An Ill-Made Match (Vawdrey Brothers Book 3)

by Alice Coldbreath

  **

  Three days later

  Roland dismounted and scanned the tower for any visible signs of his wife. Which was frankly ridiculous. What was he expecting? A flash of blue at a window, or her to come running with his name on her lips? Both were sadly unreasonable, given the fact most of the windows at the Keep were narrow arrow loops, and his wife was more likely to scold him than hang about his neck. He had no idea why this thought made him smile to himself, either. “I’ll send Fulco down to help carry the packs in,” he told Cuthbert who was leading the horses toward the stable.”

  “Aye,” said Cuthbert knowingly. “You wouldn’t want to keep my lady waiting,” he added with considerable cheek.

  Roland reached into his saddle bag and extracted a couple of items, before slapping Bavol on the rump and sending him after Cuthbert. He hurried up toward the Keep. They had been gone six days in all, as he had diverted on impulse to Pryors Naunton on a shopping venture. He had ended up having to buy a third horse to load up all his purchases. And that wasn’t even the sum total of what he’d bought. The furniture he had commissioned would be conveyed here at some later point. He wasn’t quite sure what had come over him, but he was more eager to see Eden than really made sense. He exchanged some words with Fulco on the first floor, sending his manservant down to the stables. Then he made his way to the second floor, where he found the dining chamber and sitting room both empty, and the fires unlit. Hearing a foot on the stair, he wrenched open the door and surprised a curly-haired maid carrying down a tray. She faltered in her step, then gave him a hasty curtsey.

  “Where’s my wife?” he demanded.

  “She’s in her room, Sir Roland,” responded the maid, recovering fast and guessing who he was.

  “Her room? Is she ill?”

  “No sir,” she hesitated. “Only a little melancholic, I think.” At his stunned look, she added. “Doubtless missing you, sir.”

  But Roland was already climbing the stairs two at a time. It occurred to him, shortly before opening the door to the bedchamber, that he had not seen a single dog since arriving, something unheard of at Vawdrey Keep. Then he blinked uncomprehendingly at the sight in front of him. All six dogs were dotted around the room, draped over chests, stretched out on the hearth-rug, and even one, Parnell, the villain, lying across the bottom of the bed. Eden’s feet were resting on him as if she were a living breathing tomb effigy. Castor, lying on top of a large handsome trunk, raised his head from his paws to look intently at Roland, then dropped it again and closed his eyes.

  “Oh, you’re back, are you?” asked Eden lowering her book to look at him. She had the doors wide open to the box bed and was wrapped in a blanket, one long braid over her shoulder.

  “What’s all this?” asked Roland with a sweeping hand gesture encompassing the whole room.

  Eden shrugged. “It’s been wet and miserable,” she said and returned to her book.

  Roland shrugged out of his doublet. “Here, Parnell!” he said sternly, and the dog grudgingly climbed to his feet and hopped down off the bed. He shot a dirty look at Roland, as he opened the bedroom door and ordered loudly: “Out!” The dogs all came to their feet and reluctantly skulked over to the door. Shutting it behind them and turning the key, Roland crossed to the washstand and washed his hands face, and neck in cold water there.

  “We’ve a maid now,” said Eden, her eyes still on the page. “You could ask her to bring hot water.”

  “Haven’t got the time,” answered Roland succinctly, stripping himself off and toweling himself dry.

  “What do you mean, you haven’t got the time?” asked Eden frowning, as he crossed the room toward her.

  “I mean,” said Roland, hopping nimbly into the box bed, and pulling the doors shut behind him. “That, I haven’t got the time.” He took the book from Eden’s hands and tossed it over his shoulder as he settled over her.

  “Careful with that!” chided Eden, as he took her lips in a kiss he had been anticipating for days. His hands sought for the edges of her blankets. He tore his mouth from hers. “Give me your tongue,” he urged. “Like last time.”

  Eden’s cheeks turned crimson. “Well, really-!” she spluttered.

