‘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 wis
hing she’d chosen an annulment after all.
Chapter Nine
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?’