Garman narrowed his eyes at her, but if anything, she merely tightened her grip on his fingers until he relapsed into silence, snatching back his hand with an ill grace that had Father Udolphus pursing his lips tight. He ascertained in a few terse questions that both were willing and at liberty to give their vows to one another before taking down their details in ink.
“It is done,” Father Udolphus said crisply, mere moments later.
Garman was so surprised that he stared down his empty hand a moment, before reaching across and grabbing Lenora’s. She looked up in surprise.
“Is that it? No blessing?” he asked gruffly.
“Do you want a blessing?” The old man sounded skeptical. “I understood this was a mere formality to follow on from the fact you have already been living as man and wife.”
Garman met Father Udolphus’s severe gaze squarely. “Men like me need to be bound tightly,” he said. “Lest we find a way to wriggle out of our obligations.”
Father Udophus’s eyes flashed. “Indeed?” He tutted under his breath. “The old ways still abide!”
“Use this, Father,” Berta said, coming forward with a piece of green string. She passed it to him and after a moment of resistance, the hermit grudgingly took it.
Garman lifted their clasped hands and Father Udolphus, his lips still grimly pressed into a thin line, wound the string about their wrists, an expression of distaste upon his face. Garman glanced across at Lenora who looked suddenly pensive now. Instead of relaxing his hold on her, he tightened it. Her eyes darted to meet his, wide and questioning. Instead of speaking, he gazed steadily back at her. It seemed to him that she had not really considered the prospect of being owned before, body and soul by a man. He watched it occur to her now as the color rushed to her face. For some reason, this pleased him.
She could not withdraw her hand now even if she wanted to, as Father Udolphus made the last few passes with the twine. The holy man made a quick gesture with his fingers over theirs and then stepped back. “You are now bound as tightly as one such as I can achieve,” he intoned grimly.
Garman gave a sharp nod. “Good,” he simply said and dropped a purse into the old man’s hand. He turned to leave, but Lenora did not. The twine cut into his wrist as she tarried to thank Father Udolphus and he was forced to step sharply back to accommodate her. She gave no sign of discomfort when she finally turned to accompany him out of the shack.
“You will need to cut me loose,” she murmured as they emerged into the sunlight. Berta was already clambering into the cart.
“The old woman can take the reins for the cart,” he told her, compelling her to accompany him to his horse. “You’ll ride up before me.”
“Why?”
“Custom,” he said shortly and at her surprised glance, he added. “You’re not supposed to cut the bond directly in case it doesn’t take.”
“Superstitious? You?” she said as he seized her waist and hefted her up into the saddle. He swung himself up behind her, adjusting their position to work around their bindings. Lenora held her arm out at an awkward angle. “This might have worked better if we had sat side by side in the cart.”
He gave a short laugh. “You think your crone could ride a horse like this?”
“You could have tethered him up behind us.”
“Don’t insult my horse. He won’t be slighted.” He saw the puzzled look she shot him from the corner of her eye.
“You are whimsical, Sir Garman?” she said tipping her head. “That is not your reputation.”
“Whimsical?” He gave a short, hard laugh. “No. I am not… whimsical.”
“It’s good you like pets, at any rate,” she commented.
“Pets? I thought I told you not to insult Bria’ag.”
He watched a faint smile touch her lips. “What would you call a horse then? Your companion?”
“Closer to companion than pet.”
She appeared to consider that a moment, then nodded. “I feel the same way about my cats.”
“Cats?” Garman repeated, startled. He remembered the basket. “How many do you have?” he asked with some misgiving.
“Four.”
He grunted. He would have thought one cat was more than ample.
“Grizelda, Fendrel, Tybalt and Purcel,” she continued brightly, as if he had expressed an interest in their names. As far as Garman was concerned, the least said about them the better. A silence fell between them and after a while, Garman noticed her give up trying to hold herself aloof. She slumped back against him, pulling down the veils over her face with her free hand.
“You draw considerably more attention to yourself in that get-up, you do realize?” he asked dryly.
