Children of Time (The After Cilmeri Series Book Four) by Sarah Woodbury Page B

Castle in August, in that his demeanor was precise and his clothing perfect. His red hair still stood on end, however, and his eyes were as clear and glittering as ever.
    “Clare,” Dafydd said and tipped his head. I gave him a weak smile. I really didn’t want to lose control of my stomach at the Norman baron’s feet. He might become somewhat less accommodating towards us if I ruined his boots.
    “If the steward is prepared, my wife needs a bed,” Dafydd said.
    “At once.” Clare gestured towards the entrance to the great hall. It was built in stone, as most castles were these days. The need for defense, and the protection stone offered, proved of greater merit than the desire for less draft and cold. We’d begun the day under sunshine, but the wind had picked up over the last hour and the clouds to the west spoke of rain.
    Sir Thomas himself showed us to our rooms. “My lady,” he said, with a smile and a bow. “I hope you find your accommodations to your liking.”
    Our rooms turned out to be adjacent to his own and as richly appointed. While it made Dafydd uncomfortable, I knew this kind of reverence was no less than he deserved. Dafydd pulled the curtains back from the big four-poster bed, revealing a soft mattress and down pillows. A fire burned in the grate. The chimney appeared to work well, too, since the room wasn’t full of smoke. Dafydd turned to me. “A bed fit for a princess,” he said.
    “I don’t care what it looks like, as long as I can lie down on it.” I moaned as I sank into the bed and tucked a pillow under my head. Dafydd found a second pillow to put between my knees and stroked the hair off my face.
    “Thank you, Lord Thomas,” Dafydd said. “Would it be possible for broth and bread to be brought here? I doubt my wife will want to join us for dinner.”
    Sir Thomas nodded. “At once. As to yourself, please come to the hall at your leisure.” He left.
    My maid, Branwen, hovered in the doorway. “I’ll see to your food, my lady.”
    “Thank you.” I smiled. She’d see to the food, and those moments in the kitchen would supply me with all the relevant gossip in the castle. In her late forties, having lost her husband some years ago, she was far more fluent in English and French than I, and had one of those personalities that invited confidences. I didn’t know how she did it, but she hadn’t failed me yet.
    In her absence, Dafydd untied both my boots and dropped them to the floor. “Thank you, Dafydd, now go away,” I said.
    He slid his hand over mine. “Are you sure? I can stay if you need me.”
    I waved my other hand at him. “People want to talk to you. I’m going to lie here and drink some soup. I’ll feel better if you’re not watching.”
    I didn’t play games with him and usually meant what I said. If I told him to go away, it wasn’t a cry for attention but my genuine wish. So, he said, “Okay.”
    “You should dress in your finery first,” I said.
    He stopped, halfway to the door, and turned back. “I’m sure that’s not necessary, Lili—”
    “They’ll expect it.”
    Dafydd sighed, but he knew I was right. We’d planned for it, even. Seamstresses had spent a hurried few days sewing new articles of clothing for both Dafydd and me, so that we would look like the prince and princess we were. Anna had consulted Maud de Bohun as to what was fashionable in London right now, so I would fit in. Dafydd would be out of place in an English castle no matter what he wore, but had bowed to their greater fashion sense.
    “My lord?” Dafydd’s manservant held a cloak in one hand and a brush for his boots in the other.
    “Make it quick, Jeeves.”
    Though the man’s real name was Rhun, Dafydd had started calling him Jeeves, with Rhun’s permission, the day after I’d hired him. It was a jest, one that only he understood (though he’d tried to explain it to both of us). What I did understand was that even after six years, Dafydd was uncomfortable with having