Oh.
“Am I to wait on all three of you, then?” asked Cuthbert with irritation. “You know Sir James doesn’t have a squire of his own at present.”
“Well, you’re dismissed for the rest of the day also,” Roland growled at him. “Make yourself scarce.”
“Really?” Cuthbert’s spirits picked up immediately.
“Aye. The others can shift for themselves when they get in.” Cuthbert, who didn’t need to be told twice, was already halfway across the tent, when Roland called after him. “Take some coin with you. There’s sure to be entertainments and such.”
Cuthbert grinned and made for Roland’s saddle bag, where he extracted a couple of coins, whooped, and showed a clean pair of heels.
“You didn’t tell him how much to take,” commented Eden.
Roland looked up from where he was drying off his neck and shoulders. “No, I didn’t,” he agreed, throwing down his cloth. He donned his tunic, walked over to the table, grabbed her hand and pulled her in the direction of the bunks.
**
“Whose bunk is this?” asked Eden sounding slightly panicked as he pulled her down onto the mattress beside him.
“Mine,” he answered huskily, drawing her against him, with his hands at her waist. They would not have long before his friends showed up, but he wanted a taste of those lips again.
“But how do you-?”
“I always have the bunk to the right,” he interrupted her, anticipating her question.
He lowered his head but Eden ducked hers. “I surely won’t be expected to sleep here though?” she asked, an edge of desperation to her voice.
“Nay,” he agreed, running a hand up the back of her neck, in a soothing motion. “You’ll sleep up at the house.” And so will I, but he did not feel the need to say that aloud. She was already skittish as a colt. At his words, she slumped in relief, and he took the opportunity to claim her lips, half-rolling on top of her. She squeaked when he licked along her bottom lip, and he took the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth. There was no way in hell he should find kissing Eden Montmayne as exciting as this. He wished someone would tell it to his heart which was pounding almost out of his chest. She made a strangled sound into his mouth and he slid his hand down between her shoulder blades and down to her slender waist. “Kiss me back,” he said huskily, tearing his mouth away for an instant. “Give me your mouth.” She huffed, and guessing she was about to say something disagreeable, he forestalled her, by crushing his lips to hers. He almost groaned when he felt her hesitant hands land on his upper arms, in what he guessed was her approximation of an embrace. He broke off again. “Put your arms round my neck, Eden.”
“But your-?”
He stopped her words again with his lips, and after a few seconds, she removed her hands and wrapped them tentatively around his neck. Shit. Why did it feel so good? He groaned, and felt her gasp beneath him in alarm. He shifted over her, insinuating one leg between hers. Her heavy skirts were in the way, but still, he was breathing heavily through his nose like a gods-damn bull. It was only supposed to be a taste, he reminded himself, suppressing the impulse to toss up her skirts. That was out of the question, even if he only wanted to feel her legs tangle with his. To comfort himself, he palmed her breast over her dress. Eden was a modest dresser and wore her necklines rather higher than fashion dictated. At his touch she jumped so hard, it startled even him. He drew his head back to look at her quizzically. “What?” he asked. Eden stared up at him in confusion, instead of answering, her gaze dropped to his mouth. That was invitation enough for Roland. He returned to her pretty lips, but was less demanding this time. Ravishing her mouth was just getting him hot and bothered, and he could hardly bed her here, like a camp follower. When his hand covered her breast again, she whimpered, but did not bridle. He stroked his thumb gently over where he guessed her nipple would be, and coaxed her lips teasingly with his. As it was, he was aroused beyond all reason. Mayhap the six months of celibacy that had afflicted him was partly to blame? For whatever reason, he was at risk of embarrassing himself if he did not calm things down. One thing was clear, he thought, his head reeling, as he was overtaken by desire. His instincts had not led him astray at midwinter. Eden Montmayne was his, and his alone.
Someone coughed behind them. Roland stiffened, turning his head to look over his shoulder. Eden immediately turned as rigid as a board beneath him. His friends Bev and Attley stood gaping at them in astonishment. At the murderous look in his eye, they both fell back, clearing their throats and scratching the back of their necks.