  “I haven’t stopped thinking about it,” he admitted thickly, dragging down the blanket. Finally. His large hand covered her breast, making out its shape.

  “Don’t tear my new shift, it’s very delicate,” Eden said irritably. “Your hands are cold.”

  “So warm me up then, you little shrew.” She tutted, but fussed around, dragging the sheets up around his shoulders. “I meant with your body,” Roland told her with a laugh.

  “You were gone six days,” said Eden accusingly. “Not four or five!”

  Roland felt an unaccountable warm feeling spreading through his chest. He’d meant to join his aching body to hers as soon as possible, but now for some reason, he was inclined to tarry over exchanging words with her. Unfathomable. “Did you miss me, then?”

  “No!” huffed Eden. “I had better things to do, I assure you!”

  “Did you?” He kissed her neck, moving her dark braid out of the way. He wanted it loose and falling around her shoulders. “The servants told me you’ve been moping about the place. Lonely and missing me.” Gods, her skin was soft.

  “They grossly exaggerated,” Eden replied, but she sounded breathless and distracted as he lingered over the flickering pulse in her throat.

  “I missed you too,” he heard himself groan. “Gods Eden, you’ve no idea.“ She caught her breath at that, and he pressed his advantage by taking her mouth again, and the kiss he’d wanted all along. They were both panting after that, and she finally seemed to catch his urgency. He squeezed her breasts. “Are my hands still cold?” he rumbled.

  “N-no,” she conceded, and he reached down between them, bunching up her shift, cupping her between her legs.

  “Gods, Eden,” he whispered, stroking her most secret feminine place. “Your pelt here is velvety soft, I could pet you all day.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “Must you talk, when you’re doing such things!”

  “Yes, I must,” he said, though in truth, he could not remember such a compulsion before now. “I want you to talk back to me too.”

  She opened one eye. “Don’t call it my pelt.”

  “What shall I call it then?” He slipped a finger inside her and she made a muffled sound that made the blood pound in his ears. “Eden?” he prompted.

  “I don’t know,” she gasped.

  He closed his own eyes when he felt her get his finger wet. Rubbing his thumb through her curls, he added another finger, and she whimpered. “I want to put my mouth there,” he admitted. “But you’re already wet enough for my cock.” Eden’s eyes flew open. “Which shall it be?” he mused. “Will you promise to come on my cock this time? Like a good wife?” Eden’s gaze back at him was blank and slightly glazed. “No preference?” He teased.

  “Don’t toy with me,” she said, a tremor running through her voice.

  He moved his fingers and she gave a startled moan. “I don’t think you mind as much as you make out.” He slid his thumb lower, to tease her hidden pearl. “You liked my tongue here last time,” he said tapping it.

  Eden’s eyes widened. “R-Roland!” she gasped shakily.

  “Shall I do it again?”

  She surprised him, by rolling her hips. “Please,” she murmured, and her hand flew from his shoulder to slide between them, catching his hand, and pressing it between her legs.

  “Just my fingers?” he grunted. “You want them here?”

  She nodded her head, and he pressed his thumb, applying the pressure she needed there. Holy hells. She went up like wildfire. Roland gritted his teeth, throwing his weight on top of her to pin her to the mattress. Her back arched. He kept his fingers deep inside her as she cried out, bucking against him, riding his fingers. His cock throbbed, feeling neglected, wanting in. She needed to take her pleasure first, he reminded himsel
f. He had only bedded her a handful of times. He had to take it slow and initiate her right. They had years ahead of them. Years for him to get it how he wanted it, with his cock deep inside her. This was about her wants, and what she needed for it to feel good. How long did it take virgins before they adjusted anyway? He had no idea. When he felt her tremors subsiding, he thrust his fingers again, her tender flesh quivering around them, and she sighed. He kissed her brow, then her mouth, and she let him without murmur, tangling her tongue with his. Nice. Or it would be, if his cock wasn’t about to explode. He jerked back his head.

