“Una said the first two were promised great riches and honor if their cause had prevailed,” Armand continued slowly.
“Yes. Forwin was the elder and perished like so many others at Demoyne.” Walker paused. “It was initially believed Waleran was also a casualty of that battle, but since then, other facts have emerged. In short, his life was spared, though he teetered on the brink of death for a while, with a grievous head wound.”
“He’s still alive?” There was a lump in Armand’s throat. “Are you saying he means to rally Northerners to the Blechmarsh cause again?”
Walker shook his head. “He has neither the means nor the following.” He hesitated. “Waleran’s injury unbalanced him. No man of sense would get behind his banner now. Even his own kinsmen have renounced him.”
“What are you telling me?” Armand asked harshly. “That my wife’s brother is a madman?”
Walker looked grave. “It’s hard to predict the course of action such a man will take. Lord Vawdrey would not have the Lady Una troubled by this matter,” he said quietly. “Not for the world. He thinks it would be wise however, to give you fair warning. ”
Armand had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. “And Vawdrey thinks this Waleran will try to approach her?”
“Lord Vawdrey is keen to eliminate any chance of that happening,” Walker said staunchly. “However remote that possibility may be.”
*
Una spent a miserable morning by herself in the solar with only Abelard for company. When Rose brought her up some midday refreshment, she was distracted from her own woes by the marked change in that young woman. Una had never seen her in anything so drab as the gray woolen gown she wore, with her pretty hair tucked away.
“Why, Rose, where is your pretty gown this morn?”
Rose bobbed a discreet curtsey, nothing like her usual one of sweeping grace. “I’m putting such foolishness behind me, milady,” she answered, startling Una a good deal as she set down the dish of pastries and cheese. Rose bent down to return Abelard’s greeting. “I mean to take Janet as my example in future. This gown is one she kindly helped me alter.” She touched the headscarf to check none of her hair was escaping.
“But … why?” Una asked mystified.
“It’s high time,” said Rose, promptly straightening up. “I’m not a girl anymore, but a woman of two and twenty. I’ve moved out of the larger bedchamber and in with Janet,” she added. “She’s happy to share with me and it’s more fitting to my station.”
Una regarded her silently a moment. “If this is because you think you somehow invited Roger’s attentions yesterday, Rose, then I can assure you that you did no such thing.”
Rose looked blank. “Oh, Master Roger,” she said as if she had forgotten his very existence. Then confessed quite simply, “I do not think of him at all, my lady.”
Una opened her mouth to ask if this change then, was in response to something Otho had said. Something stopped her from voicing the suspicion. If it was, then clearly Otho’s words held an impact for Rose that should not be taken lightly. “And you are not unhappy?” she asked instead.
Rose gave a reassuring shake of her head. “No, milady.”
“And … you do not find Mrs. Brickenden unkind?”
Rose blinked. “Unkind? No, milady. She scolds, but only where it’s deserved, and Janet agrees with me on that score.”
Una considered this. Perhaps she had done Mrs. Brickenden a disservice. “Would you tell Mrs. Brickenden to come to me this afternoon, when it is convenient for her?” she asked at last.
“Of course, milady.” Rose bobbed again, cast a fond look at Abelard and was gone. Una could not help but feel deeply disturbed by the recent development.
Mrs. Brickenden appeared before Una had even finished her meal. She had just handed a meat pastry to Abelard when the housekeeper’s thumping step was heard on the stair. Abelard, showing a new boldness, circled on a rug before lying down to enjoy his treat.
“Milady,” said the housekeeper appearing on the threshold.
“Please come in,” Una invited, gesturing to a chair. She could see Mrs. Brickenden’s reluctance to take a seat but kept her hand extended. After a moment, the older woman seemed to accept the inevitability and lowered herself onto a chair. “I wanted to ask you how you think you are settling into the role here at Lynwode.”
Mrs. Brickenden’s cautious features became even closer if that was possible. “Tolerably well, thank you, milady,” she said repressively.
“You have acted before as chatelaine to a large household, I think.”
