“I love you too,” she whispered back. Then she disappeared into the pantry.

“Your wife’s a wonderful cook,” Isabelle said as she sat across from him. “Just wait.”

“And just how often has she cooked for you, Sprite?” Greylen questioned mildly. In truth, however, he was becoming a little suspicious.

Isabelle gave a delicate shrug. “Well, aside from the first time, which was the morning after you left, I suppose every night.”

“She cooks every night?”

Gavin and Gwen stepped from the pantry, each laden with items. Greylen went immediately to help his wife, making sure his contemptuous look was fixed only on Gavin. “She cooked for you every night.”

“Aye,” Gavin taunted, “each meal more delicious than the last. ’Tis a shame you missed it.”

“Gavin,” Gwen yelled. “If you can’t play nice, then don’t play at all.”

Greylen shot Gavin a triumphant look, for Gwen had come to his defense. Then he realized he’d acted like a lad whose mother had just defended him. Good God, what was happening?

“Greylen, sit down and drink your wine,” Gwen ordered. “Isabelle, help me cut these potatoes. And Gavin—behave.”

“Ah, my bossy mistress has found her tongue.”

“You call my wife bossy?” Greylen asked the question with more surprise than outrage. Gwen had been nothing but compliant since his return, hadn’t she?

“Enough,” Gwen exclaimed.

“’Tis good to have you home.” Gavin clinked his goblet with Greylen’s.

Greylen spoke with Gavin as Isabelle helped Gwen. And though he held his end of the conversation, he couldn’t take his eyes from his wife. She added meat to one pan and potatoes and onions to another, and to another a mixture of greens. She had rolled his shirtsleeves above her elbows and the bottom edge of her shirt rested just above her knees. Her hair had loosened about her face, and she continued to blow it back in frustration. Her attention elsewhere, she’d not take the time to fix it. Without thought, he stood and stepped behind her. “Be still, wife,” he ordered, untying the leather strap. Then he ran his fingers through her hair and pulled it back before retying it.

She remained completely still for a long minute. Finally she turned. “I can’t believe you did that,” she said as if truly shocked.

“You needed help,” he told her.

“But, you fixed my hair,” she told him as if he wasn’t the one who just did so.

“Aye, wife, I fixed your hair.”

“You fixed my hair, Greylen.”

He sighed, shaking his head. “Let me help you to understand, love. I. Fixed. Your. Hair,” he teased with infinite slowness. Then he turned to Gavin and Isabelle. “You’re right.” He shrugged. “She’s daft.”

They laughed as he reached out and brushed his fingers down Gwen’s face.

“Greylen fixes everything, Gwen,” Isabelle said matter-of-factly as she poured more wine. “’Tis always the way of it.”