Her husband woke her in the early hours, hammering on their door. Una, a light sleeper, woke at once and found the candle still burning in its holder. She picked it up and crossed the room to let him in. For a moment, she thought he was drunk again, for his appearance was certainly disreputable in the candlelight. Then she noticed the gash above his eye and the dried blood crusted on his nose. She ushered him inside and bolted the door behind him.
“Are you hurt? What happened?” she asked in concern. He waved these questions aside, making for the basin of water. “Should I ask for more hot water?” she asked setting the candle down and fetching him clean cloths.
“Nay, this is fine,” he said dunking his split knuckles under the water and wincing. “Ouch.”
Una reached around him and dunked one of the cloths in the water. She had experience enough, and that gash needed cleaning. He stood still while she pressed the cold cloth to the wound, lathering up his hands with soap and washing away the dried blood.
“Were you set upon by thieves?” she asked.
He appeared to consider this. “Yes,” he said finally. “In a manner of speaking, that is exactly what happened.”
Una tutted sympathetically. Poor Sir Armand! And all this time she had been thinking quite uncharitably that he had left her in the lurch. “Do not despair,” she said, keen to make it up to him in wifely solicitude. “Recollect that I have the purse of gold that Bryce gave into my keeping. All is not lost.”
He gave her a sideways look. “I did not say they robbed me.”
“Oh. You managed to fight them off, then?” He must be better able to handle himself in a fistfight than he was on the competition field, she thought.
“Yes,” he said briefly, drying off his hands.
She noticed he was eyeing her shift and realized it was a bit immodest to walk around in. “Your supper is on the table,” she told him, placing the candle there and retreating to huddle under the covers of the bed.
He walked over and peered under the cloth. At the sight of the meal, he seemed to perk up considerably and pulled up a chair to wolf it down. Una watched him in the dull gleam of the candlelight, with her elbows resting on her knees. She wanted to question him but knew full well she had promised nothing but dutiful compliance.
When he had eaten his fill, he sighed. “That’s better,” then rose to start undressing. Una noticed he had lost his hat, for his dark curls were bare and there was a long rent up the leg of one of his chauses. She did not mention either as she knew an accommodating wife would not comment on such things.
“Is your business now concluded, so we are at liberty to leave Caer-Lyoness tomorrow?” she asked tentatively.
“We’ll leave at first light,” he told her with a yawn, and came toward the bed. “Do you not mean to ask me where we are bound?”
“If you are agreeable to tell me, then I would be most interested, of course.”
He frowned slightly. “We make for Tranton Vale. It’s an annual tournament on the rural circuit.”
“I see,” she answered politely. “I have never attended one, so it should be a novel experience.” He nodded but looked distracted and she felt suddenly uneasy. “But perhaps you do not mean for me to attend?” she said, before adding quickly. “I will of course abide by whatever you think best.”
“What else do you imagine I mean to do with you?” he asked as he climbed into the bed. “I shan’t abandon you on the wayside if that’s what you’re implying.”
She looked across at him in some alarm and was relieved to see she had not offended him. “No, no,” she hastened to assure him. “Only that, I was not sure if there might be some point en route you might wish to set me down. After all, I do not know in what part of the country your estate lies,” she pointed out.
He looked evasive. “It’s not on the way,” he said shortly, and Una found herself suddenly doubtful he even possessed an estate. She suppressed the small tingle of alarm this gave her, for if he did not, surely that was against the terms of the competition. With an effort, Una forbore to press him further on the matter.
“Tranton Vale lies north,” he told her, throwing out a pillow and dragging another under his head. “I’ve bought a map and we can mark out those treasure sites you spoke of tomorrow and plan our course of action.”
Una’s heart sank. Assuredly, they were not heading for her husband’s home. Her mind veered away from the risky business of retrieving hidden Northern loot. It seemed she would have little choice in the matter, or indeed any matter until she had made things worth Sir Armand’s time and bother.
4
Armand awoke the next morning feeling a hell of a lot better than he had the previous one. He stretched, then tentatively felt the grazes from his altercation with Fulcher’s hired friends. Fulcher had not wanted to give up Armand’s sizeable share of their winnings from the previous day. It had taken some persuasion to claim his money. Persuasion provided by Armand’s fists.
It seemed his sometime companion thought their gambling racket was now at an end and Armand would turn respectable after his marriage. Fat chance. Still, perhaps the dissolvement of their partnership was timely, if he was now to embark on treasure hunting. Fulcher could not be trusted to divvy up their winnings, let alone within a mile of a treasure trove.
He checked his split knuckles, which were healing nicely. Only then, did he think to turn his head and check the whereabouts of his wife. In the background, he could dimly hear her moving quietly about the room.
“Do you always rise this early?” he asked blearily, rubbing his eyes.
“Yes,” she admitted. “Did I wake you? I’m sorry.”
“It wasn’t you,” he sighed. “Besides, we’re making an early start, remember?”
She made no response to this, and from the splashing sounds, he deduced she was washing. He sat up and blinked at the sight of her hunched over the basin, in what he could only suppose was her shift. He had never seen a shift quite like it, for it was fitted to her form to an almost scandalous degree, and the thin material afforded him an enticing view of her backside and those rounded thighs he had admired so much previously.