Mrs. Brickenden relaxed infinitesimally. “I have, for Lady Mildred over Upper Derring for thirty years.”
“It must be difficult adapting to a different place,” Una commented mildly. Mrs. Brickenden’s lips tightened but she made no comment. “I presume that at your last place, you reported to the steward,” Una plunged on. “Here at Lynwode, I expect you to report directly to me at least once a week. I trust that will not be a problem.”
The color in the older woman’s cheeks rose. After a moment, she gave a short nod. “This morning, Rose told me she has moved out of the old housekeeper’s room. I understand you will not require it as you live in the village still, with one of your daughters.”
Mrs. Brickenden took a deep breath. “I do, milady.”
Una waited, but nothing more was forthcoming. Really, it was like trying to draw blood from a stone. “Tell me, what do you think of this recent change in Rose,” she said aloud. “I would value your opinion.”
Mrs. Brickenden snorted. “Girls get these wild starts,” she said after a moment and shook her head. “I raised two of my own, so I should know.”
“You do not think it anything we should concern ourselves about?”
Mrs. Brickenden’s bushy eyebrows shot up. “Certainly not,” she said forcibly. “The sensible thing,” she said stoutly, “is to let it play out. She and Janet are thick as thieves at present. She’ll soon settle down to some middle ground.”
Una regarded her with something approaching approval. “That does sound sensible,” she concurred. “Now, I should like to show you my lists for new furnishings about the place. Let us consult one another about what needs doing.”
*
Una had felt a good deal cheered after her interview with Mrs. Brickenden, but as supper approached without the slightest glimpse of Armand about the place, she began to suffer misgivings. Their “bed sport” of the previous evening had gone badly awry. Clearly, she was not supposed to be the aggressor or show initiative, however much he had seemed to enjoy it at the time.
She would have to apologize, and hope things straightened back out again on an even keel. Feeling foolish, Una relegated her efforts to be bold and flirtatious to the scrapheap. She was clearly not cut out for such things and had given Armand a disgust of her by even trying. Perhaps men did not want that type of thing from their wife after all?
She dressed for supper with some deliberation, choosing a deep-red gown she had not worn before, which had beautiful sleeves decorated with gold thread. Her hair she caught up in a gold hairnet, and after attaching a short gold veil with a couple of pins, she thought she could delay the inevitable no longer and went below stairs. She had hoped Armand would come to their room to change before supper, but he had not appeared, so she would simply have to face him at table. She hoped to goodness he wasn’t avoiding her.
At first, her fears were heightened considerably, for other than a perfunctory kiss to her fingers, Armand was distant. However, when he subsequently failed to notice the entrance of Mr. Beverley with the roasted meats, she realized he was simply distracted.
“This looks wonderful,” she told the crestfallen cook, and nudged Armand who was gazing moodily at the far end of the table.
“Yes,” he agreed belatedly. “Good work, Beverley.” The cook beamed and took his place next to Mrs. Brickenden.
“Is anything wrong, husband?” Una asked when Armand
continued abstracted. “Shall I pour your drink?”
Armand gave a start, “Naught,” he said hastily, and reached for the wine, climbing to his feet. “Fill the cups,” he yelled down the table, and Janet sprang to her feet wielding a pitcher of ale. Armand started pouring wine into the cups of those around him. “Otho,” he prompted when his steward seemed almost as slow to act as himself that evening.
Otho tore his gaze away from the same direction and set to carving the meat for the plates. Glancing down the table at what was absorbing them, Una was astonished to see even more men gathered at the foot of the table. They were packed in very close, and soon, Una realized, if their number kept increasing at this rate, they would need to start seating people at the other two tables that took up the length of the great hall.
A few of the new men seemed to be boisterously trying to catch Rose’s attention with jests and sallies. Even that ugly headscarf could not distract from her pretty face. Una noticed Mrs. Brickenden rap the table with her broad knuckles and the men’s gazes dropped at once respectfully and order was restored.
