King’s Knight (Medieval Warriors #4)

Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Merewyn waited in the shadows of the stable until Alex, Rory and Guy left the armory, their squires following after them with fresh clothing. Knowing the men would be at the river for some time, she left the shadows and headed for the manor. She did not wish to encounter Alex again so soon. Her stomach twisted in knots as she remembered her bedchamber was only a stone’s throw from the one Maggie had told her Alex shared with Raoul.

She entered the manor just as Lady Serena came through the wide opening that led to the hall, the two buildings being joined. “Oh, Merewyn, I have been looking for you. There is something I want to show you.”

“Yea, my lady?”

“’Tis in your chamber.”

They ascended the stairs to the chamber that was Merewyn’s alone. Lady Serena opened the oaken door and gestured her inside. In front of her stood the table where she laid her bow and quiver of arrows. Beyond the table, sunlight from the window streamed in through the open wooden shutters. To her left was a small bed and, on the right side of the room, a larger one to which Lady Serena walked. Merewyn followed.

There, lying upon the fur-covered bed was a beautiful gown of amethyst silk. The bodice and matching hooded cloak were trimmed in an elaborate gold weaving .

“’Tis lovely,” said Merewyn reaching out to touch the silk, shimmering in the light from her window. She had never owned a gown the equal of this one.

The Lady of Talisand smiled. “It is for you, Merewyn, to wear this night.”

“I am more than grateful, my lady, but why?”

Lady Serena gave her an indulgent smile. “I know you are content with your archer’s clothing and your simple gowns of linen and wool, but tonight is special and you are now a woman grown. I would have you attired in clothing to match your beauty. Rory and Guy’s sisters will be in silk, as will Lora. Emma would be angry with me if I allowed you to dress in less fine a manner than her daughter. She still thinks of you as hers.”

“Lady Emma is very kind, but I have not lived with Sir Geoffroi and her for many years.” They had taken Merewyn into their home after her mother’s death, but after she took up the bow, Lady Serena had invited her to live in the manor. When she returned from Wales, it was to Serena’s home Merewyn had gone. “You are more a mother of the heart to me than any other.”

“It pleases me to hear you say it.” Lady Serena sat on the edge of the bed, next to the gown. “You have become the daughter I once thought to have, Merewyn.”

She beamed at hearing the words. “Truly?” She was still living with Lady Emma when Lady Serena had lost a girl child, born a few years before Tibby. It brought Merewyn great joy to think she might have filled the void left by the loss of Serena’s child.

“Indeed, yea.” She stood. “Now, say no more and accept the gown. The gold necklace Emma gave you will be beautiful with it.”

Guy’s sister, Bea, and Rory’s oldest sister, Alice, were a few years younger than Merewyn’s friend, Lora. In the time Merewyn had been back, she had noticed the three women were much admired. With powerful knights as their fathers, Merewyn was certain they had never feared being caught alone in the woods. Mayhap it would not hurt for her to dress like them in the hall.

She met the older woman’s expectant gaze. “I will wear it and gladly. ”

Lady Serena gave Merewyn’s clothing a long perusal. “I expect you should have a bath. I will see that the lads bring hot water and a tub to your chamber. My maidservant, Nelda, can assist you with the gown when you are ready.”

***

Merewyn sank into the steaming water with a sigh, inhaling the flowery scent of the soap while reflecting upon her encounter with Alexander. She had noticed more than his towering height. No longer was his body that of a stripling lad. His broad shoulders that had once promised strength had gained muscle with his knight’s training and his face had lost its boyhood look, gaining instead a man’s strong jaw and high cheekbones. Together with his long black hair, they rendered him darkly handsome. She did not wonder the women spoke of him in hushed whispers.

She had expected her childhood adoration of him to fade with time and distance, that seeing him again would free her of the memories that had bound her to him during the years she had been away. But she had been wrong. The moment she had gazed into his piercing gray eyes and heard his voice, it had all come rushing back. Only the wave of longing that had washed over her was not a girl’s adoration of a remembered hero. It had been a woman’s desire.

She ran her fingers through the warm water and imagined running them through the waves of his long hair and touching the dark hair on his chest she had glimpsed from the neck of his tunic. He would pull her to him and her breasts would be crushed by his weight as he held her.

Her nipples formed tight buds and the caress of the water became his caress as her breathing became more labored. What would it be like to lie with him?

