Page 21 of The Wager and the Wedding

Take a deep breath, Martin. Let it pass.

She carved off a piece of meat, staring him down in challenge. Piercing it with her eating dagger, she popped the bite into her mouth, and for a moment her expression changed to pure bliss.

Baldwin had done well indeed, though Martin found himself wishing that he, rather than his cook, had been the first to make her make that particular face. “You like the venison?”

She immediately schooled her expression back into stony disdain. “It’s dry.”

“If you say so.” He took a bite himself, and truly, Baldwin had outdone himself. “And my fleet is made up of two knarrs, four hulks, and five cogs like this one.” He should have left her insult unanswered, but it bothered him like a hangnail. He couldn’t leave it alone.

“And I’m supposed to be impressed by that?”

He shrugged. “It’s larger than average.”

“Perhaps for a little baron from a small town.”

“I assure you,” he said, grinning, “there’s nothing little about me, as you’ll find out when you finally surrender to my seduction.”

She choked on her wine. Swallowing it down with difficulty, she answered, “Then I’ll live in eternal ignorance because I will never surrender.”Ha.He was back on solid footing. He’d rocked her.

“We shall see.” He winked at her, and she bristled beautifully—all haughty outrage and imperious disdain. A blush swept down from her cheeks to the tempting swell of her breasts. An answering burst of heat settled in his groin. Oh, the things he would do to her when he won this war! But these were barely the first skirmishes. He couldn’t afford to get ahead of himself.

“I’m told you like to weave.” It was time for him to retreat, draw her out. He had stoked her fury enough for one evening.

“I do,” she answered stiffly between bites. It seemed his wife had a healthy appetite, no matter what she might have said about the food. His eyes were inexorably drawn to the sight of her full and luscious lips closing around the succulent venison at the tip of her eating dagger. She had no idea what she was doing to him just by sitting there and eating.

He turned his attention to his own food, shoving away the mental pictures that were starting to play through his mind unbidden. “What do you weave?” he asked, hardly daring to look up.

“Tapestries, mostly,” she said between bites. “It’s very dull. I’m sure you don’t want to hear about it.”

“I do. Tell me.” He leaned in and offered an inviting smile. “And have some of these roasted carrots in butter and sage. They’re delicious,” he said, spooning some onto her plate. Another favorite dish of hers.

She took a tentative bite then let out a barely audible, “Mmm.”

The look on her face was playing havoc with his self-control. What sweet torture it was to sit so close and yet be unable to touch her! But he had to keep his head. He was playing a long game, and it wouldn’t do for him to get ahead of himself and scare her off.

“You like the carrots, then?”

“They’re…acceptable.”

He chuckled. “High praise. Don’t worry. I won’t let it go to Baldwin’s head. But you were telling me about tapestries.”

She stared at him for a long moment, then shrugged. “I like to keep my hands busy. The rhythm of it soothes me, helps me organize my thoughts. It requires just enough of my attention that it forces me to shut out the noise of the outside world. Weaving takes me out of myself and turns my endless nervous energy into something beautiful.”

He smiled gently at her. “That’s how I feel about playing the citole. There’s something meditative and engrossing about plucking the strings in just the right way to make a lovely tune. My art is more ephemeral than yours, but we both like to create beauty with our hands. Something we have in common.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “So we do, I suppose. Not that it means anything.”

But it did mean something. To her too, if his guess was correct. He’d worn her down from insults to mere wariness. It was progress.

“Would you mind if I play for you while you finish your meal?” he asked, reaching for his instrument.

“Do as you wish. I don’t care,” she answered, glancing up at him for a moment and then quickly averting her gaze. But in that fleeting glance he saw cautious hope. She wanted connection, needed it, if only she would let her defenses down long enough to let him in.

Isabella needed a friend in this world, he thought to himself as he began to strum a haunting tune he’d learned in Poitou. She was so busy trying to defend and protect Adelaide but who would defend and protect her? He would be at her service if only she would let him in. And someday she would, provided he bided his time and kept up a sustained campaign to slip behind her battlements and reach the loving heart that he knew beat within.

He glanced at her finishing her meal as he played away. Her beauty truly took his breath away, but it was her strength, intelligence, and loyalty that moved him. Could he truly win someone so magnificent? He talked a good game, but beneath his confident veneer, uncertainty pricked him.

He could very well lose this bet, and she would be lost to him forever, a prospect he could barely bring himself to contemplate. If that was truly what she wanted in the end, he would let her go, not because he didn’t care but because he cared more than heshould. There had been too much misery in her life, and he owed her the chance at happiness, even if it cost him his own.

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