“That does not daunt me,” she told him quickly. “Indeed, I would be more worried if your family were a doting one, for doubtless they would then resent the fact you were forced to wed me.”
Forced? He regarded her blankly a moment. Clearly the princess had no delusions about his willingness to take her to wife. He breathed in then out again slowly. It was no good pitying her. She was a burden he could ill carry. “It can’t be done, Una,” he said bluntly.
“Please listen.” She took a few shallow breaths. “There is treasure,” she began haltingly. “Blechmarsh riches I can lead you to. When our forces were taken or surrendered, it was buried at several locations across the border.” She wrung her hands, and for a moment he thought there would be tears. She took a gasping breath. “Karadok is one country again now and all can roam freely, so there would be nothing to stop us from retrieving it, is that not so?”
He stared at her, his attention fixed on her face. He did not think she was lying. “Treasure?” he said speculatively.
Una nodded. “Yes, gold and … and many jewels.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You would not lie to me about this?”
She shook her head. “No,” she said simply.
Treasure? Well, that did put a different complexion on things, he thought, leaning his head back against the wall. He was silent a moment. With wealth he could fix up Lynwode, the estate his godfather had left him, and bring it up to something like a gentleman’s residence. And wouldn’t his brother Henry just hate that? He dwelt a moment on the idea, with a certain grim satisfaction. Yes, that would certainly be one in the eye for old Henry.
Of course, it would mean having to return to Derring with all its painful associations. He winced. He had not returned since his mother’s death. The thought of seeing Anninghurst, the old family home, and his father was as unpalatable as always. Still, he thought, eyeing Una contemplatively. Who said getting married, or even settling back in the vicinity, meant he had to heal the breach with his family? Lynwode lay a good seven miles from Anninghurst. They were estranged, and as far as he was concerned, they could continue that way until Doomsday.
“Have you … er … much to take with you?” Gods, was he really contemplating this? The wheels turned slowly in his head. He could hardly go turning up at Tranton Vale with a procession of carts, loaded with her belongings. Tranton Vale was not far from where the border used to lie. They could head for the tournament and then simply take a detour.
“One trunk is all,” she told him promptly.
That gave him pause for thought. “One trunk?” he repeated blankly. She nodded. Oh. “Do you have a horse?” he asked, thinking practically.
Una shook her head. “The Queen permits me to use the mounts in her stable, but my own horse was confiscated when I was put under house arrest.”
“Right,” he said slowly. Curse his befuddled wits, for every thought took effort today. “I need to go and seek an acquaintance of mine in the city before I make plans. It shouldn’t take me long to run him to ground and then I can return for you—”
“No!” The cry had left her lips before he could finish speaking. She rose jerkily from her chair, almost like a puppet on strings, hurrying over to clasp his hand.
“Please, Sir Armand,” she said pleadingly. “I promise you I will not hinder you in any way, but I beg you will not leave me here without you.” She squeezed his hand between her own and he found himself speechless for a moment. “If you will only indulge me in this one thing, I promise you I will make you the most amenable wife in the world. I will never go against you, never question your right to hold sway.” She gazed at him beseechingly.
What did that mean? He stared at her a moment, trying to unpick her words. Suddenly, it struck him he was being handed the terms for an ideal marriage on a platter. “Let me get this straight,” he said. “You are offering to make me a biddable wife and lead me to untold riches and wealth, in exchange for my taking you from the palace with me this day.”
She gulped and nodded. “If you could only bring yourself to stand firm in our removal from Caer-Lyoness, I swear I will be profoundly grateful to you, till the end of my days, no matter what happens hereafter.”
“You anticipate then,” he said, seeing the flaw in her bargaining at once, “that there will be some resistance to our leaving?”
Una bit her lip. “I fear so,” she admitted. “It seems too good to be true that they will simply let me go.” She hung her head, and he remembered she had been under house arrest before Wymer had taken her into his court. Maybe even here, she had felt little more than a prisoner.
