There was that sullen curve to his mouth, the one he had worn for nearly all their journey. She thought of her men, of desultory days in far-flung woods when tempers threatened to burst. “We shall send to the kitchen for a chicken.”

This was met with a lift of his brow. “Chicken?”

“Is a cure well known, to tie a chicken to the crown of your head or where ever it may ache, to fix the anus upon the afflicted place.”

She held her face very still, but his expression was such a perfect stew of confusion, feigned courtesy, and growing disgust that she could not stop her mouth from quivering with mirth. He let out an incredulous laugh.

“You would have me stink of dead chicken for our wedding celebration?”

“Oh no.” She shook her head as she took a swallow of wine. “It must be a live chicken.”

He was handsome as the devil when he laughed, even when he did put a hand to his temple. She bade a servant to go to the kitchens and return to her with fresh sage and chamomile, and a single leaf of valerian if there were any to be had.

“I did not think you capable of humor,” he said as a soft white cheese drizzled in honey was placed before them.

“Is a rare mood,” she admitted, watching his hands as he tore bread and spread cheese. She thought of nights around the fire with her men, their bawdy jokes as firelight lit their laughing faces. When the servant returned with the herbs, she pointed out Davydd and Madog where they sat across the hall. “Be sure they have mead, the best this house may offer.” They preferred it to ale.

She plucked out a stray bit of gooseberry leaf from the handful of herbs and of long habit slid it into her sleeve for safekeeping. Morency saw her. “Is a cure for gravel,” she mumbled, and tipped the rest of the leaves into his cup.

She watched him surreptitiously as the evening drew on and the music grew louder, and could see the pain ease in him as he drank. Every glance reminded her of what was to come and too soon the moment was here. The ladies of the court who were her equal in rank, those who had whispered and spurned her company, led her away to the chamber she was to share with him. They removed her veil and the coronet, her girdle and her shoes. When Suzanna lifted the robe above her head, Gwenllian caught her arm before she turned away and pressed the leaf into the girl’s hand. “A gooseberry leaf,” she murmured. “I will write you and explain its properties.”

A grin spread across the girl’s face. “Shall I brush your hair?”