Her bow, leaning against the wall of her chamber, spoke a word of silent condemnation for her wild imaginings. “I know who he is and who I am,” she said aloud to the bow. “You do not have to remind me.” She shook her head, her wet hair splashing water over her face, waking her out of the fantasy and reminding her of Alex’s reputation and what she could expect from such a knight.

He was arrogant; a knight who’d had many women. Beyond that, he was Talisand’s heir and she a bastard of ignoble birth. He would wed a highborn lady, a marriage likely arranged by the king, and she would not marry at all. Having compared all men to Alex for so long, how could she wed another?

Her heart constricted at the possibility of Alex with a more worthy woman. Mayhap when that day came, she would be far away in Wales where Rhodri’s archers would welcome her bow.

Did Alex suspect his absence had been the cause of her interest in archery? Nay, he would not have guessed that when he left to become a squire, she had been alone and afraid, in need of a weapon to defend herself. But now things were different. The change had come with her first archery contest after her return home. The men stared in admiration and kept their distance.

She looked again at her bow. “You have gained me respect in men’s eyes. For that, I will always be grateful and, thus, I will heed your warning.” Her archer’s clothing had been carefully made to conceal her womanly curves. It was what she had wanted, this distance from men, mayhap even as to Alex, for were he to draw close and see her as a woman like the others, vulnerable to his masculine presence, she feared she would be helpless to resist him.

But tonight, for Lady Serena, she would don the gown of a lady.

***

Alex took his seat on the dais between his father and Sir Geoffroi, Guy’s father. He would have been happy to sit at the long trestle tables where his father’s men ate, but tonight he and his companions were in the place of honor, as sons being welcomed home from war. It was a stark contrast to the cold nights in Normandy and those on the way home from London when they had crouched before an open fire with only a few hares to share between them.

In battle and traveling the length of England, he and his men had been gray, dust-covered figures passing in a blur. Often they were coated with mud from the rain-soaked moors. But tonight, the men-at-arms had doffed their mail to don fresh linen tunics, the knights wearing woolen and velvet. Only the king’s court presented a more opulent display .

Because it was expected of the Red Wolf’s son, Alex had worn a fine woolen tunic of midnight blue embroidered with silver thread on the shoulders, a gift from his mother. The Lady of Talisand had expectations for her sons’ appearance, particularly Alex as the eldest. He was glad when she had taken no issue with his longer hair. His father had reacted to it with raised brows, but said nothing. All of William’s younger knights had grown their hair long to mirror their sire. Alex was happy to go along with the new fashion because it freed him from cutting his hair. It was enough that he must shave his face for he could not abide a beard.

He had left his sword in his bedchamber, knowing none would be permitted in the hall this night. But the dagger at his belt, a gift from the king, was no less formidable a weapon. He could kill with it and had. In the four years he had served William Rufus, Alex had ended the life of more than one man at the king’s command. It was a knight’s service and he accepted it.

Servants hurried into the hall, placing trays of meat on the tables and the trenchers that served to hold their food.

A kitchen wench filled his goblet with wine. Alex nodded his thanks and, ever hungry, filled his trencher with slices of venison, spooning over it the juices into which he would dip his bread.

Maggie had outdone herself with a fine feast of venison, roasted in a vinegar and pepper sauce, hare spiced with what smelled like rosemary and thyme, and a peacock skinned, roasted and redressed in its own feathers. The delicacy was not often served at Talisand. He had first tasted the peafowl’s rich, dark meat in Chester at the home of his foster father, Earl Hugh.

Biting into the chunk of peacock, Alex shot a glance at Guy, eating on the other side of Sir Geoffroi. The young knight was flirting with the young women at the tables, enjoying his new status.

Alex took a drink of his wine and looked up at the rafters. Where once, his mother told him, there had been bright ornamentation, now the images on the carved timbers were faded and darkened with soot from the central hearth fire. On his mother’s side, his roots were deep in England’s soil. But his father was a Norman, as were most of Talisand’s men-at-arms .

Turning to his father, Alex asked, “How many new men-at-arms do we have?”

“A score in anticipation of trouble in the north, but there may soon be more if the king is assembling an army to fight Malcolm.”

“He will be some time in doing that,” said Alex, “for he waits not only for the men who owe him service but for the ships he would take to Scotland.”

