“I see,” she heard herself say aloud in a funny, detached voice. “Well, I hope you enjoy the company there.” She lay back flat on the bed and stared up at the ceiling of the pavilion as she listened to him buckle on his sword. After a moment, she heard his footfalls and the swing of the tent entrance and he was gone. Lenora lay perfectly still, swallowing down a sudden lump in her throat. She felt a ridiculous impulse to cry. Idiot, she reproached herself. Did you think he was your friend? The very reason you picked him was because you knew him to be a merciless swine. Why are you now hurt to find he runs true to form?
The truth was, she had woken feeling happy and strangely carefree. She could not remember the last time she had awakened feeling that way. If there had been bad dreams, she did not remember them. And now it had all come crashing down around her ears. She hugged her own arms and turned into the pillow to muffle a shameful sob. Foolish Lenora, she upbraided herself. Had you forgotten your ruined face and your ruined future? Servants would arrive shortly with bread and fish. Was she really going to lie abed, weeping over the fact her husband was an ill-mannered brute? That thought had her bounding up from the bed and dragging her dress from the previous day on.
She was not such a fool, she hoped, as all that. Why should she care where Garman Orde took his meals? Or that he did not care to have her cheer him on in the crowds? She had married him with her eyes open. She was reaping what she had sown. ‘Twas just that for a moment, the veriest instant, she had forgotten what kind of marriage she had bartered.
She would not do that again.
Lenora spent the morning alone in the tent. She ate the food brought out to her and had a good wash. Then she unpacked the three gowns and under-dresses she had brought with her and set her combs and hairpins on the top of the trunk. It did not take her long to dress her hair for in truth, she was only capable of the simplest of styles. Her maid Hannah had always used to be responsible for the elaborate arrangements she used to wear at court. Still it was a good deal shorter now, only hanging to her middle back so was easier to handle.
After she had coiled and pinned her blonde locks at her nape, she set about dressing herself in a favorite gown of deep rose decorated with gold embroidery at the hem and the cuffs. Very likely it was far too frivolous for a field, but she felt in need of cheering. Then she set about securing her veils onto gold toque which she perched atop her head and pinned firmly into place. She had only a small hand mirror to check her progress, but she thought she had made rather a good job of it in all. She was just angling it over the top of her head and craning to see it from a different viewpoint, when she recognized a voice raised in conversation walking past her tent.
“If he wants his saddle polished again, he can damn well polish it himself, the lazy braggart!” said an indignant voice that sounded strangely familiar. Lenora turned her head sharply.
“I tell you, it’s a perfectly reasonable request!” replied an exasperated voice. “You’ll get a cuff round the ear if you don’t shape up soon, Montmayne. Tell him, Ames.”
Montmayne! thought Lenora, her ears pricking up. She had thought it sounded very like her young cousin Kit. Another youth murmured some reply, but it was muffled and she could not catch it for they were definitely moving away now. Lenora set down her hand mirror and crossed quickly to the tent opening to peer out. Walking away from her were three youths, one thickset and stout, one fair and well-proportioned, and the other rather gangly with auburn curling hair. Lenora drew in a breath. The latter if she was not mistaken, was none other than her first cousin.
“We’ll see you down the stables, in five minutes? Come Hal,” the blonde said, peeling away to the left. The heavy-set lad followed him.
“I tell you, I’m never playing the dice cup with you again, Ames,” Kit called after them ill-naturedly. “You barely left me with the shirt on my back last time.”
The blonde youth laughed. He really was very good looking, thought Lenora, and he also seemed strangely familiar. “I wouldn’t want your shirt,” he said, flexing his arms. “It would confine my muscles too much.” His friend Hal guffawed loudly, but Kit scowled.
“I tell you I won’t be gulled twice.”
“Faint heart!”
Kit flung out his arm in a dismissive gesture and Lenora watched him disappear into a yellow striped tent. The other two made off in the direction of the manor house. Lenora hesitated. She had not seen her cousin in months, but in that intervening time he must have become a squire to some knight.
