Page 102 of An Inconvenient Vow

The more he thought about it, the less appeal another night under Ganford Chase’s roof held. It was only early afternoon, he determined, glancing up at the sky. He would swing by the village on his return and meet with the blacksmith and his wife. There had to be a neater way of solving the issue than the way Burrell had gone about it.

He could not believe that Sabina’s father had been able to pay more than a pittance for the child’s upkeep. His own inclination was that the wretched woman needed to be found a husband to give her and the child his name. A husband with a trade who could be relied on to provide for his new family. Preferably in some village or town a good distance from this one. It was not fitting that his wife should be at risk of embarrassment every time she set foot in the village.

His course determined, Jeffree cheered up considerably. There would be no more of this tiptoeing around, this trying to curry favor with his own wife. He would simply tell her the way things would be between them going forward.

22

Five days later

The summer palace, Caer Lyoness

Sabina gazed around the cramped quarters of the De Crecy rooms at the royal palace. Somehow it was not at all how she had expected it, for surely the De Crecys would have the very best, would they not? Yet these rooms seemed so small and airless.

“Where is my cousin?” Jeffree asked the smart looking servant who had admitted them.

“Sir Hugo is attending the celebrations in the Grand Salon,” the servant supplied. “There are troubadours and entertainers gathered there to celebrate the tournament’s start on the morrow.”

Jeffree snorted. “Is the second bedchamber free?” he asked turning to survey the three doors leading off from the antechamber.

“Yes, Sir Jeffree,” the servant replied. “Sir Hugo said you would likely be arriving for the tourney, so we made it ready.”

“Osborn, set those things down and go back and collect the rest,” Jeffree barked over his shoulder as he flung the door to the room open and unburdened himself of his saddlebags.

Sabina hovered a moment, feeling wretchedly sticky and dusty from the last leg of the journey. Belatedly, she noticed the superior-looking servant was frowning at her. “Yes?” she had no sooner asked, then Jeffree stepped back out of the room.

“What’s this?” he asked sharply. “Wilton, go and fetch my lady some refreshment and clean water for a bath.”

Wilton’s jaw dropped. “Y-yes, Sir Jeffree,” he stammered and hurried away.

Oh, thought Sabina. She had been mistaken for a servant again. She rolled her eyes.

“Go and take your ease within,” Jeffree instructed her, pushing open another door to a small looking sitting room. He scanned her anxiously. “You—er—feel well?” He still had not recovered from her bleeding all over the bedsheets the night before they had left Morecotte.

“Nothing ails me, Jeffree,” she reminded him tersely. “I have simply been on my monthly courses this past week.” Of course, it had not made a four-day journey any easier, but that was neither here nor there, as she had been given precious little choice about making it.

He cleared his throat and colored faintly. “I am aware of that.”

To give him credit, he had insisted she still share his bed every night since, despite the fact she had bled on his thigh. Squeamishness, it seemed, was not one of his many faults. Sabina ducked under his arm and walked across the stuffy room to fling a window open. It was noisy in the courtyard below. Sabina leaned out to see torches being lit and people milling around, laughing, and calling to one another.

“There will be a banquet tonight,” he said. “We will be attending.”

Sabina’s hands tightened on the window ledge. It was one thing to be dragged around the tournaments but being presented at court was her idea of hell. “If we do,” she warned without turning, her voice shaking slightly, “then you may be sure I shall wear my meanest apparel.”

Jeffree gave a short laugh. “Your meanest apparel?” he mocked. “It’s hard to tell one from another they are all so—” He bit off his words, thinking better of what he had been about to say.

Sabina found her breath coming fast. “You might think I will be the one demeaned, but you will be the one judged for having a threadbare wife, Sir Jeffree de Crecy,” she pointed out.

“Turn around and face me,” he said harshly. Sabina was slow to turn but turn she did. Once they were facing one another, he looked her up and down with deliberation. “You are covered in travel dirt and sweat,” he said with deliberation, “and it makes not one whit of difference to how I view you.” Sabina swallowed. “I will not be ashamed to be seen with you, and in any case, I do not care about the judgment of others, my fellow knights included.”

Sabina stared at him. “You are so—” She broke off and tried to muster her thoughts. “Can you please just stop”—she waved a hand to illustrate something—“all this.”

“All this what?”

“All this newfound concern for my comfort!” she flung at him. “All this politeness you now show me. All this concern for my wellbeing! You are making things over-complicated and… and confusing me! I want you to go back to how you were before.”

Jeffree looked at her uncomprehendingly. “Before?” he asked cautiously.

“Before you… before you started all this!” she practically howled at him. “You know what I am speaking of.”