Page 67

“Aye, I thought so.”

She tilted her head and smiled at him. “Would you care to hear advice a wise man once gave me? He was referring to how one should deal with a woman.”

He pursed his lips, but nodded just the same.

“ ‘Bed them. Get them with child. But never, ever converse with them.’ ”

Colin snorted. “Drivel.”

“I daresay he didn’t think so.”

“Shouldn’t listen to that kind of rot. Who said it, by the way?

Artane’s youngest? Nay, he wouldn’t say something like that.

He would speak on forever about lays and ballads and other wooing devices, if he didn’t just simply talk the poor wench to death.

But tell me who it was, so I can instruct the man in proper comportment next time we meet. ”

“It was, actually, you,” she said. “In your defense, I think it was after Sybil had fainted one too many times to suit you.”

He looked at her closely. “You don’t seem to be on the verge of fainting.”

“Nay, I’m not.”

“Strong-constitutioned, apparently.”

She smiled modestly. “Perhaps.”

He took a pace or two forward and leaned against the foot post of the bed. “Full of goodly courage.”

“Undoubtedly.”

He was looking at the distance that separated him from the bench. It seemed as though he thought it to be quite large, for he looked as if he might take a step or two forward, and then he would relax and continue his leaning.

Ali wondered if he might ever come any closer.

“You could tell me how you came to know Christopher of Blackmour,” she offered. “That would be a very interesting tale.”

He considered. The idea seemed to be appealing enough, for he put his shoulders back, looked as if he were gathering his courage in hand, and then strode across the chasm in two great steps and sat himself down on the bench.

As far away from her as possible, of course, but at least he was sitting.

“Colin,” she said with a sigh, “you needn’t feel shy.”

“I do not feel shy. I am merely ... um ... trying to spare you ... er ... any discomfort or apprehension.”

“So you’ve said.”

He scowled at her. “Lady, you are deliberately seeking to provoke me.”

She sighed, then moved herself closer to him. He looked panicked, but managed to stay seated. Ali reached for his hand and held it between her own.

“We are wed,” she pointed out.

He slipped his hand from between hers, then patted her quite thoroughly on the back. “I know. And I thank you for it.” Then he folded his hands quite securely together, and pinned them between his knees. “A tale, did you say? Aye, I can humor you thusly.”

Well, perhaps a tale would rid him of his nervousness and then they could see to other things.

Or perhaps it would take a goodly amount of time for him to muster up his courage, as it were, and see to his business with her.

She supposed she should have been grateful for a bit of time to accustom herself to being wed to arguably the fiercest warrior in England—and most of France for that matter.

Indeed, many women would have been terrified by the mere thought of sitting next to the man, much less anything else.

Perhaps she had more courage than she thought she did.

“Aliénore?”

She looked at him, surprised that she was still surprised by the sound of her name coming from him.

“My lord?” she asked.

“You’re not attending me.”

“Forgive me, my lord.”

He frowned at her. “You can’t tell me that you aren’t riveted by this tale.”

“Of course.” She was beginning to wonder, however, if perhaps she should be wearing something else. Hose, perhaps? It was possible the gown was throwing him into such a state.

“Should I put on hose?” she asked suddenly.

“What in the bloody hell does that have to do with my slicing a man’s moustache from him before I sent him to his grave?”

“Nothing.”

“Your powers of concentration have faded sadly,” he said, looking sorely disappointed.

“I’m thinking on other things.”

“Besides battle? By the saints, woman, what else is there?”

Obviously she had a goodly work ahead of her.

“Colin,” she asked patiently, “wouldn’t you at least like to kiss me?”

He stared at her. And he continued to stare at her.

Indeed, he stared at her so long and so intensely that she began to wonder if she shouldn’t have kept silent.

This was the Colin of Berkhamshire she had come to know so thoroughly in the lists, a man of complete and utter focus, a man who was single-minded about whatever task he had set before himself, a man who could likely send any sensible man scampering with just a pointed look of retribution.

And now she had that look turned on her.

But she had the feeling it had nothing to do with retribution.

Then he cleared his throat.

