“Is this the medieval version of romance?” she asked.
His jaw tightened. “Amelia.”
There was fear under the impatience. Not fear of battle. Not fear of pain. The fear of a man who had been given happiness and did not yet know whether he was allowed to hold it.
She took his face in both hands.
“Yes.”
His eyes searched hers, as if he did not trust the word.
“Yes, Thomas. I’ll marry you. I’ll marry you in the hall, in the chapel, in front of Huck’s bees, wherever Edith decides isrespectable. I’ll marry you even though you brood, stomp about, and prefer swords to talking.”
“She has you there, my lord,” Hob said hoarsely.
Thomas did not look at him. “Be silent.”
Thomas kissed her again. This kiss was softer. Worse, somehow. More ruinous. The first had been storm and terror and finding each other after the world tried to tear them apart. This one was a promise.
Huck cleared his throat.
Then Hob cleared his.
Then Huck cleared his again, louder, because apparently friars had rules about kissing in front of swords, miracles, and witnesses who had not yet been offered sufficient drink.
Thomas broke the kiss, his forehead against hers and muttered a word that would have made Alyson proud.
Amelia laughed against his mouth.
“I’m home,” she said.
AMELIA
By morning, all of Ashcombe knew their lord had asked Amelia to marry him.
No one knew, precisely, how he had asked.
This was fortunate, because the true answer involved a storm, a sword, a door in the air, Thomas nearly trying to wrestle time itself, Friar Huck praying like a man on familiar terms with terror, and Hob crossing himself so many times he had likely bruised his own chest.
So the household invented its own version.
This, Amelia discovered before breakfast, was how history was made. Not by facts, but by Edith deciding which facts were respectable enough to survive.
According to Mald, Thomas had gone down on one knee.
According to Joan, he had pledged his heart in the solar by candlelight.
Hob, who knew better and was enjoying himself far too much, said Thomas had likely grunted, scowled, and frightened the lady into agreement.
According to Wat, Thomas had promised Amelia a castle, a horse, and the right to tell Walter what to do.
According to Alyson, Amelia had said yes because Thomas was “the tallest and most scary in a good way, and therefore probably the best.”
Walter objected to all of these versions on grounds of accuracy, propriety, and vocabulary.
“No man,” Walter said, standing in the hall with a cup of small beer in one hand and a wax tablet in the other, “should become betrothed without first considering the legal, financial, and customary implications.”
Amelia looked at Thomas. “Did you consider the implications?”
