“Well, you might,” she snapped. “But he never!”
“And we thought you’d skipped out and all, when you never returned last night!” the other added spiritedly.
“A most understandable conclusion to make,” he agreed sorrowfully. “I shall make reparation, of course, for your inconvenience,” he said, soothing their feathers noticeably. “I suppose it’s too much to ask that he left my pack in your keeping?”
“He might have left some sundry things what we had to have moved down to the cellars,” said one with a shrug. “We didn’t have no room to spare for things what got carelessly left behind by folks what skips out wivout paying their bed and board.”
“I am most profoundly grateful,” Armand said with a small bow, “that you set my things aside for safe-keeping.”
The other cocked a speculative eye at Una. “You’ll be able to pay for his room, now your fortune’s made,” she said, and Una thought that Armand had not seen this particular turn of events, though it seemed quite inevitable to her. She could only suppose him lamentably lacking in self-preservation instincts.
“Of course,” he agreed cheerfully and swung down from his saddle. “Send out that lad of yours, Dickon, to stand guard here with the horses and I’ll come inside and pay my way.” One of the women retreated from the window and moments later they heard a side door open. “You’ll be alright to remain here while I retrieve my pack and buy some information?” Armand asked Una in low tones.
Una nodded, only thankful he did not expect her to abandon her horse and all its treasures to be robbed. Dickon stumped out, an amiable looking giant.
“You stand guard now over my wife and horses and you’ll be well paid for it, my lad,” Armand told him, patting his arm. Dickon nodded and took his horse’s bridle. “I won’t be long,” he added, though Una was not sure if that was her benefit or Dickon’s.
When Armand disappeared into the door, the woman he’d called Bess leaned out of the window again. “Here love, what did your last man do?” she asked curiously.
Una blinked, but as Bess was falling out of the front of her dress, she did not think that was an unnatural reaction. “He was a glover,” she said recovering herself and hitting on the first profession that sprang to mind.
“Oh yes?” A gleam of interest came into Bess’s eye. “I did hear as an uncommon number of glovers was caught up in that fire last year in Halperton Square. That how you lost your man, was it?”
Una shook her head. “Old age,” she improvised. “He was a good deal older than me.”
Bess looked unconvinced. “Only I did hear,” she continued, “as most of them glovers in Halperton Square lost all their materials and premises in one fell swoop, as well as their lives.” She cast a sharp look at Una. “If you was to be a widow to one of them, I doubt you’d be left with much by way of riches.”
Una shifted uneasily in her saddle. She wished she’d said her departed husband was a spice merchant now. Noticing her unease, Bess suddenly turned conspiratorial, lowering her voice. “Don’t you fret, sweetheart. I ain’t going to tell ’im. You gotta make what you can of this life, ’specially us women. Use what the gods gave us. If you hooked ’im, telling ’im you was a rich widow, then more fool ’im, I says.”
Una rearranged her expression into one of sorrowful agreement. “It’s a hard lot in life for us women,” she concurred.
“But I’ll give you a piece of advice for nuffink, my love,” Bess said, with a nod. “First chance you gets, I’d skip out on this one if I was you.” She nodded toward Armand’s horse. “Before he skips out on you. Depend upon it, that’s what he’ll do, first chance he gets.” A look of disgust passed over her face. “You can’t trust men what has a ready, smooth-tongue, nor ones wiv a pretty face. And this one you’ve took up wiv has got both. Clean ’is pockets out, first chance you gets, my darlin’,” she urged. “And get yourself another old ’un. They’re easier. The older and uglier the better, in my experience.”
Dickon guffawed, but Una was spared from having to react by the reappearance of Armand, who was now carrying a pack in one hand and some well-worn saddlebags in the other. Casting a reassuring look in her direction, he strapped these to his horse, as Una surreptitiously extracted a coin from the purse that hung from her belt.
