An Ill-Made Match (Vawdrey Brothers Book 3)

by Alice Coldbreath

  Eden inclined her head to show she was agreeable. “Do you think it might be advisable to move to the second row, Gunnilde?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder.

  Her new friend looked shocked. “Oh no! We couldn’t do that, Enid!”

  “Eden,” she corrected her, but Gunnilde had her hands clasped before her as if in prayer, and a faraway look in her eye.

  “I’m sure your good knight and true will be looking for you. And when he sees you here, he will be inspired to great feats of valor and chivalry!”

  By knocking someone off their horse with a big stick? It hardly seemed to make any sense to Eden, but she forced a smile and nodded her head nonetheless.

  “It was just wonderful to see how highly he regards you,” said Gunnilde shyly. “I would love to have someone view me one day with such a gaze.”

  Eden struggled to keep her face blank at these startling words. She wondered if Gunnilde would think Roland so respectful if she’d heard him bluntly tell her to use the chamber pot that morning. “Are you betrothed, Gunnilde?” she asked instead politely.

  Gunnilde blushed and shook her head. “No, for Father has had other things on his mind of late with his own re-marriage. I had hoped… but alas, it was not meant to be.” She huffed out a sigh and Eden deduced she had lost her heart to someone along the way. It was not that surprising when you considered how fanciful the girl was.

  “Indeed?” asked Eden encouragingly, leaving an inviting pause for confidences.

  Sure enough, Gunnilde plucked at her skirts a moment, before taking a deep breath. “Mother always said I was informally matched with our neighbor Sir Giles Conway’s eldest son, Arthur. The Conways should be attending today’s festivities, so you may even meet him later on.” Gunnilde patted her hair distractedly.

  “But no mention has been made of a contract since you have come of age?” asked Eden with a small frown. “How old is Arthur Conway?”

  “Two and twenty, so high time he took a wife,” Gunnilde supplied readily. “But their family came into some money unexpectedly and they have expectations now at court, and so…” She winced. “Stepmother says I am no longer sufficiently grand enough for the Conways.”

  “Expectations?” asked Eden, her ears pricking up. “Do the Conways now have connections at court?”

  “Yes indeed,” nodded Gunnilde. “For Arthur’s sister has lately married Sir Christopher Lelland, a very prominent man. And they do say that he may sponsor Arthur, which would be a very grand thing for the Conways.” Gunnilde’s voice had dropped to a reverent whisper.

  Eden’s mouth twisted. She knew Sir Christopher Lelland. He held the position as an usher in the King’s retinue. She supposed, around these parts they might think him an elevated member of court, though he did not move in the first circles and was rather staid in reputation.

  “I know of Sir Christopher,” said Eden cautiously.

  “Oh!” Gunnilde reddened. “I hope you do not think I spoke out of turn…”

  “Of course not,” Eden assured her. “You have said naught amiss.”

  “I wonder if he and his new wife are still staying with the Conways,” wondered her new friend aloud. “If so, you may even see him here today.”

  Eden’s heart sank at the idea of crossing paths with a fellow courtier. Still, it had to be done. And no doubt several of the knights attended court. “Have you met Sir Edward Bevan and Sir James Attley?” she asked. “They are both friends of Roland Vawdrey’s. My husband,” she added belatedly, trying it out. It sounded stiff and awkward on her lips.

  “Not officially,” replied Gunnilde, who had not seemed to notice. “But I saw them when they arrived yesterday, for my brother Hal and I were watching from the ramparts. They both looked so very handsome and distinguished. I am sure I would be far too tongue-tied to ever utter more than two words together in their presence!”

  “Nonsense,” responded Eden briskly. “You need not be shy and must have some conversation with them at this evening’s feast. You are a young woman with a great deal of presence and rational conversation. I will be glad to introduce you myself.”

  Gunnilde gasped. “Would you?” She bit her lower lip. “Your pardon, I did not realize that you were so well acquainted with royal court. Is that where you met your husband, the King’s champion?”

  Eden nodded. “Yes, for my uncle Sir Leofric is a member of the King’s bedchamber, and I myself am lady-in-waiting to Queen Armenal.”

