The Consolation Prize (Brides of Karadok Book 3)

by Alice Coldbreath

  Una bit her lip. “He may have mentioned something of the kind,” she admitted.

  Anne looked surprised. “He has? I wonder,” she took a sip of ale.

  “What are you wondering?”

  “If you’re enough to lure him to spend a bit more time at home,” Anne said bracingly. “He’s spent precious little time seeing to his affairs here.” Her features assumed a slightly wistful air. “I was encouraged to hear him say he is visiting his farms this afternoon. Perhaps that is down to you? John says he has not a head for honest—” She broke off her words hastily.

  “What I mean to say is,” she started again painstakingly. “I do hope you will be able to exert a beneficial influence over Armand. If you could only stop him from attending those awful tournaments and making a show of himself to the crowds there, that would be a start.”

  Una frowned uncomprehendingly. “But I understood that even the highest knights in the land sometimes compete at the rural tournaments?” she said. “There is no dishonor in it surely?

  Anne shook her head. “You do not understand. My husband went to watch him once and he said he was embarrassed to see a brother-in-law of his, indulging in such artful fakery and squandering his talents the way he does.” She shook her head. “He wasn’t raised to keep low company and cheat people. For that’s what he’s doing, make no mistake.”

  Una blinked. “You mean—”

  “Don’t make me say it any plainer,” Anne begged. “It’s bad enough coming as close to it as I am. I’m sure you take my meaning. Your understanding seems sound enough, whatever Muriel says.”

  Una nodded thoughtfully as she mulled the idea over that Armand was rather more of a scoundrel than she had initially realized. From what she had seen of the royal tournaments, the knights were fiercely competitive and hated to lose. The idea that Armand played fast and loose with his wins and losses was a difficult one to contemplate.

  She accompanied Anne downstairs, as her sister-in-law needed help carrying her children, who by now were both fast asleep. She had a farmhand stood waiting for her outside in a cart, so Una passed up the sleeping Joan, once Anne was sat securely on the bench.

  “I’m sure we will meet again soon,” Anne said, arranging her daughter onto the seat. “Perhaps at Anninghurst?”

  “Perhaps,” Una replied with a smile, not pointing out Muriel had issued no such invitation. She waved them off and then proceeded to walk slowly around the side of the house, with Abelard on her heels. So deep in thought was she, that she almost collided with someone skulking among the bushes there.

  “Oh!” Una exclaimed, drawing back in alarm. “Your pardon, I did not see you there.” She regarded him with sudden misgiving, for the man was a total stranger to her. He had a narrow face and wore a disreputable-looking hat on his head underneath which greasy straggles of his hair showed. He nodded and cast a rather furtive glance around. “How do.”

  “May I ask your business here at Lynwode?” Una asked coolly, wondering if she could turn and run if the occasion demanded it. He was a thin man of middling height and probably possessed more strength than you might anticipate, as so many of that wiry build did.

  He sniffed. “I could have sworn I saw someone lurking in those trees,” he said, waving a vague hand in the direction of the orchard. “So, I thought I’d better investigate, Your Highness,” he added with a smirk.

  Una reared back as though he had struck her. She heard Abelard set up a hysterical yapping and took to her heels with a low cry.

  “Hey!” he shouted after her. “Where are you …? Ouch!”

  She didn’t stop to hear the rest of his words but instead flew back around the front of the house as though the hounds of hell were on her heels. She never knew she could run so fast. She rounded the bend to the sound of approaching horse’s hooves and knew a moment’s terror that her attacker likely had accomplices ready to carry her away.

  “Una!” Armand’s shouted greeting abruptly snapped her out of her panic-stricken state. With a grateful sob, she ran directly toward him as he slid out of his saddle and down to the ground to catch her. She practically collapsed in his arms. “What is it?” he demanded. “What’s happened?”

  “A man!” she sobbed. “There’s a man!” she pointed shakily to the side of the house and saw Abelard come bolting around the corner after her with his tail between his legs. Otho, who was with Armand, quickly dismounted and made in the direction she’d indicated.

