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“She was traveling on her own from what I saw. The villagers said a goodly contingent of men rode through the fields later, and a very irritated-looking group of lads they were, so perhaps Marie was trying to leave them behind and seek safety for herself.” He smiled.

“I daresay she won’t be happy should she encounter them again, having thusly given them the slip. ”

“I would put nothing past her,” Lord Denis said.

Ali remembered only then that her father and two brothers were there as well. Her sire certainly seemed at peace, more so than he had in years. Perhaps ridding himself of Marie had done him some good. Would that he’d never wed her in the first place.

Then again, if he hadn’t, she wouldn’t be wed with Colin and she couldn’t help but feel that that was worth the price.

The afternoon passed slowly, first with the chamber full of plots, strategy, and plans for reaching England alive, and then with condolences for the good sisters and their loss.

Ali listened until she simply couldn’t listen anymore.

She leaned back in her chair and looked at Colin as he talked with her family and Jason.

And then, despite what swirled around her, she found herself thinking on how she and Colin had passed the previous morning in her father’s chamber, taking care of, well, things that needed to be taken care of.

Her nose was healing nicely, truth be told.

As if her very thoughts had been divined she found her hand suddenly taken by her husband’s. He rose, pulling her up after him.

“Aliénore’s tired,” he stated. “Where can we retire?”

Jason laughed.

“I’ll see to you later,” Colin promised him.

Jason only raised his cup and drained it in salute.

A nun came forward. “We have a chamber for the abbot,” she offered. “You could stay there for the night, if you like.”

Ali started to follow him from the guest hall when the voices behind her reached her ears.

“He bloodied her nose,” Pierre whispered from behind them.

“Ah, but what did she do to him that you can’t see?” Jason said with a laugh.

Pierre made noises of awe.

“I am,” Colin muttered under his breath, “going to kill them both before this journey is over.”

Ali kept her head down and smiled. That was perhaps the trouble with traveling with family. They felt compelled to mark and interpret every action.

The nun led them to a small chamber, then inclined her head. “For your comfort, my lord, my lady.”

Colin didn’t exactly shove the woman from the chamber, but he came close. Ali smiled and received a scowl in return.

“I thought you might be weary,” he said.

“I daresay napping isn’t why you brought me here,” she said dryly.

“I thought I might seek to reassure you that I am fully capable of protecting you,” he offered.

“That, my lord, is coming perilously close to a falsehood.”

“Then, damn you, I am heartily sick of death and subterfuge and I thought a pleasant hour or two enjoying the fruits of my labors of finally managing to drag you to the altar might serve us both well.”

“Now that I believe.”

He said no more, but merely took her in his arms and, without further comment, proceeded to kiss her until she couldn’t breathe. In truth. She finally managed to tear her mouth away from his and suck in much-needed air. He fair dropped her back to her feet.

“What?” he asked, checking her over frantically. “Did I break something?”

“Your mail,” she wheezed. “My mail. It’s crushing the life from me. And my nose is plugged.”

“Nothing I can do about the last,” he said, making quick work of removing both his mail and hers.

“You would make a fine squire,” she remarked.

“I was a fine squire, but I’m a far better knight.”

“So I’ve noticed. Now, where were we?”

“About my next objective.”

“And that would be?”

He looked at her, hesitated, and then gestured for her to sit. She did, then watched as he paced in front of her for several moments in silence. Then he stopped and looked at her quite seriously.

“I have decided,” he began, “that there is something yet in life that I have not mastered. I vow I will not rest until I do.”

“Something you haven’t mastered?” she echoed. “Is that possible? Colin of Berkhamshire, master of swordplay, terrifier of armies, man who brings souls to their very knees by the mention of his name alone? What else could there possibly be?”

“Something far more important.”

She could scarce wait to hear what.

“I have decided,” he announced, “that I will become as fine a lover as I am a swordsman.”

The saints preserve her. She’d seen his dedication in the lists. She wondered, just as seriously, if she might ever see the outside of her bedchamber again.

“Well,” she managed weakly.

He looked at her with a frown taking root between his eyebrows. “Why do you say that? Is that not a worthy goal?”

“Of course it is.”

“Do you fear you lack the stamina for it?”

She wanted to sit up and put her shoulders back, but the very thought of the days and nights he would most likely want to devote to his new preoccupation was enough to keep her slumping in her chair.

“Or perhaps ’Tis the thought of aiding me in this quest that doesn’t sit well with you,” he said grimly.

“You, my lord,” she said, “think too much.”

He knelt down in front of her suddenly and reached for her hands.

She looked at his large paws surrounding hers, those scarred hands that had brought perhaps more justice, though likely more terror and death, than the normal pair of hands, and couldn’t help a bit of marveling that they cradled hers so gently.

“Actually, I could sit no longer below,” he said quietly. “I could listen no more to tales of death and destruction.”

“Losing your strong stomach?” she asked gently.

“Nay, my lady. I found myself quite suddenly longing for no company but yours, even did we but sit together and speak of nothing important.” He paused and an expression of deep concern descended upon his features.

“Colin?” she asked. “What ails you?”

“Think you such longings bode ill for my ruthlessness?” he asked.

She squeezed his hand. “I’ll carry the secret of it to my grave.”

He looked upon her with approval. “I always suspected you were a prudent wench.”

“Did you now,” she said, hoping that was a compliment.

“Indeed, I did,” he said, beginning to warm to his topic. “If you must know, when I knew you were a girl but knew not your name, I found myself often wishing that Aliénore of Solonge had found herself a happy home in a convent.”

She blinked. “Why?”

“Because I found you to be such a fine, sporting gel with a courageous heart. I found myself cursing the day that might come and saddle me with a betrothed who hadn’t the spine to face me as you did.”

“And when you learned who I was?”

“Well,” he said, lifting her hand and kissing it in the less-than-polished way she was fast becoming accustomed to, “well, then I counted myself doubly blessed. My obligation was fulfilled to the appropriate woman, but I got the wench I wanted in the bargain as well.”

That, for some reason she surely couldn’t divine, was possibly the most perfect thing a man had ever said. And that it should come from the terrifying man kneeling before her looking infinitely satisfied with his life only made the words sweeter to her ears.

“I can only hope,” he said slowly, “that you have no regrets. And if you do, I hope they can be overcome in time.”

She leaned forward and smiled at him. “Will you know the truth?”

He looked to be steeling himself for something truly awful. “If you must,” he said.

“It occurred to me, at some point in our journeys, that if I had but known you instead of your reputation, I wouldn’t have fled.”

He looked at her with his mouth open for a moment or two, then began to blink rapidly.

“Damned smoky fire,” he said, waving away nonexistent clouds. “Bad wood, obviously. I’ll have to have a word with these nuns before we leave.”

Ali smiled to herself and rose, pulling Colin to his feet with her. “’Tis horrible,” she agreed. “Now, about that new ambition of yours ...”

“Aye?”

“I wonder how comfortable that bed is over there.”

He put his shoulders back and assumed a long-suffering expression. “’Tis but an obstacle to be overcome by only the most courageous. I’m up to the task. You?”

“Anything for the noble cause of chivalry.”

“I knew I was saddling myself with the right wench.”

She wanted to point out that most men did not refer to their wives as “wenches,” but he’d already bent his mind and energies to his task, and she found that worrying about such trivialities was simply beyond her.

As fine a lover as he was a swordsman?

The saints preserve her, she might never escape the chamber.