“Following in his father’s steps,” said Talisand’s lord. “Mayhap a prudent step. ’Twas what the Conqueror did when he invaded Scotland.”

Alex’s mother, apparently catching their conversation, leaned across his father. “War was averted then with an agreement and your father returned unscathed. We can only pray that Malcolm and William Rufus will have sense enough to do the same.”

His father took his wife’s hand. “Do not worry, my love. All will be well.”

She looked into his eyes. “It was my fervent prayer when I met with Father Bernard this morning.”

Just beyond Alex’s mother sat Maugris in his usual place, nodding in agreement. One never knew what vision the old man might have seen. Knowing the wise one advised his father gave Alex comfort. Whatever happened, he had to believe Talisand would stand.

Beyond Maugris, Alex glimpsed Sir Maurin with his dark head bent to his son, Rory. Like Alex’s father, Sir Maurin had outlived the Conqueror and helped to bring peace to England. Once, Sir Maurin, Sir Geoffroi and Sir Alain were young knights, who, along with Alex’s father, left Normandy to seek lands of their own. Now it was up to their sons to secure England’s future. Alex was glad he would have at his side men like Rory and Guy, as well as his brothers. Jamie, too, for the house knight who had once been page to the Red Wolf, was devoted to Talisand.

Alex let his gaze drift about the hall, watching the men and women enjoying Maggie’s feast. A long table had been added to the two they typically had in order to accommodate the crowd gathered for the homecoming feast. Because of the bachelor knights and new men-at-arms, the men outnumbered the women. But it was the women with their gowns and long hair that drew Alex’s attention, a feast for his eyes, as Maggie’s meal was a feast for his stomach.

Content, he reached for his wine just as a woman gowned in silk the color of dark violets slipped into the hall like a faint cool breeze. He set down his goblet, his senses coming alive as his gaze tracked her every move. Pale flaxen locks pulled back from her delicate face cascaded down her back, as her gown rippled around her. He imagined it rustling as she walked, the sound like leaves falling to the forest floor. Around her neck sparkled an intricate gold necklace. The queen of fairies walking among them.

Merewyn.

This afternoon she had appeared a diminutive Welsh archer. Now, attired like a lady of royal birth, she held his attention as no other woman in the hall.

He leaned into his father. “Have there been no suitors for her?”

His father followed his line of sight. “Merewyn?”

“Aye. She is one and twenty and not yet wed.”

“Well, to begin, Sir Alain has yet to give his daughter, Lora, to anyone and she is of an age with Merewyn. But the truth is the girl would have suitors aplenty were she to smile at any one of my men, but she holds herself apart. Above reproach, your mother believes, afraid to encourage any because of her mother’s fate. The men do not know what to make of her. Possibly they fear her arrows should their overtures not be welcomed.”

“For good reason, I understand. The men say she can shoot well.”

“Yea, she can. Tomorrow you will have to attend the archery contest.”

“I just might.” Normally, he would have headed straight for the sword matches but tomorrow he would begin with those testing their skills in archery.

Alex’s gaze continued to rest upon Merewyn as she took a seat next to Lora and Jamie. It was not difficult to see why she had sought out those two. Jamie had been an orphan, just like Merewyn, when Alex’s father made him his page. And Lora’s mother had once been leman to Alex’s English grandfather. In the eyes of some, Lora would be tainted by her mother’s former life just as Merewyn was marked as a child of rape. Such blots against a woman were rarely forgiven by the merciless.

Merewyn’s eyes scanned the hall before alighting on him. Her face bore a look of discomfort, as if she was reluctant to be here. Hoping to put her at ease, he smiled and dipped his head in greeting. Her eyes met his for only a moment before looking away.

***

Sipping her wine, Merewyn tried unsuccessfully to avoid looking at Alexander as she listened to Jamie recounting stories of his knightly pursuits while she’d been in Wales. He was generous in his compliments of Talisand’s lord and modest in telling of his own feats, as he always was.

Jamie had been a knight for several years when she had gone with Rhodri to Wales. Now, just into his third decade, he was a well-favored man with a head of sun-bleached curls and a winsome smile. He often aimed that smile at Lora whose exotic beauty drew admiring glances from many men. But Lora’s eyes seemed focused on the dais where Alex sat between his father and Sir Geoffroi.

