They spent a quiet evening in the tent. Garman set about polishing his armor and Lenora finished off both his gingerbread and her violet jelly. It seemed he was not a fan of sweet tasting things and Lenora felt touched that he had not wanted to rebuff Cuthbert’s friendly gesture. She had just washed and changed for bed when a page from the manor delivered a purse and a silver bowl for Garman which was apparently his prize from the Challenge to Arms.
“You won!” she said accusingly. “Why did you not say?”
He shrugged and set the cup down next to the remains of their supper. “You seemed determined to believe I had lost.”
“I would not have suggested we skipped the evening feast up at the house if I had known you were to receive a prize,” she lamented.
“It little matters.”
She frowned slightly, remembering Eden’s words. “Do you really care so little for your audience?”
He set down his gleaming breastplate. “I’ve never cared for the opinion of the crowd.”
“What about me?”
He looked startled and uncertain how to answer her for a moment. Then he spat on his breastplate and gave it a vigorous polish. “It makes no difference to me either way.”
Lenora eyed him uncertainly, but found she didn’t wholly believe him. Eden had thought him angry that morning and he had definitely seemed put out that she had sat watching Roland Vawdrey’s event, rather than his own. “I shall watch you on the morrow,” she said suddenly.
“I told you it makes no odds to me.”
“I’m watching you because I want to,” she insisted. “Not because I think you want it.”
He shrugged and Lenora wondered why he had a mind to make things so difficult. Were all husbands like this? She sighed and lay back on the pillows.
“Go to sleep,” he recommended. He now seemed to be oiling the blade of his sword.
Lenora turned onto her side and closed her eyes. When she woke again, it was hours later to the patter of rain falling on the tent and to find herself lying cozy in Garman Orde’s arms. She lay a moment quiet, before she felt him stir behind her.
“I’m here,” he said, lifting his head off the pillow, his voice husky with sleep. “You’re here with me.”
“I know,” she said, turning her head to look at him over her shoulder. It was too dark to make out much. “I wasn’t having a nightmare,” she assured him. “I think the rain woke me this time.”
“Oh.” His head hit the pillow again and she felt him relax his hold on her, though he did not move away.
Did he remain half-alert to listen out for her broken sleep, she wondered? And if so… if so, what exactly did that mean?
21
Garman woke at first light. Lenora had turned and curled into him in the night and his arm was serving as her pillow. He lay a moment contemplating her peaceful expression and the way her blonde hair felt against his skin.
Gods, if he was not careful, he would soon find himself tickling her ears, he thought with contempt. Then again, no-one would ever know. Gingerly, he reached out and gently stroked the silky blonde head. Lenora sighed in her slumber. He froze, but she did not stir. Very carefully, he lifted her head and slid out his arm from under her, lowering her back onto the pillows.
Rising from the bed, he made his way over to the tent entrance and peered outside. The grass was still wet after last night’s downpour. Hoping it would not affect the joust overmuch, he turned back and pulled on his boots and a tunic to go and relieve himself.
He was just on his way back when he spotted Kit Montmayne carrying two pitchers of water toward their tent. Hailing him in hushed tones, he explained Lenora was still asleep, took the washing water and sent Kit along to the stables to feed Bria’ag. The longer his horse had between feeding and exercise the better.
When he reached the pavilion, he poured one jug of water into the basin, stripped off his tunic and began to vigorously wash. By the time he was drying himself, he heard movement in the bed behind him, but did not turn to look.
It was when he began dressing that he could definitely feel eyes on him. Only then did he allow himself to turn and fling a glance over his shoulder. Lenora was lolling against the pillows, watching him with interest. He cleared his throat. “You’re awake.” A pointless remark, but for some reason he felt the need for speech.
“I am,” she agreed after a moment’s hesitation.
At the hint of caution in her reply, he turned again to look at her. She definitely had a wary look on her face. Why was that? Then he remembered. His surliness of the other morning. Ah, that would account for it. Frowning, he reached for his razor. “You still want to watch me in the joust this morn?”
“I do,” she agreed.
“Good,” he answered and fancied it was a stunned silence that greeted his response. “I intend to win,” he added, soaping up his face.
“I’m sure.”
He fancied he almost heard her hesitate. “What?”
“I rather thought you preferred me to hold my tongue of a morn.”
He considered this. “Tell me what you were going to say.”
“I was just wondering if you knew the name of your opponent,” she admitted.
“I do,” he said curtly. “It’s Vawdrey.”
“Oh.”
He turned again to regard her as he dragged the straight razor down his face. “Will you be conflicted?” he asked tensely.
“Of course not! Though I do not think I shall sit with Eden.” At his raised eyebrows, she explained. “She gets very heated. No, really,” she added at his skeptical expression. “Apparently she has even been known to harangue Sir Roland’s opponents at the celebratory banquet afterward.” He snorted and turned back to the basin to rinse his blade. “Has she never tackled you.”
“Never,” he frowned. Though he did think she might have spent a few meals glaring at him, now he came to think about it. “I often skip the feasting.”
“Even when you win?”
