His Forsaken Bride (Vawdrey Brothers Book 2)

by Alice Coldbreath

  “Wild dogs could not have dragged me away, let alone my little Juniper” vowed Hester. She stooped and let her dog run free again. She hesitated. “Will you tell your husband?”

  Fen started guiltily. She had not even considered it.

  “He will not hear it from me,” Hester assured her. “In case you decide it is best not to tell him.”

  “You are a good friend to me,” said Fen. “But I think I would rather be open and honest in my dealings.”

  “That might be wise,” agreed Hester. “Considering that one of his spies may be watching us even now!” She smiled, but Fen could see she was half serious.

  Fen turned her head, but all she could see was a falconer in the distance, training his bird. And two monks stood over by a dovecote. She turned uncertainly back to Lady Schaeffer. “I do not think-”, but then she remembered the bland faced men who had returned Bors to her and shivered.

  “Honesty is so often the best policy,” said Hester.

  **

  On returning to their rooms, Fen found Roland polishing his armor at the table. At her appearance he looked rather defensive, and cleared his throat. “Didn’t realize you’d be back so soon,” he said glancing at the mess he was making.

  “It doesn’t signify to me,” said Fen cheerfully. “These are your rooms, not mine.”

  Bors lumbered over to her brother-in-law and rested his head on Roland’s thigh. She noticed that Roland managed to give Bors a satisfying neck rub whilst also sending a look of irritation her way. “What do you mean, they’re not your rooms?” he asked. “You’re a Vawdrey now, aren’t you?”

  Fen picked up some grapes and made her way to the window seat.“Your brother told me from the outset that I shan’t be at court overmuch once our marriage is established,” she explained carefully. “And anyway, these feel far more like bachelor rooms than a home.”

  Roland snorted. “So, you want me out?” he asked, without heat.

  “Of course not!”

  He swung round in the chair to look at her. “Even though I treat the place like bachelor chambers?”

  “That’s not what I meant,” said Fen calmly. “And besides, once I am sent back to Sitchmarsh then-”

  They both turned their heads as the door swung open. Oswald was stood on the threshold looking quite devastatingly handsome in a black doublet that Fen did not think she had seen before. So busy gazing her fill was she, that it took her a few seconds to realize, he also looked annoyed.

  “Is there some reason you are speaking of Sitchmarsh?” he asked coolly as he strode into the room. “Has news arrived from the Keep?” He made straight for the fireplace and placed both his hands against the mantelpiece, staring down at the fire.

  “Nay brother,” answered Roland, shooting a quizzical glance Fen’s way. “You are expecting some?”

  “Then why are you speaking of it?” Oswald asked, ignoring Roland’s question and looking directly at Fenella.

  “I- Sitchmarsh has been on my mind of late,” she confessed. “I am expecting a letter from Orla and-”

  “I should probably tell you now,” he said in a bored-sounding voice. “That I have no intention of sending you to Vawdrey Keep in the immediate future. Certainly not before spring or even summer arrives.” He turned his whole body to face her, a challenging look on his face. “Do we need to have some discussion around this subject?” He walked over to the table and poured a goblet of wine.

  Fen reeled. Twice her lips formed words she did not manage to utter.

  “I am aware,” he continued crisply, “That this flies in the face of what I told you initially some two weeks ago, but frankly I find Vawdrey Keep too far from court to be practical as my country seat.”

  Fenella sat up, realizing she had sunk down into the cushions when he walked around the table and approached, handing the wine to her. She took it wordlessly, her gaze searching his face. She could make neither head nor tail of what he was telling her! Something about his expression put her on her guard. It reminded her of after they had visited the King and he had been angry with her. “But you-” she croaked. “You said-”

  “Yes, I did,” he answered shortly. “But I am going back on it.”

  “M-my brother-”

  “Is free to visit you, whenever it pleases you.”

  “Here?” squeaked Fen. “At court?”

  Oswald shrugged. “There are guest apartments we could engage for his use on a temporary basis, with very little trouble.”

  Fen took a distracted sip of wine. “I thought to visit with my friends and neighbors!” she protested faintly.

