“Into the village. There are a few merchants there, or at least there were. Hopefully they did not run off when Mortimer’s army invaded.”
Toby nodded, not at all pressed to admit she was looking forward to a shopping trip with Tate. She watched him as he played with her fingers, inspecting the skin and acquainting himself with the texture. He seemed preoccupied and weary. Finally, she gave a squeeze.
“Are you going to tell me why you came to see me?” her eyes were twinkling when he looked at her. “It was not simply to sit on my kitten, was it?”
He relaxed into an easy grin. “Nay,” he said, seeming to hunt for the correct words. Finally he shrugged. “I suppose I simply wanted to see you. I cannot explain it, but you have been on my mind all day and I could think of nothing else but to see you.”
She flushed sweetly. “I am honored,” she said. “And, I will admit, surprised.”
He put her hand against his lips as he spoke. “Why?”
She was having a difficult time concentrating on her train of thought as his lips gently nibbled her flesh. “Because it was only a few days ago that we were at Forestburn and things between us were quite different. A world of difference, in fact; I am still coming to grips with the fact that we are betrothed. And the offer came from a man who openly insulted me when we first met.”
His mouth was still against her hand. “I did no such thing.”
She nodded emphatically. “Aye, you did. You told me that beauty and bad manners were a family trait and that, unfortunately, one trait negates the other.”
He just stared at her. Then he burst out laughing. “Do you memorize everything I say?”
“I have an astounding memory.”
“No doubt,” he sobered, shaking his head. “I shall have to watch what I say around you if you do not easily forget.”
She was smiling in spite of herself, watching the expression on his face. “Nay, I do not forget,” she said softly, her smile fading. “Would you mind, then, telling me what changed your mind about me?”
He cocked a dark eyebrow in mock exasperation. “Must you know everything?”
“I must.”
He was amused. “Suffice it to say that your trait of beauty negated the trait of bad manners. And so did your traits of bravery, intelligence and compassion.”
She watched him as he rubbed his cheek against the back of her hand. Now that they were communicating easily, there were many more questions she wanted to ask him. She was suddenly wildly curious to know more about him, this man who would be her husband. When she thought about it, they’d never had a moment to truly sit and come to know each other. Everything had been in passing or during a crisis. But now, there was time.
“Will you be truthful with me?” she asked timidly.
“I will always be truthful with you. Lying is not in my nature.”
She was sobering, growing serious. “Will you please tell me if the rumors about you are true?”
“What rumors are those?”
“That you are Longshank’s son?”
His smile faded, an odd look coming to his eye. “Does it matter?”
“It does not. But I would like to know the truth.”
He sighed faintly, somehow moving closer to her in the process. There was a lengthy pause, during which time Toby watched his expression as he pondered her question. She held her breath, wondering if he was going to answer her. Finally, he opened his mouth.
“Since we are betrothed, I suppose it is your right to know,” he said. “Aye, he was my father. I was his firstborn son, born exactly one month before his heir, Edward the Second.”
Toby struggled not to openly react to what she had always been told. Still, to hear it from his lips was something of a revelation.
“And your mother? Was she really a Welsh princess?”
He nodded slowly. “From all accounts, she and my father were very much in love,” he began stroking her shoulder, his hand trailing down her arm. “Her name was Dera. She was the youngest daughter of Dafydd ap Gruffydd and she met my father when Dafydd and Edward were briefly allied against Dafydd’s brother, Llewelyn, Prince of Wales. Their love affair was brief, resulting in my conception, and when my mother perished in childbirth, Dafydd turned me over to my father for fear that Llewelyn would somehow harm me. My father gave me over to the great Marcher Lords of de Lara to raise when I was still an infant, hence the name I carry is de Lara.”
“But you are a prince on both sides of your family, not simply a knight.”
