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Rupert

Rupert stood stiffly, slightly set back from the crowd surrounding the roaring bonfires. The revelers had kept a healthy distance from him—those who had noticed him standing on the outskirts. Smiling faces had dimmed and turned wary once recognition hit. One man had come so close as to start talking to him until his gaze caught on the quality of Rupert’s clothes, his eyes promptly widening in horror and, stumbling over his words the entire time, had hastily backed away.

But they didn’t treat Franny that way. They all bestowed tooth-filled grins, bright eyes, and bellows of laughter on his Marchioness. She currently twirled in the arms of a behemoth of a man by the bonfires, joy lighting her face, the two laughing as they spun about. She was tossed to another man, and they circled around each other until she ended up back with the behemoth. He wondered if he was the man she’d ridden double with. It appeared Rupert was destined to watch her from afar, dancing with someone other than himself.

He clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to release the tension shooting through his muscles. He wouldn’t be watching her dance with another man if he’d joined her today.

His gut tightened and twisted. Franny had been trying so hard to please him. Keeping him company in his study when he worked, encouraging him to pursue things he had thought weren’t options, yet deep-down, was strongly passionate about. She gave him the strength to challenge ingrained beliefs, shedding light on the notion that his upbringing might not align with what was truly just.

What she didn’t realize was she pleased him too much. The hint of her skin on his, the softest, most innocent press of her lips against his, sent lust spiraling through him, had his inner demons clawing their way to the surface, each time closer to breaking free. Bloody hell. With the amount he’d been frigging himself lately, he was surprised his cock hadn’t fallen off. But his desire for his wife hadn’t abated. Not one bit. So, he had purposely given them some much needed space.

Until dusk had fallen, and he realized he was a complete and utter imbecile. And his wife was down at the festival, most likely arm-and-arm with other men, bestowing her smile on them instead of him.

His demons didn’t like that.

He tracked the large ox-of-a-man dancing with Franny. The man who had just said something to cause Franny to tip her head back and laugh, loud and free.

His demons really didn’t like that.

“That there man you’re growling at is my eldest son, Billy.”

Rupert started and looked at the man who had appeared as if by thin air next to him. A man similarly broad, though not near as tall as ox-man, indicated with a tilt of his head toward the dancers by the bonfire.

Rupert cleared his throat. “He seems…nice,” he managed. Rupert wasn’t sure if the man recognized him for who he truly was. For now, he quite liked the anonymity.

The man next to him let out a deep chuckle. “He is a good lad. A deep sense of honor and responsibility runs through him, even when he was younger. Especially toward Her Ladyship.”

Rupert’s gaze flew to the man’s.

The man doffed his hat and dipped a shallow bow to Rupert. So, the man did recognize him. And still spoke to him.

“Mr. George Doherty, my lord, at your service.” He turned back to the fire, staring at Franny and his son. “Your lady spent many a meal at our table growing up. Came to us half-starved most times. She never said anything, but she always had one too many bruises, even for a wild lass such as she. I think Billy saw the state she was in and took it upon himself to protect her in any way he knew how. Always escorting her home, making sure she got back to her father’s land safely.”

Half-starved ? Rupert found it was suddenly very difficult to draw in air. He eyed the tall young man dancing, teeth flashing in a wide smile down at Franny. He hated him. He was grateful to him.

“Three years past, her father saw Billy escorting her home. She never came ‘round again after that. Her Ladyship doesn’t know, but her father paid us a visit. ‘Twas not a pleasant one. I can only imagine the threats he put to us matched what he put to his daughter. Billy was in a right state over it. A hard lesson for a young man to learn, that there is a certain way about life, order of things, that limits his ability to help others. He would have stormed the Abbey and rescued her—and then would have surely swung by his neck—if I hadn’t kept an extremely close eye on him.”

“I believe I owe him an expression of gratitude, then. And you as well, Mr. Doherty. I am not unaware of the Earl’s treatment of his daughter. Though it is unfortunate that my discovery came much too late.”

