In the nearly forty days since she’d sent him from her bed, there had been no more ribbons, flowers, or buns, no more rides, and no more long conversations. She arranged her own bath, she couldn’t think of an excuse for riding, and their conversations were brief and impersonal.
It was as if she were married to Atholl all over again. The only difference was that Kenneth collapsed beside her at night when he finally returned from whatever it was that kept him away from the castle so late, reeking of whisky and damp from a dunking in the river.
Her heart stabbed. At least he had the decency to wash the scent of his liaisons from him before coming to her bed. But she couldn’t be grateful for his discretion, when the very idea of him with another woman made the misery she’d felt with Atholl seem like a pittance in comparison.
Despite her best efforts to approach this marriage with open eyes and a hardened heart, she’d failed. Miserably. She’d fallen in love with her husband. Not the starry-eyed young girl’s infatuation based on a myth, but the mature love of a woman who appreciated the flawed man as much as she admired the hero.
She loved the young boy who’d always had to fight to prove himself and had the confidence and belief in himself to become the best. She loved knowing that beneath the seemingly impervious shell of the fierce warrior was a man of surprising depth and—yes, Sir Adam was right—sensitivity. She loved his passion. Envied it. Was drawn to it. Even when he lost his temper. She loved going toe-to-toe with him—challenging him. He brought out her fight and made her feel bolder and stronger than she ever had before. He’d never treated her as an afterthought or as chattel, but as an equal. He listened to her. Cared about her thoughts.
Ironically, by trying to protect herself from having another marriage like her first, she’d all but ensured the second turned out the same way. She’d sent him from her bed; why was she surprised that he’d found another?
She regretted so many things. She’d been a fool to think it had only been passion. The hollowness in her heart when he’d left her that night told her that. She shouldn’t have let her pride and jealousy prevent him from telling him she cared. And she shouldn’t have interfered in his argument with Sir John. Although Davey refused to discuss what had happened, she suspected Kenneth had been protecting her son.
He was also right to urge her patience. Her son wasn’t used to having a mother around to love him. It was no wonder that Davey was uncomfortable and defensive. Knocking down those barriers would take time—especially when his attention was focused on trying to become a knight. She needed to think of him as the man he would become, not the boy she never had a chance to know.
But it was more than that.
“You should have more faith in me.”He was right. She’d seen him fight. She knew what he could do; it was just that he wasn’t fully healed. But his admonition was about more than his fighting skills. Yet how could she believe in him when he wouldn’t make her any promises?
Of course, she’d never asked him for any. She’d just tried to accept what shethoughtwas her fate. She’d tried to make do with what life had doled out, the way she always did.
But that wasn’t good enough. Not this time. She wasn’t content to be grateful for what she had. She wanted more. She wanted his heart.
But how was she going to breach the seemingly impenetrable wall that had been erected between them?
Every time she inquired about his day or activities, he cut her off. Even her attempt to tend the wound on his jaw he’d received in a tavern brawl the week before was refused. Though he’d yet to resume full activity in the practice yard, he had suffered an inordinate number of scrapes and bruises lately. But every time she expressed concern, he bristled as if she were questioning his skill, so she’d stopped mentioning it.
Lent was nearly over, but she dared not wait for him to return to her bed. What if he did, and it was merely a repeat of the last time? Or worse, what if he didn’t return at all?
The answer of what to do came to her a few days before Easter when a missive arrived for her from Brother Thomas, the monk who had confused her with the Italian nun. She’d considered enlisting her husband’s help or Sir Adam’s in her search for more information about the nun, but as Kenneth wouldn’t give her the opportunity and Sir Adam had returned to Huntlywood Castle in preparation for his journey to France, she’d sent one of the stable lads with a sizable donation to the church for Easter, and a note asking him to send for her should he hear any more about the nun who looked so much like her.
To her shock and barely contained excitement, the castle priest found her after the midday meal and passed on a message from Brother Thomas that the nun in question had returned.
She raced back to the Hall, hoping to find her husband still lingering with his men. She’d been wanting to ask him for help with her sister and now she had a chance. Surely, he would accompany her?
She found his squire, Willy, and to her surprise learned that Kenneth had returned to their chamber. She hastened across the courtyard and up the stairs.
But once she pushed open the door, the excitement fell from her face. He’d changed from the fine surcote he’d worn to the evening meal into a worn dark leathercotunand chausses. Despair shot through her like a flame, scorching the insides of her chest and throat. She knew what those clothes meant.
“You’re leaving?”
He stiffened, as if bracing himself for something unpleasant. “Aye, I have business in town.”
“At another tavern?”
Perhaps he heard the unspoken accusation in her tone. One corner of his mouth curled. “I thought you didn’t care.”
She swallowed, burying her pride and taking, if not a leap, at least the first step. “What if I do?” she said softly, her heart drumming in her throat. Their eyes locked, and for a moment she thought he wanted to say something, but then he turned away. He didn’t want her to care.
“I may be back late.”
He was back late every night. She swallowed again, the second attempt to break through even harder than the first. Her pride and her heart were raw and ragged. It was like the time she’d asked Atholl to take her and their son with him. “May I come with you? There is something I need to do in town. I’ve had some exciting news, and I would be grateful for your help.”
“I’m afraid it will have to wait.”
“It can’t—”
“Not today, Mary.”
