An Ill-Made Match (Vawdrey Brothers Book 3)

by Alice Coldbreath

  Fulco was a damn poor liar, which for some reason cheered Roland up no end. It was hard to imagine him in the role of habitual seducer of innocents. “I’m off to Areley Kings on the morrow,” he told him, slapping him on the back. “I’ll be taking my squire with me and will be some four or five days.”

  Fulco looked alarmed. “What about my lady?”

  “You’ll have to wait on her,” said Roland airily. “I daresay she won’t give you too much trouble.”

  “It ain’t my place!” he objected with spirit. “Who’ll take care of things out of doors?”

  “Well I can’t rely on Baxter,” said Roland dryly. “He’s a dyed-in-the-wool woman-hater.”

  Fulco looked appalled. “Th-there was one lass,” he stammered. “As always said she was up to the task.” He looked pained.

  “As maidservant, or your sweetheart?” asked Roland flippantly.

  “Maidservant,” huffed Fulco, looking scandalized.

  “Then why haven’t you hired her?” asked Roland suspiciously.

  Fulco’s cheeks were like two rosy apples by this point. “Because she’s none too nice in her morals,” he growled.

  Roland’s eyebrows rose. “Not fit for anything but rough work?”

  Fulco shuffled his large feet. “I was mebbe a little harsh,” he admitted. “I don’t know of any real ill of her. Just that she has a teasing, provoking manner my mother never cared for, and she was widowed very young.”

  Roland frowned. “Don’t like to bring this up, Fulco, but your Mother doesn’t approve of your sisters either. Do you go about casting aspersions on their morals as well?”

  Fulco looked chastened. “I spoke out of line,” he said looking chastened.

  Roland shrugged. “Well maybe she’s not ideal to wait on my wife, but beggars can’t be choosers. If she’ll brave the Keep, then send for her forthwith.”

  “Aye, Master Roland,” he said gloomily.

  “And look lively about it, man!” Roland ran back up the stairs to the Keep. Fulco quoted his mother far too much for comfort. He doubted any woman would take him on with such an interfering mother-in-law. Feeling reassured about leaving Eden with him, he returned to back indoors in search of his wife. For some reason, his thoughts were never far from her these days. He gave his head a slight shake. Doubtless that would soon pass, but for now he would not worry overmuch about it. Truth was, he felt a deep sense of rightness about installing her here at The Keep. He had not lied earlier when he had said as much to her in bed. She belonged here, as mistress in a way no other woman would. He felt a fleeting pity for Fulco who, no doubt slept in a narrow cot every night without the comfort of a warm body at his side. Poor wretch, he ought to wed. He dwelt a moment on Eden’s daring kiss that morning, and felt his blood warm. While it had far surpassed what he’d hoped for, it wasn’t going to fortify him all day. Not by a long shot.

  He did not find Eden upstairs but unexpectedly in the kitchen kneeling on the floor, over a large tub of soapy water. She was wringing something out. “What are you about?” he asked, peering over her shoulder.

  “I only have one gown,” she reminded him. “I’m washing out my shift and my veil.”

  Roland opened his mouth, to say she ought to give it to someone else to do, but stopped himself. No doubt, she would not relish the idea of Cuthbert or Baxter washing her undergarment. “Hopefully Fulco has found some girl in the village,” he said, watching her screw up her nose. “What is it?”

  “This noxious stuff Baxter gave me,” said Eden, referring to the lye used for washing the laundry.

  Roland snorted. “Come here,” he said pouring out a clean basin of water from a pitcher. “We had best wash it off your hands. It’ll be too harsh for skin like yours.”

  She came to her feet. “It stings a little,” she agreed approaching him. “What is its substance?”

  Roland smirked at her ignorance. “Ashes and animal fat, mostly.” Eden grimaced as he placed her slender hands in the bowl and suffered him to wash the traces from her white skin. “You never laundered at Hallam Hall?” he observed. Eden shook her head. “You won’t be expected to here either,” he said firmly. “Today is the first and last time.”

  Eden looked up. “Who is the girl from the village?” she asked, looking anywhere but at him.

