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J ames handed a cup of ale to Sir Douglas and watched the young knight accept it with some awkwardness before settling back in his seat. He had clearly thought to meet with Gunnilde alone and, confronted with the presence of a husband, seemed pretty much at a loss how to continue.

Gunnilde leaned forward in her seat. “Now, do not let us have any constraint between us, Sir Douglas. You may speak before James as freely as you always could before me. Believe me, he is most sympathetic to your plight.” James kept his features impassive as Douglas darted an uneasy glance his way.

“Now, pray tell us. What has happened since you left the palace?”

Sir Douglas sighed and scrubbed his eyes with his hand.

“Where to start? In truth, things went awry almost from the start. No road was straight enough for Constance, no inn respectable enough, no landlord amenable enough, no supper appetizing enough, no maidservant polite enough... I could go on.” He shot a hunted look at James. “Her complaints were ceaseless.”

Gunnilde’s face took on a look of sympathetic understanding. “I suppose in a way it is only natural. Constance is, of course, an heiress,” she said tactfully, “and moreover an only child. She is no doubt accustomed to having things her own way.”

“That is one way of putting it,” Douglas agreed fervently.

“I think myself that we had not left court above a couple of hours before doubts started seeping into her mind.” He shook his head.

“We never—” He turned scarlet. “Well, she never permitted that I should share her bedchamber, that much is certain,” he admitted, shame-faced.

Gunnilde sent a look of appeal in James’s direction, but what the hells was he supposed to say?

Bad luck, your wife is clearly not as generous and giving as mine ?

Realizing he was not going to come to her rescue, Gunnilde coughed.

“And then, on reaching her estate?” she prompted, breaking the awkward silence.

“Oh, things really took a turn when we reached Northcott Manor,” Sir Douglas said bitterly. “Her uncles came out in force, her cousins, her godfather, her steward, all of them were up in arms.”

“They are all her dependents, I take it,” Gunnilde commented thoughtfully. She looked across at James. “Did you ever meet any of them during your own, well, betrothal to Constance?”

James bristled. Why in heaven’s name would she want to bring that up? He gave a short nod. “I met her uncle Elias,” he admitted reluctantly. “I believe he is the senior guardian, and her godfather, Sir Aldo Marchmont, on one occasion.”

Douglas snorted. “Aye, so you’ve met the worst of them, then! They’ve treated me like a criminal from the start and practically dragged me here in irons! At least, they would have liked to clap me in them if I’d permitted it.”

James made no comment. Constance’s relations had seemed amenable enough when he met them, but then again, finances and settlements had been agreed and protections put in place.

None of that had been arranged for Douglas and Constance’s precipitate marriage.

No doubt her family had been thrown into a state of panic.

“And now they mean to put the matter before the King himself?” Gunnilde asked uncomfortably. No doubt she felt partly to blame for encouraging the pair of them in their folly. “What does Constance say about it all?” she asked.

“She barely looks at me these days, let alone talks to me,” Douglas answered dispiritedly.

“I expect they keep her closely guarded at all times,” Gunnilde mused. “But you must speak with her, Douglas! You must ascertain her wants and desires in the matter, not just those of her relatives.”

“Trust me, I know precious little about Constance’s desires,” Sir Douglas retorted. “And I suspect I don’t factor in them one whit.”

“But Douglas—” James noticed with disfavor that she tended to drop the “sir” in moments of high emotion.

“No, Gunnilde,” he said, shifting in his seat to face in her direction. “You must understand, I—I feel quite differently about things now. I was fogged before, my mind confused. Now the clouds have dispersed, I wonder if I ever really loved her or if I just got swept up in a sort of madness!”

He leaned forward, almost as though he were trying to shut James out of the conversation.

“When I come to look at things, really look at them, I mean, I realize that the part I liked most about courting her was, well, the time I spent with you. ” He turned slowly scarlet; his eyes beseechingly trained on James’s wife.

A deafening silence fell over the room as James forced himself not to spring out of his seat and fling the offending knave out of the room.

Gunnilde blinked and gave a nervous laugh.

“We all enjoy spending time with like-minded people, Douglas,” she said soothingly.

“I think I have a particular sympathy for lovers due to the fact I was disappointed at a young age. What you feel for Constance is something quite different—”

“I never even knew Constance!” Douglas burst out wildly. “Not really. I just liked the idea of her! Now I think we were likely ill-suited from the start.”

“Oh, but—”

“What it comes down to is that she is practically a stranger to me!”

James stood up. “We seem to have reached a sticking point,” he said dryly. “And I don’t believe things are moving in any helpful direction. There is nothing here that my wife can help you with, Farleigh. I must now ask you to leave.”

A mutinous cast came over Sir Douglas’s face. “Well, but I have not finished saying what I meant to say!” he protested hotly.