She did not answer, merely shifted slightly against him as if trying to get comfortable and it occurred to Garman with some amusement that she was going to try and take a nap. Good luck with that, sweetheart. He doubted very much that Bria’ag’s saddle provided the same level of comfort as the feather-filled mattresses she was used to.
When some moments later she started to list to one side, he wound an arm about her waist, pulling her in tight against him. She made no objection and glancing down at the way her head lolled to one side, he could only conclude that against all odds, she had managed to nod off to sleep. His eyebrows rose. Mind you, she had been ill he reminded himself. She was probably exhausted.
A swift glance toward the cart showed her servant was grimly absorbed in directing the horse before her. He took the opportunity to use his unbound hand to press Lenora’s head to his shoulder. She curled further into him and he rested his hand at her shapely hip. She was surprisingly pleasing armful, he thought, all things considered. That bloody headdress though, the gods alone knew why she insisted on wearing it. He could see the slight rise and fall of the veils with her steady breath but could see next to nothing of her face. The after-effects of the pox really weren’t as bad as she made out. His lip curled. So much fuss over a few pockmarks and some reddened skin. It would be laughable if the whole royal court wasn’t buzzing with the news that the beauteous Flower of all Karadok had been blighted. Bloody fools. He smiled grimly to himself. Their loss was his gain. He was starting to suspect the famous flower was far more resilient than they had all guessed and possessed a lot more useful properties than mere beauty.
To his surprise, they did hit upon a remote inn early evening time. He would have pressed on for a couple more hours but felt the burning gaze of the old crone boring into his shoulder blades. “We’ll stop here for the night,” he said grudgingly and called for a stable lad to unfasten and store the wagon securely. Lenora stirred and gave a start finding herself plastered to his chest. “We’ve found an inn,” he told her as she straightened herself, fussing with her headdress which had slipped down one side.
“How fortuitous,” she said, clearing her throat. “I think I nodded off there for a while.” She gazed down at their bound wrists in bewilderment. “Oh! We’re still joined?”
“Till death us do part,” he answered ironically, and she gave a splutter. He wanted to see if she’d blushed, but the damn veils were in the way.
“I hope it wasn’t too uncomfortable for you to ride with,” she said suddenly. He merely shrugged. “We shall have to disentangle now,” she pointed out.
“It can wait, till after supper,” he said mildly. “After all, the old tradition was not until the following morning.” He cut her a sharp glance at that but was frustrated by the head veils once again.
“Well,” she said after a moment’s pause. “After supper then.”
They had made their way around the back of the inn to where the stables and outhouses lay. “I want all three horses rubbed down, fed and watered,” he instructed as he caught her up in his arms and swiftly dismounted. Lenora gave a suppressed yelp, finding herself swung down so precipitously. “I have you,” he pointed out as an aside.
“Could you kindly—” she started with dignity, but he was already setting her on her f
eet.
“Keep up with me,” he said with a frown, and started toward the inn. Lenora huffed, but made haste to keep pace with him.
“It might be more convenient—” she puffed, but he did not let her finish, instead propelling her through the low inn door by jostling her through with a hand at her hip.
“Sir Garman!”
“I can’t make out your words through that mass of veils,” he lied. “Speak up.”
“I don’t—”
“Good day, good day, good sir and lady both!” a jocular voice hailed them. A round, ruddy-faced man beamed at them as he rubbed his hands with a cloth. “Will you be wanting a room for the night?”
“Two rooms,” Garman clarified, and saw Lenora relax slightly out of the corner of his eye.
“A hand-fasting!” the innkeeper exclaimed, catching sight of their wrists. “Felicitations!” He gave a quick bow. “You honor my humble abode; I will have your rooms readied forthwith.” Garman saw his gaze wander back to Lenora’s heavy veils with confused unease.
“And supper,” Garman growled.
“Immediately, good sir,” the innkeeper assured them, turning to look back over his shoulder. “Brigid!” he yelled. “Kate!” He turned back with an unctuous expression. “The main room is through here, good sir.” He gestured to the right of the entrance. “Where you and your lady can take your ease.”
