His Forsaken Bride (Vawdrey Brothers Book 2)

by Alice Coldbreath

  Mason gave a short uneasy laugh. “It can’t be that bad, surely?”

  The worst thing was, when Oswald closed his eyes, he kept seeing her face from when he tore into her about that ridiculous play. She looked traumatized and for some godsdamn reason, that bothered him too. He was the wronged party here! But that did not seem to matter to his conscience, which was tearing him to shreds. Oswald massaged his temples. “I’ve already decided to send her down to Vawdrey Keep,” he said in a tired voice. “There’s nothing more to be said.”

  “Oh really?” asked Mason scathingly.

  “That was the original plan. I leave her at the Keep, while I carried on at court.”

  “That was your plan?” his brother asked. “Then what changed?”

  Oswald ignored him. “I’ll resolve things with her on my return,” he said firmly.

  Mason snorted. “If she’s still there when we get back.”

  Oswald looked up in surprise. “Where else would she be?”

  “You rejected her,” pointed out Mason. “Publicly humiliated her – and mind, you’re not the first husband to have done that to her. And made it widely known that you don’t give a damn about her. Would it be outside the realm of expectations that she might take herself off? There was property in her dowry, I assume? People she could go to – her brother.”

  Oswald stared at him. “I did not reject her,” he said forcefully. “I merely told you that I planned to send her to Vawdrey Keep on my return.”

  Mason shook his head. “And you think she would have been unaware of this decision?”

  “I never said one word to her about it,” insisted Oswald.

  “She’d know,” said Mason. “If we could all tell you’d gone cold on her, then you can your life bet she would have.”

  Gone cold on her? “I never said I didn’t give a damn.”

  Mason rolled his eyes. “You may as well have.”

  “Fenella’s more straightforward than most women,” he said obstinately. “She doesn’t misunderstand every little gesture or remark.”

  “You mean she’s used to being treated like shit,” said Mason.

  Oswald stopped in his tracks. “What?”

  “That’s what you said, wasn’t it? By Thane and her brother.”

  Oswald narrowed his eyes at his brother. “What are you doing?” he asked softly.

  “I’m pointing out the blatantly obvious.”

  “And, what is that exactly?” asked Oswald in a dangerous voice.

  “You need to treat your wife better.”

  Oswald exhaled noisily. “Mason, you’d better watch your step. You know nothing about my wife.”

  “I know she was humiliated, and on the verge of tears watching that bloody play you made her sit through.”

  “And how would you know that?” asked Oswald sharply.

  “Because unlike you, I was actually looking at her.”

  Oswald stared at him. “She wanted to cry?” he asked tightly.

  Mason nodded. “And then you left her alone in your bed and spent the night elsewhere. If actions speak louder than words, then you dealt her a hefty blow.”

  Oswald sat down heavily. Shit. The play had been so ludicrous that watching it performed had actually robbed it of its sting for him. Could it be that the experience had been different for Fenella? He felt suddenly cold, in the pit of his stomach.

  Mason drew out a chair opposite him and sat down. ““Linnet once cried because I told her I didn’t want to hear her every thought,” he confided.

  “Really? Why did you do that?” asked Oswald warily.

  “Because I was a stupid son of a bitch.”

  Oswald considered this a moment. “Mason, Linnet never stops chattering at you.”

  “I changed my mind,” said Mason smugly.

  Oswald thought about this. Mason had the happiest marriage of anyone he knew. “I may not have been the most considerate husband,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t mean-” he broke off his words.

  Mason looked at him hard. “You resent her because you were tricked into marriage,” he suggested.

  Oswald gave a short laugh. “Hardly.” There was a heavy pause. He met his brother’s gaze. “It was the other way around,” he said softly. “I trapped her.”

  Mason’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s not what everyone thinks.”

  Oswald shrugged. “People think what I want them to think. It’s always been that way.”

  Mason sat back in his seat, stretching out his long legs. “Roland always said that about you.”

  Oswald smiled mirthlessly. “Roland’s not my greatest admirer.”

