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“I’m glad you like them,” he said shrugging it on over his shirt. “As the same tailor will be addressing the matter of your wardrobe shortly.”

“Mine? But surely I can send for my clothes from Thurrold.”

“You will need court clothes, Fenella,” he pointed out. “Not country clothes.” He sat on the edge of the bed, removed his ring and a discreet chain from round his neck with several objects suspended on it.

“Even if I will be sent to Vawdrey Keep shortly?” she asked in puzzlement.

“You can maintain two wardrobes. One here at court and one in the country.”

The extravagance of such a notion appeared to shock her.

“When you were presented at court formerly,” he persisted. “You would have had a formal court gown.”

“Oh yes,” she agreed. “My father had it commissioned. But that was years ago.”

Oswald nodded. “Before or after our marriage?” he asked, swinging fully on to the large bed. He piled some pillows behind him and patted the wide mattress. “Come and join me, Fenella.”

She looked nervous as she approached the bed from the opposite side, still fastening the long row of round silver buttons down the front of the dressing robe. It was far too long for her and she almost tripped on the hem, before clambering onto the bed and arranging her own pile of cushions to recline on. He saw she held her breath, when he reached across to touch her face with the back of his hand.

“You don’t feel feverish,” he commented withdrawing. He heard her in-drawn shaky breath as he rolled back to his own side of the bed. Really, the bed was so wide that they could both sleep in it without ever touching. Doubtless she was remembering that very morning when she had woken to his hard cock pressed against her buttocks. His lips twisted. No-one had been more surprised than he to wake up to soft female body in his arms. Reaching behind his head he grabbed a large pillow and then dropped it lengthways between them. “I’m afraid I do expect you to sleep in the same bed as me, while we are at court. But we could use a bolster between us if it makes you more comfortable about my intentions.”

“Thank you,” she said with such clear relief it almost made him smile. He watched her relax back onto the pillows and rearrange his robe around her.

“Are you hungry? I’ve told Meldon to serve our meal in here. Otherwise I’ll have to perform introductions to my brother Roland that I’m sure you’re not prepared for.”

“I remember Roland,” she said surprising him. “He spent our entire betrothal feast pulling faces at me.”

Oswald grimaced. “Yes, that does sound like him,” he agreed. “I’d like to tell you he has improved with age but that would be a lie.”

She looked a bit taken aback. “Well, you met my brother Gilbert,” she said lamely. “He – he does have some good qualities,” she added painstakingly.

Oswald was tempted to ask what they were, but didn’t want to make her freeze back up again. He had seen no discernible virtue in her brother. Certainly not in the way he had abruptly abandoned her to his own tender mercies. “You did not answer my question,” he said instead.

“Question?”

“About your court dress.”

She cleared her throat. “I was aged fifteen years when I was presented at the summer court at Caer-Lyonnes. I suppose, we were married at that time,” she said weakly. “Though of course, we neither of us knew of it.” She cast a quick appraising look at him. “You were in battle at the time in the north. We heard tell you were captured briefly, at Adarva.” She tucked her feet up behind her and rolled onto her side to look at him.

Aiming to keep their conversation flowing, although not a subject he was keen to discuss, Oswald nodded in agreement. “Yes,” he answered. “For four months.”

Her eyes were wide. “You were a prisoner?”

“You must not imagine I was in some dank prison cell. Nothing so terrible I assure you. Instead my status wavered between guest and hostage, depending on the fickle loyalties of my host Sir Arnold Pryke. It was a trying time, mostly due to a healing battle wound and my frustration at being cooped up against my will.”

She digested this a moment. “It must have been hard at twenty-one. How did you escape?”

He smiled again. “I didn’t. You must not expect heroics from me, Fenella. My Father finally paid the ransom and I was free to join the King’s army again.”

“What happened to Sir Arnold Pryke?” she asked fixing her gaze on him expectantly.

He was silent a moment. “I forget now,” he yawned. “He came to some inglorious end I’m sure. It’s never wise to provoke a savage beast.” He turned his head to look at her. “Wymer’s sigil is the golden lion. He is very warlike in battle. My other brother is his chief general. Do you remember Mason at all?”

“Ye-es,” she replied. “He was closer to you in age and very stern, even at eighteen.”

“Stern?” Oswald considered this. “Perhaps. His upbringing was not particularly joyful as my father’s bastard.”

“But he is distinguished now?” she ventured. “Is he not?”