Mounting his horse, Armand flipped a coin at Dickon and started forward. Una took the opportunity to turn in her saddle and toss the coin up to Bess. The other woman caught it, a look of surprise on her face. That look deepened when she looked down at the coin in her palm. She let out an exclamation, then hurriedly closed her fingers over the gold gleam. Una smiled when their eyes met and nodded farewell. Bess blew her a kiss. “Bless you,” she mouthed. “And good luck.”
There was no opportunity for them to speak for the next twenty minutes, as they navigated their way out of the narrow passages and toward the wider spaces of the main square. Una looked about with interest to see the streets grow clearly more affluent and respectable as they approached the square, with increasingly decorative windows and guild badges and banners displayed on the side of the buildings. The streets seemed in the main to be named after the livelihoods that dominated them. They went down Saddlers Walk to approach Mason Way and then came out on Tailor Street.
They had now reached the square and could ride abreast of one another.
“What did you give Bess?” Armand asked with interest. “Back at The Stone Crow.”
“A coin,” she answered, considerably surprised that he had noticed their exchange. His attention had seemed elsewhere at the time. He said nothing, but she could see the faint pucker between his brows. “She was kind enough to give me a piece of advice,” she admitted.
His eyebrows rose. “Doesn’t sound like Bess.”
“Ah, but you’re not a fellow woman,” she pointed out.
Armand seemed amused. “She has never struck me as a champion of her own sex, I have to say.”
Una was silent a moment, pondering this. “Am I to take it she runs a bawdy house?” she asked calmly. Armand went off in a coughing fit. She could see she had stunned him and was instantly contrite. “I’m sorry, have I said something I ought not?”
“Not a bawdy house, no,” he spluttered. “It’s an inn. She runs it with her sister, Fanny.”
“I thought they looked alike,” Una observed. “So, she and her sister run a business together. Does it seem unlikely to you then, that she would be concerned about the fate of another female?”
He appeared to consider this. “Perhaps not,” he admitted after a moment. “Do you always tip when someone gives you a piece of advice?”
Una thought about it. “I’m not sure anyone has given me a piece of well-intentioned advice in a long, long time,” she admitted. “Usually—” She stopped abruptly.
He turned his head. “Usually?” he prompted.
Usually, it will be a veiled threat was what she had been going to say, but she found she did not want to start her new life with dire reflections on her past one. “Usually, people do not imagine I stand in need of it,” she improvised lightly. “It made a nice change. I’m sorry if you thought me profligate.”
He gave her a sidelong glance. “Not at all,” he answered. “And how you spend your money is your own affair.”
Una bit her lip at this. Did Sir Armand think she had money of her own? She had better set him straight on that score. “I have only the contents of the purse at my belt,” she admitted. “The King did not see fit to provide me with a dowry, I’m afraid.” To her relief, he did not seem visibly bothered by this piece of potentially shattering news. She had suspected all along that he had paid scant attention to the terms when he entered the May Day competition.
“We’re turning down here,” he said, gesturing to another side street that had a series of horseshoes hammered to a post.
“Blacksmiths?” Una ventured.
“Aye, and stabling. We’ll leave the horses here a while, until I run Fulcher to earth.” He gl
anced up at the sky. “I think we’ll need to remain one night in the city. There’s some honest hostelry to be found here and respectable inns in the next two streets.”
Una nodded and followed him into a stable yard where a groom immediately ran out to greet them. Una dismounted as Armand went over their needs with the groom. He then approached Una’s laden horse and started unbuckling the bags, which he slung over his broad shoulders. Having been assured their needs would be met, he paid his coin up front and gestured for Una to follow him as he made his way back out into the street on foot.
Una lowered her voice as she fell in step beside him. “Would it not be wise for me to take an assumed name whilst we are here?” she asked, conspiratorially.
Armand appeared to consider this. “How so?”
“I was thinking of Una being a Northern name,” she explained painstakingly. “I doubt somehow it is popular in these parts.”