“Especially when I win.” He looked at her and could almost see the question trembling on her lips. “I don’t care for being congratulated and toasted. I’m not like Vawdrey. I don’t court popularity.”
She fidgeted a moment, drawing the blanket around herself and tucking herself in. “It’s your manner,” she said firmly. “You’re miserly with your smiles. I’m sure you would have many admirers if only you did not scowl and glower so.”
“I don’t want admirers.”
She sighed and crossed her feet under the blanket. “You’re almost as bad as Lord Kentigern and he glories in being disagreeable.”
“I don’t glory in it. I’m indifferent. The crowd don’t mean anything to me.”
She was silent at this and looked a little sad, though Garman had no notion why she should. He finished washing and dressing and when attendants arrived with more washing water, he sent them for bread and fish to break his fast.
Lenora rose and started to get herself ready for the day ahead. When she drew a green dress from the trunk, he found himself interjecting. “Wear the dress you wore the other day.”
She looked up startled. “The rose one?” He nodded and she looked pleased. “That’s my favorite.”
He glanced away, unsure why he’d even made such a request. Then he heard a footfall outside and crossed quickly to the opening. He didn’t want servants getting a glimpse even of her shoulder if he could help it.
Taking the food from them, he carried it to the table and set it down. “Come and eat when you’re ready.” Seeing she was only just drawing on a pale blue stocking under her shift, he frowned. “It’ll be cold.”
“Well, I didn’t want to be in your way by rising earlier.”
Again he remembered his prior churlishness. “You’re not in my way,” he muttered and made his way over to where she was hopping on one foot. “Sit on the bed.”
“But I—”
“Give it to me,” he held out his hand out for the other stocking and the g
arters in her hand.
“I can do it,” she protested, even as she sat herself on the edge of the mattress.
Ignoring her words, he sank down and slipped a bright blue garter over her stockinged foot, sliding it up her shapely calf until it rested above her knee. Then he slid his finger under the band and snapped it, looking up at her startled face. “Do you know why I leave these on during bed-sport?” he asked.
She hesitated. “I thought… so my feet wouldn’t get cold?”
He shook his head. “Entirely for my benefit.” He shook out the other stocking.
“You like the way they look?” she asked in surprise.
“Yes.”
“Oh.” She appeared to turn this over in her mind as he drew the other stocking over her toes and up her leg, then slipped the other garter into place.
She had already managed to get into a clean shift by herself, so he looked around. “Where’s your gown?”
She pointed, and he fetched it, noting the laces were at the sides of the bodice and at the wrists.
“Hold up your arms.”
Lenora obliged, and he helped her into the deep pink overdress, swiftly tying her laces.
“You could fasten that a little tighter,” she commented critically.
He paused. “You’re sure?” She’d gained some flesh in the last week or so, he was pleased to observe. She nodded, so he did as she suggested. “How’s that?”
“Sufficient.”
He caught her chin between finger and thumb, tilting it up, then dropped a swift kiss on her surprised lips. “Leave your hair loose for now. Dress it after you’ve eaten.”
“Very well.”
They moved to the table and Garman piled their plates as Lenora buttered the bread and for some minutes there was no conversation between them as they ate. “Your cousin Kit will be back presently from the stables,” he said. “I’ll get him to take you along to the tilting field and see you seated.”
She nodded, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “I hope I can get a good seat.”
Privately, he thought she might have to settle for what she could get. It was the final day of the competition after all, and the joust was always the most anticipated event. Aloud, he said nothing and wondered if against all odds, he was growing tactful. “Will you wear a veil today?” he asked abruptly, dispelling all question of tact.
“I shall,” she responded carefully. “As all married women do. But not specifically to cover my face, if that is what you mean.”
“You know it was.”
She paused in the act of raising a morsel of bread to her mouth. “Well, yes,” she conceded. “I trust that pleases you.”
“Your frankness, or the lack of veiling?”
She gave him a level gaze. “Both, I imagine.”
“It’s good you look to please me these days,” he said and wondered if he was deliberately baiting her. She checked, then clearly deciding to rise above any provocation, finished off her food. “In future, I prefer you to have your hair loose when it is just the two of us.”
“So you like to look upon my hair, as well as my nakedness and my legs in stockings,” she answered lightly. “Never fear, I make sure to note your every preference.”
“Yet you do not mention my very favorite feature of yours, I find,” he answered and saw the color rise to her cheeks.
“I included that in my nakedness,” she said primly and he was forced to bite back a grin. “I see you smiling,” she said. “Though you take great pains to hide it from me.”
“I am in deadly earnest, wife.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt it, husband.”
For just a moment, he regretted the fact he had to go and joust with that bastard Vawdrey, when he could be here instead, sparring with Lenora. She must have seen a flash of something in his eyes for her breathing increased and her cheeks glowed. For a moment, it was touch and go if he would drag her into his lap. Then they both heard approaching footsteps and he cleared his throat.
“That will be your cousin now,” he said needlessly for Kit’s head was peering around the opening.
“Oh, you’re awake, Lenora. That’s good for almost all the seats are filled.”
Lenora pushed back her chair. “Already?” Her voice was dismayed.
