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He dressed as rapidly as he could. He didn’t want to talk about it. “Send…it…back.”
“I’ll tell you what.” She was coaxing him, trying to make him see sense. “I’ll send monies to the abbey to offset the sin of owning stolen goods.”
He didn’t want to see sense. She had gone from owning nothing just two days before to owning more than her heart desired.
He hadn’t planned it this way. He’d wanted a wife thoroughly bound to him, a woman who knew that by advancing his cause she advanced her own. When Edlyn came back into his life, he’d told himself she was the one.
Setting his boot on the floor, he stomped his foot into it, then grabbed the edges and pulled it all the way up.
Perhaps he’d been foolish. He’d ignored the fact Edlyn had managed to survive—nay, thrive—in conditions that would have ground most women into the dirt. He’d pretended he didn’t notice her competence, her defiance, her tenacity. He’d assured himself that she had found her way to the abbey with the grace of God, that Wharton had been directed to bring Hugh there through God’s direction, and that their union had been part of a heavenly plan. God wouldn’t have given him an inappropriate woman.
He set his other boot on the floor and slammed his foot toward the gaping hole.
Would He?
Hugh didn’t hit the boot squarely. The sole skidded away and stumbled sideways.
“Are you hurt?” Edlyn walked toward him, trailing a woolen blanket.
He glanced at her. Her dimples shone, one in each cheek, like swirls in thick cream. Her right leg stuck out through the parting in the blanket, and her calf flexed in a way that reminded him of how she clasped his hips when he…
That was just what he needed right now. Another cockstand.
He put out his hand in a gesture that brought her to a halt and, in an aggravated tone, said, “I can put on my own boot.”
She pursed her lips in that exasperated manner that so irritated him and said, “I think I’ll get dressed now.”
As if that would help.
He grabbed the edge of the boot and held it this time, and his foot slid in.
The trouble was, with Edlyn he’d wanted to give her everything. He wanted to be the one to give her pleasure. He didn’t want her lavishing her smiles on other men. He certainly didn’t need to know that she could charm the plunder out of an outlaw. For if she could survive on her own, what need did she have for him?
“Are you going to put that on?” she asked.
She sounded only mildly curious, but he realized he’d been standing there, clutching his mantle and staring at it.
“It goes over your shoulders,” she said helpfully. Fully dressed, she stood before him, feet apart, arms akimbo. “So. Do I have to insult my friends and return those gifts?”
His mantle swirled as he swung it over his shoulders. “Keep them.” He walked toward the door, determined to ignore her, then walked right back. “I just want to know one thing.” He held up his index finger. “Did you truly love me when you were young?”
She stared at the finger with a mutinous expression, then looked into his face. A little smile tilted her lips. “Aye. Aye, I did.”
“Then you can damn well learn to do it again.”
“Is the kitchen not to your satisfaction, my lady?” Neda asked in a tremulous voice.
“Aye, aye, it’s wonderful. One of the best I’ve ever seen.” Edlyn stared with discontent around the kitchen hut with its large fire pit, its clean utensils, its expert cook. “I just had forgotten how pork-brained and stubborn men are.”
The cook, a large, brawny man, looked horrified, and Neda said, “That’s a difficult thing to forget. Are we talking about any man…in particular?”
Her delicate pause made Edlyn realize the cook’s discomfort, and with an effort, she smiled at him. “The kitchen is clearly the home of an artist.”
He sighed with relief, and Edlyn told Neda, “I was speaking of husbands in particular.”
“The cook is roasting an ox for the celebration of your coming.” Neda pushed Edlyn forward with one hand on her back. “Would you like to approve the menu?”
Edlyn didn’t care. The food thus far had been excellent, but the kitchen crew stood lined up for her inspection and she recognized their need to be greeted and given the approval of the new countess. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t done this before, although never under the guidance of such an expert as the steward’s wife.
