An Ill-Made Match (Vawdrey Brothers Book 3)

by Alice Coldbreath

  **

  Roland woke to a heavy weight across his legs and the sound of off-key whistling in his close vicinity. He poked his head out of his blanket and glared blurrily at Cuthbert who was clattering around with water and clean cloths. Then he looked down to find Castor lay across his legs, his massive head resting on his front paws. Castor cracked one eye open to look at his master and then shut it again. “What are you doing here?” Roland asked, reaching down to rub the dog’s ears. Castor yawned.

  “The Queen sent for me to fetch him to you,” said Cuthbert, breaking off his tune.

  “What?”

  “He wasn’t playing nice with her other lady-in-waiting.”

  Roland sat up. “Explain.”

  “Lady Eden is sharing a room presently with Lady Jane Cecil.” Roland pulled a face. He thought it a bit rich that someone else got to sleep in the same damn bedchamber as his wife. “Castor objected most strongly to the sleeping arrangements.”

  “Is that so?” Roland asked, absently patting the dog.

  “The Queen said Parnell could stay, but this one had to be returned to his master.”

  Roland grunted. “Did you see your mistress?” Cuthbert nodded. “And?” he prodded with annoyance.

  “And what?” asked Cuthbert. “She was scolding Castor up a storm. Then soon as I went to take him, she was hanging round his neck, crying her eyes out.” He shrugged. “She was likely tired,” he added fairly.

  Roland eyed the large white dog who did look a bit sheepish, now he thought about it. “Ah well, not really your fault, my boy.” Castor thumped his tail against the bed.

  “How do you make that out?” spluttered Cuthbert. “He had that Lady Jane pinned against a chest of drawers, screaming fit to raise the dead by all accounts. The guards rushed in thinking there was an attempt being made on the Queen’s life!”

  Roland shrugged, supremely unconcerned. “I don’t agree with the sleeping arrangements either,” he said, climbing out of bed.

  To his surprise, Roland found two occupants already in the adjoining room. His brothers were seated at the table. “Cuthbert never said you were here,” he commented, pulling out a chair. Castor darted forward, straight under the table.

  “Good morning to you too,” said his brother Oswald dryly. “Was that Castor?”

  Roland ignored the question, for he could see the dog was already sniffing in welcome at Oswald’s boots.

  “Of course we’re here,” thundered Mason. “By all accounts I’m likely to be called for a witness. Yes, Castor, it’s me,” he said, holding out his hand for the dog to sniff. “I still haven’t heard how events turned out yesterday,” he said turning to Roland.

  “No good asking me,” said Roland. “I wasn’t there either. He turned in his seat. “Where’s Cuthbert with the food-?” he started, but the door opened in hobbled Meldon, the old family retainer who now lived with Oswald. He was bearing a large salver.

  “Meldon! How are you, you old rogue!”

  “Meldon gets a warmer welcome than his own brothers, mark you,” complained Oswald.

  “Better’n what I hear you are, master Roland,” grumbled Meldon censoriously. “What’s this about you getting your wife confiscated?” He clattered down the dish of salted fish and bread.

  “Don’t remind me,” said Roland darkly.

  “Just a temporary measure,” said Oswald airily as he reached for the butter. “And we’ll soon have it sorted out.”

  Meldon sniffed and pulled out a cloth to polish up the knives. Castor poked his head out from under the table. “You never brought the dogs from the Keep here with you?” asked the old servant in startled tones.

  “Only the two of them,” said Roland buttering a piece of bread.

  “Well, I only hopes they’re better behaved than when the old baron had ‘em!” Meldon tutted.

  Roland cocked an eyebrow. “Doubtful. Castor’s already been expelled from the Queen’s chambers.”

  Meldon cast his eyes heavenward as Mason demanded details. Once the story was told, and chuckled over, with much fuss made of Castor, Mason turned to his younger brother. “I hear you’ve had something else confiscated,” he said bluntly.

  Roland frowned. “What’s that?”

  “Attley told me you’re no longer the King’s Champion.”

  “Attley? When did you see him?” asked Roland brightening. “Is he at court?”

