Page 68

C olin woke and reached immediately for his sword. It was what he did every morning when he awoke. One never knew the dangers that might be lurking just above one’s head, and he was never one to meet a danger unarmed, unprepared. This morning however, when he took hold of his sword, it squeaked.

He wondered, briefly, if he had just lost his mind.

He sat up with a start, then realized he was grasping something far too soft to be his sword. It was, oddly enough, his lady wife’s leg.

Memory flooded back and he looked at her in consternation.

She was still wearing her gown. And aye, she was still wearing the signs of his tender ministrations the night before.

What would her bloody family say when they saw the condition of her face?

Well, he already knew what her father would say, for he’d had a goodly dose of that the night before whilst Ali was still out of her head with pain.

Colin had apologized profusely, vowed that he’d damaged the wench unintentionally, demonstrated that she was still wearing all her clothing, and sent Denis of Solonge on his way a very unhappy and scowling father.

Colin had supposed that any other start to his matrimonial life would have been quite unthinkable.

“Colin?”

He looked at Aliénore quickly, but the sight of her, even when viewed by the very faint light pushing through the shutters, rendered him quite speechless. Shorn hair and broken nose included, the woman was absolutely beautiful.

To think she was his ...

Well, almost. He had given thought to making her his in truth several times during the night, but the sight of her had given him pause. He’d but endeavored to embrace her and look what he’d done to her. What would happen should he try to love her?

He shuddered to think.

“You’re looking fierce this fine morn, my lord.”

He tried to soften his expression, but found it impossible.

By the saints, not only did he now have a wife, he had Aliénore of Solonge for a wife.

He’d suspected from the first moment of his betrothal to her that she was not merely an ordinary woman.

No woman could bear that name and not have something substantial to her.

And now he had to spare a moment or two for regret that he’d thought her so cowardly. He suspected there were few wenches who would have ever dared what she had. He never would have found himself dressing in skirts for any reason.

Not even to avoid himself.

“Colin, are you unwell?”

He shook his head clear of his thoughts. “Nay,” he said firmly. “How do you fare this morn? Does your nose still pain you?”

She sat up with a groan. “I think I perhaps have a bit of sympathy for Sir Etienne now. And this was an accident.”

“He feels worse, I can assure you. And I daresay he didn’t sleep nearly as well as you last night.”

She smiled. “I must admit to having truly derived a great bit of enjoyment thinking of myself in this fine bed and Sir Etienne and Marie sleeping in my father’s quite disgusting pit.” She looked at him. “There is justice, is there not, my lord?”

“Aye, my lady, there is.”

She continued to look at him.

As if she expected him to do something.

He cast about immediately for something to say, but came up with nothing.

He looked at her quickly, wondering if he should comment on her own fetching person.

Surely that couldn’t go astray. He looked at her hair, which was sticking out much as it had every morning he’d woken beside her.

He’d not thought much of it before except to tell her that she looked like an angry hedgehog and to do something about those ratty locks.

But he supposed that saying the same thing to his wife would not have the desired effect.

He frowned, at a loss.

Which left him no choice but to fall back on his usual strategy.

“I should,” he announced, “go to the lists.”

He looked at her quickly to judge her reaction to that idea.

Her expression, damn her anyway, was inscrutable.

“Where did you learn that?” he demanded.

“From you.”

“Obviously I have taught you far more than I intended,” he grumbled. He looked at her sideways. “Do you want to come with me?”

“No, thank you.”

No further illumination was forthcoming, apparently. Colin sighed his gustiest sigh.

“Is there aught you would rather be doing? Something that, pray, won’t damage you and force your father to put my head on a pike outside his gates? Shall I read to you? Indulge you in a game of chance?” Not that he played games of chance, of course. Gambling was not a proper knightly activity.

She dragged her hands through her hair. The sight of that, something he’d been watching her do for at least two months, did something rather odd to his insides. It was all he could do not to reach over and smooth her hair down for her.

Indeed his hand was halfway to doing so.

She looked at him, then sat perfectly still.

Well, hell, there was no sense in not finishing what he started, especially since being caught doing something in a halfway manner was quite undignified.

He brushed his callused and quite work-roughened hand over her very smooth hair and hoped she didn’t mind it.