  Roland reached for a cloth and set himself to drying off her fingers. “She’s a widow,” he said. “And very likely not suitable to wait on you, but she’ll have to do for now.” He replaced the cloth and put his hands to her waist, drawing her closer. “I need to speak with you. I’ve a tournament in Areley Kings coming up.”

  Her eyes flew to his. “When?”

  “Cuthbert and I will need to set off tomorrow early.”

  She looked up at him blankly. “I see.”

  “We’ll be gone likely three or four days. Maybe five.”

  “Five!” Eden looked alarmed.

  “Will you miss me then, wife?”

  “It’s not that,” said Eden with exasperation. “I have no books nor instruments for music! No loom for tapestry making. How am I to spend my days?” Roland felt a twinge of irritation. “Is there even pen and ink for writing?” she carried on heedless of his darkening mood. “What am I to do with myself?”

  Roland shrugged. “I could see about ordering you some such things when I’m on my travels,” he suggested.

  “I suppose I could take walks, or ride if the weather permits,” Eden said, distractedly glancing out of the nearest slitted window.

  “Not too far,” Roland cautioned. “And you’ll need to take a couple of dogs for attendants.”

  Eden’s eyes widened. “Do you get many strangers hereabouts?”

  “You never know,” Roland heard himself warn direly, even though it was very rare in this out of the way spot.

  “Castor still does not like me,” Eden reminded him looking ruffled. “I would only be able to rely on Parnell and Seth.”

  “Maybe it would be a good notion to should show you the nearest paths this afternoon,” Roland heard himself say, though he’d had no such intent just moments ago.

  Eden perked up at that. “Could you show me the route to the village?”

  “You would not go there alone,” said Roland firmly.

  “What if Fulco were to accompany me?” she asked. Roland remembered glibly telling Fulco that his mistress would not give him too much trouble and felt a pang of guilt. “Or maybe this girl from the village would be agreeable?”

  “She might at that,” he agreed. “And don’t forget you’re expecting a visitor.” With a bit of luck he’d miss having to meet their nosy neighbor.

  Eden’s aspect brightened. “Oh yes! The Lady Orla. That’s true.”

  “I daresay you’ll find plenty to occupy yourself with.” For some reason, the notion did not overly please him. She should, he thought, pine a little for her absentee husband of one week.

  Eden seemed oblivious to his displeasure. “Will we walk or ride?”

  “Walk.”

  And walk they did, at least six miles in a circular route encompassing part of the woods and one of the neighboring slopes. Castor and Hector remained on guard, but they took the other four dogs with them and they gamboled about, as Roland threw sticks for them and encouraged them to jump into the stream.

  “Won’t they get muddy?” Eden objected as her favorite, Parnell, stood poised in indecision on a large rock, barking.

  “They need a clean. Otherwise someone will have to bath them at some point.”

  Eden shrieked as Nudd shook his gingery fur dry next to her, splattering her with droplets of water.

  “Here, Nudd,” Roland whistled, leading him to green grass to roll in. The dog’s tongue lolled out as he lay panting on the grassy bank.

  “Don’t you miss them when you’re at the palace?” Eden asked curiously. Seth dropped a stick at her feet, and she gingerly retrieved it, wiped it with her handkerchief and then threw it in the opposite direction. He bounded a
fter it, closely chased by Dimon.

  “Of course.”

  “Then why do you not keep at least one of them with you?”

  “And break up the pack? The Keep’s their home.”

  “It’s yours too,” she reminded him. “But you still have business at court.”

  “How would I even choose which to take? I don’t have favorites like you.”

  Eden cast a reproachful look at him. “You said your father had a favorite,” she reminded him. “And besides, you could take it in turns which dog you selected.”

  He shook his head. “A man may have many dogs in his lifetime. But a dog only ever has one master.”

  “What do you mean by that, I wonder?” she asked, taking the stick from Dimon, who had dutifully brought it back to her. Seth barked, as she considered which direction to throw it.

  Roland watched as she flung it with all her might, only for it to land a short distance away. Clearly, Eden’s youth had not been spent following physical pursuits. “Try throwing it under-arm next time.”

