He nodded. “Oh aye,” he said airily. “I’m well in with the family.”
“And how do you like being Sir Roland’s squire?”
“Well enough,” he answered cautiously. “I get to see a good bit of the country, travelling from tournament to tournament.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “I daresay, most knights do not travel with their ladies,” she said, thinking about future tournaments, when she could remain at court while Roland trampled his unfortunate rivals.
Cuthbert appeared to consider this a moment. “Depends,” he said. “Plenty of them take their doxies, but wives only tend to come to the bigger events.”
Eden’s eyes widened, but before she could press him for any more detail, Roland called something from ahead and Cuthbert spurred his horse on to join him. Doxies, thought Eden. So, her life had come to this. If someone had told her she would be consorting with doxies before the month was out, she would never have believed them!
They did not arrive at Tranton Vale until midday, and approached Sir Aubron Payne’s timbered manor house by way of a moat. The sun was bright and the clouds clearing from a blue sky.
Cuthbert twisted in his saddle to look around at her. “Looks like a good day for it,” he called back as attendants approached Roland. Eden smiled weakly and wondered if the activities would have already begun.
When he’d finished giving their names to the attendants, Roland turned his horse to bring it alongside hers. “Do you want to go up to the house first or straight to the field?” he asked.
“Why would I want to go up to the house?” Eden asked him blankly.
“To…” Roland waved a hand vaguely. “Change your dress, or arrange your hair,” he suggested looking uncertain himself.
“I don’t have anything with me,” she reminded him. “And besides, I do not know the host’s family. ‘Twould be most awkward indeed to thrust myself upon them, with no introduction.”
“You’re in the country now, Eden,” he reminded her dryly. “Court manners will be wasted on these folk.”
“I’ll come to the field with you,” she said decisively, not caring if he was embarrassed to have her trailing behind him. She suddenly felt filled with a sort of horror of letting him out of her sight. After all, he was the only person she knew here. The idea of having to tell strangers her new married name brought her out in a cold sweat. Strangely enough, instead of looking irritated by this news, Roland looked if anything, rather pleased. She would never understand him, she thought, as he directed the attendants to which baggage they could take up to the house, and which would be accompanying him to the field. She wondered sourly whereabouts she ranked in his list of possessions? Rather lower than his horse and his armor, she fancied, though perhaps marginally higher than his hair comb. She followed behind him on Christobel, as they rounded the house and headed toward a large field that was fluttering with brightly colored tents in the breeze.
Cuthbert bobbed around on his saddle, pointing out various standards and pennons. “Lord Kentigern’s here!” he exclaimed with satisfaction, gesturing at a large banner of a portcullis against a blue background. “I thought we would not see him till Vettell.”
Roland nodded absently but was clearly scanning the colors for someone else’s. “There,” he said, pointing to a tent set to the far left. “There’s Bev and Attley’s pavillion.” He set off in that direction and Eden surmised these were his friends Sir Edward Bevan and Sir James Attley. She knew them by sight, but did not think she had ever exchanged more than three words with either of them. Her heart sank a little at the prospect of Roland breaking the news to his closest acquaintance, but she braced herself and urged her horse forward nonetheless. It must have been their standards he recognized, for the tent flaps were down and no-one was in sight except for a sulky-looking boy with a head of coppery curls.
“Ancel’s still around then,” Cuthbert said as if he took no pleasure in the fact.
“Who is Ancel?” asked Eden, when Roland took no notice.
“Sir Ned’s new squire,” Cuthbert answered without enthusiasm. “There he goes,” he added with a snort, as the boy slipped around the side of the tent and scarpered. “Scared he’d be asked to help rub down the horses, likely as not, lazy beggar!”
Eden did not get the chance to respond, for Roland had swiftly dismounted and before she knew it, was plucking her out of her saddle.
“I can dismount myself,” she objected rather breathlessly, as he set her down in front of him.
“Newlyweds, remember?” he murmured, crooking an eyebrow at her.
