Page 78

C olin found himself, once again, on his horse.

It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy riding, or traveling a bit, for that matter.

It was that instead of riding alone with his bride, looking forward to a goodly bit of peace and quiet in his own hall, he seemed to have acquired a following of immense proportions that couldn’t seem to detach themselves from his pleasant company.

And if that weren’t enough, he was expecting guests from Blackmour when he reached Berkham!

It was enough to prompt him to ask Aliénore if she minded a fortnight or two in a tent far away from either her family or his.

Now, seeing Christopher, Gillian, and their lads was actually something to anticipate with a bit of relish.

They were fine company and Colin looked forward to telling Christopher of the ease with which he’d wooed and won his bride.

The lads were a joy as well and he’d missed their antics and youthful amusements.

Gillian, he supposed, would have much still to say about his manners, but he supposed he could steel himself for her onslaught.

She would be good company for Aliénore, and he found himself incapable of begrudging his wife whatever it was she might want at the moment.

Aliénore’s father he could tolerate as well. The man had turned out to be a fine talker. And his healthy respect for Colin’s reputation led him to say nothing amiss nor give any trouble.

A pity his own sire couldn’t have had the same said for him.

Colin gritted his teeth as another complaint came his way with the speed and accuracy of a bolt shot from close range.

“Nay,” Colin said, turning and glaring at his sire, “you may not have the lord’s chamber. You may gather your belongings, bid fond farewell to your favorite serving wenches, and contemplate your remaining years spent in prayer for your black soul!”

“You cannot remove me from my own keep!”

“Shall we settle this in the lists?” Colin asked pointedly.

“You,” Reginald said, pointing a trembling finger at him, “are a reprehensible son!”

“You’re right,” Colin snapped.

“A good son would see to his father.”

“As you’ve already said, I’m not a good son. So go live with Ermengarde. I’ll see her dowered lavishly and settled in Harrowden keep.”

Ermengarde made exclamations of pleasure. Reginald continued to grumble, but it was in a much lower tone.

“That way the miserable whoreson can be put in the monastery close by if he gives them any trouble,” Colin muttered under his breath.

“I heard that!”

Aliénore laughed softly. Colin looked at her and noted the expression of affection on her face. Such a thing was so strange to see on any woman’s face, he found that he often looked at her just to see if she wore it.

Which she did.

And quite often, truth be told.

He found that he simply could not look away from her. She was lovely, she was well-witted, and she was his.

Did miracles never cease?

She reached up and tucked her hair behind her ears. “I’ll let my hair grow,” she said, sounding very self-conscious. “It must trouble you as it is.”

“Actually,” he said, “I was just looking at you and finding myself amazed yet again that you are mine. I vow, my lady, that you’ve a beauty that all would wish for their own. Grow your hair if you like, or not. It doesn’t matter to me.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“It’ll get in your way training if it’s too long,” he said.

“I once suspected you might say something like that. You, my lord, have a most interesting way of viewing life.”

He frowned, not sure if that was a compliment or not. But his lady was smiling at him as if she approved, and that was enough for him.

Now, if he could just rid himself of his various family, sundry, and guests, and apply himself fully to the task of indulging in marital bliss, he would be content.

“Oh, Colin, this is beautiful!”

He looked about him and saw his land with fresh eyes.

Perhaps he’d made a mistake not coming back more often.

Aliénore had it aright; it was beautiful.

The hills were lush and full of goodly grasses for animals.

Fields were busily producing crops that would feed him and his people for the winter.

The sun shone down pleasantly and a gentle breeze cooled his brow.

Then again, he likely wouldn’t have found it so pleasing without Aliénore at his side.

“Smell,” she said, breathing deeply.

He did, and found himself sparing a faint wish for the tang of the sea. Though he supposed dung was a pleasing enough smell, under the right circumstances.

“You won’t miss the sea, will you?” he asked.

“You know I won’t.” She shrugged lightly. “Though now I think I would be happy wherever I was.”

“Would you? Why?”

