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The king rubbed his hands together and rose. “Well, that’s that. I have lands I sorely needed and a cartload of coin for my coffers. My subjects appear to have sorted things out amongst themselves. You look tired, Robbie. Why don’t you rest a bit this afternoon?”
It sounded a fine suggestion to Robert Burnell, and he nodded.
The king turned to leave the chamber, then smacked the palm of his hand against his forehead. “I almost forgot. Bring your writing materials, Robbie, there’s a delegation from some Scottish fool wishing to beg our royal favor.”
Burnell sighed, then smiled. “Aye, sire. Immediately.”
Chantry Hall, Cornwall
Roland and Daria stood on the northern ramparts of Chantry Hall, looking over the rolling hills dotted with at least one hundred sheep chewing at the sparse winter grasses. It was early January, but the air was crisp rather than cold and the sky blue and clear. It was a Cornwall day that delighted every man and woman living within its boundaries.
“It warms the heart,” Roland said, waving an expansive arm toward his sheep.
“It also gives a peculiar order to the air,” said his wife as she drew her thick cloak more closely around her.
Roland hugged her to his side, kissed her temple, then pointed eastward toward the king’s departing messenger, Florin, who’d spent the night and imbibed too much ale. “I wonder what Edward will say when he receives my missive.”
Daria laughed. “If Florin arrives intact with it. Husband, your reply to your king bordered on the cocky. It was rather in Dienwald’s insolent style, I think.”
“Ha. Dienwald slinked about when the king taxed him in October about our two dead earls, fumbled all over himself and in general laid claim to being a better fool than Crooky.”
“That’s what Philippa said, not Dienwald.”
“As I recall, he smacked her bottom for that. Do you think the king also wrote to Graelam and Kassia?”
“We will be certain to ask when they are next here.” Daria turned and smiled up at her husband.
“Do you feel well, sweeting? Our babe is content?” He drew her against him as he spoke, and gently rubbed his palm over her swelling belly.
“Aye, both of us are filled with well-being and both of us are getting quite hungry.”
Roland looked depressed. “If you had told me that but a few months ago I would have considered your hunger to be of a more agreeable nature. I would have lifted you over my shoulder and carried you into our western pasture and loved you amongst the eglantine and bluebells. But now I must play the forbearing husband, all patience and long-enduring. It is difficult, Daria, for I am young and lusty and filled with—” She grabbed his ears and pulled his face down, nipping the tip of his nose, kissing his mouth again and again. “There is no eglantine now, Roland, but there are pine cones in the forest. What say you, husband? Are you all words or will you give me deeds?”
“And I thought I was the only one suffering.” He lifted her high against him, her feet off the rampart wooden walkway. “No forest bed for you, Daria, but a soft bed where I will love you until you fall into a stupor.”
“I think first I shall have Alice prepare her wonderful mulled wine.”
He eased her back down and she leaned against him, hugging her arms tightly around his back.
“Life is sweet with you, Roland. Life is all I could wish it to be.”
“Even with the smelly sheep and us standing downwind from them?”
“Aye, even that. Come now, my lord husband.”
“If our king but knew who the cocky one really was at Chantry Hall—I wonder if he would be surprised.”
She gave him a sunny smile. “Who do you think is the cocky one at Saint Erth?”
Roland didn’t say a word.
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