“He always looks like his own moustache stinks,” she said without thinking. When Garman burst out spluttering and coughing, she added quickly. “I only meant that he looks permanently disgusted by everything and everyone.”
Garman gave a grudging smile. “He does,” he agreed.
Lenora stared and he turned back to the washing bowl. Had that choking sound been Garman smothering laughter? She propped herself up on one elbow. “As for de Bussell, his looks are not the type that I particularly admire,” she persisted, more because she wanted to keep the conversation flowing than that she had any strong opinion of Armand de Bussell’s appearance.
Garman grunted, having turned uncommunicative once more. Lenora sighed. Sir Roland Vawdrey was extremely good looking, so she couldn’t in all conscience, disparage his looks.
“Of course,” she said sadly. “I feel a good deal of fellow-feeling for poor Lord Kentigern these days.” Unthinkingly she reached up and touched the side of her face, thinking of Kentigern’s heavy scarring and his one white eye that was quite blind.
“What do you mean?” Garman asked sharply. He lowered his drying cloth. “You surely do not compare yourself to him?”
“I only meant—”
“That’s bloody ridiculous, Lenora!” he thundered at her, flinging down his cloth. “Kentigern has grievous battle wounds! You can scarcely compare them to a mere scattering of pox marks!”
“Well, I—”
“Do I take it, you mean to walk about like a shrouded ghoul for the duration of this tournament?” he asked, his tone biting.
“I must say, I actually think that was a very good notion of yours,” she said, lifting her chin.
“Notion of mine?” he asked angrily. “What do you mean by that?”
“Well,” she answered a trace of uncertainty entering her voice. “Just that when you supplied your name for the herald, you did not give mine and I assumed it was a deliberate omission. “
“You assumed wrongly!” he cut across her words. He narrowed his eyes as if trying to recall his exact words. “I told him you were my wife.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “And you left it at that, I thought intentionally.”
“Well, you thought wrong,” he snapped back.
Lenora slumped back against the pillows. “Oh.”
Garman did not speak again until servants arrived with covered dishes for them, and then only to request two chairs were brought for their use. Once these were set down next to the table and the washing water taken away, Lenora joined him to eat their meal of roasted venison, cabbage and a game pie in a rich egg pastry. Napkins were supplied and another small bowl for washing their hands, but looking around, Lenora could find no cutlery, other than a spoon. She was just about to mention this when Garman passed her his own personal eating knife. He did not speak, or even look at her, just held it out to her handle first. Taking it with a murmur of thanks, she cut up her food into bite sized pieces and then held it back out to him. He took it back in the same wordless fashion.
Clearly, she was in disgrace. To her surprise, this bothered her more than she would have imagined a mere week ago. A flask of wine had been left for them, but only one cup. Lenora frowned over this a moment, then poured it out and slid the cup across to Garman. He took a deep draught and then handed the cup back to her. Peering in, Lenora could see he had only drained half of it. She drank the other and then refilled the cup. They repeated the process. By then, he had emptied his plate and Lenora had tired of hers. The food was rich, and she was sure they had piled the plates equally. She had eaten at least half of her pie and most of her vegetables. After one more mouthful, she slid the plate across to Garman. He frowned at her.
“I ate more than I usually would, I assure you,” she said. His eyebrows rose at this, but he shrugged and finished off her roasted meat.
A bowl of figs and almonds had been left also and though she was not hungry, Lenora helped herself to a fig and leaned back in her chair. The motion made her chair tilt alarmingly, for the floor was not altogether flat. She shot her hand out to seize the table edge until she had righted herself. “I almost forgot our floor is a meadow,” she remarked. “Shall I pour you more wine?”
He dragged his chair back, standing up. “Aye, bring it to the bed.” He blew out one of the candles and carried the other over to the cots.
Lenora glanced at the tent flap, but it was down so she could not see the hour by the sky. It seemed early to retire though. “What about the horses?” she asked. “Are they to remain tethered outside?”
