The Unlovely Bride (Brides of Karadok Book 2)

by Alice Coldbreath

  Her husband was not a chivalrous parfait knight, despite his win, she reminded herself. He most certainly had not been fueled by any desire to please her or crown her the worthiest lady in the land. He had won simply because he wanted the purse of silver, not the glory. He despised the adulation of the crowd. Still, she could not quite quash the gratitude she felt at the idea he had won partly because she had told him she wanted it. It gave her a warm feeling deep in the pit of her stomach.

  “When do you suppose you will return to Kellingford?” she asked impulsively.

  “Same time next year.”

  “So, it’s an annual tournament?”

  “Most of them are.”

  “Will you take me with you?”

  He shot her a measuring look. “If you still desire it,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders.

  “Why would I not?” asked Lenora startled.

  “You’ll likely be installed at Matchings Halt by then,” he said dismissively.

  Matchings Halt, Lenora remembered with a frown, was the fine estate Garman meant to buy from under some poor widow. Though where he would get the funds for that she did not know. Not unless her father handed over her dowry sooner rather than later. She shifted in her saddle uneasily. “I suppose I ought to write to my parents directly on our return,” she said without much enthusiasm.

  “Likely they’ll hear soon enough from your cousins, or someone else at court,” Garman answered without much interest.

  “Yes, but that would very likely get their backs up.”

  “Why should we care?”

  She shot a searching glance over at him. Did he really not care about her dowry? Or was this mere bravado?

  “Don’t write to them on my account,” he said gruffly. “I won’t care if you never speak with them again.”

  “What about my dowry?” she blurted, astonished by his words.

  “I don’t need it.” The curl of his lip spoke of utter disdain for her father’s money. Lenora’s jaw dropped. “You think I would take money from a man who had rather you had died, than recovered?” he demanded with an angry glint in his eye.

  “Well but…” Lenora’s words trailed off. “I did promise you would receive a handsome dowry if you wed me,” she struggled on.

  “You did,” he agreed. “But I went into this weighing the odds of that actually occurring. They seemed slight, even at the beginning. And now… I find I no longer care.”

  Lenora gaped at him. Did he just say that he’d take her with nothing? That he had taken her with nothing from the beginning? She spluttered a moment, unable to find words. Garman glanced at her dismissively and seemed to consider the subject a closed one. They rode the next hour or so in silence as Lenora furiously turned things over in her mind until her head started to positively ache.

  Was it possible that Garman Orde did in fact have some honor to him? He had been furious when she had told him of her parents’ hurtful words. She remembered how he had bodily put her from him and seemed shaken by the account. Then he had encouraged her to tell him about her relationship with her family, she remembered. He did have moments where he seemed to behave with decency and proper feeling.

  She stole another glance at him. If only he was a little more forthcoming about himself, she thought with frustration. Sometimes it seemed like he drew her closer to him and then took two steps back, pushing her away. “Are you looking forward to seeing your grandfather again?” she asked boldly.

  His expression grew distant. “I only saw him three days ago,” he pointed out.

  She hesitated. “Does he know about your plan to buy the Matchings Halt estate?”

  He shook his head, then shot her another guarded look. “I only ever spoke of it to the Hainfroys. Several years ago. When we spoke of… things we wanted to achieve.”

  He spoke of his dreams to his closest friends, she thought feeling wildly encouraged by this volunteered information. A boyish Garman having plans to buy his own estate made him seem a lot more approachable. “And did you speak to them of it again the other day, when we stayed with them?”

  “I believe I did make some mention of it.” He cleared his throat, looking a little uncomfortable at the admission.

  “What did they say?” asked Lenora curiously.

  He frowned. “They were surprised I think, that I still thought of the place.”

  “What’s it like? Shall I like it?”

  His brows rose again. “I think so,” he said slowly. “It’s a handsome house. Mellowed stone and well balanced, not ill-proportioned like Kellingford or neglected like Cofton Grange.” He hesitated again. “It’s a fine estate and prosperous, but not a grand one like you’re likely used to.”

