That night, Madelyn could not sleep.
She rolled about in bed, the coverlets twisting about her legs, while her hands lay restless against the linen. Her body refused to find peace. The fire burning in the hearth granted the room enough warmth, still she felt no comfort. The queen's words haunted her.
'…I am certain he will return soon.'
Yes, he would return from the seas. But would he return for her? She turned to her side, drawing a deep breath.
Perhaps she might ask of the queen—beg, even—that a letter be sent to him.
To remind him that she remained still at Wiltshire. That she had not forgotten him. That she still loved him and was still repenting of her deceit. Madelyn closed her eyes briefly.
Outside, the wind rose, sweeping across the open Wiltshire plains with a low and mournful cry. It rattled faintly against the shutters and stirred the branches of the trees into a restless whisper. She shivered, but she knew it was not from the wind.