Were they supposed to be playing a role? Eden wondered with a frown. If so, he had not filled her in on the plan! Before she could voice any reservations, he had wound an arm around her waist and was steering her toward the opening of the tent. “See to the horses,” he flung over his shoulder at Cuthbert. Eden took a deep breath as the woven jute fabric was brushed aside and she found herself pulled through the entrance.
Inside the tent, all was in disarray. Eden’s eye fell first onto the wooden table strewn with armor, and then on the two surprised males in a varying state of undress.
“Roly!” shouted the taller one jovially. “Didn’t expect to see you here, you young brute!” His eye wandered idly to Eden and then widened. “What the-?”
The blonder one yelped, and scurried behind the other side of the table to secure the ties on his braies.
Roland side-stepped in front of Eden, obscuring her view. “Why the hells aren’t you two dressed at this hour?” he complained. “I’ve been up for hours!”
“Not really fair Roly,” protested Sir Edward. “Bringing spectators into this area before noon!”
“Did you bring all your prospective in-laws?” asked Sir James with pointed disapproval.
“She’s not a spectator,” answered Roland mildly. “She’s my wife.”
Eden, who was still stood behind his bulk, closed her eyes, even though she couldn’t see their reactions. The stunned silence that greeted his words, spoke volumes. Roland picked up an overturned goblet and poured some ale from a jug into it. He took a swig, and then passed it back to Eden. So thirsty was she, that she happily drained the rest of the cup.
“Y-your wife, you say?” stammered Sir James, still clad only in his white linen underclothing.
“Aye,” agreed Roland, taking the empty cup back off Eden and calmly re-filling it. She shook her head when he re-offered it to her. He tossed back the contents in one gulp. “Take a drink with me.” he suggested to his dumbstruck friends. “And you can toast our health.”
“You surely jest?” ventured Sir Edward.
Eden, thinking she had cowered long enough, stepped around Roland to stand squarely at his side. His hand slid around her waist to draw her closer still. She suffered this without comment and returned Sir Edward’s stare.
“But…. Surely that’s the wrong one?” pointed out Sir James in a hoarse whisper, looking from one to the other.
“I changed my mind,” shrugged Roland, and sat down easily on one of the benches. His heavy hand on her hip, compelled her to follow him down until she was sat squarely in his lap. Eden flushed. “Pour three cups, sweetheart,” said Roland, seemingly oblivious to the shocked disbelief in the room.
Eden sat frozen a moment, but then reached for the tray of cups in the middle of the table. Sweetheart? She could feel at least two pairs of eyes trained on her disbelievingly, as she awkwardly poured the foaming ale into three goblets. She pushed two of them in the direction of his friends and then picked up the third, which she offered uncertainly to Roland.
“We can share,” he said. “Bev, you toast us first.”
Sir Edward, picked up the cup and cast about him wildly. Considering he was dressed in a pair of green woolen hose and had a bare chest, Eden was impressed when he cleared his throat and struck a dignified pose. “To the bride and groom, worthy among your friends,” he said gravely. “Your very good health.”
“Hear,
hear,” joined in Sir James hastily.
Eden took a sip and passed the cup to Roland who drained it.
“Another,” he said to Eden, and she picked the jug back up as the other two slammed their cups down on the table. After she’d poured again they all turned to Sir James Attley.
He straightened up and raised his goblet. “Drink! May you live your wedded days in plenty.”
This time, Roland took one swig, then passed the cup to her. Eden took a hearty draught and then passed it back to Roland for him to finish. He slammed it back down on the table when it was done. Eden wiped her mouth with her kerchief in the absence of a napkin and looked up to find his friends still blinking at her, as if not quite able to believe their eyes.
“It’s… er… the Lady Eden, isn’t it?” asked Sir Edward, giving her an awkward bow. “Your servant, Sir Ned Bevan.”
“We just call him Bev,” Roland added.
“Sir Edward,” said Eden, who could not imagine addressing him as Bev or even Sir Ned any time soon.
“And I’m Sir James Attley,” said the other who now pulled on a tunic and was looking a lot less discomforted. “At your service.”
“Sir James,” said Eden coolly. She inclined her head, unable to curtsey from her current position in Roland’s lap.