“That would doubtless be more remarked upon in the country,” he said with a shrug. “You forget Caer-Lyoness is a port and a capital city at that.”
“So, my accent would not then draw remark, here in the city?”
“Your accent is very faint,” he reassured her. “And none would ever recognize you from any public appearance you may have made.” He cast her a quick look. “You’re scarcely recognizable in truth.”
She smiled slightly at that. “Yes, so you demonstrated in the early hours of this morn.”
His step slowed. “Did I actually do that?” He groaned. “Search for you under the bed? I was hoping that part was just a dream.”
She shook her head. “It’s not to be wondered at, I was dressed in full regalia when you married me in the chapel.”
He looked at her uncertainly. “Did you pack that headdress with the horns?”
“No.” She almost laughed again at his look of relief. “In truth, it used to give me a headache. I left it behind, along with the jeweled collars, which were more like breastplates. I doubt very much Queen Armenal will ever wear them, for though valuable, they were both cumbersome and very weighty.” She hesitated. “It felt right to leave them at the palace. That is where my ancestors wore them, many centuries ago.”
He nodded. “They belong in a case on display. No living, breathing woman should have to cart them round like an armored destrier.”
She was so relieved that he did not think she should have bought them to be melted down for their gold and precious jewels, that for once she did not mind the comparison between herself and a warhorse. “I am certainly not sorry to lose them,” she admitted.
They had reached the next street now, which sure enough seemed to be a procession of inns, starting out as large and sprawling and getting humbler and less grand the further along you walked.
“Did they tell you at The Stone Crow where you could find your man?” she asked, hoping she was not overstepping the mark.
He nodded. “Though he is very much his own man, as he will be sure to tell you, if you give him half the chance,” he said dryly. “Fulcher usually has a bolthole or two he can retreat to. Apparently, his cousin has recently taken rooms in the next street, above a cordwainer’s.”
They walked about halfway down the cobbled lane before Armand pointed upward at the sign of an improbably colored hog’s head. They crossed the road and made for its door. The Blue Boar seemed a clean and pleasant establishment. Armand had no sooner inquired, then the landlady assured them a room was at their disposal. He set a handful of coins down and asked for supper to be sent up to their room that evening and then followed the servant up the stairs.
Dumping their bags in the corner of a well-appointed room, he drew Una to one side. “If you will make yourself comfortable now, I will see to my pressing business and be back as soon as I am able.” Una nodded and he gave her a searching look.
“Very well,” she said, seeing he seemed to expect a vocal response from her.
“Wait!” he called after the retreating servant. He tossed a coin. “Fetch a goblet of wine.” He turned back to Una. “Did you want a bath or—”
“No, for I had one this morning,” she assured him. “Please don’t trouble yourself on my account, I will be quite content to await you here.” She gave him a smile, which she hoped was convincing, and watched him disappear out of the door with a sinking heart. Try as she might, she could not rid herself of the fear, however irrational, that it was the last she would see of him.
Of course, she was being ridiculous, she told herself firmly. He was known to the King, and skipping out on his obligation would be no easy thing for him to do. Besides, she had no reason to doubt him, other than his obvious reluctance to take her to wife. Since she had told him about the treasure, he had fallen in with her plans more or less. But oh, how she wished she had not been forced to fall back on the promise of those most ill-gotten gains. She felt a twinge of unease and did her best to dismiss it. But what if others had talked, and the treasure had long since been dug up and carried away?
She had no choice, she reminded herself as she accepted the cup of wine from the returning servant. She had needed to bring something to the table in order to strike their bargain. Her poor self was scant enticement these days. If not, she would scarcely have been offered as a consolation prize. She took a sip of the wine and washed her hands and face, unpinned her braids, and removed her overdress to lie on the bed in her gold-colored kirtle.
