“Oh, do not trouble yourself on account of the gown,” Gunnilde assured her, glancing nervously at Roland. “For it does not even fit her anymore. I am sure she will be happy for you to return it to her when ‘tis convenient.” Eden pursed her lips and looked as if she might argue, but Roland turned on his heel, refusing to wait. “Go now,” he heard her friend urge her. “And I will let Father know directly that you are departing.”
He did not hear Eden’s reply, but only her hurried foot-falls after him. He just knew somehow that her nose would be in the air – stubborn wench!
Once they got back to the room, he wasted no time in slamming trunks and throwing his things into his bag. Eden of course, had nothing to pack, but busied herself tidying her appearance. He could feel her eyes on him, as he fastened the ties, and almost forbade her to even speak. He just knew whatever she said was going to infuriate him. Sure enough, it was not long before she spoke up.
“I didn’t even wear that garland, why are you so out of reason cross about it?” she started patronizingly. “Lord Kentigern likely did it as a courtesy to you, or perhaps because I am lately a bride…” Her reasonable tone was like a red rag to a bull.
“You know nothing about it, Eden,” he said angrily. “He did it to rile me and for no other reason than that, so don’t fool yourself!”
Eden stood very still a moment. “I did not flatter myself it was because I was the most beauteous there,” she said in an ominously quiet voice. “So, you need not worry I have any illusions on that score.”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it!” he snapped, and she turned her back on him.
They were packed to leave within twenty minutes and neither of them spoke a word until they descended the stairs and were bade farewell by the Paynes. Sir Aubron was disappointed, but not surprised by their impending departure. “Too bad m’boy, too bad,” he tutted. “But we will remember for many a long day the magnificent way you unhorsed him in the melee yesterday. Is that not so, my son?” He turned for confirmation from his son and heir, but instead of standing worshipfully by to speak to the King’s champion, young Hal was bent over Eden’s hand. Roland regarded the brazen youngling with a jaundiced eye. Hal’s cheeks were flushed, and he lingered a few heartbeats too long before relinquishing her hand.
“Young puppy!” snorted his father. “Growing up too fast,” he sighed.
Roland struggled a few moments with this. “You should squire him out,” he retorted. “That would soon knock some sense into him.” And see to the boy’s puppy fat, he thought. Every time he looked at him he was either fawning over Eden or some sticky treat.
“There may be something in what you say,” murmured Sir Aubron. “But I’d miss the lad, sending him off to Wymer’s court.”
“It’d be the making of him,” said Roland callously. “You should give it some thought.”
“I will, my boy. I suppose you’re – er – quite happy with your own squire?”
Roland’s jaw ticked. Cuthbert was an impudent knave, but at least he had shown no propensity to hang after his wife. “Quite happy,” Roland lied. “You could do worse than speak to Attley,” he suggested grudgingly. “He’s currently without squire.”
Sir Aubron nodded, looking thoughtful. “Sir James,” he said nodding slowly. “I knew his father.”
Roland shot a look over at Eden who was now embracing Payne’s daughter, who was crying copious tears and hanging about her neck.
“…Of course, I will write. We will maintain a correspondence and you must come to Court,” Eden was saying soothingly. “I shall speak to the Queen.”
So, the wench could be placating when she chose to, thought Roland bitterly. Just not to him! “Eden,” he said sharply.
Lady Payne and Gunnilde were now babbling excitedly at the idea of a Court visit.
Eden looked over. “I am ready,” she said coolly. “Lady Payne has kindly made me a gift of her gown.”
Roland nodded toward Lady Payne, who now only had eyes for Eden.
“A royal visit,” she twittered. “Auby, what say you to that? We will need new gowns of course!”
Sir Aubron turned a vaguely reproachful look on Roland. He shook his head. “There will be no peace to be had now,” he sighed. “Until we have journeyed to Caer-Lyoness.” Roland grunted. “Ah well, such is the lot of us married men,” said Sir Aubron with resignation. “You must take the rough with the smooth, eh?” He nudged Roland with his shoulder and gave a short laugh. “Good journey, my lad. Good journey, my Lady.”