“Certainly not,” he retorted, dragging his tunic over his head. “They were taken to the stables already.”
“Oh, I did not realize.” The servants must have taken them, she thought, asking, “How is it that you do not have your own squire?”
He did not reply, simply continued to strip and climb into the bed. After a moment, Lenora poured his wine and carried it over to him. He took it from her, and this time looked her full in the face. “I don’t care for the company,” he said, startling her.
Lenora gazed at him blankly. “Oh! Did you want me to make up the third cot after all?” she asked, glancing round at the vacant cot which was now piled high with all manner of plate armor.
He twitched back the blanket for her. “I was answering your question about my lack of attendant,” he said testily. “I may find your chatter irritating, but I’m hardly likely to banish you from my bed because of it.”
Lenora flushed. Her chatter? “No-one has ever accused me of chattering before!” she retorted as she started undoing her side-lacings. Far from it. “If anything,” she added painstakingly. “People complain I am sadly stand-offish!” She glared at Garman before wriggling out of her outer gown and draping it over a chair back. “Maybe ‘tis because you are so unduly taciturn,” she added when he said nothing at all. “It prompts me to over-compensate.”
“Get in the bed, Lenora.”
She sat on the edge of the cot, unpinned her head-dress, set it aside and then removed her stockings and garters. “I need to unpack my things,” she said obstinately. “I did not do so earlier.”
“Do it on the morn.”
“I’d rather do it now,” she replied. “I need my comb to braid my hair and—”
“In. The. Bed,” he intoned direly.
She turned around, took one look at his face and decided discretion was the better part of valor. Setting her veils and stockings down on the chair, Lenora moved around to climb in beside him. She did so with exaggerated dignity, her nose pointed skyward. He was infuriatingly rude! The last thing she wanted to do right now was cozy up to him under the sheets. Instead she held her body stiffly away from his, as she tucked the blankets around her, scrupulously avoiding any points of contact. He made no comment, but when she finally lay back, he swiftly rolled toward her and yanked the blankets up until their bodies were flush against one another. Lenora regarded him with speechless indignation.
“You’ll thank me shortly,” he said. “When you feel the cold begin to bite.”
Lenora pressed her lips together, feeling thwarted. “I beg you will save your combative nature for the morrow when you have more worthy opponents,” she said haughtily. To her surprise, she heard him laugh and turned her head sharply to look at him.
“You don’t need to worry your head about that,” he murmured, tucking a hand behind his pillow.
“No.” She curled her lip. “I expect you’re always spoiling for a fight.”
“Aye,” he agreed readily enough. His eyes flickered over her head and shoulders. Not much else was on display. “That or something else.”
Lenora’s gaze narrowed as her breath quickened. Surely, he could not mean that? Not here? With some alarm, she turned back to contemplating the ceiling. Very likely she was imagining things, but she remembered at the inn, how he had compared the act with combat. An act he had since shown no real inclination to perform with her. Perhaps he had lied when he had claimed not to
find her repulsive?
Suddenly, he spoke, “This business of obsessively covering your face.” She could hear the scowl in his voice. “It irritates me.”
Lenora turned angrily onto her side to face him. Very well, if he wanted an argument, she would give him an argument! “Well, I should probably tell you now, that under certain circumstances,” she vowed with brittle resolve. “I will always wear a veil.”
“That seems to be ridiculous,” he said scornfully. When she made no reply, he added testily. “I can see no justification for it.” She kept her eyes trained on him, but said nothing. “What possible reason could you have for such exaggerated pageantry.” His tone was cutting. “And what circumstances could prompt such a decision? I can think of none.”
“I was thinking, for instance, in my parents’ presence,” she said with sudden frankness.
He was visibly surprised by her reply, and regretting her outburst, she rolled once more onto her back, staring up at the strangely bunched and draped ceiling. Say nothing, she warned herself. Not one more word. “Probably,” she heard herself say flatly. “Because they said my face was a mockery of its former self and it would be better if I had just died.”
