh. Arabella knew just how to manipulate someone to her bidding. A trait he recognized in her since childhood. His jaw tightened. "Where is my wife?"
    "I know not, milord. She ne'er told me."
    "Dost thy speak the truth?"
    Esme's eyes grew wide. "Aye, milord. On my daughter's life I speak no falsehood."
    "Very well. I know thee to be of an honest nature, and in this instance, I feel thou hath been coerced into this trickery. Attend Marec until midday, whereupon thee will clean my wife's cape and return it in good fashion. Dost thou understand?"
    "Aye, milord."
    He released her arm and left her to work. His hand curled into a fist. Oh, how his wife's backside was going to pay for her disobedience.
    * * *
    Arabella shifted position and flicked over another page of her book, sighing softly. She had secreted herself away behind the wardrobe in her bedchamber. There was just enough room to place a few cushions on the floor and lay down with comfort. Being of slight stature, she had fit in perfectly.
    She had heard John enter her