Chapter Eight

‘A puppy?’

Constance pressed her lips together, struggling to keep the laughter out of her voice as Jerrard and Laurent disappeared into the distance. It wasn’t exactly the way she would have chosen to describe her husband, although cold-hearted tyrant didn’t seem quite appropriate any more either and it wasn’t just because he’d bought her favourite horse as a gift. She was aware that he’d been making an effort to talk to her that morning as well, to make her feel better about leaving her family... Surely a tyrant wouldn’t have cared.

‘Something like that.’ Matthew rubbed a hand across his chin, dishevelled blond hair billowing about his face as the wind started to pick up around them. ‘He’ll pay for that comment in a few weeks. In the meantime, shall we rest a while here? You need something to eat.’ He reached for his saddlebag. ‘Your aunt gave me a bundle of spiced pastries.’

‘Ugh.’ She groaned and clutched at her stomach. ‘Trust me, food is the last thing I want at the moment. Besides, what about that?’ She gestured towards the sky in the south, to where a cluster of grey shadows were gathering together to form one giant dark mass. From a distance, it looked as if a veil were being drawn slowly but steadily over the sky.

That is inevitable. I’d say we’ve been lucky to avoid the rain so far. This must be the first day I haven’t been utterly drenched since I arrived back in England.’

‘Don’t speak too soon. Do you think we can outride it?’

‘We can try, but the horses need to rest for a while and so do you by the look of it. Here.’

He reached his arms up to help her dismount and she put her hands on his shoulders, trying to ignore the tremor of excitement that coursed through her body as her chest slid down against his.

‘Thank you.’ She swayed backwards as her feet touched the ground, trying to put some distance between them, but with the horse behind her there wasn’t much room. ‘Vixen does seem tired.’

‘She’s a fine beast.’ He put a hand on the palfrey’s mane, though he kept the other on her waist, his fingers gently stroking the curve of her back as if he were flexing his fingertips. ‘I’m pleased you like her.’

‘Very much. It was a thoughtful gift.’

She swallowed, wondering what to do or say next, very aware that they were alone together. Jerrard and Laurent were already out of sight and the baggage cart bearing the two coffers containing her wedding trousseau had yet to catch up. More surprisingly, Matthew wasn’t moving away either, pinning her between himself and the horse, and his proximity was doing strange things to her insides, not least her stomach which seemed to be filled to the brim with tiny, fluttering creatures.

After five years, it felt strange standing so near to him, as if there were an invisible cord of tension vibrating between them. She wasn’t accustomed to standing so close to any man, especially one who, without his customary scowl, was really quite astonishingly handsome. The copper tints of his hair looked more vivid in daylight, emphasising the dark glow of his eyes, and beneath a layer of stubble, his sharp features appeared almost perfectly symmetrical. She wondered why she hadn’t noticed that before. Not that now was the time for wondering...

‘Is it far to the hostelry from here?’ She was dismayed by how high-pitched her voice sounded.

‘Another couple of hours, perhaps. We’ll be there before dark, I promise.’

In contrast to hers, his voice sounded even deeper, sending another thrill shooting out through her nerves and along every limb. Her heartbeat was accelerating so rapidly she was half-afraid he might feel it and their heads were so close that she could feel the warm touch of his breath on her cheek, making her skin tingle. She wasn’t sure what exactly was happening to her, but the sensation seemed to be travelling down her neck and between her breasts, down to the very pit of her stomach...and just when she’d thought her heartbeat couldn’t go any faster...

She sucked in a breath. Whatever was happening to her insides seemed to be affecting her outsides now, too. Her breasts actually felt as if they were tightening, straining into taut peaks beneath her tunic, and as for her mouth... Why was it open? To her horror, she actually seemed to be panting while he appeared to be utterly unaffected by her.

‘Good.’ It was the most she could manage.

‘There’ll be a warm fire and a bed waiting.’

‘Oh...’ The mere mention of bed caused an involuntary tremor and his brows snapped together.

‘Are you cold?’

‘No... I mean, yes...a little.’ She grabbed at the excuse, though if anything, she was far too hot in a woollen tunic and double layer of surcoats, as well as a fur-lined mantle over that. Altogether, she was wearing at least two more layers than he was, but the note of concern in his voice was strangely affecting. Unfortunately, it made her feel even hotter.

‘Here.’ He reached around her shoulders, drawing her hood up over her veil. ‘You should keep your head warm.’

‘So should you.’ She struggled not to gasp as his fingers skimmed the side of her neck.

‘I’m used to the cold. After five years in the King’s service, I barely feel it any more.’

‘Something else to blame the King for?’ She spoke the words lightly—in truth, they were the first ones that occurred to her—but his nostrils flared and the timbre of his voice shifted at once.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I...nothing. It was a joke.’

