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She’d almost declared her love for Hugh.

She glanced across the huge, vaulted chamber at her husband. He sat at the table on the dais, directing his men, scribbling notes, listening to the messenger, and generally acting like the commander of the royal troops in the west.

She’d almost given her love to Hugh, and that would have been worse, for the other was only words but the love itself formed part of her soul.

She caught one of the pillars as a spasm of pain clutched at her.

She hadn’t given him her love.

“We’ll leave tomorrow morning,” she heard him say. “The rain has stopped and the sun is out.”

Was the sun shining? Edlyn hadn’t noticed.

He continued, “Obviously, God favors our cause.”

For that bit of ludicrous nonsense, he got a snort from Edlyn. She’d heard that before. Before Robin had marched off to his last battle, that was what he’d said.

But Hugh didn’t care what she thought. Hugh just moved to do his duty and never mind that she was dying inside.

Or she would be, if she loved him.

“Edlyn.”

He called her from across the great hall, and she needed to brace herself before she could look at him. To give herself a moment, she instructed the maidservant. “Air the rugs well before you put them in the trunk lest they mildew.”

“Aye, my lady.” The maid, caught in the middle of airing the rugs, curtsied without expression.

She no doubt thought Edlyn mad, but Edlyn didn’t care. She’d indicated her indifference to Hugh by waiting a little too long to answer.

“Edlyn?”

His hands closed on her shoulders, and she jumped.

“Come and meet the prince’s messenger. He’s an old friend of mine.” He pushed her before him toward the dais. “Ralph Perrett of Hardwell.”

A conciliatory-looking man, Ralph Perrett stood and bowed before she even reached him.

She hated him. All that courtesy oozing from him. That polite murmur of gratitude for her hospitality. That inoffensive, yet appreciative gleam in his eyes as he gazed at her.

Who did he think he was fooling? She knew him for what he was. The prince’s stooge.

Ralph Perrett subsided onto the bench when she gestured, and she found herself placed beside Hugh with a firmer hand than she cared for.

“He has brought me information about the troop movements across the countryside. Prince Edward and the Marcher barons hold the Severn Valley. Simon de Montfort and his forces have been driven back into South Wales. His son is bringing forces up from the southeast.” Hugh’s eyes gleamed. “We’ll meet the rebel barons soon and defeat them completely.”

“With God’s blessing,” Perrett said.

“That again,” she muttered. She jumped when Hugh poked her with his elbow.

Edlyn supposed she was acting much as her children had acted earlier, but she was tired of being mature. She was tired of settling in, thinking she comprehended her situation, adjusting accordingly, and then having everything knocked arse over hedgehog. She was just tired.

“We have everything arranged now,” Hugh said. “There’s nothing more for me to do tonight except feast and soak in the warmth of a hearth fire.”

When it became clear Edlyn wouldn’t answer, Perrett said, “Aye, that’s true. ’Twill be autumn before you sit before anything but a campfire’s feeble flame.”

“I need to arrange the meal.” Edlyn tried to rise.

Hugh’s hand on her shoulder pushed her back down. “Neda is doing it. This rain has been a curse for the rebellion, but a blessing for me. It gave me a chance to heal after that wounding at Eastbury.”