“Because I’ve found a home,” she said, looking at him with a gentle smile. “With you.”

Colin found himself quite suddenly rubbing at his eyes. “Dirt,” he said gruffly. “Damned bit of fluff flew right into my eyes. I’m fortunate I wasn’t rendered sightless by the enormous quantity.”

She laughed.

He couldn’t even muster up enough irritation to promise her that he would see her repaid for her mirth.

“Sea, countryside,” she said happily. “I don’t care.”

“Less dirt by the sea,” he said, dragging his sleeve across his traitorous eyes a last time.

“But much sand,” she said. She looked at him innocently. “Do you think you’d have the same problem there? It getting so forcefully and thoroughly in your eyes, as it were.”

He pursed his lips. “Did you but know me better, you would hesitate to tease me.”

“I do know you better,” she pointed out, “and I can’t resist teasing you. Would you deny me such a small pleasure?”

He opened his mouth to say that he most certainly would, then realized she was yet using him for her own sport. He scowled at her.

“You, lady, are foul.”

She only smiled pleasantly and looked quite unafraid.

And that was something, he supposed.

Indeed, he supposed that her look was more than just the one a woman would wear when she was unafraid. Her look hinted at affection. Perhaps even, did he dare say it, goodly affection?

He wondered, absently, if he looked as besotted as Christopher was wont to look on occasion.

Best confine that kind of look to the bedchamber, he decided quickly. The saints only knew what would happen to his reputation otherwise.

He concentrated on the road ahead, studying the surrounding terrain as they went, looking for things that perhaps might need to be changed or improved.

His father had taken marginally good care of the holding, Colin had to give him that.

But there were things that could be done to make it safer, more comfortable, more pleasing to the eye.

Things he would do gladly for the sake of his lady.

They rode into the courtyard at length and Colin dismounted with relief.

He helped Aliénore down, then took her by the hand and looked about him to make certain the rest of the company could see to themselves.

He turned back to the hall to find his father’s steward creeping down the steps.

Colin had little love for the man, for he was as stingy as Reginald himself.

A goodly quality in a steward, he supposed, but surely he could find another just as frugal with an aspect to him that didn’t make Colin grind his teeth each time he showed that face.

“My lord—” the steward began, then looked at Aliénore. His eyes traveled down to where her hand was clasped with Colin’s, and then that same gaze made its way back up to meet Colin’s. The man looked near to fainting.

“My wife,” Colin said shortly. “The lady Aliénore.”

“Wife,” the man repeated weakly. “Oh, the saints be praised ’Tis a woman!”

Colin snorted. “Saints, man, have you not eyes in your head? How could anyone mistake this beautiful creature for a boy?”

“How indeed?” murmured someone behind him.

Colin knew without a doubt who it was.

“Heal yourself, de Piaget,” he threw over his shoulder. “We will meet in the lists very soon. I’ve several things to repay you for!”

There wasn’t even an audible gulp for his trouble. Colin looked down at Aliénore. “I’ve gone soft,” he said. “He wouldn’t have dared show so little response to that threat two years ago.”

“Should I myself appear more terrified?” she asked, the comer of her mouth beginning to twitch in a way that looked alarmingly like something Jason would allow.

Colin favored her with a scowl. “You, lady, have learned terrible habits from that boy.”

She put her arms around him. “But you tease so well, my lord. I find myself powerless to resist the temptation.”

He grunted. “I would tell you to try harder, but each time you use me so ill, you seem to feel the need to soothe me, so perhaps ’Tis a fair trade. And do not,” he threw over his shoulder, “use that as excuse, Jason. I do not need soothing from you!”

A muffled chuckle was his answer.

Colin brushed past his father’s steward, pulled Aliénore along, and entered the great hall. He paused and looked about him, trying to dredge up some pleasant memory of the place. He vaguely remembered time spent there with his mother, sitting near the fire, listening to her occasional laughter.

None of which had been directed to or shared with his father, if he remembered things aright.

