Xanthe set aside her spoon. She said carefully, “I respect Niniane as my Queen, and in a very short time, I have grown to love her, so please do not mistake what I say. What you did has not gone unrecognized. I, along with everybody that I know, hoped that you would be crowned king. Those so-called friends of yours—while their first reaction was understandable, to go all that time without speaking to you was exceedingly short sighted, judgmental and cruel.”
The hardness eased gradually from his face as he listened. He gave her a faint smile that was little more than a crinkling of his eyes at the edges. “Thank you.” He scraped the bottom of his bowl. “This was a delicious meal, and the company was even more delightful. I absolutely refuse to fall asleep again.”
She laughed. “Sleep is your body’s way of recovering, but if you would rather, we can spread a blanket for you under a tree while you explore the pile of books Niniane and Tiago left.”
“That sounds perfect.” He watched while she cleared the table and stacked the dishes in the basin. Then he held his side with a wince as he yawned widely.
She suspected his fight against sleep would not last long. Not only had his injuries taxed his resources, so had the healing. The physician had ordered at least two sevendays of convalescence for a reason.
She took a blanket outside for him and shook it out in the shade of a large elm tree that was located near the front door. He appeared a few moments later, carrying three books, and struggled to kneel on the blanket. She hovered beside him, anxious to help, but his savage expression held her back.
When he was seated on the ground, he eased himself back until he was prone. She went into the cottage and returned with a pillow.
“Thank you,” he said. The skin around his mouth was white.
“You’re welcome.” She watched for a moment as he selected one of the books and began to read. Then she went to draw water to clean the dishes.
When she was finished, she looked outside. His eyes were closed, his book resting on his chest. She grinned. Each time he fell asleep he woke up stronger. This time, he might even wake up grumpier.
After she had washed and put away the dishes, she puttered around for a bit. She made the bed and boiled the bandages that he had worn. When they were thoroughly cleansed, she hung them in the sun. After they dried, she would roll and store them.
The rest of the cottage was already tidy. There was more than enough food. In a few days, she would have to do laundry, but for now there wasn’t anything that required attention until it was time to cook supper.
An invisible leash pulled her to the sleeping man underneath the shade tree. Silently she eased herself down to sit on one corner of the blanket. She felt as guilty as if she were stealing, but she couldn’t help herself. Studying him at leisure without fear of discovery was an almost unimaginable luxury.
He did not look quite so desperately ill, but he still looked worn. Shadows under his eyes lingered, as did the brackets of pain around his mouth. Tenderness pulled at her.
It was one thing to admire him from a distance for all the fine things he embodied. It was totally different to grow to know him a little, and to see the real man behind the reputation. He struggled with his temper, chafed at illness and injury, carried shadows of loneliness in those kind eyes.
Instead of showing her that her idol had feet of clay, all these things served to highlight just how outstanding his long service to his country had been. How many times had he felt endangered by Urien? Probably too often to count. When he had lain awake at night, did he, too, wonder if he might die friendless and alone?
If he had cared at all about his wife—and she believed that he had for he was a caring man—he had no doubt relied upon her companionship and drew comfort from her support, which would have made the crimes that she had committed doubly terrible for him.
She watched him quietly as the sun traveled through the sky and the dappled shade moved across his long, relaxed body. When he began to stir, she shot to her feet and fled into the house. She had her weapons laid out on the table and her sword drawn and was busy polishing and sharpening blades when Aubrey’s shadow fell into the room. She kept her head tucked down, gaze focused on her task.
He said nothing as he stood and watched her. The moment spun on an enchanted spindle until it drew out, long and golden like a thread of dyed flax pulling taut between them. She would not look up. She could not. She did not feel in control of herself, and she was terrified at what might show in her eyes.
Finally he moved quietly into the bedroom.
Her fingers shook. She nicked one on the blade she had just sharpened. She sucked the injured finger and thought, I am a fool.