Heloise nearly toppled from the saddle in shock. ‘You mean b-bed me?’

She had not meant to speak her thoughts aloud. Her lawful owner cast her a smouldering sidelong glance that told her it was exactly what he meant. In fact, he looked tempted to tumble her in the nearest garden. His answer, however, was disconcertingly nonchalant: ‘Well, it is the final way of settling things.’

Heloise had trouble swallowing, let alone finding an answer. ‘I-I suppose it is,’ she said huskily, growing hot and cold at the prospect of being expected to perform a wife’s duty at long last. She was glad of his silence, suspicious that he was amused at hers.

Inn servants were grabbing at their stirrups, squabbling for their patronage. She was proud of Rushden’s wisdom in selecting a hostelry where the servants were neither sneering nor slack. They were made comfortable at a board so clean that even the most careful housewife would have approved it, and the best mead was set before Heloise as though she were a princess. Soon there were more platters than words between them, and while trying not to devour the lady that might salve his growing appetite, Miles ate little.

‘Steady,’ he warned with husbandly concern. ‘Be not so ravenous, my Lady Rushden, they will not take your platter away.’

‘I do not know where my next meal is coming from,’ she answered truthfully.

‘Yes, you do. You think I am still playing games with you?’ His hand covered hers reassuringly upon the table, and he called for more mead to fill her goblet. ‘Why are you suddenly so afraid, changeling? It was your choice to accept the cup, but do not see me as the spider at the bottom.’

‘It is not that.’ Foolishly Heloise felt like crying, but she forced back the tears, dismayed and happy in the same breath, desiring the comfort of his arms and yet knowing he was still fathoms deep for her. How could she tell him she wanted him to honour the marriage because he loved her?

‘Then be thankful.’ He gave her a long, slow smile.

‘I am not sure yet.’ It was said with the heat staining her cheeks, but she looked more like a wild creature about to bolt if he touched her.

‘Whether to be thankful?’ Miles did not mind her honesty; rather he preferred it that way and it was timely, for he too had truths that needed to be stirred and set before her. ‘I warn you, do not expect too much from me.’ His seriousness evaporated as he saw astonishment blossom in her eyes. ‘No, sweet shrew, I do not mean that,’ he said laughing and then grew solemn again, and watched God’s gift of merriment still in her, too, as she waited. ‘There are things to be said.’

Heloise held her breath, silent as a bird in a hedgerow sensing the storm approach. She guessed what he was going to say but not the bruising manner of it, for the phrases tumbled past her rehearsed and far too fast; emotionless, though the hurt was there. ‘I think you should know that I have been married before. I was twenty. My first wife, Sioned, was sixteen. It was, of course, arranged by our families, but we were very happy together. Then, two years ago, there was a visitation of the pestilence in Dorset. Phillip, my little son, was taken. He … oh Christ, Heloise!’ Pain choked his voice. ‘He-he was only three years old. And … and Sioned died next day.’

So that was it. His love had been spent and there was nothing in his purse for her. Heloise leaned away slowly, as if his sorrow was a tide washing her back upon a lonely shore, and searched the air about his head for a futile reply to such a joyless confession. ‘Do you mean she is still with you? I do not sense that.’ Then realising her dreadful mistake in telling him so, she dared not look across at him, aware he had curled his right hand into a tight fist upon the table lest he cross himself.

‘Christ be merciful,’ he whispered, his grey eyes hostile. ‘Never tell me that you can see the dead.’

‘No, no,’ Heloise lied swiftly, and searched for words that he would not stumble from, ‘but I have an … an awareness … of people’s sorrow. Is she still with you?’

His answer was a quiet sigh, ‘No.’ Strong fingers rose to shield his anguished face. ‘I blame myself. Perhaps if I had been with her …’

Heloise, remembering the terrible vision of his suffering, reached out a comforting hand to touch his wrist. Rushden’s skin was warm, dependable, beneath her fingertips. ‘But is it not vanity for you to take responsibility for a decision that was God’s alone?’ It was risky counsel; he might hate her for that insult.

‘Perhaps.’ Miles drew back, letting his hands slide down to his lips with a deep sigh. He was almost afraid to treasure Heloise, afraid that God would curse him a second time.

As if she had read his mind with damnable insight, she said, ‘But Lady Myfannwy. You agreed to her.’

