It was Suzanna’s chatter that pulled her from the despair of such thoughts. She admired the green of Davydd’s tunic and the fine belt Madog wore. Soon, they were surrounded by a party of musicians, and were walking to the church amidst their reveling. The minstrels were more of Suzanna’s cleverness: it covered the smallness of the bridal party by gathering people as they passed through the grounds. She walked flanked by Madog and Davydd, a grim center to this gay crowd, and was delivered to the door of the church where Morency awaited.

It was easy from there, to say and do the things expected of her. It was only in the beginning, when the priest asked her if she wished this man to be her husband, that she hesitated. Obey, the priest said, and serve and esteem. She could not bring herself to say she wished it. She could not, until she felt King Edward’s stare burning her in the silence. It was at him she looked as she gave a tiny nod, then lowered her head and spoke her assent. After that, after the king took her hand and put it in her new husband’s grasp, she could even enter the church and hear mass with ease. She should have made a show of confessing herself, she knew. But there was little she disliked more than priests and church, so she had allowed herself that tiny bit of freedom yesterday.

She watched Morency lower his head in prayer and remembered his fevered ravings so long ago, and wondered if she had married a very religious man. If he would compel her to daily mass and endless prayers, she could mouth the words easily enough, she supposed.

The feast was predictably magnificent. She forced herself to pay strict attention to the dishes served, the amounts and how they were prepared, so that she would have some idea of how to plan a celebration. They were not even half way through the meal when she ended her attempt to estimate how much wine and ale had flowed into the hall. There was far too much to keep up. She cast an eye to Morency’s cup and saw he drank sparingly.

“You do not find the wine pleasing, my lord?”

He grimaced. “So full have I drunk these many nights that to drink more would make me sick, I think.”

She almost laughed. She had only walked incessantly, and slept fitfully. “What privilege to be a man, who may drown his worries in drink.”

He shrugged. He did seem weary, now that she took the time to look at him. “Your head aches,” she said.

He turned fully to face her. “Aye,” he said with impatience.