“I cannot drag you around the city, princess,” he started reasonably, but she shook her head at this.
“No, not princess,” she insisted. “I am simply Lady Una de Bussell now, and yes, you can drag me anywhere, even to hell and back and I will not complain, so long as you take me with you.”
Again, he found himself quite bereft of words. “My associate will not be in a respectable part of town—,” he started valiantly.
“I do not care.”
“Your attendants will surely—”
“I have none,” she said swiftly. “Unless you mean to provide me with any.”
“None?” he repeated dumbly. That did not seem right. Whenever he saw the King or Queen, they were flanked with attendants on all sides.
“Our marriage means I no longer qualify as royalty,” she explained, still clasping his hand. “So, you see, you need not worry about such distinctions.”
She was stood before him now with a look of painful inquiry on her face. Could he really say no, and just leave her here to await him in a fever of anxiety, after she had taken such solicitous care of him the previous night? After he had very likely deflowered her with a complete want of consideration. He sighed and shut his eyes for an instant. “Oh, very well,” he breathed on an exhale.
Her head snapped up. “Very well?” she echoed.
He nodded, “I’ll take you with me.”
She seemed to struggle with words for a moment, before swallowing and raising his hand to her lips. To his consternation, she pressed his fingers to her lips as fervently as though he were a holy relic. “Thank you,” she managed to choke at last, and to his alarm, he saw her eyes were swimming with tears. Suddenly she released her hold on his hand and turned away, swiping her eyes with her hand. “I will be the easiest traveling companion, I assure you,” she said, with a brave attempt at a smile.
He stared after her a moment as she darted around the room, picking up a comb and a box of hairpins and snatched up a head veil. He watched, as with minimal fuss, she draped the cloth over her braided head and then pinned it in place. “We’ll need to transfer the contents of your trunk into saddlebags,” he pointed out grudgingly. “Do you have such a thing?”
She turned to look over her shoulder, but before she could open her mouth, a knock on the door interrupted them. “Come in,” she called out.
The door opened and a troop of servants entered bearing food for their midday meal, which Armand was surprised to find he welcomed, and wine, which he did not. A small table was covered with a damask tablecloth and a variety of dishes, as Una drew one of the servants to one side for a hurried conversation. Armand was just seating himself when he noticed one of the servants discreetly collect the used bedclothes from where they’d been folded on another chair in the corner.
Una thanked the departing servants and sat opposite him with a bright smile. “Can I pour you some of this ale?” she asked, ignoring the wine, and filling his goblet instead with the far weaker brew. The food was a tantalizing pair of juicy capons served in a thick herb gravy and accompanied by glazed vegetables. Though not yet restored to his usual rude health, Armand found himself doing the meal justice and felt the better for it.
He had barely finished his second plateful, when another knock was heard on the door. This time it was not just servants to clear the table, but also a portly young man in sage-gr
een robes with an expression of self-importance on his face. He cleared his throat and closed the door quietly but resolutely behind him as the servants fanned out, clearing away the remains of their meal. “Good afternoon, Sir Armand, Lady Una,” he said, bowing to them in turn. “I trust I find you well. My name is Bryce, and I have been sent by my Lord Vawdrey to assist with your plans. It is the King’s wish that you both remain here at the palace until your affairs are in order, and messengers sent ahead to prepare your home for your arrival.”
“That is very good of His Majesty,” Una replied at once. “But I’m afraid we cannot delay and mean to set forth on our journey today.”
Bryce’s second chin wobbled at this and he looked a good deal shocked. “My lady, it is not to be expected that—”
“I’m afraid my husband’s plans will not permit him to tarry here at the palace,” Una interrupted firmly.
Bryce’s watery gaze darted from her face to Armand’s. “I am persuaded that Sir Armand must be fully sensible to the fact that this cannot be,” he said, sounding both shocked and grieved.
