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“No need to cry over a dog, Fen,” said Gilbert looking embarrassed. “Send him over to me at Sitchmarsh Hall if you don’t trust Ambrose to look after the beast.”

“I shall never trust Ambrose again,” she said. “And I want my dog with me.”

“There, there, poor thing’s overwrought,” said her brother with an uneasy laugh. “She’s not usually so hysterical, my lord.” He assured Lord Vawdrey.

Fen ignored him. “Bors can join me?” she asked. “Here?”

Lord Vawdrey gently removed her hand from his sleeve. “If those are your terms,” he said. “Then, of course.”

She sighed with relief and settled back into the chair. She felt so tired. Her eyelids felt like they were burning.

“She’s about done in,” remarked Gilbert.

“It’s hardly surprising,” replied Oswald Vawdrey. “I shall ring for Bryce to fetch her a blanket.”

Fen must have dropped off, for the next thing she knew she felt a warm wool covering being draped around her shoulders. “Shhh, go back to sleep,” murmured Lord Vawdrey. She managed to focus her eyes on him for a second. How strange, she thought. I really don’t know what to make of this man. And then she followed his advice and fell into a deep sleep.

**

Fenella woke with a start in the dark room. She gasped, clutching at the arms of the chair as she strove to remember just where she was. Then it all came flooding back to her. She blinked as her eyes accustomed themselves to the unfamiliar shadows of Lord Vawdrey’s study crowding in on her. He’d forgotten her and left her alone. Again. How ironic that the betrayal of her husband had sent her running into the company of the very first man who’d ever scorned her all those years ago! Her long-forgotten fiancée, Oswald Vawdrey. Just how much humiliation did the fates intend to heap on her this day, she wondered bitterly? And how cruel that Oswald Vawdrey was even more powerful and handsome at thirty-three than he’d ever been at nineteen. And she’d thought him the most glamorous and beautiful thing she’d ever seen in those days. She glanced around uneasily. Where was he? And where was Gilbert? She slumped in her chair and rubbed her tired, gritty eyes. It had been a good day and a half ride to Aphrany. Now the initial rush of anger and fear that had sent her thither had worn off, she felt exhausted. Her joints ached, but whether ‘twas from the long ride or falling asleep in such an upright chair, she wasn’t sure. Probably both. She wondered what her sister-in-law Orla was up to back at Thurrold and if she was helping the alewife to soak the barley grain in the buttery, like she would be if she were home. Somehow she doubted it. Langdon always said Orla was more of a hindrance than a help and made things twice as complicated as need be!

A burst of laughter and applause startled Fenella, making her turn in the chair to look back over her shoulder. A shaft of light was coming through the doorway at the far side of the room. Someone had left it open. She hesitated, wondering what she should do. She could hardly stay here, cringing in the dark, waiting for a man who had probably forgotten her very existence. Then again, she could hardly go prying and poking where she wasn’t wanted. She sat frozen in indecision until she thought she heard a voice she recognized, making her turn her head sharply. Surely that was Ambrose! She rose from her seat and crossed the floor seeking out the familiar voice among the general babble of conversation. When she reached the door, she peered around it nervously, but found the room empty. Then she realized her mistake. It wasn’t a room at all, but a long gallery lined with paintings and lit sconces. The sound of people was coming from the chamber below which the gallery overlooked. Full of trepidation, she crept toward the balcony, holding her breath. Suddenly, there below her was a large reception room full of people. She blinked at all the rich colors and sounds of celebration; The vivid velvets; flashing jewels and uproarious laughter. Like a nightmare, Fenella’s feet felt rooted to the floor as she struggled to comprehend what she was seeing. The merry gathering was drinking a toast with goblets upraised. They cheered and Fenella’s gaze swept along the hubbub with a sense of impending dread until she found them. The subject of the toast. The happy couple, stood before the large stone fireplace with beaming faces and arms entwined. Fenella’s eyes widened so far she thought her eyes might pop out. There was her husband Ambrose, who she hadn’t seen for two years, gazing fondly across into the pretty face of her replacement. He didn’t look much different, for all his affections had changed! Still a neat, tidy figure of middling height, his brown moustache tidily trimmed. He wore a feather-trimmed cap she’d never seen before and a burgundy tunic studded with pearls. The Ambrose she remembered had been frugal with his money and had certainly not worn adornments such as pearls on his clothing. Still, today was his wedding day, she reminded herself with faint horror as she backed away from the parapet with shaky steps until she bumped her back against the gallery wall. Then she sank down until she was sat on her heels, clasping her knees. Tears streaked down her face. Ambrose was remarried. And so, to all intents and purposes, was she.

