In other circumstance, Bayard might have been tempted to believe that all was well once again. But his lady had surprised him more than once thus far and he did not believe that she would not do so again.
She was unpredictable, his Esmeraude.
Bayard lay beside her, determined to remain awake even though he was dead tired, and acknowledged that unpredictability was a most intriguing trait. He had always expected marriage to be an obligation, one with its pleasures to be sure, but a duty that would not occupy his thoughts overmuch. He had need of a wife because he had need of sons. ’Twould be a simple arrangement.
And now, he had need of this wife, because he had need of Montvieux, for pledging it to Richard would ensure his family’s safety. Simplicity, again.
But little was simple about