“No thanks required, Your Lordship.” The man caught Rupert’s eye. “She is always welcome at our table.”

If she were allowed. The unspoken words hung between them. The unspoken question. Was Rupert cut from the same cloth as the Earl?

“I am glad to hear it,” Rupert said. “I think I will go express my thanks to your son and relieve him of his current dance partner.”

A grin spread across Mr. Doherty’s face. “I think I will go with you, if you don’t mind, my lord. Ensure my son doesn’t do something as bottle-headed as to insult the Lord of the Manor.”

They made their way over to the bonfires and revelers.

“It wouldn’t be undeserved,” Rupert mumbled to himself, and the older man let out a deep barking laugh.

Rupert paused a yard away from the dancers and Franny. Lord, she was stunning—garland wrapped around her neck, crown adorning her raven plait, and still completely unaware of his presence. He blew out a breath and drummed his palm on his leg, nerves building in a slow wave through his body. Hesitated. She was so happy, carefree. He wanted a piece of that. With her. Every fiber of his being protested that this wasn’t allowed. A lord did not associate with his tenants, let alone dance with them. But bloody hell, why not?

Mr. Doherty roughly cleared his throat beside him. “I was about your age when I caught sight of the Missus. Dancing with another gentleman at a festival just like this one,” he said gruffly. “Hadn’t even known what my feet were doing before I was interjecting and stealing her for a dance. Spouting some drivel about being captivated by the sight of her, unable to spend a second longer without her in my arms.”

He looked meaningfully at Rupert. “Turns out womenfolk like that sort of stuff. We were married the next month. And here we are, five-and-twenty years and six bairns later.” Mr. Doherty jerked his head to the side where a woman clapped to the music, body swaying and bouncing to the beat, clearly eager to be dancing herself. “Duty calls.”

Rupert looked back at Franny. He drew in a deep breath. Time to interject. Time to join his wife. To live. He marched into the revelers before he lost his resolve.

Rupert clapped his hand on the tall man’s shoulder, and Franny and the man came to an abrupt stop. “I believe it is my turn to dance with the lady.”

Franny’s eyes stretched owl wide. The man turned, and with one scan of Rupert’s person, hardened. And didn’t step away.

Mr. Doherty was right. His son looked ready to squash Rupert beneath his boot and damn the consequences. Rupert’s grip tightened on the man’s shoulder, and their gazes clashed. And held. The man was at least two stones heavier than Rupert, but when it came to Franny, Rupert didn’t think there was any man he couldn’t take down.

Franny smiled at the man. “Thank you for the many dances, Billy. It looks like my husband would like a turn.”

Rupert growled. Billy. His demons really didn’t like that.

Franny’s gaze shot to his, and her lips parted. Shite. She couldn’t look at him like that. Like she liked his possessiveness. That heavy-lidded dark look was dangerous.

She walked up to him and pried his hand from Billy’s shoulder. “I think it’s time to see if His Lordship can keep up with his countryfolk as well as his Marchioness does.” She spoke to Billy, but her eyes never left Rupert’s.

And his never left hers. From his periphery, he saw Billy slowly step away. Rupert hastily took off his topper. “There’s no way it’ll stay on while dancing…”

Franny ripped it from his hand and tossed it in the fire. She smiled cheekily at him. “Problem solved.”

He grinned and hooked his arm with hers, spinning her into the dance. They joined in with the rhythmic clapping as they stepped and spun to the beat of the drum, the jangle of the bells ringing through the cheering and laughter. They circled the bonfires, weaving in and out of each other, following the music’s lead, sending them apart and then back together.

“You finally came,” she said, barely loud enough to be heard over the laughter, cheers, and music.

She moved to step away again, but he caught her wrist and twirled her in his arms, hugging her back to him for a beat and whispered in her ear, “I realized the error of my ways.” And then pushed her away and back into the dance. “I’m sorry I didn’t join you earlier, Franny.”

The light from the bonfire did nothing to hide the hurt that flashed over her face, chased quickly away by a much-too-large smile. “You are here now, and that is what counts.”

