The Fairy Tale Bride

Chapter Twenty Five

Chapter Twenty Five

As she scanned the distant tableau, her heart skipped a beat. There were only two men standing. The other two were dark lumps on the scuffed-up ground. For a moment she wasn’t certain, and then she was. That shining blond head had to be Simon’s.

He and Valentine had overpowered their attackers. And now they were standing, with pistols in hand, waiting for Grimthorpe. She sagged with relief, at the same time as a sunlight glinted from something in the mounted madman’s hand. His pistol.

Before she could scream, uselessly or not, she saw Valentine’s arm raise and buck. There was a sharp report. Grimthorpe fell from his still-running mount and lay still.

She bent over, burying her face in the cool grass and wept, for Juliet, for Arthur, for Simon and Valentine. For herself.

She could not stop when Simon reached her and took her into his arms. And he did not ask her to, holding her tight, rocking her against his chest as if she were a baby.

After a moment, she realized he was not just repeating soothing noises, but actual words. “Juliet’s safe. Juliet’s alive.”

She broke away from his grip so that she could look into his eyes. “How could she be alive? I saw the carriage — ”

He interrupted her with a kiss and a grim smile.

“My cousin Arthur has more Watterly in him than I ever believed possible. He suspected something was wrong when the men who were to take him to see an interesting rare book seemed so disreputable.”

“But what could they do?” Miranda thought of her wild ride with Grimthorpe. She had been unable to stop him. How had her sister and Arthur escaped a speeding carriage unharmed?

His lips tightened in suppressed amusement. “At the inn, when the carriage was forced to stop to change horses, they both recognized their chance to escape. As soon as the carriage started up, they jumped free without being observed by their abductors.”

Miranda blanched. “They could have been killed.”

The absurdity of her statement struck her as soon as the words were uttered. They almost had been — all of them, by a cunning and devious madman who wanted the dukedom that was now Peter’s. How ironic that both Peter and Simon would have gladly let it go. She looked up then. The affection in Simon’s eyes jolted her for a moment. And then she remembered that he had dropped the barricade to his heart. She laid her head against his chest, content to hear the beating within, no longer afraid that the sound heralded coming death.

“Where is Valentine?”

Simon looked down at her resting against him so trustingly and could not swallow for the sudden fearful realization that he had almost lost her just when he could claim her. He touched her cheek softly. “He has gone back to the inn, where we met up with Arthur, to notify the authorities about Grimthorpe. We should join them there.” He turned her face to his so that he could reassure himself that she was alive and well. His fairytale bride.

Her tone was scolding, but her eyes brimmed with tears. “And so you and Valentine were prepared for a trap, then? I needn’t have worried at all watching those two huge bullies trying to trounce you and toss you over after the carriage?”

“Of course not. You had nothing to fear. And you never will again. You’re married to me.” He kept his reply bland, but his arms tightened around her and he lowered his lips to hers for a long kiss.

He did not break apart from her until she began to shudder in his arms. No matter that she was enjoying the kiss, she had still been kidnapped and watched a runaway carriage dash off a cliff, believing her sister to be inside. He wrapped his cloak around her and drew her to her feet. “Let’s get you to the inn and cleaned up.”