Lady Moraine said in that same crisp, clear voice, “Hastings, perhaps Thurston needs some of the Healer’s potion to steady him. Have I enough to share with him?”
Thurston persevered. He wedded Blanche, the nineteen-year-old daughter of Sir William Dorset, exactly one week after Lady Moraine had made her announcement. Hastings was pleased. Blanche had, as had Hastings,
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run her father’s keep since the age of twelve. She would see that everything stayed aright.
Lady Moraine remained clearheaded. She put on flesh. She smiled and jested. Severin had stopped shaking his head whenever he happened to look at her. He was getting used to a mother who was as she once was. Still he worried. “You believe the Healer’s potion has really worked, Hastings? You believe this miracle will remain?”
“I don’t know, Severin.”
“I want my mother to return with us to Oxborough.”
She gave him a big smile and hugged him. “I was praying you would want that,” she said, and came up on her tiptoes and kissed his mouth. He went silent, still surprised when she showed him affection anywhere outside their bedchamber.
Gwent had remarked one day that it appeared to him that Severin was a happy man, a man more than content with his beautiful wife.
“Beautiful? Hastings? Nay, Gwent, she is but ordinary, in her looks and in her intelligence. Her nature is even ordinary and-”
Hastings had yelled, flying at him, but he was ready. He caught her, lifted her beneath her arms, and held her high, laughing up at her. “That will teach you for listening to others’ conversations, madam.” i Gwent had stared at the two of them. He slowly shook his head. He turndfraffld walked away, for surely Severin would kiss his wife in but a moment. He prayed that nothing would happen to ruin the contentment.
The next morning they left Langthorne to return to Oxborough. Gwent lifted Lady Moraine onto her palfrey. He’d told Severin that he would watch out for his mother. He would tell Severin if anything untoward occurred because he knew Severin was worried. His mother had
been very quiet since the day before.
Severin turned his head one last time to see the place of his birth. Langthorne would regain its power in the region, he would see to it. Thurston was rubbing his hands together, for now he was married, and evidently he had enjoyed the pleasures of the marriage bed. Hastings had spoken privately to Blanche and been pleased. “Everything will go well.
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You spoke to Thurston, Severin? You told him to be gentle and kind with his bride?”
Severin was frowning. “Aye, I did tell him that. He told me just before we left that I had been wrong in my advice. Then he gave me this huge smile and said that his bride was a tigress and she wanted no gentleness from him.”
Hastings stared at her husband. “I don’t understand.”
“There are some ladies, Hastings, who enjoy a man who’s fierce with them, a man who enjoys rough play, a man who holds them down and pretends to conquer them. Your sweet-faced, gentle Blanche is one of these women. He said she was beyond wild even before he tore through her maidenhead. He said after he did that, she mounted him, pummeling him, nearly killing him by dawn.”
“I had not thought of this. Mayhap you will explain this wildness to me, Severin.”
“I think not, sweeting. All you are to remember is that when we are alone, you are free to do whatever you wish to, save gullet me with a knife if you happen to be angry with me.”
She said nothing to that, merely stared through Marella’s ears, deep in thought. Severin dug his heels into his horse’s sides and rode to the head of his men.
(jxDorougfh Ljastle, Five days later
“We found Sir Roger and Glenda within two hours of their escape from Langthorne,” Gwent was telling everyone in the great hall, clearly enjoying himself. Only Severin was already privy to the details, and he had told Gwent to keep all those delicious details to himself until he could entertain all their people. Hastings could see why he had wished to wait. He had an excellent audience. He cleared his throat again. “Sir Roger had tried to cover their trail, but he is inept, the poor whoreson.” Gwent spat into the clean rushes, looked up in horror at Hastings, then quickly said,