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solemn. “You do like her Wulf, don’t you?”
    “Don’t know anything about her,” he muttered.
    “But you like the look of her.”
    “There’s more to liking a woman than looks. I want to know what’s inside her, not just the outside.”
    His sister rolled her eyes. “Then you are a rarity among men, Wulf.”
    “Aye. I’m not lead by my cock.” Even as he said the words, he colored. Last night, in the workshop, he had let his manhood lead the way. It was that woman’s fault for tempting him the way she did, touching and sucking… “Get out now. I want to dress.”
    Deorwynn got to her feet with difficulty, holding her back with one hand, her heavy belly with the other. “Another day with this heat will send me to my knees,” she groaned softly. “Ouch, the babe doesn’t think much of it either. He’s kicking like a demon.”
    “You should be abed.” Most women took to their chambers and remained confined for the last months of their pregnancy, but not his sister. She was stubborn and defiant as a mule with a sore foot.
    “Too much to do, dear brother. Now don’t forget to wish your bride good morning today and don’t—”
    “Just go,” he snapped, growing tense now that the wedding was almost upon him. “Don’t you think I know what to do with my own woman?”
    She laughed over her shoulder and waddled out.
    He slumped in the cold bathwater. His own woman . A daunting prospect—especially when that woman was Emma—a wench who hid her fiery auburn hair under a wimple and her passionate, lusty temperament under a calm, ladylike, submissivedemeanor.
    Last night, when she kissed and caressed him, he forgot his fears about coupling. She’d brought out something new in Wulf; the desire to pleasure another human being. But today, waking to bright sun, he remained confused, a novice. He couldn’t deny that her touch was more than pleasant. So was her taste. Yet there was something in those changeable eyes that troubled him. He couldn’t see through them, to what she was thinking. The obedient Lady Emma would give him her body, it seemed, but not her true thoughts or her heart.
    Wulf didn’t want her dutiful submission. She’d teased him last night, like a new found piece of wood, excited his creativity and made him long to find its secrets.
    When Wulf the Carpenter started a project, he saw it through to completion and he wouldn’t rest until he was completely and utterly satisfied with his work.
     
    * * * *
     
    She wore her best gown. It had not been her intention to do so, for she considered the bright blue too youthful for her now. But suddenly it felt right and she was glad she hadn’t burned it, as planned a few weeks ago. She would still mourn for Henry inside; outwardly she was a bride today, beginning a new life, turning a new corner. She let Joan braid her hair with gold thread to match the simple circlet she wore around her head. Today she wore no wimple, having noted that her host’s wife went bareheaded, as did most of the women in the castle. The rules here were relaxed it seemed. In this heat she was grateful to go without that extra covering.
    “You look a treat, my lady,” Joan exclaimed. “More beautiful even than you were on your first wedding day! He is not worthy of you. A Saxon! He is not fit to kiss your feet. I spit on him, indeed I do.”
    Emma sighed. She loved her maid dearly, but Joan had a tendency to be either too hot or too cold, denouncing people on sight for such a small thing as a dirty fingernail. And no one would ever be good enough for Emma in her eyes. Even Henry had taken a while to meet with her standards of approval and by then he was bed-ridden. Emma sometimes thought that was how Joan preferred men to be—in bed, weak and helpless. And harmless.
    Placing a little kiss to the maid’s wrinkled cheek, she said, “Raedwulf had certainly better not be spat upon. He is my husband now. I expect you to treat him with respect.”
    “A