Page 16 of A Knight for Gwenllian

“Perfect.”

They looked at each other in the silence of the hall. When the scrutiny became too intense, Alexander decided to stir the fire back to life, adding two sizeable logs to the hearth. Then he watched the flames dance on Gwenllian’s alabaster skin. Dear God, but she was beautiful—and staying here with her alone was becoming dangerous.

Just as he was wondering whether he should suggest she go back to bed, a piercing cry sliced through the darkness.

Lady Isabeau was satisfied at last.

Chapter Six

As agreed, in the morning, Alexander told his brother about his plans to leave for Scotland that very same day.

“I’m afraid I cannot delay, but you’re welcome to stay here as long as you like.”

This graciousness cost him little, now that he was assured he would not have to endure their presence any longer. Colin did not answer, but Lady Isabeau bit into her slice of cheese with unnecessary slowness, holding his gaze all the while. Had she appealed to him in any way, he would have gone rock hard at the lust dancing in her eyes. As she stirred nothing in him except disgust, he cleared his throat and cut himself another slice of pie.

Thank God he was leaving. His meeting with the little Buttercup had been most propitious indeed.

By mid-morning, everything was ready.

“I must commend you on your choice of groom, my lord,” Lady Isabeau simpered. She had been hovering by his side during the whole of their preparations. “Peter is a most…efficient young man. Tireless and conscientious.”

Alexander gritted his teeth at the blatant allusion but didn’t respond. Didn’t the woman have an ounce of decency or discretion? She was speaking within hearing distance of Gwenllian, which was bad enough, but also of Colin. Didn’t she care to spare her lover’s sensibilities? Apparently not, and after all, his brother already knew what she had done the night before. Mayhap he had even participated.

A shudder went through Alexander at the thought.

He would have to go see Peter, make sure the lad had not been forced. Thankfully, it was all too possible that he hadn’t. A young man in his prime and full of vigor might well have jumped at the chance of bedding a beautiful woman the likes of which he would normally never approach. Still, Alexander had to be certain that was the case, or his conscience would never be clear.

He walked over to the stables. Peter smiled when he saw him and nodded to Starburst, who was looking around with interest.

“He’s all ready for you, my lord.”

“Thank you, so I see. And, Peter, if I may…”

Alexander made a grimace. Jesus, but this was awkward. Still. It had to be done. He didn’t want the people he employed to think he considered them as pawns to be used for his or his guests’ convenience.

He cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “I hope that what happened last night happened with your consent?”

The man flushed, as if he’d hoped his indiscretion would pass unnoticed, which was all too understandable. “I… Yes. It did. Please don’t think ill of me, my lord, but when I saw⁠—”

“I don’t think anything. I just wanted to ensure you hadn’t been coerced.”

“No.”

By the looks of things, the groom had spent the best night of his life. Alexander was relieved. At least something good had come of the whole debacle.

After one last nod at Peter, he walked back to Gwenllian.

“I have asked for our newest mare to be saddled for you. If you find her suitable, you can ride her to Scotland. Or if you prefer, you can borrow a horse from your uncle’s stable, one you’re more familiar with.”

He could tell from the way she ran her hand over the animal’s neck that she was still pained by the disappearance of her beloved mare. He was glad he had reminded his steward to redouble his efforts to find the horse while they were gone. He refused to think all was lost. The mare could not have gone far.

“Thank you, she’s beautiful,” Gwenllian said, smiling at him. “What’s her name?”

His mouth quivered. He had hoped she would ask him that question. “Buttercup.”

The pleasure the shared jest gave him was disproportionate. But perhaps he should not be surprised. Because he never allowed himself to get too close to a woman, he had never been in a position to build such a connection before.

“Buttercup. I’d say she was made for me.”