Page 24

G unnilde awoke betimes and lay quietly so as not to disturb James, who was still in the throes of a deep, though fitful slumber.

He was an uneasy sleeper, tossing and turning and muttering unintelligible words beneath his breath.

She had not known that people could glower in their sleep but somehow James managed it.

It seemed such a shame that one so handsome and talented should be so worn down with cares, she thought sadly.

For doubtless it was his money worries and responsibilities that weighed on him so heavily, even in his sleep.

She hoped she had not added much to his burden, though she was sure she had as a dowerless bride.

In any case, she had resolved to help him, had she not?

She would make promoting his cause her number-one priority, higher even than ingratiating herself with the Queen or appeasing her fellow ladies-in-waiting.

James needed her aid, and she would give it to him.

It was nothing less than her duty as his wife.

He had a lovely profile, she reflected, propping herself up on her elbow and eyeing it appreciatively.

She had been ungenerous before when she thought such his eyelashes and kissable mouth wasted on him.

Why should men not be pretty after all? It did not detract from his manliness one whit, for he was both well proportioned and strong of limb.

Could he really be a virgin, as Cuthbert had intimated? Gunnilde pressed her fingers to her lips. His kiss had certainly been tentative but then, maybe he had been unsure of its reception? Once she had made it plain that she welcomed it, he had not been so hesitant.

All those ladies who had sighed over him had not been so foolish as Gunnilde had first supposed.

It was funny how some people could improve of acquaintance while others did the opposite.

Thoughts of the previous evening flooded her mind.

In truth, James had held his own quite creditably against Hal and his entourage.

For a minute she had feared he would turn all stuffy and formal and be unequal to the task, but no, he had taken it all in his stride.

He had not even seemed bothered about being swathed in a bedsheet for their visit.

Mayhap her kisses had fortified him for the ordeal, she thought, a smile crooking her lips.

Her gaze returned to James’s perfect profile.

It seemed a crime that such a pretty mouth should remain unkissed.

No, she shook her head. She was being ridiculous.

Even if James was a virgin, he would surely have snatched a few kisses over the years.

He could scarcely have avoided such a thing, not with his face.

Even she had been kissed, for pity’s sake, despite her large teeth and hefty person.

She grimaced. What a stroke of bad luck that Sir James Attley should have broken his arm. Having two Sir Jameses at large might have caused some confusion but it would have been far preferable to having Sir Ned Bevan in close proximity.

She had hoped it would be a good few months until she was forced to see him again.

Months she would have spent recovering her composure, so that when she next beheld him it would be with cool indifference.

Instead, here she was a scarce two months later confronted with the horrible prospect of seeing him again.

Clearly, she was not recovered for she had blubbed like an infant the night before, wretchedly exposing herself!

At least James had been her only witness, and he would hardly betray her.

Indeed, he had done his best to console her, despite the fact her words had doubtless thrown him into utter confusion.

Bless the man, he was quite useless at pretty speech, in spite of his appearance! That had certainly been why he had commissioned a poet to write that poem for Constance, and very likely why he did not like ballads.

In any case, she thought, cheering up, things had changed a good deal since she had last seen Sir Ned. For one thing, she was a married woman. For another, she had two months’ experience at court under her belt.

Lastly, and most importantly, she was now a lady-in-waiting to the Queen herself. She was no longer quite as forgettable as she had been. She would do her best to avoid Sir Ned, but when their paths did inevitably cross, she need not run and hide or be ashamed.

The door latch sounded, startling her, and Gunnilde shrank instinctively into James’s side.

He turned abruptly, slinging an arm around her and dragged her in close, resting his head upon her breasts with a gusty sigh.

Oh . He would be mortified if he was to wake like this, she thought, peering over blankets.

As she had suspected, it was Bennett plunking down a pitcher of water for their morning ablutions, a sour look upon his face. She mouthed her thanks, not daring to speak the words aloud in case she woke her sleeping husband.

As it was, Bennett shutting the door smartly behind him achieved that. She felt James jolt against her before lifting his head.

