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“No, for I have not met them yet.” How funny that the red swelling about his eye did not detract from his good looks one whit, she thought. “I’m sorry the boys dragged you into their dispute today,” she said earnestly.

“It wasn’t really their dispute. And I was not dragged.” He considered her for a moment, his head tipped to one side. “What are those things on your arms?” he asked.

“My tippets,” she replied promptly, holding up her arms. “I saw Viscount Bardulf in a pair a couple of months ago and had my tailor re-create them from a drawing I made. His were red though and he wore them over a black tunic. They looked very dramatic.” James frowned.

“Do you not like them?” she asked. He made a noncommittal noise in his throat.

“I was thinking I could have more made up,” she said, lowering her arms again. “In an array of different colors.”

“I like the white,” he said, “at least, with that dress.”

Gunnilde beamed. “Lady Winifred Hawes may start wearing them next. She seemed to admire them greatly this morning. Would it not be amusing if they become hugely popular with ladies down to my influence?”

He did not answer at once, and when he did it was to ask, “Who is Winifred Hawes, another lady-in-waiting?”

“Goodness no. She is one of Harriet’s friends and very studious and clever. You must have seen her at some of those lectures you favor. She’s always at them and concentrating ferociously.”

“I must have, I suppose,” he murmured. “I cannot bring her to mind just now.”

“Maybe because she is not particularly prepossessing,” she replied sadly.

James looked discomforted. “I did not mean that the lady was not memorable,” he said awkwardly. “Only that I am not good at placing faces to names.”

“Oh.” For a moment he looked really concerned and Gunnilde was touched. James was really proving surprisingly considerate in not wanting to cause her offence. She sent him a smile of reassurance, so that he once again relaxed.

“The Queen is encouraging me to arrange a banquet,” she told him enthusiastically. “She said we could use one of the palace chambers for it.”

“To what purpose?”

“Why to show off my current elevated position, of course! I was thinking I could invite my fellow ladies-in-waiting in the hope they thaw toward me a little.” She hesitated. “She’s also encouraging me to invite...certain people from my past.”

“What sort of people?”

“The Conways,” she admitted in a rush. “Muriel Conway was my closest friend growing up in Tranton Vale. She dropped me as a friend as soon as she was married. I was unofficially betrothed to her brother in my youth, but it all came to naught. Her husband is Sir Christopher Lelland. I think her husband has an official position here at court as part of King Wymer’s retinue. Do you know of him?”

James scrunched his eyes then winced, feeling the bruise. “Is he one of the Hamford Lellands?” he asked.

“So Mistress Bartree says.”

“Then yes. Is he the tall one or the gruff, warlike one?”

“The tall one.”

James nodded. “Tell me about the brother.”

“Muriel’s brother, Sir Arthur? There is not much to tell. I believe he lives with Sir Christopher and Muriel now. I have not seen him for, oh, it must be over a year.”

“Did you...? Were you fond of him?” he asked carefully.

Gunnilde paused. “Yes, at one time. It was terribly exciting as a young girl to look out for him at gatherings and on feast days and think that one day...”

“He would be your husband?” James concluded.

She gave a short laugh. “Yes,” she admitted. “It was pleasant to think that there was someone with whom my destiny was entwined.” She looked away. “But I was being fanciful, as young girls often are.”

“The reason you did not want to go down for supper this evening...” James cleared his throat. “It wasn’t anything to do with wanting to avoid a certain knight, was it?”

“No!” Gunnilde gasped. “Whatever gave you that idea?” she blurted, feeling her face turn red. “Has someone said something?” But really, who could have? She stared at him in confusion. Even the Queen did not know the identity of the man who had wounded her so.

At that moment the door opened, and Bennett shuffled in carrying a tray. “Got your first course,” he murmured, giving them a furtive look before setting it down and placing the dishes in the center of the table before making his escape.

“First course?” James echoed in surprise, as though he was not used to getting multiple dishes when Bennett was the source.

“I will just go and remove my tippets,” Gunnilde said. “They are so nice and white, and I do not wish to get them splattered with sauce.”

Once she had shut the door behind her, she took a few deep breaths, then unbuttoned her tippets and slid them off before returning to the sitting room.

She devoutly hoped there was to be no more talk of knights.

She was not even sure how they had got onto that subject.

On her return, James had moved to the table and was pouring out two cups of wine.

He pulled out her chair and gestured for her to be seated. Gunnilde could not help but notice how quiet he was. She did not want him thinking she was pining for Sir Arthur or dreading meeting with Sir Ned. Instead, she determined to be her usual bright and breezy self.

“Naturally, you will need to act as host at this gathering the Queen proposed,” she informed him as she dug a spoon into a dish of leeks and cabbage cooked in a thick spiced broth.

“Naturally,” James repeated dryly. “Am I too expected to invite anyone and rub their noses in our recent marriage?”

“I doubt very much you have a past littered with ladies who have scorned you!” Gunnilde responded, pushing the dish toward him.

“Save Constance, you mean?”

Gunnilde lowered her spoon. Oh. “Well,” she said weakly. “If Constance and Sir Douglas have returned to court by then, we can certainly invite them, if you so wish.”

“What about you? Should you wish to see your protégé Sir Douglas again so soon?” he asked pointedly.

There was a strange edge to his words. Was he annoyed? Gunnilde frowned as she helped herself to a couple of pastry parcels which appeared to contain a savory mushroom filling. “I would have no objection,” she assured him. “If you did not.”

