The Unlovely Bride (Brides of Karadok Book 2)

by Alice Coldbreath

  He waited a moment before the Kellingford box, until the crowd noise dipped, and only then did he raise the lance until it hovered before her. Lenora paused. She had never given much thought before to the pageantry of the occasion, but for the first time, she appreciated her role in the story being told before their audience. As any onlooker could see only too plainly, she was no longer the prettiest woman in attendance. However, they would see that in Sir Garman’s eyes, she was still deemed worthy.

  She looked around smilingly at the expectant crowd. They hushed further and then, bestowing the biggest smile of all on her husband, she reached out and took the flower-ring and placed it squarely on top of her head. The crowd burst once more into rapturous applause. Lenora laughed and clapped again. The high spirits were infectious. She felt almost giddy.

  Sir Roger was at her elbow, congratulating her on her husband’s win. He was asking about escorting her to the feast, but his sister Lady Bridgette stepped in and murmured something in his ear. They were both looking over Lenora’s shoulder now, and she swayed a moment, feeling almost drunk. Then a hand was at her waist, steadying her. She glanced around and found Garman there, still partly dressed in his armor, his hair plastered in sweat. The next thing she knew she was in his arms and being swept down the steps towards Bria’ag. She tipped her head back to look at him.

  “You won,” she said simply.

  He shifted her in his arms and slung her up onto the horse’s back. She had to reach up to adjust her garland of flowers which had slipped down over her eyes. Then he was up behind her and the crowd was cheering again as he rode slowly around the edge of the field. “Enjoy the applause now,” he told her in a low voice. “We’re not going to the celebratory banquet.”

  Lenora raised a hand to wave and smile. She noticed Garman’s brusque nod of acknowledgement and laughed again. “I feel drunk,” she mused. “But I haven’t had a drop of wine.”

  His hand tightened at her waist. “You don’t feel faint?”

  “Not at all.”

  He seemed to relax at that. “Shall we go around again?”

  Lenora looked at the jubilant faces. “Yes, once more.” She sat up straighter, determined to commit this moment to memory. “You’re popular, you realize, at this moment.”

  “Fancy that,” he drawled. “And all it took was my wife’s brains almost being dashed out in front of them all.”

  Lenora nodded thoughtfully. “Isn’t it funny, what makes people like you?”

  She had caught sight of Eden now, with her arms around Sir Roland’s waist. Roland grinned ruefully, catching sight of them and raised a hand in greeting. Garman nodded. Eden lay her head on her husband’s shoulder and seemed to be taking his loss far worse than he did.

  “I like Roland Vawdrey,” Lenora said decidedly. “Don’t you?”

  “No,” Garman growled.

  “Oh. That seems a shame to me. He has a good heart.”

  He did not answer, but that might have been due to the din the crowd were making. This time, when they reached the end of the field, Garman steered Bria’ag through the gap between the stands and they made their escape.

  25

  They had a simple supper of bread, cheese, and grapes and Garman was in and out of the tent as she washed and undressed, seeing to his armor and getting his horse stabled.

  Lenora smiled to herself as she finally sat in a chair to brush out and braid her golden hair.

  “Don’t talk to me about liking other men,” Garman said tersely as he walked back in again and dumped a pile of armor in the corner of the tent.

  “What?” His words startled her. “You mean Sir Roland?” She hesitated. “You misunderstand me. I have only ever considered him as Eden’s. It is important to me that her husband has a good heart.”

  “Well, I don’t have a good heart. I have a black heart.”

  “That’s not at all the same,” she said dismissively. “I don’t concern myself about that.”

  He straightened up, pinning her with his gaze. “You should concern yourself about it,” he said sharply. “Now you find yourself married to me.”

  She stared at him. “It’s fine though,” she said, her cheeks turning pink. “It’s important Eden has a decent husband as she’s a fine upstanding woman.”

  His brows snapped together. “And what of you?”