He cleared his throat and drew his legs up to mask his body’s obvious response. Una pressed a drying cloth to her eyes and turned.
“I’m sorry, I did not catch what you said,” she admitted, tilting her head to one side in inquiry.
He stared a moment at the bodice, which was just as sheer and just as fitted as the rest of the garment. Just about managing to tear his gaze from her full breasts and those enticingly dark nipples, he swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Nothing of import,” he said huskily and reached for a drink of water.
“I’ll just get rid of this,” she said, carrying the basin over to the window. “And pour you some fresh.”
He did not dare watch her progress, or he’d never be able to rise from the bed to wash. At least, not without scaring the daylights out of her. Instead he took a few steadying breaths in and out and tried to think of inane things until his surging ardor cooled. She had taken him by surprise, that was all. He took a deep draught of water before breathing back out again.
Once she’d poured him fresh water and retreated to the far end of the room to dress, he left the modesty of the bedsheets, pulled his braies up over his ass, and made for the basin. He was still hard, but if he presented her with his rear view, hopefully, the princess would remain in total ignorance of the fact.
How typical, he thought wryly, that he would choose this moment to turn weak with lust for her, when she’d lain beside him all last night without arousing so much as a flicker of interest in him. He rubbed the soap flakes through his fingers and gazed down despairingly at his wayward cock, which tented the white linen of his braies, refusing all promptings to go down.
He glanced back over his shoulder and was satisfied Una was occupied shaking out her gown rather than quivering in horror at the evidence of his arousal. He wasn’t fooled by her determine
dly down-to-earth manner. Her words may be calmly spoken, but her shallow breathing and panicked eyes told a different tale. Una was skittish around him and likely scared of men. Who could blame her? He knew she had not led the easiest of lives.
Stroking his jaw, Armand decided he needed a shave and retrieved his razor. Then he caught sight of his discarded pile of clothing from the night before. Crossing over to it, he reached into the tunic and retrieved the sizeable pouch containing his winnings from his May Day performance. It had taken him a while to wrangle his fair share from Fulcher’s grasp. He would miss that devious bastard, he thought with surprise. Who would he talk to now on the road? Who would he plot and scheme with round the campfire? Who would have his back in a barroom brawl? He could hardly expect a princess to make him a decent new business partner.
He should be glad to be rid of his association with the weaselly Fulcher, he told himself sternly. It was tiring how the fellow did not believe the brawn should take the lion’s share. He knew full well that Fulcher believed himself to be the brains of their operation, but enough was enough. Hiring four thugs to beat him in an alleyway was not the act of a once-trusted accomplice.
If mourning the loss of his companion achieved something, it was a total quenching of his burgeoning lust. Loosening the strings of his coin purse thoughtfully, he carried it over to the bed, spilling half of its contents onto the blankets. “Here,” he said. “You take half.”
Una glanced around from where she was fastening her front lacings. Her eyes widened at the gleam of gold coins. “I already have some money that Lord Vawdrey provided,” she started, but he waved this aside.
“Just put it in your pack or in your alms purse,” he recommended, retying the string of the pouch, and throwing it on the chair next to his tunic. Then he walked back to the basin and soaped up his jaw to shave. After a moment, he heard the chink of coins and realized she was taking his advice.
“I suppose,” she said, retrieving her saddlebag. “That it would be as well for me to divide it between my purse and my pack. If our wealth is split between the two of us, and then between our baggage, then we have some safeguard if the one of us was unfortunate enough to be robbed.”
He grunted in agreement, dragging the straight blade down his chin.
“Have you ever been robbed before, traveling on the road between tournaments?” she asked.
Armand shook his head. “I ride a massive destrier and carry a sword at my hip,” he pointed out dryly, then hesitated. “Have you?” He watched her in the looking glass as he dunked his razor in the bowl of water. Una hesitated before she shook her head and he was quick to pick up on it.
It struck him, that he might do well to set more store by what she did not say, than by what she did. “You’ve had some experience, I deduce,” he said and saw her look up in dismay.
“No, no,” she protested weakly. “For I always traveled with a personal guard of at least three men, even when split off from my father’s forces.”
“A personal guard?” he echoed. “What happened to them, when you were captured?”
“They were captured also,” she said simply, then caught sight of his expression. “You must not imagine I formed any attachment, for they were very rarely the same men. My father kept them in strict rotation, so no bonds were formed.”
Armand frowned. “And why was that?”
Again, she paused before answering. “In case of betrayal or some conspiracy against him.”
Armand’s eyebrows shot up, but Una was not attending him as she was tucking some money in the foot of one stocking. He still wondered at her stricken expression when he had mentioned thievery, but he did not have time to pursue that right now. Instead he dried off his face and made haste to dress. He avoided the gold and burgundy chauses and opted instead for an old black pair out of his pack.
“If you let me have the torn one, I will mend it for you,” Una said, looking around from where she was pinning her veil in the dressing mirror.
“Pardon?”
“The gold legging. I noticed last night it was ripped.”
