“Oh, bless you,” she told Maris and Tabby. “I have felt so out of sorts, being wed in such a state.” She gestured to her garb, still the same simple bliaut she’d donned early this morrow when she expected to remain the whole day in her chamber.

“’Tis a shame you were forced to marry in that gown,” Maris told her, wrinkling her nose in tacit agreement that her attire was, indeed, an unfortunate matter. “But there was no help for it. But now we shall prepare you for a beautiful wedding night. Your groom has agreed to give us no more than a half hour, so we must be quick.”

Judith was grateful not only for the companionship, but for the flurry of activity. It took her mind off Malcolm’s imminent arrival and made her feel less as if she were waiting like a lamb being brought to slaughter.

Maris must have sensed her apprehension, for shortly after she and Tabby helped Judith from the bath, she said to the maid, “Go you now—take your small zoo with you. A wedding bower is no place for a dog and cat, methinks. You may attend your mistress on the morrow. But not too early, mind you.”

Tabby nodded and did as she was bid while Maris helped Judith dry. Her hair was washed earlier, so they’d pinned it up for the bath. But now Maris helped her take it down and let it fall freely about her shoulders, over her breasts and to her hips.

When the chamber door closed behind Tabby, Maris offered Judith a small bundle. “Since you did not have a pretty gown for today, I bethought you would like something for this night.”

Giving her friend a grateful smile, Judith unwrapped a fine, shimmering swath of blue cloth. She held it up and saw that not only did the light filter through it, but she could see her fingers from the other side. It was very nearly sheer, shot with gold and silver threads fashioned into intricately embroidered flowers. Little more than a loose, flowing tunic that skimmed the floor, the gown’s shoulders were gathered together by palm-sized clusters of topazes, garnets and sapphires set in ornate gold.

“Oh! But this is too much,” Judith gasped. “Why, it must have cost a fortune! Maris, I cannot accept this!”

But her friend was shaking her head. “Nay, my love. The fabric is my wedding gift to you, but the jeweled brooches are a bride’s gift from your husband.” Her eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “It shows the extent to which Warwick values you.”

Judith felt her cheeks flush hot. “I am not so certain of that,” she murmured, suddenly nervous again. But she couldn’t take her eyes off the fine, gossamer fabric and the heavy, glittering clasps.

Maris wisely chose to say nothing about her comment. Instead, she unraveled Judith from the drying cloth and helped her into the sleeping gown. “You will entrance him,” she told her, surveying the bride critically. “He will be beside himself when he sees you.”

“Oh,” Judith said, suddenly no longer able to keep quiet. “I am so nervous! Why am I so nervous? I am no shy virgin, that is sure.” These last words came out choppy and bitter, and she looked away in shame.

Maris took her hand and squeezed it. “But of course you are nervous. Surely there has never been a bride who is not so on her wedding night. But I tell you true…you are a virgin in the true sense of the word.” When Judith would have interrupted, she tsked and shook her head. “Nay, listen you. ’Tis a whole world different lying with a man whom you love than one you do not.”

Judith looked at her with wide eyes. “How…why do you say I love him?”

Her friend rolled her eyes and tsked again. “’Tis there for anyone to see who might look. And that, dear Judith, is the most wonderful gift of all. Enjoy your husband, for I trow he will do the same with you. If he does not, the man is addled!”

Before Judith could respond, another knock sounded at the door. Firm, spare, and yet demanding.

“He is here. Our half hour has passed.” Maris stood and patted Judith’s hand. “Have no fear. All will be well.” With a swirl of gown and quick, energetic steps, she went to the door and opened it. “Good evening, my lord. And good night.”

Suddenly Maris was gone and Judith and Malcolm were alone.

The door closed with a quiet scrape, and the latch clunked into place. Judith’s new husband walked into the room, his head nearly brushing the ceiling. The chamber seemed to shrink, becoming very small and warm.

Malcolm turned to look at Judith, who was still sitting on the bed with a lap filled with gossamer blue fabric and fiery-red hair, and he stilled. His gaze, heavy and hot, slid over her slowly, raising little shivers on her skin as if he actually touched her. She saw him draw in a deep breath, then he released it in a long, low exhale.

“Good evening, my lady wife,” he said at last, cutting into the silence even Judith wasn’t certain how to break. “I trust you fared well during the king’s visit?”

“Aye,” she replied, unable to take her eyes from his broad shoulders and chiseled lips. “Thank you for…arranging such a warm reception for him.”

