“So now you remember my name,” she said bitterly. “It is not consoling that you had to be reminded before—”
His face went tight, but whether or not it was anger she couldn’t tell.
“Youare my wife?” This, too, was a question.
“Of course I am. Who else—”
The Black Wolf fell back on the bed laughing, laughing so hard he writhed with it. Leonie stared at him incredulously until everything came together in her mind. Who else had he thought she was? It didn’t matter to him.
Oh, the shame of it, the shame! He had not been making love to his wife, but to some stranger he’d chanced upon in the garden. No wonder he hadn’t known her name, he thought he’d never met her before. But for him to do such a thing in her keep, where he knew his wife would hear of it, where her people would see how little respect he bore her!
Leonie moved away from the bed and opened her clothes chest, taking out the first thing she touched, a short linen shift. Attired, she returned to the bed where her husband was still convulsed with laughter. Calmly, she picked up a pillow and began hitting him with it until she finally gained his attention.
“Cease, my lady. You have made your point,” he said, chuckling.
“Then will you kindly take your amusement somewhere else? Quickly, before I lose what little patience I have left.”
Rolfe sat up and reached for her, sobering when she stepped away from him.
“Come, Leonie, you cannot blame me if I am delighted to learn I have a beautiful wife.”
“Sweet Mary, help me,” Leonie said to herself. Eyes of frozen silver flashed at him. “My lord, I see I was not clear enough. I want you to leave—now!”
Rolfe made no move. “You are angry.”
“Yes.”
“I cannot blame you.”
“How good of you.”
He grinned at her. “Do not spend your fury so, dearling. No harm was done. Thanks to your aunt, a misunderstanding was avoided.”
“Let me understand you correctly, Sir Rolfe,” Leonie said furiously. “You are saying that if you had made love to me, believing I was a stranger, that would have been merely amisunderstanding?”
“But you are my wife, not a stranger. You see my reasoning?”
“What I see, my lord, is that you are a lecher ofthe worst kind!” His eyes narrowed, but Leonie was so furious she couldn’t stop. “I am told everything that happens here. I would have known of your transgression before you were finished with the girl. Do not mistake me. I care not how many women you have, but if you take one from Pershwick, then I and everyone here will know of it. I will not have my people pity me for my terrible husband.”
“Are you finished, madame?”
Leonie swallowed hard, knowing she had gone too far.
“Yes,” she murmured, looking at the floor.
“The only thing that matters here is that you are my wife. That means you belong to me, to do with as I will. Do you deny the truth of that?”
Miserably. “No.”
“Then do not forget again that you are answerable to me, not I to you.”
He gathered his things and left. With the closing of the door, she let out the breath she had been holding. No beating for her audacity, only a warning. But a despicable warning…from a despicable man.
Chapter 13
WILDA hesitated outside her lady’s door, dreading the news she must give her. She knew Sir Rolfe had been there yesterday, and that he had left in a very ugly mood. Her lady was downcast all the rest of the day and, indeed, now the very worst had come of the encounter.
The sky was still a hazy predawn violet when the troop of men rode up to the gate demanding entrance. Not even the kitchen servants had risen yet, it was so early. The commotion caused a call to arms, which turned out to be unnecessary. The belligerent shouting was the result of a mistake. The night guard was a Pershwick man recruited from the village, and he spoke only English. The men-at-arms outside the gates were fresh from France and understood no English. The knights waited far behind them, and did not hear the exchange. All was chaos until Sir Guibert arrived and unraveled the situation.