  “Small is fine,” Lenora hastened to assure him. “I am not well-versed in the running of a household. It will be easier for me to pick up such things in a smaller house, rather than a large one like Hallam Hall.”

  A smile tugged at his lips before he suppressed it ruthlessly. “Maybe my grandfather could give you some lessons in household management,” he added, surprising her.

  “Your grandfather Sutton?”

  “Aye.”

  For a moment she wondered why he recommended asking a man who ran a modest sized farm, but then remembered he had before described his grandfather as a steward. At some point then, he must have had the running of a sizeable property. “Very well, I shall ask him, if you think he would be amenable to the idea.”

  He nodded briefly and turned back to scanning the road ahead.

  I wonder, thought Lenora. If I will ever make him out?

  27

  Something felt different. Garman had been aware of it as soon as he woke that morn. For starters, Lenora was using his bicep for a pillow again and his first impulse was not to shake her off. Not by a long shot. Of course, he hadn’t really objected to her place in his bed from the outset, but he didn’t want to examine that too closely. So, for now, he simply eyed her profile with both appreciation and vague unease as they once more approached Cofton Warren.

  It seemed strange to him, that courtiers thought her looks now ruined, simply because she had some roughened texture along her jawline and her eyelids were crinkly. For that was the sum total of the damage, in Garman’s eyes at least. True, he seemed to recall there had been a time, when he had thought her beauty gone. But that occasion, when he’d first surveyed her changed face seemed a lifetime ago, far longer than a mere couple of weeks. And he had never thought her life was over due to it, far from it. If anything, from all he had heard, it seemed to have been the making of her.

  She was still pretty. Anyone who couldn’t see that was a fool. His gut tightened when he thought of the fact others were not likely put off by a bit of pitted skin either. Like that bastard Emworth for instance. Lenora was adamant he hadn’t been trying to run off with her, but Garman had seen the look of longing on his face when he had eyed her. Emworth coveted her, but he wasn’t going to get her, for she was Garman’s. His had been the bedchamber she had crept to that night, and his was the wrist she had been bound to by the priest. That made her his, and no man could put their bond asunder. Such remembrances soothed the jealous tumult of his thoughts until he could breathe calmly again, which was just as well for they had practically reached the farm now.

  “When we get in, you’re going straight to bed,” he said firmly. She looked washed-out and pale after their four-hour ride.

  She looked up quickly and for a moment, he thought she would protest, but then she seemed to think better of it. “I am a little worn out,” she admitted with a wan smile.

  “You need a new poultice.”

  “Berta can probably make me one.”

  He thought it doubtful of someone who made their living laundering or laying out the dead but said nothing. He’d noticed Lenora didn’t like anyone to criticize her stiff-necked cousin or her old crone of a servant. Or her cats. And for some reason he didn’t want to earn her displeasure. Maybe because of her bandaged head.
Maybe not. Anyway, likely one of his grandfather’s staff could oblige with the poultice if her old gallows-hag could not.

  Some half-hour later, they reached the approach to the farm and Garman made haste to dismount his own mount and lift her down from hers. She didn’t even protest this time, and he saw her lips were pressed together as if she was in some discomfort.

  “Your head?” he asked quietly as a groom came forward to lead the horses into the stable.

  “A little sore,” she admitted.

  “I’ll be back out shortly to gather our things,” he said over his shoulder to the stable hand. “See the horses are rubbed down.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Swiftly he carried her up to the house. “Which way is our bedchamber?” he asked a servant at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Master Sutton, he’s put your lady wife in the best back bedchamber, sir,” she gasped with a small curtsey.

  Garman paused. “And myself?”

  “The master had your old room aired, sir.”

