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response.
    Peter finally gave up and walked away which left John to pace in front of the roaring fire, his patience lessening by the minute. He was relieved that the large group of people milling around the Great Hall did not approach him to welcome the long awaited Norman lord. He wanted to be left alone…preferably with his wife. The mead he'd been drinking was affecting his composure. Thoughts of her flying through the window, rushing out the garden door, and hiding away in the night had him ready to crack. What could possibly take her this long?
    The memory of a much younger Rowena hanging on to her father's body flashed in his mind. Every detail, the smell of the dying, the sound of the horses whining to avoid the carnage, the call of the soldiers as they dragged the few survivors back to camp, it all came to life again. He did not deserve to be with this woman. If she ever learned of his part in her father's death, she would never forgive him.
    The sight of the woman adorned in a gown of blue velvet drove all concerns out of his mind and took his breath away. She was beautiful, truly beautiful. Her dark hair spread about her shoulders was encircled by a thin silver wreath around her head. His gaze worked its way down her elegant neck to a tightly fitted bodice adorning those lovely breasts to a narrowed waist and the sweep of a skirt that hid her other treasures he could still feel the touch of. A tightening in his breeches had him clearing his throat as he quickly crossed the distance to take her hand. Arthur was already beside her but withdrew when John offered her his arm and escorted her to the head table, his gaze holding hers.
    "My lady, you look beautiful." Leaning closer to her ear, he whispered, "Like a ripe peach." Her smell was intoxicating and his desire for her easily outweighed his hunger. This would be a long meal.
    §
    John's breath against Rowena's neck sent a shiver down her spine . Knowing now how easily she could be distracted, she fought to keep her head. Those who'd been waiting for the new lord of the manor acknowledged him with some excitement when he entered, Rowena at his side. John accepted their respectful greetings as if he'd always been such a high ranking lord yet Joan had said he was only a knight.
    "My lord," a burly man with a ruddy complexion bowed overly long before them, causing his face to turn even redder. "Accept the greetings of a distant friend. I am Mort of Bedgrove near Aylesbury, at your service."
    "And what would that service be?" John paused beside the extravagantly dressed man. It was not a man Rowena had ever seen before. John's mouth twitched with humor as he seemed to take in all the fine silk, silver bells and feather adornments in one glance.
    The man bowed again before answering. "My lord…" Stepping closer, the man was a head shorter than John but he managed to look him directly in the face when he answered. "Whatever service that you might need."
    John's humor fled. Rowena sensed a sudden tension between the two men. Their eyes were locked as if sizing each other up. His arm finally relaxed where her fingers lay lightly atop it. Smiling, he tipped his head in a cknowledgment and continued on.
    Finally reaching the far center wall, John and Rowena took their seats at the long table. It was covered with a clean cloth and adorned with small bunches of the last flowers from the garden. The scene was festive and Rowena's own spirits seemed to lift as well. It was a time to celebrate. The long awaited lord had finally returned. There would be time later to find out what that would mean to her. For her people, it was time for celebration. A time for peace.
    Once everyone settled, three young girls came out of the kitchen with the first removes. The red-haired one, Ruth, made a beeline for their table and Rowena clenched her jaw. John was served first. Rowena did not miss the provocative way the cook's daughter looked at him, or her saucy smile when she filled his cup of