“Thank you for your most kind hospitality,” said Eden politely. “You have been exceptional hosts.”
You really couldn’t fault her manners, thought Roland. Except, for some reason she chose to give him the sharp side of her tongue! Court. He had no great desire to return there with all its damn gossips and trouble-makers. He had half a mind to take her to Vawdrey Keep instead. There at least they would be walled up together and she could not avoid him, running off to the Queen and her damned poetry readings! Then he remembered his brother’s letter. What was it Oswald had written to him? He had suggested something about delaying their return until he had been given a chance to smooth their path with the King and Queen.
“I would not hurry to Caer-Lyoness if I were you,” he said aloud. “For we go now to my place, Vawdrey Keep for a month, and will not return to court until August at the very least.”
Eden’s head turned sharply, but she said nothing.
“Oh but that will be ideal and give us chance to plan,” carried on Lady Aubron quite unperturbed.
**
Eden had preserved a stony silence for over an hour. They were riding easterly and would not arrive in Vawdrey Keep for at least a day and a half. The worse thing was, he knew he was being a moody, unreasonable prick. He was angry at losing the jousting, his best event, in front of her. He was furious at that bastard Kentigern. Hal Payne had been nothing but an irritant, but in the moment, he could not be rational. He was experiencing something he had never even come across before. He, Roland Vawdrey, the King’s Champion, was being eaten alive by jealousy. And it didn’t even matter that it made no earthly sense. Impulsively he tugged on his reins and let Bavol drop back. “You take the lead,” he muttered to Cuthbert. The lad nodded and urged his horse to the front.
“Let’s have it then,” he said tersely to Eden, as he drew level with her. “You do not approve of the plan to proceed to my estate?” He crooked an eyebrow at her.
She regarded him haughtily. “I am surprised you have been able to draw any such a conclusion, as my opinion was not consulted in any way.”
“I’d have to be blind not to, the way you’ve been carrying on,” he said dryly.
“Carrying on?” repeated Eden icily. “I fail entirely to catch your meaning, Sir Roland.”
Sir Roland? He pulled a face. “I mean,” he said with deliberation. “The way you’ve been sat on your horse like a marble effigy.” If she could have sat up any straighter, Roland was sure she would have, but she was already ramrod straight. Gods, she was a proud piece.
“I am sorry, if my style of riding offends you,” she said stiffly, staring off into the distance. Clearly, she did not wish to engage with him in conversation. For some reason, that irritated him too. He wanted to poke her with a stick until she wheeled around and bit back.
“You have nothing else to say to me, wife?” he said, casting about for something to torment her with. “Your behavior at the jousting today, for instance?”
He heard her sharply in-draw breath. “My behavior? I have nothing to reproach myself with, I assure you!” she flung back, her color rising. “Your behavior on the other hand-” She bit back her words, her cheeks aflame.
“Aye, what of it?” he asked arrogantly.
“I am astonished by it, quite frankly,” she said, with a toss of her head. Her silky black hair flew, and distracted him a moment. He remembered how it had looked, spread over his chest that first morning.
“I would have thought that the King’s Champion would have been gracious in defeat.”
Roland nearly fell of his horse. Where the hells did she get an idea like that? “Gracious in defeat?” he scoffed. “I’m a competitor. I don’t like losing.”
“Most people don’t,” Eden pointed out tartly. “However, part of being a civilized adult means learning to tamp down such emotional excesses.”
Roland squinted at her. “Is that what you do?” he asked mockingly.
“Of course,” she inclined her head. “What you ought to have done is stayed for the rest of the tournament and applauded Lord Kentigern on his win at the banquet tonight.”
“Like hells,” growled Roland.
“That would have been the noble thing to do.”
“I’m not noble.”
Eden glared at him. He wondered if any of her pet poets had ever written about those eyes. “Do you mean to tell me that you always fling off like that, if you do not win?”