“Bit of a turn up for the books,” said Sir Ned, with a questioning look on his face.
“As you say,” Eden responded dampeningly. She hardly wanted to encourage this line of enquiry.
“If we’d known it was to be a marriage feast, we’d have accompanied you, Roland,” piped up Sir James plaintively.
“Didn’t know myself,” shrugged Roland. Eden felt her face grow tight. As if aware of her tension, Roland’s hand slid from her hip to her lower back and rubbed her there reassuringly, as he spoke. “It was a spur of the moment thing. You know how impulsive I can be.”
Eden tried not to notice the way Sir James’s gaze was riveted to Roland’s hand massaging her lower spine, or the skeptical look on Sir Edward’s handsome face. Instead, she concentrated on breathing steadily and not going into hysterics. She’d known this part would be excruciatingly embarrassing, and it was nothing less than she deserved, she told herself savagely, for getting herself into this mess in the first place! Her cheeks burned, and she could only imagine how pink her face must appear.
“What’s the order of events today?” Roland asked calmly. While Sir James eagerly filled him in, Sir Edward donned the rest of his clothes and Eden found herself able to breathe easier. Roland’s hand continued to circle at the small of her back, until she found herself relaxing back against him. To her surprise, when Sir James had finished the run-down of events, Roland turned his head and kissed her cheek. She gave a slight start, but managed not to squeak.
“Time for us to go and find our hosts,” he said. “I’ll introduce you to Sir Aubron and find you a vantage point to watch from.”
“Will you compete?” Eden asked in dismay at the idea of being left in the company of strangers.
“Aye,” he said. “But don’t fret. Sir Aubron’s bound to have some womenfolk you can sit with.”
**
Sir Aubron Payne turned out to be a portly man in his fifties with high coloring and a very fluffy head of iron grey hair. He was delighted that Roland had brought his new bride along to his tournament. “Delighted, my dear Lady Vawdrey,” he enthused, bowing over her hand. “Allow me to introduce you to my wife Elizabeth and daughter Gunnilde. We would be very honored if you would sit along with us and watch proceedings.
“I would be very happy to,” Eden lied, eyeing his giggly wife, who looked far younger than his daughter, and seemed to be making eyes at Roland.
“You must sit with the family tonight at the high table, Sir Roland,” said Lady Payne, reaching across to touch the back of his hand flirtatiously. “In the position of honor, as befits the bridegroom.”
Eden watched as he absently rubbed his fingers on his tunic. “I’d rather sit with my friends,” he said, rather bluntly.
“Of course, he would, young rogue,” broke in Sir Aubron cheerfully, before turning to Eden. “But your tender young bride might prefer to sit with us, rather than among the rank and file.”
Roland did not look best pleased with this suggestion. Before she could accept the well-meaning offer, he said abruptly. “My wife sits with me.” He drew off to one side, tugging her along with him. “You’ll sit with the Paynes a while now, and I’ll collect you after the melee.”
Eden nodded, feeling the gazes of their hosts burning into the back of her head. “Yes, that’s fine.”
“And will you watch, wife?” he asked with a gleam of challenge in his eyes.
Eden was taken aback a moment. “I thought that was the plan,” she said. “Sir Aubron said they have set up benches along the far field-”
“I meant,” Roland interrupted her heavily. “Will you look for me in the field?”
Eden’s puzzlement grew. “Well, I doubt I’ll even know anyone else here,” she pointed out. His brows snapped together abruptly, and he frowned at her a moment. Eden blinked back at him, wondering what mis-step she had taken now.
“Just give me a token, Eden,” he said abruptly.
“A token?” What for?
“A kerchief or a sleeve or something.”
“A sleeve?” Eden repeated. “I only own two in the world and I am hardly likely to give one of them to your safe-keeping! I’d be walking around with one cold arm for days!”
He rolled his eyes in exasperation, before startling her by tapping the brooch on the front of her bodice. “Give me this.”
