The Unlovely Bride (Brides of Karadok Book 2)

by Alice Coldbreath

  “Well I never,” Ivo spluttered. “What’ll you take for him?”

  “Nay, I’ll take no payment,” Lenora vowed solemnly. “Only the promise that if circumstances change and he is no longer welcome here, you will return him to me and Purcel also,” she said, turning to Huw.

  Both brothers nodded affably enough, although the gravity of her manner seemed to surprise them. Garman found himself tensing in case either should say anything to offend her about the nature of cats and their importance in the world, but luckily it did not seem to occur to them.

  Lenora bade a rather tearful farewell to both cats and climbed into the cart beside Berta.

  “I know you’ve a wife,” Ivo frowned. “But you’ve a home here if you want it.”

  “Maybe she could make herself useful about the place,” Huw agreed.

  Garman tried and failed to imagine Lenora in such a setting. “You’re generous,” he said. “But I’ve other plans.”

  “Oh aye?” Huw sounded skeptical as he and his brother exchanged glances.

  “What?”

  “Can’t picture you and your grandfather seeing eye to eye for overlong,” Ivo said grudgingly.

  The Hainfroys had never really understood his relationship with his grandfather Sutton, he reflected. It was not that he and the old man would disagree, far from it. It was the fact his grandfather would yield to him in every respect that caused Garman such displeasure. If he allowed it, his grandfather would assume the role of deferential servant toward him and Garman found that intolerable.

  “I don’t mean to stay at the farm overlong,” he said instead of attempting an explanation they would find unfathomable.

  “Oh? So, this isn’t a homecoming?” Huw asked with a heavy frown.

  “I came across Sir Miles Danton a couple of months ago,” Garman admitted grudgingly after a moment’s heavy pause. He lowered his voice. “We spoke of Matchings Halt.”

  “Matchings Halt?” Ivo gave a short laugh. “You’ve still that ambition then!”

  “What has Sir Miles to do with it?” asked Huw curiously. “The place is overrun with Skenfriths.”

  Garman glanced over at Lenora who was deep in conversation with Berta. “The rumor is that old Sir Eliot is on his last legs. When he dies, then Miles will be the head of the family.”

  “And?” demanded Hugh.

  Ivo pulled a face. “Sir Miles means to kick out the widowed lady and her in-laws and sell it to you?”

  Garman nodded. “At least he indicated as much.”

  “You dog!” Laughed Huw. “So, you’ll get your heart’s desire after all these years.”

  “Didn’t I vow I would?” Garman swung up onto Bria’ag’s saddle.

  “Some would have gone a less devious route,” Ivo commented, shaking his head.

  “Such as?”

  “Marrying the widow.”

  Garman grimaced. “No, I thank you.”

  “Yet…” Huw broke off, glancing curiously at Lenora. “You marry this one without a dowry.”

  Garman bit back his retort. “Her father will pay one. Eventually.”

  “And if not?”

  “If not…” Garman shrugged. “I’ve money enough for the both of us.”

  Huw’s jaw dropped.

  Ivo gave a short laugh. “Careful,” he said.

  “Of what?”

  Ivo pursed his lips. “Maybe your heart’s desire has changed, and you just haven’t realized it yet.”

  Garman snorted. “I’ll watch out for that.”

  “It may be too late already,” muttered Ivo.

  Garman gave him a hard look, but his friend avoided his eye.

  14

  When Garman had said his grandfather’s farm was an hour from the Hainfroys, Lenora had added on another half-hour due to the cart slowing him down and she was not far out in her estimation. Trundling up the lane toward the neat looking farmhouse, Lenora thought it could not offer a greater contrast to the dilapidated Cofton Grange they had left that morning.

  Matchings Farm was a neat, well-ordered property, immaculately kept. Two workers were industriously employed in the grounds of the thatched building which was of decent proportion. One appeared to be mending a fence and the other tending to crops. Garman paid them no heed though they turned and stared as they passed. Lenora guessed neither were his relations or they would surely have hailed him.

