The Consolation Prize (Brides of Karadok Book 3)

by Alice Coldbreath

  “Well, that’s something,” he muttered. “Open your legs now, sweetheart.” She did so, admittedly with some trepidation. Still, it felt different this time. Armand’s fingers were between her legs again. “You’re so nice and wet, princess,” he whispered. “I can’t wait.”

  “You—you said it was good last time,” she blurted.

  His eyes met hers. “I did? When I was inside you?”

  She nodded and his nostrils flared. “This time I’ll make it good for you too,” he vowed. Again, she nodded and then he was reaching between them to place his manhood at her entrance. His eyes sought hers again. “I’m ready,” she said bravely, and he started to push his way into her in an insistent, but not uncomfortable, slide. She could only suppose her wetness was facilitating his entrance this time.

  When he was halfway in, Una braced herself for the brutal thrust that caused so much pain, but to her surprise when it did come, it was not met with a blast of discomfort. Feeling her stiffen, Armand stopped at once.

  “It hurts?” he asked.

  “No, not at all.” He looked relieved and then thrust again twice more, until his eyes closed, and he gritted his teeth.

  “What’s wrong?” Una asked in alarm.

  “Nothing,” he grunted. “It just feels really good.”

  “Oh.” She gave a slight wriggle to check nothing pinched, but other than the peculiar sensation of fullness, she felt no ill effects.

  Armand, however, gave a deep groan. “Una! For the Lord’s sake, I’m hanging on here by a thread.”

  Una paused. “What does that mean?”

  “It means—uhhhh Gods.” His hips gave what looked to be an involuntary thrust and he braced his hands by her shoulders. “I want to do this, and this, and this,” he groaned, punctuating each phrase with increasingly harder thrusts of his hips. “Until I come. I don’t know how much longer I can hold back. Should I pull out?”

  “Pull out?” Una gazed up at him doubtfully. “Last time you just thrust until you collapsed on top of me.”

  He blinked at that. “I bet I fucking did,” he said, looking pained. “Wait a minute, I’ll just—”

  “No!” Una placed her hands on his shoulders. “All’s well.” She gave him a reassuring smile.

  He hesitated. “You’re certain?”

  “I am.”

  He gave a relieved groan and labored over her, his movements crude and brisk. Una held him tightly, huffing her breath against his throat. She was not precisely disliking it, but it also felt extremely strange. Suddenly, she felt his thumb between her legs, landing on that self-same spot he had lavished with such attention earlier. Una’s closed eyes sprang open. “Oh!” she gasped with surprise.

  He gave a satisfied rumble in his throat. “Bring your legs higher. Wrap them around me. Tight.”

  Una lifted her legs and crossed them behind Armand’s back. His breathing hitched. “Damn it,” he swore, closing his eyes a second.

  “Is that too tight?”

  “No,” he grunted. “It’s good. Too good.” She felt him begin to pulse and jerk inside her and then he was slamming his hips against hers again with increasing urgency.

  “Ah gods, Una,” he groaned. “Next time, my love. I swear it.”

  Next time, what? she wondered as he thrust to his completion and once again, collapsed on top of her with a harsh bellow.

  6

  When Armand woke the next morning, he felt drowsy and happy. This feeling diminished slightly when he found himself alone in the bed, but a sound at the door heralded Una’s arrival with hot water and a cheerful smile. She was dressed in a gown he had not seen before of deep blue with a red underrobe that showed through at the sleeves and neckline, her auburn hair neatly braided and pinned.

  “Good morning,” he said clearing his throat. “How long have you been about?”

  “An hour or so,” she said setting the steaming jug down on the table. “Here’s clean cloths for you,” she said setting them down next to the basin.

  He frowned. “Why are you fetching and carrying?” He could see their bags had been brought up. “I hope you did not cart those up the stairs.”

  Una followed his gaze to where the saddlebags were piled up. “I did not want you to be disturbed, you were sleeping so soundly,” she admitted and colored faintly.

