Or he could do what he’d planned to do—what he knew in his conscience he should do—and leave her at Lilyfare as he traveled on to Warwick. Mayhap putting some space between them would help to ease his own obsession and give her time to come to terms with their arrangement.

Aside from that, he must see Violet. It had been nearly three months since he’d left her. What if she’d forgotten him? A sharp pang stabbed him in the belly. He couldn’t bear the thought of returning to find only blank curiosity in her pale blue eyes when she looked on him.

“They are waiting for me!” Judith suddenly cried. She kicked her mare into a full gallop, tearing down the low incline toward the roadway that ribboned through the small town. Her firelight hair shone in the sun, wisps fluttering free and her braids bouncing loosely over her shoulders and down her back.

Villeins and serfs lined the village’s main thoroughfare, waving their caps and shawls, and Judith slowed Socha to a trot as she approached. She waved and called to some of the people she knew, blowing kisses to the children and tossing coins from a pouch as she paraded down the street. Further on, flags flew, men-at-arms lined the wall’s ramparts and drawbridge, and serfs and other household members filled the small bailey, welcoming home their lady.

Malcolm watched all of this with interest and appreciation. Such a welcome was a clear indication of the satisfaction and ease of the villagers and farmers, who were tied to the land and must accept the rule of their overlord—or lady. Clearly, though she’d been absent for years, Judith was much loved by her people and the estate had been well-managed by her castellan.

“You sent word to them,” Judith said, turning Socha to face Mal as he rode up behind her. “I sent word that I’d wed, but you must have written that we’d arrive today. Thank you, my lord.”

He shrugged it off. “But of course. I was fair certain you’d wish to sleep in a clean chamber with fresh coverings on your first night home—and to have a feast prepared to celebrate your arrival.”

“And my marriage,” she said, turning her horse so that they rode abreast. “They must meet their new lord anon.”

Her smile was so brilliant, her eyes sparkling so happily, that Malcolm nearly lost his internal battle at that very moment. Surely I can spare one night here. She is my wife.

Nay. What of Violet? And you must attend to the matters at Warwick. The cattle are dying. And people as well. Violet could be next.

And Judith’s smile is not for you…’tis for Lilyfare.

And so he checked his desires and rode alongside her, determined not to give in to his own obsession. He would ensure Judith was safely home and welcomed, and then take his leave immediately. Mayhap some time apart would allow Judith to accept their marriage and his bed, and there would be no more tears.

Sir Roger of Hyrford, who’d managed the estate for years, met them just inside the bailey. Malcolm observed the man closely—both in the way he greeted Judith as well as himself. The castellan had been wholly in control of the estate during his lady’s absence, and as oft as not, a man in such a situation might resent the return of his overlady—particularly if she brought a new husband with her.

However, Malcolm caught nothing in the man’s expression or demeanor to indicate anything but pure delight at seeing Lady Judith again. The grizzled Sir Roger was well over two score years of age—mayhap nearer to three—and according to Judith, had been steward for her father for years. In fact, she appeared so fond of her castellan that when he helped her down from Socha, she treated him like a long-lost uncle, throwing herself into his arms.

If Mal was looking for any reason to delay his departure for Warwick, he did not find it in Sir Roger’s face—for the older man had happy tears streaming from his eyes as he embraced Judith.

“Ah, how you’ve grown! In beauty and in stature,” he told her, looking down like a proud papa. “Lady Judith, how we’ve missed your sunny face and happy voice. And now you’ve returned with a husband too!” Sir Roger, who hadn’t knelt to his lady in favor of the more emotional greeting, now turned and made a formal bow to Malcolm. “Lord Warwick, felicitations and greetings. You are well come to Lilyfare, my lord. All in the village and keep are happy to find our lady so well wed.”

“Many thanks to you, Sir Roger,” Mal replied. “For your gracious welcome to me and upon the return of your lady, as well as your attention to the lands during her absence.” He met the castellan’s eyes meaningfully, allowing appreciation to show in his expression—as well as taking a good measure of the man—and letting him see that he did so.

“I am eager to swear fealty to you as well, my lord,” the man said, meeting Malcolm’s eyes fearlessly. “And, in truth, ’twill be a boon to have someone with whom I can discuss several issues that have lately arisen. A new mill, for one, of which we are sad in need.”

“Very well,” Malcolm replied. “I look forward to receiving your fealty. But not, it appears, on this day. For,” he said, glancing at Judith, “I fear I must press on to Warwick at once.”

“What say you?” she exclaimed, turning from her conversation with a group of men-at-arms and ladies. “We must leave so soon?”