  On reaching the house, Garman swiftly dismounted and set about seeing to the horses. No grooms appeared to attend them, so she and Berta unloaded the cart and Lenora murmured soothing replies in answer to Fendrel’s piteous mews. Once the cart was stowed away in one of the outhouses, Garman took their packs from her, and Berta picked up the cat basket. Wordlessly, he led them toward the brown and white timbered house. The women exchanged glances. It did not seem to Lenora that her new husband was exactly filled with joy at his home-coming and she wondered at it.

  As they approached the doorway, a man came through it with a look of polite enquiry on his face. He was of middling height, with a short gray beard and very tidy appearance. He checked at the sight of Garman and his face flushed. “Garman!” he exclaimed, came forward a few steps and then seemed to collect himself, pulling up short. “Is all well, my boy?” he asked, a look of pained enquiry on his face.

  Lenora heard her husband answer shortly. “Why would it not be? Are we welcome within?”

  Again, the older man’s color rose. “Of course, this is your home!” he stammered, moving aside, with a polite gesture, to allow access to the doorway.

  Garman paused, as though for a moment unsure of his own cue. Then he turned back to Lenora and gestured for her to enter before him. Lenora hurried to do so, but when she drew even with them, Garman’s hand flew out to stop her.

  “Grandfather,” he said. “This is my wife, Lenora. Lenora, this is my grandfather Gerard Sutton.”

  Seeing the expression of mingled confusion and dismay on the older man’s face, Lenora dropped into a curtsey to allow him time to recover. “I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Sutton. I hope you will give me leave to call you grandfather also.”

  To her surprise, this request seemed to reduce Garman’s grandfather to a state of even more abject confusion. He bowed very low and then shot a look of agonized appeal to her husband.

  “Of course, you will call him grandfather,” Garman said tensely. “What else would you call him?” He shot a look of challenge at his kinsman and the older man’s gaze dropped before it.

  “If that is your wish,” Gerard Sutton muttered, but his cheeks were slashed with red and he was clearly uncomfortable at the notion.

  “Is my wife to stand on the doorstep all morning?” Garman barked.

  The older man sprang forward. “Please enter, my lady,” he urged politely. “You must be sadly weary, and travel-worn.”

  “Please call me Lenora,” she said as the older man escorted her into the house. “But indeed, I am not over-tired for we broke our journey and have only travelled an hour or so this morn.”

  She had been starting to think Garman’s grandfather was displeased at their marriage, but he could not have been more solicitous as he led her into a sitting room and saw her settled in a large chair next to fire.

  “If you will excuse me,” he said, straightening up from setting a cushion at her back. “I will go and tell Hawise to bring us some refreshment.”

  “You are very kind.”

  Garman, who had paused in the hallway to set down their bags and have some words with Berta, now entered carrying the cat basket. “Berta will go with you to the kitchen,” he told his grandfather, who nodded and swiftly left the room.

  Garman untied the basket lid and set it down in front of the fire before retreating to a seat on the opposite side of the room. Lenora watched Fendrel immediately hop out of the basket and stretch as Grizelda, more cautious, peered over the edge. She felt a pang at the thought of Purcel and Tybalt. What would they be doing now? Would Tybalt have retreated to the stabl
e again, or would he be exploring the fields behind the barn? She hoped he would not venture too far and get lost. As for Purcel, she hoped he would have the sense to get on the right side of that sulky maidservant or he would feel the edge of her broom, she was sure. Almost, she wished she had left Berta there to keep the girl in check.

  “He does not mean to be unwelcoming.” Garman’s heavily spoken words drew her out of her reverie.

  Quickly, she surmised he was speaking of his grandfather. “No indeed, he has been very thoughtful,” she said, not liking to admit she had been thinking of her pets.

  “You’re frowning,” he said abruptly. “So, something ails you.”

  “I only wondered that you did not exchange more words by way of greeting,” she admitted slowly. “’Twas plain he was pleased to see you.”

  “Was it?” asked Garman harshly.