The shrug was apologetic. ‘Wide hips,’ he answered and then regretted his crassness. ‘Oh, be fair, Heloise, if love arises between a married pair, it is after the wedding, rarely before. With Myfannwy, it would have been a trencher marriage, without piquancy. You cannot say that our friendship lacks that.’ Friendship! So he did not want to become afflicted with love. ‘There is something else you should understand.’

‘Your duty to the duke.’

‘Of course, duty – and friendship,’ he admitted, glad she had the wit to perceive it. ‘My family has served the Staffords through good and bad times. You must realise, I have been waiting years for the planets to fall into line and, yes, I mean to ride to the stars on Harry’s back, madam, and I warn you of that now.’

A warning certainly, thought Heloise. So she was merely fourth in line, after Sioned, his son and Buckingham. Or did Traveller have precedence over her as well?

‘And if your friend stumbles, and brings you down?’

‘It will be still worth the risk.’ An unwelcome line marred his smile. ‘What, are you already imagining yourself the widow of an attainted traitor?’

‘Yes, I have to consider that.’ If his cutting honesty could draw blood, so could hers.

‘Heloise,’ Miles cautioned her, his chivalry wearing thin. The bench scraped harshly on the flagstones as he rose. ‘I am not a green youth.’ But he could see that she spoke out of present fear, that the bright courage which he so admired had almost deserted her. ‘Do you want a husband or not, changeling? They come in all shapes and sizes. This one has several endorsements attached to the parchment and you have read them now.’ He stretched out a hand for hers. ‘This is not a decision that either of us has made lightly. Nor should it be so.’ Her hand trembled and he clasped it firmly. ‘Believe me, we should make this irrevocable.’ He was going to lay his skills of lovemaking at her feet like a gift. This was not going to be a fumbling meeting of flesh but a slow dance of pleasure. Awakening his sorceress to a magic that was old as Paradise would require patience and tenderness.

Heloise felt like a woodland creature watching the hunter inch his way towards her. Make it irrevocable. When no words of love had been spoken? Irrevocable. The word was sinister. Instinctively her fingers struggled for freedom. ‘I am not sure any longer.’ They should have done this with Gloucester’s blessing, not behind his back.

Across the board between them, Rushden’s jaw slackened. ‘But you said this was your wish also. Be grateful, madam, in God’s name! You have a husband who desires you. Come!’ His hold tightened, urging her to her feet. His intense grey gaze was unrelenting – waiting, predatory.

It dawned upon her addled mind like a mystic revelation that he was half-turned towards the stairs, that a bedchamber was spoken for. That the necessary act of consummation was not to be tonight but now! Now, in the daylight.

Outwitted at last, Heloise was into deep water, her magic useless. His mind was made up. He wanted her. The thought that he would intimately enter her body ripened her, made her womb quiver in readiness, and she shivered at the incredible sensations that were throbbing through her and forcing her powers of reasoning into abeyance.

This was a different Miles Rushden. A bridegroom. Doublet half open, shirt neck loosened, this was the stranger that she had known at Bramley and feared: his black hair wild, his mouth mocking and determined, a man of power and consequence who had her breathless and trembling. But this must be a marriage of equals. He needed to learn that now, else he never would.

‘No!’ She stared down at the crumbs scattering the grainy wood, biting her lip, frightened of her rebelliousness, but she was not a horse to be led into the stable and mounted. ‘I went to Brecknock because I had nowhere else to go and …’

‘Go on.’ He seemed to be circling like a hawk.

Heloise’s fears bred fast. St Catherine protect her and grant her body’s defences could safely prove she was a virgin! She was afraid of tyranny – of finally becoming this man’s property like her mother, and Matillis, had been her father’s. ‘If you think I am going to lie down for you obligingly, the moment you snap your  fingers and whistle, then …’

‘Oh, but you shall.’ Strong arms came from behind her to clasp her elbows and raise her. Her heart fluttered like a frantic moth as she felt his body hard against her, his breath stirring her veil. ‘And believe me, I shall do more than whistle, lady.’

His little witch was shaking as Miles drew her up the stairs, his arm about her waist. This was the last thing he had expected, his level-headed Heloise behaving like a skittish bride. The bedchamber did not help but where else could he have taken her?

At least it was clean and spacious. Apart from a screen that hid a corner of the sunlit, whitewashed room, the bed, huge enough to sleep half a dozen travellers, took up the entire space. Heloise gasped audibly. Miles gently pushed her over the threshold and kicked the door to behind him lest the inn servants carried the gossip over the entire city. It was not ideal, he admitted, with wry amusement at his predicament, but give a mare time to baulk at a fence and she will not take it.

