The Unlovely Bride (Brides of Karadok Book 2)

by Alice Coldbreath

  “Friends,” he grunted. “Old friends.” On reaching the dark, gray house, he hammered on the studded door, and drew her under the overhanging masonry of the elaborate doorway. It looked, she thought, rather like an abbot’s grange. A badly kept one whose brotherhood had abandoned it. Heavy drops of rain dripped onto her from an over-hanging stone griffin’s beak.

  “Who be it without?” called a country-woman’s voice doubtfully. “We’re not expecting anyone.”

  “Ask if they’ve brought cakes and ale,” Lenora heard a man’s voice yell within. “Or they’ll find no welcome here!””

  The maid giggled, “Oh sir,” she remonstrated, and Lenora glanced at Garman to find him looking irritable.

  “It’s Garman Orde,” he bellowed. “One who was ever assured a welcome in this house.”

  There was a stunned silence, followed by the noise of furniture being overturned. Lenora steeled herself as the door was wrenched open and two well-built men with dark hair came tumbling out. They seized Garman about the shoulders and neck and for a moment Lenora thought they were assaulting him as they wrestled him to his knees, rubbed his head, slapped his cheeks and rained light blows about his person. Then she realized it was just an excess of male affection.

  “Cease!” Garman boomed, grabbing one of them in a headlock. “Let us in out of the rain, you bloody fools!” She wasn’t mistaken though, she thought as she watched one of them slap him heartily on the back. There was affection here.

  Garman reached back for her and grabbing her wrist, pulled her into the dark low-beamed room after him. She saw the brothers, for brothers they must be they were so alike, notice her for the first time. Their gazes flickered over her without much interest before returning to Garman. Lenora took the opportunity to divest herself of her sodden cloak as the idea did not seem to occur to the black-haired maidservant who was agog and staring at Garman.

  “Orde, you bastard! Finally, you’ve come home,” said the first with satisfaction. “And not a day too soon! We’ve looked for you any time this past four years!”

  “Sit ye down, brother, sit ye down!” urged the other, dragging out a seat. “You need not stand on ceremony here. Our home is your home. Martha!” he said, turning to the buxom maid. “Fetch another tankard for Sir Garman is come home at last.”

  “Two cups,” Garman interposed, holding up two fingers. Instead of taking the proffered chair, he led Lenora to it and saw her seated. “My wife, Lenora,” he said by way of introduction.

  Again, both brothers turned to look at her blankly. The idea of bowing did not seem to occur to them, and after sitting down it seemed rather foolish again to stand for an unwarranted curtsey. Instead she looked at Garman.

  “These are Huw and Ivo Hainfroy, my sworn brothers,” he said, catching her unspoken question.

  “I am pleased to meet you,” she said, but they had already turned away and were exclaiming over their long-lost friend once more.

  “You have eaten? No?”

  Garman shook his head. “Not since this morning, and I must ask a bed of you this night.”

  Both brothers seemed dumbfounded at his request. “Ask? You’ve had a bed here since you were twelve!” one of them boomed. “Don’t be daft, man!”

  “We hope you’ll stay more than a night at least!” the other rejoined. The remains of a large meal were on the table, and he began dragging any unemptied plates toward Garman. “Martha, fetch more bread and another wheel of cheese!”

  Lenora noticed that Martha made no haste to follow any directions and still lingered, throwing admiring glances at Garman.

  “I mean to travel on to my grandfather Sutton’s on the morn,” Garman admitted grudgingly.

  This announcement met with great resistance from the Hainfroys.

  “Your grandfather’s? What the devil for?”

  “You’ve no ambition to be a farmer after all these years?”

  Garman brushed off their exclamations. “We need to wash off our travel dirt before we can eat,” he said. “If a room can be made ready.” He spared a glance for Martha. “Have you no other servant? If not, I can boil us some water.”

  “Nay,” said the one starting out of his seat. “I can do it. Martha, fetch those goblets I say!”

  Martha pouted, but left the room closely followed by one of the brothers.

