Yearning Heart Read Online Free PDF Page A

did not beat her—yet. Mayhap as his wife, she would present a better target.
    “Rebecca?”
    She raised her head.
    “I am sorry, my lord.”
    “I should have known your stomach was not settled enough for food, but you have not eaten since we left Grinwold. I am afraid you will become ill.”
    She was already ill, but it mattered not.
    “How much longer to Glastonbury?”
    “We will arrive late on the morrow.”
    She went completely rigid. Tomorrow night, Sir Stephen would ...
    His hands on her shoulders forced her to look up at him.
    “Rest tonight. You will be all right once we get you settled in your new home.” He spoke as to a small child and brushed his mouth across the top of her head. “Go to sleep now. I will see you early the morning.”
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    Chapter Two
    They reached Glastonbury late the afternoon of the third day of travel. It was raining and colder than when they left papa's house. The horses pulling the carriage snorted and blew mist from their nostrils as they struggled up the steep hillside to reach the dark gray building overlooking a rocky cliff.
    Rebecca eyed the forbidding structure that stood in silent vigil over the waters of the rugged coastline. Several outbuildings loomed a distance away from the main house.
    “We are home, Rebecca.” Sir Stephen's voice was gruff as though expecting an argument.
    Her mouth twisted. Did not papa tell you he never allowed argument? She wanted to ask. She accepted his hand as he helped her from the carriage. Her legs trembled mayhap from weakness. She still hadn't eaten.
    He led her, without speaking again, inside the rough stone house, into a high-ceilinged hallway with a stained glass window letting light in from the top of a stairway. If the outside presented an imposing, almost hostile appearance, the inside of Sir Stephen's home welcomed her. The wide hallway was not cluttered with dark, ugly furniture as Grinwold was. Instead, there were wall hangings of bright wools, resembling paintings she had seen of rugs from the unknown country of Persia.
    Chandeliers, a dozen amber candles shining in each of them, hung from wide-spaced beams. The stairway curved after six steps, reaching the second floor way above them into another wide hallway. She could see two doors closing away other rooms.
    To their right an archway led into another high-ceilinged room where she could see a harp, dark shiny strings reaching higher than Rebecca's head. She stared, fascinated by the same type instrument Sister Emilie had taught her to play after her book lessons were finished. For that one reason, she had loved the strict discipline and did well in school work in order to be allowed to continue playing. Her fingers tingled, remembering the lilting tunes Sister Emilie had taught her to play.
    “Welcome home, Sir Stephen,” a soft voice tinged with an Irish lilt said.
    Rebecca turned to see a tall, red-haired woman standing in the doorway just left of the bottom stair step.
    Stephen smiled, his expression relaxed and warm as he said, “Malvina, this is Lady Rebecca. She has not been well and will need a bit of care before she can hold food.”
    He took Rebecca's cold hand, rubbing it between both of his.
    “Malvina is your personal maid, Rebecca. Whatever you need, ask her.” He bent to touch her cheek with his lips and his warm breath stirred a tendril of hair pulled loosed from the combs. “Rest before dinner.”
    It was an order, but Rebecca cared not. She was exhausted. She followed Malvina's black clad figure up the stairs, turned once to look back at the vast expanse of hallway. If the house was built on the same scale, it must be furlongs wide. The beauty and luxury took her breath. Papa's house was comfortable, but this ...
    Stephen stood near the steps looking upward, and he met her quizzical glance with his own solemn one. She stopped to stare down at him. He was a man of culture, a handsome man, presumably with plenty of