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like everyone else in Christendom, wasallowed but one spouse at a time. She did
not
say that she could never offer him any greater love than that which a sister held for a brother.
    Edward had sighed and planted a tender kiss on Gloriana’s forehead. Then, without another word, he had left her.
    Now, more than an hour later, she was fully dressed, in a gown of apple-green wool, and her heavy, waistlength tresses, though quite damp, were neatly combed. Her scalp still stung a little from working out the snarls, but that was nothing compared to the smarting in her heart. Kenbrook had brought a mistress to Hadleigh Castle—it was unbelievable. Had her indignation not been greater than her pain, Gloriana might have thrown herself down on the bed and wept. As it was, fury sustained her.
    It wasn’t as though she were naive, Gloriana insisted silently, turning away from the large oval of polished silver that served as her mirror. Men did take mistresses—her foster father, Cyrus, had been a devoted husband to Edwenna, and yet the servants at the London house had whispered about a woman in Flanders. Her own brother-in-law, Gareth St. Gregory, who was, by Gloriana’s reckoning, among the finest men in England, adored his poor Elaina, would see her want for nothing, in fact. For all his devotion, though, Gareth kept a lover, a dark-haired Irish beauty called Annabel, in a cottage beside the lake.
    It was wrong, Gloriana reflected, for a man or a woman to break their wedding vows, but the reality was that good people went astray sometimes, for a thousand different reasons. She had never thought, even in her most sentimental moments, that Dane would keep himself chaste while he traveled the world, waiting for a seven-year-old bride to grow up. All Glorianahad truly expected of her husband was a chance to prove herself a spirited, attentive, and entertaining wife, and now she had been denied that opportunity, out of hand.
    It was unfair treatment, that’s what it was, Gloriana raged to herself, opening the largest of her three chests and surveying the wimples and headdresses inside. No proper woman went about with her hair uncovered, according to conventional standards, but Gloriana found veils cumbersome and wore them as seldom as possible. Biting her lip, she slammed the chest lid down on the whole array and walked resolutely to the door.
    Supper was about to be served, and she was hungry.
    Fresh rushes had been laid in the great hall, and Gloriana caught the distinctive scents of lavender and sage, dittany and mint and rue, scattered on the damp stone floor. Oil lamps, suspended from the crossbeams overhead by lengths of iron chain, glowed with costly light, and the long table, lined with guests and menat-arms, was scoured pale. Trenchers of roast venison, capon, and rabbit were interspersed with bowls of boiled turnips and beets. On the dais was another, smaller table, where Gareth normally dined—along with Elaina, during her rare, brief visits to the castle. The steward, a Scot called Hamilton Eigg, had a place there, too, as did Cradoc, the friar, and any honored guest. Edward also generally sat with his eldest brother, and so did Gloriana.
    For the moment, only Eigg and Cradoc were in evidence, but Gareth often came late to the table and tonight Kenbrook would surely be in his company. While Gloriana had no objection to dining in the company of her husband, she wasn’t quite ready to break bread with his mistress.
    Gloriana was standing in the middle of the great hall, wondering whether to stay or flee, when Edward came up beside her, caught her elbow in his hand, and guided her toward the steps of the dais.
    “Have no fear,” he whispered, for he was good at divining her thoughts. “My brothers are in the village, quaffing ale, and are not likely to join us. The woman has a headache, I’m told, and will keep to her roomwhich, it may console you to learn, is some distance from Kenbrook’s chambers.”
    For tonight, at