“He must be harried to death, poor fellow. And when he finds out how close to death you came this day…” He sighed. “It would be kind of you to take some pity on him.”
XXXIX
2 days later
The wind whipped the pavilions and Mathilde could barely hear herself think above the chatter of her teeth. Where was Guy? Lord Vawdrey’s men had reported his return to Acton March two hours ago. She was going to freeze to death out here before he came to claim her!
Her mother was approaching from the royal tent. She came to a halt beside Mathilde’s chair. “Daughter, I really think we should ask permission to go back into the house. You will catch a chill and—”
“Nonsense, Mother!” She had to yell to be heard above the howling wind. Willard sat to her right, snorted with laughter and she noticed Gordon and Piers nudging each other. She supposed she did sound rather rude and ungracious. “Queen Armenal herself instructed us to wait here,” she added, glancing back at the queen who was sat nearby on a scarlet dais under a golden canopy. For all that she was under cover, she did not look much warmer than they. The queen’s lips were definitely tinged blue, and she clutched her furs around her tightly. The ideas of tents and pageantry in such weather was the height of folly. The snow had now melted it was true, but it was bitterly cold and the bare trees stripped of leaves shook in a gale force wind. “Guy will doubtless be arriving shortly. He must have received the queen’s invitation by now,” she added.
Her mother hesitated a moment, but then stiffly inclined her head and retreated back to the queen.
Mathilde realized she had shocked her mother a good deal the previous day with her tales, though Queen Armenal had been agog. Strange to say, the one that seemed to grieve Lady Doverdale the most was Mathilde’s confession that she had sulked when Guy had departed to escort Lady Allworthy back home. Her mother was incredulous that Mathilde could have behaved with such a lack of wifely dignity. “Lord Martindale was acting under obligation, rather than personal inclination,” she had pointed out in shocked accents.
Of course, Mathilde had left out certain factors in the recap, but more had slipped out than she had intended. The business of the brooch, for instance. “That would be vexing of course,” her mother had conceded. “But to have demanded its return like that was vulgar in the extreme, my child!” The queen had loved it though, and vowed that if Lady Allworthy did not return the ruby, then she would give to Mathilde her own ruby brooch which she had brought with her from the Western Isles.
The queen had fussed over Mathilde almost as much as Nurse had, and bestowed on her a fine gown of rose damask and a cap of pearls to wear over her curling head. She vowed she had been sorely missed at court, and acted as though Mathilde had been a feted favorite rather than a sad failure. Really, the whole thing had been most peculiar! Nurse had shed tears over her and her lost hair, and Mathilde had allowed it for an hour or so and then gently detached herself.
“All is well, Nurse and how it should be,” had been her refrain whenever Nurse had started fretting. The old woman had been sadly bewildered, but resigned to the fact her charge had moved on.
Anxiously, Mathilde scanned the horizon. What is that? She sat up straighter. One dark figure appeared on horseback, then, two, four, six…? She heard a stirring behind her, and the clash of steel against armor. The Duke of Cadwallader loomed behind her seat, barking orders and pointing to the company of men the king had sent to accompany the queen north. He had seen the riders too, and did not sound happy about their number. Mathilde twisted in her seat to see Lord Vawdrey walking across to his brother the Duke. Normally, Mathilde was terrified of Mason Vawdrey, Duke of Cadwallader, but this morning she found herself almost in sympathy with him. He too was extremely frustrated with the queen’s notions of meeting on an open field and negotiating Mathilde’s return to her husband. No one, not even Lord Vawdrey could convince Queen Armenal otherwise, though. She was determined to have her sport.
“Why are there so many of them?” Mason barked at Oswald. “I recognize some of these colors. Strethneal, Kirkland, Osbeck. Have you forgotten that I led the forces that defeated these men in battle?” he demanded tersely. “I razed Kerslake castle to the ground. I defeated Strethneal’s nephew in combat and imprisoned Kirkland’s only son.”
Oswald tutted. “War is a brutal thing, brother,” he murmured. “If I have my way, Karadok will never be plunged into such dark times again.”
