“The lady doesn’t have to smile at me in order to fulfill the role of a wife,” he commented.

“Verily ’tis true, my lord, but why not choose a wife who is at the least pleasing to converse with as well as one who is wealthy and fertile?” Judith knew she was speaking boldly, but as ever, her tongue had a mind of its own. “’Tis fortunate for you the queen shall never allow me to wed and leave her side, or you must needs find a reason to strike even me off your list of possible wives.” She forced herself to laugh merrily.

If she’d hoped Mal would have said aught about finding no reason to strike her off his list, or even express some token dismay that she wasn’t eligible to wed, Judith was bound to be disappointed, for he remained stoically silent. So she rattled on, inducing her tones to remain bright and cheery. “Now, Lady Ursula would be a fine choice. And though she has moments of cloud-headedness—and who among us does not—she is amusing to converse with. Her estate is fine, and best of all,” she added mischievously, “she has seen you training in the yard.”

“Of what import is that?” Mal demanded, glancing back as if to see whether his squire had heard. But Gambert was well behind them, talking with Sir Nevril and Sir Holbert. The open gate to Clarendon was just ahead.

“Why, she has been swooning and exclaiming over your…uhm…prowess with the sword,” Judith told him with great innocence. “Her cheeks turn pink whenever someone mentions your name. And ere I told her about your skill fighting off an entire pack of mad dogs, she has asked me many times to re-tell the tale—each with more detail than on the last telling. I’ve had to describe how you leapt from the seat of your horse and allowed Alpha to run off in order to save him, even though I was not witness to that particular performance.”

By now, Malcolm’s face was more than ruddy and his features had tightened. “By the rood, how your tongue ever wags, Lady Judith,” he said grimly. “The next I know, Duchante himself will be singing ballads of my supposed feats.”

“But my Lord Warwick, how can that be a bad thing?” Judith teased as they clattered over the drawbridge into the bailey. She must keep her words jesting, for if she thought too closely about what she said, she might begin to believe it herself. “Methinks garnering the rapt attention of the ladies when one is in search of a wife can only be a happy occurrence.”

“I care not whether a maid moons over me or nay,” Malcolm said with stiffness in his tones. “’Tis her lands and the dowry she brings, not how the lady looks at me.”

“’Tis rather like choosing a horse—or a falcon, then, is it, my lord? Selecting a wife because her estate is near yours or somehow complements it?” Judith had stopped her mount, for they were at the stables, and she looked up at Malcolm. “You have little concern for mutual affection or even personality—”

“I told you previously she must be mild and biddable. And a good chatelaine. And by the rood, of course I’ll not wed a woman who despises me!”

“Well,” Judith said, holding out her hand for him to help her dismount. “That, at the least, is promising.”

Judith was in her chamber late in the evening when there was a knock on the door. Bear lifted his head and gave a half-hearted growl, then collapsed back on his pallet.

After her hunt with Malcolm, Judith had returned to the keep to find the queen in need of her. After several hours of attending Eleanor, she had a brief supper in the hall. And, as there’d been no entertainment this evening—nor had she spied Malcolm in the hall—she’d returned to her room shortly after the meal. It was well into the evening, nearly bedtime, and thus, she didn’t expect a visitor. Tabby was somewhere—likely mooning over the groom Bruin, who’d been sitting at a trestle table near the rear of the hall this evening. Judith knew this because Tabby had pointed him out to her when they entered the hall for dinner, and then her maid had slipped off in order to sit “near” the young man.

Judith rose from her seat by the fire, where she’d been working on the embroidery for a small pouch she intended to hang from her waist. It would be large enough to carry some coin as well as her eating knife and the keys to the trunks containing her valuables, which she kept with her when she left her chamber. The kitten, who’d been alternately batting at Judith’s hem and chasing the tail of her embroidery thread, scrambled out of the way.

She opened the door to find a page wearing the king’s livery. “My lady, the king wishes you to attend him.”

Judith froze, her hand clutching the solid wood of the door. “The king?” she repeated dumbly.

“The king wishes you to attend him,” repeated the page, clearly having memorized the message and naught more.

Her insides churning, Judith sought frantically for an explanation for such a summons. None was forthcoming, unless he wished to speak with her on the matter of the queen’s falcon. It was a possibility, for the king was known to have a mind that ne’er stopped working, and he would call for his advisors or servants at any time of day or night for any purpose. But…. She felt ill.

