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‘You disagree?’ A faint look of hurt swept over her face.
‘No.’ He lifted his tankard, forcing himself to smile again. At least she hadn’t said love. ‘To honesty, respect and...friendship.’
‘Honesty, respect and friendship. And I’m truly sorry for what happened to you at Bouvines.’
‘Many suffered worse.’
‘That doesn’t mean you didn’t suffer, too.’ Her forehead creased slightly. ‘It must be especially hard for you if your father is so close to the King.’
‘Not so much any more, but they were comrades together twenty years ago. My father helped John overthrow William Longchamp while King Richard was fighting abroad.’
‘You mean the Chancellor who was exiled?’
‘The very same. They plotted together and John gave him my mother as a reward.’
‘Your parents’ marriage wasn’t a love match, then?’
‘No.’ He snorted at the idea. ‘Or one based on friendship either. She was rich and that was all he required.’
‘Maybe they fell in love later?’
‘They barely had time. My mother died nine months after the wedding giving birth to me.’
‘Oh... I’m sorry.’
‘So am I.’ He shrugged. ‘Whatever my father felt for her, he didn’t mourn long. His next wife was Judith, Alan’s mother. She was a merchant’s daughter, one of the wealthiest in England, but she died young, too. After that, there was Marthe. She was older than he was, past childbearing age, but a wealthy widow in need of a home. She was always kind to Alan and me.’
‘But she died, too?’
‘Yes. Of a wasting illness one year while my father was at court. I’m not sure he even noticed.’ He paused, regretting his blunt tone when he saw the look on her face. ‘Forgive me, but my father and I are not close. When I was younger, I craved his attention, his love even, but eventually Alan and I both gave up. I should warn you, my father only cares about two things in life: money and Wintercott.’
‘Surely he’ll be pleased to see you again?’
‘We’ll see.’ He looked up, nodding his head in thanks as a serving girl placed two bowls of steaming hot stew in front of them. ‘Now you don’t have to eat all of it, but you should have something.’
‘I’ll try.’ Constance sounded less than enthusiastic, picking up her spoon and dipping it half-heartedly into the sauce as the maid walked away again.
‘I can ask for something else if you wish?’
‘No.’ She wrapped her other arm around her stomach. ‘I’m sure it’s delicious. I’m just not that hungry.’
He felt a scowl coming on and stopped himself just in time. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘A little better now that we’ve stopped moving.’
‘Good. We’ll sleep upstairs, but I’ve arranged for you to use the owner’s room after we’ve eaten so that you can change your clothes or...’ he gestured vaguely in the direction of her stomach ‘...do whatever you need to do.’
‘Thank you.’ She looked surprised. ‘That was thoughtful.’
‘Speaking of clothes, surely you’ve warmed up by now?’ He looked over her apparel curiously. She’d removed her cloak, but was still wearing both her surcoats, which considering her close proximity to the fire was somewhat perplexing. Her cheeks looked like a pair of rosy apples.
‘I’m fine.’
‘You must be baking under all of that.’
‘Well, I’m not.’
‘Mmm.’ He echoed her earlier scepticism.