  The girl’s jaw dropped. “L-lady-in-waiting? To the Queen herself?” she stammered.

  “Yes,” answered Eden. “Though I may not be, when I return.” She winced. “The Queen’s ladies are supposed to ask permission before they marry. And I did not.”

  Gunnilde was staring at her now, with so much astonished admiration that Eden was a little alarmed. Belatedly she remembered how romantic the girl was in her notions.

  “To risk losing your position at court, for love,” breathed Gunnilde, covering her mouth with her hands. Her eyes filled with tears. “It should be made into a ballad!”

  “It is largely just a matter of courtesy these days,” Eden hurried to reassure her. “And the Queen will likely not care overmuch.”

  “I think you’re wonderful,” said Gunnilde in a choked voice. “I really do!”

  To Eden’s relief, she spotted a crowd of people heading their way and realized more spectators were arriving. “It seems we have company,” she said brightly.

  Gunnilde wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “Oh no,” she whispered. “Tis the Conways already. Is my nose very red?”

  “It looks fine,” Eden assured her. “I think I see Sir Christopher. Which one is Arthur?”

  “The fair one with the lordly bearing and the blonde moustache,” said Gunnilde, with a very clear bias.

  Arthur Conway was of middling height with wavy blonde hair and moustache. He had a slightly self-conscious swagger in his walk, which Eden thought might have been for Gunnilde’s benefit as he seemed to look everywhere, except directly at her new friend.

  “Is that his mother and sister with him?” Eden asked looking at a middle-aged matron in blue and a younger woman with a rather large headdress on, and an even larger air of self-importance.

  “Yes,” said Gunnilde, sounding a bit crestfallen. “Muriel and I used to be great friends, but in recent years… well…” her words trailed off miserably. “Not so much.” They waited as the Conway party approached.

  “Goodness, is that you Gunnilde, child,” said Lady Conway as they drew near. “I would hardly recognize you. You look quite changed. Have you been ill?”

  Gunnilde flushed as she bobbed a curtsey. “I have not,” she said with a quiet dignity that impressed Eden.

  “She doesn’t look ill, mother,” frowned Sir Arthur Conway. “Looks very well, i’faith!” He made a bow to Gunnilde and then to Eden.

  “May I introduce our neighbors,” Gunnilde started her introductions. “Sir Arthur Conway and his mother Lady Conway. And this is his sister, Lady Muriel…”

  “Gracious me, you silly child! You seem to forget I am lately married!” cut in Muriel Lelland with a high, rather false laugh. “I have not been Muriel Conway, for at least a month and a half!”

  Eden took an instant dislike to Muriel who must be of a similar age to Gunnilde. She guessed it was her recently married status that caused her to now act so condescendingly to her childhood friend. Eden slipped her arm through Gunnilde’s in a silent show of solidarity.

  Gunnilde started. “Please allow me to introduce my friend Lady Eden-“

  “Yes, yes,” cut in Lady Conway rudely. “Hurry now, girl! My dear Son-in-law approaches, and you will both need to move along the bench. Muriel and her husband are sure to be the most distinguished guests here this day and deserve the best spot.”

  Eden pursed her lips and looked over her shoulder to see Sir Christopher and an older man approaching. When she had turned back two bright spots of color had appeared in Gunnilde’s cheeks.
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” she answered in a surprisingly loud voice. Before she could continue, a cry from Sir Christopher Lelland interrupted her.

  “By all that’s holy! Is that you Lady Eden?” He swept a very graceful bow. “I hardly expected to see the Queen’s favorite sat among our humble company this day! What a pleasant surprise!”

  A silence had fallen over the rest of the Conway party, who simply turned and stared at Eden in open-mouthed horror.

  “Yes, it is,” said Eden in a composed voice, she gave a curtsey, but did not release Gunnilde’s arm. “May I introduce my friend, Gunnilde Payne to you Sir Christopher?”

  “Delighted,” he said, giving Gunnilde just as reverent a bow as he had to Eden. “Have you met my wife?” He held his hand out to Muriel, rotating his fingers hurriedly. She rushed over to his side.