They broke apart, stomping and clapping while circling each other. Franny’s eyes slid shut, her arms lifting over head as she swayed and rocked in time with the music. Everything about her was soft, relaxed, joyful. She was in her element here. Free. From constraints. From a man’s unyielding rule.

It’s how he wanted her to feel in their marriage. Of course, it wasn’t as simple as defying society’s rules and damning the consequences. But somehow, they would find a way. Her words from back in the tack room drifted through his mind. Blend my madcap ways with your unwavering manners, and maybe—just maybe—we’ll find the best of both worlds. He was certain they would.

Her eyes fluttered open, instantly locking with his.

“I humbly disagree, wife.” He arched a brow. “I think it quite necessary I make it up to you and pay penance for my sins as a neglectful husband.”

Her smile turned genuine at that, her eyes glowing even brighter than the flames surrounding them.

“Do you have any request for my penance, my lady?”

A devilish look crossed her face, the kind that raised the hair on one’s arms, but kicked up their heartbeat in anticipation. “It just so happens, my lord, I do. I’d like you to jump over the bonfire with me.”

He abruptly stopped dancing. “Pardon?”

She hopped up and down, clapping like a gleeful child. “Jump over the fire with me, Rupert.”

He glanced at the roaring fires. “Why on earth would we do that? That seems like a horrible—and hazardous—idea.”

“It’s tradition. It bestows good luck on the person jumping, whether it’s a healthy harvest, or in the case of a couple”—she arched a meaningful brow—“a healthy future, a healthy marriage.”

He glanced at the fire, a group of young men leaping over the edge of one of the bonfires, right behind them a couple swinging their arms, preparing for the leap. “That part does sound nice, but the whole catching fire part not so much.”

“The river is only a short dash away. We’ll be fine, Rupert. Just don’t fall into the fire. Anything else can easily be put out.” A devilish glint flared in her eyes, daring him.

He never could refuse her dares.

Rupert tangled his fingers with hers and briskly led her to the smallest of the three bonfires. For once in his life, he was going to join Franny in her fun. Take a risk. Take a leap. Because he wanted to. “As my lady wishes.”

She shot him an impish look from the corner of her eye, excitement radiating from her. Yes, he’d leap through fire for her, with her.

He started swinging their hands, a grin spreading on his face just as quickly as the adrenaline starting up in his veins. “Ready, Franny? On three we jump.”

She nodded.

“One.” They rushed forward. “Two.” The heat licked at their skin. “Three!” They leaped through the flames and stumbled to a stop on the other side of the fire, laughing and doing their bloody damnedest not to fall flat on their arses.

And then the smell of burning muslin reached his nose. He glanced down at Franny’s skirts. Skirts that were on fire .

“Oh dear,” she said, laughter bursting from her as she tried to kick out the flames, to no avail.

“Roll with her!” someone shouted nearby.

“Drop her to the ground and roll it out!” someone else called.

Rupert didn’t even stop to think. He wrapped his arms around her, took her to the ground, and started rolling.

She squealed, laughing uproariously.

“Franny, this isn’t funny,” he bit out. “You. Are. On. Fire.”

She snorted, and her body shook as she broke out into even more snorts of laughter. He glanced down and saw her skirts were no longer aflame, just smoking now. He stopped their rolling, and someone hurried over and held out a jug.

“Water,” Billy Doherty said calmly. “To ensure it doesn’t light up again.

Rupert quickly took it and dumped it on Franny’s singed skirts. Steam hissed up from the fabric at the contact of the cool water.

“O-o-oh! That was fantastic,” Franny gasped out and Billy grinned down at her, chuckling.

“I fail to see the humor in catching on fire,” Rupert said stiffly, jealousy simmering beneath his words as he watched the two laughing and smiling together. Only made worse by the fact that the man seemed to be a thoroughly decent fellow.

Billy slapped Rupert on his back, and Rupert almost fell face first into the dirt from where he was on his knees. The man surely had a future as a blacksmith.

