not been enough for her husband.
And yet, he had asked. Does that mean yes? An awkward question, but surprisingly kind. As if pretending the choice were hers. It was not. For she had known one thing, always. No woman could refuse a marriage.
And so, with head high and lips pressed firmly into a smile, she nodded. ‘Yes. I will marry you.’
I will marry you. Words enough to satisfy canon law. That would allow her to call him husband.
He let out a breath, as if with her assent, the hardest part had passed. ‘Then we are betrothed.’ Yet that look of uncertainty lingered on his face, as if the Wolf had become a Lamb. ‘Have you nothing more to say?’
She coughed, to cover the laughter that threatened to bubble over. A woman did not laugh at her husband. Not if she wished a smooth existence. But this man seemed full of contradictions, by turn stern, angry, kind and even, for a moment, as uncertain of the future as she.
There were questions she should ask, important ones about her land and his family, where they would marry, where they would live. But the answers barely mattered now. My Lord of Spain had decreed it. So it would be. All she could do was to bow her head, bite her tongue and submit to this man’s will. ‘What happens next?’
‘I have duties with my lord, as do you with the Queen. We will continue to fulfil them.’
She nodded, as briefly as he, with a half-smile as if his answer pleased her. It was a partial, but perplexing reprieve. ‘But I am to meet your family, move my belongings, settle into your holdings and establish a home...’ When she had married Scargill, there was a flurry of activity, settling details of property and management of the holdings, making room for him in the home that had been hers...
All to be ready for the arrival of a baby that never came.
‘Nothing will change.’ He said those words as if they were a vow, then rose, as if the conversation was complete and everything settled.
Nothing? It was evident that the man had never married, or he would know that everything was to change. Or, perhaps, it was true for him. Only Valerie would, once again, rearrange her life to accommodate a husband. And, if he had no home of his own, perhaps they would live at Florham, as she and Scargill had done. The very possibility was a comfort.
‘Is it my place to tell the Queen that I am to be wed?’ How were such things done? Her life had been tied to the earth, not to the court.
He shrugged. ‘Perhaps it is for My Lord of Spain to do. I do not know the way of such things.’
‘As you will, my lord.’
He shrugged his shoulders, as if to throw off the title. ‘You must not call me that.’
My lord. It was the title Scargill preferred above all others. ‘But so you shall be.’
‘Call me something else.’
‘The Wolf?’ She permitted herself half of a smile. ‘I think I prefer my lord.’
‘My father called me Gil.’
‘Gil.’ A name bright and strong. Easy to speak. ‘Then it will be as you wish. Gil.’
He nodded, awkward, then stood. ‘Tomorrow I go to Losford on behalf of the King. We will discuss arrangements when I return.’ Duty done, he bowed. Brief. Perfunctory. ‘Goodnight, Lady Valerie.’
His task complete, as if dusting his hands of dirt.
He was three steps away when she called after him. ‘If you are to be Gil, I must be Valerie.’
He looked back, then honoured her with a stiff nod, as if every interaction was painful.
But then, he took a step towards her and did not look away. Tangled in his gaze, she rose from the bench and moved in his direction. Time slowed. Her pulse quickened. Close now, she could see his lips, no longer unyielding but softer than she had thought. One breath more, two, and they would make another step, touch, and—
‘Goodnight, Valerie.’
And then, he was gone.
Nothing will change.
She only wished it were true.
After he told the Scargill widow he would marry her, he vowed to think of her no more.
He did not succeed.
For the two days it took to ride to Losford, he thought of little else.
He had faced few battles for which he felt less prepared. With sword and shield, he was at home. No man would ever call him coward. All the lessons of honourable men at war were now his own, ready to pass on to his son.
But the courtly manners, the ways to woo and the honour due a noble woman, those had been harder to conquer. He had delayed the study of them, thinking them unimportant. So now, when the moment came and he was forced to ask a woman to be his wife, he had not known what to say.
Yes, she had agreed, though he would not have blamed her if she had wanted a different match. If I am to meet your family, she had said, as if she had no hesitation and knew nothing of his past. Was she really ignorant of his history? If so, what would happen when she discovered...?
Too late to wonder. She had agreed. The matter was settled. He would marry and have the son he had always wanted.
And the legacy he wanted for the child? Castile twinkled before him like a distant star. When he needed solace, he would think again of the colourful courtyards, far from the forests of Leicester. There, in the sun, well away from his home where the Brewen name meant only disgrace, his son could grow to manhood with pride.
As Losford Castle’s crenellated corners came into view, looming over the narrow band of water between England and Calais, he was reassured. This place was more home to him than his own.
Here, he had taken his first steps towards redemption.
As a lonely boy carrying a disgraced name, he had served as page and then squire to the Earl, one of the most powerful men in England. Before he was felled on the field in France, the man had moulded Gil’s character and his skills.
There had been no time to send a messenger, but the guards recognised his colours and before he had dismounted, Lady Cecily, the daughter of the late Earl, and her husband rushed into the courtyard and embraced him.
‘It has been too long,’ she said, in the chiding, loving tone a sister might use.
Her husband, Marc, let a clap on the shoulder speak for him. They shared the quick smile of fighting men.
It had been eight years since Marc had taken pity on him after the Earl died and had taught him new ways to hold his shield and swing his blade.
In those days, it seemed England had vanquished all her enemies. As a new knight, still green, Gil feared he might never have another chance to prove his worth in battle.