  Garman scowled. His grandfather was such a slave to propriety, always. But expecting them to sleep in separate rooms because the marriage was unsanctioned was ridiculous. Recalling to mind the tiny bed in the best back chamber, he headed for his old room instead.

  “You don’t have to carry me the entire way,” Lenora murmured against his shoulder before spoiling the effect by yawning.

  “You’re exhausted.” He threw open the door to his bedchamber and walked her straight over to the large bed. Despite the fact he was an infrequent visitor, his grandfather had allotted him one of the largest front bedchambers as befitted the owner. The big dark wooden bed was ready dressed in sheets ready for him. He set her down in the middle of the bed.

  “Don’t move. I’ll send up someone to lay the fire and bring you water to wash.” She nodded, raising a hand to her brow. Seeing the gesture, he carefully removed her hand to take a look under the poultice. “It needs to be re-dressed,” he said with a frown. “But it doesn’t look inflamed.”

  “Good,” she said and closed her eyes.

  He retreated and made good on his promises, sending servants up to her and then making his way down to the stables to collect his tournament gear. The next hour was spent seeing things stowed away and after that, he went along to check on Berta and the cats. He found all three in the kitchen. Berta was sat at the large table humming tunelessly as she pounded away at a bowl of pungent smelling mush.

  “What’s that smell?” he said, wrinkling his nose.

  “‘Tis yarrow root,” she cackled. “I’ve steeped it in vinegar for my lady to put on her wound.”

  He glanced at it doubtfully. “I suppose you know what you’re about.”

  “I do,” she said, nodding her head. “Raised three rascally boys in my time, and what I don’t know about cuts and bruises isn’t worth knowing!”

  He opened his mouth but was distracted from answering by something furry winding its way around his ankles and purring loudly. Recognizing the blue-gray pelt of Lenora’s youngest cat, he reached down, and he lifted the gangly youngster into his arms. “I’ll take this one up to her,” he said, though why he felt he had to explain his actions he had no notion.

  Berta nodded. “His mother has already ensconced herself on the bedcovers.”

  Garman glanced over to where his grandfather’s old hound was dozing at the kitchen fire. “You’ve had no strife from Kolby with the cats?”

  Berta snorted. “Him?” she said, gesturing over her shoulder with her thumb. “He’s at the time of life where he cares for nothing except a fire to lie beside and a full stomach. And why shouldn’t he?” She looked belligerent. “That time comes to us all.”

  Garman frowned at her a moment. “I’m sure my grandfather does not begrudge him such comforts in his old age.” He glanced over at Kolby, who rolled on to his back and yawned widely.

  “Pah!” said Berta, screwing her pestle almost violently. “It’s a cruel world for those that can’t shift as fast as once they could,” she said, pursing her lips together.

  Garman looked down to find he was absently stroking the cat’s gray fur. “Do you want me to take that up with me?” he asked, nodding toward the paste.

  Berta stopped abruptly and stepped back to take a good look at him. “And when did you start acting so handsome?” she demanded but snatched up the bowl and shoved it in his hand all the same. “See she slathers it all over the sore parts, mind.” Then she turned her back to him and stomped across the kitchen, before wrenching open the door and disappearing.

  Garman watched her slam the door shut behind her and met Kolby’s eye when the startled hound looked up with a look of enquiry on his face.

  “I’ve no idea,” Garman told the dog, then carried Fendrel up to her bedchamber.

  “Berta’s in some towering dudgeon about something or other,” he announced, setting Fendrel down on the bed next to Lenora and the pretty white cat Grizelda.

  “There you are, Fendrel!” Lenora greeted the kitten. “Took your sweet time coming up to welcome me back.” She glanced at Garman. “I daresay he was waiting for you.” He made no reply to that, just watched her pet and kiss the kitten, murmuring to him in a sweet, low voice. “Did you miss us? Did you? Oh, my dear little boy.”

  He set the bowl of paste down on the table next to the bed. “This is for you.”

  Lenora glanced at it. “I’m not eating that,” she warned.