Did Lora long for Alex? Merewyn hoped not, for her friend could have no claim on the heir of Talisand any more than she could.

“Tomorrow there will be tests of strength and contests,” said Jamie, the sparkle in his eyes conveying his eagerness for the coming day. “Will you be attending the matches?” He had posed the question to the two of them but Merewyn was certain ’twas Lora’s answer he awaited.

Lora returned him a small smile. “Yea, all of Talisand will be there.”

“I will look for you then,” he said. “And you, Merewyn, will you compete against Talisand’s archers?”

She let out a breath, acknowledging to herself the mixed feelings she had about competing against the other archers. Though she disliked being on display, she could not resist the thrill of the competition. “I will. I was hoping Lady Serena might shoot. ’Tis been long since I have witnessed a demonstration of her skill.”

“She does not often compete against the archers anymore,” Jamie said. “Young Tibby and her work in the village keeps her occupied most days.”

Lora chuckled and directed her next words to Merewyn. “My brother, Ancel, and Tibby follow that little vixen, Cecily, around like puppies.”

“Aye, I have seen the three of them tormenting the chickens,” Merewyn said.

“You should have seen them this afternoon,” said Lora. “Their faces were smeared with the remnants of Maggie’s tarts. Cassie had gone home to change and Maggie was in the hall directing the servants. The three imps found the cooling tarts sitting in the kitchen and apparently could not resist. I could hear Maggie’s shouts to the front door of the hall when she found them.”

“That must have been a sight,” said Jamie, shaking his head.

“It would have been amusing,” Lora said, smiling, “had not Maggie informed them they had just had their sweet for the day and would get no more. Their loud protests for what they considered a great injustice echoed through the hall as Maggie chased them from the kitchens.”

Jamie laughed, as did Merewyn, trying to picture the scene. There had been children in Wales, dark-haired little ones she had adored, including those belonging to Rhodri and Fia. They had returned her affection, calling her “Merry”. For as long as she remained among them, the name had described her well. In Wales, she had forgotten the shame of her youth. But always in the back of her mind was the memory of the raven-haired lad who had saved her in the woods.

***

Alex stabbed a slice of venison with his knife and brought it to his trencher, listening to Sir Geoffroi with only half an ear, as he watched Merewyn. Lady Emma stopped by Merewyn’s table to speak a word to her and he was reminded that she had once lived with Sir Geoffroi and his wife. When Merewyn laughed, men turned their heads to glimpse her. Did she know how attractive they found her? How attractive he found her?

“Has the king mentioned an intention to betroth you to a woman from one of Normandy’s noble families?”

His attention roused, Alex faced the knight whose dark blond hair was now gray at his temples. “What?”

Sir Geoffroi’s stark blue eyes took on a serious mien. “Surely the possibility comes as no surprise. Now that he has gained new lands in Normandy from his brother, I expect William will want to bind his young nobles to those lands.”

“The king has said naught of it to me,” Alex replied contemplatively. Crossing his arms over his chest, he added, “I would prefer to choose my own bride when the time comes.”

“’Tis not likely you will have the freedom. You know how your father came to wed your lady mother.”

“Aye, I know the story. Neither was given a choice. But that was the Conqueror.”

“’Tis possible his son might feel differently. I do not know William Rufus well enough to say. But if you think to take a bride from Talisand, consider my daughter, Beatrice.”

Alex looked to where Bea sat with Rory’s sister, Alice. “She is very comely,” he said half-heartedly. At eighteen summers, Guy’s sister was living up to the name “Beautiful Bea”. With her silken light brown hair and gray-green eyes, she was every bit the child of her mother, Lady Emma, who sat close by her daughter. But that was just the point. To Alex, Bea was a child and a compliant one at that. He looked beyond her to the woman who fascinated him.

“If you are gazing at Sir Alain’s daughter, Lora, you may have competition from Sir Jamie. ’Tis why he is still unwed.”

“Aye, I can see he is attentive to her,” said Alex. He had not missed the attention Jamie paid to Lora and was not unhappy she was the one who garnered smiles from the captain of his father’s house knights and not Merewyn. Why had Sir Geoffroi not suggested Merewyn? Was it the circumstance of her birth, her orphan status, or her unwomanly choice of pursuits?

“Well, there is also Alice, Rory’s sister,” Sir Geoffroi went on, “but I’m told the redhead is difficult.”