‘A joke?’

‘Yes.’ She bit her lip as his expression hardened. Looming above her, he seemed a different man all of a sudden, severe and forbidding, the way he’d looked in her uncle’s hall that first night. It made her heart race for a whole different reason.

‘What else would I blame the King for?’ His tone was guarded.

‘I’ve heard rumours, that’s all.’

‘Rumours can be dangerous. What have you heard?’

She lifted her chin, refusing to be intimidated despite her growing sense of unease. He wasn’t touching her any longer, but if she wasn’t mistaken, he’d moved even closer and the intensity in his eyes was so compelling that, try as she might, she found she couldn’t look away. Something told her she wouldn’t get away without answering.

‘People say he’s a bad ruler, that he abuses England for his own gain and that the campaign in France was a disaster.’ She paused briefly. ‘Although perhaps I should not have said so.’

‘No, you should not have.’ He shifted to one side, blocking the way as she tried to move past him. ‘It’s dangerous to speak of the King in such terms, especially where we’re going.’

‘Wintercott?’

He nodded slowly. ‘My father was a close companion of John in his youth. He won’t tolerate words spoken against him, even from a member of his own family.’ His gaze seemed to sharpen even further. ‘Where did you hear these rumours? From your uncle?’

‘No.’ Despite his severe manner, she almost laughed at the idea. ‘He doesn’t tell me anything. He says that it’s men’s business and that I ought to concern myself with embroidery.’

‘You disagree?’

She narrowed her eyes, resenting his interrogatory tone. ‘I think that what affects men affects women, too. We’re not children to be shielded from the world. We don’t want to be cosseted and, even if we are, we still hear things.’

‘Listening from galleries, perhaps?’

A guilty blush spread over her cheeks. ‘I wasn’t trying to listen, only Isabella wanted to know who you were so we went to take a quick peek and...well, it took longer than I thought.’

‘Because?’

She hesitated, unwilling to admit the truth, though at this precise moment, he deserved it. ‘Because I didn’t know who you were at first. I couldn’t remember what you looked like.’

‘The implication being that I’m not memorable?’

‘Our wedding was a long time ago. Would you have recognised me without being told who I was?’ She lifted her hands to her hips. ‘Especially considering how much I’ve grown?’

‘Perhaps not.’ He lifted an eyebrow, though his expression was one of confusion. ‘In that case, did you overhear anything of interest while you were looking for me?’

‘No, you were too far away. I heard murmuring, that’s all.’

He gave her another deep look, so penetrating that she felt as if he were trying to see straight into her head, before he took a step backwards, the tension draining slowly from his face as if he were relieved.

‘We were talking about the campaign you just mentioned.’ He turned his head as the baggage waggon finally made an appearance at the end of the valley. ‘Time to move on, I think. Shall we?’

Constance let him help her back on to Vixen, though this time she was too preoccupied to pay much attention to the pressure of his hands on her body, not even the way his fingers lingered a little too long on her waist. Even aside from his somewhat extreme reaction to her admittedly foolish comment about the King, there had been something defensive about his questions, as if he’d been genuinely worried that she might have overheard his conversation with her uncle.

At the time, she’d been too busy trying to work out who he was to give much thought to anything else, but looking back, there had definitely been something furtive about the whole scene. The way they’d all been gathered together so closely, the gravity of their expressions... Why would they have behaved so secretively if they’d only been discussing the campaign in France as he’d just claimed? That, she was certain, was a lie. And now she thought of it, despite her treasonous comments, he hadn’t defended the King at all! He’d warned her not to criticise him so openly, but he hadn’t actually disagreed with any of it. Which begged the question of whether he agreed with her. Either way, the very mention of the King seemed to have put an end to all conversation between them.

She hunched deeper inside her cloak, trying to make sense of it all as they rode up into the wolds, the chalky downs of the east country, through a winding labyrinth of rolling hills and steep valleys. The past few days of rain had made several stretches of road impassable, forcing them to take longer routes around, but fortunately Matthew seemed to know the area well enough that they were never lost.

Despite that, she felt increasingly miserable. The wind was blowing straight into their faces and even though she had her hood and cloak about her, her cheeks and fingers were numb. Meanwhile, the storm clouds were closing in on them fast and her stomach cramps, merely inconvenient before, had grown steadily worse as the day had worn on. Their argument had been bad enough, but now all she wanted was to curl up in a ball and moan softly to herself, preferably before the rain reached them. At that precise moment, however, her husband was the last person she was going to ask for help. Her body’s earlier reaction to him had obviously just been the result of tiredness and confusion. If she’d had a lance, or even a long stick for that matter, she would have shoved him into one of the puddles with it.

She caught him looking over his shoulder at her and glowered back, pulling her hood further forward and wishing she’d chosen an annulment after all.