She and Kit had never been close due to the seven-year age gap between them. Still, she had the overwhelming impulse to go and seek him out. After all, what else could she do now that she had tidied her things away, washed and dressed? Garman had made it perfectly plain to her that he did not care for her company this day and she could hardly set off to the competition field without an escort. Perhaps, she thought, her spirits rising, Kit would accompany her to watch the joust?
After all, why should she not? Her veils would conceal her face. She knew which tent he was staying in. She could walk directly there and visit with him and no-one else be any the wiser. Overcoming her indecision, she strode from the tent and hurried with swift steps toward the tent which looked the twin of the one she was currently staying in except for its color. When she reached it, she stooped a moment and stood listening outside the entrance. She didn’t want to go blundering in if his new master was already in there. She fancied she could hear someone moving around within, but there was no conversation. Deliberately, she cleared her throat.
“Kit?” she called softly. Something thudded softly, as though dropped.
“Gods rot you!” she heard an adolescent male say. “Who’s there?” the same voice added querulously. “If it’s you pair of jackanapes, you can sod off after all the trouble you’ve caused me! And you won’t fleece me out of any more coin either! I’m onto you—!” The tent flap was wrenched back, and Kit’s wrathful expression was swiftly extinguished. “Who the devil are you?” he asked in astonishment, falling back at the sight of a heavily veiled woman.
“It’s your cousin Lenora,” she replied matter of factly. “Let me in.”
Stubbornly, instead of moving away from the entrance, Kit moved instead to firmly block her way. “Nay,” he said, shaking his head of copper curls. “You’re not her, madam. For she’s grievously ill and lies on her deathbed even now.” He eyed her swathed head nervously. “They say,” he added hoarsely. “Her face has clear rotted away.”
“Nonsense! I am perfectly recovered now,” she told him bracingly and seeing his reticence, could not resist lowering her voice and stepping up close to him. “‘Tis only my pretty face,” she added in hollow sepulchral tones. “That is left a ruined shell of what it once was…”
She saw Kit blanch and laughed merrily. “You always were a perfect goose, Kit Montmayne!” she told him, and then felt an arm close around her waist from behind, lifting her into the air and her bottom pinched with great familiarity.
“What have we here? An assignation—?” Sir Lionel’s teasing words abruptly cut off as Lenora uttered a startled scream and whirled around on him.
“Leave go of her!” Kit yelled, bounding forward out of the tent and grabbing Lenora’s arm to haul her away from the surprised knight. “How dare you touch my cousin! I’ll have your hide for this, Emworth, you dog!” He clapped a hand to his hip, and finding no dagger, gazed around wildly.
“Your cousin?” repeated Sir Lionel, looking dumbfounded. He looked from Lenora to Kit in horrified disbelief. “What cousin?”
“Just because her face rotted off,” Kit thundered. “Does not mean you can take liberties with her body, you blackguard!”
Lenora rubbed her backside distractedly. She could not believe such behaviour of her most reverent and respectful suitor. Sir Lionel who had once kissed her empty glove and blushed over it, had pinched her backside, and pinched it hard. He had also been grossly familiar in the way he had manhandled her into his arm
s. She was shocked to her core. Her scattered thoughts were brought back to earth with a bump when she saw her cousin lower his head and charge at Sir Lionel in the manner of a human battering ram. Sir Lionel who was still staring at her open-mouthed, did not recover from his shock in time and ended up doubled over groaning as his squire enthusiastically fell on him and started pummeling him with great vigor.
“Kit!” Lenora protested, but did not seem to be heard. To her consternation, people seemed to be hurrying toward their altercation. “Kit stop that!” she hissed, struggling with her veils. Perhaps they could not hear her above the uproar. Finally, she got all four of the veils disentangled and yanked them back. “Stop it right now, you pair of fools!”
Sir Lionel sat up looking pained as Kit dropped his fists. “Lenora!” her cousin exclaimed. “By all the saints, it is you!”
She plunked her hands on her hips. “Is that not what I told you from the outset?” she demanded, then noticed the stares from the crowd around them.
“Well!” grumbled Kit, looking aggrieved. “I’d like to know why my father told me that pack of lies!”
