to face the infidels side by side not five months after that. He’s the one responsible for getting me back to England in one piece.” Alban gestured toward the great hall. “But that story must needs save for another time. Will you accompany me to break your fast?”
“Aye, ’twill be welcome.” She paused and glanced at Alban, uncertain as to whether or not she should voice her concerns about her husband’s whereabouts. In the end, the knight’s kind expression helped her to make the decision. “Have you seen Lord Camville yet this morn, Sir Alban? I had thought to meet with him during mass.”
Alban looked surprised, but he masked the expression quickly. “There’s no need for alarm. ’Tis not Gray’s habit to seek daily mass. Your wedding was the first time I’ve seen him in a church since his last sojourn with King Henry.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize.”
“’Tis of no matter. There’s no shame in knowing less than all about a man you met only yesterday.”
Catherine nodded, troubled nonetheless. Her husband avoided the comfort of God and church? It boded ill, flaunting against the most basic rules of society. Even Eduard, as sinful as he was, attended mass daily. She’d had to look at his hypocritical face all through the service this morn.
Just then a cloud shifted from in front of the sun, and the full force of light made Catherine squint. “’Twill be brighter today than yesterday, it seems,” she murmured, almost to herself.
“Aye,” Alban answered as he escorted her onward toward the hall. “Gray will be pleased that no rain will mar his tournament—less mud usually means fewer injuries.”
Catherine frowned. “Does he expect many men to be wounded?”
“’Tis not uncommon.” Alban shrugged. “In mélées bruises and broken bones are to be expected. ’Tis much the same as regular battle, which is why the king doesn’t always view it with favor.”
“Is my husband not concerned, then, of incurring the king’s wrath with his mélée ?”
“King Henry indulges Gray more often than not. War is a dangerous enterprise, and tournaments serve as our best and only preparation for real battle.”
Catherine was ready to ask another question, but before she could say anything, a hand gripped her arm, clamping down hard on the worst of her bruises there.
She stifled a gasp as Eduard’s voice hissed in her ear, “Sweet sister, I’ve had to run a merry chase to catch up with you.” Then louder, for Alban’s benefit, he added, “You left the chapel too quickly for me to bid you good morn.”
Standing still where he’d been near the door, Alban glanced warily back and forth between them. Catherine struggled to look unconcerned at Eduard’s interruption. “How silly of me not to havewaited,” she murmured, “but I was so interested in hearing Sir Alban tell of the tournament today that I paid no attention.”
“Ah, yes, the mélée . It should provide us with some lively sport, eh, Warton?”
“Indeed.”
Eduard smiled, though the look was more predatory than friendly. “I’m hoping to take ransom from Camville on the field today. ’Twould be a fine jest to trounce him so soon after his wedding to my dear sister.” Grinning now, Eduard pulled Catherine against him as if giving her an affectionate hug.
A muscle twitched in Alban’s jaw. “I wouldn’t wager my spurs on besting Gray. ’Twould be unwise to attempt it.” Then, as if dismissing Eduard, he directed his gaze to Catherine. “You’ll be coming in soon, then?”
“Aye, we’ll be in directly,” Eduard answered for her. “I plan to eat hearty in preparation for battle.”
Alban gave them a curt nod and stepped into the hall. As soon as he disappeared, Eduard renewed his punishing hold on her and walked her across the yard. In a few moments they’d rounded a corner of the main building, secluding them in the shadows between the castle wall and the stables. Gripping her shoulders, Eduard shoved her
“Aye, ’twill be welcome.” She paused and glanced at Alban, uncertain as to whether or not she should voice her concerns about her husband’s whereabouts. In the end, the knight’s kind expression helped her to make the decision. “Have you seen Lord Camville yet this morn, Sir Alban? I had thought to meet with him during mass.”
Alban looked surprised, but he masked the expression quickly. “There’s no need for alarm. ’Tis not Gray’s habit to seek daily mass. Your wedding was the first time I’ve seen him in a church since his last sojourn with King Henry.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize.”
“’Tis of no matter. There’s no shame in knowing less than all about a man you met only yesterday.”
Catherine nodded, troubled nonetheless. Her husband avoided the comfort of God and church? It boded ill, flaunting against the most basic rules of society. Even Eduard, as sinful as he was, attended mass daily. She’d had to look at his hypocritical face all through the service this morn.
Just then a cloud shifted from in front of the sun, and the full force of light made Catherine squint. “’Twill be brighter today than yesterday, it seems,” she murmured, almost to herself.
“Aye,” Alban answered as he escorted her onward toward the hall. “Gray will be pleased that no rain will mar his tournament—less mud usually means fewer injuries.”
Catherine frowned. “Does he expect many men to be wounded?”
“’Tis not uncommon.” Alban shrugged. “In mélées bruises and broken bones are to be expected. ’Tis much the same as regular battle, which is why the king doesn’t always view it with favor.”
“Is my husband not concerned, then, of incurring the king’s wrath with his mélée ?”
“King Henry indulges Gray more often than not. War is a dangerous enterprise, and tournaments serve as our best and only preparation for real battle.”
Catherine was ready to ask another question, but before she could say anything, a hand gripped her arm, clamping down hard on the worst of her bruises there.
She stifled a gasp as Eduard’s voice hissed in her ear, “Sweet sister, I’ve had to run a merry chase to catch up with you.” Then louder, for Alban’s benefit, he added, “You left the chapel too quickly for me to bid you good morn.”
Standing still where he’d been near the door, Alban glanced warily back and forth between them. Catherine struggled to look unconcerned at Eduard’s interruption. “How silly of me not to havewaited,” she murmured, “but I was so interested in hearing Sir Alban tell of the tournament today that I paid no attention.”
“Ah, yes, the mélée . It should provide us with some lively sport, eh, Warton?”
“Indeed.”
Eduard smiled, though the look was more predatory than friendly. “I’m hoping to take ransom from Camville on the field today. ’Twould be a fine jest to trounce him so soon after his wedding to my dear sister.” Grinning now, Eduard pulled Catherine against him as if giving her an affectionate hug.
A muscle twitched in Alban’s jaw. “I wouldn’t wager my spurs on besting Gray. ’Twould be unwise to attempt it.” Then, as if dismissing Eduard, he directed his gaze to Catherine. “You’ll be coming in soon, then?”
“Aye, we’ll be in directly,” Eduard answered for her. “I plan to eat hearty in preparation for battle.”
Alban gave them a curt nod and stepped into the hall. As soon as he disappeared, Eduard renewed his punishing hold on her and walked her across the yard. In a few moments they’d rounded a corner of the main building, secluding them in the shadows between the castle wall and the stables. Gripping her shoulders, Eduard shoved her
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