Garman looked pointedly at Lenora, and she slipped past him into the room with him following on her heels. The landlord’s hand on his forearm stopped him. He froze and Lenora was also forced to come to a halt.
“Your pardon, good sir,” said the landlord hoarsely. He licked his lips. “I am but a humble man trying to make an honest living—”
“Spare me the spiel,” Garman cut across his words harshly. “What do you want?”
“Your assurance, good sir,” he said wringing his pudgy fingers. “That the lady is not afflicted with the plague.”
“The plague?” Garman repeated. “Nay, she is not—”
“I do not have the plague,” Lenora interrupted them, flinging back her veils. “As you can see, I am in perfect health with a few simple after-effects of the pox. I am long recovered from the actual illness.” She held up her face for the innkeeper’s perusal and Garman felt a stab in his gut that bewildered him. Evidently, his expression so terrified the landlord that he fell to bowing and scraping again.
“Your pardon, good sir, good lady,” he said hastily, his words tumbling over each other. “I meant no offence, I assure you!”
“None taken,” Lenora said sweetly, and turned on her heel, their bound wrists necessitating Garman follow into the room after her. “I’m starting to think you may have a point about the veils,” she muttered as they made their way to a table.
“Don’t do that again,” he said, just about managing to keep his tone even.
“Do what again?” asked Lenora. “You mean wear the headdress?”
“I mean,” he gritted the words out. “Present your face like that, for others to…” He broke off, “…look at,” he finished grimly.
Lenora looked at him with surprise as she dropped down into a seat. “You’ll have to sit opposite,” she said. “If our wrists are to remain bound through supper.”
He ignored her, sitting down beside her, forcing her to move up the bench. “I don’t like it,” he scowled.
“Yes, but he would not have let us stay if he thought I had the plague,” she pointed out reasonably.
“Oh yes he would have,” he said grimly and clapped his free hand to his sword hilt. “He would have accepted my word.”
“But what is the point in terrorizing the poor man, when I could so easily reassure him?”
He took a deep breath in and out. “Presumably, you’re wearing that veil because you don’t want people seeing your face.”
She appeared to consider this. “Well, yes, but…” She frowned. “In truth, it was more the scrutiny of people who knew me before that bothered me. They would be contrasting how I looked previously with how I look now. But mere strangers or new acquaintances don’t really make me feel the same need to hide.”
His gaze flickered to the headdress perched atop her head. “Why don’t you leave it off altogether, then?” he suggested. “No-one we meet on the road or at Cofton Warren will have known you before.” Lenora sat stock-still and for a moment he thought she would refuse. Then suddenly she reached up and plucked it from her head, setting it down on the table before them. She turned and looked at Garman wordlessly. “Better,” he growled. Then a servant approached with an ale jug, distracting them.
They ate what Garman considered to be a light supper of bread, cold meats, vegetable pottage and cheese, although his own trencher had to be re-filled several times before he considered his needs adequately met. He watched covertly as Lenora picked over her food. He ate four bowls in the time it took her to eat one, and even then, she did not fully empty it, but left at least a quarter of it unfinished. She smothered a yawn once or twice and eyed their bound wrists which laid on the table between them with an unfathomable expression. As for himself, he was strangely aware of the touch of her smooth, pale skin against his own rough and tanned forearm.
“I need a bath,” she said at last as he drained his ale to the dregs. “Did you order one?”
“Aye,” he admitted, slamming his cup back on the table.
“Oh good.” She glanced significantly at their bound wrists. He lifted an eyebrow. “If it hasn’t taken by now, it likely never will,” she said with a small smile.
He gave her a long, considering look, as he reached down for a dagger in his boot and then cut through the cords with a deft flick of the blade. “I believe it’ll hold,” he said.
He watched a look of surprise flit across her face, before she rubbed absent-mindedly at her freed wrist. “Should we drink a toast?” she said as a servant obligingly refilled their cups with frothing ale. Instead of shooting such a suggestion down, as was his first impulse, he found himself raising his cup and waiting for her to do the same. “To our bargain?” she said with a trace of uncertainty.