James breathed out through his nose. “It is not likely they should return to court so soon, in any case,” he muttered dismissively. “Do you want some of this?” He pushed the final dish in her direction.

Gunnilde looked at it dubiously. “What is it?”

“It appears to be carrots, radishes, turnips and...pears, I think. Pickled in something.”

Gunnilde gamely took a spoonful. “Saffron and vinegar,” she announced after tasting it. “It would be better served with bread and cheese,” she mused. “Do you not agree?”

James shrugged. He was not a picky eater, she had realized, though neither did he seem to overly relish his food. Half the time he barely seemed to notice what he was eating. “Tell me a dish that you love to feed upon,” she requested impulsively.

He frowned, no doubt believing her to still be thinking of the banquet, though in fact that had not been foremost in her mind. “I like roasted venison,” he muttered, “much like the next man.”

“Oh, really?”

“Why do you sound so surprised?”

“No reason. I just thought...”

“What?”

“That some unusual, refined dish might be your favorite,” she admitted.

“Sorry to disappoint you,” he replied sarcastically.

“Oh, but you haven’t,” she said firmly. “Not in any respect.”

Predictably, James turned tongue-tied at this, and they ate in silence for the next few minutes. Gunnilde found her mind wandering back over her day, namely her lack of success with the other ladies-in-waiting. If Hal could succeed where she had failed what did that say about her?

There was also her falling out with Mistress Bartree to consider.

Her conduct had been most impolitic, and the older woman would likely make her regret it.

She also felt a little guilty that she had been so sharp with her when Magnatrude had provided the ring she now wore on her third finger. She gazed down at the gold band sadly.

“What is it?” James asked, setting down his goblet. “Why do you look so disheartened all of a sudden?”

“I am thinking of Mistress Bartree,” Gunnilde admitted. “She does not like me, and she does not mean to share the Queen with me. How am I supposed to fill my new role when she jealously guards every task from me?”

James did not answer her at first, for ’twas plain he thought her question rhetorical. When he caught sight of her expectant expression, he paused and gave the matter some thought. “Well,” he said slowly, “you’re young and pretty, and the latest favorite. Is it not natural she should be jealous?”

Gunnilde cast aside the “pretty” comment and focused on the matter of hand.

“But she has all the experience and sophistication on her side! Why can she not see things from my viewpoint? Why must I always be the reasonable one? It is not fair. Moreover, she has a mysterious and tragic past that I cannot possibly compare with,” she said with a sigh.

Her own tale of Arthur Conway was nothing to it, nothing at all.

James looked startled. “Does she have a mysterious and tragic past?” he asked with surprise.

“Yes, she does, and everyone knows of it,” Gunnilde answered with exasperation. “Why is it you never know anything of your fellow courtiers?” she puzzled aloud.

Instead of answering this, James set down his knife. “How is her past tragic?” he asked, sounding like he was not entirely sure he wanted to know.

Gunnilde brightened, ignoring his grudging tone.

“Well,” she said, leaning forward and lowering her voice.

“The way I heard tell, her castle was burned to a blackened shell when the north fell, and she was left to molder in a virtual ruin for years until her brother sent for her. And in that time, she had transformed from a young and beauteous maiden into the cold, embittered woman we all know now.”

She clasped her hands together, quite entranced with the image she had created. “Can you not picture her, James? Walking up and down the ruins, growing paler and gaunter and older, rather like a ghost herself.” She shivered pleasurably. “Is that not high romance?”

James did not look convinced. “It merely sounds dismal to me. And the mystery you mentioned? Wherein does that lie?”

“Ah well,” Gunnilde said, holding up a finger. “I suspect there was a romance once, buried deep beneath the pyres. Who knows, but that the embers do not still smolder. Look,” she said, drawing off the gold ring from her wedding finger and passing it to him.

“I have already seen it,” he said, but took it all the same.

“Look closer! There is a lover’s inscription running around the band.”

He turned the ring to the light and read aloud, “ I cannot show the love I owe .” He frowned. “Doesn’t sound much like an avowal of love,” he said critically before passing it back.

Gunnilde was annoyed by his dismissive words. “There could be a hundred reasons why he could not outright declare himself!” she said impatiently as she slipped it back onto her finger. “You just have to use a little imagination.”

“I must be lamentably lacking in imagination”—James shrugged—“for none spring to mind.”

Gunnilde gave a huff of breath. “Well, what if...I don’t say this is the truth of the matter, mind you, but what if her lover was committed to another?”

James appeared to be struggling with the idea of the Queen’s current favorite embroiled in an illicit love affair.

He shook his head and opened his mouth. Before he could answer, Gunnilde bounced up in her seat.

“I can see you are about to say something disparaging, so I beg you will not trouble to speak. And before you lecture me, I will add that I have no intention of sharing that scandalous theory with aught but you. And you do not count.”

“Why do I not count?” he asked, bristling at once at the perceived slight.

“Because you are my husband,” she explained. “It does not signify when I confess to a scurrilous thought if it is only to you. For you are required to conceal all my faults and flaws from others as though they are your own, is that not so?”

He looked taken aback by the sentiment. “And will you perform that same office for me?” he asked, a pucker between his brows.

“Of course,” she responded without hesitation. “It is all part of the pact of married life.” She picked up her goblet and held it aloft. After a moment’s pause, James echoed the gesture, and they tapped their drinking vessels together.

“To the pact of married life,” he echoed, a thoughtful expression on his face.