  He took that as confirmation that she had indeed carried their things upstairs, and he felt a faint stab of something close to guilt. Then again, it wasn’t his fault she always rose so damn early! He rolled onto his side.

  “That gown becomes you,” he said. “But I prefer your hair down.”

  Una gazed at him as though unsure how to respond. “Thank you,” she said after a moment’s pause.

  “If you say Sir Armand, I warn you I will drag you back in this bed,” he said thickly.

  “I wasn’t going to,” she said reproachfully, her blush deepening.

  A shame, he thought, as the idea had definite merit. He sighed. He would have to climb out of bed, he supposed and face the never-ending list of tasks that would be needed to set the house to rights. The idea was not an appealing one. He eyed Una as she opened a large trunk and placed something inside it. The little patter of feet told him her ever-present little dog was still at her heels.

  “What is Otho up to?” he asked grudgingly, rubbing his eyes.

  “Patching the stables, so the roof does not leak on our poor horses in the event of rain,” she responded promptly. “He has carried all of your sacks from The Merry Traveler inside and put them in the attic. There is a room there that locks and seems to have been used as some sort of stronghold previously.” She lifted something from the belt of her waist to show him, and he was amused to see she already carried a bunch of keys to the house. No doubt they were much safer in her clutches than those of that incompetent girl. “Shall I give you the key to it now?”

  He waved a hand. “Leave it on the side.” He could not be bothered with it now and it was hardly urgent in any case. He was still plump in the pocket from his winnings on May Day. “What of that appalling girl?” he asked irritably. “Is she still on the premises or have you thrown her out on her ear?”

  Una looked startled. “Rose? Indeed, I have not. Otho kept her up until all hours last night and the poor girl is exhausted this morning.”

  Armand, who had been taking a sip of water, choked. “Did he, by gods. I would not have thought he had it in him.”

  Una gazed at him a moment, before continuing painstakingly. “Not only did he make her scour every pot and pan in the place, but he also had her scrub the kitchen from top to bottom before he would let her retire. By all accounts, she is not used to scullery work at all.”

  Armand set his cup down with a thud. “And what is she used to, pray?” he demanded with sudden irritation. “Does anyone know? I have been sending coins back here to cover the expenses of a housekeeper. Admittedly, the payments have been irregular, but I would like to know how they have been spent, if she has not done any of the work this past twelve months!”

  His outburst surprised him, more than it did his wife. Gods, he already sounded like an irate householder, he thought. Maybe he would wind up as petty and penny-pinching as his brother Henry!

  “Otho has already discovered three of those purses on shelves or in cupboards,” Una said apologetically. They are practically full. From what I can make out, Rose’s only expense has been a loaf of bread and the odd sack of grain from the village. She has been remiss in her duties, it is true,” Una continued soothingly. “But she has barely touched the money and—”

  “What of that fancy gown she was swanning around in?” Armand interrupted cuttingly. “That would have cost a pretty penny and is hardly the garb of a servant.”

  “No, but you see her previous position was as a sort of pet to a rich merchant’s widow. She indulged her, buying her pretty gowns, and teaching her genteel occupations like needlework and music. Poor Rose has not received any instruction—”

&nb
sp; “Poor Rose!” Armand burst out indignantly, flinging back the covers and climbing from the bed. He was not sure why he was so annoyed, for usually he could not be bothered with household matters at all. If anything, he should be more concerned about checking on his new treasure trove, but for some reason, his priorities seemed all over the place this morn.

  He strode across the room for the jug and basin, noticing Una looked hurriedly away at his nudity. This fact alone went some way to restoring a measure of his good humor. So, she was not so immune to him as she pretended, looking all polite and meek-faced this morning after their oh-so-satisfying tryst of the previous night.

  That was why he was out of sorts, he realized suddenly. She was acting as if that whole encounter had not happened! Also, why was she not jumping at the chance to get this Rose off the scene? he wondered aggrieved. It was an insult to his potent masculinity that she was not jealously guarding her property!

  “I find you very remiss this morning, wife,” he said, lathering the soap flakes between his hand and sloshing the water about as he washed his face and neck.

