“Hrumph. ’Tis not as extravagant as the king, but ’twill do. There is straw on the bottom with a feather mattress on top. You will find the sheets linen, the pillows made from feathers.” His mouth twitched—he was likely thinking of the chickens, but was wise enough not to laugh. “And woolen blankets to keep you warm.”
She looked around, noticing a pipe coming out of the wall, but didn’t see any entrances to other doors.
“Where’s the bathroom?”
He led her down the hallway and opened another door. Itdidn’t smell as she thought it might. The rush of cold air coming through the window open to the outside was probably why. The fresh air carried away the stink.
“The garderobe.” He pointed to a stone bench with a seat in the middle. “’Tis covered in cloth; the waste falls down the chute into a barrel, which is emptied into a pit. There is plenty of wool and linen to…wipe, along with the jug of water to wash when you are done.”
His cheeks were pink, his ears stuck out, and while it used to be cute, now he looked like an elephant—at least, that was what she told herself.
At the end of the hallway, he opened another door. Immediately, she knew the room was where he spent a great deal of time. It had that faint scent that reminded her of him, and it was the most masculine room she’d ever seen—and that was saying something, given Ben’s man cave.
“My solar.” He led her to a chair in front of the fire, and she frowned. She looked at the cushions on the chair. They reminded her of chairs she’d seen in stores back home, which was completely crazy.
“I beseech you, sit and listen.”
While she sat, he paced back and forth in front of the fire, his boots not making a sound on the priceless-looking rug.
Christian ran a hand through his hair, making it stick out. He sighed.
“I simply wanted to be Christian. Not the laughingstock of all of England and Wales, and probably Scotland and France by now as well.”
“You should’ve told me. You lied to me.”
“Aye, I did. Yet I would ask, is there anything you wish to tell me?”
She blinked at him, startled. “Me? No. Why?”
Christian stomped over to the door and flung it open, bellowing into the hallway for wine. She was about to tell him heneeded to go find someone instead of yelling, when a few minutes later a servant hurried in, breathless, carrying a tray with two goblets. It was good to be the lord of your own castle.
They sat in silence, the only sound coming from him tapping his fingers on the wood chair. Finally, as if he had decided something, he leaned forward, hands on his knees.
“The night you were in your cups. You told me from whence you hail.”
Her hand jerked, and the wine sloshed onto her sleeve and into her lap. But the dress couldn’t get much filthier at this point, so she blotted it and ignored the stain, which kind of looked like she’d been stabbed. Nope, not going there.
“I did?” She was afraid of what he was going to say, yet somehow she knew.
“New York City. The Year of our Lord 2016.”
She grasped her knees to her chest, curling up into a ball in the chair.
“I can’t believe I told you. I’ve been trying so hard to fit in. I’m afraid to ask—what else did I tell you?”
He told her the rest, about her upbringing, but not about the other thing. Relief poured through her body even as the sharp look on his face told her he suspected there were other things she wasn’t telling him. And there were, but they weren’t things that were really important. At least not anymore. Because he had a damned fiancée. Ashley did what she always did when she felt threatened: she went on the attack.
“Quit making this all about me. What about you? Did it somehow slip your mind you have a fiancée?” she thundered, her face hot and palms sweaty.
“Let me make plain?—”
She stood, gripping the silver goblet so hard she was surprised she didn’t dent the thing.
“I can’t do this right now. I need air.”
Christian bellowed, and this time a teenage boy appeared.
“Don’t let her out of your sight.”
