The Consolation Prize (Brides of Karadok Book 3)

by Alice Coldbreath

  “No, I know I’m not.” He covered her hands with his own and turned one over to kiss the palm. “Though I don’t know how you can know that, going on past form.”

  “Going on past form, you have never let me down,” she said staunchly, before adding conscientiously, “Even if that might have been your original intent.”

  “Una,” he whispered. “I love you so, and I really don’t deserve you at all.”

  Her chest felt like it would burst, as her eyes filled with tears. “I love you too, but I feel like I do deserve you. You are my reward and I mean to savor you for the rest of my life.”

  He caught his breath at that and just gazed at her, quite open and sincere for a long moment. Una tipped her head to one side. “Do—do you want to play dragon and knight now?” she asked, dropping her gaze shyly to his throat.

  “No,” he answered, tilting her head back up so their gazes met again. “I want to make love. You’re the only woman I’ve ever done that with. Did you know that, Una?”

  She was fascinated to see his expression had settled somewhere in between playful Armand and intense Armand. It was a devastating combination. She shook her head. “Have you played dragon and knight with anyone else?” she asked, with sudden misgiving.

  He laughed, looking like a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “No, for that game was of your invention, wife. Do you not remember?”

  “So, it was.” She blushed. “I hope you will not be too serious to play it in future, husband.”

  Armand grinned. “I’m sure I could be persuaded with the right incentive.” He closed his arms about her, bearing her back down to the mattress.

  “What kind of incentive?” she asked against his shoulder.

  “The right fire-breathing dragon. My very own one, that is.”

  *

  They did not descend below stairs until early the next morning when they came downstairs hand in hand. Una was wearing a robe over her shift, her hair in one long braid over her shoulder. Armand’s tunic was not fastened, and he could not stop yawning. They had been forced to wash in cold water from the previous evening as no one had wanted to disturb them by bringing them up any fresh.

  It was Una’s hope that barely anyone would be about after the previous night’s excitement, but by the time they reached the great hall her ears had picked up the low buzz of conversation in there. She tried to hang back, but Armand was having none of it, his arm about her waist, propelling her forward. At their entrance there was a drag of benches as all present rose to their feet with warm greetings.

  “Good morning,” Una found herself coloring up and wishing everyone. “Good morning.” It seemed no one present bore her any ill will for her Northern or indeed her Blechmarsh birth. Janet beamed at her and Peter shyly nodded. She was disappointed to see Rose still clad in her drab gray gown, but the girl’s smile was as sweet as ever. Abelard came dancing over to greet his mistress. Una patted his head and examined his side, but he seemed none the worst for his ordeal. Rose retreated to a low stool by the enormous fireplace, where she sat feeding logs into the growing blaze.

  Armand sat in his seat, and when Una went to take the chair at his right, he pulled her down into his lap. “Let us remain informal this morning, wife,” he told her with a wink, lowering his voice for her ears only. “I fully intend taking you straight back upstairs again after this.”

  Una gazed at him. “Well, I guessed that was why you would not let me dress,” she confessed, and dropped a kiss to his lips. Janet plunked down cups of frothing ale before them and Mrs. Brickenden came hurrying in with another platter of fish and fresh-baked bread.

  Una thanked them with a smile and noticed that the hall looked just as packed as the previous evening. If anyone had flung off in disgust at the revelation of her birth, she could not tell. Glancing down the table, Una saw the personable-looking man who had carried a bow the previous evening. He was surrounded by the rowdier element at the table.

  “Who is that man?” Una asked Armand. “Is he one of Lord Vawdrey’s?”

  “Yes,” Armand said with a dismissive glance at Walker, who toasted them.

  “Do you think they will stay with us for long?” Una asked, passing Armand his cup.

  “Hopefully for life,” Armand answered swiftly. “You were right. Why should we hinder them from doing their job? It is no hardship for me to have more mouths at our table. We’ve plenty of gold and I do not mean to be caught unawares again.” She noticed he was looking about in some consternation. “But where is Otho?” he asked, and Una realized for the first time that her brother was missing.

