The rushes on the floor of Brantham’s great hall whispered under footfall. Their soft rustle was scarcely audible above the crackle of the hearth fire and the shrill keening of winter wind outside the keep.
The woman heard them, though. She jumped at the sound, spilling a slate of household accounts from the lap of her green wool gown. Flying across the room, like an arrow loosed from the bow of a skilled archer, she threw herself into the waiting arms of a tall, dark man. His cloak was damp and beads of melting snow clung to his hair and beard.
Their lips came together in a deep ardent kiss that kindled more heat than the hearth fire.
“What news from Gloucester?” Cecily DeCourtenay gasped at last, drawing her husband toward the fire.
Rowan dropped gratefully into the chair, smiling fondly when his wife fetched him a flagon of mulled cider.
“The exchange of Earl Robert for the King was effected at last, with quite advantageous terms, if you ask me.”
Cecily settled herself on a stool beside his chair. “Then we are back where we started, before Lincoln.”
“Not quite.” Rowan passed a caressing hand down her thick plait of chestnut hair. “The earl dispatched Con ap Ifan to Gwynedd to plead our cause with his prince. A few well-timed border raids could keep the King’s men in Salop too busy to harry Chester.”
“You will miss him.” An unasked question hung in the air. Did he still harbor any jealousy toward the Welshman?
“We will miss him. He has been a true and loyal friend to us both. Which is why we can rejoice for him.”
A questioning smile raised her lips and brow. “Rejoice?”
“Aye. He received word that the lady he once loved is now a widow. Which is why I suggested Earl Robert send him on the mission to Gwynedd.”
Cecily leaped from the stool and into Rowan’s lap, almost knocking his cider flagon to the floor in her eagerness.
Would she ever learn prudence? He smiled to himself, hoping not. He had wariness enough for them both.
She clasped him around the neck, nuzzling his beard in a way that made him long for bedtime. “I hope he will find her, woo her, win her and be as happy as we are.”
“There cannot be a man in the world happier than I, Cis. But I pray Con may come close.”
At that moment, heavy booted feet thundered up the stairwell and Ilbert Fitzwalter burst into the hall.
“Beg pardon, my lord, my lady. We’ve just had this message from Oxford.”
Rowan took the roll of parchment and bid FitzWalter away, with his thanks. He held it out that Cecily might read it with him.
“The Empress trapped in Oxford!” Cecily gasped. “Surrounded by Queen Mathilda’s troops.”
Rowan let the letter drop to the floor. “I have never seen the equal of that woman for getting herself wedged into a corner. With this snow, Earl Robert will never be able to marshal a force from Gloucester to rescue her.”
Cecily sat bolt upright. “I have a plan.” In a rapid burst, like hailstones on a slate roof, she rattled on about stealing into Oxford, snowstorms and white fur robes.
He shook his head. “I will not command you, dear heart, but I will entreat. Brantham needs you. I need you. Run headlong into danger if you must, but I will dog your heels every step of the way to keep you from harm.”
His words seemed to strike her dumb for a moment. Then she slid his hand over to cover her belly and smiled with a radiance that turned January into June. “You are right, Rowan. I have responsibilities now. Ones that outweigh even my fealty to her grace.”
As understanding dawned on him, Rowan fought back tears. He drew Cecily’s face close, for a slow, tender kiss.
“I do owe Maud a debt for bidding you wed me,” he murmured at last. “Let us discuss your bold plan and see if we can find a way to bring it off without risk to you.”
Snuggling deeper into his embrace, Cecily pressed her lips to his ear and whispered, “I think much more clearly when I have been well bedded.”
DeCourtenay’s bellow of laughter rose and rang in the rafters, and his heart rose with it. “And to think I met you in a convent garden!”