  “Oh yes,” Lenora answered, ignoring his dark glower. “His first impulse was to embrace you, but he held back from it at the last. Perhaps he did not think you would like it.” Garman seemed taken aback by her words but made no reply. “Mayhap he should have punched you in the ribs as the Hainfroys did,” she suggested wryly. “I think you are more comfortable with that manner of greeting.” The ghost of a smile touched his lips, but he held his silence.

  At this point, Fendrel made a quick dart toward Garman, sprang up on his knee, and sat there regarding him steadily.

  “Well!” said Lenora. “Would you look at that?”

  Garman eyed the cat. “What do you want?” he asked. Fendrel opened his mouth on a silent meow.

  A step in the doorway heralded Gerard Sutton’s return. “Here we are,” he said, ushering in a homely looking woman bearing a tray. Catching sight of the cat perched on his grandson’s knee, he did a double-take and seemed to lose all power of speech.

  “I’m afraid my third and final kitten has chosen its new master,” Lenora said with a sigh. “Still, at least this way, I shall not have to part with him.”

  “Shall I set it down here, sir?” Hawise prompted when her master stood gaping.

  “Er- yes do,” Garman’s grandfather answered, clearly flustered.

  Hawise set the tray of cheese, crackers, and fruit down on a low table, curtseyed and then withdrew.

  “Thank you,” said Lenora and though she wasn’t really hungry yet, she helped herself to a few grapes as Garman’s grandfather poured out some foaming ale into cups.

  Lenora watched with interest as Garman finally plucked the cat from his knee and set him down on the arm of his chair. Fendrel immediately turned about and started prowling up and down the chair in a purposeful fashion, whisking his tail so that it caressed Garman’s shoulder. Lenora smiled to herself. The little cat did not like being ignored. After a few moments he sprang up onto the chair back and settled there in an awkward hunch, rather like a gargoyle, staring down at his master.

  Grizelda, meanwhile, joined her mistress, leaning against her skirts and purring. Lenora reached down to absently stroke her milk-white fur as she accepted the cup of ale from Garman’s grandfather. “Thank you,” she murmured. “Do you have dogs here at Matchings Farm?” In her father’s house dogs and cats were raised together and perfectly harmonious. She knew that was not always the case, however.

  “Only one dog who lives in the house,” replied Gerard Sutton with a smile. “Old Kolby.” His glance flickered to Garman before it returned to Lenora. “But you need not worry, my lady, he spends most of his time dozing in the kitchen these days.”

  “Lenora,” Garman corrected him tonelessly.

  His grandfather flushed. “Your pardon, Lenora,” he corrected himself.

  “Indeed, he sounds a most well-mannered dog.” Lenora smiled, hoping to put the old gentleman at his ease. It didn’t work though, as he was still plainly ill on edge.

  “You—er—have you—er” —he cleared his throat— “been married long?” He managed to finish, fidgeting in his chair.

  “But two days only,” Lenora answered when Garman was not forthcoming.

  “Two days?” he echoed, sounding dazed. “Two days,” he repeated almost to himself. “You were married from your father’s house, Lenora?” he pursued, sounding faintly anxious. Lenora paused. She had no words of comfort here to allay whatever unspoken fears crowded the old man’s brow.

  “We wed on the road,” Garman pre-empted her. “Without her family’s consent.”

  Lenora winced at his blunt words. The flush faded from his grandfather’s face as he turned very pale. The hand that held his cup of ale trembled slightly.

  “Are you well, sir?” Lenora asked him in alarm. She could not bring herself to call him grandfather when ‘twas plain how very unwelcome such a form of address would be.

  “Y-yes,” he hastened to assure her. “Yes, yes. Just a little—uh—”

  “Overcome?” suggested Garman when the old man groped in vain for the right word.

  Reaching into his tunic, Gerard withdrew a square of cloth and mopped his brow with it. He stared at his grandson distractedly a moment. “I hope you know what you are about, my boy,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Such an inauspicious beginning to wedded life—”

  “I am not my father,” Garman interrupted him abruptly. His light blue eyes were very cold, like ice. His words arrested the older man, who swallowed convulsively before climbing unsteadily to his feet.