“Not just me,” he shrugged. “Kentigern, de Crecy, Orde. None of us would stay to watch the other celebrate a win.” She stared, incredulously. “This is real life, Eden. Not ‘The Tales of Maurency of Jorde’.”
“Well, maybe you should take a leaf from that book.”
“Not bloody likely,” he laughed, genuinely amused.
She shot a curious look at him, before looking hurriedly away.
“And what about the spectacle you treated me to?” he asked lazily. “Have you nothing to say of that?”
“What spectacle?” asked Eden suspiciously.
“Hal Payne hanging off your every word, while you clung to his arm. You seem unaware that he eyes you with the same greedy gaze he bestows on a sugared plum!”
Eden gaped at him. “Hal Payne is the veriest child!”
“He’s a lad of fourteen years, and believe me did not regard you with the eyes of a mere babe.”
“You’re being ridiculous!” she scoffed, then seemed to consider before rallying. “And even if he was dazzled by this dress, and the pomp and ceremony of the occasion, it was a passing whim which would have faded as soon as I was out of his sight.”
Roland snorted derisively. “You know absolutely nothing of the male animal.” The truth of this shut her up a moment. “And thanks to your espousing them, the Paynes will all be showing up at Court at some point,” he added dryly. “And no doubt, I’ll be subjected to the same maddening display all over again!”
Eden pursed her lips and stuck her nose in the air.
Almost, he had to hide a grin. “So you have no apology to make me, wife?” he asked, shaking his head in mock-disappointment.
“You’re not really angry anymore,” she said forthrightly, surprising him. “You’re just amusing yourself at my expense.”
“Not exactly,” he said slowly. He watched as she took a deep breath.
“Are you suggesting you lost because I distracted you, by appearing in a borrowed dress and sitting next to an attentive youth?” she asked pointedly, turning in her saddle to face him.
Roland blinked. The thought hadn’t even occurred to him. “No,” he answered. “Today is not the first occasion I’ve lost to Kentigern. He’s a strong opponent.” Her eyes widened at that, before she turned back to face front again. Now, why had she looked so surprised by his words? Immediately he missed her eyes on him.
“We’ll have to stop presently and I’ll have you up before me,” he said.
“What?” Her tone was far from pleased. “Why?”
“Your horse is going lame.” It was a bold-faced lie, but Eden swallowed it, leaning forward to murmur sympathetically to the horse she had named Christobel. Seeing the concern on her face, he added: “If she goes rider-less for the afternoon, likely it’ll pass.”
She looked relieved, and he didn’t even feel guilty. He noticed Cuthbert turn in his saddle and glance back at them with a speculative look on his face. Roland stared back at him, daring his squire to contradict him, but the little swine only smirked.
**
They did not reach an inn until night was falling. Eden had been sat up before him for the past three hours, and the bitter taste had long since receded from his mouth. How could it linger, when her sweet-smelling hair tickled his chin, and he had one arm wrapped securely about her waist? His ribs hurt like the devil though. Every movement of the horse seemed to jolt them. He longed to just lie still for a few hours.
“This is a large town. Where are we?” asked Eden, breaking her silence.
“Pryors Naunton,” he answered. “It’s the nearest city to our estate.”
“Pryors Naunton? I’ve heard of it,” she said with surprise. “Is there not a very fine cathedral hereabouts?” She turned her head to look over her shoulder at him.
“Well, there’s a cathedral at any events,” he conceded. “Whether it’s fine or not is anyone’s guess. I’ve never set foot in it.”
Eden tsked under her breath as he steered Bavol into the inn courtyard toward the stable. “I should like to see it,” she announced as Cuthbert reached up for her and Roland suffered her to dismount. “Shall I have time in the morning, before we depart?” Roland rolled his eyes, and started to climb stiffly off his horse.
Cuthbert cast a quick glance at him, before answering. “We’ve half a day’s ride still tomorrow, and will likely leave at day break.”