Once the plates were filled with meat and passed down and the cups of wine distributed, Armand cleared his throat. Again, he gave a speech welcoming any newcomers to their table and toasted Una as mistress of the house. These sentiments were duly echoed, and everyone fell upon their food.
Supper was a noisy affair that evening, and conversation was only stilted at their end of the table. Elsewhere, the murmur of voices rose to the rafters and even the occasional ring of laughter was heard. Otho was tight-lipped and morose, though in truth, he was never exactly effervescent company. As for Armand, he fell into abstraction and even seemed to forget to eat, except in fits and starts.
Una found she missed the loquaciousness of Fulcher, who could always be depended on to keep a steady stream of conversation, but he was not due back with them for some weeks now. Una wracked her brain for things to talk brightly about, but in truth she did not think her husband or brother attended her, until she mentioned a proposed trip to Great Derring that herself and Mrs. Brickenden had decided to take upon the morrow.
“No!” both Armand and Otho exclaimed at the same time.
Una lowered the wine cup she had been raising to her lips. “But tomorrow is the market that Mrs. Brickenden thinks we might be able to find the linens we require—,” she started patiently. Again, she was interrupted.
“I forbid it,” Armand said almost simultaneously to Otho barking out another negative. Armand eyed Otho darkly and Otho lapsed into silence. “It’s not convenient at this time,” Armand continued, after a slight pause.
Una was speechless for a moment. “Very well,” she said at last, rather taken aback. He had never forbidden her to do anything before.
“The Brickenden woman can go if you like,” he added as an afterthought.
Una wasn’t sure she trusted to the housekeeper’s taste. “Perhaps next week,” she murmured, and got a heavy frown for a reply. Clearly, she thought, she was not in Armand’s good books, but surely this could not stem from her woeful attempts to please him in the bedchamber. She eyed him uncertainly, but precious few other words fell from his lips for the duration of the meal.
Abelard trotted happily between Una and Rose in search of tidbits and found neither of them ate a great deal that night, so his belly was nicely rounded by the close of it. When Una announced she was withdrawing upstairs at the close of the meal, Armand nodded absently.
“I shall be up later,” he said, and she thought his shoulders seemed to relax, as though he would be able to speak more freely without her around.
She felt a stab of pain at this telling reaction, but hoped she masked it with her tight smile. “Of course, goodnight all,” she answered smoothly, and departed with her dog trotting at her heels, mounting the staircase with a heavy heart.
Una had shut her bedchamber door behind her and was crossing the room, pulling pins from her veil when she first realized something was amiss. Abelard started a low growl that startled her, and she turned around to find the little dog staring fixedly at the large carved cupboard in the corner.
As Una turned to contemplate it, someone stepped out of the shadows, confounding her. A likeness confronted her that she had believed had gone to the grave. She drew in a shocked breath, even as doubt came rushing in. “Waleran?” she muttered, falling back a step. “Is that truly you?” Somehow, he seemed altered. The boyish face had grown sharper and leaner and he now wore a pointed beard upon his chin. But there was something else, she could not quite put her finger on, that seemed changed about him.
“Hello, sister,” her youngest brother muttered with a peculiarly unpleasant smile. “You seem surprised to see me?”
“I heard tell that you were dead. With Forwin at Demoyne,” she added through lips that felt suddenly numb. Her brain raced. What could Waleran be doing here, now? She glanced surreptitiously about the room, but could see no other men lurking, or indeed, any other places they could be concealed.
“I am alone,” he said, deducing her thoughts. “I did try to rally some men along the way, but alas, none of them had the stamina required for our cause. I am all alone in all the world, apart from you, sister,” he added. “Blood calls to blood.”
It was an unpleasant notion. “Nay, that is not true, for we have another brother remaining to us,” she said bracingly. “Otho is still alive,” she told him. “He is below stairs, I could fetch him now—”
“Otho!” he spat. “What do I care for that low-born churl.”