A pair of fellow squires darted out of the crowd and pulled Kit to his feet. Lenora recognized them from earlier. “You’re for it now Kit, my boy!” the chubbier of the two said, nudging Kit in the ribs. “You can’t go fighting ‘em when the fancy takes you!” The other, the handsome blonde boy regarded Lenora thoughtfully.
“Lady Lenora,” a nearby voice said contritely, and she looked round to find Sir Lionel sinking to his knees in the grass. “I can only earnestly beg your forgiveness,” he said wretchedly. “I did not realize—that is I scarcely thought—”
“You thought me a disreputable female, trysting with your squire,” Lenora supplied with some acerbity. “Who was fair game for your wandering hands.”
Sir Lionel’s face turned scarlet with embarrassment. “I- I—” Words failed him, and he hung his handsome head dejectedly. “I have no defense,” he said miserably.
Lenora marveled that this man who had professed himself her devoted servant had seen fit to opportune wenches while she was supposedly on her death bed. He had even had a poem commissioned some months ago, bragging of his steadfast heart that would never waver!
“Why don’t you give him a penance, Lady Lenora?” asked the blonde squire in a clear carrying voice.
“A penance?” Lenora looked around at the murmur of approval from the crowd. She glanced back down at Sir Lionel to find his eyes fixed on her face. Too late, she realized it was on full view of all and sundry. For a moment she was tempted to drag the coverings back over her face, but that would likely look rather cowardly. Besides, everyone had got a good look by now. Instead, she tilted her chin and held Sir Lionel’s gaze. To her surprise, he did not flinch away or look at her with sudden dawning horror.
“Will you not commission me, as your humble servant?” he beseeched, as flushed and pleading as he had always been in her presence.
Lenora’s mind went blank. Despite being such a beacon to courtly love, she had never been particularly good at its conventions. She darted a look of appeal toward the blonde squire and he sauntered forward to her side.
“It would seem appropriate, would it not, for Sir Lionel to make some reparation toward the fairer sex for his rude treatment of them?” he mused loudly, looking like he was enjoying himself. Again, the crowd was in the palm of his hand nodding and murmuring in agreement.
“What is your name, youth?” Lenora asked suddenly. “For I feel sure I know you.”
“Aye Lady Lenora, for you do know me. I am Cuthbert Ames, squire to Sir Roland Vawdrey.”
Lenora gave a quick nod. “Of course! I have seen you many times with my kinswoman the Lady Eden. That is a very good notion, Cuthbert.” She looked at him critically. “How would such a penance work?”
He tapped his chin, his blue eyes dreamy. For a moment he was lost in thought and then he spoke. “For the next three months,” he said in a ringing voice. “Sir Lionel should take up the mantle of a protector and champion of wronged women everywhere. He should ride hither and thither in search of these wrongs and set himself the righteous task of righting them.”
This seemed rather vague to Lenora, but clearly it found favor with the crowd who broke out into a spontaneous round of applause.
“I will do it,” said Sir Lionel hoarsely. “In your name.” To her surprise, the gaze he directed on her was just as slavish as ever. She blinked as he rose to his feet in front of her. “Will you give me some token, my lady?” he asked. “I have no right to expect such a thing, base wretch that I am, but it would give me purpose should my resolve fail.”
What strange creatures men were, Lenora thought, startled. Only moments ago, he had acted with gross impropriety, and now he was back to being all chivalrous and courtly again! What manner of token could she give him? she wondered. Then suddenly it came to her. Reaching up, she removed the smallest of the head veils, the one only long enough to cover her face and handed that to Sir Lionel. He swallowed and took it from her as if it were some precious jewel. For an instant, he pressed his own face to it, and then turned rather red.
“Hold hard!” piped up Kit, who was frowning now, his expression turning wrathful once more. “For now I think of it, I seem to remember my uncle wrote that you had run away from court with some knave! Which one of these miscreants was it?” He scanned the crowd keenly, passing a pointed finger over their number. “Speak up! Which one of you induced my cousin to bring disgrace on our family name?”
Beside her, Cuthbert sighed. “He’s damnably hot-headed, you know,” he said, clicking his tongue.