This was met with total silence, and Lenora had just convinced herself that she had only thought the words in her head, when her upper arms were seized in a fierce grip and she was hauled off the mattress and found herself sprawled across Garman Orde’s body. She blinked down at him in astonishment. His eyes bored into hers, but when he spoke, his words were quiet. “What did you just say?” So softly did he speak the words, that Lenora felt alarmed.
“Well—it doesn’t bear dwelling on,” she answered breathlessly. “But I must admit, occasionally, when I’m at a low ebb, it just drifts into my mind and—”
His eyes were hard as flint. “They said that to you? Your parents?”
“No! I mean, they didn’t intend for me to hear it,” she babbled. “They thought I was asleep.” He held very still, then suddenly thrust her from him and sat up on the edge of the bed, facing away from her. Lenora stared at his back. “Garman?” When he continued silent, she felt rather alarmed. “I shouldn’t have told you, but I think it was festering away in me deep inside.” He turned his head slightly at that, but still she could not see his face except in profile. His expression looked carved in stone. Lenora took a shaky breath. “Actually, I think I do actually feel a little better for having told someone, if that makes sense.” She plucked at the blankets. Those words had weighed heavy with her since she had heard them. As if they had been etched on her brain. Speaking them aloud almost felt like an exorcism. She stared at Garman Orde’s broad muscular back and wondered why that should be so.
After a moment, he swung his legs back into the bed and slowly eased himself back down on the mattress. “Tell me about them,” he said on an outward breath.
“My parents?” asked Lenora in startled tones. He gave a short nod. What an odd request. She looked at him sidelong before beginning. “Well… apparently I take after my mother in looks, but she grew rather stout in later life. Perhaps I will too. You might like that, if I grow fat, I mean,” she added, but he didn’t even give a glimmer of a smile, so she continued. “Apparently she was exceedingly beautiful in her youth. My father was simply wild to marry her from their first meeting. It’s funny really as they don’t seem to relish each other’s company now overmuch.” She pondered this a moment. “My mother is rather dissatisfied with her lot in life. She says she should have held out for a title, but she didn’t know her own worth at seventeen. She does not come to court much and spends all her time lying abed and being read to. It’s my grandmother who runs the household. She’s a very determined woman and never relinquished her grip as chatelaine. Maybe that’s partly why my mother is the way she is,” Lenora pondered. Then shook her head. “But I don’t really think so. My mother has never shown any interest in picking up the reins of responsibility. In truth, neither did I. I always knew I would move away from Hallam Hall once I married.” She paused at this point, to wait for any comment but he gave none. “I was always closer to my father,” Lenora admitted cautiously. “He is a prominent courtier and divides his time between our estates and the King’s court. I suppose, he was disappointed not to have a son to succeed him, but I am their only child. My cousin Kit will inherit the house and lands eventually,” Lenora trailed off, not sure how to continue.
Garman turned his head toward her. “Go on,” he said.
“There’s not much else to tell. I suppose, like everyone else, they thought I had nothing more to offer the world than my face. I daresay if things had continued and I had not caught the pox, I would have ended up very like my mother. She’s rather self-absorbed you know. Now… I hardly know what will become of me. None of the many fortunes I have had told me over the years have ever predicted this particular turn of fate’s wheel.”
He was silent and so very still, that for a moment Lenora wondered if he had dropped off to sleep. When he finally spoke, she was almost startled.
“Shall I tell you what will become of you?” he asked suddenly.
Lenora turned her head to look at him. “Please do.”
“Whatever you will.”
She stared at him, then gave a short laugh. “Well, I suppose my will has carried me this far. Funny, until recently I never realized just how strong it was.”
“It’s often when life strikes a blow that you discover your own mettle.” He spoke almost grudgingly, but Lenora eagerly fastened onto his words.
“I suppose that’s true. Maybe if I’d been crossed more in early life…”
“What?”
“My personality would be stronger.”
