The Shattered Rose
sweaty man; the feelings in his own body, demanding more.
    He didn't act on those demands—that still didn't seem right—but he often thought of visiting Brome, where he knew the names of some willing women.
    Then, one day, Jehanne came upon him with his favorite dairy maid in his lap. Though stung by guilt, he was heartened by the naked fury in his betrothed wife's eyes. He knew then that he had wanted Jehanne to catch him, wanted to see her angry over it. He pushed the maid off his knees and gave her a playful swat on the rear to send her on her way.
    Jehanne, of course, swiftly controlled herself. "I suppose you're practicing," she said with a dismissive air. "Are you hoping to get it right before we're wed?"
    "Why would I care as long as I broach you and get you with child?"
    She virtually snarled at him. "So I won't laugh at you."
    "If you don't laugh at me, I won't laugh at you."
    And he scored that time too, for she stormed off with angry color in her cheeks.
    But perhaps, after all, she won that bout, for he found he didn't like to upset her and gave up his games with the maids. More man ever, though, he wanted to visit Brome so he could truly practice for his wedding night.
    Broaching was all very well in theory, for he knew what bit went where, but many things that seemed simple in theory proved to be quite difficult when arrived at—like aiming a ballesta so that the rock it threw actually did some damage. He remembered his first attempt at that exercise, and the way his rock had thumped into the ground far short of the target.
    He certainly didn't want to fall short in the marriage bed.
    Did she know any more than he, though? Surely not. She was a high-spirited girl, for her mother had died years before and her father had been somewhat neglectful in her rearing, but Fulk was not the sort of man to tolerate a wanton daughter. She couldn't have dallied with other men. Could she?
    He did wonder uneasily about Raymond of Lowick, who visited Heywood too often for Galeran's comfort. Ostensibly, he came to pay respects to his old master, but he flirted with Jehanne. She did not appear to encourage him, but she didn't reject him either.
    hi fact, to Galeran Jehanne was a tangled mystery.
    She didn't walk delicately, but strode about, skirts swinging. Yet she looked as graceful as other women. She didn't bend her neck and lower her gaze, but looked men straight in the eye, whether it was her father, Galeran, or Lowick. Yet it was not unbecoming. She rode out to the hunt as fast and fierce as any man, and liked to be in at the kill. Galeran had quickly learned that any impression of delicacy was an illusion. She was a dead shot with her bow, could wield a light sword with skill, and lift a sack of grain without difficulty.
    He found he didn't mind this at all since she was just as skillful in women's matters. She could spin fine thread and weave sound cloth, and her embroidery was a marvel to him. More important, she could organize others to spin and weave and embroider, so Heywood prospered under her rule. She knew just how everything should be done, and seemed to have her eye everywhere. Swift with punishment for those who failed in their duties, she was never cruel, but simply drew the best work out of everyone.
    The people of Heywood were proud of their lady, and so was Galeran. He admired her, sharp tongue and all, and though she still made him nervous, he learned how to handle her. He learned military matters from the master-at-arms, and more personal fighting from Jehanne.
    And he enjoyed both.
    And at last he was growing. One day he realized he was taller than she, and in the next little while he put on even more height and weight, so that by two months before the wedding he topped her by half a head. Perhaps in response to this, Jehanne taunted less. Now she watched him with a different light in her eyes and she never accosted him alone.
    But then, when their wedding day was but a month ahead, she trapped him in
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