“Her mamma’s little harps. Sold for seed. Probably gone now.”
They reached their inn. Fulk swung the door wide, peered inside, sword in hand, then stepped back to let Griffyn enter. They trudged up the stairs to a small room at the back of the house, a luxury to have a single room, with two beds all to themselves.
“’Tis shivering cold these nights,” Fulk grumbled as he sat down on one of the narrow, straw-filled cots that lined opposite walls. Griffyn unbuckled his belt with its array of weapons and threw himself on the other. There was enough space to sit and heave off your boots, if you didn’t mind your nose touching the other bed when you bent forward to do so.
Fulk extinguished the single candle flame with a squeeze between his calloused finger and thumb. He punched his tunic around beneath his head and lowered his head with a grunt. “’Twill be good to be home again.”
“Aye,” Griffyn said distractedly. “I need but to stop at that Agardly’s shop tomorrow, and we can be off.”
Fulk’s grizzled head came back up. He was grinning. “Ye’ll make her real happy with that, my lord.”
“That’s the plan.”
Griffyn lay, arms folded behind his head. A sliver of the crescent moon was visible through the window. It was indeed getting colder. The mornings were bringing frost. Soon the snows would come, and Griffyn meant to spend Yule at the Nest this year. Henri fitzEmpress would have to summon him with an armed escort to make it otherwise. This year, he would be home. With Guinevere.
She had not betrayed him. He could believe that, or spend the rest of his life suspecting everyone of everything. Half the time he’d be right. But half would be wrong, and if he was going to have Gwyn to wife, then have her he must. Wholeheartedly. He was in or he was out.
And may God forgive me for being the fool a second time, he thought, but I believe she is honourable.
Chapter Eighteen
It was barely two hours after Griffyn had left, but Gwyn was already in the stables, tightening the cinch around Windstalker’s belly. Puffs of smoke appeared in front of her mouth with each exhale. Autumn had come with a vengeance.
It was three hours to Endly Hall, three back again. She would be home before Sext tomorrow. Long before Griffyn returned.
She must be quick, and no one could notice, not even for a moment, that she was gone.
A summons to Jerv had brought him on the run. She’d posted him in the landing outside her bedchamber, admonishing him to ensure she wasn’t disturbed while she suffered a sudden, raging ‘headache.’ Jerv was instructed not to disturb her either. Her childhood friend was the only one she could trust to follow her instructions without question, and it was vitally important he ward off any potential visitors. Especially with Alexander about.
“What are you doing?” said a voice at her back.
She stifled a scream and spun. Jerv was standing there, not following her instructions whatsoever, looking confused and angry.
“What are you doing?” he asked again, looking rather stubborn.
“What are you doing?” she retorted, gathering her w
its. “You’re supposed to be posted outside my chambers.”
“For your…headache?”
She started to retort with a haughty “aye,” then stopped herself. That would be ridiculous and insulting. She turned to Wind and grabbed his reins. “I am going for a ride.”
“Alone?”
“Aye.”
“Have you lost your mind?”
“I have ridden these woods for fifteen years, Jerv. I know them. I will be safe.”
“I will come with you.”
“No.”
She started to push past him, but he laid a hand on her arm, which he had not done since they were children, playing childhood games of tag and castles. This felt nothing like a game. She yanked on her arm. He didn’t release.
“Gwyn, what are you doing?”