  “Nor mine,” snorted Mason. “He misses Father. He’s jealous of our closeness.”

  Oswald shot a look of surprise at Mason. “Roland?”

  “Aye. He feels left out.”

  Oswald digested this in silence.

  “Why did you trap her?” asked Mason curiously.

  “It was convenient at the time,” answered Oswald sounding tired. It seemed like such a long time ago.

  “But not anymore?”

  Convenient? To have a wife who plagued his every waking thought? Oswald gave a short shake of his head.

  “Why haven’t you just sent her down to Vawdrey Keep before?” asked Mason with interest.

  “Because I don’t want her out of my sight.” His voice was harsh. He didn’t moderate his tone.

  “Yet, you just told me…”

  “I was lying through my teeth,” Oswald gritted out. “I lie all the time. Didn’t Roland tell you that?”

  Mason shrugged. “You don’t lie about important things. Just,” he waved a hand. “Court politics and the like.”

  “I lie about everything,” said Oswald bitterly.

  Mason remained silent a moment.

  “Maybe if Father had just let me marry her when I was twenty-one,” carried on Oswald. “I would have turned out differently.”

  Mason frowned. “How so?”

  Oswald shook his head.

  “Whatever it is, it’s not insurmountable,” said Mason slowly.

  Oswald looked up at him sharply, but said nothing.

  “You remember when you said that to me?” asked Mason. “Your scraggy bastard brother, who didn’t know how to hold a sword, and had to beg for a place in the practice hall.”

  “You never begged for anything in your life.” Oswald smiled fleetingly.

  “Only because you would never stand for it. I knew who it was who looked out for me,” said Mason. “Not Father. You.”

  Oswald said nothing.

  “If anyone ever called you a liar, I would strike him down where he stood,” said Mason. His voice had an undercurrent of emotion which made his brother wince.

  Oswald opened his mouth, then closed it again. “Alright, maybe not everything,” he conceded grudgingly. “But a good deal.”

  “All men lie,” insisted Mason. “They just don’t all torture themselves about it afterward.”

  Oswald closed his eyes briefly. “You just told me I was a shit husband, Mason.”

  His brother gave a grim smile. “Aye, so I did. Maybe I didn’t realize it would send you into a pit of despair.” He shrugged. “All men are shit husbands, at first. Even me.”

  Oswald smiled reluctantly. “I remember.”

  “Humph,” grunted Mason. “You derived great amusement from my struggles, as I recall.”

  Oswald’s smile twisted. “You were pretty bad at it.”

  “Careful,” Mason cautioned him.

  “This marriage. It didn’t start…as it should,” admitted Oswald.

  “Well, no,” agreed Mason scratching his chin. “You jilted her. She worshipped the ground you walked on and you barely noticed her.”

  “Not that,” said Oswald irritably. “I mean, that wasn’t right either, but that wasn’t my choice.” Gods damn it, he hadn’t even considered that first wrong he’d done her! “I meant, by trapping her this time around.”

 
; “Is she holding it against you?” asked Mason.

  There was a heavy pause before Oswald answered. “She doesn’t know.”

  His brother’s eyebrows rose at that. “You might want to keep it that way,” recommended Mason.

  “Would you really keep Linnet in the dark?” Oswald asked.

  Mason gave a laugh. “I’d do all manner of unscrupulous things to keep my wife by my side. Never doubt it.”

  Oswald found he didn’t.

  The tent flap opened again and Roland came in, stamping his feet. “It’s bitter out there,” he complained. “Whose idea was this wretched camp-out?” He shot an accusatory look at Oswald.

  “Mine,” Oswald admitted. “I can’t seem to stop making bad decisions lately.”

  “Are you talking about your marriage?” asked Roland flinging himself into a chair. “Because if you are, I think that’s a damned insult to Fenella. If you ask me,” he said fixing his brother with a stern eye. “Marrying her was one of your better ones!”

  “I agree,” said Oswald, surprised that Roland even had an opinion on his marriage.

  “I suppose you’re cutting up rough, because everyone knows you’re flesh and blood now instead of a damn monk,” snorted Roland.

