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Wharton smirked. “Is she going t’ let ye go?”

Placing his hands on the table, Hugh seated himself.

“She is overwrought.” Sir Philip obviously disapproved.

“That woman needs discipline.” Sir Lyndon clipped the words off.

In soothing tones, Perrett said, “I’ve seen it a dozen times. When the wife hears the husband goes to battle, she must go and cry.”

Hugh found himself biting his tongue. For most of his life, he had been the best at everything—at riding, at combat, at commanding. This day he had shown his ignorance to Burdett time and again with his stupid questions. While Burdett had hidden his astonishment well and answered patiently, Hugh chafed at his own incognizance.

Now these men, his companions, thought to give him advice on the handling of his wife. As if he were some inexperienced boy with his first woman! The reduction to student galled and humiliated him, and he could scarcely contain his impatience.

Worse was the knowledge he had invited their comments with his remarks in the alehouse that very afternoon. And tonight he might be listening to these men’s opinions—aye, he might—except for the memory of Ethelburgha and her righteous indignation. She had scorned Sir Philip, Sir Lyndon, and Wharton—Wharton still sported a lump over his eye from her scorn—and gave Hugh different advice. Advice that he’d put into action and that had almost given him the desired results. Edlyn had almost told him she loved him. Almost. So close.

Maybe women knew what they wanted more than men knew what they needed.

“So you’ll leave me in charge,” Sir Lyndon finished.

“What?” Hugh had missed something, and he narrowed his eyes as he considered Sir Lyndon.

“You’ll leave me in charge of Roxford Castle while you go into battle,” Sir Lyndon repeated obligingly. “It only makes sense. I’m the knight who has been with you the longest, and someone has to remain behind in case of treachery.”

“Whose treachery?” Wharton asked.

Sir Lyndon twitched toward the place where the steward and his wife worked.

“Humph.”

Wharton didn’t seem impressed with any suspicion against Burdett and Neda, and Hugh noted that. Wharton had proved to be an astute judge of character over the years.

In fact, Wharton had never liked Sir Lyndon.

Hugh still smarted with the knowledge that Edlyn had lied to him about Pembridge, so he leaned close to Wharton. “Do you like Lady Edlyn?”

Wharton reared back, affronted. “Like her?”

Hugh tried again. “Do you trust her?”

“Oh.” Wharton nodded. “Trust her. Aye, I trust her.”

So did Hugh. Mayhap he was a fool, but he trusted her. She said she didn’t love Pembridge, and he believed her. “I will leave my lady in charge.”

Sir Lyndon almost fell off his bench. “Your—”

“My lady. That is why I married her.”

“She just went wailing upstairs because you’re leaving her. She’s a stupid little—” Someone must have kicked him under the table, for Sir Lyndon jumped, then visibly regained control.

“She has much experience with directing a castle while her husband is away.” Hugh shook his head when Wharton offered ale. He needed his wits about him.

Sir Lyndon had gotten over his first shock and now applied logic. Or what he thought was logic. “I’ve been around your lady for quite a while now, my lord, and she is overflowing with emotions. She’s always blubbering or laughing out loud. She has no dignity. What kind of control would she have over the servants? Over the men-at-arms?” He leaned forward and pressed his hand on Hugh’s arm. “Hugh, you need a man here. A man like me!”

“I do need a man here.” Sir Lyndon’s gesture didn’t impress Hugh, any more than his use of Hugh’s first name. “Sir Philip will perform that service.”

“I, my lord?” Now Sir Philip had trouble maintaining his seat.

Sir Lyndon stared at Sir Philip as if he wore a beetle for decoration. “He’s nothing but a one-eyed old knight!”