The first sight of her home made Nesta stop her horse. A flood of reactions poured through her, and shock tinged every one.

She had never realized how poor her father’s manor was. Only the lowest of English lords lived like this.

Pushing her horse forward, she tried to reconcile what she saw with her memories. When she lived here as a girl, she had thought it very grand. Compared to everything else that she knew, it had been. In the eight years since she had left, however, she had learned what true power and position looked like. In comparison, this appeared very primitive.

Riding beside Marcus, she entered the gate in the wooden stockade wall. The low tower rising inside it was built of stone, but the rest of the house was timber. That was still typical in Wales. When Edward’s grandfather had conquered the princes of the north, the mighty stone fortresses he strung throughout Wales had symbolized England’s domination more surely than the men who held them.

The details flashing at her sapped her spirit. Outbuildings in the yard bore thatched roofs, and some had not seen new straw in years. Two children played in the dirt near the wall, wearing tunics so short that their bottoms showed. A woman watched them from where she had been feeding chickens, and her bare feet peeked out from beneath her ragged hem.

Nesta felt Marcus’s attention on her, and looked to find him watching her reaction as they paced their mounts through the yard. She shrugged. “It is different from what I remember.”

“It has not been maintained well these past years. That often happens when a knight holds property that is not his, and the King has put a castellan here.”

It was not only the lack of care. Everything was smaller. Older. Sadder.

“The lands are not large either,” she said. “Not much of a dowry for Genith to bring you.”

“Well, a big swath of the forest to the south was included, as the King’s contribution.”

“If you married Genith, perhaps, but not me. You had better join me in praying that Stratford annuls this betrothal. A marcher lord should get more than this with his bride.”

“When we marry, this marcher lord will get everything that he wants.”

It was a sweet thing to say, and ambiguous enough not to broach the forbidden topic of love. His expression revealed more than any words, however.

The last two nights of abandoned lovemaking had further broken the boundaries in which they tried to keep their passion. As if they both sensed the end nearing, they had grabbed more of each other than was wise until her heart had ached even as she held him. The hunger they had brought each other had not just been physical, and she had let herself get lost in his eyes, his scent, his possession.