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“Her people were from the east?”

“Yes. From Samare.”

“You have lovely coloring.”

“You think so?”

“Yes.” He reached for her hand, enfolding it in his. “We tend to be darker in the north than those from southern Karadok, but you are darker still.” He ran a hand up and down her lower back caressingly. “I hope our children look like you.”

Aimee turned her face to lay her cheek against his shoulder. “And I hope they look like both of us.”

He smiled. “That is usually the way of things, I believe.” They lay silent for a few moments, and then he sighed. He did not really want to go to the blasted joust. He wanted to loll here all day, he thought with faint astonishment. Until this moment, he would have said jousting was his favorite pastime in all the world.

Aimee’s hand moved over his chest in swirls like figures of eight. He liked it. Too much. He stared down at her, a vague unease spreading through his limbs. What was he doing here lying on his back and letting her pet him like this when he had a hard slog ahead of him today? A hard slog he was ill-prepared for after a night’s carousing. He girded his loins, sat up, and cleared his throat. “I need to fetch you some water to clean up.”

“What time do you suppose it is?” Aimee asked when he rolled out of bed a moment later. He did not think she sounded as sorry about it as she ought.

“Half five?” he hazarded. “Something like that.”

He had a hurried wash in the cold basin and pulled on his clothes. His body protested to this rude treatment after reveling in pleasure. His head might tell him he needed to get ready for the joust, but the rest of him was protesting he should climb back in the bed with his wife.

He forced himself out of the tent. Outside, the rain had stopped, and he saw it had been naught but a quick shower. By the time he returned from the hall with two pails of hot water, the day was bidding to be a fair one. He thought Aimee might have fallen back to sleep as he ducked inside, however, he was wrong. His wife was bright-eyed, sat up, and hugging her knees. She was also chirpy. Extremely chirpy.

Konrad fetched her clothes from the pack and poured the first of the pails of water into the basin for her.

“Were many people up and about at the hall?” she asked cheerfully as she bent over the basin. He grunted and she half-turned, lowering her cloth. “Is that a yes or a no?”

“Just kitchen staff,” he said, forcing himself to drag his eyes from her pleasing form.

She turned back, apparently satisfied by his clipped reply, only to ask moments later, “What time will Jakeman attend us?”

Konrad rubbed his eyes. “About seven.”

“So late?”

“Proceedings don’t start until nine. What would be the point in his coming any earlier?”

“I suppose that is true,” she acknowledged, flinging her hair over one shoulder, and placing the basin on the floor to stand in it now, she had done her upper body.

Konrad cleared his throat and looked away as Aimee completed her wash. To give himself something to do, he fetched his broadsword and the oil rag to give it a quick polish.

“I hope Freda is doing well in Caer Lyoness without us,” Aimee said chattily as she tied a drying cloth about her body.

Freda? She wanted to talk about Freda? He had to think a moment before he could make a reply. “She’s a fully grown woman, Aimee,” he pointed out direly. “I am sure she will be fine.”

“Yes, but in a strange part of the country to her,” she said with a frown in her voice. “Did you know her only real friends up until now were household cats? She’s so sweet. How old is she, by the way?”

He had to think a moment, lowering his oil rag. “She must number between forty and fifty,” he answered with a frown.

“I have grown so fond of her,” Aimee sighed. “Freda loved how the brooch turned out, you know. She could not have been happier even if it had still belonged to her. She said she thought it had sapphires originally, but they were lost.”

He snorted. “My uncle likely sold them,” he said setting down his sword as Aimee walked toward the bed. “Freda has always shrunk from hard truths.”

Picking up the basin of water, he walked out of the pavilion and emptied it before returning to fill it with the second pail of hot water.

“She’s unfailingly kind,” Aimee pointed out. She had fetched a comb now and was drawing it through her hair.

He grunted dismissively. He did not want to talk about Freda. He needed to get ready for the day ahead.