  “He and Ned Bevan arrived this morning. I daresay to offer their support.”

  “They will be called as witnesses,” Oswald corrected Mason.

  “Attley and Bev?” echoed Roland. “What the devil do they know about anything?”

  “They competed at Tranton Vale, did they not? Where you spent the days immediately following your wedding.”

  Roland snorted. “Aye, and what of it? Do you mean to tell me-?” he broke off distractedly. “I can’t believe you’ve allowed all this this to happen!” He glared at his brother.

  Oswald spread his hands wide. “I? What makes you think I was instrumental in any of this?”

  Roland glared at him. “Everything’s down to you in this bloody palace, and everyone knows it!”

  “You flatter me,” said Oswald dabbing a napkin at his mouth. “But if I could have delayed this exercise I would have. You have not been wed long enough for us to be assured of its outcome. After all, it’s been little more than three weeks.”

  Roland sat up straight in his chair. “Our marriage is valid,” he said loudly. “And if I was allowed to speak, I would tell them so!”

  “You will be permitted to speak on the third day, and not before that,” Oswald told him. “Have you heard that the King is sitting over today’s events?”

  “The King?” Roland looked startled, and not pleasantly so.

  “Is that a bad thing?” asked Mason, who had been watching Roland with interest.

  “He was in a rare temper with me yesterday,” muttered Roland.

  “Yes,” sighed Oswald. “He did not want to dismiss you as his champion. It always puts Wymer out of sorts when he is forced to do something he does not want to.”

  “He acted like he wanted to clap me in the stocks!”

  “I daresay he did,” said Oswald. “The Queen has been plaguing the life out of him. She was most put out to lose Eden. Most put out indeed.”

  “Aye, well,” said Roland belligerently. “She’ll have to reconcile herself to it. And so will he!” He looked up and caught Mason’s smirk. “What?”

  Mason shook his head, and crossed his massive arms. “Naught,” he said with a short laugh.

  “The Queen’s most annoyed to be missing out on today,” warned Oswald. “So no doubt she will have put a flea in the King’s ear this morning already. Tread carefully.”

  “Queen Armenal won’t be there?” asked Mason.

  “No ladies will be there,” emphasized Oswald. “Not even Eden.”

  “Why not?” spluttered Roland, who had expected to have a glimpse of his wife at the very least.

  “It was decided it would be too indelicate for ladies’ ears,” said Oswald. “Today will be delving into the wedding ceremony and the aftermath.” Roland groaned. “Precisely,” said Oswald.

  **

  “Get on with it, man!” barked King Wymer, glaring through beetling brows at Sir Christopher Montmayne. “Spit it out if ye’ve something to say!”

  Eden’s least favorite uncle bridled, but could hardly protest when answering his sovereign. “I proceeded with the others to the best guest bedchamber,” he said stiffly. “The door was locked, but with the help of the steward and Sir Roland’s two brothers it was forced.” He paused, screwing his face up. “What I saw there, shocked me, shocked me to the very core. A scene of licentiousness which I had never dreamt of seeing in the hallowed halls of Hallam.” The King snorted, and Sir Christopher looked affronted at the amused ripple that ran through the audience. No doubt, if the audience had contained ladies, he would have had the scandalized reaction he
had anticipated. Among the lords, knights and barons however, his words were not having the effect he desired. “My niece, Eden Montmayne was lolling a-bed with Sir Roland, and both as naked as babes!” His jowls shook with horror. “’Twas plain what had transpired the night before, and what grievous step their illicit passion had led them to take,” he intoned piously.

  “I see,” said the King, his eyebrows shooting into his fair hair. “And – er – Sir Roland offered no excuse or denial of the scene you witnessed?”

  “Not he!” burst out Sir Christopher indignantly. “Indeed, in spite of his night of sin, he still evinced a shamefully amorous and lusty state for her!” A gust of laughter went up from the crowd and Roland shifted in his seat. “I scarcely knew where to look, your majesty! Never had I -”

  “Yes, yes, I’m sure,” said King Wymer brusquely. “And then?”

