A Passionate Magic by Flora Speer

believe anything will ever make you
soft, my lord.” Emma decided her best course was to attempt to
reason with him. “My only concern was to make you more comfortable
in your own room, and thereby make myself more comfortable, too. I
am not used to living each day as if I were on campaign with King
Henry’s troops.”
    “Are you complaining about the arrangements I
have made for you?” Dain growled.
    “No, my lord. I am only saying that in this
one, private chamber your life, and mine, need not be so harsh.
When I first saw it, the room was barely furnished.” She moved
closer, smiling at him. “Surely you know it is the custom for a
bride to arrive at her new home with chests of linens, with silver
plate, and with furniture, as well as her bride clothes, and to add
these things to her husband’s belongings so that, together, they
may enjoy all of their possessions.”
    “I do know it.” He was frowning at her. “You
neglected to discuss with me the changes you wished to make before
you made them.”
    “How could I?” she asked, keeping her voice
sweet and a smile on her lips, so what she said would not sound
like an accusation. “You have been absent from Penruan for much of
the time since I arrived, and when you have been here, you’ve had
far more important matters to think about than a new set of bed
hangings, or a chair.”
    “Yes, a chair.” He went to it, to run his
fingers along the smooth arms of it. “Did you think we had no
chairs at Penruan?” His voice was remarkably soft for Dain, as if
he, too, was trying to avoid the impression that he was making an
accusation.
    “I was certain you owned as many chairs as
you want,” she said. “This one is my gift to you, especially made
for you. I sewed the cushions myself, and stuffed them with my own
hands.” She did not tell him that Gavin owned the same kind of
chair. She thought it best not to mention Gavin, not if she wanted
Dain to accept the gift.
    “Did you make the bed hangings, too?” he
asked. “I notice the wool is the same as that on the cushions.”
    ”Hawise helped me to sew the curtains. She is
a fine needlewoman.”
    Dain moved to the bed and flipped the nearest
curtain up to examine the underside. He tested the curtain lining
with his fingertips, looked at the quilt and at the pillows covered
in new linen. Then he looked into Emma’s eyes. One corner of his
mouth quirked upward, but almost immediately straightened again, as
if he was fighting the urge to return her smile.
    ”Thank you,” he said. “It was churlish of me
to complain about what you’ve done, but I was surprised to hear of
it.”
    Emma refrained from pointing out that if he
had come to their bed, he could have seen for himself how she was
altering the room, and not have had to hear of it from the
servants.
    “I hope you are pleased,” was all she
said.
    “You will be well sheltered from drafts when
damp winter comes,” he said.
    Emma bit her lip, determined not to annoy him
by telling him that he, too, ought to be sheltered within the new
bed hangings, with her. The thought of sleeping in Dain’s arms made
her cheeks burn. But it was clear that she held little interest for
him.
    “Are you ready to ride?” he said. “It’s past
time for us to leave for Trevanan.” He was out of the room and
halfway down the stairs to the great hall before she could answer
him.
     
    Trevanan was set in a protected fold of land
where the cliffs broke off for half a mile or so. A river ran out
to the sea along the north side of the village, just before the
cliffs began again. Inland, the fields were tilled for barley and
oats, for cabbage and root vegetables, but the chief food of the
village and the source of its prosperity was fish.
    As they rode along the cliffs and down into
the valley, Dain explained to Emma how schools of pilchard were
caught in great sweeps of netting that extended from boat to boat.
The fish not needed for food for the village were salted and