He seemed a bit standoffish to her. His arm, where it lay on the back of the carriage seat behind her, was stiffly held, and she did not feel the steady, encompassing strength she had come to expect from him. That did not bode well.
She thought longingly of how right she had felt when he kissed her in their room. For a moment she had almost convinced herself that matters would be fine between them despite their rough beginning. Even when the note was slipped under the door, she had still had hopes.
But then they had encountered Digby in the library as they left, and Arthur had become quiet and his attitude colder. No doubt he had been reminded that Digby was his rival. Could the man have been spying on their actions? No, such a thought was absurd.
She considered their encounter carefully. Nothing they had said could possibly have caused Digby to know that they pursued Malory's original manuscript. So why had Arthur been so perturbed?
Perhaps, she admitted, he felt as if he had lost a step because he had been required to marry her instead of Gwen? Certainly Fenwell Delagrace had not been pleased.
Or perhaps he simply felt that having a wife along would be a hindrance to meeting his challenges? She remembered his odd statement on the staircase — that he had somehow taken her from Digby. Considering recent events, she could not help but expect that he wished Digby had won her.
There was but one way she could make amends. She must help him win his challenges. Nervously, not certain he would welcome her question, she asked, "Honor, Chivalry, and Valor. Those are the challenges you must meet. What is one expected to do to meet them, I wonder?"
Arthur took her question as a sign that she had not turned away from him in disappointment for good. He could not think of the expression on her face when Digby caught them skulking down the stairs without wanting to break something. Breaking things was distinctly unlike him. But then again, so was going back on his word, and he had very nearly made love to Hero after promising that he would give her time to adjust before pressing himself on her. Into her…. He dragged his attention back to her question, refusing to listen to the basest part of him which whispered that the night was dark, the carriage closed, and she was his wife.
"A man who meets the Honor challenge must show that he can bring a high level of glory and acclaim for his accomplishments. Fortunately, she seemed to have no notion of his newest obsession, which was to imagine what it would feel like to make love to her until she forgot about the notes, her injuries, Digby. Until she thought only of him.
He sighed. Always wanting the impossible. That trait he shared with his namesake, at least.
"Have you fallen asleep?" she asked softly.
"No." Far from it. He was more awake than he'd ever been in his life. Unfortunately, she would not be pleased to learn why.
"The challenges?" she prompted in a near whisper.
He supposed he should be grateful for her questions. That she still retained her curiosity indicated she was not too distraught over Digby's comments, or what had nearly happened between them before the note had reminded him of the promise he'd so quickly forgotten. "
"A man who meets the Chivalry challenge must show that he takes care of those who are less able than he, such as women and children."
"A damsel in distress, I suppose?" she teased, and he dared to hope that she did not despise him, no matter that his clumsiness had cost her the man she loved.
"That is most knights' preference, I believe," he replied with an answering smile.
"And to meet the Valor challenge?" she prompted him.
There was a troublesome one, indeed. He could not summon an answering smile for her as he said, "A man who meets the Valor challenge must show that he has the bravery to lead other men by example of his courage."
"And how is one to meet such challenges in our civilized society?" She arched one brow at him in question. "I can see how men in King Arthur's time might have been able to do such things. But now, in our modern world?"
He did not know how to answer that question, and then he remembered. "Our current Arthur was knighted by the King for his bravery at Waterloo."
"But that was wartime, not to mention that it was over thirty years ago!" she exclaimed. "I hardly think you, or Gabriel Digby either, would wish to battle with swords in the street to prove your honor or your valor."
He chuckled at the thought. "Neither a battlefield nor a sword should be necessary, Hero." On second thought, however, he might not mind a chance to go at Gabriel Digby with a sword — "Words are a scholar's weapons, you know. And accomplishments as well."
Her expression was one of relief. Apparently, she had truly expected him to have to go into combat.
Her next question posed a new challenge. "But how do you know what constitutes an accomplishment that will meet the challenge satisfactorily?"
He looked away, his gaze distant. "A man can do only what he believes in his heart will meet the requirements. That is the ultimate test." She had asked a question that had plagued him for years, in all his dealings with his grandmother.
She seemed to understand his dilemma, because she did not press him for a better answer. "How will they judge between you and Digby?"
How do you judge between us, Hero? But he did not speak the question aloud. "First, they must judge us individually for each challenge."
"How?"
"In three months' time, when we meet again, I will tell three tales, one for each challenge. Digby will do the same."
"Like the medieval troubadours, you mean?" She smiled at the thought. The idea obviously entranced her. He wondered if she would choose his colors or Digby's when the time came.
"That was the intent of the founders, I believe," he confirmed. "To do well, I must tell my tale to entertain as well as to inform. I must both define the challenge I set out to meet, and prove my deed meets the requirements —
"And when you have told your tale?"
"Assuming that the other knights are still awake," he said, acknowledging his most pressing fear ruefully, "at the end of each tale, each knight of the Round Table Society will vote whether my tale met or failed the test by putting their thumb either up" — he demonstrated for her — "or down."
She gazed at him thoughtfully, silent for a moment as she absorbed what he had told her. "Can your accomplishment be drawn from the past, or must it be performed during the three months' time?"
He did not know whether to be exasperated or pleased that she asked such probing questions. "I can use past accomplishments, of course. But I suspect that more recent accomplishments will have greater weight in the minds of the knights."
"No doubt," she agreed. "Obviously, if you find the manuscript, the Honor challenge will be well met. What shall you set out to do for the other two?"
This was a question he did not want to answer. He smiled, and tried to deflect it without hurting her.
"For Chivalry, as you have already pointed out, I must find a damsel in distress and help her."
She raised a brow, daring to tease him again. "Perhaps I might not be pleased about that."