Armand looked down at the chauses he had bunched ready to shove into his bag. “Oh, right,” he muttered. Was it? He picked out the gold one and tossed it on the bed next to Una’s things. “Thank you,” he said, resigning himself to the fact he would likely have to wear odd legs again at some point.
“I can make you a new hat as well, if you like?” she suggested helpfully.
Armand knew for a fact he had managed to lose that damned feather cap at some point last night and had rejoiced in its loss. “I don’t usually wear them,” he said firmly and saw her silently mouth “Oh.”
“Let’s make a pact,” he said on impulse.
Una turned about and approached him with interest. “A pact?” She gave him a questioning look.
“For our journey. Let’s vow to be true companions to one another on our adventure.”
He was surprised to see a flush cover Una’s cheek and was gratified to see he’d said the right thing. “I’d like that!” she exclaimed looking pleased and after a moment’s hesitation, held out her hand to him. He enfolded it in his own and they shook on it.
Armand found he was in a good mood as they made their way to the hostelry to collect their horses. The sun was shining, and something always invariably came along in his experience, even when things looked bleak. Who knows, maybe this marriage wouldn’t be such a bad bargain after all?
“Do you have that song in the South too?” Una asked with interest, as he strapped their baggage to the horses.
“What song?” he asked, before realizing he had been whistling a tune.
“ ‘The Wicked Archer of Trusslowe.’ ”
He shook his head. “We don’t call it that. Here it’s called ‘The Maid of Hamblin’s Ruin.’ ”
“Oh. Either way, I suppose it is always a tragic tale for such a pretty, lilting tune,” she commented wistfully.
Armand, thinking of the rather raucous lyrics of “The Maid of Hamblin” thought a change of subject might be in order. “Er, yes,” he murmured, stepping back. “I think we’re all loaded up. Shall we be off?”
They navigated their way out of the city without any mishap, though he noticed Una looked tense as they approached the city wall, which was guarded by soldiers wearing the King’s colors of blue and gold. Drawing his horse abreast of hers, Armand shot her a reassuring smile as they passed through without challenge. He saw her visibly exhale with relief when they passed out of the city gates.
Had it been her father, he wondered, who had started those rumors of a warlike princess, who espoused the Blechmarsh cause like a true prince of the blood? What a load of bullshit that had turned out to be. He recalled a portrait he had seen of her once, or the remains of it, for it had been slashed and vandalized by Southern soldiers running amok in a castle they had taken over the border.
She had been sat astride a horse, brandishing a sword and dressed in breastplate and chain mail above her skirts. From what he could remember, the depiction bore little resemblance to the reality, for all it had suffered so much damage. He felt a coldness pass over him now, as he imagined what they might have done to the real woman if they had ever got their hands on her in the aftermath of battle.
She must have seen all manner of horrors and had no doubt seen man in his most bestial and unworthy state. It was little wonder she hadn’t thrust him from her screaming, he thought wryly and once again, felt uneasy at his dim recollection of their wedding night. He hoped to the gods he had not been a brute with her. He found he did not altogether trust her assurances that he had “acted just as he ought.” The gods knew, her expectations had probably not been high to begin with.
Shaking his head, he forced himself to focus on the present. “If we take this main road today, we shall be sure to find an inn for our midday meal and also lodging this evening,” he remarked cheerfully, and Una smiled back at him.
“Well, that sounds ideal.”
> And so, it should have been, but over the next few hours, Armand found himself increasingly under the impression they were being followed. He turned in his saddle several times over the morning, but though he saw wagons with goods, peddlers on foot, and wayfarers aplenty, he did not notice any one face featuring particularly among their fellow travelers.
Frowning to himself, he wondered if the main highway might not be the right choice of road they should be taking after all. Or was he just being fanciful? After all, why should anyone choose to follow them out of Caer-Lyoness? While it was true that he and Fulcher had parted ways acrimoniously, he had felt after their dust-up the previous night that things were settled.
Then, of course, there was Una. He glanced at her thoughtfully; could there be any reason why she might be pursued? It was hard to imagine that Wymer would set his hounds after them, when he had been so keen to rid himself of her in the first place.
“Is anything amiss?” Una asked in a quiet voice, and he bit back the hearty denial he had been about to issue. After all, had they not vowed to be trusty traveling companions?
“I’m not sure,” Armand replied instead, cagily. “I have had the oddest feeling for the past few hours that we are being followed.” He saw her eyes widen and wondered if he should have kept this to himself. “Have you noticed anyone?” She shook her head but looked ill at ease. He paused before asking, “Can you think of any reason why someone might be following us?”
Una paled, looking down at her reins a moment before answering. “It might be my brother, Otho,” she said in the manner of one making a painful confession. “He competed at the May Day tournament, under an assumed identity.”
Armand bit back an oath. “He competed?” he asked carefully.
Una’s color rose. “He cannot have been thinking clearly. He was very devoted to the Northern cause. I can only imagine that he thought to rescue me.” Her shoulders rose and fell in a hopeless manner.
“By marrying you?” Armand asked incredulously.
The Consolation Prize (Brides of Karadok Book 3) Page 7