“My lady,” the page said, shifting urgently on his feet.

“I…I am coming,” Judith said slowly, turning to look about her chamber. Her palms had dampened, and that swirling, churning sensation inside her did not lessen. She snatched up her long cloak, then thrust it aside in favor of a different one—an old castoff she’d given Tabby that was less fine and ornate.

Pulling it around her shoulders, Judith fastened the brooch and gave one last glance about her chamber. Then she had no choice left but to follow the page.

He walked briskly through the corridors of the keep and she kept good pace with him, all the while considering and discarding explanations for why the king should call her to him at this time of the night.

There were few people about; the dim hallways, lit by wall sconces and sheathed in tapestries, were fairly empty. In the distance, Judith heard male laughter coming from the men’s chamber—a vast room where the men-at-arms, knights and even unmarried lords slept on pallets until they could arrange for a more private chamber.

Nervousness seized her as she passed the queen’s apartments. There was unusual silence coming from behind the heavy double door, beyond which was the chamber where Judith spent much of her days amusing or conversing with the queen. If she was not in those chambers, she was often with the queen in her private solar, copying her legal papers or contracts, or writing letters as Eleanor dictated them.

But it was quiet behind those doors, and the fear that aught had happened to the queen spurred Judith to walk faster. Mayhap that was the reason for the king’s summons. Something had happened to his wife, who was four months gone with child.

Despite her current uncertainty, Judith couldn’t help a smile. She had enjoyed the day, enjoyed the company, and most certainly found it amusing to tease Malcolm as she’d done. He was so very serious and sober, ’twas entertaining to try to pique him, to see him draw up those broad shoulders and make stiff-lipped retorts to her jests.

He would make some lady a fine husband. Judith bit her lip. But not I.

The page led Judith down a narrow corridor through which she’d never traveled and at last stopped before a small door. She noticed an armed guard standing just beyond the entrance at the end of the short passageway, cloaked in shadow.

“My lady,” the page said with a bow. “You may enter. His majesty awaits you.”

Judith’s heart was pounding erratically once again, having surged up into her throat—or at the least, it felt that way. Her insides were in such turmoil she feared she might lose her supper. “Thank you,” she said, then loosened the latch and stepped inside.

“Come in, Lady Judith,” said a voice when she hesitated on the threshold. “Close the door.”

She did so, slowly, her heart racing, her palms slippery.

The chamber was simply furnished with a myriad of wall sconces and candles providing a mellow golden illumination. A table and two chairs were arranged near a hearth with a roaring fire. A fine rug covered the stone floor. Another table near the wall, which had no windows nor even arrow slits, boasted an array of food.

And there was a bed.

The king stood in the center of the chamber, as if he’d just risen from one of the chairs and walked toward her. Once again, he was wearing a simple tunic over footed hose. His eyes were dark and fastened on her with intensity. “Lady Judith…come in. How kind of you to join me.”

A corner of her frantic, racing mind wondered if Henry knew how ironic his words were. As if she’d had any choice in the matter.

Just as she had no choice in obeying his command to “come in.” Yet she could hardly make her legs move.

“My lord,” she said, forcing herself into a curtsy…wanting never to rise again. Because she greatly feared what would happen when she did.

But surely…surely…she was mistaken. Surely it was a misunderstanding.

Henry walked over to her and, taking her hand, lifted her to her feet with a firm grip. He was standing very close—so close she could smell the wine on his breath, the smokiness from the fire, the expensive scent wafting from his clothing. His beard and mustache were neatly trimmed and his thick hair curled around his forehead and ears.

“Your hurts have begun to heal,” he said, reaching, as he had done only two nights earlier, to touch her cheek. This time, after trailing over the scrape, his fingers continued along her jaw and down over her neck where they settled at the clasp of her cloak. “’Tis glad I am of that.”

With a short, neat movement, he unpinned the brooch at her throat and flung the cloak aside.

“My lord, your majesty,” she stammered, stepping back slightly. “What may I—what is your—why have you called me here?”

Henry smiled at her. He was a handsome man, one with an energy many people of both genders found attractive. In truth, Judith had always considered the man magnetic in his personality and appearance. Even now, a part of her acknowledged this: she was in the presence of greatness, of her liege lord, her king, and he was a virile, alluring, muscular man.