  “You mean, I suppose,” she continued, ignoring his advice regarding stick-throwing. “That they are still your father’s dogs? And that you would not like to split them up or take them from the Keep which is their home?” Roland found himself disconcerted. He had not consciously reasoned it out like that, and yet… she was not wrong. “That’s foolish,” she said roundly. “Your Father left the Keep and the animals to you.”

  “Actually, he didn’t,” Roland reminded her without heat. “He left them to Oswald.”

  “And Oswald then bestowed them on you.”

  “True enough.”

  “It’s hard to imagine Earl Vawdrey as master of this place,” mused Eden, again, perturbing him. She cast a sidelong look at him. “You’re a better fit, I think.” He thought she echoed his words from earlier unconsciously, but the notion pleased him all the same. “It’s curious to think of the three of you, as young boys living here,” said Eden slowly. “You’re all so very different. What were your mothers like?” Roland gave a start. “Of course, you don’t have to answer,” Eden said hurriedly. “I did not mean to pry-”

  “It’s not that,” Roland said, waving her apology aside. “It’s just that I did not know any of them.” Now it was Eden’s turn to look surprised. “Oswald’s mother was my father’s first wife. She died in childbirth and Oswald was reared by a wet-nurse. She was from the village and moved in, becoming my father’s mistress. She was Mason’s mother. Eventually she returned to her husband, but left Mason here. I daresay my Father had tired of her. He then married my mother, his second wife, when Oswald was eight and Mason seven years or thereabouts. Apparently, she was my father’s favorite – he used to say she had a lot of spirit. I wouldn’t know, she broke her neck in a fall from a horse when I was just a baby.”

  Eden looked disconcerted. “And your mother’s people?” she asked.

  Roland shrugged. “My father never suffered them to visit. Said her kinsmen were a lot of damn fools.”

  “You never met any of them?”

  “Once I think, some years back. Her father was a country squire or some such. Dull as ditchwater. I didn’t miss out on much.” Eden smiled, but in a perfunctory manner. “Now you,” he said softly.

  “I suppose that is fair, but I’ve already told you about my ne’er-do-well sire. My mother died soon after he, and I was raised by my uncle. The rest you know.”

  “What rest?” asked Roland in dissatisfaction. “You’ve barely told me anything.”

  “About the same amount as you,” she said defensively.

  Roland blew out a breath. “I was the youngest son,” he said. “My father’s favorite and what else is there to say? I ran amok about these woods as a boy, became a squire at thirteen to my older brother, Oswald. I came to court at fifteen and trained, and was knighted at twenty.”

  “You were betrothed,” Eden prompted him.

  “What?”

  “To Linnet.”

  Roland gave startled laugh. “Aye, that I was. My father betrothed me at twenty-one to Linnet Cadwallader. We never met, and shortly before we were to wed, I jilted her.” He pulled a face. “Luckily Mason was there to pick up the pieces.”

  “Luckily? Did you not try to get their marriage annulled?” Eden reminded him dryly.

  Roland reddened. “I did,” he admitted. “Not my finest hour.”

  “Why did you change your mind?”

  She really wasn’t going to let him off the hook. “Purely mercenary reasons,” he said after a heavy pause. “Pettiness and greed.”

  She gave him an appraising look and was silent as he helped her over some stepping stones across a brook. “Does it never make things awkward, at family gatherings I mean?”

  Roland shot her a look. “Not really,” he said. “Mason used to get a little het up about it at one time. But they’ve been married four years now and have three children. It’s all water under the bridge.” He whistled, and the dogs who had roamed on ahead came circling back.

  “I hope-” Eden broke off, biting her lip.

  “What?” Why did she suddenly look so troubled, he wondered?

  “I only hope that Lenora is as understanding,” she said. “About what I’ve done. Cutting her out I mean, as your bride.”

  Roland did not speak for a moment. “She’s sure to be,” he responded carefully. “For she does not know me any better than Linnet did. Not really.”

  “My uncle said…” Eden began, only to break off again.

  “Tell me.”

  “He said that if Lenora forgave me, then he would send on my things.” When Roland did not speak, she carried on. “Though I suppose he would naturally send them to Caer-Lyoness, rather than here.”

  “It doesn’t matter either way,” said Roland dismissively. “I’ll buy you new things.”