  “Me?” She gave a short laugh. “I’m nothing.”

  “What?”

  “I’m nothing,” she repeated slowly. “And I knew that even when I was beautiful. So, it doesn’t matter if you’re an utter swine. We’ve had this conversation already.”

  Garman stared at her a moment, then he gave a hollow laugh.

  “But as a matter of a fact,” she said confidingly. “You are not as bad as all that. You have your good points.” She set down her hair comb. “I think as a husband, you suit me very well.”

  “Because I win when you tell me to?” he asked sarcastically.

  “Yes, that was very impressive,” she said and saw him struggle not to smile at that. Why did he fight it every time, she wondered? “I think our marriage will be a very great success.”

  “Are you sure you haven’t had any wine?”

  She smiled and shook her head. “You don’t agree?”

  “I haven’t dwelt on the matter.” His reply was rather crushing but she wouldn’t let that get to her when she was feeling so happy. Reaching across, she carefully straightened the garland where she had set it on the table after removing it to place a fresh poultice on her head.

  The garland was not half as impressive as the ones she had received at the royal tournaments, but those had never filled her heart with pride as this one did. She ran her finger over the petals reverently. “Thank you for my flowers,” she said dreamily.

  He gave her a sharp look and approached her chair. “Lift your head, Lenora.” She obliged, and he placed a hand at her forehead, careful to avoid the bruised area. “You’re not feverish?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  His eyes bored into hers. “I gave you those flowers because you told me to, no other reason.”

  She pulled away his hand. “Oh dear,” she said with a grimace. “Is this where you start being rude and insulting to me, terrified I’ll misinterpret your actions?”

  He gazed at her blankly a moment. “What?”

  “Like the other morning? Because if so, I’d rather you didn’t speak at all.” She stood swiftly and went to move away, but he grabbed her arm, preventing her. “I don’t find myself married to you, Garman,” she spelt out in a brittle voice. “I’m the one who picked you out, or don’t you remember?”

  He released her arm. “Aye, I remember,” he said harshly. “I’m not the one in danger of forgetting.”

  “Neither am I!” she answered tartly, feeling stung. The clouds she had been drifting among were definitely starting to disperse now and she was coming back to earth with a bump. Lenora sighed; it had been nice while it lasted. The lump on her head was starting to throb and Garman’s manner was beginning to irritate her. “I’m going to bed,” she said flatly. He did not answer, and she crossed swiftly to the bed and climbed into it.

  The next few minutes were spent in silence between them, the only sounds being Garman removing his clothes and washing. When things went silent, she raised her head and found him unwinding a deal of linen wrappings from his hands and inspecting what was underneath. She wondered about those again briefly, before he turned around, blew out the candles and crossed to the bed in pitch darkness.

  Lenora held herself stiffly as the bed dipped when he climbed into it. He rolled onto his back and Lenora lay on her stomach with her face turned away from his. Reaching up, she checked the poultice had not slipped from the spot that throbbed at her brow.

  Outside she could hear voices in the distance laughing and talking to each other, likely on their way home after the jousting, or perhaps making their way up to the manor house.

  “What do you mean by s
aying you’re nothing?” Garman asked out of the darkness in the voice of one severely goaded.

  Lenora lifted her head a moment, surprised by both his question and his tone.

  “Not much,” she said cautiously. “Just that.”

  “What exactly?”

  Lenora sighed wearily. “What is the point in going into it?”

  “Because I want to know,” he persisted.

  “Just in the same manner that you know you have a black heart; I know very well that I am an empty husk. I have always known.”

  “Empty?” His words were sharp. “Explain.”

  “I have no substance,” she said drearily. “I have no personality. You said so yourself.”

  He gave an exclamation. “That was days ago! Before I even knew you.”

  Lenora shrugged. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Well, unfortunately for you, it’s a woman’s lot in life to do things she doesn’t want to,” he snorted.