  No sooner had he spoken the words, then they heard a hurried step enter the room. Otho marched into the great hall, his expression fixed and determined, his arms full of wildflowers.

  “Otho?” Una uttered with surprise, but he made straight for Rose who was seated next to the fire. On reaching her, he knelt down before her and reached out to unwind the gray headscarf from her head.

  Una covered her mouth with her hands as she watched Otho start carefully placing the flowers into Rose’s golden hair. “Oh,” she murmured, as tears began to roll down Rose’s cheeks. “Oh, Armand,” she whispered. “Look!”

  Armand shifted in his seat beneath her. “It seems too private a moment for everyone to be watching,” he muttered, but Una could see that neither Otho nor Rose had eyes for anyone else present. Her hand sought Armand’s and she squeezed his fingers tight. After a moment, he returned the pressure.

  “If he wants her, then good luck to him, he’ll need it!” he murmured.

  “Armand! Rose saved my life,” Una reminded him reproachfully.

  Armand snorted. “She’ll probably say the faeries told her to push him over!”

  “Armand!”

  “Besides, you saved hers right back,” he pointed out. “She would have gone over the edge if you had not caught her.” When she did not respond, he ran a finger down her spine. “Remind me to warn Otho never to inadvertently step on that dog. She’ll pitch him out the window faster than he can beg its pardon.”

  Una shook her head and stole another glance at the fireside. Rose was now in Otho’s arms. She could have cried to see the look of tenderness on her brother’s usually stern face. “Oh, Armand,” she sighed. “We shall soon have another wedding feast here at Lynwode.”

  Janet and Mrs. Brickenden started clapping enthusiastically and soon everyone else had joined in, so the hall was buzzing with good cheer.

  When a loud clamoring started at the door, Una did not even flinch. “Likely it’s my in-laws,” she murmured, tipping back her head to look at Armand when his arms tightened protectively around her. “I told you they would soon hear of last night’s excitement.”

  In this, however, she was quite wrong, for it turned out to be a royal deputation. One herald blew a trumpet as the other unfurled a long list of items. Then a third clapped his hands and a staggering array of wedding gifts were carried into the great hall. The first herald cleared his throat and informed them their unexpected departure had prevented the King from bestowing them before they left court.

  Una watched in amazement as a procession of costly raiment, linens, damasks, brocades, tapestries, and lavish furnishings were paraded into the hall. The servants were open-mouthed as the pile grew high and items were stacked up against the far wall.

  “I think,” Armand murmured in her ear, “that we must be grateful neither Muriel nor Henry are here to see this disgusting parade of extravagance.”

  Una choked back a laugh. “They would not approve,” she agreed. “And it seems I no longer need to visit that marketplace. Only consider how well those vibrant tapestries will look in the solar!”

  The second herald cleared his throat and approached them with a letter in hand. He bowed low and presented it. Armand made no move to take it, merely looked steadily at Una, so she plucked it from the herald’s fingers and opened it.

  “It’s an invitation,” she said steadily, �
�for us to attend the Royal Autumn Tournament at Aphrany as the King’s honored guests.”

  Epilogue

  Three months later, the Autumn Royal Tournament, Aphrany

  Una sat in the royal balcony once more. This time she was seated at King Wymer’s left while Queen Armenal sat on his right. It was both familiar, and yet also, vastly different to how she remembered the experience.

  At first, she had been heartily dismayed to learn that the King expected her to sit in the royal box. She was not a royal, as she pointed out firmly to Lord Vawdrey. She wanted to sit among the other sundry nobles in the less exalted stands. She neither deserved nor desired such a mark of distinction from the King.

  Lord Vawdrey, however, had been equally firm, an amused smile played about his lips. “Lady Una, I believe you must indulge the King in his wish. Since you have married De Bussell, he believes you have done him great credit and is very gratified to have you back under his aegis. He was most upset that you rushed off so precipitately after your wedding.” Seeing she was unconvinced, he added softly, “I fear if he does not see enough of you on your month-long visit to court, then he might suggest you extend it.”