  He smiled sourly. “It’s not for consumption.”

  “What is it for then?”

  “Berta made it for your bruises.”

  “Oh, I see.” Lenora peered into the bowl with interest, then wrinkled her nose. “Why is she in a high dudgeon?” she asked, his words sinking in.

  Garman poured a jug of clean water into the bowl and started his wash.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “She wasn’t so obliging as to tell me.” He felt Lenora’s eyes on his back and glanced back over his shoulder at her in enquiry.

  “Are you being sarcastic?” she asked with sudden suspicion.

  “Not especially.”

  “Well in my experience, Berta usually does not hold back, but is most forthcoming. Then again…”

  He plunged the cloth into the basin, then lathered it with soap leaves. “What?” he asked, almost in spite of himself.

  She hesitated. “You are not exactly encouraging, when it comes to the sharing of confidences.”

  He grunted. “Is that your experience of me?”

  She fell silent a moment as he dried his face and neck. “No,” she admitted. “I was not being fair. In truth, I have confided more in you this last couple of weeks than I have in anyone this last six months.”

  He turned around and regarded her. She was lying against the pillows in the middle of his bed, wrapped in a black and gold robe which she had donned over her shift after undressing. Her golden hair was coming out of the twist at her nape, falling about her face in loose ringlets. The effect was pleasing and only marred by the dressing at her brow.

  “Let’s take that off,” he said, nodding to it. “And try Berta’s cure.”

  Lenora pressed her lips together in resolve and reached up for the poultice.

  “I’ll do it,” he said, crossing the room and batting away her hands. She submitted to his ministrations meekly and though she tensed when he started applying Berta’s paste, did not object. “Tell me if it starts to sting,” he ordered.

  “It doesn’t sting,” she answered him cautiously. “Though it does tingle a little.”

  For the next couple of minutes, he concentrated solely on his task. The flesh was bruised and still swollen, though no longer the size of an egg. He cursed under his breath at the mottled color that was starting to come out. A little lower and she would have blacked an eye.

  “I said, was this your bedchamber when you were a boy?” she asked patiently as he wrapped a clean strip of cloth over the treated area. From her expression, he guessed she had rep
eated the question more than once.

  “Yes.”

  “Rather a large room for a small child.” This he ignored. “It must be the biggest bedchamber in the house,” she persisted. “I’m surprised your grandfather did not take it for his own.”

  Garman grimaced. “My grandfather has always been very conscious of my due.”

  “You mean because as your maternal grandfather he has no claim on the place?”

  He pulled a face. “Precisely.”

  “Well,” she said. “It is surely in his favor that he is so scrupulous. No-one wants an encroaching guardian.”

  “In my view, he’s always been a good deal too scrupulous,” he said, turning away and heading back to the basin to wash his hands.

  The bed rustled as Lenora settled once more against the pillows. She looked thoughtful, as though she had every intention of continuing the conversation. For some reason, that did not irritate him as much as he would have expected. Still, he did not mean to encourage her in poking and prying into his family set-up, so he would need to nip that in the bud.

  He steeled himself up to snub her as he picked up the basin of dirty water to carry out. “I’ll send more logs up for the fire,” he said, walking to the door.

  Lenora nodded, distracted as Grizelda sauntered up the bed to touch noses with her. “Thank you,” she said with a smile that somehow warmed him. “Not just for the logs but for this,” she said, pointing to her dressing.

  He nodded briefly and left the room. He was halfway down the stairs when his grandfather hailed him from the hallway, asking after Lenora. Gerard Sutton exclaimed and tutted over his account of her injuries a while, bemoaning what a nasty, rough life the tournament one was.

  “She loves it,” Garman answered coolly, which seemed to halt the older man’s flow of conversation abruptly. “By the by, did you say anything to Lenora’s servant? About her being past a useful age?” he asked.

  His grandfather looked startled. “I?”