  Sir Christopher drew himself up, pursing his lips. “My brother Leofric and Lord Vawdrey had some words about how to restore my niece’s honor.” He cast a nervous look in Mason’s direction. “I –er –attempted to remonstrate with my niece upon the gravity of the situation, but was prevented by Sir Roland’s kinsman.”

  “Which one?” asked the King with a flicker of interest.

  Sir Christopher fiddled with the links of his belt nervously. “The Duke of Cadwallader,” he admitted. Heads swiveled in Mason’s direction. His brother looked entirely unperturbed, Roland noticed.

  “And then?” prompted the King impatiently.

  “Sir Roland climbed out of the bed, and shoved me from the room, shutting the door in my face,” Christopher finished in an injured tone.

  “And where was the lady Eden at this point?” enquired the King.

  “She was still a-bed, your highness.”

  Wymer sat up in his throne, a frown on his face. “Do you mean to say, the pair of them were left to their own devices again, sequestered in the guest bedchamber?” he asked incredulously. “Not the smallest effort having been made to separate them or take your niece back?”

  “I – er – well,” Sir Christopher stammered lamely. “Yes, your highness.”

  “Both of ‘em,” said the King sarcastically. “Still ‘naked as babes’?”

  “Er – yes,” admitted the unhappy Sir Christopher. “Naked as the day they were born.”

  “Extraordinary! Oh, sit down, man!” he said impatiently, and scanned the crowd until his eyes fell on Mason Vawdrey. “Cadwallader,” he said grandly. “Best have your account next, I fancy!”

  Mason made a stoic and unshakeable witness. He corroborated the facts without any embellishment and his fierce stare made sure his statement was not punctuated with any crowd reaction. They did not dare.

  The King digested his account broodingly, before steepling his hands at his square jaw. “What I don’t understand…” he said slowly. “Is this. The host’s niece was found in Sir Roland’s bedchamber.” Roland felt himself tensing. Oswald laid a hand on his arm, giving a tiny shake of his head. “It seems to me that the Montmaynes were glad to rush through a quick wedding to set things to rights.” Mason gave a short nod of agreement. “The lady was heretofore of impeccable character and reputation,” conceded the King. “But why did the Vawdrey party not balk in any way at the way things turned out?”

  “Why should we?” rumbled Mason in his deep voice. “When it was evident this was the very outcome my brother desired.” There was a crowd reaction to that. Mason did not acknowledge it, but the King’s hand shot up to quiet the murmured voices.

  “What makes you so sure of that?” asked the King sharply.

  “I heard him say it with my own ears,” said Mason firmly. “At the feast the night before. He said they were presenting him with ‘the wrong one’ and he would not take her to wife. When I asked him what possible objection he could make to the lady, he answered she was not the one he wanted. He said, ‘She is not Eden’.”

  At that the muted voices rose in a great swell. Roland felt himself flush. Had he really said that? Mason’s bold gaze told him that every word was true. He felt strangely elated. Perhaps he wasn’t such a stupid bastard after all, when he let his baser-self rule on instinct alone? He had been consumed with Eden Montmayne, and what’s more he had been celibate, in the six months since she had kissed him, and made him hers. It had been his thinking self that had thought to put an end to his struggle by marrying the prettiest girl at court, like he had always intended. His thinking self was a fucking idiot. He had no patience with him. His blood ran cold at the idea he could have wed anyone else. But then he remembered that he had stated quite clearly at the feast that he would take none to wife, save Eden. That reassured him, and he could breathe easy again. He wished Eden could have heard that. Though not any of what her idiot uncle had come out with. One day that bastard would pay for talking about Eden being naked in a roomful of men.

  His brother nudged him again. “Did you hear who has been called?” he murmured in an amused voice.

  “No,” Roland looked up quickly and saw Cuthbert sauntering unhurriedly down the middle of the room as if he had not a care in the world. “You jest.”

  But he did not.

  “I see,” said the King nodding his head some time later, a smile tugging at his lips in spite of himself. “And what – uh – what made you suspect that your master was – ah – employing artifice on the journey?”