  “Eden,” his urgent tone roused her from her languor. “My turn,” he said and watched a certain trepidation enter her expression. She nodded her head though, licked her bottom lip nervously and peered down between them. His cock flexed, almost as if the damn thing was trying to impress her. She winced, and he could tell his size was not a source of pleasure for her yet. Still, she let her legs fall open for him and he took himself in hand, guiding himself where he most wanted to be. “Relax,” he said, wishing he sounded more in control, less like he was imploring her. He knew full well he’d been too rough last time. He poised himself at her entrance, letting his broad cockhead grow wet from her juices, and sink into her until he felt resistance. “Please Eden,” he breathed, closing his eyes. “Ah gods.” She pressed her thighs into his hips, and taking this as encouragement, he pushed until he found himself making progress again. “Sweetheart,” he gasped, as he slid deeper into to her tight, silky sheath. He shuddered, striving for control, his brow beading with sweat. He dug his fingers in the bedsheets, as he slid the final inches until their pelvises were touching. For a moment, speech was beyond him. Then he spoke very carefully. “Is that-?”

  “Yes,” she said tightly, and he felt her take a deep breath and then release it, relaxing her limbs against him.

  Thank fuck. He wasn’t sure how much of this gently, gently approach he could stand. Tensing his muscles, he began to move, not as gently as he would have wished, but not as hard as he longed to either. Eden bore it stoically and he seized her hips in his hands to haul her against him, showing her the rhythm he craved. When she attempted it independently, moving against him, striving to please him, his brain shut down and he thrust inside her, until he came roaring.

  **

  Roland woke suddenly at the sound of a falling log. Reaching across Eden, he pushed one of the box-bed doors open to survey the room. All was quiet. The fire needed stoking, but he didn’t want to move. Eden was curled into him in a deep slumber, dead to the world. He frowned noticing the dark shadows under her eyes and swiped his thumbs under them. Had she been sleeping poorly without him, then? The notion made him feel a curious pang in his chest. Though, it was only fair, when you considered how long he’d lain awake in his bunk of an evening thinking of her. His friends had teased him something fierce, saying they found him sadly changed, a staid married man now. Not that he’d cared. He had caught them sending odd looks his way when he’d bought her trinkets from the hawkers, or casually dropped her name in conversation. Eden shifted, flinging an arm around his waist, turning more fully into him, and carefully, he moved his arm to accommodate her. Was that a bruise? Her shift had slipped down one shoulder, showing a purple mark on her upper arm. How had she done that? He touched it lightly with the back of his fingers and she murmured against the pillow. He lay still, waiting for her to fall quiet again. She really was a most restless sleeper. Peering out of the box bed doors again, he guessed the hour was not much more advanced than four or five o’clock. He really should wake her, but was strangely loth to do so.

  In the end he dozed back off himself, and woke an hour later to find Eden watching him. She glanced hastily away, as soon as she realized he was awake.

  “What hour is it?” she asked, clearing her throat.

  “It must be supper time, or thereabouts,” he said with a yawn. “We may as well take our meal here, in our room.” Eden turned her head to look at him suspiciously. “I’m tired from my journey,” he pointed out reasonably. “And there’s a perfectly good table in here we could use, for the two of us.”

  “It’s true that it’s draughty in that dining chamber,” she agreed cautiously.

  Roland smiled to himself, and when she went to wriggle out from underneath his arm, he suffered her to. “Don’t trouble yourself getting dressed,” he told her, when she made her way toward the chair with her gown draped over it. Eden stopped and looked back over her shoulder at him.

  “I brought you something you can just slip on over your shift. It’s very unlikely you’ll want to go abroad again today,” he said, with a nod toward the window where the rain was bucketing down.

  “What did you buy me?” asked Eden. “A dress?” she sounded so suddenly hopeful, he felt a little sorry to disappoint her.

