The Conqueror

“Thank you,” she breathed and began towards the stables.

Alex knew.

She hurried to the stables, passing Griffyn’s squire Edmund along the way. At his heels tagged Renny, Griffyn’s ancient hound.

“My lady!” shouted Edmund.

Her heart slammed against her chest as the boy hurried over.

“I saw in your cellars”—Edmund said, and Gwyn almost fainted—“the dulcimer you used to keep. Would it be possible for me to learn, do you think?”

Her hand fluttered over her chest, her face hot. “Why, yes, Edmund,” she agreed shakily, trying to focus on the mundane matter. She had entirely forgotten the instrument, else she’d have sold it already. “I-I am certain we could find someone to teach you. My scribe used to play, just a bit, but he might still know a few lines to teach you.”

Edmund’s face lit up. “Thank you, my lady!”

“You’re welcome,” she replied, and bent to pat Renny on the head before going on for the stables.

The dog growled.

Gwyn ripped her hand back. She looked at Edmund, who appeared as shocked as she. She turned to the hound again and another low-pitched snarl rumbled out of his whitened muzzle.

“Why, my lady,” Edmund exclaimed, tugging on the dog’s collar. “I do not know what’s into him! He was at your heels only yester—I mean the day before.” He looked at her in swift concern. “How is your headache, my lady? I should have asked from the first.”

“It’s fine,” she said slowly, looking warily at Renny as Edmund tugged the dog away. “’Tis fine now,” she finished for no one, and headed shakily across the bailey to unsaddle Wind.

She hadn’t made it forty paces before a Sauvage knight approached her.

“My lady Guinevere?”

Saints above, was every soul in the castle intent on her? She turned with a stiff smile.

“My lord is looking for you.”

Dread curled up her spine. Good God, he was back already? “I will just cool down my horse,” she said weakly, trying not to sound desperate. “Where is Lord Griffyn?”

“He’s in the hall now, my lady, but said he’d see you in his chambers.”

His chambers.

She took quite a bit longer than was necessary to walk Wind, rub his sweaty fur with straw to encourage circulation and massage the weary muscles, fill his water bucket, and thump the saddle over a horizontal post hammered into the wall, for cleaning later. For how long had be been back? What of Jerv? Had Griffyn come upon him, been told she was inside resting, then found the room empty? How in God’s name would Jerv explain that? How would she?

The chilling notion made her wipe her hands on her skirts and march up the stairs to the keep. No Jerv. She passed the great hall, where tables were being laid for the meal. No Jerv. She passed a narrow window set in a recessed landing on the stairwell and peered out; no Jerv swinging from a post anywhere. That was a good sign.

Squaring her shoulders, she pushed open the door to the lord’s chamber.

Griffyn was sitting on the bench, rummaging through a sack. He looked around at the sound of the door opening. A lock of dark hair fell over his forehead. “Guinevere! I’ve been looking for you. Where were you?”

“Riding,” she said in a weak voice, about to fall into a dead faint. “My lord, truth, I am surprised to see you back so soon.”

“As were the men. But I rode them hard.” He ran his eyes over her body. “I wanted to get home.”

Gwyn sat down on the mattress. She wasn’t to be thrown in the cellars? Cursed? Beheaded? Did he even know?

“First, this,” he said, and, reaching into his pocket, pulled out the ring of keys to the castle. Even from beneath his tunic, his rock-hard body radiated masculinity, but it was that damaging, sweet smile that made her heart start fluttering. He handed the household keys to her. “You’ll want these. I should have returned them sooner.”

She squeezed her eyes shut for a brief second, nodding her thanks.

“Come, now.” He touched the tips of her fingers, helping her rise. “See what I’ve got.” Excitement tinged his words as he rummaged around in a sack beside him. “See what I’ve got for you.”