“This is no time for your politicking! We could be plunged into battle this very morn! And look at us with naught but a handful of men and a bunch of mere babes!”
“Hey!” objected Piers. “We happen to be Lady Martindale’s personal guard!”
Mason ignored him, drawing his sword and stepping level to Mathilde’s seat, signaling to the other guards to advance and stand beside him.
Mathilde saw the approaching party halt and confer. She could make out people now. Guy was there at the head, with some noblemen she recognized vaguely from the night of the feast. She could also see Temur, Waldon and even Firmin. She swung around to address the fearsome Duke hotly.
“Why have you drawn your swords? My husband will surely think you are hostile!”
He answered her grimly. “There are twice as many of them as us, and they have no women or children to hinder them.”
“Personal guard,” muttered Gordon. “Not children!” The boys murmured resentfully between themselves.
Then Will sat up. “There’s Rob!” he yelled. “Hey, Rob!”
Mathilde could see Robin among their number now, he looked startled to see his fellow pages sat in matching red tunics on golden seats. He gave a tentative wave and the other three waved enthusiastically back.
Oswald clasped his brother the Duke on the shoulder. “Look at his face, Mason,” he said in a low compelling voice.
Mason Vawdrey hesitated and scanned the party opposite. Mathilde followed suit. Guy did not look well. Even from this distance she could see the purple smudges below his eyes. He looked like he had not slept in a week.
“What ails him?” Mason asked after a moment.
“He doesn’t give a fuck that you’re his hated foe. Look where his gaze is trained.” Mathilde noticed both brothers were now gazing at her. “Mason, she’s his Linnet,” said Oswald softly.
Mason looked up sharply. “Do not say such things lightly, brother,” he said warningly.
“I would never,” Oswald answered him gravely. “I recognize the symptoms having suffered from them myself. So can you, if you look closely.” Mason seemed to take another considered look at Martindale, and then after a long moment, sheathed his sword and flagged a hand for the soldiers to follow suit. “Good man,” Oswald commended him, clapping him on the back. Mason merely grunted.
“What’s causing the delay, my lords?” called Queen Armenal from her seat. “Bid Lord Martindale to approach us.”
Mathilde could have sworn that Mason muttered an oath under his breath. Oswald smiled his blandest smile and walked forward looking for all the world as if he was taking a morning stroll. Mason gave a short laugh. “He’s a cool devil, my brother, I’ll give him that.” Oswald held one hand up in welcome and stopped a short distance from the others.
“I can’t hear anything,” Gordon grumbled. Willard was cleaning his nails with the jeweled dagger she had given him.
“They’ll surrender shortly, you see if they don’t.” said Piers, nodding his head. “Cos we’ve got something they don’t. A hostage,” he said, glancing furtively at Mathilde.
“She’s not a hostage, you dunderhead,” sighed Willard.
“What is she then?” asked Gordon.
Will shot a look at Mathilde. “She’s the hero,” he said simply.
XXXX
Guy stared across at the man who had forced him to sign the marriage contract four years ago. Oswald Vawdrey looked just the same. One untrustworthy bastard. The whole day was starting to take on the properties of a nightmare, unreal and bi
zarre, with the same underlying feeling of dread that one experienced in the throes of one.
The entire ride home, he had been dogged with unnamed fears and a terrible sense of foreboding. He would never forget his feelings on returning to Acton March, when asking for his wife, and Firmin, ashen-faced had presented him instead with a royal summons. Please gods let her be returned to me. He asked for nothing else. He cared about nothing else. Not anymore.
Vawdrey led him to a green-striped tent and bade his men to wait outside. Once they were alone he had turned to him and asked coolly, “Give me one reason why I should allow you to take her back.”
Guy glared at him. “Who the hells do you think you are Vawdrey?” He seethed. “To stand between a man and his wife?”
“You seem to forget,” Oswald said mildly. “That it was I gave her to you in the first place.”
“In name only!” Guy fired up.
“True… She gave herself to you in person, and found herself rejected.”
“That’s a damn lie!”
“Indeed?” Oswald’s eyebrows rose. “And yet, I have heard,” he continued with infuriating calm. “That you withheld the protection of your name. That she was known as your mistress at Acton March, and kept in a separate household to your own.”