  “You thought wrongly,” he contradicted her, his eyes hard and angry despite the fact his words were so flat and calm.

  And suddenly Fen knew. She knew that he was aware that she had encountered Ambrose Thane earlier that day. Oh no. Her mouth went dry. But how? The monks? The falconer? It hardly mattered. Somehow, by hook or by crook, Oswald Vawdrey knew. And he was not happy about it.

  She came to her feet and placed the goblet down on the window seat. “I do need to have some speech with you, my lord,” she said. Annoyingly, her voice sounded quivery and guilty. She cleared her throat and squared her shoulders.

  “You will call me husband,” he answered tersely. “For that is what I am to you, wife.”

  Fen’s feeling of panic mounted.

  “Should I leave?” asked Roland uneasily. He looked from one of them to the other. Bors gave a mournful whine and disappeared under Roland’s chair.

  Both Fenella and Oswald ignored him.

  “I encountered Sir Ambrose Thane earlier today,” she said aloud. “When I was out walking with my friend, Lady Schaeffer.”

  Oswald stood so still it was almost uncanny. He was like a statue and just as cold. “Is that so?” he asked silkily. “Do continue.”

  Fen felt inclined to do anything but. The fire still blazed in the grate, yet she felt chilled to the bone by her husband’s reaction. Why did he not shout and rail at her? Somehow it felt far worse when he became so distant and icily remote.

  “By accident or design?” he barked suddenly making Fen jump in alarm.

  “Accident, I assure you!” she blurted. “At least, on my part it was!”

  Oswald’s gaze became inscrutable and he gave a chilly nod of his head. “What happened?”

  "I went to visit Rowena in the stables,” she started. “That’s my horse,” she added for Roland’s benefit. “On the way back, Hester and I decided to visit the rose garden, and then proceed along the-"

  "Skip to the part concerning Thane," Oswald interrupted her.

  "She's not giving you a sworn statement under oath," Roland pointed out.

  Oswald turned an icy look on his brother and Roland lapsed once more into silence.

  "Sir Ambrose approached," hurried Fen, anxious to diffuse the situation. "Just to tell me how much returning my dowry would inconvenience him."

  Both brothers appeared to digest this a moment in silence.

  "What else?" asked Oswald quietly.

  Fen thought a moment. She didn't want to make him angry, but she didn't want to lie to her husband either. "He also held me responsible for turning his sister Orla against his new wife," she said with a shrug.

  She thought he became a very tiny bit less stiff, but she was not sure if that was just down to her wishful thinking. Finally, she could take it no longer and added, "I told him his opinion was no longer of any import to me." His eyes locked on hers as if measuring the veracity of her words.

  "That's one in his eye," said Roland with a short laugh. "What said he to that?"

  Fen kept her gaze on Oswald, but he also seemed to be waiting for her response. "He said he found my attitude unnatural," she admitted. "And outrageous."

  "Pompous ass," snorted Roland.

  "But, the most important thing," said Fenella looking straight at her husband. "Was that I found I simply did not care what he thought. And Lady Schaeffer backed me up when I made it cle
ar to Sir Ambrose that you would not appreciate him accosting me."

  "I do not appreciate it," said Oswald tautly. "It seems I must have needs have a conversation with Thane to clarify this point."

  "Oh but - is that really necessary?"

  Roland caught her eye and gave a quick shake of his head in warning.

  "'Tis only," she added hastily. "That I should not like a rumor to start that I am attempting to sabotage his career, out of spite." She could see that Oswald's lips had thinned with displeasure. "This place seems a breeding ground for the oddest rumors," she added lamely as a scuffle on the door announced that Meldon had arrived with their supper.

  The door opened and both he and Trudy entered bearing trays of roasted meat and vegetables. “Your victuals!” he announced loudly. He had no sooner set down his tray then he started grumbling about Roland’s armor strewn about the place. “Not fit for man nor beast!” he finished roundly, as Fen helped Trudy to set hers down, and then carried the chest plate and shield across to the far corner of the room. Finally, they were settled around the table and Trudy fetched Fen’s wine from the window seat to set it before her as the meat was carved and the cabbage and leeks dished out onto their plates.

