would be a concern. I would not wish it to be an issue between us.’ Now he was definitely startled that she should pick up so contentious an issue, almost as if she could read his mind. Honesty indeed on such brief acquaintance, even if it proved to be painful. ‘My family is Yorkist—you and I have been brought up as enemies from our cradles, and I shall always consider the claim of the Plantagenet House of York to be superior to that of poor mad King Henry. But I swear that my loyalty in marriage will be to you.’
Richard looked at his bride’s stern face with a complex mix of astonishment and admiration and decided to be just as forth right. ‘My own oath is given to that same King Henry, whatever the state of his wits, because he is the anointed King, whilst the Plantagenets have bloody treachery in mind.’ He smiled a little as she stiffened at his accusation. ‘I see we shall never agree on this divisive issue—but with such honesty between us, we shall do well enough together.’
‘I expect we shall.’ She risked a slanted glance ‘We are both adult and see the value of honesty and loyalty between man and wife. I dislike pretence and disguise.’
‘And I.’ How strong she was beneath her pale fragility, how magnificently controlled in the circumstances. But she was not a comfort able presence. He felt it was a bit like negotiating an alliance with a potential enemy with the flags of war still raised on both sides.
‘And the marriage ceremony?’ Elizabeth asked bluntly.
‘Soon. I see no reason to prolong the arrangements.’ He leaned against the parapet to watch the play of emotion over her face. ‘If that is to your liking, of course—I suppose I should never underestimate the amount of time needed by the females of a house hold.’
‘I have no objection. I have no experience of such matters.’ Her flat words were accompanied by a little lift of her shoulders as if she did not care.
Although his hackles rose, instinct quickly told Richard Malinder that it was a pretence. It mattered to her, though she would not admit it. He did not think she would admit anything to him—yet. He took possession of her hands again, turning them over, smoothing them with fingers callused from sword and reins. Hers were no better than his, he mused, no softer, and impossibly red and rough with swollen knuckles and chapped skin, nails chipped and broken. Not the hands of a lady of birth. His lips tightened as he came to under stand her life at Llanwardine.
‘You will not have to scrub floors here, lady.’
‘Thank God.’ She looked at her hands with a little frown of distaste. ‘This was from digging for roots in frozen ground. And breaking the ice on the water to wash the bowls after meals.’
‘Chilblains?’ he enquired in some sympathy. He enfolded her fingers gently within his.
Elizabeth sighed. ‘I fear so. And my toes. Jane Bringsty urges pennyroyal salve on me, but to no avail.’
‘We must look after you here. I cannot have a Malinder bride suffering.’
He looked again at her hands, warmly enclosed within his. They might be damaged and painful, but her fingers were long and slender, the nails pale ovals. They could be beautiful, he suspected. And it reminded him that he must give her some symbol of their union. Not a ring yet, he decided. Not until she could wear it with pride and some sat is faction. But he knew exactly what he would give her.
Elizabeth made no attempt to pull away. When, in a noble gesture of chivalry towards his bride, Richard bent his head to kiss her work-scarred hands, he felt the slightest return of pressure as she tightened her fingers on his. The little gesture of trust tugged at his heart, surprising him, so that he felt compelled to turn her hand to press his lips to her palm. In contrast to her fingers the skin was enticingly soft so that he lingered, his lips warming, then looking up to find her eyes searching his face. He was trans fixed by the beauty of
Richard looked at his bride’s stern face with a complex mix of astonishment and admiration and decided to be just as forth right. ‘My own oath is given to that same King Henry, whatever the state of his wits, because he is the anointed King, whilst the Plantagenets have bloody treachery in mind.’ He smiled a little as she stiffened at his accusation. ‘I see we shall never agree on this divisive issue—but with such honesty between us, we shall do well enough together.’
‘I expect we shall.’ She risked a slanted glance ‘We are both adult and see the value of honesty and loyalty between man and wife. I dislike pretence and disguise.’
‘And I.’ How strong she was beneath her pale fragility, how magnificently controlled in the circumstances. But she was not a comfort able presence. He felt it was a bit like negotiating an alliance with a potential enemy with the flags of war still raised on both sides.
‘And the marriage ceremony?’ Elizabeth asked bluntly.
‘Soon. I see no reason to prolong the arrangements.’ He leaned against the parapet to watch the play of emotion over her face. ‘If that is to your liking, of course—I suppose I should never underestimate the amount of time needed by the females of a house hold.’
‘I have no objection. I have no experience of such matters.’ Her flat words were accompanied by a little lift of her shoulders as if she did not care.
Although his hackles rose, instinct quickly told Richard Malinder that it was a pretence. It mattered to her, though she would not admit it. He did not think she would admit anything to him—yet. He took possession of her hands again, turning them over, smoothing them with fingers callused from sword and reins. Hers were no better than his, he mused, no softer, and impossibly red and rough with swollen knuckles and chapped skin, nails chipped and broken. Not the hands of a lady of birth. His lips tightened as he came to under stand her life at Llanwardine.
‘You will not have to scrub floors here, lady.’
‘Thank God.’ She looked at her hands with a little frown of distaste. ‘This was from digging for roots in frozen ground. And breaking the ice on the water to wash the bowls after meals.’
‘Chilblains?’ he enquired in some sympathy. He enfolded her fingers gently within his.
Elizabeth sighed. ‘I fear so. And my toes. Jane Bringsty urges pennyroyal salve on me, but to no avail.’
‘We must look after you here. I cannot have a Malinder bride suffering.’
He looked again at her hands, warmly enclosed within his. They might be damaged and painful, but her fingers were long and slender, the nails pale ovals. They could be beautiful, he suspected. And it reminded him that he must give her some symbol of their union. Not a ring yet, he decided. Not until she could wear it with pride and some sat is faction. But he knew exactly what he would give her.
Elizabeth made no attempt to pull away. When, in a noble gesture of chivalry towards his bride, Richard bent his head to kiss her work-scarred hands, he felt the slightest return of pressure as she tightened her fingers on his. The little gesture of trust tugged at his heart, surprising him, so that he felt compelled to turn her hand to press his lips to her palm. In contrast to her fingers the skin was enticingly soft so that he lingered, his lips warming, then looking up to find her eyes searching his face. He was trans fixed by the beauty of
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