She is flirting, he reminded himself. Do not take her too seriously. Lightly, he answered, "'Then I must make certain that I turn my eyes away from any distressed-damsel sighting."
"Well, I don't know if I like that any better," she said wryly.
He laughed. "I'm certain that distressing my wife, no matter the cause, would lead me to fail any chivalric challenge ever posed." His wife. He liked the sound of it. He hoped that she would soon like it as well as he did.
Her eyes lit with amusement as she nodded complacently. "And what shall you do for Valor if the sword is not the weapon of our modern world?"
"For Valor—" He sighed, not wanting to admit he wondered that himself. He decided to be truthful with her. "That I do not know. For while I do not consider myself a coward, I do not possess the courage of men who would set themselves against the odds and win out."
Her expression sobered as she took in his more serious turn in mood. "I can see that I will need to work not to be a hindrance to you in your goals."
"You are not a hindrance," he objected. It was his own nature that would win him the leadership of the society, or lose it.
She did not seem to believe him, however, because she apologized again. "I am sorry that I have made your task so difficult. I promise to do all I can to help you win your challenges."
He said softly, "You have made nothing difficult, Hero. I am the one who must be held accountable for recent events."
He sensed that she wished to argue, but she did not. Instead, she said, "You deserve to be head of the Round Table Society, Arthur."
"Do you think so?" It was an inordinate pleasure to have her say so. But a cautious voice inside his head warned him that she might be saying so only because she was his wife. What would she have said to Digby if she were sitting across from him as wife even now?
"Your research, your discoveries, they have been of great value to the society."
"True." False modesty aside, he could acknowledge the importance of his work to the society. But he was not the only member who contributed. He asked, not certain he wanted the answer, "But do you not think that Digby's research has been just as valuable?"
Her expression grew guarded. Perhaps because she wished to be diplomatic. "He is a good scholar, I admit." Quickly, she added, "But I think you the better scholar."
"We shall see," he commented. He did not know which he cared more about the outcome of: that the society thought him the better scholar; or that he learned for certain that Hero did, and that she was not soothing his husbandly pride.
"I have no doubt." She said the words as if they were the simple truth. In that moment he could have believed her if she told him she loved him and had always loved him. Forcibly, he reminded himself not to be a fool. She had been most distressed when Digby found them leaving in the dead of night.
"I'm glad you have faith in me." He smiled and grasped her hand lightly. "But I think I will put my energies into one task at a time."
"What do you mean?" she asked, a puzzled frown creasing her brow.
"I have three months to accomplish many things," he explained. "I will do best to focus my efforts on the first one and not move on to the second until I have accomplished the first."
"I see." She nodded. "Which will be first, then? Honor, Chivalry, or Valor?"
"Well, now it is time to see if I am up to the challenge of finding the man who has the manuscript — "
He corrected himself, "Who may have the manuscript, that is."
"At least he will have answers if he does not have the manuscript," Hero said. "And I would like to know why he has done what he has. Wouldn't you?"
"Indeed, I would." He moved his arm to a more comfortable position and played with a lock of her hair that had strayed from her hasty coiffure. More important, he would like the answer to the most burning questions in his mind. How much did she regret the marriage? And would she ever be more than a dutiful wife, as she had told Digby she was glad to be?
She settled against him comfortably, and he said softly, "Perhaps we shall even find some of our answers soon, among the stones of Buryton Abbey."
Buryton Abbey. They were going, then, Hero realized as she listened to Arthur describe the challenges he must meet within the next three months. They were set upon their quest. Where it would lead them they could neither of them say.
Still, the questions she had asked, even the ones that had turned his expression serious, had made him less cold and aloof to her. She leaned against him, enjoying the way his arm had come around her to steady her as the carriage jolted along. And she most especially enjoyed the feel of Arthur — her husband — sitting warm and solid next to her on the carriage seat.
She had not argued when he said her presence would not hamper his success. But he had only been saving her pride. She knew she must work not to be a hindrance. Fortunately, they had three months for him to meet his challenges.
Three months. Perhaps by then she would have proved she was indeed a worthy wife. She smiled to herself. No doubt she could help him meet at least the challenge of Chivalry. With that hope in her mind, his arm around her, and the dawn light beginning to shine into the carriage, she fell asleep.
She woke to find their quest to examine the stones of Buryton Abbey had led them to a small and dingy inn that smelled of old ale and badly managed privies. Still half asleep, she stared at the sight before her with dismay mingled with the odd feeling that she had not completely woken up and was trapped in a nightmare.
"I believe we are close," he said, seeing that she was awake. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I will return swiftly to tell you where we are." He leaped out to consult with the coachman with more alacrity than she possessed after such a long journey cramped inside a carriage.
There was still some light in the sky, so she dared to hope that this was not their destination, that they would not stop here for longer than it took to receive the necessary directions. Arthur dashed that hope when, after a quick consultation with the driver, he put his head back into the carriage to say, "This appears to be the only convenient establishment for miles. But don't fret, I will secure two rooms to ensure you are comfortable."
Two rooms. She stared dubiously at the inn but did not argue with him. Why did they need two rooms? He had seemed willing enough last night to treat her as a wife. If not for the interruption of the note —
Arthur's lips were pressed tightly together when he came back out to the carriage.
"What is the matter?" Judging by his expression, she was not certain that she wanted the answer.
"I doubt the humanity of the man who is sending us these notes," was his cryptic comment.
For a moment she thought they would get back into the carriage and drive away. But no, he held out his hand to her and helped her down into the unkempt inn yard. "I was able to secure only one room, but it is their best." He looked askance at the dilapidated inn building. "Or so the innkeeper assures me."