My Lady Jane(22)

“Coward.” G took another swig from the goblet of ale in front of him. Where was the honor among servants these days? He caught a hard glance from his new wife, and judging from the narrowness of her eyes, he assumed she disapproved of his ale consumption. He wished his ale consumption was all there was to cause disapproval.

G raised his glass toward her, and said loudly, “To my beautiful bride!”

The entire assembly hall raised their goblets in response. “To the Lady Jane!” they said in unison.

G took another gulp, and thought about the best way to break the equestrian news.

My dear, you know those four-legged majestical beasts of the land? Well, you married one!

No. That could not be the right approach.

My sweet, have you ever had a difficult time deciding between man or beast? Well, now you don’t have to!

Again, he thought better of this tactic.

Sweet lady, there are those of us who sleep lying down, and those of us who sleep standing up. I can do both.

No.

You know how some men claim to have another, perhaps hairier side?

Have you ever cursed the fact that your loved one has just the two legs?

Did you know that horses have incredible balance?

Hey! What’s that over there? And then he would gallop away.

G shook his head and could almost feel the ale swirling in his brain. It was at that moment he reasoned to himself that the assembly hall was not the place to tell his wife about his alter ego. Too many people.

Hours later, when G was practically sloshing with ale, he came to the conclusion that the walk to their bedchamber was not the place to tell his wife, either. Too many mounted deer heads on the walls.

Minutes later, as his wife stomped into the bedchamber, and G then mimed the action of a man carrying a woman across the threshold, he decided that the bedchamber was not the appropriate place to disclose his secret. Too quiet.

After that, the only other possible time to tell her would’ve been the few seconds between the act of stripping off his boots and then falling downward, and he happily would’ve told her then, only his lips were smashed against the wooden slats of the floor before he could get the words out.

But he’d promised the king he would tell Jane, and a promise was a promise. So just before the world went dark, he said, against the floor, “Mah Lavy? I ammmm a horrrrrrfffff.”

“Pardon me?” Jane’s voice came from somewhere in the black clouds behind his lids.

He could not repeat himself. Besides, it wasn’t his fault his wife couldn’t understand plain English.

G wasn’t sure what awakened him. Perhaps the distant sound of servants beginning breakfast preparations in the kitchen. They always started so early.

Or maybe it was the sound of soft breathing coming from the bed above him. G was not used to sharing a bedchamber with another person, although at the moment, because of his hazy brain, he couldn’t remember exactly who it was.

Or perhaps it was the gray tones of the impending dawn.

Dawn.

DAWN!

G threw off the blanket covering him (his new wife must have draped it over him at some point during the night) and using the fringe hanging down the side of the headboard tapestry, he pulled himself up.

Jane was asleep, her red hair splayed out over the pillow like a halo of fire. G paused for a moment, admiring the soft swell of her cheekbones, and wondered why he had not previously noticed that her neck curved in a very delicate and appropriate way as it connected to her shoulder. He would have to include that particular body part in his poem about her pout.

Dawn, he reminded himself. It was moments away.

G reached out and jostled her shoulder. The change was so close, he could feel it. Jane moaned and shook off his hand.

“My lady, wake up!” She didn’t respond. “Jane!” he shouted louder, nudging her.

She turned toward his voice and her eyes fluttered. “It is not morning,” she said.

“Yes, it is. What do you think that light through yonder window is? I must warn you of something, and it really is not extraordinarily consequential, but it can be rather alarming if you’re not prepared for it—” Why was he using so many words? Why hadn’t he practiced this speech? He’d barely ever said two words to her in a row, and now suddenly he was using all the words. “You’ve heard of that ancient, some would say beautiful, magic of our ancestors—” Uh-oh. It was too late. In one swoop, he was standing over her, much taller than he’d been a moment ago.

Jane’s eyes went wide. She scooted to the farthest edge of the bed and brought her fingers to her lips. “Wha—?”

G stepped backward, his hindquarters smashing up against the wall. This bedchamber was certainly not made with a horse (on his wedding night) in mind. Originally he had planned on sharing his equestrian news, gently excusing himself just before dawn, and trotting down to the stables. Of course, that plan would have required significantly less ale.

Jane furrowed her brows. “Gifford?”

It’s G, he thought, but then he remembered he hadn’t had the time or the mental acuity to tell her to call him G. He threw his head back and let it drop again in what he hoped would look like a nod.

She raised a gentle hand toward his face. G leaned down and sniffed her palm and then the curves of her fingers, his equestrian instincts taking over. He caught a whiff of wine on her wrist, surely left over from the night before, and used his horse lips to try to draw out the remnants.