  Una shuddered. “He—he called me Your Highness,” she said, catching her breath. “He knew!”

  “Did he, by gods?” Armand’s arms were tight about her. “Let’s get you into the house and I’ll go and take a look.” Una nodded, but clutched even harder at his tunic. “Come on,” he coaxed her, rubbing a hand over her back. “You’re safe, I have you. You’re not going anywhere. This is your home.”

  She looked up sharply at that and fixed her eyes on him intently a moment. How did he know the right thing to say? She felt herself relax and immediately he scooped her up in his arms as though she weighed next to nothing, instead of being the substantially built woman, she knew herself to be. He carried her into the front of the house and through to the great hall where Janet and Rose sprang up from their polishing.

  “Whatever’s happened?” Rose cried.

  “Your mistress has had a fright, now go and fetch her some refreshment and don’t go causing a scene!” Armand retorted sharply. “If the Lady Una managed to keep herself calm and contained then the least you can do is try and emulate her!”

  Rose stood wringing her hands and looking stricken, but Janet immediately ran for the doorway that led to the kitchen.

  “She’ll tell everyone,” Una agonized, as Armand set her down on the bench and knelt beside her. “Armand, go after her—”

  “It little signifies,” he shushed her. “Stop fretting.”

  At that point, Una noticed with horror that a trickle of blood was on Abelard’s muzzle. “He’s hurt my dog!” she burst out angrily, scooping him up in his arms, comforting him. “He must have kicked him in the face! Oh, Abelard!”

  They both turned their heads sharply when they heard footsteps approaching. Seconds later, a grim-faced Otho marched in the man who had accosted her outside. Una gasped, felt her color drain, and sat up straighter. He looked a villain, even now her fear had receded into cold anger.

  Armand groaned. “What the hells are you doing here, Fulcher?” he demanded, standing up. “And what the devil do you mean by frightening the wits out of my wife?”

  *

  Una was not reconciled to Fulcher’s presence at their supper table that evening, until she saw his bloodied cuff, and the fact he’d ripped some fabric away from his sleeve to bind what was clearly a wound.

  “Did Abelard bite you?” she blurted in astonishment, breaking her cold silence.

  Fulcher sniffed and held up the affected hand. “Bite me?” he said in aggrieved accents. “I should say he nearly tore my fingers clean off!”

  Armand snorted. “He’d be hard-pressed to fit even one of your fat fingers in his tiny mouth.”

  “My fingers ain’t fat!” Fulcher objected, looking offended. Una noticed with horror just how black his fingernails were. She hoped Abelard would not suffer any ill effects.

  “Valiant Abelard!” Rose said loudly from the other end of the table. “He certainly deserves the bones this night, instead of the stockpot.” Otho sent her a stern look and she returned crestfallen to her meal.

  Una picked up a large piece of beef off her plate and passed it down to where the little dog was leaning against her ankles. He smacked his lips and tucked in at once. Now she knew Armand’s strange acquaintance had not assaulted her dog, she could let her frosty manner drop, though she still thought he looked a thoroughly bad lot.

  She let her eyes wander over him with a sort of fascinated horror. That awful hat, which he still wore on his head at such a rakish angle. A bit of bedraggled feather hung from the top of it,
somehow making its appearance even worse. Under the layers of grime and grease, it must once have been brightly colored, she thought, and then let out a gasp, for she recognized it!

  Surely, that was the hat she made Armand for a wedding gift to match his burgundy and gold suit! Her eyes widened as she stared and then turned slowly to look at Armand’s profile. He was tucking into his meal, and quite oblivious to her scrutiny. This must have been the man who Armand had left her on that second night to meet with. She recalled that Armand had returned from the encounter with a cut lip and a grazed face. And without his hat.

  Her gaze narrowed. What sort of acquaintance, she pondered, would steal a man’s hat? Could it have been he that had attacked Armand? She dismissed the idea almost as soon as it occurred to her. Mr. Fulcher was so much spindlier in build that the idea seemed absurd. Armand had said it was thieves with cudgels who had wanted to rob him. But assuredly, this Fulcher had stolen his hat.