  “I’d let you have your old room,” the remaining Hainfroy said. “But it is a little small for two.” He hesitated. “Perhaps Isabeau’s room?”

  “It makes no odds to me.” Garman shrugged.

  “I’ll fetch blankets for you,” he said decisively and picking up a candlestick, strode from the room.

  Only one measly candle remained in the long, narrow room, plunging them almost into darkness. Outside a streak of lightning lit up the sky illuminating them briefly. Garman reached for one of the two tankards of ale already on the table and passed it to Lenora. He took the other and toasted her silently before draining it. Lenora sipped from the other. Absently, he fetched two candlesticks down from over the mantle and knelt down to light them from the flames in the hearth before placing them at strategic points. Lenora shivered, and he threw three more logs on the fire.

  “Do you think Berta will be warm enough?” she asked quietly, but a returning Hainfroy drowned out his response.

  “The back bedroom is now set up for you, and there is a basin of water,” he said with a nod. “You know where it is. I’ll go and fetch more food and ale.”

  Garman held out a hand for her. “Come and wash,” he said. “And get out of your wet clothes.”

  Lenora followed him up the steep staircase and he helped to peel her out of her wet dress and into a dry one with an efficiency that impressed her. She had half a mind to climb into the big bed covered in red draperies and forget anything else, but Garman was already shepherding her back down the narrow dark staircase.

  “You need to eat, remember?” he rumbled at her and she flushed, wondering if he had caught a few glimpses of her damp body in the darkened room after all.

  When they reached the dining hall once more, they found the table replenished and a sulky Martha pouring out wine. Lenora set about wrapping a warm woolen mantle about her shoulders as Garman started piling a plate with bread, cheese, and meat. Lenora was just about to ask if she could prepare a plate for Berta, when he disappeared out of doors with it.

  “Where’s he gone now?” a Hainfroy demanded, coming in as the door banged shut.

  “I believe he has taken our servant some food,” Lenora answered. “She is sleeping out in the barn this night.”

  He grunted, but made no other response, though he did pass her some wine which Lenora took with thanks. His brother entered moments later, and Lenora observed that their brotherly resemblance was strong. Both were tall and muscular though not as powerfully built as Garman. They had dark chestnut-brown hair which waved from their brows, high cheekbones and rather patrician noses. They did not bother with her presence, which Lenora found strangely relaxing. She sat back in her seat and sipped her wine as the warmth from the fire seeped into her chilled bones.

  Both sprang up as Garman re-entered the room, but his first words were for her ears. “The cats are fine,” he murmured as he shook himself off like a dog.

  “Good. And Berta?”

  “Fine as she’ll ever be.” He frowned. “Why do you not eat?”

  Lenora sat forward, not troubling to point out that no-one had provided her with a plate. Garman seized one for her and began carving at the meat.

  “Not too much,” she admonished. “I’m tired and soon for my bed.”

  “You’ll retire to bed when I do,” he corrected her firmly. “And not before.”

  Lenora eyed him. What was this about? Noticing the Hainfroys were following their exchange with interest, she took the plate from him and picked up a knife.

  “You’ve married money, Garman?” one of them asked curiously.

  “How much did she bring you?” Grinned the o
ther. “A pretty penny, I’ll warrant.”

  Lenora suspected they assumed her fortune must be pretty, as her face was not. She ignored the slight pang this caused her and steeled herself for his response.

  “Not a single coin,” Garman admitted blandly. He sliced a pear and placed half of it on her plate. “As we wed without her father’s consent.”

  The brothers were speechless for a minute. Lenora felt her face burn as she speared a piece of pear. More than ever she wished she had her face covered as she felt their incredulous stares burn into her. Looking up, she could see one of them had a question trembling on his lips, but seeing her eyes trained on him, he bit it back. Lenora held his gaze and felt rather proud of herself.

  “Which one are you?” she asked directly and saw him start in his seat. If they did not stand on ceremony, then she did not see why she should. And she had resolved to have an interest in her fellow creatures, had she not?