For some reason, it seemed to Garman the toast was lacking, but he could not have said why. “Aye,” he rumbled, but still paused, his cup hovering in the air.
As if aware of his dissatisfaction, she added. “A long life and happiness!” and looked across at him for agreement. He shrugged and swigged his ale. It would have to do.
8
Lenora heard the door open and close behind her and carried on dragging the wet cloth up and down her limbs. “Are there any more soap leaves, Berta?” she asked over her shoulder. “These ones don’t seem to work up a lather.”
“Likely the quality is not what you’re used to,” a deep voice rumbled, making Lenora drop the cloth with a yelp and a splash. She craned her head back to find Garman Orde stripping the clothes off his big, hard body. Lenora’s jaw dropped. “Wha—?”
“I’ll climb in the tub after you,” he said, ignoring her obvious shock at his appearance.
“You could have waited,” Lenora told him primly once she managed to catch her breath. “Until it was carried into your bedchamber.”
“This is my bedchamber,” he countered swiftly.
“Your bedchamber?” Lenora repeated. Her gaze swept the room, taking in her belongings strewn all about. “But—”
“Did you imagine I meant to sleep alone on my wedding night?” he asked dryly, stalking around the tub to face her.
“Frankly, yes!” Lenora spluttered, her face flaming. He did not wear so much as a stitch of clothing and his muscular bulk was disconcerting to say the least. She dipped down into the water until she was submerged to her shoulders, folding her arms across her bare breasts. She wished there were more soap suds to impede his view.
He quirked an eyebrow at her. “And leave our marriage unconsummated?”
Lenora stared at him. “But…” She took a deep breath. “M-my face?” She faltered in disbeli
ef.
“What about it?” His gaze challenged her. “If I’d thought I couldn’t perform, I wouldn’t have married you.”
“Couldn’t—? Oh!” She bit off her words as comprehension dawned, her gaze drifting down to wear his manhood curved away from his thighs in illustration of his point. Lenora stared, then gulped, snapping her gaze up to meet his. “Could you kindly turn your back,” she asked with dignity. “So that I may climb out of the water?”
“No,” he answered promptly. “You’re getting an eyeful, so why shouldn’t I?”
Lenora’s jaw dropped. “But I don’t want to get an eyeful!” she told him, a note of shrillness to her voice that startled her.
He gave a short laugh. “You’ll be getting up close and personal with it before this night’s through,” he promised, gesturing to his manhood. “So, you may as well get acquainted with it now.”
Lenora shut her eyes a minute before opening them again. “Are you having a joke with me, Sir Garman?” she asked.
“A joke?” he said, quirking his eyebrows at her.
“You can’t possibly want to—to do anything of that nature with me,” she retorted with spirit. “So kindly cease from this pointless teasing.”
“Teasing?” Garman repeated blankly, his gaze roaming over the parts of her on view in a manner that Lenora found extremely disconcerting. Maybe he wasn’t teasing? She bit her lip and shot an uncertain look at his face.
As if guessing her thoughts, he said with deliberation, “I’m in deadly earnest, Lenora.” Her eyes widened at his use of her name, though in truth he was now entitled to far more familiarities than that. “I not only want to do those things, but I am going to. Make no mistake about it. We are husband and wife, after all.”
Lenora’s head spun. How could he possibly want to? And why? She could hardly credit such a thing. Unless? “You want children!” she breathed in sudden dismay, sitting straight up. Damn, she had not thought of that! “You should have told me! But when she looked up, she saw he was not attending to her words at all. Instead, his gaze was riveted on her bared breasts. Lenora made an exasperated sound and sank back into the water. His eyes snapped to meet hers. “You have no title to pass on, so it simply did not occur to me that you might want them! That’s it, isn’t it?” she persisted when he made no reply.
The Unlovely Bride (Brides of Karadok Book 2) Page 5