“Well, what about if I went now?” she asked, glancing out of the stable door at the failing light.
“It’s getting dark,” said Roland shortly. “I need a meal, a bath and bed.” Then, he heard himself add, “It’s not far from Vawdrey Keep, I can take you another day.”
Eden looked as surprised as he. “Thank you.”
He shrugged, which immediately pained him. He fancied both she and Cuthbert noticed his discomfort, for they seized on their packs and started carrying it toward the timbered main house.
Soon, they were soon settled in a comfortable chamber, and a full table provided of cheeses, roast meats and wine. After seeing to the horses, Cuthbert ate with them, which seemed to surprise Eden, though she made no comment. A bath was then brought up for their use and they bathed one after the other. Neither one of them spoke until they were lying side by side in their bed. Roland’s eyes were just drifting shut when Eden surprised him, by starting a conversation.
“I saw Cuthbert just now, out of the window,” she said. “He was illuminated by one of the lamps in the courtyard.” She paused. “It looked like he was making off into the town.”
Roland grunted. “Very likely he is, young villain.”
“Are you not concerned by him going out unattended?” she asked in surprise. “After all, he is so very young.”
“He is fifteen, or thereabouts,” he corrected her. “Besides, he is not gently-reared and has plenty about him.”
He heard her pillow rustle, and guessed she had turned to face him. “I had wondered as to his position,” she said. “I mean, he seems very closely affiliated to your family. The way you treat him…” she hesitated.
“Wondering if he’s a by-blow?” Roland asked her bluntly. “If he is, then he would be a Cadwallader. He was raised as Linnet’s page on her family estate.”
Eden was silent, and he squinted across at her, though he could make out only her outline. “Are not squires usually from noble families?” she asked at last.
“Yes,” Roland agreed. He hadn’t ever really given any thought about Cuthbert’s elevation. “He is my sister-in-law’s favorite.”
“I suppose Linnet would know his parentage.”
“Doubtful,” snorted Roland. “Linnet had an extremely sheltered upbringing. His old granny is the local witch. I don’t recall anyone ever mentioning his father.”
Eden was quiet, and still f
or a while. Instead of falling thankfully asleep like a sane person, he found himself lying awake. “Shall I blow out the candle?” she asked eventually.
“Aye.” Still, he did not close his eyes. “What of yours?” he found himself asking gruffly instead.
“Mine?” Eden sounded startled in the dark.
“Parentage.”
“Oh,” she shifted on the mattress, before starting, briskly. “Well, as you know, my uncle Leofric is the head of our family. My father was his youngest brother, Godwin. He died very young.”
Roland waited, but it seemed nothing else was forthcoming. “He was sickly?” he ventured.
“No not sickly, no,” she said stiffly. “Just… full of vices.”
“Vices?” Now it was his turn to be startled.
“Drinking, gambling, women,” Eden continued with clear reluctance. “My mother was very unhappy in their marriage, by all accounts. She did not outlive him by many years.”
Roland digested this surprising news. “Do you remember them?”
“Not really. My mother, a little.”
“So, you were raised by your uncle, then?”
“Yes.”
Dimly, Roland had some idea that womenfolk in the main, were supposed to be more talkative than Eden was about herself. “And do you like him?” he found himself asking. “Your uncle.”
Again, she moved around restlessly. If his ribs did not hurt so much, he’d throw a leg over her to stop the fidgeting.
“Yes,” she said, then seemed to realize she was not giving him much. “Of my cousin Lenora, I am very fond.”
He waited, but she did not ask him for any return of confidences. He had no idea why that bothered him so much. Maybe that was why he found himself saying suddenly. “It should have been me that gave you the tournament crown.” He heard her surprised intake of breath, her head turn.
“I would not at all have been happy if you had,” she said after a heavy pause. “In fact, my reaction would have been just the same. I would have awarded it in turn to Gunnilde.”
An Ill-Made Match (Vawdrey Brothers Book 3) Page 14