picks up what one can.â
There was something about the way the corner of his mouth curved when he spoke that made everything he said feel like the start of an improper joke. She found herself wanting to smile even in the silences, which was very unlike her.
âBut you studied under a rector or bishop, did you not?â
âOh, that.â He waved a hand. âYes, of course.â
âWhere?â
âIn, er, Basingstoke.â
âBasingstoke? The miller here is from Basingstoke. Perhaps the two of youââ
âThough I was only there for a short while,â he added hurriedly. âBit of a kerfuffle with the chief patroness. Had to move on.â
She gave him an interested smile. âDoes kerfuffle mean what I think it does?â
âBite your tongue,â he said, horrified, and she laughed. âIf you knew the patroness, you would apologize at once. Sheâs eighty if sheâs a dayâthough in reality, I think sheâs been dipped in amber. Sheâs been haunting young clerics for the last several centuries at least.â
And the wit of a courtier.
âPlease accept my apology.â She bent in a makeshift curtsy.
The farmer slowed enough to make it over a squat stone in the path without tipping his passengers onto the ground, though she slid rather indelicately into Kentâs side.
âHow long do we have until your fiancé raises the alarm over your absence?â he asked, helping her regain her former position.
âI can only guess.â The warmth of Kentâs hand lingered on her arm. âHe wouldnât want to be seen as a man whose lover had fled, that is certain. Heâd take matters into his own hands rather than enlist help.â
âAnd are you his lover?â
The curve of his mouth was gone, replaced by curiosity and something closer to concern. âI canât stand the man.â
âItâs none of my business, of course, but thatâs not quite what I asked.â
âNo,â she said. âIâm not.â
Did she imagine his shoulders relaxing?
âYet you accepted his proposal of marriage?â he said.
The farmer, peeved by a flock of passing sheep, stopped his whistling and began to wave his stick. A necessary silence fell over the cartâs occupants. Undine adjusted her skirts, feeling Kentâs probing gaze. After a beat or two, the cart started up again, and so did âTam Lin.â
âIt has nothing to do with desire,â she said under her breath.
âMoney then? Or position? Youâd be Lady Bridgewater, after all.â
He said it without judgment, just interest.
âBelieve when I tell you that receiving the wifely honorific of an English titleâ that English title in particularâwould offer me no pleasure.â
âSo not for love, lust, wealth, or title. What then?â
What could Kent know of the struggles for peace? Of men who wish that the bows and pistols in their hands would never rest? Of sons cut down at twenty or sixteen or twelve? Of the noblemen on both sides of the border who treated the centuries-old struggle like a game of cards, a pastime only for those who could afford the stakes? Nothing.
Or could he?
She saw compassion in those eyes as well as a desire to help, and she found herself tempted to tell him the truth.
In a farmerâs cart? To a man you hardly know? Fool.
âFor satisfaction,â she said. âMine.â
He turned, full face, to appraise her. For a long moment, he didnât say anything, and Undine wondered if sheâd offended him.
âRevenge can be a powerful motivator,â he said at last, adding more wistfully, âI doubt youâll find it very satisfying, though.â
She nearly laughed. Kent thought Bridgewater was a former lover whoâd slighted her. She wished to tell him it wasnât true, that Bridgewater would be the last man in the universe sheâd ever choose
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