“Even if I will be sent to Vawdrey Keep shortly?” she asked in puzzlement.
“You can maintain two wardrobes. One here at court and one in the country.”
The extravagance of such a notion appeared to shock her.
“When you were presented at court formerly,” he persisted. “You would have had a formal court gown.”
“Oh yes,” she agreed. “My father had it commissioned. But that was years ago.”
Oswald nodded. “Before or after our marriage?” he asked, swinging fully on to the large bed. He piled some pillows behind him and patted the wide mattress. “Come and join me, Fenella.”
She looked nervous as she approached the bed from the opposite side, still fastening the long row of round silver buttons down the front of the dressing robe. It was far too long for her and she almost tripped on the hem, before clambering onto the bed and arranging her own pile of cushions to recline on. He saw she held her breath, when he reached across to touch her face with the back of his hand.
“You don’t feel feverish,” he commented withdrawing. He heard her in-drawn shaky breath as he rolled back to his own side of the bed. Really, the bed was so wide that they could both sleep in it without ever touching. Doubtless she was remembering that very morning when she had woken to his hard cock pressed against her buttocks. His lips twisted. No-one had been more surprised than he to wake up to soft female body in his arms. Reaching behind his head he grabbed a large pillow and then dropped it lengthways between them. “I’m afraid I do expect you to sleep in the same bed as me, while we are at court. But we could use a bolster between us if it makes you more comfortable about my intentions.”
“Thank you,” she said with such clear relief it almost made him smile. He watched her relax back onto the pillows and rearrange his robe around her.
“Are you hungry? I’ve told Meldon to serve our meal in here. Otherwise I’ll have to perform introductions to my brother Roland that I’m sure you’re not prepared for.”
“I remember Roland,” she said surprising him. “He spent our entire betrothal feast pulling faces at me.”
Oswald grimaced. “Yes, that does sound like him,” he agreed. “I’d like to tell you he has improved with age but that would be a lie.”
She looked a bit taken aback. “Well, you met my brother Gilbert,” she said lamely. “He – he does have some good qualities,” she added painstakingly.
Oswald was tempted to ask what they were, but didn’t want to make her freeze back up again. He had seen no discernible virtue in her brother. Certainly not in the way he had abruptly abandoned her to his own tender mercies. “You did not answer my question,” he said instead.
“Question?”
“About your court dress.”
She cleared her throat. “I was aged fifteen years when I was presented at the summer court at Caer-Lyonnes. I suppose, we were married at that time,” she said weakly. “Though of course, we neither of us knew of it.” She cast a quick appraising look at him. “You were in battle at the time in the north. We heard tell you were captured briefly, at Adarva.” She tucked her feet up behind her and rolled onto her side to look at him.
Aiming to keep their conversation flowing, although not a subject he was keen to discuss, Oswald nodded in agreement. “Yes,” he answered. “For four months.”
Her eyes were wide. “You were a prisoner?”
“You must not imagine I was in some dank prison cell. Nothing so terrible I assure you. Instead my status wavered between guest and hostage, depending on the fickle loyalties of my host Sir Arnold Pryke. It was a trying time, mostly due to a healing battle wound and my frustration at being cooped up against my will.”
She digested this a moment. “It must have been hard at twenty-one. How did you escape?”
He smiled again. “I didn’t. You must not expect heroics from me, Fenella. My Father finally paid the ransom and I was free to join the King’s army again.”
“What happened to Sir Arnold Pryke?” she asked fixing her gaze on him expectantly.
He was silent a moment. “I forget now,” he yawned. “He came to some inglorious end I’m sure. It’s never wise to provoke a savage beast.” He turned his head to look at her. “Wymer’s sigil is the golden lion. He is very warlike in battle. My other brother is his chief general. Do you remember Mason at all?”
“Ye-es,” she replied. “He was closer to you in age and very stern, even at eighteen.”
“Stern?” Oswald considered this. “Perhaps. His upbringing was not particularly joyful as my father’s bastard.”