Una hesitated. There was an empty glitter in Waleran’s eye, that she did not think had been there before. He had been spoiled and indulged from an early age. His mother’s family had been a prominent one in the North, but she had never found him as overbearing as Forwin. “How is your mother? And your grandfather?” Una asked, hoping to find safer ground.
“Do not speak to me of those traitors,” he pronounced savagely. “They are dead to me now!”
Una regarded him with dismay. “Traitors?” she faltered. “You must be mistaken, brother. The House of Kimarne fought bravely to the end and lost many sons.”
“End?” he seethed. “What end? If they were faithful, they would be fighting these Southern dogs still!”
“The North was defeated,” Una said softly. “And we laid down our arms.”
“Lies!” he burst forth, and Abelard let out an indignant bark. Waleran lunged angrily at the little dog and Una snatched him up, misliking the furious look in Waleran’s eye. She ran for the door, but Waleran was on her in an instant, seizing her arms in a painful grip and wheeling her around.
“Do not try to escape me, sister!” he said shaking her so hard her teeth rattled. “I come to free you from this intolerable oppression!” Flecks of spit were escaping from his lips and he looked quite crazed.
“No!” Una burst out as Abelard cowered in her arms. “I’m not going anywhere with you, Waleran! This is my home now!”
“Home!” he yelped angrily. “You dare to—” He broke off his words in a towering rage. For a moment she thought he would strike her. “Traitorous jade!” he flung at her. “You’re a disgrace to our father, whose name you should venerate! Instead, I find you have taken another! You have besmirched his memory!”
Una gazed at him in alarm. This was not the Waleran she remembered, who had been the cossetted pet of his family. What had happened to him?
“Look at you!” he choked, his eyes roaming over her. “I scarcely recognize you as a Blechmarsh anymore! So steeped are you, in Southern ways and wickedness, I would take you for one of them.” The bitterness rose in his voice. “There is only one way for me to purge you of such sin,” he muttered, nodding his head. “Just one way for you to be saved.” To her horror he drew a wicked looking blade from his sleeve.
“No, brother!” The words were wrenched from her, and his lips stretched horribly into a grimace she realized was a grin. His painful grip on her arm prevented her from retreating
.
He pressed the blade to her side, and she felt it pierce the material of her gown and graze her skin underneath. “Open the door,” he said softly.
Una drew a deep breath. She knew for two pins he would drive the blade into her. If she screamed, it was likely he would do it now. If he made her walk down the stairs, however, there were many men down there. Men with blades of their own. She reached for the door and opened it.
“Now turn,” he said. “No, not in that direction. We will take the backstairs.”
Una closed her eyes an instant. Damn it. He propelled her forward and she was forced down the corridor before him. She could feel the dagger at her waist with every step and Waleran’s ragged breathing into her ear. “How did you make your way through the house?” she asked. “Without anyone seeing you?”
He sniggered. “Your fine husband has so many new men running round the place it wasn’t hard to slip in among their number. I was always clever, even Father thought so. He just didn’t think I applied myself as I ought.” His tone turned brooding and Una eyed him warily.
Every time she felt Abelard tense to spring in her arms, she tightened her arms around him. She would have to try and set him down somewhere safely, but if he jumped out of her arms now on the narrow staircase, she would not put it past Waleran to kick him down the remaining steps.
As they reached the bottom, Waleran inhaled sharply and looking up, Una saw a shadow on the wall drawing closer to them along the corridor. Suddenly, Rose was at the foot of the stairs, gazing up at them. Her stillness seemed to unnerve Waleran. “Get rid of her,” he gritted through his teeth at Una and she felt the point of the blade pierce her skin.
“Rose, this is my brother,” Una said, and felt the point dig further making her draw a pained breath. “You must let us pass out into the garden now,” she choked out as her brother’s hand closed tight about her upper arm.
Rose took a step back, but kept her gaze fixed on them. Seeing Rose was too much temptation for Abelard, and he sprang from Una’s arms for freedom. As he landed on his feet, Waleran aimed a vicious kick at the small dog and he went skittering into the wall with a yelp.
The Consolation Prize (Brides of Karadok Book 3) Page 26