“Do you want us to try and rig up a curtain as partition?” asked Bev uncertainly, as Roland levered himself off his mortified bride. “Only we need to wash and…”
“No,” Roland answered shortly. He held his hand out to a scarlet-cheeked Eden, and after a moment’s pause, she took it and he hauled her off the bunk to stand beside him. Strangely enough, his overwhelming impulse was to soothe his affronted wife. He deliberately stepped in front of her, obscuring her from view as she tugged this way and that at her dress, trying to right herself. He eyed her headdress which was hanging off to one side at a rakish angle. Picking up his cue, her hands flew to right it.
“Is it on straight?” she muttered, looking uncertain and seeking assurance.
Why the fuck that made his chest squeeze, he had no idea! It was straight, but he reached out anyway to lightly touch her silky hair beneath the beaded band and gauzy scarf. Was this what it was going to be like from now on? Forever looking for excuses to touch her? The thought unnerved him, but at least it served to damp his ardor sufficiently so that he could turn around and face his friends.
Attley was staring like a fool, but Bev was studiously looking anywhere but at them.
“We’re going to watch the Challenge to Arms,” Roland said coolly, feeling anything but. He stretched out his hand, but Eden slipped her arm through his more formally. He frowned, but bent his arm anyway to accommodate her.
“Mayhap we’ll join you later,” suggested Bev.
“Aye,” Roland agreed readily. “We’ll look to see you.” He grabbed his doublet off the bench and flung it over his shoulder before leading Eden from the tent.
“I should probably warn you, Sir Christopher Lelland is here.” she said haltingly, as they made their way back toward the main field.
He turned his head. “Who?”
“He is one of the King’s attendants.”
“What of it?” asked Roland sharply. Who the devil was this fellow to her?
“Naught, save that he is a courtier,” explained Eden with raised brows.
Her words sank in. “Oh,” he shrugged. “Well, my brothers will be informing the King as we speak, so it little signifies.”
“It appears he has lately married one of Sir Aubron’s neighbors,” she elaborated.
Roland frowned. On the one hand Eden was talking to him, which he felt he should encourage. She did not strike him as the naturally voluble type. Indeed, she had been entirely silent for large stretches of their journey there. On the other hand, he could care less about Sir Aubron’s neighbors, or the King’s attendants for that matter. He made a non-committal noise which he fancied struck the middle-ground he required. From the frown on Eden’s face, it seemed he had aimed and missed. “Indeed?” he added lamely. Perhaps he should have attempted this polite conversation thing at some point previous to now. He’d never realized he would need such a skill in his arsenal. “What did you think of the melee?” he asked, steering things into safer waters.
A pained expression crossed Eden’s face. “It was very difficult to keep track of you,” she said. “Amidst all the chaos.” There it was again. A warm feeling spread through his chest at the idea of her looking for him in the crowd. Since his father died, he had not had anyone watching in his corner. Not family anyway. “I fancy I will find the joust tomorrow easier to stay abreast of,” she added awkwardly. “They have an announcer, do they not?”
> “Aye,” he agreed, covering the hand in the crook of his arm with his. She looked up startled at his touch. “Best you get used to it,” he said.
“Tournaments?” asked Eden.
“My touch,” he responded, shooting her a wink. She colored up and looked away biting her lip. He grinned to himself as they crossed the field.
“Are you really not as bothered as you seem,” asked Eden suddenly, as they neared the observational benches.
“By what?”
She hesitated. “All the people staring at us,” she said at last.
Had they been staring? Roland glanced around at the milling crowds of people. A fair few did look hastily away at his confrontational stare. “Why should I be?” He asked, returning his attention to her. Her gaze skittered away. “Eden?” He wanted those blue eyes trained back on him.
“No reason. I suppose I envy your composure,” she said lightly, but he wasn’t sure he believed her answer.
“You have no reason to be self-conscious,” he found himself telling her, as he led her to a vacant bench. “Are not brides usually a source of interest?”