  Oswald shrugged. “Is that what everyone is saying?” he asked without much concern.

  Roland nodded. “Oh aye, Bevan said playing cards with you was the first time you seemed vaguely human and not like a calculating statue!”

  “Well, I appreciate your candor as always,” said Oswald dryly.

  “See,” said Roland, pointing a finger at him. “You’re doing it again. Retreating behind a mask. Never saying what you really feel.”

  “You want to know what I really feel?” asked Oswald. “I doubt it.”

  “Try us,” said Mason, suddenly wading back into the conversation.

  Oswald was silent a moment. Well, what the hell. He may as well .“I feel like there’s something corrosive inside my chest.” He said slowly, touching his fingers to his heart. “It’s going to eat its way out. You don’t have the first idea.”

  “I do know,” said Mason simply.

  “Indigestion?” hazarded Roland looking completely lost.

  Mason rolled his eyes. “Jealousy. And you’re right, it will leave a gaping hole in your chest if you don’t do something about it.”

  Oswald eyed him with annoyance. “I must have missed the part where Linnet was married to another man before you,” he said sarcastically.

  “I thought you said her previous marriage wasn’t legal?” retorted Mason innocently.

  “Which, when you think about it,” said Roland frowning. “Puts my sister-in-law in a damn awkward position. Living with him for those years as she did.”

  Oswald glared at them both. “You’re both making me feel worse,” he said darkly.

  “What are you going to do about it?” asked Mason. “Linnet’s worried. I’m worried. Even Roland’s worried.”

  “And how are we supposed to have the first idea, if you won’t ever have any plain, honest speech with us?” asked Roland belligerently. “You never tell me anything!”

  “For god’s sake Roland,” Oswald said bitterly.

  “How about I start then,” said Roland. “When I was fifteen, I was your squire at Adarva and I saw you cut down in the field and was so traumatized I could not speak of it for three months. By the time I confessed to Father that I thought you were dead, he’d received the demand for your ransom and told me I was not only weak in the head, but a coward for not fighting my way through to your side to check if you were still alive.”

  Mason and Oswald both stared at him.

  “You saw him cut down?” repeated Mason incredulously. “Why did you not tell me?”

  Roland swallowed. “I thought he was dead,” he repeated. “He took an axe in his back.”

  “An axe?” repeated Mason.

  Both his brothers turned to face him, and Oswald exhaled. “I didn’t know you’d witnessed anything.”

  “When I tried to speak to you of it afterward, you dismissed me and said you’d only suffered a scratch,” insisted Roland.

  “I know,” said Oswald in a tired voice.

  “You think I don’t know the difference between a scratch and a killing blow?” Roland’s voice shook.

  “I’m sorry,” said Oswald. “I didn’t realize.”

  “The groomsmen used to tell me stories of the undead who return to avenge those who have wronged them. For years I thought you were a wraith come back to get me for leaving you there,” scowled Roland. “Did you know I wet the bed for a six month?”

  “Is that why you won’t take Cuthbert for a squire?” asked Mason suddenly.

  Roland looked startled, but then looked away. “Probably,” he muttered.

  “Did Fen tell you I have scars?” asked Oswald, getting his breath back. “You should know women are prone to exaggerate these things.”

  “She never mentioned scars,” said Roland heavily. “She’s very loyal, not that you’ve ever noticed.”

  The brothers sat in silence a moment.

  “Very well,” said Oswald sitting up straighter. “Ask what you will. I’ll answer you to the best of my ability.”

  “I want to see the scar on your back,” said Mason.

  “What?” This pulled Oswald up short.

  “I don’t believe your wife is prone to exaggeration,” said Mason deliberately. “I think your wounds must have been grievous after Adarva, and for some godforsaken reason, you refused to let our father or anyone else know of it.”

  Oswald let out a short, bitter laugh. “What the hells does that matter now?” he demanded.

  “It would be a start at least,” retorted Mason. “A step in the right direction.” He looked toward Roland. “What say you?”