“But he is distinguished now?” she ventured. “Is he not?”
“Very,” he agreed. “I believe you will like my sister-in-law, Linnet. Mason dotes on her.”
She looked surprised by this piece of information. “Do they come much to court?”
“Infrequently of late. They have three children and the youngest is still not a year old.”
A knock on the door startled them both, but it was only Meldon scowling over a dinner tray. He set it down with a rattle on a side table. “Anything else?”
Oswald surveyed the trencher with a selection of roast meats, cheeses and apples.
“I thought, after feeling unwell you would not want a heavy meal this evening.” He said to Fenella, shooting her a look of enquiry. “But if you are feeling up to more courses, then we can send Meldon down to the kitchen for more.”
“No, no this will certainly suffice,” she hurriedly assured him, sending a quick smile Meldon’s way.
“I believe that will be all for this evening,” said Oswald to his manservant. He wanted the relaxed mood between the two of them to continue. “I have instructed for some tradesmen to attend you over the next few days. It would please me greatly if you would engage their services.” He passed her a goblet of wine which she took.
“Yes, you said,” she nodded. “A tailor.” She took a sip of wine.
“And a few others,” he added casually.
Fenella lowered her cup, looking confused.
“A shoe-maker, glove maker,” said Oswald waving a hand. “That sort of thing.”
“Oh.”
He lifted two chairs from against the wall and drew them up to the small table with the food tray. “Come and sit,” he said, glancing over to where she was watching him from the bed. “I’m afraid this is very informal, but in the light of our long-standing legal status…” He watched her covertly as she slid off the bed and crossed the room to join him, her bare feet peeking out from under the blue silk hem as she walked. He cleared his throat.
“Of course, there is the matter of some betrothal token betwixt us…”
Fenella’s color rose into her face as he pulled out a seat for her. “Is that really necessary? Only it seems a little late in the day for that.”
“I notice you wear no ring for Thane?” he said, setting some meat on her plate.
She looked at him blankly a moment. “Ambrose did give me a brooch when we were promised,” she said. “But I left it in my jewelry box at home. I did not want to lose it and the pin was loose.”
“At Thurrold,” he corrected her. “Thane’s home.”
Her eyes flew to his. “Yes, that’s what I meant-” she stammered. “Forgive me, my lord. It will take me a little time to accustom myself.”
“Of course,” he said smoothly as he sliced the loaf. “It is not to be wondered at.” He could hear her rapid breathing and the fact she was quietly panicking, but was not sure how to reassure her. Instead he buttered her bread and placed it on her plate. “Eat, you need to build up your strength.”
“Yes, my lord,” she mumbled and took a bite.
“I don’t remember if there was a token between us previously,” mused Oswald with a slight frown. He looked at her questioningly, as she froze bread in hand. “I’m inclined to think not. My Father was not good with the niceties of social occasions. I doubt I would have known much about engagement traditions at nineteen.”<
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Fenella dropped her bread onto her plate. She gave an awkward laugh. “I am heartily glad to hear you say so, my lord,” she said and took a hearty sip of cider wine. “I’m afraid I sent you some very juvenile examples of my tapestry work.” She winced. “I am much encouraged that you do not remember them.”
Oswald frowned. “I thought I remembered something about you weaving, or the like.”
Her shoulders relaxed down. “I wonder what happened to them,” she said. “Hopefully your father threw them out.”
“Very likely,” agreed Oswald dryly. “Or his pack of dogs slept on them. My father was no connoisseur of the arts.”
Fenella laughed. “That would be all they were fit for. And if that was their fate, they would have fallen apart long ago.”
He noticed she looked quite cheerful about the fact. Fenella’s tapestry must be very bad, he thought and hoped Bryce had not added a loom to the list of things to purchase on her behalf. “And I gave you nothing in return,” he mused. “You must see why I must be allowed to make amends now.”
She paused in the act of lifting a slice of apple to her mouth. Forcing a smile, she nodded her head. “If it would please you, my lord.”
