a husband while secretly revelling in their new freedom.
The line of ladies shielding the Queen parted. The Queen had settled into a chair at the front of the hall beside the Duke. Her sister came to stand beside her and the procession of lords and ladies shuffled into line to be presented.
Valerie, following Katherine, was surprised and honoured that she had been invited to this ceremony. Her husband had been a knight, but a lowly one. Lady Katherine’s husband had been the same, but she was here because she took care of the Duke’s children by his first wife. Now, she would move into his second wife’s household, a strong link to what the Queen needed to know about England and, perhaps, even about her husband.
As Valerie was presented to at least a dozen of the Queen’s ladies, she was called upon to do little beyond nod politely. The Queen’s people smiled, silent, not attempting the unfamiliar tongue.
Even the Queen remained impassive in the face of all the introductions. Surely the poor woman had absorbed nothing about the strangers paraded before her.
Then, Valerie heard her name called and knelt before the Queen. A flurry of conversation, the Duke, speaking to the interpreter, who then spoke to the Queen.
Descended from one who came to England with Eleanor of Castile, wife of the first Edward.
Ah, it was her ancestor who had brought her here, the woman who had served that other foreign Queen nearly a hundred years ago.
Finally, the Queen understood and nodded. ‘Habla la lengua de sus antepasados?’
Now she was the one who struggled to understand. Speak? Did she speak...?
She was a widow now. She could speak aloud, even to a queen, without looking over her shoulder for her husband’s permission. And yet, the language of Castile was as foreign to her as hers was to the Queen.
She shook her head. ‘Only enough to say Bienvenida.’ That meant welcome. At least, she thought it did.
It was enough to make the Queen smile. ‘Gracias.’ She stretched out a hand, touching the brooch with reverent fingers, then spoke to her interpreter.
‘La Reina wishes to know, is the brooch you wear hers?’
Valerie smiled. ‘Yes, Your Grace. It, too, came from Castile.’ The Queen, the story went, had been generous to her ladies.
Nodding, this Queen cleared her throat and spoke, each word careful and distinct. ‘We to meet again.’
The words touched her like a benediction. ‘I hope so, Your Grace.’
Valerie paused to kneel before the Duke—no, the King—barely looking at him as she hugged the Queen’s words close to her heart.
When she rose, still smiling, and turned away, it was to come face to face with the knight she had seen earlier at the Duke’s right hand. Dark, ragged brows shielded pale blue eyes. His nose and cheeks were sharply carved. He looked to be a man, like her husband, more at home in battle than in the Hall.
She nodded, courteous. Waiting.
‘Lady Valerie, I am Sir Gilbert Wolford.’
Her momentary glow faded. ‘The man they call The Wolf.’
The one who had commanded her husband to his death.
* * *
When Lady Valerie turned to meet his eyes, for a moment he could not speak.
Now he could see her plainly. Fair skin. Dark eyes that changed expression when she knew him for who he was. Was it his family history or his reputation in battle that erased both smile and sadness? No matter. Now, he faced a strong, impenetrable shield, through which he could glimpse no emotion at all. Until then, he would have judged her a woman who needed protection. Now, he thought she would have been an asset on the battlefield. ‘Some have called me that,’ he answered, finally.
An awkward silence. ‘What do you want of me?’ she said, finally.
The time had come. ‘Your husband served in my company.’
She glanced down at the floor. ‘I know.’ Had her sadness returned? Would there be tears?
He hurried to speak. ‘Then you know that the siege was broken by that attack. That his death was not in vain.’
‘That is a comfort, surely.’ Her tone suggested otherwise.
‘He was a worthy fighter. His death was a blow.’
Now her gaze met his again. Her shield had not slipped. ‘More so to me.’
Ah, then she blamed him for the man’s death. She had the right. ‘Men die in war, no matter what we do.’ War was not what those at home imagined. It was not...glorious.
He pulled the stained, crumpled silk from his tunic. ‘Your husband was carrying this when he died. I thought to return it to you so you would know he treasured the thought of his wife.’ He waved it in her direction. A poor, limp thing, even more wrinkled and dirty now than it had been when he took it from the man’s body.
She did not reach for it. Instead, she recoiled, as if it were a live thing with teeth.
He shook his outstretched hand, wishing to free himself of it. ‘Do you not want it back?’
‘Back?’ The word, barely a whisper. Then, she lifted that hard, impenetrable gaze and met his eyes again. ‘It was never mine.’
Valerie closed her eyes, blocking the sight of the muddy, wrinkled piece of cloth. It was proof, proof again, of how little she had mattered to her husband.
Sir Ralph Scargill had sailed away to war in the springtime. Another spring came and went. She had not missed him. Though she knew the war was going badly, no one bothered to report details to a knight’s wife and he was not a man to send home tender words.
So it was only a few months ago, when the Duke returned and her husband did not, that she knew the whole of it. Or thought she did.
For now, this man, the one they called The Wolf, stood before her with furrowed brow and an outstretched hand, holding silk that had touched the flesh of an unknown woman who had, no doubt, lain with her husband.
Had she, too, had to hide her bruises?
Even if that were true, he must have cared for this woman to carry a reminder of her into battle. He had never asked Valerie for a token.
And she had never offered one.
But the man before her, a hardened warrior, blinked to hear the truth. ‘I thought...’
She felt a twinge of regret. Poor man. He had only tried to comfort a grieving widow, not knowing she had never grieved.
A frown touched his brows and she saw compassion in his eyes. Around them, people had stopped to look.
She