“There was just one box that was still free, so I had Hal save you a seat. Sir James is now out of the running, so he hasn’t any duties this morning.”
“Oh, excellent.” Lenora beamed. “Let me just tidy my hair and you can take me along.”
Garman watched her out of the corner of his eye as she swiftly pinned her hair up and added a veil which true to her word, did nothing to hide her face. “You’d better take a cloak,” he said gruffly. “It may get cold or rain later.”
“Oh, of course.” She caught up a green cloak and looked at him expectantly. “Well, good luck,” she said brightly.
For some reason, her polite good wishes annoyed him. “It’s not luck that wins me trophies,” he growled. “Come here.” He wasn’t going to kiss her, he told himself, even though he felt the oddest inclination to. She walked over to him, and he reached out, stroking the back of his fingers down her jawline in a strange sort of caress. He couldn’t feel her pockmarks as he wasn’t using his fingertips, but it was the place where she was worst marked and they both knew it.
She stood very still, and he flicked a finger against her cheek. “I like it when you’re brave, wife.” He saw her swallow and nod and then with one last glance, she walked over to Kit who was watching them both with very round eyes. Then they were gone. Garman turned back to his preparations feeling strangely calm.
22
It seemed to Garman that he was quite unruffled by the hustle and bustle down at the tilting field that morn, which usually irritated the hell out of him. He went about his business, showing Kit how he kept Bria’ag calm and getting him to fix on the last pieces of his charger’s regalia. Lenora’s cousin showed himself good with horses and competent with armor, so all went as well as could be expected.
He swung up into his saddle and Kit passed up his jousting spear. “Which box?” he asked, lifting his lower vizor so the box could see his mouth. Already the crowd was restive and noisy.
“Fourth from the left,” Kit answered smartly, showing himself quick on the uptake. “The Kellingford colors hang there.”
Garman nodded, slamming his helmet shut. Then he made his way to his start position. He allowed himself only a moment to scan the excited crowd for Lenora. He fastened on her box at once with its large yellow banner bearing the hippogriff. He soon found her in her rose-colored gown talking animatedly to Kit’s friend, the young puppy.
Only then did he turn and fasten a cold hard stare on Roland Vawdrey who was similarly positioned at the other end of the field, decked out in red and black. The marshals were running up and down the field, checking everything was in its correct position and Garman could not say exactly when he became aware of a disturbance in the crowd, only that he sensed something amiss even as he saw the flags being raised to stand ready.
Bria’ag snorted and tossed his head, trying to see the audience to the left of them, despite the heavy chamfron hampering his vision. “Easy, boy. Easy.” But the charger was having none of it. Despite the fact he was generally as indifferent to the crowd as Garman himself, something was definitely disquieting the beast. Garman took his eye off the marshal and instead scanned the crowd. Initially, he could see nothing, but his hearing told him something was very amiss.
Something gave a shuddering groan and then the screams started. He heard the ominous splintering of wood and then one of the boxes began to list drunkenly forward. Lenora’s box. Garman’s stomach lurched, he threw down his spear and urged Bria’ag toward the tumult. Even as the horse closed the distance between them, he knew he was going to be too late. Before his eyes, the roof caved in and the whole structure collapsed.
23
“Don’t move,” Lenora heard a voice murmur and felt t
he cool, damp cloth at her brow. To her surprise, she recognized the voice as her husband’s low rumble.
“She’s awake,” she heard another voice say and then approaching footsteps. Lenora opened her eyes and squinted up at the concerned faces. Garman, Kit, and some man she could only suppose was a physician.
“What happened?”
“Don’t worry about that now,” Garman told her swiftly. “How does your head feel?”
“It aches,” she admitted, and raised a hand to touch it, feeling carefully around.
His hand closed over hers and lifted her fingers to rest above her left brow where she felt a painful swelling. “Ouch!”
“That’s where the roof collapsed on you,” he said grimly.
“Roof?”
“Of your box.”
“Of course,” she said with dawning comprehension. “The whole structure fell.”
“It did,” he agreed. “With you in it.”
“What happened to Hal Payne?” she asked with growing concern. “He tried to shield me from the falling timber and prevented me being hurtled down—”
“Hal’s fine,” Kit said hurriedly. “Broke his arm, poor fellow, but nothing more.”
A small cough interrupted them. “If I might interrupt?” the physician asked mildly. “Can you feel your legs, my lady?”
Lenora wriggled her feet and winced. “Y-yes.”
“It hurts?” Garman asked quickly.
“I just feel bruised.”
“You were mostly thrown clear,” Kit told her. “Damnably lucky you were at the front.”
“I don’t feel terribly lucky,” Lenora admitted closing her eyes. “I feel like the most unlucky woman in all Karadok!” Then her conscience pricked her. “I hope no-one was seriously hurt?” she asked anxiously.
“Nothing more than a broken bone or two,” Kit hastened to assure her.
“Aren’t you going to check her over?” Garman barked, turning toward the physician.
The smaller man coughed. “I think the lady might appreciate some privacy…”
The Unlovely Bride (Brides of Karadok Book 2) Page 22