  His mildly spoken words hit their target and Una sucked in a horrified breath. “Oh no, no,” she blurted. “That would not be convenient at all!”

  Lord Vawdrey tutted sympathetically and Una pressed her lips together. “Very well, I will join His Majesty in the royal box,” she had conceded with barely concealed ill grace and been rewarded with a singularly charming smile. “I only hope my husband will not be too displeased,” she added darkly.

  “Dear me, I am persuaded he will be thrilled at the opportunity to both impress you and cover himself in glory in one fell swoop,” Lord Vawdrey had answered with an arched black brow. Una had felt suddenly an uncomfortable suspicion that that Lord Vawdrey was fully aware that Armand had spent most of his competitive career dissembling. She felt herself color hotly and was glad to flee his presence at the first opportunity.

  For the past two weeks, she had spent as much time in Wymer’s company as she had Armand’s. She had been expected to sit with the King at formal banquets almost every evening. She was urged to join him on his morning hunt and applaud his prowess in the saddle. She had been hawking with the King, and even summoned to breakfast with him, a high favor indeed and one extended to precious few.

  The King only ever breakfasted attended by Bathilde, his treasured old nurse, and whoever was his current favorite. Bathilde had clucked over her and served her a revolting pap of milk and bread that Wymer had eaten as meekly as any child in the nursery. Then, he had taken her on a tour of the royal crown jewels. She had seen, with surprise, the two highly encrusted collars she had left behind, encased beside the King’s ceremonial crowns. He had nodded at them significantly and patted her hand.

  “Well, well, you’re a good girl,” he had said, clearing his throat. “And a credit to me.”

  In short, the history books had been entirely revised and Una now figured in them, not as a foreign oddity and royal embarrassment, but as Wymer’s most cherished cousin, a relation he prized so highly that he had bestowed her hand in marriage on one of his most favored knights. Una though bewildered by this turn of events, could only be grateful for it.

  At the banquet the previous evening, there had been a ballad sung in her honor of her loyalty to the King, her royal cousin, and her beauty, which inspired devotion in a chivalric breast. Una had scarcely known where to look, but the assembly had enthusiastically applauded and demanded an encore.

  Armand’s own reaction had been somewhat mixed. “Aye, well so long as he doesn’t start getting any ideas,” he had rumbled, pulling her into his arms as soon as they were alone. Una had hurriedly assured him that the King’s attentions were far from amorous but seemed instead a bewildering mix of the brotherly and the paternal. He had been appeased, but Una could not help but be aware that Armand was as keen to return to Little Derring as she was. That fact alone made her able now to bear court and all its attendant nonsense.

  She glanced to the side where Fulcher lolled with the royal pages, looking disreputable as ever. Really, she would have to make him another hat soon, for that one looked quite dreadful perched on his head. He was having a high time acting as Armand’s attendant, for they had been unable to drag the newlywed Otho away from Lynwode or from Rose. Fulcher noticing her regard, tipped her a wink, nodding meaningfully to the arena and Una turned back to watch.

  Armand’s sword swung down upon Sir Garman Orde’s with a mighty clash of steel. The King’s hand simultaneously clapped down on Una’s knee and gripped it so hard she nearly shot out of her seat.

  “He’s going to do it!” Wymer muttered excitedly. “Always knew he had it in him! I always said, did I not? That he could be a champion.” Wymer’s words were choked with emotion and his eyes moist. Una marveled that he could feel so deeply about it.

  Queen Armenal pursed her lips. “If he garners glory now,” she said, “he does so, because he hath found something worth fighting for.” She paused when both Wymer and Una looked back at her blankly. “His lady’s honor,” the Queen explained loftily.

  “Oh aye,” Wymer agreed, blowing his nose. “I take your meaning. It’s for your sake cousin, that he has found his form.” He patted Una’s hand and signaled for a page to bring forth wine. “My cousin, my cousin,” he ushered irritably when they went to hand him the first goblet. He was determined that for her month-long stay she would be his most honored guest.

