Devil's Brood by Sharon Kay Penman Page A

chose to take her words at face value, for that allowed him to preserve their marital peace without paying too high a price for it. “I do not say it as often as I ought, but you hold my heart,” he said and then grinned. “And any other body parts you care to claim…as long as you give me a chance to get my strength back first.”
    “A most tempting offer, my lord husband, but one best deferred till tonight.” Sitting up, she shook her hair back, and then, because she’d always faced her fears head-on, she added, with studied nonchalance, “In truth, Harry, you’ve worn me out. I am not as young as I once was, after all.”
    Henry yawned, his gaze lazily tracking the curves of her body, so familiar and still so pleasing to the eye. “Surely you know, love, that fruit is sweeter once it has ripened,” he said, thinking that the female body must surely be one of God’s greatest works, a treasure trove that never lost its allure, no matter how often he explored its riches.
    Eleanor studied his face. It was true he could play fast and loose with the truth when it served his purposes, but he’d never been gallant, never been one for courtship compliments. He’d once admitted that he could see no reason for lavish flattery, for if a woman was beautiful, she already knew it, and if she were not, she’d know he lied. So when he said he still found her desirable, she did not doubt him. Of course he had no notion of the effort it took to keep the years at bay, or that she’d come to see time as the enemy.
    Yawning again, Henry swung his legs over the side of the bed. His mellow mood notwithstanding, Eleanor had not expected him to remain abed with her, not with so many daylight hours remaining; to keep him idle, he’d need to be shackled to the bedpost. Not bothering to summon a servant, he’d begun to collect the clothing they’d discarded in such haste. Wrapping her arms around her knees, she remembered how much she’d liked to watch him naked, for unlike her first husband, he’d always been quite comfortable in his own skin. She still enjoyed the sight of his nudity, for his constant activity had kept him fit. Deep chested, with well-muscled arms and the bowed legs of one who’d spent much of his life on horseback, he was, she thought, a fine figure of a man. She’d missed having him in her bed.
    Of the secrets she kept from him, none of them involved their lovemaking. She’d never had to feign pleasure with him. If her satisfaction was bittersweet, it was because she’d felt the need to compete with his little sugar-sop, to prove she knew his body and his wants far better than Rosamund Clifford ever could. It shamed her that she could not dismiss the Clifford chit as easily as she had the other sluts he’d bedded. But as well as she lied to others, she could not lie to herself, and she’d become acutely aware of their age difference. In the beginning, it had not troubled her at all that she was nine years older. That was no longer true, not since he’d taken up with a girl young enough to be her daughter. Watching as he shrugged into his shirt and pulled his braies up over his hips, she was angry with herself for her lack of pride and angry with him for his lack of loyalty. She could forgive his physical infidelity. His emotional infidelity, she could not.
    Gathering up her gown, chemise, and silken hose, he deposited them within reach, at the foot of the bed. “Shall I call for one of your ladies, love?”
    She’d need help taming her tousled, tangled hair, but she was not ready to rejoin the world waiting beyond that bedchamber door; there were matters still to discuss, matters more important than desires of the flesh. “What mean you to do about Hal’s latest defiance?”
    Henry was pulling his tunic over his head and his voice was muffled in its folds. Once he was free, he said ruefully, “I was hoping you’d have some suggestions, Eleanor. What ails the boy? He is a king, for the love of