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“Ha,” he cackled. “Ain’t that right?” He pointed a crooked finger at Haydn. “Their father ran with me, and the moonlight o’ course, for a time.”

“Your father,” she asked Haydn, “was a border reiver?”

He never got to answer.

“Damn good one too. When those damn Kerrs took Bristol and left ’em without a home, the Waryns did what they needed to survive. As we all do, like you said, my lady. And look at ’em now. An earl. Owners of Bristol Manor once again. And they call Clan Kerr family now.” Big Barney shook his head. “A turn o’ events I never saw comin’.”

Haydn could do without the family revelations. Not that he was ashamed of his father for reiving, of course. His youngest brother Hugh tangled himself with his father’s old friends from time to time, much to their mother’s dismay. But the less Phillipa knew, the better. Especially about his extended Scots family.

“As you said, Big Barney, this is our wedding night,” he interrupted the trip down memory lane. “Of sorts.”

Barney smirked knowingly. “Best room in the inn waitin’ on you, Lord Waryn.”

Now he was Lord Waryn when a minute ago he was “my boy.” If he’d learned anything of his father’s reiver friends, it was that unpredictability should always be expected. Barney stood back to let he and Phillipa rise. When they did, he took Haydn’s place, evidently prepared to tell more stories to those remaining. Lifting a ring with one key hanging from it, Barney handed it to him. “Two doors from the room you stayed in when you were here last. End of the hall, on your left.”

“Barney, it’s been three years since I’ve been here last. You must have hundreds of travellers here a year. How do you remember my room?”

The old man winked at him. “Same as you remember how to wield that fancy sword at your side, my boy. It is my job, as surely as yours is to protect that beautiful wife of yours.”

To protect Phillipa. If only he could do that while protecting his family too.

Ignoring the taunts they received from their companions, Haydn led Phillipa from the hall. All eve she had looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension, and though he still did not intend for them to become close on their journey, he could ensure her first experience would be pleasurable.

“So, my lady wife, are you ready to tell me what you were told about this eve so I can determine whether I need to live up to, or debunk, your idea of what lovemaking entails?”

Halfway up the stairs she turned back to look at him. Haydn had not been expecting her to appear so relaxed. The ale, thankfully, had taken its effect.

“I’ve been told this could be the worst, or best, evening of my life.”

“A fair assessment, actually,” he said. “And I can easily assure you, it will be the latter.”

Chapter Twelve

Phillipa opened her eyes, attempting to discern her surroundings. It was dark, still. And she was in bed. Sitting up, she glanced around the room. A candle burned, her bed empty. Memories of last eve flooded back. She remembered arriving in the room, unsure how to undress with her husband looming next to her. He left so she might “feel more at ease,” and so she quickly stripped down to her shift, washed herself with the bowl of water and cloth left for them, and then lay down in the bed.

That was all she remembered.

A pain in her temple reminded her of the ale she’d drunk, certainly more than she was accustomed to consuming. But tankard after tankard had been brought to their table, and Phillipa found herself enjoying the simple meal with Haydn and his men. It was as if, for but a moment, they were not on opposite sides of a conflict that had no signs of abating, despite the pope’s insistence that the king make peace with Scotland.

The door opened abruptly, and Phillipa’s next question was answered. Haydn was fully dressed and ready for the road. It was, indeed, morning. Though before sunrise, otherwise she might see light peeking through the wooden shutters.

“’Tis time to leave,” he said, closing the door behind him. “The men and horses are ready.”

“Why did you not wake me sooner?” she asked, rubbing her temple.

“You slept so soundly,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I will ask the maid belowstairs if she has garlic readily available for your head. Too much ale does not agree with you?”

“Apparently it does not. I’ve not had cause to learn of the fact before last eve.”

Her husband appeared much as he had the night before. Guarded, but more relaxed. Handsome, but never leering. Even as his gaze dipped to her breasts outlined beneath the linen shift, it was so different from the looks she received at court. Those made her feel as if she were about to be devoured. Haydn’s was more. . . deferential. But his eyes, when he raised them, were anything but.

They were filled with desire. And her body responded accordingly. Phillipa’s core clenched, and despite the throbbing in her head, her pulse began to race. Would he claim her now or nay as the men were prepared to leave?

“I fell asleep.”

“Aye, you did.”

“My apologies. I meant no insult to you, Haydn.”