  “I’m afraid, my dear, you must excuse me,” Gerard Sutton said with quiet dignity to Lenora, though he could not meet her surprised gaze. “I have some urgent business which I must attend to.” With a polite bow, he turned and almost hurried from the room.

  Lenora turned to her new husband. “Now, just what was that all about?” she demanded. When Garman shrugged, she felt a flash of annoyance. “First Isabeau Hainfroy, and now this!” she exclaimed. “Whoever would have thought you’d have so many skeletons in your cupboard!”

  He shot her an irritated look. “I haven’t been wed before, if that’s what you’re thinking!”

  Lenora’s eyes widened. “That was not what I was thinking,” she replied in a choked voice, setting her ale down. If anything, his words made her feel worse. My gods, she barely knew anything about him, she thought with some dismay. She had been so focused previously on her escape from court, that she had not really given any thought to what she would be running to.

  He plunked his own cup down with a smothered oath. “Come, I’ll give you a tour of the place.”

  Lenora came to her feet. “We shall have to shut the door on the cats for now,” she said. “Until they are familiar with the place.” He murmured some agreement. “Have your family been here long?”

  He shook his head and held out a hand to her. “No. My father had this place built not long after his marriage.”

  Lenora looked up with surprise. “So, this is your farm?”

  “In name only. My grandfather runs the place.” He led her from the room out to the passageway, pulling the door shut behind them.

  “It’s nicely proportioned,” Lenora said, looking around. “The ceilings seem somehow higher than I would expect in a farmhouse.”

  Garman shot her an ironic look. “You consider yourself an expert on the subject?”

  Lenora flushed. This was probably the first farmhouse she had ever set foot in and clearly, he suspected as much. “You’re right of course, I spoke without thinking.”

  He was silent a moment as he led her from the sitting room into a much larger room with a big arched window, a central fireplace and a large dining table set about with many books and papers. “In truth,” he said. “You probably know as much about farmhouses as my father when he had this place built.”

  It was a surprising admission and immediately Lenora wanted to ask what kind of people his father came from. If his son was sent to train as squire to a neighboring nobleman, then it could not be from farming stock. She seemed to remember he had described his grandfather previously as a steward, however, Garman’s reticence on t
he subject held her tongue. Clearly, he was not one for sharing confidences. They had to be dragged from him, grudgingly, one by one.

  “This seems very like a great hall,” she commented. “Only on a smaller scale.”

  He smiled grimly. “There’s a reason for that,” he answered, and Lenora waited in vain for him to supply it. When he did not, she sighed and turned her attention instead to the neat piles of books and ledgers scattered about, the clean rushes on the floor and the smell of wax on the wooden furniture. The room was lived in, tidy and comfortable, but she could see no sign of any female presence. There were no looms, or spinning wheels, needlework cushions or tapestries on the walls.

  “How old were you when your mother died?” she asked, unable to stop the questions that sprang to her lips.

  “Some two years in age.”

  “So young? Did you never know your grandmother?”

  He shook his head. “She died when my mother was born.” Already, he was leading her out of the main hall and into another passageway. Lenora peered into the rooms leading off it. She recognized a pantry and a buttery when she saw them, though she had spent precious little time in either. The buttery was well stocked with casks and barrels and the pantry smelt of fresh bread and cured meats. They carried on to a large kitchen where Hawise and Berta were sat at a table shelling peas. They broke off their conversation when she and Garman entered and looked rather furtive. Hawise started up from her seat.

  “Is there something I can fetch for you, good sir? My lady?” she asked eagerly.

  “No, nothing, I thank you,” Lenora assured her. “My husband is merely showing me the lay of the land.”

  Hawise smiled and sat back down to resume her task. She was a plump, agreeable looking woman of some sixty years or so in age with a neat headscarf that completely concealed her probably graying hair.

  “You are the only staff here at present?” Garman asked, looking about in some surprise.