It made it difficult for her to swallow. Putting down her eating knife, she took a sip from the cup in front of her. She made a face. “What is this?” “The last of the wine from our traveling rations.” “’Tis wretched stuff.” He regarded her with a wry expression. “Better than the ale we had last even. None of the men would drink it. The brewer tapped it too soon. Now, we must wait for another batch.” “Water would be better.” He nodded. “I’ll have some fetched for the ewer in the bedchamber.’ The word “bedchamber” made the rest of Edeva’s appetite depart. Any moment the Norman might suggest they go upstairs. Would he sleep with his clothes off? Insist she remove hers? Heated images swirled in her brain. She forced herself back to the present. There were important things they needed to discuss.
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