  “You misunderstand me. It’s not so much my belongings,” Eden said sadly. “As the knowledge that my cousin does not hold it against me. You see, we were very close growing up. Rather like your brothers, our ages were similar. When my Uncle took me into his household, it was in the role of Lenora’s companion.”

  “You were his niece,” Roland reminded her shortly. “And should not have required any other role to secure his protection.” It rankled to think of her as a poor relation at Hallam Hall. Having to justify her place there, as if she did not belong.

  She looked surprised by his words. “I told you did I not, that my father was a spendthrift and a gambler. My uncle had to pay off his considerable debts.”

  “I still fail to see how that is your fault.”

  Eden was silent a moment, pondering his words. “I always felt the need from a young age to prove to Uncle Leofric that I was not wild and ungovernable like my father. That I would not bring shame on the family name, but was respectable and dutiful and good.”

  “You haven’t brought any shame to his door,” said Roland sharply.

  “Only because you married me,” said Eden in a slightly choked voice. When he made an abrupt move toward her, she flung out her arm to ward him off. “No, don’t comfort me, I’m well. I just wanted there to be some frank speech between us.”

  “Then let me return in kind,” said Roland. “When I woke up in that bed with you on that first morning, I wasn’t angry. Not by a long chalk. So, let’s have no more talk about you taking anyone else’s place. It wasn’t anyone else’s. It was yours. Are we understood?”

  Eden stared at him a moment, open-mouthed. And, when he held out his hand to her, she took it.

  **

  Roland and Cuthbert left early the next morn, and Eden found herself sat at the window seat in the sitting room, waving them off.

  Roland had made love to her again the previous evening and he had taken his sweet time about it too. He had been tormenting and provoking and seemed to want something more from her, which she found alarming. At one point she had simply asked him to tell her what he expected her to say.

  His hands
had cupped her breasts. “Yes, my lord and master would be nice,” he had sighed throatily. “But I’d settle for a measly ‘yes husband’.”

  Eden had pressed her lips together and turned her head to one side. She certainly wasn’t saying anything so ridiculous!

  “No?” he had tutted, his voice warm and teasing. “Even in this little thing, you refuse to please me?”

  To her horror, Eden had felt hot tears spring to her eyes and spill over. She’d blinked rapidly to try and banish them before he saw.

  “Eden,” he’d groaned. “Sweetheart.”

  Sweetheart, why did he insist on calling her that? She had given a choked sob, but Roland’s lips had already been on hers, coaxing and sweet. She had let him comfort her with his soft kisses and his hands, stroking her back, encouraging her to respond to him.

  “You know you please me, wife,” he had said huskily. “None so well as you.” His hands had roamed down her hips and pulled her flush against him. “Oh Eden,” he had sighed gustily, shifting his weight to press against her.

  He had taken his time, refusing to be rushed. He had stripped them both entirely naked and turned her this way and that, petting and lavishing her body with his touch and kisses in some rather peculiar places. Brushing them against her ribs and the underside of her breasts, before turning her onto her stomach and kissing up her spine. Strangely, his lips had avoided the usual spots. She had wondered if his jaw had been too stubbly to kiss along her neck or the valley between her breasts. When she had the chance, she reached out to touch his jaw with the back of her fingers to check. At her touch, he had shivered, and his need had finally grown urgent enough to put an end to his tormenting explorations. First, he had set her on her hands and knees and put his mouth to her again, making her yell and sob like an abandoned creature. Then he had mounted her from behind and driven into her, until her arms had given out. In the aftermath, he had been very tender and affectionate, falling asleep with his face buried in the back of her neck, as he had the night he had taken her virginity at Tranton Vale.

  She watched as they disappeared down the hill, and sat for a moment, feeling rather forlorn. Parnell jumped up onto the seat beside her, and instead of remonstrating with him, Eden found herself wrapping her arms around his neck. He gave a small whine and Eden sighed laying her cheek against his curly coat. She had already eaten, dressed and braided her hair. The dogs had been racing between the Keep and the stables for the past two hours as Roland and Cuthbert had loaded up the jousting gear. Castor was still skulking outside, but Dimon, Seth and Nudd lay dozing by the fire which Fulco had lain for her. He entered the room now with a basket full of freshly cut logs.