‘I assumed you would not want another wedding feast and a public unrobing.’ He lifted off his silver collar lest the intermeshing rings bruise her, and unlooped the last pearl buttons of his doublet and shrugged his gathered shirtsleeves loose. Drawing her gently towards him, he kissed her. The lady began to thaw.

‘I promise you I can be deft as any servant,’ he murmured against her mouth and then cursed inwardly as he tried to ease free the inner wire of her headdress so he might uncoil Heloise’s moonlight hair from beneath her cap. It was she who finished the task, which did not appease her uncertain temper. Miles had not tamed his little rebel yet.

‘What if I had wanted an annulment, sir?’ she protested as his hands fell to mould the curves that had tantalised him all through their repast. He eased away the triangle of black satin that covered her from cleavage to her slender, high waist. She was as exquisite as he had remembered her from Bramley. The sable, sloping collar of her overgown erotically half-concealed her coral-tipped breasts and he pushed back the fabric, feasting his gaze, delighting in the knowledge that this wondrous pleasure garden belonged to him, to wander where he willed. ‘An annulment?’ he answered dazedly. ‘It is too late for that, believe me.’ She was his shape-shifter, the she-knight who had fought him. He needed her to know that she was his. His fingers slid to where touching had been denied him and watched with the satisfaction of a skilled journeyman as her lips parted in pleasure more than protest. ‘So you like that.’

‘Well enough.’

‘You shrewcat, you do.’ Yes, she did.

He unfastened her platelet belt, ignoring the hands that shyly sought to prevent him. Her outer robe was swiftly lifted.

‘Sir, I wish you would wait until darkness and spare my modesty.’ Heloise’s voice was muffled within the damask’s depths. She emerged tousled and defiant, but this was a very determined bridegroom she was dealing with and there was a wicked, sensual glitter in his admiring gaze.

‘And spoil my pleasure?’ Outrageous man, he was making her feel as though she were naked already. She retreated, clutching the gown in front of her until the back of her thighs met the bed.

‘Well, what of my pleasure, sir?’

The gown was twitched from her hands and flung aside. ‘You will find, my delight, that I have sufficient experience to please both of us. I thought you wanted this, cariad.’ The intensity of his clouded gaze was working a magic that she could not resist. Yes, she wanted him very much, Heloise decided. ‘Turn, my armoured angel.’ She felt the hardness of him through her thin underskirt. Relentless fingers were freeing her of the chemise, peeling the tight sleeves from her wrists.

‘You are perfection, you know that? Beautiful beyond most men’s imaginings.’ His words were soft breath caressing her cheek. Her body willingly arched against his shoulder as skilful hands slid slowly down her in persuasive adoration. An unassuaged hunger flooded Heloise’s body between breast and thigh.

Miles lifted aside the veil of her hair and kissed her shoulder. Why had he been a fool and delayed tasting her delights? ‘Admit you have kept me hungering for you, my sorceress, ever since you lured me to your orchard, punishing me night after night.’

‘Can you not understand …’ she gestured helplessly, wriggling around to face him, ‘what I want from you? Oh!’ He had parted her legs and was standing between her thighs. She needed more than adoration, more than the worship of his lips.

‘You think too much, my darling.’ Rushden tipped her face up. His eyes were darker than she had ever seen them, ruthless as an enemy’s. If she kept her arms defiantly at her sides, thought Heloise, regretting her inexperience in bedchamber jousting, perhaps he would listen, but she had no defence from his lips. His mouth came firmly down on hers demanding and taking, while his hands wandered, testing, teasing, lighting fires that burned and melted. ‘Why do you not trust me to be gentle with you?’ he asked, setting his hands beneath her arms and lifting her onto the bed.

‘Because …’

But he was lying beside her now and kissing left no breath for an answer. With strong hands upon her forearms, he rolled sideways and Heloise found herself straddling him, his aroused body hard beneath her lawne underskirt, her hands splaying the proud symmetry of shining skin and curling hair where his shirt had fallen away.

Further knavery suffused his handsome face as she blushed above his appreciative gaze. His hands, curved in support beneath her elbows, shook her teasingly. ‘Lady Rushden, you do understand what we are supposed to do in order to consummate this marriage?’

The question distracted her from her mental battle. Heloise moistened her lips consideringly with sudden confidence – she rather liked having him beneath her – and received a curl of lip from him. So he thought her an ignoramus, did he? Well, she had seen stallions mounting mares. She knew he would have to approach her from the back so he was definitely not dangerous or threatening at the moment. In fact it was delicious to have him at her mercy and she wriggled herself into a more comfortable position, disregarding his deep, ecstatic growl. And one of them had to retain common sense.