  “A mantle,” he corrected her, “Fulco and Cuthbert should have brought everything in by now.”

  “Oh,” she hovered uncertainly, and he pulled himself out of bed and pulled on his braies, chauses and tunic.

  “I’ll go, you stay here.” When he returned, twenty minutes later carrying packages, she was brushing her long, dark hair in front of the fire. “Here, for you. Open this one first and put it on. Fulco is bringing up more logs for the fire shortly.”

  The bundle was large and when she unfurled it, Eden found a stunning mantle of navy brocade with a gold motif pattern. She shook it out. “It’s beautiful,” she exclaimed.

  “There are two slits to put your arms through,” Roland showed her. The mantle was lined in a gold silk.

  “Let me braid my hair first,” she said when he held it out for her to put on.

  “Leave it loose. It’s only the two of us at supper.” She acquiesced, and he helped her don the robe before passing her another parcel. “Open this one.” Inside, were some gold satin slippers for indoor wear. “Put those on too.”

  “You’ve bought me so many gifts…” she said awkwardly.

  She hadn’t even seen the half of them.

  A knock on the door interrupted them, and Fulco came in bearing logs, Brigid following on close behind with things to lay the table. Supper was a simple meal of stewed rabbit with prunes and pearl barley served with onions and raisins. Roland suspected they were eating the same meal below stairs. He preferred his meat roasted, but ate heartily all the same. Eden seemed to mostly toy with hers and slip tit-bits to whatever dogs had snuck in with the servants. He watched her covertly as they ate their meal. She seemed skittish and kept looking at him out of the corner of her eye when she thought he wasn’t looking.

  “Is there aught amiss with my face?” he asked her at one point.

  She took a critical look. “Well, you’ve got a new bruise at your left temple, if that’s what you mean.” She took a sip of wine. “Did you lose again?”

  “That’s not-” he broke off in exasperation. “Why do you keep stealing glances at me like that?”

  Eden stiffened and turned red. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

  “And I did not lose,” he said narrowing his eyes. “And what the devil do you mean ‘again’?” Gods, it was a wonder he had any ego left these days, the way she kept battering at it!

  Eden shrugged. “I thought from the way your friends spoke at Tranton Vale, that losing was a regular feature of the tournaments.”

  “You thought-!” he broke off, giving her a baleful glance. He could see from the look on her face that she hadn’t meant to intentionally insult him. Taking a deep breath, he decided instead to patiently set her right. “That’s just how men are, Eden. They don’t brag of their friend’s successes, only glory in their defeats.”

  “Oh?” She looked skeptical.

  He set his own goblet down. “Have you ever once heard me boast of Bev’s success in the melee?” She shook her head.

  “Yet that is where his strengths lie. He’s very tactical.”

  “Why do you not compliment him on it then?” asked Eden, looking
bewildered.

  Roland snorted. “Like hells I would! As his friend, it is my duty to point out his woeful ability in the jousting and mock him about it at every turn.”

  “That seems rather… churlish,” Eden responded hesitantly.

  He could see she was using her words carefully, and he had an inkling she was going to say ‘childish’ before hurriedly changing it. Appreciating the fact she was trying to avoid conflict for once, he shrugged. “It’s different for men. Female friendships are more…” he struggled, having never considered the nature of female relationships before.

  “Nurturing?” suggested Eden helpfully.

  Roland wasn’t sure if that was right. He didn’t think Eden’s polite friendships were anything like as close as his ‘brother-in-arms’ style kinship with Bev and Attley.

  “They are,” Eden insisted. “I make sure to always encourage my friends in their endeavors.”

  “Mmm,” he made a non-committal noise. He was sure that was true enough, but he still didn’t believe she let anyone get close enough to be considered a true friend. He lifted his drink again and looked at her over the top of it. The strangest thought drifted into his head, that he wanted to be that close to her. Which was fucking ridiculous. Why would he want to be friends with his own wife? To disguise his confusion, he drained his cup.