Page 88 of The Captive Knight
“You don’t know if—”
“Six weeks,couret.”
“That isn’t unusual at all.”
“I can feel the changes,” he said, “in the softness of your breasts, the fullness of your body under my palms, the way you wake and eat like a starving woman—”
“I’m a happily married woman, of course I eat heartily.” She retrieved her reins and veered away from him, giving him an eye. “But if you want to check my breasts again, you won’t hear me complaining.”
She kicked her horse and surged ahead. With a grunt he caught up and surpassed her, riding in front to set a brisk, but not reckless, pace. With a lightness of heart, she nudged her mare in pursuit, fixing her gaze on Jehan’s fine broad back, the stream of his dark hair, and the tightness of his thighs as he rode. They raced down the gentle slope and through the paths of the vineyard, kicking up dirt as they went.
The horses, though wearied, must have sensed the end of the journey for they headed straight toward the bridge. Once on the other side, they were forced to slow and pause, for the villagers surged from their homes to surround them. She was gratified to see how healthy and well-fed everyone looked. She reached down to accept a bouquet of wildflowers from one of the children while Jehan pulled out his satchel and showered the crowd with coins.
Three men awaited them at the base of the slope. Two men-at-arms, and in the middle—
“Laurent!”
Her brother kicked his mount to meet her. He’d grown a full, dark beard that made him look as swarthy and dangerous as a highwayman.
His black eyes locked on hers. “Is it true then? You are married?”
“Well good day to you, too,” she teased. “How did you find out?”
“Thibaud sent a message to the monastery in Toulouse. You must have taken the long route home for me to beat you here.” Laurent dipped his head as Jehan rode to her side. “I broke my promise not to leave the confines of the monastery, Sir Jehan. I ask your forgiveness.”
“Some promises,” Jehan said, “are worth breaking.”
Laurent’s face brightened. “Tell me my sister isn’t pulling wool over my head. You’ve truly wed?”
“We are now brothers-in-law,” Jehan said drily.
“I trust you will treat her well?”
“I have vowed so, until death do us part.”
Laurent eyed Jehan in an odd, intense way that made Aliénor wonder what they were teaching him in the monastery. But then, surprisingly, Jehan kicked his horse closer and Laurent and Jehan’s arms clashed in a clatter of chain mail and flesh and leather and bone. She watched as they gripped one another by the forearm and moved as if they were trying to wrestle each other off their horses, laughing all the while.
Men, she thought. She would never understand them.
When the wrestling match was over, Laurent kicked his horse to her side. She leaned over to embrace him, unbalanced, their legs crushed between their horses.
“You look well, Ally,” he said.
“You look hairy.”
He rubbed his beard in a bashful way and she saw, finally, a glimpse of the boy under the countenance of the man. “The monastery cells are cold.”
“So now you believe me?”
“Alas.”
“I missed you at the wedding, you know.”
“I suppose Thibaud had the honor of giving you away.”
“Indeed he did.”
“At least I didn’t have to beat him in a sword fight to win the right.” Laurent glanced behind them, seeking something or someone. “Our great-uncle didn’t return with you?”