He gave a short laugh. “The gods help me if it was.” At her confused look, he cleared his throat. “I find you good to look at,” he said after a small pause. “Especially when you’re naked.”
My body, she thought with surprise. He’s talking about my body. “Even though I still need fattening up?” She glanced down even though she was covered in blankets.
“I’m not so bothered about that anymore,” he said with a shrug. “You’ve meat enough on your bones to please me.”
“Then why—?” She broke off, feeling her face grow hot. “Why have we not..?”
“I want to,” he admitted, not quite meeting her eye. “But in the middle of a tournament field might not be the best place.”
“Because you want me on my hands and knees?” she asked with a frown and watched the red streaks appear along his cheekbones.
“Not the first time,” he said in a low voice that was almost a groan.
“Because you said it would be loud and rough, then?”
He looked pained. “I should not have said that either.”
Lenora wondered at that. “Oh. Then you definitely should not have told me that you generally sport with two bedfellows,” she retorted.
He looked startled. “When did I—?”
“That first night I sought you out.”
He frowned. “I don’t recall. What did I say?”
“That I might have walked in on you romping with a pair of wenches.”
He relaxed. “I just said that to shock you, Lenora. That is not a habit of mine.”
“So, in general, one suffices?”
“You’ll be plenty for me.” His eyes glanced up and down her blanket-covered body.
“Oh.” She considered this a moment. She felt both pleased and relieved by his reply. “And on the whole, I would rather you told me things, than not.”
“Indeed?” He sounded skeptical.
“Even if the truth is uncomfortable, I would rather know it.”
He was quiet a moment. “Do you remember what you said at the inn? The first inn? About your suitors?”
Lenora found herself growing flushed. “Yes,” she admitted. “I think I may have misled you slightly, as I did not know what you meant precisely by permitting favors.” He turned his head sharply towar
d her but said nothing. “When I said I did not enjoy fondling or wet kisses,” she said in a rush. “I meant pressed to my hand. No-one has ever…” She bit her lip. “I don’t think that is precisely what you meant.” She looked up and found him regarding her steadily.
“No,” he agreed gruffly. “That wasn’t what I meant.”
Lenora took a deep breath. “Do you think that might be appropriate in the middle of a field?” she asked hopefully.
Garman drew in a sharp breath. “You want me to kiss and fondle you, Lenora?” She nodded. “It might not be what you’re expecting,” he warned. “I’m not interested in pinching your chin or tickling your ears.”
“My suitors weren’t as bad as all that! No-one ever tickled my ears!” She hesitated. “Where would you touch me then?”
“Wherever I want.”
Lenora considered this. “That does not sound so very bad. Besides, I wouldn’t want you to touch my face at all.” Self-consciously, she reached up to trace the roughened skin at her jaw. Noticing him watching her, she dropped her hand.
“Is it sore?” he asked.
“No. I think it is totally healed.”
“Why can’t I touch it then?”
“Do you want to?” She was startled.
“Wherever I want, remember?”
“Yes but—”
“What?”
She took a deep breath in and out. “Very well. I agree.”
16
He must have been mad, he thought moments later, as his hands roamed over her sweet little body. Lenora Montmayne was not cold as court rumor had it. She was warm and responsive and extremely untutored. She had clearly not lied when she said not one of her wimp suitors had dared even to kiss her lips. She nearly jumped out of his arms with shock when he slid his tongue into her pretty little mouth or squeezed her delightfully rounded buttocks. He had to keep drawing back to utter terse instructions, or she’d just lie there like a stunned mullet.
“Suck my tongue,” he demanded. “Pull down your shift.”
Dimly, he recognized that he was not treating her with the reverence she doubtless expected, but he had to give it to her, she was following his uncouth instructions to the letter. When her fumbling fingers did not free her breasts quick enough, he yanked the flimsy fabric down and heard it tear. Instead of reproaching him, she gave a soft moan that went straight to his groin.
The Unlovely Bride (Brides of Karadok Book 2) Page 13