Alex’s brows drew together in a frown. “Marriage is not on my mind.” He reached for his wine.

Sir Geoffroi lifted his goblet, giving Alex a sidelong glance. “Taking after your father? Until he met your mother, the Red Wolf was not his only name. The Conqueror’s men called him ‘the warrior priest’.”

Alex laughed, covering his mouth to keep from spurting his wine on the table. Breaking off a piece of bread, he sopped it in the juices in his trencher. “There are many things they might call me, Sir Geoffroi, but ‘priest’ is not among them.” He took a bite of the tasty juice-soaked bread. “Still, I thank you for the warning about the king’s intentions. I have seen enough of Normandy to last me a long while. I have no desire to bind myself to it. There is no peace to be had in that nest of vipers.”

Sir Geoffroi laughed heartily. “Now you know why your father and I were happy to accompany Duke William to England. The rewards came later.”

After that, Alex turned to his other side and spoke in low tones to his father about the king’s court and all he could expect to find there. “’Tis not like that on campaign,” Alex assured his father, “but in the king’s palace at Westminster, his favorites wear their hair longer than mine and mince about gowned and perfumed like women.”

“I do not look forward to that,” said his father, “and your lady mother, who has no love for Norman kings, will have yet another excuse not to like this one.”

Alex knew well his mother’s opinion of the Conqueror for he had heard her expound upon it numerous times. With William Rufus’ strange proclivities and his disdain for the church, she would like this Norman king even less.

Once the honeyed fruit tarts were served, conversation in the hall died as two minstrels in colorful robes of green, gold and scarlet approached the dais, carrying lyre and pipes. Candles flickered and the fire in the hearth slowly faded to embers as the minstrels’ music lifted enchanting sounds into the air.

When the gentle music ended, the tables were moved against the walls and more lively music replaced the soft sounds in anticipation of the dancing that would ensue.

Men began to choose partners for the dances. Rory jumped from his seat and headed straight for Guy’s sister, Bea. Guy, likely in an effort to get even, headed for Rory’s sister, the redheaded Alice. When Alex saw Jamie take Lora’s hand, leaving Merewyn alone, he quickly got to his feet and strode in her direction. He was of a mind to see if she danced as well as she was rumored to shoot her arrows.

** *

Merewyn watched Alex crossing the hall to where she stood, oblivious to the eager looks from the women he passed. Her heart soared to think he would brave the disdain of others to seek her out for his partner. Mayhap he was not so arrogant as she had imagined.

When he bowed before her, offering his hand, she took it.

The shiver that snaked up her arm shocked her. It was the first time he had touched her so, the way a man touched a woman for whom he had affection. He was so much a man now, his strength revealed in his muscled shoulders and arms. She had promised herself she would stay away from him as she did the other knights and here she was partnering with him in a dance.

He led her to the large area where couples were forming squares. The group they joined set a fast pace keeping time with the music. Soon, she and Alex were matching the quick steps, laughing and smiling.

She was powerless against the joy she experienced being with him. If she allowed herself, she might imagine they were a couple, for they moved easily together as if it were not the first time they had partnered. She had learned to dance in Wales and savored the exhilaration of abandoning herself to the music.

And now it was Alex who held her hand.

After another dance, the room grew over-warm leaving her cheeks heated and her heart pounding. When the music came to a dramatic end, Alex lifted her high into the air, her hands on his shoulders. Caught up in the moment, she laughed as he set her down. But around them, she glimpsed frowns on the faces of some older women.

Alex must have noticed, for he pulled her toward the door that led to the bailey. “Walk with me, Merewyn.”

Flushed with wine and heated from the dance, escaping the disapproving looks into the cooler air lured her almost as much as the temptation to be alone with him. “Aye, very well.”

He guided her out the door but did not let go of her hand. She should not allow him to touch her in so familiar a manner, but she could not bring herself to take back her hand.

Above her, the moonless sky was filled with a radiant circle of stars, their brightness dazzling. “It matters not how many times I see the stars on a clear night,” she remarked, “I am always in awe. ”

He joined her to stare up at the brilliant display of stars. “’Twas the same for me when I looked into the night sky over Normandy.”

She had often tried to imagine him in that land, worried her champion might be wounded or worse. As a squire, he had followed the knights to battle and later, as a knight, he confronted the swords of other men. He could have died; many did.

