How to Marry Your Wife by Stella Marie Alden Page B

which they drank heartily.
    “Walk with me for a moment before we must be off again.” Thomas grabbed Merry’s hand and took her into a nearby field where sheep bleated. A hound barked and nipped at hooves, moving the herd to the far side of the open area.
    “I’m waiting for you to tell me why we left in such a hurry and why even now your eyes dart about so.” She cupped her hands around his cheeks, forcing an honest gaze.
    He grimaced and looked aside. “I was rather hoping you’d forget.”
    “Haven’t you noticed? I never do. Not one thing.” A soft palm turned his head toward her and she raised perfectly arched brows. Hazel eyes that reflected the blue of the sky penetrated his.
    His body responded to her loveliness, rushing blood to his pintle. He shuffled to get more comfortable. “I had noticed. An odd gift.”
    From where they’d stopped, Jacob whistled and pointed to Harold-the-Elder, who stood close with sword drawn. Thomas waved back in thanks, put his hand to her back, and moved them closer to camp.
    She frowned. “So tell me, what’s happened to make everyone so tense?”
    “There were rumors at the inn that there’s more to the capture of my father’s estates than just a few rogue Scots.”
    They paused as the hound barked repeatedly, maneuvering a wayward lamb back into the group.
    Pursing her lips deep in thought, she said, “Annandale of Carlisle?”
    “What do you know of him?” He scowled at the mention of his enemy. Was she an admirer?
    “Sir Marcus has oft times invited his son, Robert, to The Meadows and a woman has ears. We’re actually allowed to converse, too.” Her eyes sparked fire.
    He couldn’t help but kiss the tip of her pert nose. “Don’t get your hackles up. I know there’s a keen mind behind those beautiful eyes, but have patience. I’m set in my ways. Where I’ve traveled, ladies are protected and revered. They’re put in harems and in fancy bedrooms and guarded where no man other than a husband may go. Even in Paris, well-bred ladies don’t speak of politics. Gentle arts of sewing, cooking, and keeping the hearth are for the fairer sex.”
    He raised a hand when she began to interrupt. “Hold, don’t speak yet. However, I see how Ann and Marcus have melded together like two strong metals of the finest quality. I crave that for us, too. Don’t you?”
    Her lips moved from a frown to a pensive pout. Had he said the right thing at last? If so, no doubt a chorus of angels in heaven were singing hallelujahs. She toed the ground, then her lovely eyes reached his.
    One sweet hand went to his cheek and brushed a lock off his forehead. “I still remember what it’s like to mourn the loss of someone who means more to me than the light of the sun or breath that’s taken.”
    “You can’t forget just that one small thing?” He tickled under her arm, a spot where he knew she’d giggle.
    She slapped his hand away with a half-grin. “Unfortunately, I forget naught. But if I better understand you, mayhap we can move forward peaceably. When I’m free, I promise I’ll come and visit you often.”
    “We must get back on the road,” he said a bit too gruffly. There was no way under the stars above he’d ever allow her to leave him.
    When they were mounted once again, she tried to maneuver close enough to speak, but fell back to single file when an open cart filled with cages of carrier pigeons passed in the opposite direction. Cart after cart followed. An hour or more passed before they could resume their conversation.
    She finally came alongside. “Are we close to that, that Hadrian wall?”
    He snorted. “That’s the Witham River and we just passed the castle at Bytham. We’ll arrive in Lincolnshire by tomorrow or next, depending on the weather.”
    “So, how much longer before we get to your keep?” A group of minstrels with wagons and song captured the whole of the narrow road. She sighed and moved behind him yet again.
    He chuckled and turned his head