“She’s not the first one to catch fire. We’ve been at this a long time. You can do the good ol’ tuck and roll you just did, take off for the river, or we have some rushes we could’ve beaten her with.” He leaned toward them and said conspiratorially, “Always best to choose the rolling option when it’s with a lady.” He threw a wink Rupert’s way, then backed away, and Franny broke out into another fit of giggles.

Rupert’s lips twitched—reluctantly. He supposed the man did have a point. Now he was a bit peeved he hadn’t taken the time to enjoy said rolling. He leaned forward and pulled Franny up to her knees. With more force than necessary. She landed in his chest with an oomph and grinned up at him. He tucked a loose hair behind her ear, little good it did as her plait was nearly completely undone, her crown disappeared in their foray fighting fire.

“So, what say you, husband? Do you think our jump was successful?” She booped him on the nose with her finger.

He grinned. “I think we may have…sparked a bit of good fortune.”

She tilted her head back and laughed, the beautiful curve of her pale neck glowing in the firelight. Bloody hell, she was gorgeous. His groin stirred, and his fingers dug into her waist.

She leaned back into him, her forehead pressing against his, shaking with soft mirth. “That was horrible, Rupert.”

It was. But it had made her laugh, so he was in favor of making horrible jests all the time. He didn’t truly know how to jest; it wasn’t something he had much experience with. But he’d spout a thousand horrible ones a day if even one hit the mark and made her laugh.

Unable to resist her smiling pink lips any longer, he leaned in for a kiss. He had intended it to be quick and controlled. But Franny had other plans and so did his demons. Perhaps it was the cover of night, the flickering flames of the bonfires, lending a feeling of freedom. But he let go. He didn’t hold back. It turned deep and heady and overwhelming much too fast. It wasn’t until the rowdy catcalls and ribbing finally broke through the thick haze of his lust that he realized he was seconds away from lifting his wife’s skirts in the middle of the St. John’s Eve festival.

“Now, that’s what I call a festival kiss!” someone cheered.

He hastily disengaged from his wife and lifted them both to their feet. He groaned at the picture she presented, covered in dirt, hair in complete disarray, biting her lip in a seductive little half-smile. Like she’d been defiled. Want raced through him.

Someone clapped him on the back, and another yelled out through the crowd, “Looks like the festival spirit got to ‘em!”

He smiled and ducked his head to the ground. He couldn’t believe he’d kissed his wife in the middle of a crowd. His mother would have expired on the spot. But he wasn’t sorry for it. He wasn’t sorry he was here at the festival, rubbing elbows with the commoners, the vulgar . It was clear to him now that many of the principles he’d been raised with might be flawed. And while that brought a sense of freedom, it was also unsettling—no longer knowing what was right or wrong.

As they strolled hand-in-hand to the barrel of sweet wine, Rupert stole a glance at Franny. Her face glowed with happiness. Franny had been right the other day. These were his people, diligently laboring for the prosperity of his estate. He thought back to Mr. Doherty’s advice, his subtle nudge for Rupert to jump in and take back his wife. And they were kind and genuine. They didn’t deserve the disdainful thoughts he’d been raised to believe about them.

He handed Franny her cask of wine, and they both took a sip, staring at each other over the rims of their drinks and smiling like besotted fools. He liked that. Being her besotted fool.

She leaned against him and looked out at the bonfires. The flames appeared to reach straight up into the heavens. “I have to admit I was quite shocked that Proper Perty kissed me in full view of a gathering,” she murmured softly.

“I may have gotten a bit carried away,” he said into her hair.

Thank goodness for the revelers, or who knows how far he would have taken it. He would have taken her in the dirt. His fantasies flashed in his mind like the fire’s flames. Chasing her through the wood. Catching her. His captive.

“Perhaps you should get carried away more often.”

His cocked jumped eagerly.

At that moment a resounding boom rent the air and the sky lit with shimmering golds, silvers, and whites. The sparks cascaded down and slowly faded away before another rocket was burst into the night.

“I don’t think you understand the full gravity of those words,” he whispered, letting the fireworks drown out his words.