An Ill-Made Match (Vawdrey Brothers Book 3)

by Alice Coldbreath

  He stared at the space where he imagined her face was. “And why is that?” he asked testily.

  “Because, the crown is for the prettiest girl present. Not the cleverest girl, or the most talented girl or even the worthiest girl. The rules are very simple.”

  Roland opened and closed his mouth. He was wary of taking a misstep now he had her talking to him again. “It’s not that straightforward,” he said after a moment’s pause.

  “Yes, it is,” Eden corrected him.

  “No, it is not,” he contradicted her patiently. “In your eyes Payne’s daughter was the fairest, but many would not agree with your view.”

  “She is young and fresh and eager to please. That is pretty in my eyes.”

  “Exactly,” said Roland. “In your eyes.”

  She chewed this over for a moment. “Very well, I agree that if you are going with conventional attractiveness than her stepmother, Lady Payne would likely be the more popular choice. But I wanted to give my friend a day to remember.”

  A day to remember? Frustrated by the dark bedchamber, Roland stared instead at the ceiling. He had not really thought overmuch of how the recipient of the tournament crown felt about it. Well, if he was honest, he had not considered it at all. It was a mere detail, a footnote to the real business of the tourney. Was it really such a matter of distinction for a girl to receive it? He cast his mind back, remembering how Gunnilde Payne had kept reaching up to reverently touch her head and check it was really sat there. Certainly, she had seemed so proud she might burst at any minute. Over the course of his career he had cavalierly handed it over only to the most beauteous maiden present. Mostly, this had been Lenora Montmayne. She had never seemed overly thrilled by the distinction, and had received it merely as her rightful due. But then, he thought judiciously, she must have received dozens of the things over the three years she had been at court. Maybe, her very first had meant something to her, but after that… He cast a look toward Eden, who was obscured in darkness, but seemed for once to be lying very still. He wanted to ask if she had never received the garland, but he already knew the answer. Suddenly, the taste in his mouth was bitter. He felt a ridiculous longing that he could turn the clock back and – what? Crown Eden Montmayne tournament Queen when he’d had the chance? It was stupid. He could no more turn back time than anyone. What was the use in thinking such thoughts? And if he had done such a thing, everyone would have been in uproar at such uncharacteristic behavior. “Eden,” he said heavily, concentrating on the throbbing ache in his sides.

  “What is it?”

  “You weren’t mistaken.”

  She hesitated. “About what?”

  “I would not have taken kindly to you accepting the crown from Kentigern. Or anyone else for that matter,” he added. Somehow it was easier to confess such a thing in the dark. Suddenly, he was glad he couldn’t make out her expression.

  She didn’t speak for a long while. Then she said simply, “I see.”

  But he didn’t think she could see. Any more clearly than he.

  **

  By the time Roland woke around six, Eden was already sat on the edge of the bed, braiding her long hair. She had pursed her lips at the idea of donning the ice blue dress, but had washed and dressed in it all the same. Roland washed gingerly, his rubs had turned black and purple overnight. He noticed Eden wince when she glanced at him while he dressed.

  “Will you be able to ride?” she asked.

  He crooked an eyebrow at her. “Of course.” They hurt, but not as badly as the day before.

  Below stairs, they found Cuthbert already tucking into roasted fish with bread and butter. He hailed them cheerfully, and they joined him. “Got something for you, milady,” he said, nodding toward a bundle of something on the floor.

  Eden peered at it doubtfully. “What is it?”

  “Take a look and see,” replied Cuthbert, with a wink.

  She reached down and unfurled the soft material to find an exquisite cape of a dark berry color, a matching hood and long mittens made of the finest silken wool. “They’re beautiful!” she exclaimed. “But where-?”

  “Dice cup?” asked Roland knowingly.

  Cuthbert grinned and nodded. “I’m always lucky in towns that don’t know me.”

  Remembering Eden’s words about her father’s gambling, Roland cast a wary look her way, but she was still stroking the material. As if aware of eyes on her, she looked up. “Cuthbert you really shouldn’t have-”

  “It’s a bride-gift,” Cuthbert said, and waved a hand dismissively. “Tell her,” he said looking at Roland. “While I fetch you more dishes.” He was already out of his seat when Roland nodded at Eden.