  “Remiss?” Una closed the cabinet doors and looked at him inquiringly.

  “Aye, for you have not fulfilled your obligations this morn.”

  “Which ones?” she asked, clearly puzzled.

  He turned to face her, and she straightened up, her face fixed respectfully to his and not his nakedness below. He dabbed a drying cloth at his neck. “You have not kissed me,” he said simply. “Here in the South, it is customary for a wife to greet her husband every day with a kiss.”

  “Oh,” she said, taken aback. “I had not realized.”

  “You should probably remedy it at once,” he recommended. “Lest I take offense.”

  She sent him a level look at that, as though suddenly suspicious he was teasing her, but there wasn’t even a glimmer of amusement in his eye for he was in deadly earnest. Even he was slightly surprised about the fact.

  Straightening up, she walked straight over to him, placed her hands over his ears, angled his head, and placed a smacker on his lips. “Good morning, husband,” she said drawing back. Armand had been so startled, he had not much time to do anything other than pucker his lips to meet hers. Her height meant she had only to raise on her toes to bring her face to his and he had not had to stoop at all, meaning he had been unprepared for her kiss.

  “One moment,” he said lifting a finger as she beat a hasty retreat. “That is not all.”

  Una turned slowly toward him. “What else?” she asked, glancing down at Abelard who was now once more retreating under the dresser.

  “If a husband has given a wife pleasure,” he said cocking his head to one side. “Then she must shower him with kisses in recompense.”

  She definitely checked at that one, sending him a look eloquent of disbelief. “Every time?”

  “Without fail,” he agreed, and crossed over toward the bed, sitting on the edge.

  “Shall I wait for you to dress?” she asked, clearing her throat.

  “That won’t be necessary.” He lay back on the bed, his arms folded behind his head. He could feel her gaze on him but waited patiently until he heard her feet head toward him. He patted the bed. “Don’t be shy.”

  “I’m fully dressed!” Una objected, coming to a halt beside the bed.

  “I’m not asking you to get in it.” Not yet anyway.

  “Sir Armand—,” she began, her voice betraying some exasperation, and then broke off, realizing her mistake. “I mean—”

  “Now, you know what I am going to do every time you make that slip, don’t you, princess?” he said reproachfully. Though in truth, he found he liked calling her princess. In the bedchamber anyway.

  “I really wish you would not,” she muttered, as she climbed onto the bed beside him, bracing her hands on either side of his head and then lowering her face to his. When she lightly peppered his brow with soft, chaste kisses, Armand stilled and lay very quiet. She repeated the process over his cheeks and then drew back. “Like that?” she asked, with just a hint of uncertainty.

  He huffed out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Yes,” he found himself answering, though in truth, he had intended something quite different. “Just like that.”

  *

  When he made his way downstairs, half an hour later, Armand told himself he had shaken off the strange mood that had overtaken him. Una had asked him to act the role of proprietary husband back at Caer-Lyoness, and this morning he had slipped into the part as though it were perfectly natural to him! He would have to watch his step, or the gods alone knew how he would end up.

  He was frowning abstractedly when he came across Otho who was carrying his own saddlebags into the house. “Morning,” he said. “Sorted yourself a room out, have you?”

  Otho halted, looking surprised to be hailed by him. “Yes,” he said, then seemed at a loss how to continue.

  “We’ll need more staff if we’re to set this place to rights,” Armand said briskly. “You feel up to the job of steward?”

  Otho flushed. “I could do it,” he said cautiously. “I was thinking of riding into the village later for provisions. I could put the word out we’re looking for servants.”

  Armand nodded. “Kitchen staff are the most pressing, I’d say.”

  Otho murmured in agreement. “And garden. It’s overgrown and ill tended. She kept the herb bed in order and precious little else.”

  By “she,” Armand deduced he was speaking of Rose. He rolled his eyes. “I’m surprised she managed that much,” he said sourly, and Otho grunted in agreement. “Una wants to keep her on,” he admitted grudgingly.

  Otho looked disgusted. “Why?”