Then he pulled his hand back, curled his fingers underneath themselves to hide their condition, and produced a smile.

He imagined it hadn’t come out very well.

To his surprise, his hand was soon taken by his bride.

“I would like,” she began, looking at him with enough seriousness that he had difficulty swallowing, “to make a little journey down the passageway.”

“To see your sire?” he asked grimly.

“To visit the garderobe.”

Well, that was fairly benign.

“Then I would like something to eat.”

“And then?”

“And then I think we should perhaps see to a few other things. Things of a matrimonial nature.” She paused and smiled. “Don’t you think?”

He didn’t have to think. If she was willing, he wouldn’t deny her. He bounded off the bed and threw open the door. A young lad snapped to attention.

“Aye, my lord!”

“Food,” Colin barked. “And a goodly amount thereof.” He looked back to the bed and watched as Ali rose and opened the shutters. She walked across the chamber and stood beside him. She smiled up at him, then slipped past him.

“I’ll return.”

“A body could hope,” he muttered.

She laughed, then continued on her way.

He leaned against the doorframe and stared at nothing.

So she would return. He supposed it could have been worse.

She could have been bolting down the passageway, never to return.

Especially given that there was no one left to pursue her with foul intentions.

Marie was safely ensconced in the dungeon with Sir Etienne, both of them recovering from various wounds.

He very much suspected Marie would not like the condition of her face, did she ever have the chance to see it again.

Then again, she was due to meet with the hangman’s noose quite soon, so perhaps she wouldn’t have to worry about her nose for long.

Of Sir Etienne Colin had few tidings save that the man was continually raging about the injustice of his straits.

Perhaps his new life of poverty didn’t sit well with him.

Ah, but no time for those happy thoughts now. Colin noticed his bride coming toward him. Best he focus all his energies on whatever other matters she intended to see to that morn.

He didn’t dare speculate on what those truly might be.

“Thinking idle thoughts?”

Colin looked down at her. “Thoughts of dungeon occupants, actually.”

“Is Marie really down there with Sir Etienne?”

“Aye.”

“I’m certain the happy couple are enjoying a fine few days.”

“Marie can count them as her last,” Colin said. “I suppose your sire will release Sir Etienne eventually. Likely after we’ve gone.”

“Are we leaving soon?”

“Soon?” he repeated absently. “Well, aye. Unless you’ve a mind to linger here and watch your stepmother be hanged.”

“Tempting, but I think I could do without that.”

“Then let’s see what your sire plans to do with her before we leave.”

She looked at him in surprise. “Do you intend to leave today?”

“Nay. We’ll need time to have supplies from your sire.” He considered her reaction to that. She seemed relieved to not be traveling quite so soon. What that meant, however, he couldn’t have said. “Tomorrow?” he offered.

“That seems rather soon as well, unless you’ve a pressing reason to return to England. I suppose you might want to return to give your sire the happy tidings.”

He grunted. “There is that.”

“And Jason is no doubt waiting for us. He’ll be pleased to see you.”

“And you, likely.” He frowned at her. “I am assuming he knew your tale at least a day or two before I did.”

“Far sooner than that. He saw me covering up after my bath that first day. I told him ’twas an old war wound, but he didn’t believe me. When Berengaria called me by name, I found it useless to not tell him all.”

“And of course he couldn’t see fit to share any of it with me,” he groused.

“I daresay, my lord,” she said dryly, “that he feared for my life.”

Colin looked at her and rubbed his own nose in sympathy.

“Well, he’ll have aught to say to me when he sees your face.

As will your sire. He’ll wonder if I had to bloody your nose again to get you to bed.

” And then he realized that while he certainly had gotten her to the bed, he hadn’t gotten any further than that.

He sighed. “I have failed in my duties as a husband, though perhaps you are relieve—”

He would have said more, but he couldn’t. His wife, and he could honestly scarce call her that without a goodly amount of disbelief that she was actually such, had put her arms around him and was looking up at him.

As if she might actually have some fond feeling for him residing within her.

He knew, at that moment, that he was completely lost. He’d suspected it might be the case, of course, but now that he actually had her willing in his arms, he knew that it would take the greater part of the French army to pry him from her. Yet still ...

“Colin?”

“Aye,” he managed.