  Lenora rolled onto her back. “Why are you being so disagreeable?”

  “I am disagreeable. Everyone says so.”

  “Is this you panicking because the crowd actually liked you tonight?” she asked, huffing out a breath. Garman was silent. “Because you needn’t worry. Fame is a fickle beast and very soon they’ll all forget how you won their hearts and cast you aside for tomorrow’s favorite.”

  “Is that what you think they did with you?” he asked shrewdly, and Lenora caught her breath. She was glad the tent was in darkness for she felt her face grow suddenly very hot.

  When she could manage to keep her voice steady, she said quietly: “I suppose they did, yes.”

  “Then you suppose wrong!” he replied angrily, and she thought she heard him grit his teeth. “Emworth still wants you and likely more besides!”

  Snatching up a pillow, Lenora hurled it toward where she imagined his face was. “You—beast!” she panted, and her voice shook. “That’s not the first time you’ve suggested I should have asked another! That I was a fool to ask you!” She made a grab for another pillow and found her waist suddenly encircled by two strong arms, as she was borne back down to the mattress.

  “Be still!” he ordered. “You’ve a lump on your head the size of an egg. I’m not about to start wrestling with you!”

  Lenora struggled for all she was worth, and found he just bore down on her all the harder, catching her wrists in his large hands and pinning them above her head. For some reason she could not fathom, she was suddenly breathless for an altogether different reason. She remembered how he had previously compared lovemaking to fighting and then wished devoutly she had not.

  “And for the record, I was not saying that,” he said in a low voice. His breath tickled her neck. Finding her efforts to wriggle free futile, and only served to make her hot and bothered Lenora subsided. As soon as she stopped struggling, all the bruises from the accident that morning suddenly made themselves known to her. “Owch,” she winced.

  He relaxed his hold at once. “Where does it hurt?”

  “All over!”

  He levered his top half off her and settled beside her, one hand still resting on her hip. “Turn onto your side,” he recommended. “Most of your bruises are on your backside.” When she went to turn toward him, he tightened his hold, preventing her. “The other way. Give me your back.” Lenora complied and he lay very still until she found the position most comfortable. She felt him lift his arm and feel her head to check the poultice was still placed over her brow. Then, very carefully, he shifted into her, pressing his front against her back. That was when she realized she had not been the only one affected by their tussle.

  He breathed out gustily. “There’s nothing weak about your personality, Lenora,” he told her. “I don’t know where you got that from. You may not have spent your childhood studying books and music, but you don’t lack spirit.”

  “That’s not what you said before,” she flung at him over her shoulder.

  “When?”

  “At the inn, that second night.”

  He hesitated, running a hand up from her hip to her waist and back down again. Lenora shivered. “That was based on what I’d seen of you at court,” he said dismissively. “Even that second night, I knew I had you wrong. Ever since I have known you…” He broke off as though considering his words.

  “What?”

  “You’ve been like a force of nature.”

  She caught her breath. “Me?”

  “Crawled out of a pile of pox victims, didn’t you? Marched me off to get hand-fasted?”

  She stared into the darkness. “Well…”

  “Tricked a guard, cajoled a priest… need I go on?”

  She gave a shaky laugh. “I almost wish you would.”

  He breathed out noisily. “We’re both battered and bruised. And likely exhausted. It’s been a long day.”

  “Yes,” she murmured. His hand at her waist felt heavy and comforting. As if guessing the direction of her thoughts, he eased it around her hip in a small circle.

  “I shouldn’t have picked a fight,” he said hoarsely. “You’re right. Acting the champion doesn’t sit well with me.”

  She was so astonished by this admission that she lay silent a moment, digesting this. “Well, I shouldn’t have struck you with a pillow,” she conceded. “Only…”

  “Only what?” She heard the faint thread of amusement running through his words.

  “If I wasn’t a mass of bruises, would you have wrestled with me?”