Eden considered arguing. She only owned two good pieces of jewelry. A bracelet of turquoises her grandmother had given her, and this pearl brooch which Queen Armenal had graciously bestowed on her. “Don’t lose it,” she said with a sigh, as she unpinned the brooch and held it out to him. Now in all likelihood, it would probably end up being trampled into a muddy field before the day was out! Instead of taking it from her, he held out his arm for her to pin it to. Eden considered a moment, and then whipped out her kerchief, wrapped it around his arm and then used the brooch to secure it in place. She was just surveying her handiwork, when his finger under her chin tipped her head up so he could meet her gaze. “Now,” he said in a murmured undertone. “Get on your tiptoes and give me a good luck kiss that our audience will appreciate.”
Eden forced herself not to stiffen, though it wasn’t easy. Instead she lifted slowly up onto her toes and puckered her lips in anticipation. Roland looked down at her a moment, with an unreadable expression. Just when she was considering asking what he was waiting for, he leaned down and took her lips in a strangely tender and lingering kiss, his hands resting lightly on her hips. When he drew back, she swayed a moment, trying to catch her breath. His grip on her tightened and he didn’t release her until she was steady on her feet once more. Eden braced herself, waiting for him to make some comment, or tease her for her reaction, but he did neither. Simply took hold of her elbow and steered her back toward their hosts.
“I know I can trust you to keep a watchful eye on her,” he said, and took his leave of them.
Eden could only hope her face was not as red as it felt.
“I’ll take Lady Vawdrey along to the seated area, father,” said Gunnilde Payne eagerly. She was an amiable looking girl of about eighteen, with tow-colored hair and rather large teeth. Eden let herself be led away, grateful to escape Lady Payne’s avid stare.
“What a piece of luck for us that Sir Roland brought you along to our tourney,” she enthused. “So far nothing interesting has happened except for Lord Kentigern breaking Sir Renlowe’s nose in the preliminary joust.”
“Oh dear,” murmured Eden, who’d never heard of Sir Renlowe. “Poor fellow.”
“And I didn’t even see that,” admitted Gunnilde, sounding aggrieved. “For my stepmother sent me on an errand to fetch her second-best veil. She fancied the sun was catching the back
of her neck in her new steeple-hennin headdress.” Eden clicked her tongue sympathetically, though in truth she could not imagine the girl had missed much, by being spared such a spectacle. “They do say it spurted blood like a fountain,” Gunnilde confided in a rush of ghoulish fascination. Belatedly she noticed Eden’s disapproving expression. “I hope you do not find me unduly bloodthirsty, Lady Vawdrey. You see, I have heard it said that a knight has not proved his mettle until he’s suffered a battle scar or two,” she added hastily.
“I see,” said Eden politely. “I was not aware of that fact.” Seeing Gunnilde’s eyes widen, she added, “As a rule, I do not follow the tournaments.”
“Oh,” said Gunnilde, with dawning understanding. “Oh! So, you’ve come to our little tourney to learn the rudiments?” she asked, looking pleased. “To ensure you do not embarrass yourself at one of the royal events? Never fear, Lady Vawdrey,” she said, seizing Eden’s hand and patting it reassuringly. “I can help you with that!”
The girl looked so happy to be of service, that Eden didn’t have the heart to tell her she didn’t care a rush about tournaments. “That is very kind of you,” she answered instead and was repaid with a radiant smile.
“Will this spot do, do you think?” Gunnilde asked, gesturing to a section right in the middle of the length of benching and in the front row.
“I’m sure it will do very well, thank you.” They sat down next to one another. “How close will the knights be to us?” asked Eden with trepidation as she eyed the wooden barriers. At Caer-Lyoness the spectators had been on raised platform seating that seemed well away from the violence. Here it seemed a lot closer.
“Oh, you needn’t worry on that score, Lady Vawdrey,” Gunnilde assured her. “You’ll be able to see the whites of their eyes from here.”
That was what she was afraid of! “Call me Eden,” she responded, after a moment’s pause.
Gunnilde flushed. “Thank you,” she said looking unspeakably flattered. “And I would be very honored if you would call me by my given name also.”
An Ill-Made Match (Vawdrey Brothers Book 3) Page 7