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J ames felt annoyed with his behavior as he divested himself of his clothes before bed. He had been surly company over supper he was sure, and resentful of stupid things that were of no consequence. Gunnilde would start thinking she had married a sullen fellow with nothing to recommend him.

She had carried the brunt of the conversation as it was and given him much grace.

Neville always complained he was snappish and prickly in private life, but James had not cared much what his younger brother thought.

It was different with a wife though. He needed to indulge her more if she was to carry on tolerating him as a spouse.

He shot a sidelong look at her as she tipped her basin of used washing water out of the window.

“The rest of the jug is yours,” she said, straightening the wash and dry cloths and approaching the bed.

She dropped her mantle and James hastily looked away from the view of his wife in her see-through shift as she clambered into bed.

He cleared his throat but disappointingly could think of nothing to say as he crossed to the washbasin and began his ablutions.

“What would you say,” Gunnilde began tentatively, “if I asked you to take me out in Aphrany one evening a week?” She was lying down now with her hands folded across her stomach.

He dropped his washcloth in the basin and had to fish it back out again. “Yes,” he answered briefly. “I would say yes.” It was the least he could do. He did not have to turn his head to know she would be all smiles at this. It was faintly embarrassing that so little would satisfy her.

“Wait,” she said guiltily, “for I have not yet explained to what type of establishment I wish you to take me.”

James shook the water from his eyes and turned to contemplate her.

She had started pleating the bedsheet between her fingers.

He had seen her do this before. She must do it when she was nervous, he realized.

She was also refusing to meet his gaze with her own.

“Just where is it you wish to go?” he asked suspiciously.

“To a tavern,” she answered at once. “I wish to sample the entertainment available at the taverns of Aphrany.”

He might have known it would be something outrageous. Why in the name of the gods? “You wish to take fashion inspiration from tavern wenches?” he guessed wildly.

Gunnilde gave a startled laugh. “That had not occurred to me, in truth.”

“You are inordinately fond of taverns?” he guessed again, scrubbing at his neck. This would be somewhat surprising, considering her avowed wish to mingle with the highest ladies in the land.

“Not especially,” she admitted, “no. It is just that I thought it might be a useful exercise.”

“Useful?” he echoed, lowering the washcloth. “In what way?”

“Well, to...to experience the sort of music that Aphranians wish to listen to in their free time. The music that is popular among folk at large.”

James picked up the drying cloth and ran it over his neck and shoulders. “So then, this is for my benefit?”

“Yes,” she agreed eagerly, sitting up in the bed. “Do you remember my saying how I mean to aid you in furthering your career?”

James had to avert his eyes. The motion set her breasts bouncing and her shift concealed next to nothing. Their truce was giving him new...unanticipated problems. He cleared his throat. “As my helpmeet?”

“Yes, precisely.” She settled back on her pillows, patting the space on the bed next to her. “Come, and tell me if you think the idea has merit.”

James replaced the drying cloth and walked over to the bed.

“Perhaps,” he lied, lifting the blanket and sliding in beside her.

If she wanted, he would trail around the taverns with her, but he expected precious little by way of inspiration.

“You imagine this will instill in me a newfound love of ballads and help me appeal to the masses,” he guessed.

“Yes, that is my hope,” she agreed readily, turning onto her side toward him. A smile tugged at his lips at her ready honesty. He gave way to it, and she immediately looked relieved.

“Do you know, I think we are becoming quite familiar with one another and settling into married life together quite nicely,” she said, astonishing him greatly.

“You think so?” he muttered. They were not yet as familiar as he would have liked, if he was being entirely truthful.

“Yes, for few husbands would have taken today’s events in their stride as you have,” she continued blithely. “My brother and his friends are a rare handful; I am well aware.”

He frowned. Sometimes he thought Gunnilde’s expectations of him were rather low. “Does not every knight who eats at your father’s table have to train up their own squire as a mere matter of course?”

She snorted. “Maybe so. But as I am sure you have gathered, many of the knights of this realm have shirked their duties this season by sending their squires to Aphrany unattended. It is a most shocking thing for they must know they cannot be trusted to behave themselves.”