Guy’s face flamed. “I— That was only at the first,” he protested, feeling winded. “I never meant for that to continue.”
“You intended to wait and see if she would catch for a child, before bestowing your name on her?” asked Oswald with interest.
“No!”
“Apparently she is not with child,” carried on Oswald as if he had not heard his objection. “So, you may be easy on that score.”
Guy ground his teeth. “It makes not one whit of difference to my wanting her return.”
Oswald shrugged. “Doubtless you are ill-suited in any case. I should never have matched with you with such a shy little mouse. She would only need to see you roar once and would scuttle back to her home.”
“This is her home!” Guy burst out. “And she’s no mouse,” he added bitterly. “She’s heard my roar a hundred times without so much as turning a hair.”
“I confess, I have heard some very strange tales from this neck of the words,” Oswald murmured. “But in truth, a good number of them sound most unlikely. Especially about so meek and timid a woman.”
Guy snorted. “None of you know the first thing about her nature.”
“Until the day she ran away to be with you, she had never done a bold thing in all the years I’ve known her.”
Guy thought of Robin’s words about Mathilde never having been permitted to live her own life. He remembered Mathilde saying she had barely met either of her previous husbands. Oswald was quiet for a moment.
“What if I said I could get the king to sign a divorce, quietly and painlessly, granting your freedom from this dissatisfactory wife of yours?”
Only the fact Vawdrey had acknowledged the fact Mathilde was his lawful wife kept Guy calm. “I would not take it,” he ground out furiously. “Not for a thousand gold coins. Not for ten thousand. Not for all the gold in Karadok.”
Oswald gave a thin smile of amusement. “Indeed?” he said. “But I have heard you northerners prize gold and a strong sword arm above all things.”
“Not all things,” Guy said, not trusting himself to say more for the moment. “Not this northerner.”
“Not more than a loyal wife?” asked Oswald quietly.
“Is she loyal?” Guy barked with a bitter crack in his voice. “I hadn’t noticed. Last time I checked, loyal wives didn’t up and leave their husbands.”
“You’d still want a disloyal wife?”
Still want her? He stared at Oswald. “She’s mine, and I’m having her. I don’t give a damn if she’s loyal or not. I won’t give her the chance to be otherwise.”
Oswald gave a dry smile. “Her loyalty will never be to the north, of course. But you might have had it, if you’d treated her with a bit more consideration.”
“I don’t give a shit about the north anymore!” exclaimed Guy stung. “I’ve never raked any of that business up between us!” He gazed past Oswald through the opening in the tent, to the fluttering pennants, the royal pavilion. “If necessary, I’ll pledge my loyalty now to the Argent Queen,” he said. “On bended knee.”
“Armenal would doubtless like that,” Oswald mused. “But I don’t think your wife would like to see you humbled in front of your men.”
“I would not give a damn.” Guy shrugged.
“Lady Doverdale,” Oswald interrupted him, his tone casual. “Wants to negotiate a separation with you, and take her daughter back to Aphrany on the morrow.”
Guy was immediately livid. “I won’t permit it.”
“Despite your dislike of southerners and your vow of allegiance to the Blechmarsh line?”
“I renounced that fealty years ago,” Guy reminded him. “There’s only one vow I care about now.”
“Oh?”
Guy glared at him, feeling frustrated and entirely out of his element. What did this man want from him?
“Can I take it,” Oswald elaborated painstakingly. “That the vow you speak of is the one I extracted from you so deviously? Your wedding vow?”
“You can!” Guy muttered the words angrily.
Oswald sighed. “I need to hear from your lips, Martindale. That you prize her and mean to treat her well.”
Guy stared at him. How the hells was he supposed to vocalize such things to this man, his enemy? Then he took a deep breath.
“I’d do anything, just to receive her smile, her good opinion,” he said gruffly, and felt his face turning hot. “I cannot tolerate the thought of returning home without her. My life would be empty. Desolate. Worthless.”
“And if,” Oswald speculated, “she said she wished to spend half of her time at court?”
