A shadow fell over the garden. Gwyn looked up. A lean, mailed figure stood over her. A messenger. No device, no insignia, no identifying design.
“Lady Guinevere?”
Her heart tapped out a faster beat. She nodded.
“I have something for you.” His low-pitched voice carried no further than Gwyn’s ears and the roses.
She got to her feet. “What is it? Who sent you?”
“I was instructed to give you this.” He thrust out his hand. The mail armour encasing his arm stopped short of his hand, and there, balanced on his palm, rested a small leather pouch.
She put her hands behind her back. “What is that?”
“I do not know, my lady.” He glanced around. “I must go.”
She stared at the pouch. Only one person would be sending her secret messages. She snatched it off his palm. “What if my husband had been about?” she asked curtly, filled with anger and confusion.
His somber eyes met hers. “I was told you had not yet wed.”
Her face flushed hot.
“If Lord Griffyn had been about, my lady, I would have given you this, instead.” Another pouch, black leather, emerged from the bag at his hip. He handed it to her, then flipped the flap shut and bowed.
“My lady.”
He was gone. The whole encounter had taken not a minute. Gwyn stared at the two pouches, then opened the black one first.
Guinevere,
Many wishes for your approaching nuptials, dear friend! I unfortunately cannot come. Dear Stephenson has turned ill, and could never make the ride. But you know him—always so sickly! It has been so long since we last spoke, though. I miss our little chats, and will never forget our long talks in your rose garden. I recall your words so clearly. I trust you do not let them fade in your memory, either.
Best and warmest affection, old friend!
Ellspereth
Gwyn had never met anyone named Ellspereth.
Trembling now, she lifted the flap on the other pouch and shook out a light, cloth-covered bundle. She flung the fabric open and out tumbled dozens of dead, dried rose petals, all around her feet.
Chapter Twenty-One
Gwyn was standing by the window when Griffyn walked into their bedchamber. She swung around. He halted just inside the doorway, looking surprised to see her.
“I thought you’d be asleep.”
And yet, they’d both come to the one place they knew the other would be.
She stood a minute, watching him, the look in her eyes too complicated to put a sound to, then she walked towards him with long strides, her skirts whispering over the rushes. Without a word, she stood on her toes, pulled his face down to hers, and kissed him.
He responded in kind, pulling her into an embrace, lifting her off her feet, holding her against him hard. Their mouths searched one another’s with a sudden, desperate passion. Finally he lowered her back to the ground, but she kept her arms around him, hugging him tight.
“What is it, Gwyn?” he asked softly.
“Nothing,” she murmured, then shook her head. “Nothing.”
He pressed his lips into the silky warmth of the top of her head. “What did you want to tell me, earlier? I’m sorry I had to leave so suddenly.”
She burrowed into his chest deeper. “I don’t want to talk.”