“I expect they feel in need of respite,” James said, thinking of the likes of Cosgrave and Peterson and Bauer and his bony elbow. If any of them were his squire he’d make sure to abandon them at any given opportunity.

Gunnilde reached up and touched a cool hand to his swollen eye, making him startle. “Your poor eye,” she lamented.

He cleared his throat again and her hand fell away. “It’s really nothing.”

“Indeed, it is not! It is infamous . I am quite vexed with Hal. People will get entirely the wrong impression of you and think you are some kind of rough customer.” She sounded so put out on his behalf that James felt oddly gratified.

He shook his head. “Anyone who knows me will be well aware I am no fighter.”

“I will be sure to tell everyone exactly how it occurred,” she assured him, “so that no foul rumors spread.”

“I beg you will not!” James said in alarm. “I will sound ridiculous in such a retelling. Besides, you surely do not wish to embroil your brother in the tale, lest any repercussions should arise from the incident.”

Gunnilde’s face fell. “You mean you, too, think the Squires’ Revels might end up being canceled?”

He shook his head. “It’s unlikely, I would say. They are too newly arrived for anyone to have attached names to faces yet. If they are lucky, no one will suffer any consequences for today’s encounter.”

She appeared relieved, then appeared to remember something, biting her lip. “Though Hal gave his name to Mistress Rheinholdt, did he not?”

“Yes, but if they are friendly now, it seems unlikely she will betray him.”

Gunnilde seemed skeptical. “She does not seem remotely friendly to me! Besides, one of the servers may still be able to point the ringleaders out.”

“And risk offending some influential family? Unlikely. You have to put yourself in their shoes.”

She looked thoughtful. “I suppose that is true. Speaking of servants, Bennett was a good deal more obliging this evening, did you not think?”

He did. Four courses of food being brought up from the kitchen was unprecedented in his experience. “Most uncharacteristically so,” he agreed. “Do you suppose it was down to Cuthbert’s influence?”

“Cuthbert?” She repeated, and he waited for her to suggest what Cuthbert might have said to their incalcitrant servant, but when she spoke it was about something else altogether. She leaned forward and laid a tentative hand against his bare chest. “James,” she said quietly.

James struggled to draw breath. “Yes,” he answered unsteadily.

“You know how we were speaking of becoming accustomed to married life?”

“Yes.”

“Do you feel like practicing that other matter? As we were last night, before we were interrupted, I mean?”

James’s heart leaped in his chest. “The, er, the kissing, you mean?” he said hoarsely.

“Yes. Only if you want to, of course,” she said quickly. “Not if—” She started to draw her hand away, but he reached up and caught hold of it fast.

“I do,” he interrupted her. “I most definitely do.”

“Oh.” She smiled at him again, and James had the strangest realization.

She was not just pretty. She was damnably pretty.

He had always known she was a tempting morsel, uncomfortably so in his opinion, with her shapely form and warm, alluring voice, but somehow, he had missed the fact that the features of her face added up to the perfect sum total.

The fact hit him now squarely in the eye.

Then, too, there was all that abundant hair, and the sheer force of her personality.

It seemed to radiate from her, all healthy, eager goodwill and enthusiasm.

Arthur Conway must be an idiot, he realized, Douglas Farleigh too.

For she had favored them, had doubtless bestowed her smiles on them, yet they had squandered them in favor of someone else.

He was glad he had not acted with such stupidity.

Mind you, she had neither smiled on him nor liked him till after their marriage.

Did that matter? She professed herself satisfied with him now and he needed to ensure she remained that way.

There was someone else too, someone whose name hovered on the edge of his consciousness.

Someone else who had taken Gunnilde’s good opinion for granted. Some other fool who had let her down.

Then James’s thoughts scattered to the four corners for Gunnilde was kissing him and he could not hold a coherent thought in his head.

Not when Gunnilde’s soft lips were against his own, and her even softer body was pressing into his.

His hand, almost without volition, flew to her waist, clasping and fondling her like the veriest lecher.

She was so soft and pliable there. He wanted to touch her all over. He groaned and Gunnilde drew back.

“Is something wrong, James?” she asked in concern. “Shall we stop?”

Wrong? “No,” he answered quickly. “It is just...” What could he say? “I am not much accustomed to kisses.”