“Brides?” she sounded startled again. “More than half these people will be completely unaware of our marriage!”
He cocked an eye at her. “I wore your badge in the field,” he said reminded her. “I’ve never worn a lady’s favor before.”
Eden’s expression wavered. “Oh!”
“They may not realize we are wed, but all will know you’re my sweetheart.”
Her step faltered. “Cuthbert said these rural tournaments are not overmuch attended by wives,” she blurted.
“True enough,” he agreed, wondering at her blush.
“Well, I hope no-one thinks-”
“What?” he asked curiously, as she plunked down onto the bench.
“That I’m not respectable!” she huffed, straightening her veil.
He longed to point out that they’d woken up in bed together three days previously, but he already knew Eden was ill-used to teasing and likely to react poorly. Managing to hold his tongue, he summoned an attendant over with some drinks.
“Will you have ale or wine?”
“Watered wine, if you please.”
After selecting their drinks, he sat beside her, clearing his throat. “Has anyone explained the Challenge to Arms to you?”
“Yes,” she said, straightening up. “Is that the tree Gunnilde spoke of?” she asked raising a hand to shield her eyes against the sun.
Roland looked to the large oak. Shields were hanging from the low hanging branches. “Aye, that’s the one.”
“Do you recognize any of the coats of arms?” she asked, taking a sip of wine.
He glanced back. “The white shield with the black tree is the strongest competitor today,” he said after a moment’s appraisal. “Sir Jeoffrey de Crecy.”
“If he’s so good, why would he not have joined the melee or the joust tomorrow?” asked Eden.
“He may have arrived too late today to make the melee. And the joust is likely over-subscribed already.”
“I see.”
With irritation Roland noticed approaching figures. Would they not be given a moment’s peace together?
Eden clicked her tongue with annoyance. “’Tis Sir Christopher with his wife Lady Muriel.”
The fact Eden was not happy at the interruption either, pleased him inordinately. He turned a heavy frown on the interlopers.
“Sir Roland,” the newcomer hailed him enthusiastically. “Well met!” Roland nodded warily. Now that he saw the fellow, he did vaguely recognize seeing him about court. “I believe congratulations are in order,” Lelland carried on genially. “I understand you have lately joined our newly-wed ranks. May I introduce you to my bride, Lady Muriel.” He turned to the insipid looking woman at his side. Roland flickered uninterested eyes over her. Muriel Lelland, he noticed, was eyeing Eden nervously. Now what had happened there?
“I do hope you will forgive me for the misunderstanding earlier,” she twittered obsequiously. “I – er – I did not realize that you were a fellow courtier of my husband’s.”
Eden regarded her stonily, her blue eyes suddenly as hard as flint. “I see,” she said briefly, and turned back to regarding the shield covered tree. It was amazing how haughty her features could turn, in the mere blink of an eye. Roland was dimly aware he should not find it as entertaining as he did.
Sir Christopher hovered uneasily, his wife looking anguished.
Roland found himself clearing his throat. “You – er – staying for the Challenge to Arms?” he asked. Sir Christopher cast him a grateful look. “Indeed!” he agreed. “Indeed, we are. My wife knows a couple of the local entrants, is that not so, my dear?”
“Er yes,” said Muriel who was still regarding Eden with unhappy eyes. “No-one of consequence, you understand. Not court folk.”
Eden looked up at this and pursed her lips. “Is that your criteria for determining who of your company are important and who are not, Lady Muriel?” she asked caustically.
Lady Muriel’s eyes flew wide with alarm. “Oh! Well…“
“I’m afraid my wife expressed herself ill,” interjected Sir Christopher hastily. “She is very fond of the Payne family. Is that not so, my dear? Indeed, you and Gunnilde Payne were like sisters growing up by all accounts.”
“Yes, oh yes!” agreed Muriel. “Quite like sisters!”
“I find that an extraordinary statement,” said Eden. “In light of the manner in which you greeted her not three hours ago.”
Muriel Lelland’s face was scarlet. She opened and closed her mouth without managing to utter a single word.