“It would please me. I was clearly very remiss.”
“We were just children after all,” she murmured. “I don’t suppose you have heard from my brother today?” she said changing the subject.
“Not yet. Indeed, he made no promise to send immediate word on reaching Sitchmarsh. Is that his usual practice?”
She shook her head. “Gilbert is not much of a letter-writer. I only thought, because of the unusual circumstances...” her words trailed off.
“Perhaps I should have sent word,” he said smoothly filling the awkward gap. “But I did not wish to worry him by telling him you were unwell,” he lied calmly.
“Oh, of course. That was thoughtful.” She looked uncertain, but that could be if her brother would much care. He had not struck Oswald as the caring type.
“I think it would be better if you kept to these rooms for the next few days while you recuperate and we ready you for court.” He carried on casually. “After all, first impressions are important and we don’t wish to give rise to more gossip and speculation than is strictly necessary.”
Fenella swallowed her mouthful of food. “Of course, my lord. I am sure you know what is best and will be led by you.”
Yes, he thought looking at her as she wiped her mouth with a napkin. She would be a sensible sort of wife, the sort that caused very little bother. He remembered the solemn child he had once been betrothed to. She had listened to every word he had uttered, with a surprising intensity. She still did that, he realized with a faint smile. She would do very well for his purposes. He would just have to remember to be considerate toward her. Doubtless she did not anticipate much consideration, if her boorish brother was anything to go by. And at the end of the day, that would be far more practical to him than even an ambitious, clever or beautiful wife. He had done well.
**
Fenella woke several times during the night, mostly with her sore throat and stuffy nose. The first time, she was surprised to find Lord Vawdrey reading by candle-light on his side of the bed.
“Did the light wake you?” he asked quietly.
“No, no,” she said taking a hurried sip of water. “It is just my scratchy throat. I will fall asleep again presently.” She lay back down and rolled onto her side away from him, closing her eyes. Luckily sleep soon came and the next time she woke, the room was all in darkness. She could hear his steady breathing from close by and lay awake a while listening to it. It seemed so odd to think this was her husband now. This stranger lying on the mattress beside her. She reached out tentatively and felt the bolster solidly between them. Her eyes could make out no shape in the dark, but she lay a while anyway, trying to make out his profile in the shadows. She must have dropped off to sleep for the next thing she knew, she was waking to grey morning light and the heavy, warm feeling of a big male body pressed against her back, one large hand resting on her hip. Fen blinked into her pillow. Not again! Where was the bolster? She lifted her head to twist her body and peer over her shoulder, but the hand tightened its grip on her hip holding her place.
“Keep still,” a disgruntled male voice, thick with sleep growled at her.
Fen was so surprised, she did just that. Oswald Vawdrey’s face pressed into the back of her neck and breathed out. He shifted closer to her, his hand sliding round from her hip, over the swell of her stomach and settling at her waist before pulling her firmly back into his sleeping body. Fen gave a gasp of surprise but his breathing had evened back out and she realized after a few moments that he was sound asleep again. She lowered her head back onto the pillow and squeezed her eyes shut. After all, it would be pointless remonstrating with a sleeping man. To her own astonishment, she did manage to drift off to sleep again for the next thing she knew she heard the door opening and Meldon’s shuffling footsteps and the sloshing of the water ewer. However, when she tried to move she realized her legs were firmly entangled with two much longer, stronger and more muscular than her own. She lifted her head and held her breath as she felt him startled out of sleep behind her.
“What the-?”
“Meldon’s here,” she said hurriedly.
He cursed and disentangled himself, rolling onto his back. Fen made haste to pull her shift down, which had ridden up high on her legs.
Meldon regarded them both askance. “Washing water,” he said. “And a clean shift for the mistress,” He threw it over a chair back before stomping back out.
“I suppose I should really procure you a lady’s maid,” mumbled Oswald, rubbing a hand over his face. He yawned.
