They reached the hostelry before dark, though unfortunately not before the start of the drizzle, so that they were both coated in a fine layer of moisture by the time they reached the front door. It was a small establishment, clean and dry, if a bit on the poky side, though to Matthew’s dismay the taproom was already packed with a band of what looked like travelling minstrels. He swore inwardly, settling Constance at a table by the fireside before making his way through the throng to the counter, arranging beds for the night as well as meals and two flagons of ale.
‘Here.’ He shouldered his way back across the room and placed the ale on the table in front of her, though she didn’t look up. The atmosphere between them had been strained ever since their argument about the King, and no wonder. It was, he had to admit, entirely his fault. He’d been far more severe than the occasion had warranted, but her words had caught him off guard, putting his brain on immediate alert. In his defence, he’d been thinking with an entirely different part of his body only a few moments before, their close physical proximity having a surprisingly potent effect on his senses, but his reaction had undoubtedly made the situation worse.
He ought not to have challenged her so harshly. Then again, he ought not to have pinned her so close to her horse like a prisoner either, but once he’d lifted her down, he’d found it surprisingly difficult to move away again. She hadn’t seemed particularly averse to him either—on the contrary, the way her breathing had quickened suggested the opposite—but now she was avoiding his eyes and chewing on her nails as if she were ravenous. Or nervous? The idea made him uncomfortable. He didn’t often care what other people thought of him, but he didn’t want his wife to be nervous or, even worse, scared of him. He had no intention of turning into his father... He took a swig of ale, trying to think of something to say that might restore the peace between them. He needed to make her smile again, if only to reassure himself that he wasn’t a monster.
‘About before...’ he wasn’t accustomed to apologising ‘...I might have overreacted.’
She lifted her cup, took a sip and then rested the rim against her lips, still without looking at him. ‘Yes. You did.’
‘You need to understand that I’m a knight in the King’s army. I can’t listen to criticism of him.’
‘Mmm.’ Her expression was distinctly cynical.
‘What?’
She narrowed her eyes, appearing to consider for a moment, before lifting her chin. ‘Nothing.’
‘Really?’ He sat back in his chair, pleased to discover that she wasn’t scared of him after all. Her tone was defiant again. Which was a relief, although her scepticism was somewhat unsettling, too.
‘Yes, really. I’ve no wish to be told off again, thank you.’
‘You won’t be. What are you thinking?’
‘Very well.’ She met his gaze finally, her own accusing. ‘Since you ask, I think that you lied when you said you were only talking about the campaign in France to my uncle. I think that there was more to it than that. And I don’t think you approve of the King either, even if you are one of his knights.’ She pursed her lips. ‘But, like you said, it’s men’s business.’
‘I never said that.’
‘You didn’t contradict it. What else can it mean when you’ll talk to other men, but not to me?’
‘Those other men are mostly soldiers. It has nothing to do with you being a woman. It’s because some subjects are better not discussed unless absolutely necessary.’ He glanced surreptitiously around the taproom. ‘Especially in public.’
She gave him a long look and then pursed her lips again. ‘As you wish.’
‘Oh, for pity’s sake...’ He shoved a hand through his hair and lowered his voice. ‘If you must know, I don’t approve of the King or the way he runs the country, no.’
‘Because?’
‘A lot of reasons. Too many to list here.’
‘So give me one.’
‘Give you...?’ He leaned across the table towards her. ‘I just said it had nothing to do with you being a woman!’
‘Then prove it. Give me one reason.’
‘Because John’s campaign in France was a fiasco when it ought to have been a triumph! He had powerful allies, the Counts of Flanders, Holland and Boulogne, not to mention the Holy Roman Emperor. He had more money and more soldiers, but he misjudged Philip of France. He divided his forces to surround the French and trap them into battle, but he took too many risks and overstretched himself.’
‘Oh.’ She looked faintly surprised to be given so much information all at once. ‘Were you with him in France?’
‘No, I was with John’s half-brother, the Earl of Salisbury, and the rest of his allies in the north.’