She peered at him out of the corner of her eye, admiring his strong profile set against the light from the windows of the hall. “Did you sleep outdoors in Normandy?”

“Some. The last months were often warm. We had tents, of course. But other times, some of us slept in the hall of one of the nobles in Normandy. William Rufus likes his comforts, even on campaign.”

They walked through the bailey. All was quiet save the guards at the gate tower who spoke a greeting to Alex before returning to gaze outward from the palisade.

Alex rubbed his thumb over her knuckles, sending little ripples of pleasure through her. She forced herself to keep her mind on their conversation. “What is he like, the king?”

“He is still unwed, unusual for a king in his third decade. And he is not much like his father, who, I am told, respected the church. But like his father, he is a worthy knight and can be fierce in battle. He can also be dangerous when confronted.” He laughed. “Like an angry bull.”

She tried to imagine the Conqueror’s son who had become king upon his father’s death, but she could not recall one good thing said about him in Wales.

“When he is not wearing mail,” Alex went on, “he favors luxurious clothing adorned with gold and jewels.”

She glanced at Alex’s dark blue wool tunic, now black in the moonlight, fitted to his lean muscled form. How much more elaborate was the king’s attire? “Is he a difficult king to serve?”

“Not on the battlefield. And he is generous when pleased.”

It seemed he might say more but he hesitated and then was silent. Was he brooding? Often, his dark looks could seem threatening. There was so much she did not know about Alexander the man.

They drew next to the stables and it occurred to her she would like to see his great stallion. “Would you show me your horse, the huge black one you ride?”

“Aye, but you will have to approach him with care since you are new to him.”

Inside the long stable building, a lone candle burned in a copper lantern. At the entrance, a stable boy stirred in his sleep. Alex brought his finger to his lips and beckoned her farther into the stable’s depths.

Horses moved about in their stalls, a few looking over the ropes across the open doors as they passed, greeting them with soft nickers. Near the back of the stable on the right was a large stall. The black stallion raised his head over the rope and, seeing his master, nickered loudly, his ears coming forward.

Alex reached out and stroked the stallion’s neck. “Missed me, did you?” Then, looking at her, he said, “I acquired Azor in Normandy.”

“Will he let me touch his muzzle?” she asked, tentatively reaching out her hand.

“If you speak to him with soft words, aye.”

Merewyn loved horses but she was certain this one tolerated only one master. Gently, she ran her palm over the stallion’s soft muzzle and reaching up, slid her hand down his forehead. “You are a handsome fellow.” Like your master.

The light was dim but there were sparks in the stallion’s eyes as he raised his head. “He is magnificent,” she said. Larger than her Welsh pony, the black horse appeared to her a confident beast. “And I think he knows it,” she said with a small laugh.

Alex turned her to face him and placed his hands on her shoulders. “He does. He’s a proud beast like his master.”

She knew she should move away but his strong hands somehow anchored her feet to the ground. Before she fully understood his intent, he pulled her to him and set his lips upon hers, claiming a kiss she could not deny him. It was her first, long imagined and now realized.

His warm mouth moved over hers, the effect like strong wine, lulling her to ignore the objections her mind was shouting. She brought her hands to his arms feeling the muscles flexing beneath his tunic and hung on as he swept her into a swirling mist of sensations.

Her lips still sought his as he raised his head. “I have been wanting to do that since you first entered the hall tonight. ”

“You would claim a woman’s kiss merely because you desire it?” Mayhap it worked with others, but she refused to be one of his conquests. Bringing her hands to his chest, she pushed him away. “You have grown presumptuous.” She knew of his reputation. Few, if any, women ever told him nay. ’Twas said the wenches who had gone to his bed did not leave disappointed. It made her angry to think they had some part of him she never would.

He drew close and whispered, “We were once friends, Merewyn. We could be more.”

She jerked her head back. “Nay, I will not be one of your women.” Angry with herself for so willingly falling into his arms, she stepped away. Even now, his nearness caused her heart to flutter in her chest and her body to want more of his kisses. “Are they all willing?”

“Most are, but I did not invite every woman to walk with me, Merewyn. Only you. ’Tis not all women I want.” He stepped closer. “But I do want you, Merewyn.”

His bold assumption that he might have her if he but wanted her was the final stroke. She turned on her heels and ran out of the stable.