‘I-I think whatever is necessary, sir,’ she declared, exploratively drawing a finger down through the silky pelt of his breast, ‘we should do it twice to be sure. So that there is absolutely no confusion afterwards.’

‘God ha’ mercy!’ He bucked, laughing heartily. Thrown off balance, Heloise tumbled forward onto her forearms across his chest, almost drowning him in her hair.

‘Do you think you can manage to call me Miles?’ he asked, tenderness and desire deepening his smile.

‘Hmm.’ She tilted her head, and mischievously twisted a black lock of his hair about her finger, then she traced the line of his lips but the passion in his eyes belied his calm.

‘Heloise,’ he said hoarsely. ‘I hope I have not tethered my future to a tease. I would very much appreciate it if you kissed me.’

‘Like this, Miles?’

‘Promising,’ he murmured against her mouth, and with a swift thrust, had her on her back again. She was sweetly parting her lips to him, threading her fingers through his hair. ‘Do you know what you do to me, Heloise?’ His voice was a soft, ragged whisper. ‘One by one, all my rational thoughts have succumbed to a delicious, divine aching that only you can satisfy.’ His experienced hand reached beneath her skirt and drew down her stockings. The lady’s breath grew swifter still as his fingers worked their magic between her thighs. He relished her astonishment, enjoyed watching the dark centres of her eyes widen with yearning. ‘The tylwyth teg,’ he lied as he efficiently dispensed with her undergown, ‘believe that a bride who is a changeling must be bedded in the afternoon lest she disappear by twilight. That is why we could not wait until tonight.’

‘That cannot be true,’ she protested.

‘Having slept in several faery rings, I can assure you it is common gossip in such circles.’

With a ripple of laughter, Heloise clouted him, and then she realised that he had utterly demolished her shyness and blushed all over.

A faery maiden with silver hair. Her modesty pleased Miles, reassured him that it was not witchcraft that flamed his passion. Once she learned that love-making was not sinful, she would know how to touch him also. He swung his feet to the ground and loosened the laces of his gypon – that would be her task another time – and pushed it down with his hose and underdrawers so he might step free.

Upon his soul, what mischief now? Looking round he saw that Heloise had rolled away from him onto all fours and crouched like a wildcat, her enchantress’s hair cascading down her shoulders. Her firm pointed breasts were driving him to madness.

‘Why is it that you suddenly find my merchant blood acceptable? Is it because I have the lion’s share of his estate?’

With an effort, he tried to stay sane. ‘No,’ he exclaimed. Battling his shirt, he flung it from him. ‘I find you acceptable.’

The virgin in her was too disconcerted at his sudden nakedness to argue more. As she glanced swiftly away, her sweet body blushing, he sprang onto the bed and snared her wrists.

‘So what is it to be, madam? Do you want a marriage between us or not?’

What was he doing wrong? He was only human, for God’s sake. He had hoped to light a fire of passion in her that would burn all her doubts but the fey in her was still embattled, still fighting to keep control. Or was it that she wanted him as a friend but not a lover? Perhaps he was wrong to think that she could be attracted to him.

‘Heloise. Is it my appearance?’ His voice gentled and he knelt, holding her up so that she faced him, her balance dependent on his strength. ‘Changeling, look at me.’ Her gaze fell upon his pitted face. ‘Heloise Ballaster, will you have me as your lord and husband and plight me your troth?’ Slowly she nodded. But he needed more. ‘Truly, lady? For if you find me repugnant, by the saints, you must tell me now and we shall pretend this never happened.’

‘How could you think so?’ Her fingertips smoothed his cheekbone with great tenderness. ‘I swear I would not wish you otherwise in any way.’

‘Then God’s blessing on us.’ He drew her right hand close and kissed it. Then he drew the ring she had returned from his hand and set it upon her finger. ‘For I hereby take you as my wife, for better and for worse, to have and to hold until the end of my life.’ The tension left her face. As she calmed, he steadied her shoulders within the frames of his hands, thankful that God had shown him the right way, grateful that the offering of words had cleansed away the falseness of their winter ceremony.

‘Amen,’ she whispered and lifted her other palm to his cheek.

‘So, Lady Rushden?’ He waited.

Her soft laughter filled the kissing distance between them and chased away the demons. ‘So, my newly married lord, whistle!’