“I am sensible of no such thing,” Armand said brusquely, picking up his cue. He pulled back his chair and draped an arm along the back of it, assuming a cantankerous look on his face. “As I’ve always understood it, a wife’s duty is to follow the will of her lord and master. Now we have filled our bellies, I am anxious to be off.”
Bryce’s mouth fell open. He stammered, “The p-princess can hardly—”
Armand raised a hand for silence. “You are speaking now of Lady Una de Bussell,” he corrected grandly. “And on matters pertaining to her, I believe my will is the one that must be deferred to.”
Una shot him a look of brimming gratification. “Of course, I must do as my husband wishes,” she murmured demurely, her eyes downcast.
Bryce looked frankly aghast. “But how are we to make ready for this, at such short notice? A trousseau must be prepared for the Lady Una!”
“Such things should have been done weeks ago!” Armand said scathingly, getting a feel for his role. He brought his hand down with a loud smack on the tabletop. The knives and spoons jumped and struck against the empty salvers. The servants leaped back from the tables in alarm and Bryce’s mouth opened and closed. “Was not the sole aim of this competition to wed her off?”
“Aye, but we did not know her bridegroom would be in such indecent haste to leave!” Bryce protested weakly.
“Indecent? Who’s to judge whether my haste be decent or not? I am my own man, and what’s mine is mine and no one else’s!”
Armand noticed Una was wide-eyed at this tirade as well as Bryce. As for the servants, they were lapping it up. No doubt, it would be all around court by tomorrow that the poor princess was married to an overbearing ogre of a husband, who meant to rule the roost and bend her to his will.
Indeed, he marveled at his manner himself, for though he fancied he’d always had a talent for play-acting, he’d never imagined himself in the role of domestic tyrant before. He felt positively inspired, though where he was drawing it from, he had no notion. His own father had always been rather aloof and disinterested in his role as head of the family.
“Indeed, good Bryce,” Una began placatingly, once the astonished silence had abated. “You need have no worries on that score, for I have packed sufficiently for our journey, and only require some saddlebags in which to convey my things and then I will be most amply provided for.”
“And a mount,” added Armand smoothly.
Bryce placed a finger and thumb either side of his nose and breathed deeply a moment. Armand watched him with interest. Finally, he dropped his hand and drew himself up, a picture of quivering indignation. “I will do my best to give satisfaction,” he said in outraged tones, and backed out of the door in a show of injured pride. “Pray excuse me, while I give the orders.”
“Oh dear, poor Bryce,” murmured Una. “I am certain he will go running to Lord Vawdrey, for he is his creature, you know.” Armand shrugged. “Perhaps you are not acquainted with Earl Vawdrey?”
“I know his brother better, Sir Roland, the King’s champion.”
Una nodded thoughtfully. “You would, of course. From tournament circles.”
“Does it matter if he goes running to Vawdrey?” Armand asked.
Una bit her lip, clearly undecided. “I’m not sure,” she admitted. “Lord Vawdrey is vastly difficult to anticipate. But in any case, I do not think we could have presented a better front. You were magnificent! Truly. I had not dared to hope you would give so convincing a display.”
Armand assumed a modest expression. “I aim to give satisfaction.” He almost felt modest seeing the look of admiration on her face.
“I could not have hoped for a better partner in the ruse,” she assured him warmly. “Indeed, I almost believed you myself!”
He just felt relieved that his new bride was so easily pleased with a bit of bravado and swagger. He had that in abundance, but no doubt she’d soon learn he had precious little else to offer her.
3
Sat atop her new chestnut-brown mare an hour later, Una was ecstatic. Not only had Bryce provided her with a fine horse, but also with one smartly kitted out with saddlebags and panniers and a red leather bridle and saddle to match. He had been ably assisted in this by a fleet of servants who had packed and tied the fastenings, adding a whole host of other things that Una had not even thought to request. When she had been quite needlessly helped up into her saddle, a purse of monies had also been discreetly pressed into her hand.