“Not without me.”
Oswald’s eyebrows rose. “You would come to court? You? To wait on the Argent King and his Queen?”
He didn’t even hesitate. “Aye, I would. Anything.”
Vawdrey was silent for a moment. “You poor bastard,” he said. “I promised my wife I would make you suffer a little for what you’d put Lady Mathilde through, but if it makes you any easier, I am deriving little joy from it.”
“Well, you can tell her I’m suffering the torments of the damned, if that will make her happy!”
Vawdrey arched a brow at him. “It wouldn’t,” he said. Then added curiously, “Is it really as bad as all that?”
Guy clenched his jaw. “I need to speak with her!” he burst out rawly. “You don’t understand, Vawdrey. Before we parted…” he broke off wretchedly at the throb in his voice. “I said some things…” he found himself unable to continue.
“And, if you had some speech with her?” Oswald prodded gently.
“I can make things right,” said Guy hoarsely. “Give her my vow, plight my troth anew. Whatever she deems necessary.”
Oswald nodded. “There is also another matter, Martindale, that I must have some speech with you about,” he said cautiously. “One that I confess, I bear some blame.”
Guy tensed. “If you’re trying to claim there was aught amiss in our vows…”
“Nothing of that sort,” Oswald hastened to assure him with a flicker of a smile. “No man has ever escaped a legal document I’ve drawn up. You were locked in tight, never fear.”
Guy relaxed. “Then whatever it is, it makes no difference to me.”
“Kerslake was a double-agent,” said Oswald smoothly. “He operated both for the north and for the south. Always has.”
Guy stood very still for a moment at this astonishing piece of news. Tristan Kerslake was a traitor? Then he swallowed. “Karadok is united now,” he said at last with a quick shake of his head. “This is no concern of mine.”
“There are still certain... factions. Rumbling away. That would seek to depose King Wymer if they could.”
> “I’m not among their number. Not anymore.”
“Oh, I know that,” Oswald agreed blandly. “You take your vows very seriously.” Guy stiffened, but it seemed Vawdrey did not mean to cause offence. “There is also the fact Princess Una refused your attempt to free her three years ago at Sandysford,” he carried on casually. “Yes, I know all about that.”
“How?” Guy licked his lips. “The princess told you?”
Oswald shook his head. “You do her a disservice. It was Kerslake that told us. He had a first-hand account.”
“From Ulverston,” guessed Guy. He was silent a moment. “Tristan told you that, knowing he could have got us all hung as traitors?” He could hear the disbelief in his own voice.
“Oh yes,” agreed Oswald with a nod. “He told me that and a lot more. Every time a northern lord drank a toast to the imprisoned princess, every treasonous remark, every half-baked plot. All the northern nobles held him in such high esteem,” mused Oswald. “He had all their confidences. After all, he lost everything in the war, did he not? His birth-right.”
Guy clenched his hand. “It wasn’t his birth-right. He was the second son. If Miles had ever known he was capable of such perfidy—” Miles would have struck down his brother himself. Still, he thought, swallowing down the bitterness, he had other aspirations now.
“All this is nothing to me,” said Guy harshly. “I don’t care if Tristan is a spy. I’ve nothing to hide.”
“Well, he’ll be doing precious little spying in future,” commented Oswald wryly. At Guy’s questioning look he carried on a little ruefully. “After you departed, Kerslake decided to rid himself of a loose end.” Oswald shot a glance at Guy’s frowning face. “You see, one time at court, your wife saw Kerslake in my company. I did say, did I not, that she is a particular friend of my countess?” Guy struggled to focus on what exactly he was being told. “It is common knowledge, I believe, even this far North, that as well as Chief Advisor to the king, I am also his spymaster?” Vawdrey continued calmly.
“Aye,” Guy rumbled. “What of it?”
“It would seem Kerslake did not feel easy in the knowledge that the Marchioness of Martindale could let this slip at any moment, shattering the confidence so many held in him in this part of the country. He wrote to me. And what he wrote alarmed me so greatly that I thought it expedient to come North immediately.”
Wed By Proxy (Brides of Karadok Book 1) Page 32