**

“Let’s get you up, shall we?” murmured a voice close to Fenella’s ear. She flinched and realized a candle was being set down on a refectory table, casting a soft golden light down around her. “Have you been here the whole time?” It was Lord Vawdrey come back, she realized numbly. She glanced toward the door, but she was almost certain he did not come in that way. He had appeared like a specter. What did it matter now? She wiped her wet cheeks with the back of her hand. How long had she been crouched here? Her gaze flew to the balcony but there were no sounds of revelry coming from below now. Everyone had retired for the night long ago. Including Ambrose and his new wife.

She turned her swollen face away from him as he slid an arm around her waist and levered her up off the floor. “Ow!” she grimaced. He tightened his grip as she sagged against him, her feet numb with pins and needles.

“Are my floorboards not comfortable?” he asked so pleasantly she almost missed the mocking tone. “You have some objection to chairs?”

Fenella struggled to right herself, but he did not let up his grip on her one bit. If she wasn’t so wrung out she’d be mortified. “I need to go home,” she sobbed softly. Even she knew this was nonsense. She had none now.

He squeezed her side. “And so you shall,” he said soothingly. “Presently.”

Of course, he was just trying to comfort her with empty words. She had not meant Vawdrey Keep, a forbidding old stone fortress she had not visited since she was fifteen. “What will my poor Bors think,” she wept nonsensically.

Lord Vawdrey had no answer to this, instead he picked up the candlestick and led her toward a tapestry covered in an intricate pattern of vines. He lifted the corner of this and rubbed his thumb along a piece of paneling. There was a light click and then a segment of the dark wood swung inward. To her surprise Fenella found herself being ushered into a small dark cupboard. Was this what Lord Vawdrey did with unwanted wives? Bundled them into cupboards? But no, she was mistaken, for he was still with her, one arm wrapped around her, clamping her to his side. Fenella had no sooner noted that it was draughty in the cupboard than she realized she was being swept along a dusty confined passage-way. After a while, she gave up trying to even comprehend what was happening. Her eyes drifted shut and she allowed herself to be propelled along by the strong, tall man at her side. He seemed to have no problem pushing and pulling her this way and that, and she was so exhausted, both physically and mentally by this point that she could barely think of a reason why he shouldn’t. Finally they came to a halt and he extracted a key from around his neck. Unlocking the door, he turned back to her and placed a finger to his lips in a gesture of silence. Fenella found herself nodding and then he took her hand, locked the door behind them and led her into a bedchamber where he set down the candle.

“Come, let’s take this off you,” he said pulling her toward him and deftly unlacing her dress. Fenella sucked in a breath to object but he forestalled her. “It’s too late to summon a maid now,” he said reasonably. “And you’re dead on your feet. Come now, we will leave you in your shift so all is decent.”

Fenella’s mind reeled. Decent? Her conscience tried to tell her this was extremely indecent, but her brain was too sleep-deprived to comprehend it. She opened her mouth to try and vocalize this sentiment but he forestalled her.

“All will be well,” he said reassuringly. “Things will look very different in the morn. Come now. Arms up.” He yanked her dress up and over her head and Fenella blinked up at him in sleepy confusion, swaying on her feet. He cleared his throat. “Into the bed.”

Fenella glanced over her shoulder at the huge bed. This was a very large bedchamber she thought, as she tottered toward it. Who on earth could have a guest room this big? Then she remembered vaguely that it was a royal palace after all. She heard a light curse behind her, as she fumbled for the sheet. Suddenly they were stripped back and she was scooped up and unceremoniously dumped onto the mattress. She blinked up at him as he tucked her in and murmured something under his breath. She tried to catch it, but her thought processes were shutting down and she had no chance. Some of his dark hair fell forward across his face distracting her. It made him suddenly look like that handsome boy he had been. She smiled sadly at the memory which could still sting and then rolled onto her side, her burning eyes squeezed shut as the oblivion of sleep claimed her. She was so tired that she didn’t even wake a few moments later when the bed dipped and he joined her under the covers.

**

Fenella woke with a gasp. Her dreams had been disturbing but it was a shock to be wakened from them by the sound of shattering pottery. She peered into the morning light to see a servant hovering by the door with a scandalized look on his face.

“Meldon, for the lord’s sake,” groaned a voice by her ear, startling her anew. She whipped her face round to find a head beside hers on the pillow. It was Lord Vawdrey’s, she realized with horror. And the entire length of his body was pressed intimately against her back. And he was naked. She froze as she felt the press of his flesh against her backside. If she didn’t know any better she would think he was aroused. Very aroused. She opened her mouth to scream, but then remembered he was her wedded husband. How on earth had this happened to her? Mercifully her shift was still intact assuring her that nothing untoward had happened, but still, she was mortified.

“Me Lord!” said the servant reproachfully as he stooped down to retrieve the shards of the water basin. “I never expected this from the likes of you!”

“Watch your tongue, Meldon,” Oswald responded groggily. He rolled gingerly onto his back and Fenella breathed a sigh of relief. “This is your mistress,” he said thickly. “Not some doxy.”

Both Fenella and Meldon gasped at this pronouncement