In truth, she felt quite overwhelmed by it all. When she had humbly thanked Bryce for his offices, she was wholly sincere. She had not looked for such kindness; indeed, she had been expecting displeasure and even censure. To be sent away quite in disgrace, not with this abundance.
For a while, she had feared the King himself would come stomping down the corridor to forbid their flight, which now she came to think of it, out in the open with a blue sky above her, seemed quite ridiculous. After all, Wymer had heartily wanted to be rid of her! She had known only one wobble, and that was when Bryce had looked up at one of the arched castle windows and she had seen Lord Vawdrey’s dark figure stood there like a sinister shadow.
As her heart lurched in her breast, he raised a tentative hand in farewell and Una caught her breath. He was letting her go! It was perhaps too much to see it as his blessing, but that was how she interpreted it at the end of the day. She had no illusions about where the power truly lay at Wymer’s court.
Lord Vawdrey was at the center of everything, and precious little happened without his say-so. Occasionally Wymer got a bee in his bonnet, or Armenal asserted herself to get her own way, but for the most part, it was he who manipulated decisions of import at the royal court. She wondered briefly if the King would make him a duke, for engineering her disposal, and then dismissed it completely from her mind.
She had mirrored his wave with her own, and then turned her horse about to follow Sir Armand, who looked a very impressive figure indeed, sat astride his showy-white charger in his new burgundy suit. He wore the matching hat she had sewn, with its gold feather, though the short cloak had been stuffed unceremoniously into a sack. She could not deny it was too warm for a cloak as the late afternoon sun fairly blazed down. Indeed, she had discarded her own, which was now slung across the front of her saddle.
As the crossed through the west gate of the castle, into the bustling city streets, Una felt her spirits soar to quite giddy heights. She was free! Finally, free. Only yesterday, it had seemed an impossible dream. Not three hours ago she had felt she was fighting for her liberty in the face of a reluctant bridegroom who would be more likely to abandon than aid or abet her.
Armand turned in his saddle. “Stay close to me,” he recommended, quite needlessly, for Una had no intention of letting him out of her sight. He led her down a veritable warren of side-streets, some so narrow they had to wait until the stream of people subsided before they could
ride down them.
Each street seemed to grow darker and less respectable-looking as they went on, and Una felt a twinge of alarm, observing some of the looks they drew from passers-by. She fancied she now knew why Armand had looked askance at his new outfit. They did not fit in with the inhabitants of these narrow-cobbled streets one bit.
Finally, her husband reined in before a rowdy-looking inn that had a large statue of a crow with an open beak huddled on the roof like a squatting gargoyle. Armand glanced up at the open window where two women, alike enough to be sisters, sat looking down on the street below, clad in somewhat low-cut dresses.
Armand doffed his jaunty feathered hat at them and called up a greeting. Both ladies broke out in simultaneous surprise. “Why, if it isn’t Sir Armand. I scarce recognized you, togged out in that regalia.”
“Don’t you look the proper gentleman!”
“Ladies, I have made my fortune,” he responded, beaming. He swept an arm toward Una. “A rich widow has consented to throw her lot in with mine. Behold my good lady wife, the Lady Una.”
Both women gaped at Una in open curiosity. “She never!” blurted one, while the other gasped, “Fancy!”
Una rallied at once. “Good day, ladies,” she said pleasantly. Neither one seemed disposed to answer her with anything more than a bold, assessing stare.
“Is my man still here?” Armand asked casually. “I rather lost track of him, with all said and done.”
“I expect you did,” said the first, with a toss of her head. “Wiv you up and gettin’ leg-shackled and all!”
“He left,” put in the other with an indignant huff. “Skipped out on his room wivout paying his board,” she said, with a sideways glance at Armand.
“Funny,” he said with a shrug. “I could have sworn you insisted we paid up front, Bess, my love.”
The Consolation Prize (Brides of Karadok Book 3) Page 5