  Their younger brother shrugged. “Better late than never.”

  Oswald appeared to struggle inwardly a moment. Then, with an exclamation, he started unlacing his tunic. “Very well, if it will make you happy,” he muttered. After a few tense moments, he shucked it over his head and turned his back to face them.

  There was a deafening silence and then someone let out a hiss.

  “Holy shit,” said Roland hoarsely. “A sword never wrought that damage… I was right wasn’t I? It was an axe.”

  “Battle axe,” agreed Oswald. “You were right.”

  “You nearly died then,” said Mason flatly. “And you never saw fit to tell any of us.”

  “What would have been the point?” Oswald threw over his shoulder. “Have you had your fill?” he asked, reaching for his tunic.

  “You could have died,” persisted Mason. “It’s a miracle you didn’t.”

  Oswald sighed, pulled on his tunic and dropped back into his chair. “I wouldn’t be the first soldier to die in battle.”

  “But I wouldn’t have known,” said his brother angrily. “Everything you’ve done for me. You only joined the army to keep a watch over me.”

  Roland looked surprised by this. “Did he? I thought he did it to please Father.”

  Mason shot an exasperated look at Roland. “When did he ever do anything to please the old man?” he asked. “Oh aye, he said nay and yay where he was supposed to, but Father knew deep down Oswald never gave a damn about following in his footsteps. That’s why he used to get so frustrated with him. That and the fact he was ten times cleverer than the rest of us.” He turned back to Oswald and pointed a finger at him. “You let me, and Father, think you were four months languishing as a hostage, when actually, you must have been hovering at death’s door the whole time,” he said accusingly.

  “I’m a very fast healer,” said Oswald. “My recovery almost alarmed the surgeon. I was up and about by the end of the second month.”

  “You’re doing it again,” said Mason heavily. “Twisting the facts to suit your own purpose. Playing down the truth.”

  Oswald rubbed the side of his face tiredly. “It’s second nature to
me now, Mason,” he said quietly. “Half the time I don’t even know I’m doing it.”

  “You mean lying?” asked Roland with a frown.

  “Manipulating the truth,” Oswald corrected him.

  Mason snorted, but sat back in his chair.

  “But right now, you’re being open and above board?” Roland persisted, narrowing his eyes.

  “Yes, damn it.”

  “Right,” said Roland. “Then I want to know how Sir Arnold Pryke died.”

  Oswald eyed him with surprise. “Why are you asking me that? It hardly matters after all this time.”

  “I’ve a notion it was you that killed him.”

  “What?” thundered Mason, sitting forward in his seat again.

  Oswald sat silent.

  “Is it true?” demanded Mason.

  Oswald closed his eyes briefly. The question hung heavy in the air. “Of course it’s true,” he said simply. “It seemed expedient. I really couldn’t waste any more time playing the prisoner. The situation had become quite untenable.”

  Mason looked winded. “An assassin killed Pryke,” he insisted. “He was found with his throat cut.”

  Oswald shrugged.

  “What does that mean?” demanded Mason.

  “Oswald did it,” said Roland. He turned to Oswald looking triumphant. “I’m right aren’t I?”

  Oswald didn’t answer him. He looked toward Mason with an odd expression on his face.

  “When you think about it, it sort of makes sense,” said Roland nodding his head. “I mean, look at the company he keeps. All those agents always slithering about, passing him notes and such like. Then he’s hand in glove with that Bardulf character. Bev told me he was an assassin.”

  “Hardly hand in glove!” cut in Oswald looking annoyed.

  “That’s the bit you argue with?” asked Mason incredulously. He couldn’t seem to stop staring at his older brother. He snatched up his cup of ale and drained it before slamming it down. “All this time, I thought you had no taste for killing.”

  “I don’t have a taste for it,” said Oswald. “I haven’t killed anyone in five years. If I have my way, I’ll not kill again in my lifetime.”

  “You’re supposed to the nice one among us,” said Roland, shaking his head. “With your courtly manners and polite talk. What was it the Queen said about you? The wolf who hides among the palace sheep.”