By His Majesty's Grace. Jennifer Blake
attached, instead of yon fine piece of manhood? Indeed, milady, I say ’twould be a sorry bargain.”
Isabel gave her a jaundiced look. “You have ever had an eye for a nice pair of shoulders. There is far more to a man.”
“So you noticed his shoulders, did ye? And his legs, too, I’ll be bound—strong as oaks they be. As for what he’s got between them…”
“That isn’t what I meant!”
“But you won’t claim ’tis nay important.”
No, she could not say that, though she tried not to think overmuch about that part of Rand, or of what would happen on their wedding night. She was less than successful. In truth, she had tossed and turned in her litter after he left her, trying to forget the strength of his hands, his arms, the way he seemed to fill the small, swaying space they had shared. Yes, and the brief intimation of what it might be like to feel his weight upon her, his power inside her.
His hands had been gentle as he cradled her injured finger at Braesford, before he had ruthlessly pulled the broken bone ends back into place so they might set properly. Would he be the same behind the curtains of their marriage bed, gentle at first but merciless as he possessed her?
With a quick shake of her head to dislodge the disturbing thoughts and the light-headed feeling that came with them, she said, “The richness may also indicate the value of the alliance to Henry.”
“What way would that be?” Gwynne inquired with a frown.
“Because of the signal service Braesford performed for him some weeks ago, one that went awry.” She went on to explain in full, having no compunction about discussing the matter with Gwynne. The woman had done her best to protect both the girls and their mother during her second marriage, lying for them, making excuses, bringing them food and drink when they were shut away as punishment for some error. She had despised the Earl of Graydon and blamed him for their mother’s death, had rejoiced when he died. She was no fonder of his son and heir, their stepbrother.
“Aye,” Gwynne said with a wise nod. “I heard some such in the servants’ hall at Braesford. All there knew the lady had been the king’s mistress, knew men came and took her away.”
“And the baby?” Isabel asked sharply.
“The lady carried a bundle when she went. At least, so ’twas said after the charge of infant murder was spouted off in the great hall that night. Some swore they’d seen the babe, though no one went in and out the lady’s chamber except the maid she’d brought with her.”
Was this something the king should know? Isabel wondered if he would listen, or if, having such a network of spies in various parts of the realm, he knew it already.
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