Page 61

“The wedding was yesterday. That was the proper time to do it, but I let her go off and get captured and…” Why was he confessing his failure to this old man? “Rather than throwing the wheat yesterday, they did it today when we left the abbey. I think they did it because they liked her.” Grimly, Hugh remembered the circle of leering people who had tried her for promiscuity as the result of his deception. “They hadn’t treated her well before the wedding.”

“Yer fault, I wager.”

How did the old knave know that? And why did Hugh feel this pang of guilt for his actions? He had done the right thing, he knew it. Edlyn needed a husband, a and no one owed her reparation as much as Hugh himself. She had refused to accept his help, so he had coerced her. That was as it should be. A man made the decisions. A woman respected them.

If only she hadn’t told him she would never give herself completely into his keeping. He never refused a challenge, and he allowed himself no doubt, but…he’d never faced a woman unwilling to give him her body and her soul. Worse, he never imagined he would care.

He rubbed the tight muscles in his chest. It was that challenge, that was all. He cared only about the challenge.

“If th’ wheat slides into yer curlies, it means yer plow’s goin’ t’ plant early an’ often.”

Startled, Hugh stared at the old man and fought the desire to lift his own surcoat and check for kernels.

“If ’tis in her curlies, she’s quickening already.” The ferryman considered, then shook his head, and a few wild hairs waved on the top of his bald head. “Nay, but she’s not got th’ glow about her.”

“Doesn’t she?”

“That one’ll not conceive until she’s taken ye fer husband in her heart.”

Hugh settled carefully on his rump, pulled off his boots, and peeled down his hose, trying not to give the old man’s statement too much importance. “How do you know that?”

“When ye get a little smarter, ye’ll know some things, too.”

Hugh could scarcely argue with that. He’d only in the last day begun to realize how much he didn’t know.

“Where are ye off t’ in such a hurry?” the ferryman asked.

The cramped sensation in Hugh’s chest eased at once, and he answered proudly, “To our new home. To Roxford Castle.”

“Just got yer lands, did ye?” The old man wiped his nose on the long sleeved of his shift. “Worked hard fer ’em, too, I trow.”

No one knew how hard, except perhaps Wharton, and maybe Sir Lyndon, but not even they could comprehend the desire that gnawed at Hugh’s insides at the thought of a castle, his castle, and a demesne, his demesne.

“Here we are.” Edlyn’s light, musical voice broke into his reverie, and Hugh looked up at her.

A wife. His wife.

He wanted her there, in his home, a symbol of all he had achieved. He didn’t need that affection she withheld from him, as long as he had her physical body to maintain his castle and his lands.

Then unbidden, the thought of her naked body in a tall bed slipped into his mind, and he knew he needed her physical body for more than just its abilities to work. He wanted it for pleasure—his pleasure, and hers.

The ferryman started cursing as soon as she applied the steaming poultice to his face, and he kept up a steady stream of blunt English words that should have made a woman who’d lived in an abbey blush. They didn’t seem to faze Edlyn, but mayhap she didn’t understand them. Hugh dumped wheat from his hose and wiped it off his feet as he listened, and he grinned. Regardless of the conversation they’d just shared, he still wished for the old man’s discomfort. After all, he had defied Hugh in front of his own men.

He had the satisfaction of hearing the ferryman howl in pain as she lanced the boil and seeing him shuffle his feet as she gave him ointments and lectured him on their use. Finally, she patted the old man on his bald head and promised him the boil would be completely drained and feel better in the morning so all his secret admirers could lavish him with their love.

“Ain’t got no secret admirers but ye, m’ lady, an’ that’s enough fer me.” The old man touched the bandage on his check. “But it throbs so much I couldn’t sleep tonight anyway, an’ th’ moon’s arisin’. Could be I would ferry ye across now.”

Edlyn shot Hugh a triumphant glance, then said to the old man, “You are generous indeed.”

Disgusted, Hugh pulled on his hose and boots and shouted for his men. It took three trips to get everything across. Most of his knights went first, and with them Edlyn’s sons, still awake and so rambunctious it was decided they could frolic on the far side while the ferry made its remaining trips. Wynkyn was put in charge of the lads, and Hugh felt sorry for his page. Parkin and Allyn, he thought, could use a man’s discipline, and when they were settled at Roxford Castle, he would see to it.

About half of their possessions went second, guarded by Wharton and the squires, who moved from place to place under Almund’s direction to keep the ferry in balance.

Last came Edlyn, Hugh, the remaining knights and the rest of their gear. As they bobbed along, the moon shining on the river, Almund pulled Hugh aside. “Part o’ th’ reason I would bring m’ lady across in th’ night is because o’ that knave.”

Hugh’s mind leaped to the claiming of his castle. “Edmund Pembridge?”

Who’s Edmund Pembridge?”