Fen surreptitiously glanced over the bed but could see no sign of the bolster.
“Will you wash first, or will I?” he asked turning to her.
She pondered this one a moment. From what she could see Lord Vawdrey once again was not wearing a stitch of clothing under the sheets.
“I will, if that is agreeable to you,” she said hurriedly and averted her eyes from his lolling figure. She didn’t know if she could go through that spectacle again.
“Of course,” he said.
Fen clambered from the bed with as much dignity possible but it was so high that she had to slide down the side with a thud. Hoping he had not received an unimpeded view of her bare backside, she scrambled to pull her shift back down around her plump knees.
Lord Vawdrey coughed. “How’s your throat this morn?”
Fenella turned back to look at him and promptly went sprawling onto the floor as she tripped over some unseen object on the floor.
“Fenella?”
Fen sprang up, red-faced and once again had to straighten her wretched shift. If he hadn’t seen her generous behind before, he certainly had now, she thought dying of mortification. She looked down and saw the bolster lying innocuously on the floor. So, there it was! “I’m fine,” she panted, flinging her braid over her shoulder and trying not to look flustered. “It – it feels practically recovered today,” she assured him, not daring to look at his face. She approached the pitcher of hot water and sloshed some into the basin. Snatching up a cloth, she dunked it and starting to wash furiously at her face and neck.
“Don’t scrub so hard your face rubs off,” said a voice closer than she’d expected. “I happen to like the way you look.” She whipped round to find Lord Vawdrey picking the bolster up off the floor and tossing it onto the bed. He was still naked. Fen dropped the wash-cloth through nerveless fingers. It landed in the bowl with a loud splash and soaked all down the front of her thin shift. She squealed. What the hells was wrong with her this morning?
“What is it? Did you scald yourself?” He was right behind her now.
“No, no,” she hurried to assure him and nearly jumped out of her skin when his hands came to rest on her upper arms.
“Did you hurt yourself?”
F
en took a shaky breath. “No, my lord.”
“Good.” He dropped his hands and picked up the peacock blue robe of his that she had worn the evening before. To her surprise, he put it on. She glimpsed the scar on his back as he swung the robe on. But what was she supposed to wear? She looked around for the clean shift Meldon had brought her. That wouldn’t be warm enough. Did he expect her to remain a-bed again today? But if so, Meldon had not lit the fire in the bedroom. When she realized his eyes were back on her, she returned to her ablutions with renewed vigor, anxious to avoid his gaze.
Lord Vawdrey retreated to the other side of the room, when he returned he had his red satin dressing robe over his arm. He placed it on the bed for her next to the clean shift. “When you’re dressed come into the adjoining chamber,” he said. “We’ll have breakfast in there.” He paused. “If you need any help-”
“No, no,” Fenella hastened to assure him as she tried to obscure the fact her already transparent shift was soaked and plastered to her chest. “I’m sure I can manage, thank you.”
He stood a moment, and then abruptly turned on his heel and strode from the room. Fen breathed out a relieved sigh and immediately dragged the wet shift over her head. She hopped over to the bed and pulled the clean one on. The only consolation she could draw was that there was precious little else she could do to humiliate herself in this man’s presence! So far he had seen her cry, vomit, and lay in his bed in a state of sweaty delirium. Giving him an unsolicited glimpse of her chubby body was probably the least of the awful things he had been exposed to! She turned her attentions to donning the scarlet dressing robe with its heavily decorated sleeves. It really was beautiful and she was surprised that he had given her this one to wear. They had done a swap from the previous evening. She hurried over the gold toggle-type fastenings down the front of the robe until her shift was concealed. Then she set about tidying her long brown hair into another long braid. It really was the best she could do without any of her hair ornaments from home. Shrugging off her less than conventional appearance, she headed for the door and into the adjoining room where she could hear male voices speaking in low tones. To her surprise, she had no sooner opened it than a black muscular form hurtled toward her.
His Forsaken Bride (Vawdrey Brothers Book 2) Page 10