That man.
Alys wanted to kick something or shred it, to beat upon her husband with her fists. Instead she paced the width of the tent and back like a caged beast. In truth, she was as furious with herself as with him. How could she surrender so readily to his touch? How could she forget to despise him, even for a moment? One gentle kiss and she melted before him.
Curse him!
Nathalie reappeared and bowed low before putting the bowl of stew on the table. Civet of hare, unless Alys missed her guess, with a large piece of bread alongside. She had to admit that there were advantages to being in her husband’s camp. The fare was excellent and plentiful, and having been hungry for years, she could only appreciate that.
But at what price?
The maid could tell her.
She indicated that she would
