Page 98
She had sounded matter-of-fact, so he tried to, too. “We’ve talked about this before. I won’t be killed.”
Her sensible facade cracked. “Robin said that, too.”
“I…am…not…Robin.”
“I’ve met the widows of other men who marched off to battle with like minds.”
“Then this is about Robin. The shade of Robin haunts our marriage.”
“Nay!”
“What other reason could there be for you to wish me to stay behind when men are joined in battle?” She glared and twisted her hands, and he dared something he would never have tried before this morning. “Are you saying,” he asked carefully, “you don’t want me to go because you’re afraid of Pembridge?”
“Pembridge?”
“Aye, Pembridge. You did meet him when you lived with Robin, didn’t you?”
She widened her eyes so much the whites shone all around, and her horror spoke for itself. She had lied to him. He had asked her if she knew Pembridge, and she’d said nay. What was she hiding?
“I met him,” she admitted.
He almost staggered from the pain of her betrayal. “Have I been wrong all along? Is this about him?”
“Nay!” She shot to her feet and stood, visibly shaking. “I didn’t tell you because he…I didn’t like the way he…I am afraid of Edmund Pembridge.”
“Afraid?”
“He never hurt me, but I think he is a cruel man.”
Hugh thought she was right.
“I was always faithful to Robin.”
“But did you want to be?”
“I never wanted Pembridge.” Her shaking increased.
“What about me?” His dissatisfaction and sorrow increased with every anguished moment. “Then do you want me?”
Her eyes sparked; she began to answer.
He’d asked the wrong question. “Nay, wait—do you love me?”
“I…you…” She seemed to be wrestling with some great emotion that weighed on her mind and turned her eyes a sluggish green.
He wanted her to say yes. She would say yes, he knew it.
“I…nay.”
He let out his breath. “Well. That is that, then.”
“Nay.” She said it again—in case he didn’t hear it the first time, he supposed. “I don’t love you. But I am your true and loyal wife, and I swear, my lord, that I would never betray you.”
She looked at him without hesitation or fear, and he remembered what Ethelburgha had said. That no woman would brag about having Edmund Pembridge lurking behind her. Remembering the man and his sly habits, Hugh hoped that might just be all the truth. With a sigh, he said, “Thank you for that, at least.”
Hugh’s step faltered as he trod the stairs down to the great hall. He didn’t know what to believe anymore. He couldn’t despise Edlyn, as much as he wanted to. She’d proved herself to be capable, clever, and kind, and he wanted her. By the saints, he did want her.
He almost turned back and climbed those stairs once more when he saw Wharton, Sir Lyndon, Sir Philip, and Ralph Perrett sitting around the trestle table, waiting for him. It should have been a council of war; from the expressions on their faces, he knew it was a lecture, and he was the one who would hear it.