“I can well believe it,” James replied with quiet menace. Hostility crackled in the air. Farleigh came to his feet, sizing him up. James narrowed his eyes and took a step forward. By gods, he’d wring this scoundrel’s neck given half the chance!

“It’s this way, Sir Douglas,” Gunnilde said quickly. “Pray do not let us detain you. You have doubtless ridden many hours this day and surely have an audience with the King to prepare for.”

Farleigh allowed himself to be shepherded out of the room, with one more backward look of resentment at James, who followed close on their heels. He had no intention of giving the man a chance to importune his wife further!

“Well, good night and good luck to you, Sir Douglas,” Gunnilde gabbled as he hesitated in the doorway.

“Listen, Gunnilde,” he said desperately, “I’ve been blind but now I see that, well, that we have far more common ground! You like knights, I’m a knight, and it seems to me—”

James came right behind her, placing one hand on Gunnilde’s shoulder and another on the door. “Good night,” he said firmly, closing the door in the blackguard’s face.

Gunnilde slumped against the door. “Oh gods,” she moaned. “What have I done?” She turned her face toward him. “Have I ruined Sir Douglas’s life?” she asked wretchedly. “I ought never to have—”

“You ought never to have been whispering in corners with him in the first place!” James said sharply. “This was bound to happen sooner or later.”

She looked crushed. “But I really believed I was acting for the best! I had no notion—”

“You had no notion of anything but meddling in matters that did not concern you!” James snapped. “Moreover, if you do not mend your ways, my fine lady, you and your brother will be gaining reputations as the most hardened flirts to ever appear at court!”

The color drained from Gunnilde’s face. “James, please,” she whispered, reaching for his hand. He snatched it back.

“Do you even realize what that bastard was hoping for?” he demanded angrily. “To resolve this situation with some kind of exchange of wives ! A proposal that would make us all look quite ridiculous before everyone!”

Gunnilde stared at him. Her lips trembled. “James—”

A roaring started in his ears. If she told him now that she loved Sir Douglas, he did not know what he would do.

“Is that what you want?” he hurled at her.

“To be a figure of infamy and conjecture for the rest of your life? Or perhaps you do not care. After all, you like attention riveted to your person, do you not?”

Something about the look in her eyes suddenly halted him. He swallowed the harsh words pouring from his tongue. “Let’s to bed,” he said abruptly. “I believe I’ve had quite enough to contend with for one day.”

Gunnilde nodded, blinking back tears. The worst of it was, seeing her this upset just made James feel even worse, he realized as he washed and undressed. Farleigh was probably right, damn his eyes. Probably right for Gunnilde.

She would have been thrilled to marry a tournament knight, even one who was not a champion. She would have cheered him on at every tournament and consoled him sweetly after every loss.

Her father, Sir Aubron, would doubtless have rejoiced at such a son-in-law, while he barred his doors against James.

Her family would have understood the match.

He would have fitted right in with their company, where James would have to struggle for years before they would accept his presence and likely always remain an outsider.

James lay in bed beside his silent wife seething until the early hours. Neither one of them spoke another word. James could not speak by this point, for jealousy twisted his gut and poisoned his tongue.

He ran back and forth over the words that had been exchanged, torturing himself that Gunnilde might not have been averse to hearing the other man’s avowals of love.

It was downright obvious Farleigh had finally noticed Gunnilde was the more enticing prospect, and small wonder.

Even he, oblivious as he was, had come to that realization on his wedding night.

Gunnilde was warm and lovely where Constance was, well, he did not know precisely what Constance was, other than a little spoiled. He had not taken the trouble to get to know her on anything but the shallowest of terms. He had not cared to then, and he did not care to now.

It should not matter in any case, for Gunnilde was his.

Unlike Douglas and Constance their marriage had been most satisfactorily consummated, and he would not stand for anyone trying to posit otherwise.

He had been hard-pressed not to tell Farleigh as much but that would have been indelicate, he supposed.

Gunnilde might not have liked it thrown in the fellow’s face like that.

It was plain she harbored kindly, even tender feelings toward Farleigh, he thought, scowling into the darkness, but she would just have to get over that.

She was his wife and so she would remain.

She might chafe about that in the years to come but he would just have to find some way to make the fact more palatable to her.

She could dress him how she pleased, throw all manner of elaborate banquets, spend all his money on velvets and silks. He would deny her nothing.

The wretched matchmaking would have to come to an end though, he fumed. He had been wrong to soften about that. It stood to reason any bachelor’s eyes would start to turn her way if they spent too much time in her intoxicating company. She was too damnably enticing.

Mayhap he would have to brush up on his knightly skills again.

Forty days in the King’s service was likely not enough in Gunnilde’s eyes.

No, he needed to let her see him in his suit of armor more oftentimes than that, brandishing both sword and shield.

He might not be a tourney-goer but he was a knight, damn it all!

And clearly his wife needed reminding of that fact.