“Oh, I know,” Lenora murmured. “Always has been.”
“My fellow squires will stand with me, I’m sure!” Kit continued, clapping a hand to his stout friend’s shoulder. “Hal? You’ll stand my man in this matter?”
Hal looked rather dubious at the notion. He scratched his head. “Oh, er yes,” he said without enthusiasm and sent a pleading look in Cuthbert’s direction.
“Ames?” Kit barked. “You’re my second!”
“Yes, yes,” Cuthbert murmured. “Simmer down! It’s all in hand.”
“Lenora!” Kit said imperiously, turning to her. “You will reveal to me now, cousin, the name of the villain who besmirched our family name by fleeing with you without permission.”
Lenora had no sooner opened her mouth to try and staunch this new flow of disaster, then the crowd parted, and a tall figure pushed through.
“What’s going on here?” Garman demanded angrily. Kit took a hasty step back. Garman swung round in Lenora’s direction and narrowed his eyes. “Wife?”
Someone audibly gasped. Lenora shut her eyes briefly for a moment.
“Wife?” yelped Kit. “You never married him?”
“No,” uttered Sir Lionel in anguished tones. “Lenora, you cannot have!”
“Well, I have,” Lenora said, nimbly side-stepped Sir Lionel and walked over to Garman.
“Cousin,” she said gravely, addressing Kit as though he were a full-grown man and not some fifteen-year-old upstart. “This is my husband, Sir Garman Orde.” She placed a warning hand on her husband’s forearm. “Husband,” she said addressing Garman. “May I present my first cousin and my father’s heir, Christopher Montmayne, the younger.”
Garman was perfectly still. Kit looked uncertain for a moment, then his eyes sized up Garman’s bulk and guarded expression. He gave a stiff bow.
“There now,” her cousin’s friend Hal said heartily. He slapped Kit on the back. “Can’t say any fairer than that old fellow! All very civilized and proper!” His relief was palpable.
Cuthbert Ames drifted back over to their side. “All seems in order,” he agreed, clapping a restraining hand to Kit’s shoulder. “Wouldn’t you say?”
Lenora noticed uneasily that the crowd did not seem to be dispersing one whit. Did they really imagine that her husband was going to draw swords with a mere youth?
&nb
sp; “What’s Emworth doing here?” Garman asked in a quiet voice that immediately put Lenora on her guard.
“Oh! He has just begged me for a commission,” she said breezily. “He will be leaving on a quest for the next three months and will be setting forth immediately.” She shot a significant look at Sir Lionel who was still looking at her in a forlorn fashion. “Is that not so, Sir Lionel?” At her words he gave a visible start.
“Oh er, yes, Lady Lenora,” he mumbled, bowing. “Immediately.” Still his gaze lingered on her sadly, until he noticed the ugly expression on Garman’s face. He bowed very low, then beat a speedy retreat in the direction of his tent. At least he could take a hint, thought Lenora. Perhaps she had misjudged Sir Lionel altogether.
“Well,” said Kit, taking up his cudgels again. “You needn’t think I shall remain in his service after this outrage! Why I’ve never—hie! Leave go I say! I have not finished speaking with my cousin!” He struggled in vain as his two friends grabbed him roughly about his neck and dragged him unceremoniously off in the direction of the competition field.
Garman let his hostile gaze wander over the crowd until people began to melt away. “What was that about?” he growled as Lenora fell in step with him and they made their way in the direction of their tent.
“Oh, just my cousin Kit, you know,” she said airily. “I thought I would have some speech with him, but things got rather… heated. It seems my father had sent some word to him about our elopement. His father is my least favorite relation.” She grimaced thinking of her uncle Sir Christopher Montmayne. “But Kit is rather a dear, although somewhat prone to overreaction. He was determined to find out who had run away with me and causing rather a scene, I’m afraid.” Instinctively, Lenora felt it would be better all-around if Garman did not hear the bottom-pinching until after Sir Lionel had made his escape, if at all. “Did you win?” she asked brightly, not giving him time to question her further.
The Unlovely Bride (Brides of Karadok Book 2) Page 15