“I had a more energetic consummation in mind!”

And I laughed again. How easy he was to talk to, to laugh with. And how much my body desired that consummation. And then a thought wormed its way into my mind, for no apparent reason.

“Have you shared a bed with many women?” I asked bluntly.

“Yes.” He lifted his cup in a silent toast. “Does it matter?”

“No.”

“I won’t ask you the same.”

“No.” I sighed a little. “But I was a virgin when I went to Edward’s bed.” And wished I had not brought the specter of the King into the room. I grimaced mildly. “Forgive me.…”

“It’s not easy, is it, Alice?” He touched my hand with such understanding that my heart lurched.

“No. It is not.” Nothing in my life had been easy.

“We knew it would not be. This day is ours. We’ll not let others intrude.”

We consummated our union in time-honored fashion, between the lavender-scented linen of Windsor’s bed—what an efficient housekeeper he had acquired. How thoughtful he had been of my comfort—and for a soldiering man, astonishingly so. And how careful he was with me, an unexpected gentleness. Until his energies got the best of him, and he approached the task of disrobing me like initiating a campaign against the Irish: with a wealth of cunning and stealth to destroy all barriers. Not that there were any real obstacles to overcome between us. Were we not both experienced? Only my own unusual, unsettling reticence held me back.

“Alice…!” I had felt my muscles stiffen as he unfastened the lacing on my gown, letting his fingers trail across my nape. “You are allowed to enjoy this.”

“I know. It’s just that…”

“I know what it is.…You think too much. Let me seduce your mind as well as your body.” His breath was warm, his lips soft along the line of my shoulder.

“You don’t know any poetry,” I managed on an intake of breath as he kissed the sensitive skin below my ear.

“But I do know how to use my lips for other purposes than mouthing meaningless sentiments. Like this…”

He was inordinately successful.

I did not compare him with Edward. I did not. I would not. There were no ghosts there with us, not Edward, certainly not Janyn Perrers. As for the nameless, faceless wraiths of Windsor’s ghostly amours, I did not feel even one of them treading on my hem as he led me to the bed.

And then Windsor filled my entire mind. He was a new lover, with new caresses and heart-stopping skills, a resourceful lover whom it would take time to get to know.

As things were, I did not think I had that time.

On a practical note—a very necessary one—I took care to protect myself with the old wives’ nostrum of a carefully positioned fold of wool soaked in cedar gum, messy but essential. It would not do for Windsor to get a child on me, and I bred easily. Were we not, even through our marriage, opening Pandora’s box, allowing the escape of a multitude of dangers? A child would put weapons into the hands of those who did not love me. Besides, I was in no doubt: Whatever censure might be leveled at my own actions, Edward must be protected. I would not carry another child. I would never foist another man’s child on Edward, or brand him as a cuckold.

And Windsor? He understood, and accepted. We both saw the yawning perils of our position, the strange delicacy with which our marriage must be conducted.

I received no bride gift after my wedding night. I did not care. For the first time in my life I had been given a gift that was far more precious than monetary value. I could not yet put a name to it, but I knew its value.

A strange happiness settled within me, like a bird come home to its nest. Physical delight made me languorous. A meeting of minds, as equals—for were we not equal in ambition and talents?—satiated me with pleasure. And so we lived out a little idyll at our manor at Gaines, far from enemies and Court intrigues and the pressures of the world. The few days we snatched away were long and warm, perfect for new lovers.

For that short time I was able to set aside my nagging fears for the future. I laid aside my anxiety over Edward in my absence. He was well cared for. My children were safe and lacked for nothing: I had enough wealth in land to protect them. Why should I not allow myself these few days for my own enjoyment? When had I last done that? I could not recall. Without guilt I wallowed in sheer self-indulgence, as we spoke of the inconsequential things that come to those who share a bed and a creeping, blossoming contentment in each other’s companionship. Certainly nothing of our lives outside the walls of the manor was allowed to intrude. We sat or strolled as the mood took us, rode out in the meadows, ate and drank. Made love, like the young lovers we were not.

Did I regret my precipitate decision? Not for a moment.

Did Windsor? I think not.