“This would be a good place to start memories of our own,” Aliénore said quietly, giving his hand a squeeze. “Don’t you think?”

“I think,” he said, looking down at her with warm feelings in his heart, “that you are a truly remarkable woman. I vow you’re as sensible as any man I know.”

“Such flattery,” she said with a smile. “You leave me breathless.”

He frowned at her. He would have rather heard that his loving left her breathless, but perhaps he hadn’t polished his skills enough in that area yet. There was time enough, he supposed, for that.

He made himself at home at the high table, then passed the rest of the day watching the events of the keep unfold before him.

Servants came in and out, food appeared—though after tasting it he wished it hadn’t—and his family and Aliénore’s made themselves comfortable.

Even the witches seemed to find themselves completely at home.

And when Nemain tasted supper, then made her way to the kitchens with a purposeful glint in her eye, Colin didn’t bother to stop her.

He leaned back in his chair, took a deep breath, and sighed. In pleasure or relief, he couldn’t tell. All he knew was that he was happy, and surprisingly so. Not that he hadn’t felt waves of happiness wash over him occasionally. But this bone-deep contentment? Nay, he’d never felt that before.

He looked at Aliénore. “Thank you.”

“My lord?”

“I think I am ... happy.”

She closed her hand over his. “I’m glad.”

He nodded, then nodded again to himself. Aye, he was happy and glad of it. Who would have thought that a simple betrothal—for which he supposed he must needs thank his father—could have resulted in such, well, happiness.

“Father,” he called.

Reginald only favored him with a glare.

“I’ll see you don’t lack for comforts,” he offered.

Reginald’s scowls ceased abruptly. “And you’ll also—”

“See to nothing else. Be grateful for what you have.”

Reginald subsided into soft snarls. Colin supposed it could have been worse than that. Well, his father was seen to, thankfully, so he could spare no further guilt in that direction. Nemain would no doubt see to the kitchens, leaving him to see to other things.

Was it possible his father’s bed was free of fleas?

He beckoned to a servant, whispered something in the woman’s ear, then smiled pleasantly at Aliénore.

“Ridding the bed of vermin.”

“A fine idea.”

Now, if he could just rid himself of his guests in like manner, he might be more pleased. Then again, there was no reason he had to remain below. Aliénore was beginning to look weary and there was no sense in not seeing what sort of things awaited them upstairs.

But he would let the servants see to the fleas first.

And whilst he waited, he would sit next to his lady wife and be grateful for her hand in his and her sweet smiles turned his way.

Who would have thought his sire’s nefarious machinations would have resulted in such a happy state of affairs?

A keep of his own, a wife of his own, and the freedom to enjoy caring for both.

Aye, his had become quite a good life and he supposed he might be indebted to his sire for a bit of that.

Not that the man would have planned such a thing, of course, but Colin wasn’t going to quibble with the results.

And to think he had been so adamantly opposed to the blissful state of matrimony for so long.

Ah, well, perhaps that had been for the best. If he’d found himself wed with the first wench his sire had tried to foist off upon him—the one who had pleaded the excuse of maggots infesting various and sundry parts of her person as reason enough not to make an appearance before a priest with him—he might have been quite unhappily wed.

Or what of that empty-headed girl who’d thrown herself at her sire’s feet—in front of Colin, as it happened—and pleaded a sudden onset of insanity?

He examined the score of women who’d avoided wedding with him and found not a one of them to be anywhere near Aliénore’s equal. Besides, they had just used words to beg off. Aliénore had taken her fate in her hands and actually done something to avoid him.

He looked at her purposefully. “You are an admirable wench.”

“Am I indeed?” she asked.

“I’d like to show you my appreciation.”

“Would you?”

He rose and pulled her up with him. “Surely the fleas are gone by now.”

“If not, you could frighten them off with your sword.”

Why hadn’t he thought of that sooner? He kept her hand in his, nodded to his guests, then promptly forgot them in anticipation of an afternoon spent showing his wife just how admirable he thought she was.