  “Are you staying long in the area, Mr. Fulcher?” Una roused herself to ask. He stopped chewing and a wary look entered his eye.

  “As to that, I really couldn’t say as yet, Your—,” he broke off his words. “My lady,” he said with exaggerated stress, and then sent her a leering wink. Una saw Otho stiffen and send him a glare, but Armand seemed entirely unruffled.

  She cleared her throat. “You have business that brought you to Derring?”

  “You could say that, in a manner of speaking,” he said with a forced casualness that made the hairs on the back of Una’s neck rise with foreboding. She had heard men speak in such tones before. He spoke with the studied indifference of a man who utters a veiled threat. Or that of the blackmailer. But what could he possibly be hoping to blackmail them with, she wondered?

  Surely not the fact she was a princess? It occurred to her, as she picked up her wine goblet, that Armand had not seen fit to inform anyone in Derring of the fact, and with sudden clarity she remembered the King telling her that the De Bussell family had always been loyal to the Argent cause.

  She set down her wine unsampled. Very likely his father would be horrified at the news, she thought hollowly. And they barely seemed to be on amicable terms as it was, quite apart from this fresh blow. She bit her lip and noticed that Otho was regarding Fulcher through narrowed eyes as if he too harbored suspicions as to the man’s motivations in turning up at Lynwode like this.

  After supper, Armand announced he and Fulcher had some private business to discuss, so Una retired upstairs alone to the solar alone for an hour or so. She could not settle and instead made a mental list of the fabrics they would need to refurbish faded household items and tried not to dwell upon whatever business her husband could have with the nefarious looking Fulcher.

  Hearing a tread on the stairs, she looked up quickly, but it was only Rose, offering to play for her entertainment on the harp. Una declined, feeling it would only set her feelings further on edge and Rose looked disappointed.

  “I expect you played for your former mistress every night?” Una guessed, watching Abelard emerge from her skirts to approach Rose for a fuss.

  “Oh yes, my lady,” she beamed, stooping down to pet the little dog. “She said it soothed her nerves as well as any tonic.”

  “I’m sure it did. How are all the new servants getting along? I expect it must be a big change for you to adjust to.”

  “Oh, they have all been vastly busy. I have scarcely had speech with any of them apart from Janet. She says we should finish polishing the plate by tomorrow evening.” Rose looked a little doubtful.

  “I think that new housekeeper starts with us tomorrow,” Una commented, and Rose colored hotly, bending over Abelard to hide her face. “Do you know her Rose?”

  Rose shook her head. “I scarcely know anyone in the village, my lady.”

  Looking at her dejected attitude, Una thought it better to let the subject drop. “I wonder if you could have some hot water sent up to my bedchamber, Rose. I believe I will retire early tonight.”

  Rose looked grateful for the excuse to flee and ran off immediately. Una made her way along to her bedchamber holding her candle before her, while her dog followed along behind. She paused at one point, hearing footsteps above. She glanced up, but of course, could see nothing. Could Armand have taken his guest up to the attics? And if so, why?

  It was about an hour later that he came to bed, carrying his own jug of washing water with him. Una lay quiet as he hurriedly stripped and washed and then climbed under the covers beside her, blowing out his candle.

  “Are you asleep?” he asked quietly.

  “No,” Una admitted, rolling onto her side to face him. “Is everything well?”

  “Of course.” She heard the frown in his voice. “Why would it not be?”

  She hesitated. “Did you … show Mr. Fulcher your strongroom?”

  She heard the rustle of Armand’s pillow as though he’d raised his head. “Why do you ask?” His words sounded rather brisk and Una bit her lip, hoping she’d not offended him. “It’s just that, I hope you do not trust this man overmuch, Armand. Mr. Fulcher seems a very wily sort and you have such a sweet and sunny disposition. I do not want him to take advantage of you.”

  A stunned silence met her words. Una peered anxiously into the darkness. She had offended him, she thought with a pang. She knew men could be rather sensitive about any perceived weaknesses. “You must understand that I do not say this as a reflection on your judgement,” she carried on quickly. “I just think you have a lovely nature and need to be on your guard.”

