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He had no sooner nodded his willingness to partake of it, then she was ladling it onto his plate. She was a little clumsy about it, spilling a few drops onto the fine linen cloth that covered the table. Seeing her frown of concentration, he guessed she did not customarily use her left hand.

“Should we cut the binding?” he asked, glancing down at their still bound wrists.

Instead of looking pleased, she looked dismayed at the prospect. “Oh, but – that would be far too soon, surely?”

Konrad glanced across at Renlow and Ursula and saw they had already removed their ribbon. Instead of pointing this out, he merely shrugged.

“Perhaps we could remove it at the end of the feast?” she suggested.

He gave a brief nod of acquiescence and, again, was the recipient of her smile. She seemed easily pleased in any event.

“There are certainly plenty of spices in this beef stew,” Gerold Ankatel observed, removing his velvet cap. He wiped his brow and gestured for a servant. “Throw open these casement windows,” he requested. “’Tis growing damnably warm in here, now the noonday sun shines down upon us.”

There was some bustle before the musicians and players could be ushered aside to make way for the servants to open the windows, and then the musicians could plainly be heard in the street below. Unfortunately, instead of taking a coordinated approach to the tunes they played, they seemed instead to be trying to drown each other out.

For the first time, he felt some sympathy for Ursula Ankatel, who raised a hand to her brow with a pained expression. “It’s very noisy in here,” he heard her falter.

Her father leaned across toward her. “What’s that you say, daughter?” he boomed.

“The musicians, they are so loud, Father.”

“Nonsense!” he replied sounding aggrieved. “What you need to do is eat more. Why, you’ve scarcely touched a thing!”

Glancing across, Konrad could see her plate contained not even a smear of gravy and the merest token presence of a pile of herbs and greens. His own father had recommended that wives should be selected with much the same criteria as horseflesh. A lustrous mane, good sized chest, well-turned limbs, and a fine pair of buttocks.

The third baron would not have approved of Ursula Ankatel for a wife. Konrad spared a moment’s pity for Renlow to be saddled with so unpromising a mare before reflecting on his own unexpected good fortune.

“Perhaps a plain chicken broth could be sent up from the kitchen, Father,” he heard Aimee suggest urgently. “This food is very rich and likely disagrees with my sister.”

“Pshaw!” their father returned in irritation. “A daughter of mine who does not like good, flavorful fare!”

“It is not that,” Aimee started to argue, but at that moment, Ursula staggered to her feet and stood swaying a moment, her upper lip and forehead beaded with sweat. “Ursa!” Aimee cried.

Renlow sprang to his feet and caught Ursula just as she fainted clean away. Mercifully, the music in the room abruptly stopped, save for one harp plucker who was speedily elbowed by a passing servant. Murmurs of consternation rose to the rafters instead, as Renlow stood in bewilderment with his insensible bride clasped to his chest.

“Take her up to her bedchamber, my good sir!” Gerold Ankatel instructed. “Burchard shall show you the way.”

A large, dependable looking servant appeared at Renlow’s side. “This way, sir,” he intoned gravely.

Aimee started up from their bench before remembering she was still tied to her new spouse. “I must accompany her,” she said agitatedly.

“Nonsense, Aimee!” her father said belligerently. “She will be very well, and Hilda may attend her directly.”

“Not Hilda, Father,” Aimee frowned. “She fusses so!”

Konrad reached for the knife in his belt and sliced through the binding. Aimee clearly took this as all the permission she needed, for she span around and hastened after Renlow at once.

“Dear me!” Freda murmured. “Most inauspicious for both brides to leave the feast!” Konrad bent a stern look on her, and she looked contrite. “I only meant that – well – it does not seem a very happy omen.”

“That’s enough, Freda,” he intoned, and she lapsed at once into silence, her cheeks turning pink.

“Ursula likely did not take enough nourishment at supper last night,” Gerold said irritably. “Maidens can be fretful about their wedding day, or so they tell me,” he added, still looking put out.

Konrad wondered if that was why the elder sister had been allowed to switch places with the younger but did not voice his suspicion.

“The prospect of marrying a complete stranger has likely put her in a flutter,” a hook-nosed dame from further down the table piped up. She glanced significantly at the young man sat beside her.

“Perhaps Miss Ursula would benefit from the company of an old friend right now,” the young man who was her companion suggested, picking up on her hint with an ingratiating smile.