Roland glanced warily from Eden to Sir Christopher. He had not the faintest notion what was going on, but it seemed this Muriel woman had somehow managed to offend Eden. And it appeared his wife was not the forgiving type.
“Could you possibly intercede for us, Sir Roland?” asked Sir Christopher, wincing. “I’m afraid my wife’s behavior has caused yours much offence.”
It was on the tip of Roland’s tongue to ask what the devil he was expected to do about it, but he managed to squash the ignoble impulse. After all, he was a husband now, so he supposed these sorts of things were bound to occur. Sort of like owning a hound and it attacking someone else’s. “Maybe yours should apologize?” he hazarded, stretching out his legs before him.
“She already did,” Eden pointed out. “But I am a great subscriber to the notion that actions speak louder than words. Lady Muriel’s future behavior toward my friend shall determine whether I accept her apology or no.” A silence greeted her words. Roland found himself uneasily hoping he did not incur his wife’s stiff-necked wrath anytime soon. She was making it damned hard for the wretched woman. It didn’t help matters that he was entirely confused as to who this friend was that Eden referred to. Was there someone else here from court then? “Ah, here come our hosts now,” said Eden mildly. “And your opportunity to redeem yourself, Lady Muriel.”
Roland looked up to see Sir Aubron approaching with his family party. Sir Aubron was nodding and smiling and waving at everyone as they took their seats in the center of the front row. Muriel Lelland stood in frozen indecision for a moment, and then walked forward jerkily toward the plump blonde on the outskirts of the group. Roland vaguely remembered her from earlier. He cast a questioning look at Eden, but she was watching with her lips pressed firmly together.
The two young women seemed to be in earnest conversation. Suddenly Muriel put her hands to her face and seemed to be dissolving into tears. The shorter girl crowded in sympathetically and soon had an arm around her, patting her back.
“There, there,” said Sir Christopher awkwardly. “All seems well between them, in any event. Would you not say so?” he cast an anxious look in Eden’s direction.
Eden stuck her nose in the air. She was not so easily mollified.
“Aye, all seems to have worked itself out,” Roland found himself agreeing, catc
hing the gleam of desperation in Sir Christopher’s eye.
“Excellent, excellent,” murmured Sir Christopher, rubbing his hands together. “I felt sure it would be so.”
“I believe,” said Eden after a moment’s pause. “That there was an understanding between the Conways and the Paynes as to Sir Arthur and Gunnilde eventually marrying. Have you ever heard anything of that nature, Sir Christopher?” she asked, bestowing her first agreeable smile on him.
Sir Christopher blinked and Roland found himself frowning. Why the hells was she giving him her smiles now?
“I – er – that is, no I had not, Lady Eden.”
“Perhaps you have not yet had the chance to accustom yourself with your brother-in-law’s affairs,” she said kindly, but with a trace of reproach that made Sir Christopher wince.
“It’s true I have not as yet, as you say, Lady Eden.”
She inclined her head graciously, and Roland found himself thinking that his wife would likely grow into one of those very stern matrons that struck fear into the hearts of men. For some gods-forsaken reason, that did not seem to put him off one damned bit. He must have rocks in his head!
“I will just go and ask my wife to introduce me to the Lady Gunnilde,” said Sir Christopher, earning another smile from Eden. It was an approving one this time.
“How long have you known these people?” he asked a little testily as he watched Sir Christopher hurry over to his wife and Gunnilde Payne.
“The Paynes?” she sounded surprised by his question. “Only since my introduction today.”
“Then how the devil do you know all about their betrothal arrangements and such?” he demanded belligerently.
“Well, naturally Gunnilde and I had some conversation while we were waiting for you to enter the field.”
“Mmm.” For some reason he was put out. He had a vague notion it was because she had smiled twice at Sir Christopher and not once at him. But that was damn ridiculous. What did he care for Eden Monmayne’s smiles? He stretched out on the bench. Mayhap it was because she was Eden Vawdrey now, and they belonged to him, he thought moodily as he mulled it over.
An Ill-Made Match (Vawdrey Brothers Book 3) Page 10