  Again, she was met with blank silence. “Armand?”

  “Una,” he groaned.

  “I did not mean to imply—”

  “Please don’t say anymore,” he begged. “I don’t know if my self-esteem could stand it.”

  Una shifted toward him in alarm and reached out her hand to his face. “I have upset you,” she said, immediately contrite. She stroked his cheek. “Indeed, I meant no offense. You have been the best of husbands to me. I am sure you have known this Fulcher a good while and that he must have earned your trust somehow …” Her words trailed off as she thought of that shifty, untrustworthy face. “Perhaps I speak out of turn, ’tis only that I wish to urge caution, for I have come across men of Fulcher’s ilk and I do not think you appreciate—”

  Armand caught her fingers against his face and held them there. “Una,” he said in a comfortably reassuring voice. “I am fully aware of the kind of man Fulcher is.”

  He hesitated and Una found herself blurting out: “He stole your hat!”

  “My hat?” she could hear the bewilderment in his voice at the turn the conversation had taken.

  “The night you were attacked in Caer-Lyoness, do you remember? You lost the hat I made you. Your friend Fulcher is wearing it, bold as brass!”

  Armand was silent a moment. “I don’t think that can be the same hat,” he said, rallying. “It looks nothing like I remember it.”

  “Armand, I recognize my own handiwork! That is your hat and he sat through supper wearing it, at your own table. Quite shamelessly!” When he was silent, Una continued, aggrieved. “I do not mean to imply he was in league with those ruffians who set upon you, but you must admit that it looks very suspicious.” Was it her imagination or did Armand’s shoulders shake slightly?

  “My love,” he said, and she was sure she could hear a thread of amusement running through his voice. “You are accusing an old and valued acquaintance of mine of being a hat thief.”

  “Yes, I am!” Una flung at him. “Though, I wish I had not become diverted down this particular sidetrack, for ’tis a minor issue compared to my general misgivings about the man! In truth, I do not think you are at all wise to trust him with your secrets!”

  Feeling flustered, Una struggled in vain to put some space between herself and Armand, but his arms closed about her to keep her where she was. Had he just called her his love?

  “Shh, now Una, I won’t tease,” he said. “Let me be f
rank with you.” She stilled at once. “Sensible girl,” he said. “Now trust me to have some sense also. You are right, Fulcher has certain associations that would not bear up to close inspection. However, in this instance I mean to use that to my advantage.” Una’s ears pricked up and she waited patiently for his next words. “As you know, our fortune is ill-gotten. I have no doubt that several pieces could be traced back to their original owners. Selling them on will be difficult for us. It could even bring down the law on us as suspected murderers or thieves. I do not want any trail leading back to Lynwode or to us.” He waited expectantly.

  “You mean to use Fulcher’s connections,” she said hesitantly. “To offload the stolen treasure?”

  “And convert it into nice gold coins for us. Yes. Fulcher has dubious acquaintances in every city in Karadok. I can send him off with a sack of treasure and he will return in a month with however many bags of gold he received for them.”

  Una considered this in silence. “He will, of course demand a share of the profits.”

  “That is only fair. He will be taking considerable risk after all,” he pointed out.

  “How do you know he will not cheat you by bringing back three bags when he received four?”

  Armand pinched her backside. “I have already taken that into account when I negotiated his share. He is an excellent negotiator and will likely extract a far higher price for many pieces even than they deserve. No one ever gets the better of Fulcher in a deal,” he said dryly. “I know him of old, you see.”

  Una considered this. “Yet, you are fond of this man,” she said, faint accusation in her voice.

  “Yes,” he admitted. “I am.”

  “Even though you know him to be a rogue and a cheat?”

  He was silent a moment. “You have no love for rogues and cheats, Una?” his tone was strange and made her pause. Suddenly she remembered his sister’s words about Armand’s conduct at the tournaments. Oh.

  “I do not like to think of anyone taking advantage of you, that is all,” she repeated after a pause.