Malcolm’s lips tightened as he unpinned the heavy brooch at his throat and put aside his cloak. “’Twas Ludingdon who insisted on handling the welcome, as I was forbidden by himself and Mal Verne to be present at all. Mayhap you wish to get into bed?” He sat on Judith’s stool, his movements stiff and slow, and began to work off his knee-high boots.

“Do you not wish me to assist you?” she asked, already sliding off the bed. Her nightgown slid and shimmered lightly against her bare skin, rippling around her as she made to kneel at his feet. “Gambert isn’t here tonight. Of course.” She sounded breathy, even to her ears.

“Nay,” he said quickly, almost sharply. “I can manage on my own. Are you not…chilled…in…that?” His voice was gruff.

“’Tis a summer’s night! Of course I am not chilled.” She stood in front of him, their faces nearly level, for he was sitting. Suddenly she remembered, and blushed at her lack of manners. “Oh, Malcolm…thank you for the jewels. They are beautiful, and beyond anything I could have imagined. I’ve never had anything so lovely in my life.”

“Nor have I,” he murmured, reaching to touch the end of one of her curls where it rested against her arm. Then he withdrew his hand and said, “They are your colors. The blue of your eyes, the gold and fire of your hair. Now, get in bed, Judith.” His voice was clipped, and as she turned to obey, he bent to untie his cross-garters.

She slid under the coverings and watched him unwind the garters, then pull off his fine tunic. The sherte beneath molded to his muscular shoulders and upper arms, falling flat over his belly—unlike that of the king, whose clothing rounded out a small bit at the stomach. Judith felt her heart begin to pound at the thought of seeing…and touching…her husband’s bare torso, which she’d had the opportunity to admire in the training yard. A flush of warmth had her cheeks heating and a little pleasant squiggle in her belly.

Mayhap Maris was right. This would be utterly different than lying with the king. Judith smiled to herself as Malcolm extinguished the candles on the wall, leaving only the small fire as illumination.

He stood at the end of the bed near the window and pulled off his sherte, leaving him clad only in hose, now sagging without the cross-garters. As he laid the sherte neatly over a trunk, the bit of moonlight able to slide through the narrow window cast a silvery glow over his nude chest and sleek arms. She could see the slabs of muscle, the way they shifted and slid as he walked over to look out the window.

Judith realized her heart was thudding—but rather than apprehension, it was anticipation that caused her mouth to dry and her belly to flutter. And yet, he made no move to come to the bed. He stood, staring out the window, into darkness.

“Malcolm?” she asked after what seemed like a long while. “Do you not come to bed?” Her heart was in her throat. What was wrong? What bridegroom would delay entering the marriage bed?

His shoulders moved; she saw the subtle lift and slight drawing together. “Go to sleep, Judith.”

Her heart dropped and she went cold and light-headed with confusion…and fear. Was he regretting their marriage already? Or….

Was it her? Had her affaire with the king despoiled her so much that Malcolm was repulsed by the thought of coupling with her? Of taking the king’s leavings? They were wed and he’d never even kissed her, she realized with a sudden, nauseating shock. Even today, at the end of their wedding, he’d barely touched her lips with his.

But she’d sworn she’d seen desire in her husband’s eyes…even just now, when she stood in front of him. The fire behind had surely outlined her figure beneath the light fabric of her gown. He’d noticed. She’d felt his attention, slow and heavy, as it caressed her. Surely he’d noticed, surely that was why his breathing had changed, his voice had tightened. She was no stranger to a man’s expressions of lust.

So why?

It was not in Judith’s nature to remain quiet, to wonder and worry. She had to know, even if the knowledge was painful. For she surely wouldn’t sleep until she did. “You do not mean to consummate our union, then? We are to be wed in name only?”

Once again, she saw him still, his silhouette freezing in the moonlit window. He raised one hand and settled it on the wall next to the opening, leaning even more into the night air. He tipped his face up and she caught her breath at the beauty of his profile, glazed in silver. His torso expanded as he drew in a deep breath. “I bethought you would wish for…a time of reprieve. I would not follow in the steps of the king and…force you into my bed.”

“Force me?” Judith’s voice cracked with surprise. “But you are my husband. You have the right—”

“Aye. I have the right.” His voice was hard, as if he spoke from between an unmoving jaw. “As did the king so believe. But I would not exercise that right merely because I can, Judith. Now, I tell you, woman…go to sleep.”

The tension that had flooded her drained away as if a cork had been removed. She was out of the bed in a swirl of hair and gown, moving toward him even before he turned at the sound.