  “Just this moment,” said Eden. She looked coldly at the scarlet-faced Muriel, before resolutely turning her back on her. “Shall we be seated, dear Gunnilde? I mean to point out anyone of interest to you.” They sat themselves back down in their original seats as the Conway party stood about in mortified confusion.

  “But whatever has happened?” Eden heard Sir Christopher asking his wife in an urgent undertone, as he led her to one side. Muriel Lelland was wringing her handkerchief and remonstrating with her mother in a slightly hysterical manner. Luckily Eden could not make out the babbled words.

  “I think you’ve had a lucky escape,” she murmured to Gunnilde. “Though Sir Arthur does seem to be the best of the bunch. Imagine having to contend with his mother on a daily basis.”

  “I can’t believe they were so rude,” Gunnilde whispered back. “I can only apologize, I was mortified!”

  “Tis not for you to apologize,” Eden told her, squeezing her arm. “Why Gunnilde, you’re trembling!”

  “Tis with anger,” her friend admitted. “My stepmother was right all along. They do think themselves far superior to the likes of me. I can’t believe I was so foolish as to still…” she choked on her words.

  “Do not let it spoil your enjoyment of your father’s tournament,” Eden urged her. “After all, you are a great admirer of knightly prowess, are you not?”

  Gunnilde dabbed her eyes with her scarf. “Y-yes,” she gulped. “You are right. And I have so been looking forward to it.”

  “Sensible girl,” said Eden approvingly. “Now, tell me, who are this party of people approaching?”

  Happy to be distracted Gunnilde pointed out the guests, who were made up of various pillars of local society. These included the Abbot from nearby Tranton Abbey, a few well-heeled merchants from the nearest city of Greater Tranton, and assorted friends and neighbors.

  “Your family must have lived here in Tranton Vale for a good many years I think?” Eden asked, taking care to keep the conversation flowing. That way her new friend did not have the chance to feel awkward before the festivities started.

  “Oh yes,” Gunnilde told her happily. “My great-grandfather built Payne Manor.” She chattered away happily, explaining the improvements various generations had made to their home. “Here comes Father now,” she broke off a few moments later as the family party approached. “That’s my brother Hal,” she said pointing out a lad of about fourteen who bore a strong resemblance to Gunnilde with his yellow hair and amiable manner. “We must be getting close to starting for the day.” She waved. “Hal! Father!” She stood up to show them where they had saved them seats.

  Hearing someone click their tongue disapprovingly to her left, Eden turned her head sharply and narrowed her gaze at Lady Conway who turned red and looked away. Awful woman, thought Eden. Just then, she caught sight of Arthur Conway, who was gazing rather wistfully at Gunnilde. He did not seem to find anything amiss with the way her friend was bouncing on her toes in excitement, and beaming all over her face. Her sweetness would no doubt prove a strong contrast to his own mother and sister who were extremely sour-faced.

  A blast was given by a rather motley crew of buglers. Eden turned her head and found knights on horseback had entered the field and were arranging themselves into two lines, facing each other. A murmur of excitement ran through the crowd. Hal Payne sat hurriedly down on the other side of her. “We only just arrived in time,” he said sounding out of breath. “Father would keep talking to that prosy bore, Father Clements!”

  “Hal,” Gunnilde whispered urgently, leaning around Eden. “Father Clements is a highly respected and moreover venerable-”

  “Yes, yes, for the lords sake don’t start with that now!” said her brother hastily. “Hello,” he said belatedly, realizing he had not met Eden before. “I’m Hal. Would you like some marchpane?” He was unwrapping a piece of cloth in his lap, which was full of sticky treats.

  “This is the Lady Eden,” said Gunnilde, leaning forward again with a frown. “Show some respect. She’s married to the King’s champion.”

  Hal’s eyes nearly started out of his head. “That one?” he asked, pointing to middle of the line in the group to the left.

  Eden was grateful he had pointed him out. She recognized Roland’s black and scarlet shield at once. “Yes,” she agreed, noticing with a start her kerchief wrapped around Roland Vawdrey’s arm. Never had she thought to see the day when Roland Vawdrey wore her favor on the field! On his other arm he wore a yellow scarf along with all the other knights in his formation. Looking to the other group, she found they all wore blue scarves. “Is the melee the mock battle?” she asked, trying to remember the last tournament, without much success. “Is that why they’re in two groups?”

