‘Better?’ Matthew was waiting outside the door as Constance emerged from the hostelry’s backroom, refreshed from a quick wash and change of linen.
‘Much better.’
‘Good. Then let’s go to bed.’ He put one hand on the small of her back, curving his body like a shield around hers as he led her towards the staircase.
Constance picked up a tallow candle from the counter and hunched her shoulders, trying to make herself look as unobtrusive as possible, though to her surprise the other inhabitants of the taproom actually shifted out of the way as they approached, as if they were clearing a path for them. None of them looked at her, she noticed, appearing utterly absorbed in the contents of their tankards instead, almost as if they’d been ordered to do so. She glanced up at her husband suspiciously. What had he said?
Whatever it was, she was relieved to be finally heading for bed, even if the sight of a saggy mattress at the end of the loft filled her with dismay and not just because of the straw poking out at the edges. More alarming was the fact that there appeared to be only one.
‘That’s where we’re sleeping?’ She couldn’t keep the panic out of her voice. ‘Together?’
‘Just sleeping,’ Matthew clarified quickly, tugging the curtain shut behind them. ‘Believe me, Constance, if I intended to seduce you then I’d find somewhere a bit more appealing to do it. Not to mention quiet.’ He rolled his eyes at the sound of a ballad starting below. ‘At this point, however, I’m afraid our choices are here or outside in the rain. The barn’s already full and given the choice...’ He pointed up at the thatched roof. It was barely muffling the sound of a fresh downpour on the other side.
‘Well, when you put it like that...’ She placed the candle into a wall sconce before slipping off her shoes and clambering across to the far side of the bed. ‘And I’m sure we’re tired enough to sleep through anyth—Ah!’ She gave a squeak of surprise as the mattress dipped and she rolled straight into the middle, her chest colliding abruptly with Matthew’s.
‘Ah,’ he echoed the exclamation more calmly. His face was right beside hers, their noses only a couple of inches apart, and she could feel the warmth of his breath on her skin. ‘Apparently it’s been used a few times before.’
‘Just a few?’ She tried to laugh, but she felt oddly breathless with him so close.
‘I’m sorry, Constance. I’m used to places like this, but I should have considered...’
‘It’s all right. Like you said, there weren’t many other options.’
‘I can sleep on the floor.’
‘Don’t be silly!’ She forgot where they were for a moment, grabbing hold of his sleeve to stop him from rolling away and feeling the muscles of his arm stiffen beneath. For some reason, she didn’t want him to go. ‘I can’t let you do that. And it’s not that bad. It probably just needs some getting used to.’
‘Are you certain?’
‘Yes.’ She sought for a reason that she could explain. ‘I’ll feel safer with you here.’
‘You’re perfectly safe, Constance.’ He pushed a tendril of hair away from her cheek and tucked it carefully behind her ear. ‘You have my word.’
‘Thank you. Matthew?’ She licked her lips, hesitating over her next question.
‘Yes?’
‘What did you say to those men downstairs?’
‘Not much.’
‘You must have done something.’
‘I did. Do something, that is. Only there weren’t many words involved, just enough to make myself clear.’
‘But you didn’t...hurt anyone?’
‘Not permanently.’
‘Matthew! What if they try to get some kind of revenge while we’re asleep?’
‘They won’t.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘Because I’ve made sure they all understand the consequences if anyone so much as touches that curtain.’ He quirked an eyebrow. ‘Now trust me and get some sleep. I’m not going anywhere and I won’t let anyone hurt you.’
She caught her breath as his gaze drifted over her face, lingering briefly but unmistakably on her mouth. His gaze felt very intense all of a sudden, the pupils of his eyes looking larger and blacker in the almost darkness, making her stomach clench and the rest of her body start humming. The muscles of his arm flexed beneath her fingertips and she pulled her hand away self-consciously, hearing him exhale at the same moment, as if he’d been aware of the tension between them, too.
‘Close your eyes.’ To her surprise, he pressed a kiss against her forehead, his voice sounding different, rougher and deeper so that she couldn’t tell if he was giving an order or pleading with her.
‘Yes.’ She did as he asked anyway, wriggling across to her side of the bed and curling up on her side, trying to repress a new and unusual tugging sensation in her abdomen. ‘Goodnight, Matthew.’