‘Then you were at the Battle of Bouvines?’ She leaned forward, too, defiance replaced by sudden interest. ‘I heard my uncle talking to his steward about that. What happened?’
‘Everything.’ His mouth twisted into a grimace. ‘Everything seemed to happen that day.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The battle seemed to go our way at first. The French King was almost captured. We almost had him, but then...’ He shook his head, trying to block out the roaring sound in his ears as a string of memories assailed him. A seething mass of bodies in close combat, the stench of blood, the agonised bellowing of men and horses struck down underfoot, the searing pain when a pike had smashed into the back of his leg, mercifully protected by his armour. Four months later, the scene was just as vivid as ever.
‘Matthew?’ Constance reached a hand across the table, her expression concerned. ‘I’m sorry. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.’
‘Do you know what I remember the most?’ He’d caught her fingers and clasped his own around them before he even realised what he was doing. ‘The sun. It was in our eyes at the start of the battle, so bright that I could hardly see through my visor. And the heat was unbearable! I’ve never been so hot. It’s bad enough wearing armour at the best of times, but that day... I thought I was going to die trapped inside.’
‘But you didn’t.’
‘No.’ He looked down at their joined hands and rubbed his thumb over the backs of her knuckles, fighting the urge to tighten his grip as the rest of his body tensed. ‘I didn’t, but once a fight starts, it’s difficult to stop. Bouvines was a bloodbath, like a nightmare none of us could wake up from. A thousand men were slaughtered on each side. Nine thousand were captured. I was lucky to escape with Jerrard and Laurent.’
‘It must have been terrible.’ Her eyes, dark grey now in the glow of the firelight, seemed to reflect his own sense of horror. ‘What about the King? Where was he?’
‘La Rochelle.’ He couldn’t keep the contempt out of his voice. ‘He’d already made his retreat. The first hint of resistance from Philip’s son Louis and he fled. Fortunately we found horses and were able to rejoin what was left of our army on the coast. Then we sailed for home.’
‘So you blame the King for the defeat?’
‘I think he could have used better tactics, especially against an opponent as clever as Philip. Battles should be a last resort, not forced. I can’t even blame the Poitevin barons for abandoning him. John’s not a man you can trust.’ He slid his fingers through hers, twining them together. ‘Yes, I blame him. He gambled everything and lost. His father and brothers would never have taken such a risk.’
‘Then you agree that he’s a bad king?’
He hesitated, choosing his words with care. ‘I don’t respect him. Not many men do. He rules by threats and fear, yet he’s so afraid for himself that he surrounds himself with bodyguards at all times.’ He glanced around the room again. ‘But like I said, it’s not wise to discuss such things in public.’
She pressed his hand and then released it. ‘Thank you for telling me. I’d like for us to be honest with each other. My mother told me that honesty is the most important thing in a marriage.’
‘I’m inclined to agree.’ He cleared his throat, repressing a stab of guilt over all the things he wasn’t telling her. ‘What else is important to you? In our marriage, I mean?’
‘What else?’ She looked taken aback by the question. ‘Respect. Friendship, I suppose.’
Friendship. He couldn’t stop himself from wincing at the word.
‘You disagree?’ A faint look of hurt swept over her face.
‘No.’ He lifted his tankard, forcing himself to smile again. At least she hadn’t said love. ‘To honesty, respect and...friendship.’
‘Honesty, respect and friendship. And I’m truly sorry for what happened to you at Bouvines.’
‘Many suffered worse.’
‘That doesn’t mean you didn’t suffer, too.’ Her forehead creased slightly. ‘It must be especially hard for you if your father is so close to the King.’
‘Not so much any more, but they were comrades together twenty years ago. My father helped John overthrow William Longchamp while King Richard was fighting abroad.’
‘You mean the Chancellor who was exiled?’
‘The very same. They plotted together and John gave him my mother as a reward.’
‘Your parents’ marriage wasn’t a love match, then?’
‘No.’ He snorted at the idea. ‘Or one based on friendship either. She was rich and that was all he required.’
‘Maybe they fell in love later?’