  Una took it with thanks and gazed down at Armand. Even if he had come in last place again, it would not have changed her feeling toward him in any way. His face beneath his visor was streaked with sweat and she could tell he would be exhausted after. She would have to insist she missed tonight’s banquet to tend his wounds, she thought, perking up. Then she could bathe him and fuss over him to her heart’s content.

  “Look at him!” the King crowed, almost spilling his wine on his hose. “Driven. Purposeful. All the resolve he previously lacked!” He slapped his knee, then raised his cup to silently toast Una. “All down to you, Una,” he concurred with a nod to his wife. “As my Queen pointed out.”

  “Of course, he could still lose,” Queen Armenal said musingly, earning a ferocious glower from Wymer. “Sir Garman does not cherish the runners-up cup and his own wife watches on.”

  Una glanced across to the box opposite, where the once-famous beauty Lady Lenora Orde watched with her cousin Lady Eden Vawdrey. She envied them the large white banner they sat beneath with the black heart weeping three drops of scarlet blood. She needed to have a large banner made up for Armand, she vowed, with his white winged horse on its blue field. Then she too could watch her husband from beneath his colors.

  They had a banner hanging at Lynwode now, but they needed one they could pack up to take to tournaments also. Una had only accompanied her husband to one rural tournament so far. She had watched him lift the victor’s cup at Areley Kings in June and crown her tournament queen. Somehow, she had far preferred that tournament to this pomp-filled one at the palace.

  The crowd had fallen painfully quiet now and waited with bated breath for the victor to emerge from the grueling battle. All that could be heard was the ring of steel striking upon steel. Both men were staggering now and on their last legs. The tournament had run three days and whoever won this final bout would emerge the overall champion of the Royal Autumn Tournament.

  Sir Garman lunged, Armand looked to retreat, but then brought his own sword up violently. There was a blur, then Orde’s broad sword went hurtling to the ground. Armand side-stepped neatly, bringing his booted foot down heavily upon the blade, preventing its retrieval. The point of his own sword hovered in the air before Orde’s throat.

  After a tense moment, Orde held up both his hands in a grudging gesture of defeat. The King leaped out of his seat with a battle roar, the contents of his goblet hurled over the side and spattered over an unfortunate duchess whose sh
riek of dismay was drowned in the din of the crowd’s celebration.

  Una found she too was on her feet, the King holding her hand aloft as though she had scored some kind of victory. She laughed delightedly and found herself engulfed in a hearty royal embrace.

  The three-day tournament had a fairytale ending. The ugly princess had transformed into a celebrated bride and the knight who could not find his form had finally emerged a winner. Una gazed down as Armand dragged off his helmet. His eyes were seeking out her own. She raised her hand to her lips and sent him a kiss. Before her eyes, he reached out a gauntleted hand to catch her tribute and press it to his breastplate.

  “Oh my!” breathed the Queen whose interest had finally been snared. She fanned herself with her hand and cast a sideways look at Una. “Finally, I see what all the fuss is about,” she murmured.

  *

  Of course, they had not been able to wriggle out of that evening’s feasting. Armand was a mass of aches and sores by the time the first course was served. He could not use his right hand, which was so swollen, he has forced to hold his wine cup in his left.

  They were sat at the high table next to the King and Queen, Earl Vawdrey and his countess, and a bunch of other courtiers whose names Armand had not bothered to catch.

  He kept his focus on Una as she sat beside him, intent on cutting up his food. Her hair for once was loose, for her decoration tonight was neither veil nor headdress. Instead on her head, she wore the autumn wreath of orange flowers that crowned his win. It suited her well, as did the happy flush upon her cheek. Her auburn hair was so long she was sat upon it. She looked, he thought, like a bride. Perhaps, they could have a second wedding night later in the privacy of their bedchamber, to replace all memories of the first.

  This time, he would be a winner in truth, and a worthy bridegroom, even if he was a mass of bruises. It had all been worth it. Even having to suffer Una’s attention being monopolized by the King, which had slightly maddened him this week. In truth, Wymer vied as much for Armand’s attention as he did for Una’s. He’d never really understood why the King liked him so much, but he supposed he was more grateful for the fact these days. It had caused him to look favorably on their match after all.