  “As you observed last night, Cuthbert is practically one of the family. Besides, you’ll need a cloak to approach the Keep.” She looked up in surprise. The sky was blue and the already the sun was breaking through the clouds. “Our lands lie in dense forest,” he added, pushing away his plate. “There’s usually a nip in the air, even when the sun shines.”

  **

  They set off immediately after breaking their fast. Eden was relieved to see that Christobel showed no sign of lameness and Roland’s ribs seemed a little easier, even though they had looked horribly bruised in the glimpse she’d caught that morning. She didn’t ask again, as he seemed irritable about admitting any weakness. Maybe that was a male thing, although her own uncle frequently complained about his gouty foot. They had soon left the bustle of Pryors Naunton far behind them, traveling down country lanes and over fields, until they seemed to be entering into a wood, populated with huge oak trees. Roland turned in his saddle. “This is Ryder’s Oaks and marks the outer boundary of our lands.”

  Eden nodded, raising a hand to shield her eyes as she peered up to the tops of the trees. “These oaks must be hundreds of years old,” she ventured.

  “At least,” Roland agreed. “My Father said in his boyhood, the country folk still used to tie charms and prayer ribbons to the lower branches. A leftover from olden days.”

  “This was a sacred place?”

  “So they say.”

  “Still is,” said Cuthbert. “Look.” He pointed to a silver bell that gave a faint chime as if on cue, as the breeze ruffled through the branch it hung from.

  “That’s probably been there for years,” scoffed Roland.

  “What difference does that make?” asked Cuthbert with a shrug. “Trees mark time different to people.”

  Eden glanced at him curiously, remembering Roland’s words about his granny being a wise woman. “Do we pass through the village to reach Vawdrey Keep?”

  “No, the village is that way, about five miles,” Roland told her, pointing westerly. All Eden could see was trees.

  “The village of Sitchmarsh?” she asked. Roland shot her a surprised look. “You seem to forget, that Fenella is a good friend of mine,” she explained, naming another of his sister-in-laws. “She is from this area, is she not?”

  “Oh aye,” he said, his frown clearing. “Sitchmarsh Hall, her brother’s place is the other side of the village.”

  “Walking distance?” she asked.

  Roland gave a brief laugh. “Fenella would likely say so, but she’s country-bred.”

  “Unlike me?”

  “A fine court lady like yourself would likely go on horseback,” Roland retorted.

  “Fenella is a countess,” Eden reminded him.

  “She is now,” he agreed. “But she’s ill at ease at Court. Unlike yourself.”

  “And I was raised at Hallam Hall, not Caer-Lyoness.”

  He ignored this but for some reason, Eden was not content to let him lapse into silence. “Are you acquainted with Fenella’s brother?”

  “Gil Bernard?” grunted Roland after a moment’s pause. “He’s years older than me.”

  “You know him though?” she persisted.

  “By sight,” he admitted cautiously.

  “And has he not now married Fenella’s previous sister-in-law?�
��

  He shot her a look of exasperation. “What?”

  “Fenella’s former sister-in-law married her brother – I remember her telling me.”

  Roland frowned heavily at this.

  “So,” piped up Cuthbert who had clearly been following the conversation. “Her previous sister-in-law became her sister-in-law once again?”

  “Precisely.”

  “You’ve probably got that wrong,” said Roland disparagingly.

  “I have not.”

  “Sounds damned unlikely.”

  “Fenella was married to Sir Ambrose Thane before your brother had that marriage annulled,” huffed Eden. “Then his sister married Fenella’s brother so that means-”

  “You sure Thane had a sister?” he asked, off-handedly.

  “You’re hopeless,” Eden told him roundly. “I feel sure Fenella would have said as much to you, and you likely paid scant attention!”

  “It little matters,” Roland shrugged. “She’s a Vawdrey now. As are you.”