  “Mm-hmm,” agreed Hal Payne, his cheeks bulging with sweets. Looking at his sticky fingers, Eden was suddenly glad he had not offered a handshake. The bugles sounded again and suddenly, the horses were all spurred forward and the two sides rode at each other, levelling their lances. There was a thundering of hooves as the two lines charged each other. Eden winced at the clash of lances against breastplates. For a moment all seemed in confusion as several bodies hit the ground and rolled around perilously close to the horses hooves. Eden held her breath, as she sought Roland out. After a moment or two, she found him still sat astride his horse. She breathed out, and noticed that the lines seemed to be slowly re-forming and galloping apart again, before wheeling around to face one another again. A bunch of squires ran forward from the edges of the pitch.

  “What are they-?”

  “The squires are allowed to re-furnish their masters with lances up to three times,” Gunnilde told her obligingly.

  Eden looked back and sure enough found the squires were passing up lances to those knights that were still seated. It seemed Roland had held onto his lance as Eden noticed Cuthbert’s blonde head glinting in the sun on the sidelines. Rather than running forward with the rest of the company, he was still lolling on the edges, as if he had not a care in the world. When the squires fell back and the horses started forward again, Eden let out a strangled cry. “But what about the men who are fallen?”

  “They’ll be fine,” Hall assured her, licking his fingers. “Look, even now they’re drawing their swords.”

  Eden looked, but while that was true of a most of them, at least two of their number being dragged from the field. One of them merely looked dazed and was mumbling. The other though was being dragged by his heels and looked to Eden’s eye, completely dead to the world.

  “Oh poor Sir Renlowe!” exclaimed Gunnilde, and Eden surmised this must be the unfortunate who had suffered a broken nose the day before.

  Why on earth would he not retire from the lists after suffering such an ignoble defeat the day before? The crash of lance against shield, made her jump, dragging her from her thoughts. Again, several bodies were rolling in the dust. Eden’s eyes sought their crests to make out who was who in the bewildering throng. “I can’t quite-“

  “He’s there,” said Hal, pointing a finger to a knight on horseback.

  “Oh yes,” she said relieved, before frowning. “Though he’
s lost his lance this time.” Her gaze swept to Cuthbert, who was looking alert now and already had a replacement in his hand ready. The horses were reforming and galloped toward the other side of the field where the squires were already running forward. “How long does this go on for?”

  “Until they’re all unseated and there’s a clear winning side,” shrugged Hal.

  “Well, how long does that usually take?”

  “Depends,” said Hal, selecting another sticky piece of marchpane with great deliberation. “I did hear tell of one melee that went on for three whole days.”

  “What?” Eden could not keep the note of horror from her voice.

  He grinned. “But there were over four hundred knights competing in that one.”

  Eden breathed out with relief. To her eye there were no more than twenty on each side today.

  “There’s a fair few knights on the ground now,” Gunnilde pointed out, nudging Eden in the side.

  Eden looked and indeed there were. They had been hacking and slashing at each other a few minutes ago but now they had fallen back to gaze at the enemy line with their swords held ready for the next charge. “It seems very dangerous to be in the thick of it like that, amidst all the charging horses.”

  “See how they’ve started forming into groups,” pointed out Gunnilde. Surely enough, they were now stood in threes and fours. “They’ll start trying to pull the knights off their mounts now likely as not.”

  “What?”

  “You’ll see,” said Gunnilde complacently.

  “Surely you jest?” quavered Eden. She was sure there had been none of that at the Royal tournaments.

  Gunnilde shook her head, her eyes glued on the field. “See that one there,” she said pointing to a large knight in black armor. His helmet was horned and somehow quite monstrous to look at. Her voice lowered to an awed whisper. “That’s Lord Kentigern.”

  “I think I heard someone mention his name earlier, but I don’t think-?”

  “He’s one of the Northern Lords, and a very fearsome fighter. He was apparently of great renown in the North, but only just earning his fame in these parts.”