“Did I,” he began, “but begin to kiss you, Aliénore of Solonge, I daresay I wouldn’t be able to stop.”

Ali found that her hand was waving under her chin in a fanning motion. And given the fact that the chamber felt as if someone had thrown an entire barrel of coals on the brazier, she supposed her hand had things aright.

“Oh,” she managed.

“Aye, oh,” he agreed. “And know this that few have aroused such an, er, enthusiasm in me.”

“In truth?”

He paused and scowled at her. “Well, I’m not a bloody virgin, if that’s what you’re asking. But I’m a far sight less experienced than any of those Artane lads.”

“Jason doesn’t seem all that preoccupied with wenching,” she pointed out.

He scowled. “Must we continue this?”

“You brought it up.”

He looked supremely uncomfortable and she could scarce understand it.

She’d expected him to want to be about that sacred business as quickly as possible.

She studied him and watched as he studied anything but her in the chamber.

There were a dozen questions she could have asked, but she supposed that prying into his preoccupations was perhaps impolite.

And when she’d finally decided that perhaps she should dare, he spoke.

“I know a little,” he said slowly, “of bedding a wench. But I know nothing of bedding a wife.”

Ah, so there was the crux of the matter. She shrugged. “I suppose, my lord, that there isn’t much difference.”

He looked at her then and the seriousness of his expression surprised her. “Ah, but that is where you are wrong,” he said. “There is all the difference between the two.”

She had nothing to say to that. She looked down at her hands clasped in her lap and had no idea what she was supposed to do now.

And then she saw a large, scarred hand come into view.

That hand reached over and closed over hers.

It was a warm hand, and a gentle one. Ali looked up and met Colin’s eyes.

“I am not afeared,” he said slowly, “of trying to learn.”

She only nodded, mute.

He lifted her hand and kissed it. Roughly and not very easily. Then he peered at her, as if he judged her reaction. She only smiled. The man turned swordplay into a fine, elegant dance. Perhaps that would apply to other areas of his life as well.

In time.

He lifted his arm, presumably to put it around her shoulders—

And caught her fully in the nose.

Blood began to flow.

He leaped to his feet, cursing and wringing his hands. Ali put her hand over her nose, then found herself with a rag in her hands and her head tilted back thanks to Colin’s tender ministrations.

His expression was very grim.

“A disaster,” he said darkly. “As I assumed it would be.”

She wheezed. “I wouldn’t go so far.”

“By the saints, your sire will have my head for this. Is it broken, do you think?”

“I’ve no way to tell.”

He took a deep breath, then very gently took her nose between his finger and thumb.

She found herself quite suddenly on the bed with no idea how she’d come to be there. Colin was kneeling next to her, looking very grim. She closed her eyes briefly.

“How—”

“You fainted. But not before you screamed as if the very gates of Hell had spewed forth a contingent to chase you across the whole of France. Your sire, I likely don’t need to add, has already come banging on the door.”

She was suddenly quite grateful she was lying down. “My nose hurts.”

“I’ve no doubt it does.”

“I think perhaps I might have had enough—” .

“Of course,” he said quickly. “By the saints, Aliénore, you should sleep. I’ll keep watch over you. You’re perfectly safe. Well, from all except me, apparently.”

She reached up and touched his cheek. “It was an accident, my lord. Something amusing to tell our children.”

“I fail to see the humor at the moment. Perhaps later, when you don’t look quite so bruised.” He heaved a great sigh. “You should sleep now. You’ll feel better tomorrow.”

She nodded, and that mere movement sent her world spinning fair into oblivion.

But with her last bit of awareness, she felt a hand very carefully and very gently brush the hair back from her face.

“By the saints,” he whispered, “what have I ever done to deserve a one such as she? Beautiful, fearless, and with a stomach strong enough to wed with me.”

Ali fought to remain still. It was difficult, especially since she was certain tears would begin to leak from her closed eyes soon.

And then came more words from her apparently rather besotted husband, words she was just certain would fill her heart to overflowing and send the tears coursing in earnest.

“Now, if I could just bed the wench properly without breaking her first ...”

Well, some things were perhaps better left said when your spouse was asleep.

Ali fell asleep smiling just the same.