  Eden caught her breath, as her wits scattered. She still had not accustomed herself to that fact. Now it was her turn to go quiet. She trained her attention instead on the surrounding green wood which seemed to be growing thicker and denser with each step they took. Strangely enough, it was a long-forgotten story their old nurse used to tell her and Lenora that sprang to mind. A tale of warning against marrying dark handsome strangers who might carry you off to places dark and forbidding from whence you might never be seen again. She glanced at her husband who very much fit the description and shivered.

  Roland sat up straighter in his saddle. “There,” he said, pointing ahead.

  Eden looked up. A series of hills, maybe even mountains loomed in the distance. Standing out starkly, sat atop the central hillock stood a dark, sinister looking tower. She turned back to Roland with a sense of foreboding.

  “Vawdrey Keep,” he said. “It’s never been breached,” he added with apparent pride.

  Eden blinked, glancing around. Who on earth would want to? It was in the middle of nowhere! Wondering where any invaders were supposed to emerge from, she murmured, “I see.” No wonder he was amused at the idea of her walking on foot to the village. Getting to the bottom of the hill itself would take her a good hour.

  Their horses started the climb up the narrow path, and she fell in line behind Roland with Cuthbert bringing up the rear. Luckily, Christobel was sure-footed. Eden pulled on her new mittens, feeling the chill in the air, as they climbed higher. Somehow, the brooding Keep did not grow any more welcoming the closer they grew to it. Instead, it seemed to grow bleaker still, with its uncompromising grey stone and fortress-like features. Eden started to wonder what kind of a home-coming they would receive when they reached the summit.

  “Have you many staff in residence?” she asked, as they reached the top, without any signs of life stirring from within. Roland frowned, but did not speak. Instead, he dismounted and ran up a rickety wooden structure which led to a single large studded door, set surprisingly high off the ground. Seeing Eden’s confused look, Cuthbert leaned over to explain.

  “It’s set that high, so a battering ram can’t be used on the entrance.”

  “A battering ram?” repeated Eden. Again, she wondered at the Vawdrey preoccupation with invaders.

  “Ho!” Roland was shouting, beating his fist against the door. “Fulco? Baxter? Who’s within?”

  A tremendous baying and barking of hounds started up, which even the heavy door could not muffle. Eden winced and noticed a flash of white fur in one of the windows above. A ferocious, broad white head appeared there, glowering down at them with a malevolent stare and sharp teeth.

  “Castor, you villain!” Roland yelled, in recognition of the large dog. It redoubled it efforts to drown out the racket of the other dogs, throwing back its giant head and howling. “M’father’s favorite hound,” he said, turning back to them by way of explanation.

  If that was his favorite, Eden found she did not overly-relish the idea of meeting the rest of the pack.

  Finally, it seemed the cacophony had roused someone. A bushy-bearded giant, rounded the side of the tower, with a huge axe over his shoulder, and a forbidding expression. He looked thunder-struck at the sight of Roland, and staggered back a pace or two before righting himself. “Master Roland! As I’m alive!”

  “Fulco!” Roland descended the steps, and they seized one another by their right forearms, gripping each other in some form of welcome which Eden had not observed before.

  “Quiet, ye evil pack of devils!” Fulco roared at the dogs within. So startled was Eden that she nearly fell of her saddle. Luckily, Cuthbert reached across and had caught Christobel’s head, before the mare had a chance to rear. The dogs barking died down at once, and Roland strode across and held his arms up for her. With little other choice, Eden dismounted into his waiting grasp, and found herself borne over to the alarming Fulco for his inspection. She wondered if Roland’s ribs were really up to carrying her, but if they hurt, he gave no sign of it. Fulco regarded her a moment from beneath bristling brows. Eden stared up at him. Neither one of them seemed equal to the occasion.

  “My bride,” said Roland by way of explanation. Fulco gave a nod, and a growl. Eden wasn’t sure if he cleared his throat, or spoke. “Fulco’s served at the Keep some twenty years, man and boy,” continued Roland, seemingly oblivious to her discomfiture. “And his father before him.”

  “I see,” said Eden, struggling to find words. “How do you do?” She felt disadvantaged not being stood on her own two feet, but could hardly ask to be set down without seeming churlish.