She hoped she might take a nap, but alas, sleep did not come. Instead she piled up the cushions behind her back and slowly sipped her wine as she tried not to worry overmuch about what was to become of her. If she could have kept busy, then she could have kept such worries at bay, she thought, but she could not get her sewing out now, not when everything was packed away so neatly and she did not know at what time Sir Armand would return.
It wasn’t like she dabbled with a bit of elegant stitchwork like some ladies. Una did not do fancy needlework. Plain sewing was all her nurse had taught her, and she had made her own undergarments and nightgowns for years now, though it might not be considered proper employment for her station. While under house arrest with Lord Mycoft, his housekeeper had taught her how to expand her repertoire, to include outer gowns and tunics. Indeed, sewing for her eventual freedom and walking every inch of the grounds of Mycroft Hall had been what got her through those three long years of house arrest.
Her sole pleasure and occupation at court over the past eighteen months, apart from attending the many tedious court events, had been planning and sewing her wardrobe for her eventual freedom. When she had plucked up the courage to ask for materials, she had been sent brocades and satins and velvets enough to make her gasp with delight. Wymer, unlike her father, had not seen anything amiss with such a request. He had made no comments, at least to her face, about making silk purses out of sow’s ears.
In the privacy of her own room, she had sewn surcoats and tunics and kirtles aplenty. She had pieced together hats and hose and sleeping caps until she could turn her attention on her future bridegroom’s wardrobe. She felt gratified when she remembered the fine figure Sir Armand had cut in the burgundy and gold outfit she had made him. She had never made a garment for a man before and had been a bit worried she had overestimated the proportions. After she had sewn it, she had definitely thought she had cut the tunic on too generous lines, but Armand had no problem filling out the shoulders to perfection.
Her thoughts dwelt on Sir Armand de Bussell a moment, with mingled feelings. In some ways she could wish he was a little less striking, if truth be told. The contrast between them would be all the clearer when the groom was so handsome. Still, once he had abandoned her on his estate, the difference in their looks would make no odds. Maybe then, people would start to finally take her on her own merit.
A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts and she hurried to answer it, to find it was the servant bearing their supper on a tray. Una took it with thanks and explained that she did not know what time her husband would return, so no
t to bother clearing it until morning. She then set it down on the small table and placed a cloth over it. As for herself, she had no appetite, for her stomach roiled with unease. Besides, she had eaten well at the palace at midday and did not need anything now. Luckily it was good plain fare, a meat pie with bread and cheese. When her husband did return, he could eat it as his leisure.
Una braided her hair into one single plait down her back and undressed to her shift. Climbing into the bed, she left one candle burning and closed her eyes. Finally, she allowed herself to contemplate what action she could take if her husband did not return. The most obvious course would be to return to the palace. It would be humiliating, of course, but she had likely suffered worse embarrassments.
Then again, she thought, her pulse picking up, maybe she could just disappear? She wondered how much gold exactly she had left in her purse. Enough to flee Caer-Lyoness doubtless, but was it enough to buy a small place in some obscure corner of the kingdom where she could conceal herself for the rest of her days? She doubted it somehow. She was only four and twenty. There would be years and years she would need to support herself for. Then again, there was her dubious marital status. Could a marriage be so easily overlooked when it had been consummated? She wasn’t sure.
Then, just to comfort herself, she allowed herself to imagine a completely unrealistic future where she could support herself by her own wits alone. Perhaps she could stay here, right under King Wymer’s nose, in his summer capital? She could return to The Stone Crow tomorrow and ask Bess to advise of cheap quarters where she could set herself up as a seamstress, plying her needle to earn her bread.
A smile curved her lips even as a tear trickled down her cheek. It was a nonsensical dream, but it did give her some respite from the harsh reality of her situation. In her fantasy, there were no guilds or restrictions on women’s means of earning a living. There was no prejudice against Northerners to drum her out of business. It was a lovely place where everyone would welcome her as a neighbor and a citizen, and she would never be found wanting again.
The Consolation Prize (Brides of Karadok Book 3) Page 6