“Good morning,” she greeted him. He regarded her with bleary incomprehension. “I don’t think you slept very well last night. Mayhap you should put your head back down for another hour,” she said sympathetically.

His gaze fell to where his head had been resting, and he swallowed. “Er, no,” he said, tearing his gaze away and clearing his throat. “I, er, don’t think that’s a good idea.” He rolled away and swung his legs out to sit on the edge of the bed.

“I didn’t actually mean to lie on me ,” Gunnilde clarified. “I was not offering myself as a pillow bearer.” He made no reply, merely rubbed his eyes and yawned. “What will you do today?” she asked curiously. “Go and see your Master Gregory?”

“Yes, I had better. For this morning at least.” He turned to look back over his shoulder at her. “Unless you would rather have my escort somewhere?”

“No, no,” she assured him. “You should definitely go. I mean to attend the Queen in her chambers today.”

“I could meet you there, this afternoon, perhaps,” he offered after hesitating.

She smiled at him. “That would be most agreeable, thank you.”

Gunnilde urged James to get washed and dressed first, for she knew he would be quick, and she intended to take her time over her appearance. Sure enough, he was up and ready for his day in very little time.

“I’ll leave you to ready yourself,” he said, hovering in the doorway a moment, and then he was gone.

Gunnilde dressed with the greatest care.

First, she donned her finest shift, her scarlet stockings, and her second-best gown of bright blue silk, along with the brooch the Queen had gifted her.

Next, she wrapped her widest girdle about her rib cage, so that it sat high, cinching her in at her smallest point.

The girdle did not really bear close inspection for it was not of great quality, but the enameled buckle was pretty and Gunnilde told herself that the gold-colored thread made it look far costlier than it really was.

She did not need to consider shoes, for it had to be her favorites, the highly impractical ones with the cutouts. If she knew she was not leaving court, then they would always be her slipper of choice.

Once satisfied with her dress, she turned her attention to her hair.

Today, she decided that instead of braiding her hair before rolling it into buns, she would simply twist it and then twine a very thin ribbon around the length to add detail.

Fortunately, she had some blue ribbon which would match her gown pretty well.

It was trickier to wrap the hair this way, for it did not feel so secure, however, she fancied this modified technique gave a clearer view of the overall “whorl” effect, and once one side was completed, she admired herself in the small looking glass she had brought with her from home.

She could really do with a larger one such as the Portstanleys had in their chambers, Gunnilde thought glumly, for she had grown accustomed to seeing her whole head and not just sections of it at a time, however she made do and completed the second “horn” a lot quicker than the first.

Lastly, she pinned her gauzy veil to the back of her head and drew on her new white tippets which she was convinced everyone would be wearing soon.

They slipped up and over your sleeves and buttoned up to form a band encircling your upper arm.

A fall of wide ribbon then extended down in a graceful fall of fluttering fabric from your elbows.

The longer they extended, the more heavily they were frowned upon as frivolous trip hazards.

Gunnilde specified hers were to be so long that they scraped the floor. If one was going to adopt a new fashion, then she felt sure it should be followed to the furthest possible degree. There was no point in half measures when it came to this kind of thing.

Giving a pleased nod, she walked out into the sitting room and found a cup of ale but no bread awaiting her there.

Swallowing her drink, she pondered the shared servant situation.

Clearly Bennett was determined to be disobliging.

She could only imagine that the Ashdowns paid the lion’s share of his wage.

At least, she certainly hoped that was the case considering the precious little he did for the Wycliffe brothers.

After draining her cup, she made her way out of the courtier’s quarters and proceeded along to the Queen’s chambers at a steady yet sedate pace, on the lookout for any acquaintance she might know to nod or speak to.

She had just reached the long corridor when she spied Lady Winifred Hawes, Harriet’s bookish friend, coming from the opposite direction.

Winifred’s step faltered and she stifled a gasp. For a moment it looked as though she might turn and flee.

“Good morning, Winifred,” Gunnilde greeted her, affecting not to notice her strange behavior.