Free The King's Bishop by Candace Robb

in the garden to watch the clouds. No harm will come to her.’
    Lucie trusted Tildy; it was coming upon Owen unaware and remembering the separation to come that had tightened her throat, but perhaps it was better to let Owen think she was just a frettingmother. ‘Is it warm enough for Gwenllian in the garden?’
    Owen sat up, handed Lucie his cup to taste. ‘You must trust Tildy, my love. She is very good with our child. You cannot do everything in this house, though I’m damned if I know how to keep you from trying.’
    Lucie took a sip of the cool well water, handed Owen the cup. ‘It is Tildy who tries to do everything in the house. I worry that with cooking, cleaning, and tending Gwenllian she is overworked.’
    ‘Tildy will tell you when she has need of help, my love. When she fears that things are not as perfect as they might be.’ They both knew that Tildy would ask for assistance only if she felt the quality of her work was disappointing them.
    Lucie studied her husband, so handsome, so much a part of her. He was sweaty and covered with a fine film of rich earth; he looked content. ‘The work is going well?’
    ‘I have one more bed to prepare. God help me, the rocks I dug out last year are back, and with a year’s extra growth.’ His damp linen shirt clung to his muscular chest and back as he flexed and stretched.
    Lucie never tired of looking at him, such a fine man. Already she missed him so keenly that the quiet, companionable joy of the moment pained her. ‘Rocks growing indeed, Owen! I’ll ask you to hold your tongue with nonsense such as that or Gwenllian and Jasper will grow up with unholy notions of God’s creation.’ She could see at once that her effort to sound jolly had failed.
    Owen’s eye held hers. ‘What is wrong?’
    Lucie allowed herself to go to him, stroke his wiry dark hair. ‘The King’s company has entered the city. We’ve little time together before you leave.’
    Owen wiped his hands on a cloth, draped it over his lap, clean side up, and pulled Lucie down. ‘I won’t pretend I’m sorry to hear you are already missing me. I’ve been thinking you wanted me out from underfoot.’
    Lucie took a cloth and gently wiped his face. ‘You drive me mad at times, ‘tis true, my love. But I would have you no other way. And I would have you home and safe, not riding north in this uncertain season on the King’s business.’
    Owen grabbed the hand that held the cloth, kissed Lucie’s palm. ‘How do you know the company is here?’
    ‘Tom Merchet told Jasper.’
    The bell on the shop door announced a customer. With a groan, Lucie began to rise. Owen held her down. ‘Let Jasper see to them.’
    ‘He has gone out to watch the company come across the bridge.’ Lucie stood, brushed her skirt, kissed Owen’s forehead.
    ‘Mistress Wilton? Captain Archer?’ a young, reedy voice called from the front of the house.
    They looked at each other. ‘Harold,’ they said together. Archdeacon Jehannes’s clerk. Owen rose, hugged Lucie, went into the shop. Lucie followed with a heavy heart, knowing Harold would be summoning Owen to meet the company.
    Harold bowed to them. ‘God go with you, Mistress Wilton, Captain Archer. I am sent to ask the Captain to come to my master’s house after vespers. The King’s men are to arrive shortly.’
    Vespers, Lucie thought. And then Owen’s mind would be filled with the coming mission. His eyes would shine with the prospect. For though Lucie had no doubt that Owen loved his family, she knew hecould not be happy long without a battle, or at least a good problem to solve, preferably outside York. She had warned him when he chose to stay in the city as her apprentice that he would tire of the life. And since Lucie had predicted it, Owen tried to hide his yearning for action from her – but she knew him far too well to miss the signs, the pacing, the stretching, the cutting of too much firewood.
    Owen nodded to Harold. ‘Tell the Archdeacon I shall