  “Thank you, Trudy.”

  “Speaking of rumors,” said Roland, possibly in an attempt to help diffuse the situation. “Only this morning I heard some tale you were now bosom friends with Eden Montmayne.” He spoke the last two words in tones of utmost loathing.

  “I am friends with the Lady Eden,” said Fen defensively as she cut up her meat. “And I know that cannot be wrong, for your brother himself recommended that I cultivated her friendship.” She looked across to Oswald for corroboration, but he was still remote and did not meet her gaze. “And Lady Schaeffer holds her in very high esteem.”

  Roland made a rude noise. “Everyone will think you a social pariah,” he said rolling his eyes. “Lenora Montmayne is the one whose company you should be cultivating. She is the reigning beauty. Closely followed by that newcomer, that Cecil female.” He piled some more cabbage on his already heaped plate.

  “That may be so,”" conceded Fenella taking another sip of her wine. “And might account for the men of the court clamoring for their company. But what care I for a pretty face on a woman? No, I thank you. I would much rather have the company of ladies who have conversation.” She did not add that Lenora Montmayne had no discernible personality and Helen Cecil seemed thoroughly unpleasant. In her experience, men did not like to hear that their goddesses had feet of clay. She shot a look at Oswald who to all intents and purposes was concentrating solely on his meal, which was not like him.

  “Oh, and the likes of Mouse Martindale and Bess Hartleby are good company are they?” scoffed Roland. “One scared stiff of her own shadow, and the other looks like a side of beef in a dress!”

  “She does not! You're being ridiculous, Roland,” fired up Fen in defense of her new friends. “Lady Martindale may be a little shy and nervous but if you take time to draw her out, she is very sweet and sincere. And Lady Hartleby may have high coloring, but she has excellent good health and has many tips on how to keep dogs.” Even to her own ears, the last point sounded a little weak, but she did not know all of Bess' good points yet. “And I think it's a bit rich of you to criticize my friend’s appearance and character when you consider your own choice of company!”

  Roland shot a startled look at Oswald who turned to Fenella with a frown.

  “What did I say?” she asked in puzzlement.

  “I swear I haven't bought any women back here since you married-“ started Roland hotly.

  “I meant Sir Edward Bevan and Sir James Attley,” interjected Fenella.

  Oswald visibly relaxed.

  “Well, what's wrong with poor old Bev?” asked Roland recovering quickly.

  “Nothing, except his sole topic of conversation is his horse Bromley.” At Roland's bewilderment, she elaborated: “The other night, he spent the entire supper speaking of Bromsley's flanks. Poor Lady Fortescue thought it was a place up north.”

  A look of amusement flickered over Oswald’s face so quickly, that Fen half-wondered if she had imagined it.

  “No-one appreciates the art of conversation anymore,” lamented Roland with a grin.

  “Hah!” responded Fen derisively. She pondered a moment. For some reason, she did not want the table to fall silent. “I think it is very hard,” she said hesitantly. “When one does not fit into a certain mold. For ladies, I mean. They are judged so harshly for falling short of the ideal, where men are allowed to have spindle-shanks and pimples or an unnatural thirst for horseflesh and no-one bats an eyelid.”

  “Unnatural?” spluttered Roland, slamming down his cup. “I never heard that particular rumor about old Bevan.”

  Oswald shot him a look and Roland subsided.

  “You know full well what I mean, Roland,” said Fen seriously. “You are meant to be the King's champion, yet I have never heard a man speak as unchivalrously as you about women.”

  Roland shrugged carelessly. “I speak as I find,” he said.

  “You have a cruel tongue.”

  Roland screwed up his face. “I've never spoken ill of you, except to your face,” he said ingenuously.

  Fen was surprised. “Truly?”

  “Truly. In fact, I've even defended you on occasion.”

  “Because I'm your sister now?”

  He shrugged again. “I speak ill of my brothers all the time,” he said casually. “Biggest pair of bastards you'll ever meet. Mason, quite literally.”

  Fen pursed her lips in disapproval.