Mal saw a flash of defiance in her expression as she edged him a few steps away from the others. There was disappointment there as well, and he was unaccountably relieved he wouldn’t need to fight that battle with her, at least, today. “Nay, my lady. You shall stay, of course. ’Tis I who must ride on.”

Now her expression changed to shock and confusion. “I see,” she replied slowly. The few freckles sprinkled over her cheeks stood out sharply. “And I’m to remain here?”

“Aye. Are you not pleased to be home? I did not think you’d wish to leave so soon after arriving,” he said. Ask me to stay. The thought came from nowhere.

“Aye. I mean, nay. I do not wish to leave. I did not expect…ah, well, very well, my lord. I am certain you must attend to any number of things at Warwick, having been away for several months yourself.” She smiled up at him, but it was a smile much less warm and spirited than a moment before.

A small flicker of hope warmed him inside. She did not seem pleased that he was to leave. Ask me to stay, Judith. Tell me you do not wish me to leave! But he could not allow her to see the hope in his eyes, and so he glanced over at the cluster of men-at-arms. “I do have some urgent matters to attend at Warwick. But I expect to return well before the snow falls.”

“Will you not sup with us?”

His determination wavered, but in the end he knew ’twas best that he not even do that. For the longer he stayed, the more likely he would be never to leave—and being asked to sup was little more than a routine hospitality. “Nay, Judith. I hope to reach Delbring by nightfall, and from there, ’tis only a day and a half ride to Warwick if I travel unencumbered.”

“Very well, then. I need not even see to a parcel of food for your journey, since ’twill be so short. God speed to you, Malcolm,” she said.

“My thanks, my lady,” he replied, unable to read her expression. Her eyes were neither cool nor warm nor distressed. “I shall return before the snowfall. Have a care for yourself.”

With that, he turned and called his men—who appeared shocked and disappointed at their short reprieve—to mount.

Moments later, they rode out of Lilyfare.

FOURTEEN

Delbring. The moment Judith heard the word pass from Malcolm’s lips, her insides turned to ice. He was leaving her at Lilyfare, then riding hellbent for Delbring…where Lady Beatrice lived.

He made no excuses, no explanations. And she was much too proud to ask, afraid to demand—particularly in the hearing or sight of her people.

And so she turned away after a brief wave of farewell, allowing herself to be brought into the great hall—which seemed so small after the ones visited by the royal court over the last years—and to a celebratory feast. If she was sad and confused over the absence of her husband, Judith allowed no one to see. She laughed and jested and ate and drank, and at the end of the meal, she accepted the renewal of Sir Roger’s fealty, along with that of each of her men-at-arms.

It wasn’t until she was in her own chamber—that which rightly should be occupied by both the lady and the lord of Lilyfare—and between the coverings of her own bed that Judith allowed herself to weep. And rage.

Finally, in the dark quiet of the night with the bed curtains drawn tightly against the world, she slept.

The next days at Lilyfare were so filled with activity that Judith hardly had time to stew or worry over her husband’s seeming abandonment of her. She was home. She was with her people. She was where she belonged, freed from the confines and dark tendrils of the royal court.

And for that, at the least, she must be grateful to Malcolm.

Late the following day after Judith’s arrival in Lilyfare, a lone knight approached the gates. When he announced he was from Warwick, he was immediately brought to Judith, who was in her solar with the seamstresses.

“My lady, ’tis I, Sir Duncan,” said the blond man as he bowed.

“Of course. I remember you, Sir Duncan of Merrywerth. You are well come to Lilyfare,” Judith told him, submerging the initial spark of hope that he might have come from Malcolm’s side with a message for her—for she recognized him as the man who’d pursued one of her would-be abductors. There had not been time for Duncan to find her husband at Warwick and then ride here. Unless he was still at Delbring. Her heart squeezed sharply.

“I understand my lord is not in residence,” Duncan said, answering her unspoken question. There was a note of confusion and surprise in his voice, but it was subtle and he kept his expression blank. “I knew he intended to travel to Lilyfare in the stead of Warwick, and I have news for him. Where can I meet up with him?”

“Aye,” Judith replied in an easy voice. “He left for Warwick shortly after arriving here—there were some urgent matters he must attend to. But, Sir Duncan, please sit and give me your news. Then I shall feed you and provide you a bunk for the night. And in the morrow, you may leave for Warwick, or we may send a messenger to Lord Malcolm with your information.” She spoke sweetly, but made certain there was an underlying thread of command in her voice.