  He lay very still a moment. “In the sheets? Aye.” He gave a short laugh. “Don’t tempt me when I need to be gentle with you.” Wrestled in the sheets? From the husky tone of his voice she could tell he was definitely referring to bed-sport and shivered a little. “Cold?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “No.” They were both quiet a while and Lenora listened to his steady breathing evening out. Very softly she asked, “What time will we set off in the morning?”

  “Early,” he rasped. “Now go to sleep.”

  She wanted to ask if they would have time for her to say goodbye to her cousins, but did not want to shatter their momentary truce.

  26

  When Lenora awoke the next morning, it was late and she felt groggy. All around her were tidy bundles and rolls of things that had been packed tidily away. Garman had been busy, she realized, while she slept on.

  Tentatively she reached for the tender spot at her brow and found the swelling much reduced. A quick scan of the tent saw she had been left out only one outfit presumably to travel home in. She quickly rose, washed in lukewarm water and dressed. She was just securing her hair at her nape when she heard a footfall outside and looked up eagerly. It was Garman and he was carrying the spoils of his win. When he entered, he set down a large silver salver and a chinking purse which bulged.

  “Good morning,” she greeted him affably. “Sir Roger has awarded you your winnings, I see.”

  Instead of answering this, he crossed the tent and cupped her cheek. “How’s your head?”

  “A lot better, thank you,” she said, feeling exasperated with herself when her cheeks grew warm. He ran a thumb absently over her jaw as he was wont to do, before releasing her and picking up a couple of the rolled packs. Did he always deliberately touch that patch of roughened, pitted skin Lenora wondered and had to take a couple of steadying breaths before she spoke again. “Are we now ready for the off?” she asked croakily.

  “I’m just loading up the horses now,” he said over his shoulder as he ducked out of the tent.

  Lenora busied herself pinning a veil over her coiled hair and then donning her cloak. “Have you made our farewells?” she asked when he appeared again to grab the last few things.

  “Aye,” he said shortly. “And gave our direction at Cofton Warren to young Montmayne.”

  “That’s good,” Lenora said. “I don’t suppose—”

  “I also gave it to Ames, for the Lady Eden,” Garman interrupted her.


  “You think of everything.”

  He smirked, but made no rejoinder to that, and with a quick glance around to check for hair pins or any small feminine possession he might have overlooked, Lenora took her leave of their pavilion. She felt somewhat mixed emotions about that. On one hand, the materials were starting to look sadly wet and sagging. She was not sure how much longer their shelter would have remained dry. On the other hand, she was not overly anxious to return to Matchings Farm where Garman’s grandfather was so polite and disapproving. Still, she would see Berta, Grizelda, and Fendrel, so that was something.

  Garman was just packing away his standard banner which had been flying outside their tent. He tucked it into a saddlebag and pinched her chin before lifting her up onto her mare. “What is it?” he asked, so she told him. “You’ll miss the tournament life?” he asked with raised eyebrows.

  “Yes, I believe I will.” She lifted her chin at his skeptical gaze. “And I can mount a horse, unaided, you know,” Lenora felt bound to point out as she took the reins.

  “You’ve suffered a mishap,” he reminded her sternly as he swung into his own saddle. “And if you start to feel giddy or sick, you’re to tell me. I can have you up on Bria’ag before me.”

  “I feel perfectly well this morning, I assure you.”

  “Well, you’ve a good color at least,” he agreed as he led the way. “Stay close to me.”

  The majority of the other competitors had not yet risen, so they picked their way among the brightly colored tents with ease and soon left the field, and all of Kellingford behind them.

  Lenora wondered if Sir Roger would prevail in his quest to get his two sons legitimized. She wondered if Lady Bridgette would spread much gossip about the faded court beauty, whose knight had won the jousting in spite of her fall from grace. Catching the direction of her thoughts with a guilty start, she tried in vain to tamp down the mingled triumph and glee that bubbled through her at Garman’s victory.