To The Castle

“How old is he?” Nell asked.

“Seventy,” Roger replied.

“He seems very young for his age,” Nell said.

“He is. This year he insisted on going on a tour of his vassals that took us almost two months. He bore up wonderfully.”

“You sound as if you love him very much,” Nell said softly.

“My own father died when I was an infant and he is the only father I have ever known,” Roger replied matter-of-factly.

“What about your mother? She doesn’t reside at Wilton?”

“No. After my father died, my mother went to live at the convent in Cirencester.”

“Is she a nun?”

“No, she is still a laywoman, but she chooses to live there instead of at Wilton.”

Nell gave him a shy smile. “You seem to be surrounded by convent-dwelling women—first your mother and now your wife.”

“Yes.” He returned her smile. “It is odd.”

Her eyes slid away from his and her fingers once more clutched the front of her robe. “I have always slept in a nightgown,” she said. “Do you think I can sleep in this robe tonight?”

“I think you will be very uncomfortable if you do,” Roger said. “Velvet on a summer night, no matter if it is a bit chilly, is too warm. Besides, they will think it odd in the morning when the servants come in. I won’t look if that’s what you want.”

“That would be…good,” she said, relieved. “Should I get into bed now?”

“Go ahead,” he said. “I’ll just wait here.”

She slid off the bed and went to the other side. The cover had already been turned back and she quickly folded her robe at the bottom of the bed and slipped in between the sheets, pulling them up to her chin.

“It’s all right, I’m in bed,” she said to Roger.

He turned to look at her and smiled. I have a long way to go here, he told himself. Then, unselfconsciously, he shed his own robe and walked to the opposite side of the bed. He slipped in under the covers and pulled them up to his waist. Then he turned to Nell. She was staring resolutely at the ceiling.

“You can look at me,” he said softly.

She shot a swift look in his direction, then returned her stare to the ceiling.

“Will it be all right if I kiss your forehead?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said on a soft breath.

He moved closer to her, pushed himself up on his elbow and leaned over her. He bent lower and touched his lips to her forehead. Her skin was soft as silk and her hair smelled like lavender. He inhaled. “Your hair smells nice,” he said.

“Mama washed it in lavender soap,” she said.

“I like it.”

“I’m sure I can make some myself if you really like it,” she said.

He flopped on his back. “I like it on you. I’d lose all my status with my knights if I showed up smelling like lavender.”

She chuckled.

It was a charming sound, he thought. He was relieved to find she had a sense of humor.

“Good night, Nell,” he said.

“Good night, Roger,” she replied softly. With a wry smile, he settled himself to sleep.

Eight

Nell, who had scarcely slept at all the night before, slept deeply and was surprised when it was a male voice that called her back to the world.

“Nell, wake up,” Roger was saying. “Your maid is here to help you dress.”

She opened her eyes and looked into the dark gold eyes of her husband. He smiled at her. “Wake up,” he said again. “We are going to be late for mass.”