Jordan sighed. “If that’s the case, then I’ll forget the entire thing.”
Somehow, Jemma wasn’t sure that was going to happen. Once Jordan was on the scent of something, she rarely let go. A prestigious knight in command of Bamburgh might look like a troll, but if he was well-connected and wealthy, certain things could be overlooked.
Fine marriages were made in such ways.
And they had a fine marriage to make.
CHAPTER SIX
There were thosewondering if this was such a good idea.
The day after War buried Edmund in the churchyard overlooking the sea, they were on the road for Castle Questing.
It possibly wasn’t the best course of action.
War was in pain. Grief lined his face, his jaw was hard and set, but he was riding ramrod straight and fixed on the road ahead. He hadn’t said a word since departing Bamburgh, leaving Monty and Alexei and Clement riding behind him, watching him, wondering when the man was going to expend his grief. So far, he’d not shed a tear. He’d simply gone on with business as usual.
That wasn’t a particularly good sign.
As it turned out, Bamburgh was shockingly close to Castle Questing, so the trip would take about a day. They departed just before dawn and, if the weather held, they would be at Castle Questing before nightfall. War had sent a messenger to Castle Questing the day before, the day Edmund was buried, so they had word of the impending arrival of guests. War only brought his knights and about fifty men-at-arms simply because he didn’t want to be caught without some line of protection this farnorth. As Edmund had once said, it was a wise man who knew when to be safe– and when to be cautious.
On this trip to Castle Questing, War intended to be both.
But it was a silent and uncomfortable ride with War perched like a statue upon his black and white stallion. Surprisingly, Clement kept his mouth shut from his usual passive-aggressive conversation, mostly because he knew Monty and Alexei would throttle him if he harassed War on this day of all days. But they didn’t quite trust him so as midday approached, Monty kept an eye on Clement while Alexei rode up beside War.
“My lord,” he said in his heavy accent. “Will you pause to rest for a moment? Mayhap your horse could use a rest? We have made good time this morning.”
War turned to the tall, very blond, and very big warrior who was from the east. The man had been born in Vilnius, but he’d spent most of his professional life fighting in Slavic states, including the fall of Kiev against the Mongols who came from the mysterious lands in the Far East. He had experienced things that knights from England could only dream of, which was why War had befriended him. As an intensely curious man who was always interested in learning, he and Alexei had formed a fast friendship when Alexei had come to the court of Henry to swear his fealty.
And Alexei was loyal to the bone to War.
“Are you telling me that you are weary, Nevsky?” he said, smiling weakly. “I never knew such a thing was possible.”
Alexei returned his smile. “Not only possible, but probable,” he said. “We will make Castle Questing well before nightfall. Why not let me rest for a few moments before we continue along our way? I am not as strong as you.”
War broke down in soft laughter, the only laughter from the man since they’d returned home from Thropton.
Since then, he’d had nothing to smile about.
“Very well,” he said, looking around. “Find a suitable spot and call the men to a halt.”
Fighting off a grin, Alexei nodded and immediately turned for the column, calling a halt at that very moment. They were traveling beside a burn with a stream that ran through it so it was an appropriate place as far as Alexei was concerned. The men moved off the road and into the thick, green growth, followed by the knights.
There was plenty of laying in the grass and drinking from the brook as the men from Bamburgh took a quick rest. Even Monty found a tree and sat down beneath it, with Clement standing a few feet away, watching the men. War was about a dozen feet away, gazing out over the meadow beyond the burn as his horse, next to him, drank from the stream. Alexei, having pulled a bladder of watered wine out of his saddlebags, approached War and handed him the bladder.
“I grew up in Suffolk,” War said, bladder in his hand as he looked out over the rolling landscape. “It is flat ground.”
“You like this better?” Alexei asked.
War shrugged. “My father did,” he said. “He liked dramatic landscape. I think that is one of the reasons that he was so eager to come to Bamburgh with me. He loved the sea.”
Alexei looked at him, hearing the sorrow in his voice as he spoke of Edmund. There was no use in avoiding the subject. “I have not had the opportunity to express my sympathy for your father’s passing,” he said. “Edmund was one of the only men I ever met who did not look at me suspiciously, as if I’d come to England to invade it.”
“That was my father.”
“He was very accepting.”
War looked at him, a dull gleam in his eyes. “And he hounded you mercilessly with questions about your homeland.”