  The other one gave a bark of laughter. “His name is Huw Hainfroy and I am Ivo.” He inclined his head and she saw that his eyes were very green, whereas his brother’s were more of a blue-green. He also had a scar that ran from his cheekbone all the way down and right through his top lip. Although it had healed and faded, it must have been deep.

  Lenora turned to look at the speaker. “And you are my husband’s sworn brothers?”

  “That is so,” he agreed cautiously.

  “Which makes me a sister of sorts, I suppose.”

  He leant back in his seat and regarded her thoughtfully. “We have not had a sister for some two years now.” His brother Huw stiffened at his words and shot a look in Garman’s direction.

  “Have you heard from Isabeau?” Garman asked after the smallest of pauses. Oh, then she had not died, thought Lenora. For a moment she thought she had stumbled on some family tragedy. Isabeau’s room, she remembered was the room they were staying in.

  Both brothers looked affronted by his question. “Of course not!” scoffed Ivo.

  “We would not acknowledge her if we had!” swore Huw angrily. “What do you take us for?”

  “Her brothers,” Garman answered dryly.

  “Not anymore! Not after what she did to you!” Huw’s words trailed off and he glanced furtively in Lenora’s direction.

  How interesting! Lenora swallowed her mouthful and reflected that the conversation would likely flow far easier without her presence. She wondered at Garman’s refusal to let her retire early. As their conversation turned to the tournaments, Lenora let her gaze wander over the parts of the room that she could see through the gloom. A large portrait hung on the wall of a tall, gaunt man in a suit of armor. His eyes were sharp and flinty and his large bony hands grasped the pommel of his sword tight.

  “Our father,” Ivo said suddenly, seeing the direction of her stare. “Sir Bernhard Hainfroy. Garman was his squire.”

  Huw broke off from questioning Garman to glare in their direction. “What’s that you say, Ivo?”

  “Mind your own conversation,” Ivo retorted rudely. “You don’t get to dictate ours.”

  Huw scowled at him. “Garman says he’s made a fortune in the tournaments, you should be attending to what he says, not gossiping with his wife.”

  “Mayhap you should listen to him,” Ivo snorted. “For he told you he would succeed, and you did not believe him four years ago.”

  “No more did you!” Huw snapped. “He asked you to go with him too, did he not?”

  “Don’t start your quarrelling!” Garman growled. “The truth is that both of you should have come with me, though neither one of you did!”

  Both brothers lapsed moodily into silence at this.

  “Your horses certainly look like destriers,” said Lenora. “Have you never jousted?”

  Huw twitched a shoulder irritably, but Ivo rumbled back with the negative.

  “They could turn a hand to it easy enough,” Garman predicted. “If they were willing.”

  After this exchange, the conversation seemed to hit a lull and Lenora hastily finished up the last of her meal. Almost as if he had been waiting for her to finish, Garman pushed his own empty plate away and held out a hand for her.

  “You’re not retiring already?” Huw Hainfroy asked in surprise.

  “We’ve been journeying for three days,” Garman pointed out.

  “What’s that to you? We journeyed for weeks on end during the campaigns,” Ivo snorted.

  “Lenora’s been ill. She needs her rest.”

  “Then send her up to bed and you follow on later,” Huw suggested rudely. “We’ll drink another flagon.”

  An imp of devilment whispered in Lenora’s ear. “We’re newlyweds,” she sighed by way of explanation. “He cannot bear to be parted from me come bedtime. Isn’t that right, beloved?” She angled a look at Garman from the corner of her eye, but if she had meant to embarrass or annoy him, she had apparently missed the mark.

  “Aye,” Garman agreed straight-faced. “And I find you’re at your most appealing flat on your back.”

  12

  The rain continued to drum against the windowpane. Garman began to undress as Lenora climbed into the bed.

  “I hope the stable roof doesn’t leak,” she murmured.

  “Trust me,” he answered dryly. “If there’s one thing the Hainfroys prize, it’s their horses. That roof won’t leak.”

  She yawned and turned onto her side, showing him her back. He stripped off the last of his undergarments, blew out the candle and climbed in beside her. It was a moment or two before she spoke.