  Roland leaned forward on his forearms. “I even tried to steal Mason's wife one time,” he told her conspiratorially. Fen stared. “Maybe I'll succeed with Oswald's?” he said with a wink and shot a look of challenge at his brother. Oswald leaned back in his chair, his eyes guarded, hiding his expression. Fen felt instinctively, that he was waiting for her response to his brother's teasing. “Nonsense,” she said, trying to hide her unease at his words. She could tell that Roland wanted to shock her and was determined not to give him what he wanted. “You have a flair for the dramatic, Roland. Perhaps that is why you're such a draw in the lists.”

  Oswald's lips twisted into a reluctant smile. “Mayhap we should come along and watch you joust tomorrow, Roland?” he suggested.

  Fen exhaled in relief.

  Roland grunted. “Up to you. I only wear the prettiest lady's token though,” he warned. “That's one standard I absolutely will not allow to slip. Even for family.”

  “Meaning you won't wear mine?” asked Fen with mock-dismay. “I believe I'll survive the disappointment.”

  “Would you like to attend?” Oswald asked her directly.

  Fen tipped her head to one side to consider it. “Is there any likelihood of Roland being knocked off his horse and onto his backside?” she asked hopefully.

  “A very slim chance,” responded Oswald with a small smile.

  “That's good enough for me,” she responded.

  Roland snorted. “If that's what you're hoping for, you will be disappointed, sister,” he said flexing his muscular arms. “There's no-one entered that will give me the slightest trouble.”

  “A pity,” she sighed. “But I should probably see what all the fuss is about.”

  “Well don't bring your army of frights with you,” was his parting shot as he rose from the table. “A man likes to see a pretty face through his visor. Not the likes of Eden Montmayne and her sour features.”

  “Eden Montmayne is an attractive and moreover, an accomplished young woman!” she called after him.

  She couldn't really make out Roland's response but the inflection of his words was derisive.

  **

  Roland had not left the room for long before Oswald dismissed the servants and suggested they turned in to bed. Fen blew out the candles at the table and followed him into their room,

  “Your brother is abominably rude,” she
told Oswald. She had washed and was unpinning her hair.

  “He likes you,” he said grudgingly over his shoulder as he poured more water into the basin to wash.

  She started loosening her braids. “How can you tell?” She drew a hair comb through her newly freed tresses.

  “It's quite obvious if you know him,” said Oswald dryly. “Roland's a straight-forward creature. With few subtleties.”

  “He's very different to you,” agreed Fenella, thinking this over. “You did not share a mother though.”

  “No. None of us do.”

  “Perhaps that's why?”

  “Perhaps,” he agreed without much conviction.

  “And you are not like your father either.”

  “No,” he agreed, lowering his wash-cloth.

  “But perhaps Roland is a little more like the old Baron?” she ruminated.

  Oswald made no answer to this, simply threw down his cloth and approached their bedroom door. He was dressed only in his chauses, which were low on his hips. He turned the key and Fen fell silent as he started drawing off his boots. She cleared her throat.

  “So, I start my sittings with signor Arnotti on the morn, and-”

  Oswald stopped in the act of pulling off his second boot and turned to her with a frown. “Who?”

  “The painter,” Fen said helpfully. “You wanted me to arrange to have my portrait done?”

  “Oh yes,” he agreed swiftly, then straightened up to start unlacing his crotch. “Remind me, where you are sitting for this painting?” he asked casually. “Somewhere public?”

  “Well, Eden had rather a good idea about that,” Fen told him. “She suggested one of the window seats in the lower gallery. Perhaps sat next to some stained glass and beneath an arch?”

  Her husband was sliding his braies over his hips. “And who accompanies you?” he asked, before shucking them down his legs.

  Fen sat down in a chair to draw off her shoes and stockings. “Well, all my new friends have been very kind and said they will take turns to sit with me. Apparently, it is very dull work indeed to be sat trying to maintain a pose while the artist takes your likeness.” She pondered this a moment, before standing up and tugging at her laces. “I suppose the artist my father commissioned was only third-rate at best. I don’t remember sitting for very long at all, but it seems signor Arnotti requires simply hours of your time.” She looked up to find Oswald surveying her with a heavy frown. “Are you alright?” she asked uncertainly. “You seem…distracted.”