How to Marry Your Wife by Stella Marie Alden

it back down. Her eyelids refused to stay open. Traveling was a chore that bested all others. The straw in the mattress rustled as he lay down beside her.
    An arm reached over her waist and tucked her into his warm body. “I’ve dreamed of you here, for hundreds of nights.”
    “And I of you, thusly wrapped around me.” She was too tired to lie.
    “Kiss me and I will lavish your body with delight.”
    “I fear too much.”
    “That I’ll hurt you? You must know I wouldn’t.”
    She breathed deep. “It’s not for my body I fear, it’s my soul. When you leave, you’ll take it with you and I’ll never ever survive that pain again.”
    He sighed and kissed the tip of her ear. “Soon, you’ll believe me when I vow I’ll never leave you. Sleep tight.”
    “I will.” She snuggled close, amazed at how much she needed to believe him.

Chapter 10
    Jacob tapped a familiar code on his door, while the sun still slept deep within its chambers. Fumbling, Thomas unwrapped himself from around his wife, found a tunic, and felt along the wall on his way to the door.
    By the light of Jacob’s small taper, they descended the narrow staircase and navigated between the endless pallets in the dining area. Still more men lay sleeping upon the ground outside. They made their way to the river’s edge by the light of a half-moon, who, like Jacob, refused to sleep.
    The frogs started chirping, a clear indication that none followed, and Thomas sighed. “What news have you?”
    Jacob’s bright eyes darted up and down the river. He motioned them deeper into a copse of trees. “I’m not sure, but something is amiss.”
    “Come now, certainly you can do better than—”
    “Do I have permission to speak my mind of your English king and his leaders, Sahib?” His words were barely audible over the night noises.
    Thomas nodded.
    “Word has spread that Annandale of Carlisle has let more than one English estate fall to the Scots while his son, Robert, fights in Wales with Edward.”
    “That would make sense, as many knights were sent to aide Edward in the war.”
    “That’s what Annandale would have you think, but the grumblings say more. After all are dead and not one heir left to claim the land, he nobly swoops in and takes it as his own for England. He’s especially fond of the smaller estates, like yours.”
    An unbidden hiss escaped from within Thomas. “And Edward, no doubt, is full of gratitude. Damnation. The Steward of Carlisle should protect the northern borders, not plunder them. I’ll never be able to gather enough men to stand against him. You have my thanks. When we get to my estates, I’ll see to it you have a solid roof and a good wife.”
    “I’ll gladly accept the roof, but if a wife makes your balls turn blue, I’ll pay for my want with an enthusiastic wench. Tell me, has she finally relented?”
    Thomas cuffed him atop the head with a palm. “No, but she will. Her passion lies dormant, like a rose in winter. When she blooms, my balls will be well attended to, of that have no fear.”
    With a quick grin, Jacob pointed up the river. “I’ll allow you to believe that tale while we make haste. The men are positioned along the banks for about a mile. I’ve sent word south to Sir Marcus. If what I hear is true, your life is in jeopardy.”
    Thomas turned. Not even Jacob should sense his ire. He’d need tread carefully. Annandale was well-loved and none held more land in England other than the king. Any untoward acts would be seen as treason. This battle would be won with cunning, not with swords.
    He pondered and picked a path over sleeping bodies in the inn’s front courtyard. The cocks crowed, pigeons cooed, and the first rays of the sun tinted the dark area in orange. On a rack beside the fire, he noted his wife’s still-damp clothes. Grabbing them, he bounded up the stairs and nodded at Harold-the-Younger, still guarding the door.
    “Be off and join the men who are waiting to the north along the