“It is what I imagine many wives object to,” she said lightly with a little shrug. “My lord Rolfe is not a faithful husband.”
“After meeting you, I find that difficult to believe,” Henry replied.
“I wish I had as much doubt,” Leonie admitted.
There was a pregnant silence, and then the king said, “I remember your mother well, my dear. She brightened my court and did much to curb the queen’s impulsiveness—for which I was grateful. I do not like knowing that her daughter is unhappy. Nor do I like seeing a man I am most fond of overset with confusion and just as unhappy. Can you not count your blessings and accept him the way he is?”
“I know I should, Your Majesty. And—and I will try if that is your wish.”
“That doesn’t sound very promising,” Henry scolded gently. “If it is so important to you, I suppose I could summon Lady Amelia back to court.”
Leonie flinched. She had not mentioned Amelia by name, and if the king knew of Amelia, then others at court must know as well.
“Your Majesty, that is something my lord Rolfe must decide for himself.”
“As you wish, my dear.”
Henry seemed relieved by her answer. He went on then to discuss things of a less personal nature. No doubt he did not really want to interfere in Rolfe’s life. No doubt he preferred doing favors for his men, not for their ladies. Ladies were rarely in a position to return favors, and Henry was a crafty and political sovereign.
The hunt that afternoon in the nearby woods was less than stimulating, a stag and three boars brought down in short order and without much drama. If there had been more challenge to it, talk of a tourney might not have ensued. But the court was bored and restless, Henry having been in residence at Westminster longer than usual. Even Leonie felt a certain excitement when it was suggested. It was said again and again that Henry would never allow a tourney, yet she hoped he might make an exception when he heard that his lords were greatly in favor of it.
Leonie’s excitement turned to anxiety that evening when Rolfe told her that Henry had surprised them all by giving his permission for the tourney, and that Rolfe himself would be participating. The tourney would be held the following day.
“But you cannot,” she declared, forgetting her preparations for bed.
“Cannot? Why?” he asked, frowning.
“Your wound,” she said. “It has not even been a fortnight—”
Rolfe laughed. “Your concern pleases me, Leonie, but it is no longer necessary.”
“You scoff at me when I am serious,” Leonie said tightly.
“Even you have said my wound is healed.”
“I have not said so. I have said it is mending. There is a difference.”
“Trust me to know if I am capable.”
“You thought you were capable of this journey,” she said sharply, “yet you forget how drained you were after only a day’s ride. You have not your full strength back, my lord. To test your skills on the morrow would be sheer folly.”
“It would be folly to listen to the worries of a woman,” he returned just as sharply. “Tourneys were a way of life to me before I came to England. And these English knights are no challenge. Their skills have grown lax because Henry accepts scutage from them instead of calling up their forty days’ service.”
“My lord,” she said succinctly, “your wound can be opened by one blow.”
“Cease before I become angry, Leonie.”
She should have remembered that Rolfe would not tolerate anger in the bedchamber, but she was reminded when he pulled her to him and kissed her savagely.
This is what Wilda saw when she reached the door. Swiftly, she managed to turn Mildred and Damian back around and close the door silently.
Leonie had forgotten the impending tourney. Whatbegan in anger between her and Rolfe ended in sweetest passion. But later, awash in tender feelings for her husband, she determined to take the matter of the tourney out of his hands.
Chapter 34
“THIS is not right, my lady,” Wilda said as she reluctantly handed the cup of wine to Leonie.
“His anger will surpass anything we have seen before.”