‘They barely had time. My mother died nine months after the wedding giving birth to me.’
‘Oh... I’m sorry.’
‘So am I.’ He shrugged. ‘Whatever my father felt for her, he didn’t mourn long. His next wife was Judith, Alan’s mother. She was a merchant’s daughter, one of the wealthiest in England, but she died young, too. After that, there was Marthe. She was older than he was, past childbearing age, but a wealthy widow in need of a home. She was always kind to Alan and me.’
‘But she died, too?’
‘Yes. Of a wasting illness one year while my father was at court. I’m not sure he even noticed.’ He paused, regretting his blunt tone when he saw the look on her face. ‘Forgive me, but my father and I are not close. When I was younger, I craved his attention, his love even, but eventually Alan and I both gave up. I should warn you, my father only cares about two things in life: money and Wintercott.’
‘Surely he’ll be pleased to see you again?’
‘We’ll see.’ He looked up, nodding his head in thanks as a serving girl placed two bowls of steaming hot stew in front of them. ‘Now you don’t have to eat all of it, but you should have something.’
‘I’ll try.’ Constance sounded less than enthusiastic, picking up her spoon and dipping it half-heartedly into the sauce as the maid walked away again.
‘I can ask for something else if you wish?’
‘No.’ She wrapped her other arm around her stomach. ‘I’m sure it’s delicious. I’m just not that hungry.’
He felt a scowl coming on and stopped himself just in time. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘A little better now that we’ve stopped moving.’
‘Good. We’ll sleep upstairs, but I’ve arranged for you to use the owner’s room after we’ve eaten so that you can change your clothes or...’ he gestured vaguely in the direction of her stomach ‘...do whatever you need to do.’
‘Thank you.’ She looked surprised. ‘That was thoughtful.’
‘Speaking of clothes, surely you’ve warmed up by now?’ He looked over her apparel curiously. She’d removed her cloak, but was still wearing both her surcoats, which considering her close proximity to the fire was somewhat perplexing. Her cheeks looked like a pair of rosy apples.
‘I’m fine.’
‘You must be baking under all of that.’
‘Well, I’m not.’
‘Mmm.’ He echoed her earlier scepticism.
‘Oh, very well.’ She wriggled one arm at a time out of the top surcoat, her eyes darting suspiciously around the room.
‘Are you looking for someone?’
‘What?’ She looked startled. ‘No, of course not.’
‘If you’re wondering about your uncle’s men, they’re staying with the cart in the barn. I’ve had some food sent out to them.’
‘Oh...good.’ Her gaze slipped past his shoulder, her cheeks reddening even more as she seemed to shrink down into her chair, crossing her arms over her chest the way she’d done during their first meeting. If she sank any lower, she’d disappear under the table. He had a feeling that asking her about it might lead to another argument, but he couldn’t exactly ignore her behaviour either...
‘Constance.’ He tried his best to sound non-confrontational. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Nothing.’ She lifted a hand to her mouth, looking distinctly guilty.
‘Then why are you sitting like that?’
‘This is how I sit.’
‘Since when?’ He lifted a quizzical eyebrow. It wasn’t how she’d sat the previous evening. In his experience, it wasn’t how anyone sat. ‘And why are you chewing your nails? It looks like you’re trying to bite your fingers off.’
‘I said it’s nothing.’ She dropped her hand and took a mouthful of stew instead. ‘There! Is that better?’
‘No. If something’s bothering you, then I’d like to know what it is. Maybe I can help.’ He twisted around, surveying the room for himself. If he wasn’t mistaken, a few heads turned in the opposite direction as he did so. One in particular, a dark-haired man with a scar down one side of his face, was marginally slower than the rest, catching his eye briefly before looking away.
‘It’s really nothing.’ Constance hunched her shoulders forward. ‘This stew is actually very good.’
‘Didn’t you just say you wanted us to be honest with each other?’
She looked up at that, her expression arrested, pausing with the spoon halfway to her lips. ‘I don’t like men looking at me.’ Her voice was a murmur.