  The King was not the only one enjoying Cuthbert’s testimony. The crowd was, immensely. Roland felt his face grow warm.

  “Her horse was fine, your majesty,” snorted Cuthbert. “And showed no symptom of lameness.” He cast a knowing look at the audience, who laughed up their sleeves. “He just wanted her on his horse, up before him.” He nodded sagely. “It was obvious, even to someone of my tender years.”

  Roland winced, closing his eyes briefly. When would this come to an end? He cast a resentful look at Oswald, but his brother was smothering another yawn. If anything, Mason was more sympathetic to his plight, he thought crossly. But maybe that was because that poor bastard had been through someone trying to annul his marriage. Him. He supposed, uneasily, that one of these days he ought to try and make that up to Mason. The thought had never really occurred to him before.

  He listened with excruciating embarrassment as Cuthbert detailed how Roland had kept Eden locked in an inn bedroom with him for a night, a day and another night before he would consent to continue their journey to Tranton Vale. By all accounts, he reflected, he was coming across as an extremely lecherous husband when truth be told, they had not even consummated their marriage by this point! He squirmed inwardly as Cuthbert repeated a couple of the landlady’s choice remarks which had them rolling in the aisles. “I’m going to kill him,” he murmured out of the corner of his mouth.

  “You’ll not touch a hair on his head,” Mason told him firmly. “Strictly speaking, he’s still part of my household, and only with you on loan.”

  “Well, you can have him back directly!” Roland grumbled. “The little wretch!”

  After Cuthbert, Roland’s friend Sir James Attley bore witness to how Roland had brought Eden along to their pavilion at Tranton Vale and bade them to raise a toast to his marriage.

  “And how was his manner?” barked the King.

  “His manner, sire?” asked a startled Attley, who clearly had hoped to get away with talking facts rather than opinions.

  “His manner. One of your oldest friends isn’t he? Surely you can gauge his mood. Was he resentful, surly – how did he seem to you?”

  Attley looked dismayed. “He – er – he seemed – er,” he stared down at his feet a moment and took a deep breath. “Jubilant, sire” he said at last. “Elated, proud. He was showing her off like he’d won some great prize.” Attley scratched his neck. “He – er – sat her on his lap, and not just in the pavilion with us, but at the banquet too,” he said looking embarrassed. “And – um – called her sweetheart.” Attley turned a dull red when people started up whispering again. “At
the banquet he fed her from his plate and they shared a loving cup.”

  “Hmmmm,” the King narrowed his eyes at him. “Did he make no mention of the circumstances of taking her to wife?”

  “He just said he’d changed his mind, sire,” said Attley simply.

  Sir Ned Bevan backed up his friend on these details when it was his turn, and additionally, he told of how they had walked in on Roland kissing his new bride on his bunk on the following afternoon. He was a lot less flustered than his friend and told the tale in a straightforward manner that went over well with the audience.

  “In your opinion, did your friend seem resentful at being trapped into a hasty marriage?” asked the King.

  “No, your majesty, he did not,” said Bev decidedly. “He looked like he could scarcely bear to let the lady out of his sight.” He hesitated, and the King picked up on it immediately.

  “Yes, Sir Edward, you have something to corroborate this claim?”

  “I do,” said Bev, raising his chin. “The next day, the victor of the joust, Lord Kentigern, awarded the tourney garland to Lady Eden. When he heard of it, Roly – your pardon – Sir Roland flew into a jealous rage, the like of which I have never seen him display before.”

  “Indeed?”

  “He was quite white about the mouth. Almost immediately, he determined to drag her off to Vawdrey Keep like a possessive husband.”

  Roland kept his eyes straight ahead as he felt both his brothers turn to look at him with interest.

  “Humph,” said the King. “Where he’s kept her closely guarded ever since,” he said irritably. “Shall we adjourn for some refreshment?” The guards at the far end opened the door and a buzz of conversation rose up toward the rafters. “Can’t think what Armenal expects me to do about all this,” Roland heard the King say plaintively to one of his advisors. “It’ll be a miracle if she isn’t with child already from what I’ve heard!”