Page 38 of A Most Forgettable Girl

Gunnilde gave a watery sniff and settled further into his, well, by this point, it could be called nothing short of an embrace. “Do you suppose that is why half of them do not like me?” she asked in a small voice, her breath tickling the base of his throat, distracting him from the sensation of her soft, full breasts pushing up against his chest.

“Well, it certainly is not because you are nice,” he replied without thinking. She gasped, and to his horror he felt her start to tremble in his arms. “Wait, no,” he began in panic, “I did not mean—”

“Oh, James!” she gurgled, and to his immense relief he realized she was shaking with tremulous laughter. “Thank you.” She sounded so sincere he was instantly relieved. Mayhap he had not made such a mess of things after all.

To his astonishment, she wriggled up the bed, her warm body brushing against his until he felt her breath on his face. Then she bestowed a smacking kiss to his cheek, disentangled herself, and rolled onto her back with a sigh.

Gods, for a minute there, he had thought... But no, that had been a dismissive good-night kiss, not like the others which had been of a more exploratory and invigorating nature. It was just as well, James told himself firmly, despite the stab of disappointment he experienced at her retreat. He felt decidedly disordered again, and the burgeonings below were back with a vengeance. It was no surprise then, when he lay awake long after Gunnilde had fallen fast asleep, watching the gray light start to filter through the window.

He lay there puzzling over the conundrum, for he could make no sense of it. Someone had told his wife that she was “eminently forgettable,” and for some reason her brother’s arrival at court had sparked the memory afresh.

Could one of the lads, in the thoughtlessness of youth, have uttered such words? Kit Montmayne seemed the most tactless of the bunch but so far as James had seen he reserved his scorn mostly for his fellow squires. Oh, and for babies, he recalled belatedly.

Hal had said Gunnilde wanted babies. Five of them. Oh, and a knight of her own. The recollection disquieted him. Of course, technically, he was a knight, though he had never jousted in his life. Five children though! He had never imagined himself in such a family role. Family was a burden in his experience, not something to be pursued.

Giving his head a quick shake, he returned to the problem at hand. Just who in the hells had called Gunnilde forgettable? The nice part was more understandable. She was nice, for she had a core of kindness and decency that could not be denied. She had a generous nature even if she was flaunting, flirtatious, and frivolous. But forgettable? That she was not.

He doubted her brother would have said such a thing. If Hal Payne had found his sister forgettable, he would not have had so many thoughts about her future bridegroom. Besides, he fancied Hal was also a gregarious type, when he was not in high dudgeon. His friends treated him with camaraderie, even when he was plainly out of temper.

That left only Cuthbert Ames. James found he could not suspect him either, for the boy clearly regarded Gunnilde with an open and easy affection. Ridiculous, of course, that Hal had thought to match his sister with him, but then boys did get odd notions at times. Gunnilde had clearly found the suggestion as absurd as he, so he would not dwell on that any longer, he decided firmly, for he found it strangely annoying.

So, who had made the remark? Who had wounded Gunnilde Payne so deeply that she still cried to think of it even now? Could it have been the father who had not bothered to find her a husband? Or perhaps her stepmother was the more likely culprit. Were uncaring parents the reason she had fled to court in the first place?

Then he recalled her muffled words, That was what he said. He. So no, it could not have been her stepmother. Suddenly, he remembered that cryptic utterance the Queen had given about his wife. She will never fade into the background, that one... She will no longer allow it.

What the hells? A sudden suspicion flooded his thoughts, and he turned to look at Gunnilde’s sleeping face in the gray morning light. Had she confided in the Queen? And if so, why was he so damned put out about it?

12

Gunnilde awoke betimes and lay quietly so as not to disturb James, who was still in the throes of a deep, though fitful slumber. He was an uneasy sleeper, tossing and turning and muttering unintelligible words beneath his breath. She had not known that people could glower in their sleep but somehow James managed it.

It seemed such a shame that one so handsome and talented should be so worn down with cares, she thought sadly. For doubtless it was his money worries and responsibilities that weighed on him so heavily, even in his sleep. She hoped she had not added much to his burden, though she was sure she had as a dowerless bride.

In any case, she had resolved to help him, had she not? She would make promoting his cause her number-one priority, higher even than ingratiating herself with the Queen or appeasing her fellow ladies-in-waiting. James needed her aid, and she would give it to him. It was nothing less than her duty as his wife.

He had a lovely profile, she reflected, propping herself up on her elbow and eyeing it appreciatively. She had been ungenerous before when she thought such his eyelashes and kissable mouth wasted on him. Why should men not be pretty after all? It did not detract from his manliness one whit, for he was both well proportioned and strong of limb.

Could he really be a virgin, as Cuthbert had intimated? Gunnilde pressed her fingers to her lips. His kiss had certainly been tentative but then, maybe he had been unsure of its reception? Once she had made it plain that she welcomed it, he had not been so hesitant.

All those ladies who had sighed over him had not been so foolish as Gunnilde had first supposed. It was funny how some people could improve of acquaintance while others did the opposite. Thoughts of the previous evening flooded her mind. In truth, James had held his own quite creditably against Hal and his entourage.

For a minute she had feared he would turn all stuffy and formal and be unequal to the task, but no, he had taken it all in his stride. He had not even seemed bothered about being swathed in a bedsheet for their visit. Mayhap her kisses had fortified him for the ordeal, she thought, a smile crooking her lips. Her gaze returned to James’s perfect profile.

It seemed a crime that such a pretty mouth should remain unkissed. No, she shook her head. She was being ridiculous. Even if James was a virgin, he would surely have snatched a few kisses over the years. He could scarcely have avoided such a thing, not with his face. Even she had been kissed, for pity’s sake, despite her large teeth and hefty person.

She grimaced. What a stroke of bad luck that Sir James Attley should have broken his arm. Having two Sir Jameses at large might have caused some confusion but it would have been far preferable to having Sir Ned Bevan in close proximity.

She had hoped it would be a good few months until she was forced to see him again. Months she would have spent recovering her composure, so that when she next beheld him it would be with cool indifference. Instead, here she was a scarce two months later confronted with the horrible prospect of seeing him again.

Clearly, she was not recovered for she had blubbed like an infant the night before, wretchedly exposing herself! At least James had been her only witness, and he would hardly betray her. Indeed, he had done his best to console her, despite the fact her words had doubtless thrown him into utter confusion.

Bless the man, he was quite useless at pretty speech, in spite of his appearance! That had certainly been why he had commissioned a poet to write that poem for Constance, and very likely why he did not like ballads.

In any case, she thought, cheering up, things had changed a good deal since she had last seen Sir Ned. For one thing, she was a married woman. For another, she had two months’ experience at court under her belt.

Lastly, and most importantly, she was now a lady-in-waiting to the Queen herself. She was no longer quite as forgettable as she had been. She would do her best to avoid Sir Ned, but when their paths did inevitably cross, she need not run and hide or be ashamed.

The door latch sounded, startling her, and Gunnilde shrank instinctively into James’s side. He turned abruptly, slinging an arm around her and dragged her in close, resting his head upon her breasts with a gusty sigh. Oh. He would be mortified if he was to wake like this, she thought, peering over blankets.