  “I can’t possibly be expected to repeat her line of reasoning on an empty stomach, but mayhap you could dissuade her on the matter.”

  Otho looked skeptical. “She’s a mind of her own, for all she seems so reasonable.”

  “You can try at least.” Otho shot him a narrow look, and Armand realized that Una’s brother still harbored suspicions that Rose might be some cast-off from his past. “Never mind, you will do as you see fit, I’m sure,” he said passing on and walking to the kitchen in search of sustenance.

  It looked a good deal cleaner and tidier this morning, though very bare, with none of the paraphernalia of a functioning kitchen he had ever seen. There were no herbs hanging from the rafters, no smell of dough or waft of spices. Still, at least it no longer looked like a filthy hovel.

  He crossed to the empty pantry and observed the half-empty sack of grain with disfavor. Above it on a shelf, was the end of a loaf of bread. That would have to do. He took this and slathered it liberally with butter and let himself out of the kitchen door and into the gardens at the back of the house.

  Otho had not exaggerated. Armand’s eyes roved over the extensive kitchen gardens, which were full of untidy plants that had either bolted or gone to seed. He walked down the overgrown walkways, eating his bread, and taking in the abundant signs of neglect about the place. He could not blame it all on Rose, he reflected fairly. For in truth, there was no way that one woman could maintain such a large property. He had been the one who had neglected Lynwode ever since his godfather Sir Adrian had died.

  At the bottom of the garden, marking the end of his land, was an extensive ruin in grey stone of a much earlier property. So occupied was he in gazing at what was left of it, that he did not hear Una coming up the garden behind him and was only aware of her when she stopped at his elbow.

  “It is a very picturesque view, is it not?” she murmured, standing beside him.

  “You think so?” He turned to look at her, as she stood gazing steadily at the remains. Her little dog sat at her feet, staring up at Una rather than the ruin.

  “Oh yes. It must have been a sizeable property indeed, for look,” she pointed. “That looks like the remains of a rampart and that tower looks almost intact with its little arched window at the top.”

  “It
has barely three walls, and you are not to go near it,” Armand heard himself reply sternly. “When we were boys, my brother Henry dared me to climb that tower and I nearly broke my neck. The steps are crumbling, and several have eroded. I can’t imagine it has grown any safer in the past twenty years.”

  “I did not intend to climb it,” she answered, looking at him rather oddly.

  He strove for a lighter tone. “A good deal of the stone from it was used to build Lynwode,” he said turning back to look at the house.

  Una followed his example and gazed up at it appraisingly. “It is a lovely house,” she said softly. “You must be very proud of it.”

  Was he? In truth, he’d barely given the place a second thought, save for basking in the satisfaction that Henry had been seething to see him land such a large inheritance. Poor Henry, whose only distinction had been the fact he was born first. As though aware of his thoughts, Una asked, “Why did your brother dare you to climb it? Were you very competitive growing up?”

  Armand laughed. “Hardly. Henry’s a poor creature.” He offered Una his arm and they proceeded toward the ruin, followed closely by a trotting Abelard. “When I say he challenged me, what I really mean is he claimed it was impossible to climb the tower. A miserable worm like Henry would never even make the attempt. He disdained archery, riding, wrestling, and swordplay. Henry would only ever sit bent over his books and his music on even the sunniest of days.”

  Una pursed her lips. “Not everyone has the aptitude for outdoor pursuits,” she pointed out mildly. “That is no reason to despise your older brother, any more than he should look down on you for enjoying more physical occupations.”

  Armand was startled. “Well,” he rallied, “he certainly did look down his nose at me for my neglect of book learning, so I suppose we were even with one another.”

  “Did your parents never attempt to encourage some accord between you?” Una asked, as they came to a halt before the ruin.

  Armand shook his head ruefully. “I was my mother’s favorite,” he admitted. “I think I mentioned it before?” Una nodded. “She lauded my every accomplishment and lambasted Henry as a poor dog by comparison.” He shrugged. “Now I am older, I see of course, poor Henry must have squirmed, but at the time I reveled in it.”