When, as it must, my mind began to escape the confines I had set it, to reach out to that other life, there remained a fine solace to my very soul, wrapping around me like a fur on a winter’s morning. When Edward died, God rest his soul, I would not be alone. I would be with this man whom I…

My careless thoughts slammed up against a barrier like a battering ram against a stone buttress. Uninvited, horribly intruding, fear bit deep. The words refused to form in my mind, although my heart urged them on.

With this man whom I had an affection for. That was enough.

Windsor’s caresses awakened my body to an awareness of him that I had not anticipated. As all my earlier reticence was swept away by his experienced touch, I used my skill to make him shiver.

“I told you, you would not regret your decision,” he whispered against my throat. “Why are you always so reluctant to believe what I tell you?”

“Because I know you for a devious man. And you, Will? Do you wish you had never made me that offer?”

“I knew I wanted you from the first moment I saw you. It was merely a matter of timing.”

“Long-term planning.”

“I am a master at it. And I am content.”

I believed him. So was I too content. I would change nothing. But did I wish to commit myself in similar words? It is dangerous to open yourself, body and soul, to a man you barely know and whom you suspect of less than altruistic motives. And yet I did speak them.

“I am content.”

And what did I do? I destroyed this new contentment.

Willfully, wantonly.

Because I was afraid.

Every day I was conscious of the moods of my new husband, learning to read them, learning his interests, learning the workings of his mind. I grew to know his care for me, the tenderness that sometimes undermined all my determination to remain a little aloof, and the fire of passion when we came together within the curtains of his bed. And throughout our rural sojourn, I was conscious of an energy burning deep within him, to be, to do, to act, to be engaged with the world beyond our bedchamber. It burned quite as strongly as the passion. He never spoke of it. He never said a word of his ambition to be elsewhere. And I loved him more for that.…

Love?

My realization of it stole my breath. Too soon, too reckless. Too hazardous. Why would I seek an inner fervor that robbed me of my freedom? I feared it like the plague. I would flee from it if I could.

In the end, honesty took me in hand and I could no longer deny the murmurings of my heart, but it was only to my own innermost thoughts that I spoke the word, savoring it on my tongue. I had hidden my emotions for so long, I was incapable of baring my soul to anyone. I had never done so to Janyn, to whom I was a means to an end. Nor to Edward, who was not interested in my soul. Before God, I could not expose my vulnerability to William de Windsor, who seemed against all the laws of nature to hold my heart in his hands. For if I did, would not that double, treble, quadruple my weakness? Better that I kept my own counsel. Better that I did not give him the power to hurt me. He did not love me. I would not put the power to wound into his hand.

So what did I do to our magical sojourn together? I destroyed it.

Here was my inarguable logic. If I did not destroy it, it would destroy itself, imploding on its inward-turning sweetness. A delight it might be now, but its honeyed intensity would soon rot our teeth. We could not stay together away from the world of the Court, where our ambitions must be played out. Windsor could not; and I had a duty elsewhere. At least this destruction was on my terms, with the hope of a renaissance, a reconciliation at some point and time in the future. My love was not on my terms, because I did not want it, but this decision would be. I would claw back control. Simply to preserve what we had, frozen in that sweet ice, would kill it slowly, for neither of us was made for domesticity, for happiness confined within four walls.

And yet in my heart I yearned for it. What I wanted and what I knew I must not want warred within me. And the victory of common sense near broke my heart.

On our return to Court, separately, discreetly as we must, I went immediately to Edward.

“Alice! Come and play chess with me.…”

He recognized me, welcomed me, defeated my wayward manipulation of my knight against his bishop with a few clever moves that I had been too preoccupied to follow, but I think he did not know that I had been absent for more than a few hours. I talked to him and explained what I wanted him to do. And he did it, accepting the rightness of my advice, signing and sealing the document.

My heart wept and my mind rejoiced at my success.

I took it to Windsor’s room, little more than a passageway, in one of the distant wings. Going there was indiscreet, perhaps, but I chose my time and closed his door at my back, wishing there were another way as I offered the document, stepping no closer. If I did, I might be seduced by the strength of his arms. And if he kissed me…I thrust the document forward between us. “This is what you want, Will.”