Page 89

By rights, it should not have worked. Aimee Bartree was a spoiled little heiress decked out in jewels, the like of which most people in that hall would never possess. The precious pearls had glowed against her lustrous skin, the sapphires at her bodice had flashed in the candlelight, and still she had held every single last soul present in the palm of her hand.

There had been barely a dry eye in the house. Every woman there, from deposed princess to cynical widow to serving wench, had wept to hear Aimee’s voice uplifted in that damned song. Part of it had been her untutored delivery, he supposed. Her unrestrained manner of singing it.

She sang her song with the simple straightforwardness of a country girl who had been seduced by words of love and had no defense against them. There had been no hint of performing to a crowd, no artifice to the way she had lifted her pretty face to the rafters and sung as though no one else were present, her tale of shining love that had turned to woe and misery and then swung back around again to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat.

That had been the only point at which she had not been convincing, he thought bitterly. The happy ending had convinced no one. The lover never had returned for her or her pretty babe. Everyone knew he had not kept his vows. In fact, he was pretty sure the name of the song reflected that fact.

Her voice had touched every man present, but he had felt pierced to his very bosom. He had heard her sing before, but she had not sounded like that. He had made her no false promises, he certainly had not seduced her with words of love, but all the same. It was his damned fault she sang like her heart was broken. Why did he keep fucking everything up with her?

As soon as he reached the tent, he set her down and started loosening the laces from her gown. Aimee stood as meek and still as a statue as he undressed her. She made no attempt to help, so he drew out her hairpins and set them on the table along with her veil and jewelry. Once she was down to her shift, he led her to the makeshift bed and set her under the covers. She had not moved an inch when he climbed in to join her and made no objection when he wrapped his arms about her and held her close.

He did not wake the next morning until he heard a footfall and an exclamation. Blinking, he found Jakeman gazing across the tent at him with a look of almost comical dismay on his face.

“Y-your pardon, milord,” he stammered, setting down the hot water he was carrying. “I did not realize you …” Words seemed to fail him for a moment. “Had – er – company,” he ended lamely.

Konrad glanced down at Aimee still fast asleep and tucked into his side. He did not think he had spent the whole night through in a woman’s company in his life. Strange to say, his sleep had been entirely unbroken. “She’s my wife,” he pointed out acerbically, in case his manservant had somehow not recognized just who it was slumbering at his side.

Jakeman’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “Yes, milord,” he agreed and averted his eyes. “Will your lordship require me to fetch bread to break your fast, or will you be going along to the Great Hall?”

Konrad considered the matter a moment. In truth, he should have foreseen that both he and Aimee would require Jakeman’s services, for he had never taken a squire. “Fetch me something, then you can accompany your mistress to the Great Hall to break her fast.”

Jakeman nodded and beat a hasty retreat. Konrad carefully slid out of the bed and made his way to the wash basin clad only in his braies. He had washed and was drying himself off before he heard Aimee stir in the bed. She rolled onto her back and groaned.

“Still sore?” he asked, lowering his cloth and feeling his own body perk up with interest.

She sat up looking adorably sleepy and confused. “Ouch!” she winced, answering his question.

“Roll onto your front,” he instructed throatily, coming back to the bed and drawing down the covers.

“Konrad,” she murmured in mild reproach, though he noticed she rolled onto her stomach obligingly enough.

He reached under her shift, his hands settling over her pleasingly plump behind. This time he knew exactly where her sore spots were and sought them out unerringly. Aimee whimpered and moaned in a very stimulating manner until he had finished his ministrations. Then she sighed, sounding so sated and relaxed while he felt anything but.

Swallowing deeply, he covered her back up with the blankets, when his every impulse screamed at him to do the opposite. Considerate, that was what he was aiming for. A considerate husband did not make his wife cry herself to sleep at night. Nor did he lift her shift and swive her first thing in the morning in the middle of a field.

Half an hour later, he was striding over to the next field marked out for the competitors when he heard his name called. Swinging around, he saw Sir Douglas Farleigh and his two friends hurrying toward him.

“Kentigern!” Farleigh hailed him, clapping his shoulder. “We saw you at the feast last night.”

“Don’t think you saw us though,” Leo Symes chimed in with a grin. “We were at the back of the hall.”

“No,” Konrad admitted. In truth, he had forgotten to look for them. “I was a bit preoccupied.”

“Aye, well small wonder as you’ve your wife with you,” Lowell pointed out.

“Lady Kentigern enjoying it so far?” Farleigh asked as they fell in step beside him.

Konrad glanced at him suspiciously, but Farleigh’s expression was guileless and open. Once again, he realized Farleigh was not the most observant when it came to women.

“Quite the songbird, isn’t she?” Symes added wistfully.

Konrad cleared his throat. “Aye,” he rumbled, hoping that would suffice for answer enough for both questions.

“That hothead de Crecy didn’t give you any grief, did he?” Lowell asked. “Only it doesn’t take much to rile him up recently. Apparently, he blacked some fellow’s eye yesterday for helping his wife down some steps.”

“Did he now?” Konrad grunted with surprise. He would not have thought personally that de Crecy’s wife had it in her to inspire jealousy.

“Helping his own wife or de Crecy’s wife?” Farleigh asked critically.