Page 122 of An Inconvenient Vow

“Saw the whole thing did you, Bevan?”

“I did, Sire.

“Well, you might do me a good turn and come and give a first-hand account to the Queen. She is spitting mad that I’ve told her to stay put on the dais.”

“Nothing could give me greater pleasure,” Sir Ned assured him smoothly as Sir Alain gasped and sat up on receiving a bucket of water to the face.

The King turned back to Jeffree. “I’d take yourself off, if I were you,” he said dryly. “The Queen will expect a heavy price to be paid for such rude interruption of her entertainments. I would not want to be in your shoes when she thinks of one she deems fitting.”

Jeffree shrugged. “Whatsoe’er the price, I shall pay it. Where is my wife?”

“Here!” called a small voice.

Jeffree turned his head and strode down the line of spectators until he spotted that gods-awful wimple. Reaching into the crowd, he dragged her forward. She came quietly enough and he towed her toward the big double-doors with every eye in the place on them.

*

It seemed as if they had barely reached their rooms before a missive was delivered by two palace guards demanding fifty gold ducats in recompense for the damages and for bringing ill repute into the palace halls. There was also some ominous mention that Sir Jeffree must pay the Queen’s forfeit at some future date, no longer than a twelvemonth. Jeffree scribbled a few words pledging himself to this course of action and returned it to them before shutting the door.

He and Sabina washed and undressed in complete silence, extinguished the candles, and climbed into bed. In the dark, Jeffree listened to her breathing and wondered belatedly if she might have been upset and hiding the fact. She did not like people staring at her, after all. He pursed his lips, then winced from the painful split on the bottom lip. Throckmorton must have been wearing a signet ring, damn him.

“Well,” Sabina’s voice said out of the darkness, surprising him. “I think you have reignited the Queen’s interest in me,” she observed with a humorous inflection to her voice.

“What?”

“I will admit though, it was not as much fun as I once thought it would be, seeing you beset on all sides,” she said in an odd voice. “I don’t know why. Maybe I just do not like seeing you at anyone’s mercy.”

“The only person who has me at their mercy is you.” She fell silent at this. Was he being too blunt? He waited.

“What you said before, about retaining my favor,” she said quietly.

“Yes?”

“You don’t have to do anything out of the ordinary. I mean, you do not have to exert yourself. There is not the smallest need.”

He pondered this. Was she saying he had her favor already? All this talk of favor and regard was not cutting it with him. He wanted the words they had both already said, admittedly on different occasions. Then again, she had made it plain it was actions rather than words she wanted. Mayhap starting fights was not exactly proof of his more tender feeling. He groaned slightly and rubbed his brow.

“Does your side pain you?” she asked sympathetically.

“No,” he lied. It hurt like hell, but that was the least of his problems. He had no notion how to set about repairing relations with his wife.

“If you were not so sore… I could console you,” she said quietly in the dark and Jeffree caught his breath.

“I told you, it doesn’t pain me,” he said swiftly.

She gave a muffled laugh at that, and Jeffree felt a pang for he did not think he had heard that sound in a while. As though of one accord, they both turned inward to face the other in the shadowy bed. Sabina heard his breathing turn shallow and marveled that she had that effect on him. She shuffled in close and kissed his brow, then his cheek. “Is your lip still bleeding?” she murmured when his lips gently met hers.

“I don’t know,” he answered hoarsely. “Does it taste of blood?”

“A little, perhaps I should avoid your lips.” He groaned as though her words displeased him. Sabina slipped her arms about his neck and she felt his hands run down her braids, tugging them and pinning them to the small of her back. “Do you want me on top Jeffree?” she whispered, voicing her suspicion after last time.

“Gods, yes,” he murmured. “Like before. I want you to squeeze me with your thighs and direct me.”

Sabina gave a startled laugh. “As though you were my horse, you mean?” she teased.

“Nay, not your horse, but your stallion,” he corrected her.

Why Jeffree…” she started, but stopped when she heard his ragged breathing and felt a wave of heat wash over him. Was he embarrassed? It was almost endearing how awkward he was with words sometimes. Instead of teasing him with words, Sabina ran her hand down his stomach, reaching boldly between his legs to take him in hand. He was already very hard.