‘I see.’ Except he wasn’t entirely sure that he did... ‘You mean you don’t like being admired?’
A look of anger flitted across her features. ‘It’s not admiration.’
‘Then what...?’
‘They’re not looking at my face.’
‘Who?’ He swung around, ready to do battle this time.
‘No one, at least not any more.’ She gave a crooked smile as he turned back around. ‘I think you scared them off the first time.’
‘Constance...’ He didn’t want to accuse her of overreacting. ‘Are you sure you’re not—?’
‘How would you like it if everyone stared at your chest?’ she burst out before he could finish. ‘How do you think it would feel?’
He regarded her steadily, considering the idea for a moment. ‘I don’t suppose I’d like it.’
‘Exactly.’ She tugged at the front of her gown as if she were trying to loosen it. ‘And don’t tell me I’m imagining things because I’m not. I see the looks. My body started to change just after we were married. I wanted so much to be like Isabella and Emma, but I couldn’t seem to stop growing. I’ve tried not eating, but it makes no difference. I hate my body and the way men look at me.’
‘How do they look at you?’
She looked embarrassed. ‘Isabella says it’s like dogs slobbering over a piece of meat.’
‘Ah.’ He glanced over his shoulder again and swore under his breath. The idea that she might feel uncomfortable with her size had never occurred to him. Why would it when he found her so attractive? Now that he was paying attention, however, he realised that there were only two other women in the room, the serving girl and an elderly woman behind the counter. No wonder she was feeling self-conscious. ‘Not all men, surely?’
‘No, but enough. It frightens me.’
He frowned as a new thought occurred to him. ‘Have I ever frightened you?’
‘You?’ She seemed genuinely surprised by the question. ‘Of course not. You’ve never looked.’
‘What?’
‘You’ve never looked at me. At my body, I mean.’
‘I’ve looked.’ Some strange impulse compelled him to be honest. ‘I might not have made it so obvious, but I’ve looked, Constance. Only not as a piece of meat, I assure you.’
‘Oh.’ She ran her tongue over her top lip as if she didn’t know how else to respond.
‘But you shouldn’t compare yourself to your cousins. They’re pretty enough, but not every man finds the same qualities attractive. I told you I wasn’t disappointed when I first saw you and if I haven’t told you how beautiful you are since then I apologise. Because you are. Beautiful, that is, and if anyone implies otherwise or frightens you from now on, I want you to tell me. I’ll make sure they can’t open their eyes again for a week.’
Her expression was half-shock, half-amusement. ‘That sounds ruthless.’
‘What kind of a husband would I be if I didn’t defend your honour?’
‘A neglectful one?’
‘Which we’ve already agreed that I’m not. At least not any more.’
‘So we have. In that case, thank you.’ Her brow creased slightly. ‘I think.’
‘Will you be all right sleeping upstairs? I didn’t think that this place would be so busy.’ His gaze swept the room again. Not that there were many other places where they could have broken their journey, but maybe bringing her to a hostelry full of men hadn’t been one of his best ideas either.
‘You’ll be there?’
‘Of course. Do you think I’d abandon you in a place like this?’
‘Then, yes, I’ll be all right.’
‘Good.’ Her confidence warmed him. ‘In that case, we’ll go upstairs as soon as you’ve finished your stew.’
‘I’m finished now.’ She set her spoon aside and gulped down the last of her ale. ‘It’s been a long and tiring day.’
He glanced towards the fireplace where one of the minstrels was already strumming on a lute and another looked ready to burst into song. He’d arranged for the far end of the loft to be curtained off so at least they’d have some privacy, but something told him it was going to be a loud and long night. Still, better that than being outside in the cold and wet.
‘Very well, then.’ He pushed himself up off the bench and offered a hand. ‘The sooner we get to bed, the sooner we can get up and going again. With any luck, we’ll reach Wintercott by tomorrow night. Then we can carry on to Lacelby in a couple of days.’
‘A couple of days...’ She slipped her fingers into his without hesitation, her upturned face looking as beautiful as he’d just said and faintly dreamy. ‘I can’t wait.’