  Fulco stared at her as though she was some strange creature the likes of whom he’d never seen before.

  “Is there anyone to attend her?” Roland asked.

  Fulco snorted and shook his head. “There’s been no womenfolk at the Keep, not for a twelve-month.”

  Now it was Eden’s turn to stare. No womenfolk? What kind of a household was this?

  Roland swore. “Cuthbert will have to play the page, until we sort someone out.”

  She thought she heard Cuthbert mutter darkly at this, but did not turn her head to dignify it.

  “You sent no word ahead,” Fulco rumbled in reproach, lowering his axe. He cast another uneasy look at Eden. “Wife, ye say?” he squinted at her suspiciously.

  “Aye, wife.” She was surprised by Roland’s tone, which was not unlike the one he’d used earlier when speaking of the Keep. “Of five days now.”

  “Six,” she corrected him.

  “Six?” he frowned down at her. “Oh aye, I always forget that day we lost in bed.”

  Fulco coughed, and to her annoyance she felt her face turn bright red. Roland was now striding toward the rickety-looking steps. Eden sat up in alarm. “The steps will surely break if you carry me up them!” she objected. “And bearing my weight must surely be paining your ribs.”

  “You’re slim enough, and weigh no more than a decent-sized dog,” he said absently.

  “A dog?” Eden looked at him in exasperation. “Don’t you mean a feather?”

  He smirked. “Sweetheart, you’re not that light.”

  She was still spluttering indignantly as he mounted the swaying steps. They creaked ominously.

  Eden grabbed for his broad shoulders. “Do not drop me, Roland Vawdrey,” she warned him fretfully, and squeezed her eyes shut. Almost, she could imagine herself on a storm-tossed ship. “These steps are treacherous.”

  “Faint-heart,” he mocked, though he held her a little tighter. “I’m not about to drop you. And these steps have been here many a long year.”

  “Then it’s high time they were replaced,” she told him, her eyes still shut.

  “Stop ruining tradition, wife.”

  Eden cracked an eye open. “What tradition? Making your wife sea-sick?” By her reckoning he had already ascended a good five steps. How many more could there possibly be?

  He ran up the last five steps nimb
ly enough. “Carrying you across the threshold,” he murmured, shouldering the huge studded oak door open. It creaked in a sinister fashion.

  Eden peered into at a bare room with a large wooden table in it and a window-seat. Other than that, the room was strewn about with a good deal of what looked like either farming or battle implements.

  He seemed to notice her puzzlement. “The disarming room,” he explained.

  “Disarming room?” Eden repeated blankly.

  “Aye, wife.” It seemed to Eden, that he had of a sudden, a gleam in his eye that she regarded with misgiving.

  “Ready for what comes next?” he asked.

  Not caring for his manner, she pointed out, “I’m not armed,” with dignity.

  “You can’t expect me to take your word for that,” he said, letting her slide down his body to her own two feet.

  “You know full well-” Eden began hastily, stepping back, only to nearly trip over a pair of boots. “Ow!”

  He caught her about the waist and yanked her back into his arms.

  “Roland!” she protested breathlessly, as his lips sought hers, but before she knew it, she was being pushed back against the door and soundly kissed. Not this again!

  Suddenly the inner door was shoved back and what looked like a half dozen large dogs burst into the room, swarming and jumping around them, barking and knocking things over. Roland tore his lips hastily from hers. “Down you brutes!” he roared. Eden eased past him in the confusion, and nearly lost her footing again as the heavy tail of a huge barrel-chested dog struck the back of her legs, nearly buckling her knees. For a moment, she was even grateful for Roland’s arm at her waist, keeping her upright. “Down Hector!” Roland bellowed. Eden clutched at him helplessly, in the midst of the chaos of writhing dog bodies. She scrambled to stand on her own two feet, seeking to put some space between them. “Is this part of tradition in these parts too?” she asked stiffly. “Savaging your bride with the hounds?”

  Roland grinned, and slid a finger under her jaw, tipping it up. “Only if her performance displeases her groom,” he said, his eyes dropping to her lips again.