He shook his head, rising from the chair beside the bed. “You still might if you do not put on warmer clothing,” he indicated the fact that she was still wrapped in a sheet. “My mother wanted to wake you and put you in something warmer, but I stopped her. I told her to let you sleep.”
Elizabeau looked down at herself again, grunted, and shifted to an uneasy sitting position. “I find myself in this situation all too often when you are around, wrapped in towels and without my shift.” She looked up at him as he chuckled softly. “What are you doing here, anyway? And where did you go earlier? I was terrified your mother was going to ask me about our wedding and I would not have the correct answer.”
He went to the wine pitcher, swirling it around to see that there were only dregs left. “I am here because we are married and married people normally sleep in the same chamber,” he replied. “As for where I went earlier, I was visiting with my son whom I’ve not seen in six months.”
“Oh,” she scratched her scalp, looking around for the familiar satchel that carried her clothes. She spied it over by the hearth and rose on unsteady legs to retrieve it. “Did you tell your mother anything more about our wedding? She did not ask me a thing.”
He nodded, watching her rummage about the bag. “We were married in London ten days ago. We met one month prior at a marketplace near the Tower that is held every Thursday. It is when the nobles do their shopping so they will not be bothered by the rabble.”
She nodded, memorizing the lie. Pulling forth one of the two shifts she owned, she cast Rhys a long glance.
“Turn around. I’m not your wife and you cannot watch me dress.”
Dutifully, he turned about, but not before he muttered under his breath. “Pity.”
“What was that?”
“I said, of course, my lady.”
She looked at him as if she did not believe him, but quickly dropped the towel and pulled the shift over her head. Then she fussed about in the bag.
“Oohhh,” she groaned in frustration. “I do not have a sleeping shift or anything appropriate to sleep in. I do not want to wear one of my dresses.”
He crossed his enormous arms, listening to her shuffle around behind him. “Sleep in the shift tonight. Tomorrow I shall go into Llandogo and purchase something for you to sleep in.”
“Can’t I go?”
“No. We cannot take the chance that you will be sighted.”
She frowned. “You stand out more than I do. You’re a gigantic mountain of a man with black hair and blue eyes that glow. You could not blend into a crowd if you tried.”
He snorted. “Be that as it may, you cannot go. And arguing with me isn’t going to magically cause me to change my mind.” He turned around to look at her as she stood in her shift beside her satchel. “Now, get back into bed and go to sleep. I am exhausted as well and would like to catch a bit of sleep before the sun rises.”
Her lips stuck out in a pout. “But this is my good shift. And it’s not nearly warm enough.”
“Get in bed.”
It was not a request. Elizabeau’s eyebrows rose and she glared at him for a few long moments, hoping to scowl him into submission. But the brilliant blue eyes remained strong against her. With a heavy sigh, she threw the surcoat she was holding back into the satchel and grumbled all the way back over to the bed. It was a small bed with a heavy coverlet and she tossed it back, revealing the soft bed linens underneath. The moment she climbed in, she howled.
“’Tis freezing!” she gasped, her teeth chattering. “The bed linens are like ice!”
With a heavy sigh of his own, Rhys gave her a shove and she fell down into the covers. As she squealed in protest, he pulled the heavy coverlet over her, tucked it in tightly enough to strangle, and threw himself down beside her. When Elizabeau realized what he was doing, her mouth flew open with outrage and Rhys had a fight on his hands.
“What do you think you are doing?” she demanded.
He shoved her down again when she tried to get up, being rewarded with an elbow to his gut for his trouble. “I am going to sleep,” he rolled her over onto her side, her back to his chest, and threw her into a bear hug. “I am exhausted, you are cold, and I grow weary of this foolishness. You’ve slept against me for eight days, Elizabeau Treveighan, so your protests at this stage are empty and foolish. This is the same as it was on horseback when you were cold and I used my body heat to warm you. Now, shut your mouth and go to sleep.”
She tried to move but he had her too tightly. “That was different,” she grunted. “I had no choice. But we are no longer traveling and this is improper to say the least.”