  “Who is Isabeau and how did she serve you ill?”

  He stiffened. Bloody hells. “You don’t believe in holding back, do you?” he asked grimly. He heard a rustling sound as though she was turning to face him. Really what was the point? It was pitch black in the bedchamber.

  “You only have to answer half that question since I’ve already deduced she was a Hainfroy, before they disowned her that is.”

  “I don’t have to answer any of it, Lenora,” he pointed out dryly, propping his hands behind his head. For some reason her chatter wasn’t annoying him as much as it should. And why was that? He frowned into the darkness. He had the strangest suspicion he had been waiting for her talk to him as soon as he’d blown the candle out.

  “What did she do, I wonder,” she mused aloud. “Break your heart?”

  He gave a short laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “That’s almost a pity.”

  He turned his head, then remembered he couldn’t see her expression. “A pity?” he echoed sharply.

  “It would give you a vastly romantic reason for why you are… the way you are.”

  Little wretch. “Has anyone ever put you over their knee, Lenora?” he asked mildly.

  “No, would you like to?” Her tone wasn’t teasing at all, it was surprised, curious.

  He almost caught his breath. “I believe I would.” The tone of his voice gave him away. He didn’t sound angry at all. He sounded gravelly and aroused. He could almost hear her puzzling it out. Then she shrugged it off. He felt strangely disappointed they were not going to pursue the subject.

  “If you won’t tell me, doubtless I could induce Martha to,” she said breezily.

  Garman frowned. “Who?”

  “The maidservant,” she sounded faintly exasperated.

  “Oh.” He dredged the image of the unhelpful wench up in his mind. “I think she must be after my time. I doubt she’d know.”

  “Why, because you don’t remember her?” she sounded skeptical. “I don’t think you’re very good at noticing people.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “She was far too interested in your appearance not to know who you are.”

  Garman huffed out a breath. “This is a provincial backwater. She’d behave the same toward any stranger that turned up.”

  “She wasn’t very interested in me,” Lenora pointed out.

  “You’re not a virile male.”
r />   That shut her up for a moment. Then she gave a gurgle of mirth.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Just… virile male.”

  Garman stared irritably at where he imagined her face might be. Why the hells was she always laughing when she was in his bed? he wondered. He couldn’t remember it ever happening to him before. Mind you, he never usually permitted women to sleep there let alone ramble on with words. “You doubt my virility?” he asked. “Maybe I should prove it to you.” He was already half-hard after entertaining the notion of spanking that luscious rear of hers.

  “You should probably let me get a little fatter first,” she said and had the cheek to reach out and pat him indulgently on the chest.

  He jumped at her touch. It entered his mind that she might actually think he could not get the job done with her at present. Reaching out, he caught her hand and slid it down the sheets so she could feel his hardening cock beneath them. It flexed impressively under her fingers and he heard her smothered gasp.

  “I’m being considerate, Lenora. Not incapable.” He let that sink in before he let go of her hand. She snatched it back as though he’d burnt it. “Let me know if it’s not appreciated and I’ll happily remedy the situation.”

  She was silent for a minute or two, her breathing shallow. Suddenly, he found himself worried that he might have upset her again. Shit. What was it she’d said before? She didn’t like men pressing wet kisses to her hand? She probably thought hard cocks was far worse. “Lenora?”

  “Um, no, no,” she said rather breathlessly. “I appreciate you’re being considerate,” she assured him.

  He relaxed, in spite of himself. “Go to sleep,” he said gruffly. A rustle of sheets again and she turned quiet, but he wasn’t fooled that she had fallen asleep. He waited until he heard her breathing even out and the tension leave her body. Then, gingerly, he shuffled closer. It would not be long now until she woke again in the grip of her nightmares. He wanted to be close at hand when she did. He heard the muffled sob just as his own eyes were closing and reached out, dragging her firmly against him. “Shhhhh, you’re here at Cofton Grange. With me,” he murmured, closing his arms around her tight. She floundered a moment and he waited for her to surface from the confusion.