‘Goodnight, Constance.’
He didn’t move and she had to make a concerted effort to stop herself from rolling back again.
Hostelries, Constance decided, weren’t anywhere near as bad as she’d been led to believe. Admittedly, the dilapidated straw mattress hadn’t been the most comfortable experience in the world and there had been regular disturbances as the minstrels had kept up a steady flow of music until the early hours and then made even more noise on their way up to bed—and she couldn’t even begin to describe the sound of a dozen men snoring!—but by the time she heard the first birds calling outside, she felt surprisingly well rested.
The tempest of the night before seemed to have blown itself out and the faint pitter-patter of raindrops on the roof was oddly soothing, if not exactly encouraging for the journey ahead. She felt warm and cosy, as if she were in some kind of nest. Which, she discovered when she opened her eyes, she effectively was. At some point, Matthew must have draped his cloak on top of her and its fur collar tickled her cheek as she stirred.
She rolled over to find him already awake, lying on his back with his head twisted slightly towards her and his gaze fixed on the ceiling. She had the distinct impression that he’d just been looking at her, though his expression gave nothing away. She wished that it did. The previous evening almost felt like a dream, though she was vaguely aware that things had changed between them. It wasn’t simply that they’d shared a bed, albeit chastely. It was that he’d treated her like an equal, telling her all about the horror of Bouvines as well as his honest opinion of the King. Then he’d called her beautiful and defended her honour, too, even if she didn’t know, and wasn’t sure she wanted to know, how.
Somehow she’d learned more about him in one day than she had in the whole of the past five years. They’d become friends, sort of, although sometimes, when their eyes met, it felt like more than that. Could there be more? He’d admitted that he’d looked at her body—that he’d admired it!—and for once the idea hadn’t bothered her. Something in his voice had made her heart thump instead and not with the fear and self-consciousness she usually experienced. It had felt more like pleasure and excitement. For the first time in as long as she could remember, the idea of somebody looking at her had actually felt good.
They rose together, silently gathering up the few belongings they’d brought with them, before eating a small breakfast of bread and cheese and making their way out to the stables to begin the journey anew.
The weather had settled into a light drizzle, though it was still enough to make conversation difficult as they rode on towards Wintercott. Even on higher ground, it felt as though they were riding through a series of streams rather than along tracks, but at least there were fewer large puddles to slow them down. Much as Constance enjoyed riding, she had to admit the novelty was beginning to wear thin, even on Vixen, though her companion showed no signs of tiredness, controlling his mount with a soldier’s expert touch. Even so, it was a longer day than she’d expected, given the distance, so that the sun, almost obscured by grey clouds, was almost touching the horizon by the time they finally, mercifully, saw Wintercott Castle nestling on the far side of the valley ahead of them.
Constance pulled on her reins with a gasp. Her uncle had warned her that Wintercott was substantially bigger than Lacelby, but she was still unprepared for the sheer size and scale of its walls. It looked significantly newer, too, in a modern design with giant watchtowers set at each point of a vast, octagonal-shaped bailey. The gatehouse alone looked to be almost the same size as her uncle’s manor and the keep challenged that of Lincoln Castle itself. Looking closer, she realised that there were in fact two baileys, the inner keep encircled by a smaller ring of curtain walls to provide extra protection.
She glanced across at Matthew, expecting to see a smile, but his jaw was clenched tight and his expression sterner than ever, tinged with some other strong emotion. She might almost have described it as dread, though surely that couldn’t be right. He was returning to his family home after five years away. What was there to dread about that?
‘Matthew?’ She nudged her horse closer. ‘Is something the matter?’
He blinked as if her voice had startled him. ‘No. Forgive me, it’s just been a long time since I was here.’ He frowned and then glanced up at the sky as a low rumble of thunder sounded overhead. ‘We’d better hurry.’
He spurred his horse on and she rode after him, seized with a vague sense of foreboding. No matter his denial, something was definitely the matter, but Matthew was already galloping ahead out of earshot. If she hadn’t known better, she might have thought he was doing it deliberately to escape further questions.
The sudden downpour that broke over their heads when they were halfway across the valley made her wonder if the weather knew something she didn’t.