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Aimee blinked. “And you did not think to ask?”

“It didn’t really matter,” he answered with a shrug and saw the hurt expression that leapt to her eyes before she could disguise it.

“Oh,” she said faintly, then swallowed. “So, you assumed Ursula was for you, then?” She twisted her hands in her lap.

“Yes. She was the elder of you two after all.” When she said nothing, he added, “As I am older than Renlow.” Why did she look suddenly so anxious, he wondered.

“W-when did you realize?” she asked in a high, unnatural voice.

Some inner prompting warned him against answering this. He certainly wasn’t going to tell her it was in front of the priest, not when she was gazing at him with such an expression of dismay on her pretty face.

“Why?” he asked instead. “Why me?” It hadn’t been what he was going to say. He had no idea why he was even asking it.

I told my father it was you I wanted.

The discreet tap at the door almost made him jump out of his skin. “Come in,” he barked without thinking, for he recognized the knock as Jakeman’s. The door opened, and his servant entered the room. He paused just inside the door, halting with surprise when he found his master was not alone.

“Forgive me, my lord, I did not mean to interrupt.”

“My wife was just leaving,” Konrad snapped back. Her shoulders slumped, and she stood, directed a brave smile in Jakeman’s direction, and exited the room. He stood and turned to watch her leave, unable to stop himself. Jakeman’s quietly spoken words did not even register with him. She had set her sights on him after Kellingford.

Kellingford? Where he had lost! He could not quite comprehend it.

“My lord?” Jakeman asked hesitantly.

Konrad waved an impatient hand. “What was it you wanted?” he asked irritably. “Speak up, man! I can barely hear you!”

Inexplicably, for the next hour or so, Konrad found himself unable to settle to anything, even oiling his blade. He flung it away from him in disgust and found himself considering striding down the corridor in search of his wife. What the hells had she meant by telling him that?

Why in the name of the gods would anyone think him a matrimonial prize after watching his defeat at Kellingford? If anything, that was the one time that idealistic young fool Renlow had appeared in a positive light. Did lovely Aimee Ankatel think consoling losers a more amusing role than rewarding victors? Gazing about the bedchamber at the lavish bed hangings and luxurious furniture did not make him one whit more reconciled to his role as her stud.

Maybe she did see herself in the role of the benevolent benefactress, righting all his wrongs and earning his undying gratitude. And if so, what of it? Women often got foolish ideas into their heads, or so he had heard said, by other men at least. Even if she had thought to act the role of benevolent wife, a voice whispered in his head, did she deserve the punishment of a rude and neglectful bridegroom? She was young and over-indulged, but she was not spoiled or arrogant. On the contrary … she was … words failed him at this point. He didn’t know what she was precisely, but she hadn’t deserved him for a bridegroom, that was for damned sure.

To escape his growing unease, he found himself, half an hour later, setting out for the knight’s banquet at the palace. He reasoned to himself that he would at least glean some useful information about his competitors there. Once among his peers, he would shake off the discomfort of his new wedded status and forget the disquiet his temporary luxurious lodgings inspired in him.

However, once stood in the feasting hall, he found himself immediately regretting the impulse to attend. He was far from gregarious by nature, and functions such as this one left him cold. He performed his duty by making his bow to the southern king and retreated to a dark corner to fester as he usually did when surrounded by revelry. A passing servant offered him a drinking vessel, and he took it, more for appearance’s sake than anything else.

As he stood among the shadows, Konrad’s eye traveled over the familiar banners hanging from the rafters, proclaiming the participants in the upcoming summer tournament. His own hung as usual with the top five, denoting his anticipated performance, but to his surprise, he saw Sir Roland Vawdrey’s shield now included a coronet. When had that bastard succeeded to a title?

As his eye wandered, he realized Vawdrey’s was not the only banner to have altered. Orde’s remained the same colors of black and white, but his heraldic device had changed altogether. He was just pondering the meaning of this when a voice hailed him boisterously.

“Kentigern!” Turning, he found Roland Vawdrey heading in his direction. In his muscular arms he held a swaddled bundle which he thrust toward Konrad with a proud smile. “My daughter.”

Konrad gazed down at the pink face of the infant. It was scrunched up in an expression of irritable discomfort. Above its face was a shock of black hair. When her eyes did force their way open, they looked murky and seemed unable to focus on either of them, before closing them again.

She looked rather like a baby fieldmouse to Konrad’s mind, all blobby and indistinct. He groped about for some comment that her sire would find acceptable, but his mind was a perfect blank. It wasn’t even a son and heir. He marveled at Vawdrey’s expression of awed gratification as he gazed down at his firstborn.

“Her name is Agnes,” Vawdrey told him in hushed tones.

“A fine name,” Konrad managed after a moment’s silence. “Named for her mother’s sake?”

Roland shot him a look of annoyance. “My wife’s name is Eden,” he pointed out.

“Oh.” Konrad shifted onto his other foot, but still Vawdrey hovered. “Why has your banner changed?” he asked abruptly.

Vawdrey looked at him blankly a moment. “Oh, that,” he said in the manner of one recalling something wholly insignificant. “Been made a viscount. Want a hold of her?” he offered, in the manner of one bestowing some grand favor. It took Konrad a moment to catch his meaning.

“Gods, no!” When the new father looked instantly incensed, Konrad added uncomfortably. “I know nothing of babies, I might grip her too tight or drop her.”