She felt her face burn as she comprehended the implications. In her drunken state last night she must have done something indiscreet. The whole household appeared to know she had met Marcus in the garden.

Her women entered the hall from the sewing room. Winnifred ran over, wearing a smile so broad that her ears moved.

“Oh, my lady, it was so beautiful. Like a tapestry come to life, it was. To see you so happy—to witness such pure emotion—I like it here, and am glad to stay. Now Philip says maybe he and I will marry too—”

Nesta held up her hand to halt the onslaught. Parts of Winnifred’s rambling had gotten through her stuffy head. A horrible suspicion began ruthlessly clearing her mind. “What do you mean, Philip and you might marry too?”

“With your and my lord’s permission, of course. I know Philip drinks a bit, but he is a good man, and, well, we all of us drink a tad too much now and then, don’t we?”

Nesta ignored the allusion to her recent behavior, and forced the only point she cared about. “What do you mean, too? Who else is getting married?”

Winnifred’s broad smile wavered. “Why, you, of course.”

“I certainly am not.” Even as she said it, she realized what had happened. Lightning replaced the cloud in her head.

The knave! He had lied to her last night at the feast. He had fed her wine and tidbits so everyone would see them acting like lovers and thus accept his announcement of their marriage this morning. He had gotten her besotted deliberately so that she would be abed and unable to refute his scurrilous lie.

“If Marcus announced that he and I will marry, he did so without my acceptance or permission,” she said. “You are to go to every person within these walls and explain that. I will treat with Sir Marcus myself.”

“My lady, all heard—”

“I am sure that all have heard. Now, let them hear the truth.” She turned on her heel to go and heap hellfire on Marcus. “Where is the deceitful churl?”

“Churl! My lady, it is not wise—”

“Where is he?”

Silenced by her yell, Winnifred pointed to the threshold.

Nesta strode out to the yard. Marcus was nowhere to be seen, but she spied Paul near the stable. She aimed for him, her eyes narrowing and her body tight with outrage.

No doubt the farmers this morning had heard this lie too. She pictured the story spreading like a fire through dried fields, over the farms, into the hills, throughout the land. That was Marcus’s plan—to have the Welsh, especially Carwyn and her father’s men, believe she was tying herself to the King’s man. It could change everything. It could make her useless to her father’s cause.