Page 28

“A good day’s practice, my lord!” Sir Douglas Farleigh called out, and Kentigern raised a hand to him in a farewell gesture. He was damned if he knew why, but some of the youngsters, like Farleigh, seemed to be going out of their way to persecute him with their friendship these days.

“Let’s get out of here,” he rumbled at Jakeman who was strapping his breast plate to the back of his horse. His manservant nodded, hastening to fetch the discarded pile of lances.

“Do we return to the house on Lime Street?” Jakeman asked.

“Where else?” Kentigern asked irritably. His servant had brought the last of their things from The Jennet Treethat very morning.

“I heard that several more knights arrived in the capital this day,” Jakeman replied calmly. “The king is holding a banquet tonight at the palace welcoming all knights to this summer’s tournament.”

Kentigern scowled. “I received no invitation.”

“It’s open to all competitors,” Jakeman responded unruffled. “There were notices posted on all the city gates this morn.”

Kentigern considered the prospect. “Who’s arrived?” he asked abruptly. “Vawdrey? Orde?”

“Sir Roland and Sir Garman have both arrived today, my lord,” Jakeman responded promptly.

“Good,” Konrad grunted. It would be the first tournament this year where all the major players were present, he thought sourly. “What about that arrogant bastard, de Crecy?” If he was going to beat the best, they may as well all be present.

Jakeman looked thoughtful. “I have not heard tell of Sir Jeffree,” he admitted, then seemed to hesitate.

“What?” Konrad barked suspiciously.

“It’s naught, only there is some rumor doing the rounds that Sir Jeffree is recently married.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Konrad demanded, swinging himself up into his saddle. “I am lately married. I fail to see why that should influence my tournament attendance.”

Jakeman shrugged his shoulders slightly. “As to that, my lord, I am sure I couldn’t say.”

Konrad glared at him. Jakeman’s tact could sometimes be damnably annoying. “What of de Bussell?” he growled, thinking of the impudent dog who had lately taken the northern princess to wife.

Jakeman shook his head. “He is not expected, my lord.”

A pity, Konrad thought bitterly. He would have enjoyed rubbing Armand de Bussell’s face in the dirt for his damned impertinence in laying his filthy hands on the princess. He was a fair competitor too, Konrad acknowledged grudgingly, when he kept his focus on the competition field. You never knew with de Bussell whether he would pose a threat or not.

Dismissing all thought of his rivals, Konrad let his thoughts wander back to the same subject that had been plaguing his mind all morning. The black-haired beauty he had left in the early hours of the morning. For some reason, he could not quite banish the vision of her that rose in his mind’s eye or the disquieting memory of washing her maiden’s blood off his cock.

For some reason, he recalled particularly vividly the expression in her eyes when he had left her lying on the bed. It was not just her rounded, lush body that was soft and yielding, but her feelings too. She had expected him to tarry and give her gentle words after her deflowering, he supposed with scorn and a hint of something else. Discomfort.

Why he felt this way he knew not, for he had not led her to suppose he would be a considerate husband. He had not misled her at all. Beddings were never enjoyable for virgins, he reflected with an irritable shrug of his shoulders. If she had been told aught else, then they were the ones to blame for her expectations, not him.

For some reason, Renlow flashed into his mind and the conviction that Renlow would not have given sweet Aimee such a wedding night. His jaw tightened. She must have bitterly repented the impulse that had seen her swap places with her mewling sister. Renlow would not have strode from the bedchamber, leaving her a pale, trembling wreck in his wake, that was for damned sure. He cursed beneath his breath.

“My lord?” Jakeman looked across at him.

“It’s nothing,” he muttered. “Let’s get out of here.”

It did not take long to make their way through the city reaching the impressive looking townhouse Gerold Ankatel had bought for his daughter in the prosperous quarter of town. Konrad looked up now at the looming black and white monstrosity and dismounted, passing the reins to his manservant so Jakeman could lead Actaeon to the ostler he had employed in the next street.

Steeling himself, he walked into the house and found the entrance passageway quiet and unobstructed. The door to the buttery was wide open, showing evidence of some industry. The mounds of furniture had been removed, and all the room contained now were two large ale casks and some sacks of grain. Konrad pulled the door shut and carried on to the door that opened into the largest room, the dining chamber.

He checked on the threshold thinking it was empty, before perceiving his wife was sat very quiet and still before the unlit fireplace. In her lap were two unopened packages which she seemed to be regarding with some blankness. When he cleared his throat, she looked up quickly, shoving both packages behind a cushion.

“Good evening, my lord,” she said with studied brightness. “You have had a good day?”

“Tolerable,” he answered, coming into the room. He wanted to ask what she had hidden behind the cushion. Unwelcome bride gifts? He felt strangely curious. Instead, he looked about. “Where is everyone?”

“Golda is in the kitchen supervising the new staff,” she answered after a moment’s pause. “Our cook, Stirling, joined us today and a manservant named Matthews who seems a very capable fellow.”