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Jakeman would return for it presently when he had seen to rubbing down Actaeon. For now, Konrad focused his attention on the field. De Bussell had been given a scant quarter of an hour to recover before the final joust. By rights, it ought to have been longer, but these rural tournaments were not so well regulated as the larger ones. Timings could be, and frequently were, arbitrary.

So it proved this time for Sir Armand. Perhaps the two glancing blows Konrad had managed to deal him contributed to his subsequent defeat at Sir Jeffree’s hands, but none could say for sure. All that could be said with certainty was that Sir Jeffree emerged the winner of the joust that year at Beres Caple.

Konrad watched grimly as Lady Howard held up the flowered crown for de Crecy’s lance. He hooked it on the end and then directed his white horse toward the lady he intended to honor. Konrad steeled himself for the indignity, but to his astonishment de Crecy did not make for Aimee at all. Instead, he halted before his own wife, Sabina de Crecy, and held the lance steady before her.

She froze a moment in seeming indecision before accepting the tribute and placing it on her own head. For the second tournament in a row, Lady de Crecy was crowned Queen of the Tournament. It seemed to Konrad that she and de Crecy could barely look each other full in the face. Interesting.

His own gaze traveled to his wife who was clapping politely along with the rest of the crowd. Of course, Aimee had never been aware that de Crecy had vowed to award her the crown in retaliation. She angled her head to say something to Lowell who nodded in agreement, and Konrad felt his shoulders slowly relax. He winced at the concurrent sensation of pain that shot through his chest. He was going to be badly bruised on the morrow.

He glanced up at the sky. In fact, he thought maybe it would be as well to set off now. It was three o’clock or thereabouts. A five-hour ride back to Caer Lyoness meant they could be back in their own beds by a little after nine o’clock that evening. Their bed, he amended conscientiously, for he meant to put an end to this separate bedchamber foolishness once and for all.

The notion was a tempting one. He glanced about for Jakeman and saw his trusty manservant weaving his way through the crowd toward him. He raised a hand and hailed him. “Pack up our things, Jakeman. We’re heading home.”

28

Aimee saw the familiar city walls of Caer Lyoness looming in the distance and breathed a sigh of relief. She could not wait to get out of the saddle, even though she had been lifted onto the docile Ivy’s back from the first, and Jakeman had taken the more spirited Deirdre.

When she had ventured to question this switching of horses, her husband had directed an ironic look her way. “You want to be jolted about by the white mare for five hours, then say so now.”

Of course, Dierdre had chosen that moment to aim a vicious kick at a stable hand imprudent enough to pass close by her flanks. He only narrowly avoided injury, and Aimee had hastily assured Jakeman that he could ride her pretty white horse back to the capital with welcome.

She patted Ivy’s neck and admitted to herself that she vastly preferred the quiet brown mare to her own. Maybe Jakeman would do a permanent swap of steeds with her. After all, her father need never know. She directed a surreptitious glance in her husband’s direction. He had been quiet on the ride home.

Likely, he was simply tired, she told herself, after the exertions of the day. It had been a disappointing day for him, she reminded herself, for he did not like to lose, however gracious she believed he appeared in defeat. Just because she thought he looked his best in such moments did not mean he enjoyed them.

She sighed to herself, knowing she was still in disgrace with him about the gown. For her part, she still bore a grudge that he had not told her of his visit to her sister’s house. Maybe after all, this was what married life was like? A never-ending stream of grievances and injured feelings!

As it was the height of summer, darkness was only just starting to fall as they had reached Lime Street. Being lifted down from the saddle, Aimee was profoundly grateful to feel the cobbled streets of her hometown beneath her feet again. Jakeman took charge of the horses, and Konrad ushered her up the steps to the large black and white timbered dwelling she had not realized she had grown so fond of.

They were met in the corridor by a startled looking Matthews hurrying toward them. “My lord!” he exclaimed. “My lady! We were not expecting your return until the morrow.”

“What of it,” Konrad snapped testily.

“We returned early,” Aimee hastily interjected in what she hoped was a soothing manner, noticing Matthews glance back down the corridor. “Is something amiss?”

Matthews looked embarrassed. “No, no, milady, of course not!” he hurried to assure her. “’Tis only that Mistress Freda is entertaining in the dining chamber, and we have not set places for you at table.”

Aimee and Konrad exchanged glances. “Please do not interrupt Mistress Freda and her guests,” she said, lowering her voice at once. “I, er … I do not currently feel up to partaking of company after our arduous journey.” She turned to Konrad. “Perhaps you, my lord – ?”

“No,” he replied firmly. “No, I need to rid myself of all my travel dirt and dust before I am fit to be seen. Besides, I am currently disinclined for the society of others.”

Aimee bit her lip. She knew the guests were likely her father and sister, but she felt unequal to facing them right now. “Would it be unpardonably rude of us to just sneak up to our rooms to wash and retire for the evening?” she asked her husband frankly, her gaze darting longingly toward the staircase.

“No, I think it would be damned sensible,” Konrad responded at once. “It is not as though they will be offended or disappointed. They are not even expecting us.” He nodded to Matthews. “Have hot water sent up immediately but try to keep our arrival quiet if you can,” he specified. “Have it brought to Lady Kentigern’s chamber.”

Matthews nodded. “Of course, milord.”

“I was going to request a bath,” Aimee protested.

“Her ladyship can be brought a bath,” Konrad directed at Matthews. “But in an hour’s time. Actually,” he considered a moment, “make it two hours.”

Matthews gave a bow. “Certainly, milord.”

Aimee frowned at this, but as her main desire was to escape to the quiet and solicitude of her own room, she did not concern herself overmuch and instead made for the stairs, divesting herself of her cloak and laying it over a convenient chair as she went.

Konrad was close behind her, so close that she almost shut her bedchamber door in his face. “Oh!” she exclaimed as he followed her inside. “Your pardon, I did not realize you meant to accompany me ...” She regarded him with bewilderment as he shut the door resolutely behind them and leaned his back against it, his eyes on hers. “You said you did not feel up to company just now.”

“You are not company,” he said, pushing away from the door and reaching for the laces at his throat. “You are my wife.”