“He is the nice one,” said Mason stubbornly.
“Am I?” asked Oswald harshly.
“You were the only one who ever gave a fuck about me, growing up,” said Mason. “Nothing you’ve just told us changes how I feel about you. You’re my brother, always were, always will be.”
Oswald flinched. “You still want me for Archie’s godfather?” he asked quietly.
“Don’t be a fool,” growled Mason. “Of course I bloody do!”
“You’re not getting out of that just by being a stone-cold killer,” muttered Roland. “In fact, that probably helps qualify you for the job.”
“Let’s hear some more about these bad decisions you’ve been making of late,” said Mason leaning forward and pouring them all a cup of ale.
“I’ve bought a town house,” said Oswald. “In Aphrany. A huge black and white timbered monstrosity. The kind a very rich merchant lives in.”
“Why in god’s name?” asked Mason.
“Because Fenella once said she likes them,” said Oswald. “In a purely throw-away conversation. But for some reason, every word she speaks is seared on my brain.”
Roland cleared his throat. “Bit impulsive for you, isn’t it?”
“A bit?” echoed Oswald. “I forced the King to sign annulment papers to an eight-year marriage. Simply because I feel sick to my stomach at the idea of her ever belonging to another man. And the worst of it is, that the annulment is the least drastic course of action that occurred to me. For the last three months, in my head I have been drawing up legal papers to sue Thane for the eight years he spent at my wife’s side, masquerading in my rightful place. In her life, in her heart and in her bed.” He heard his voice shake with anger and realized his brothers must too. Taking a deep breath, he continued more evenly. “Each time I mentally draft the petition, I request a more severe punishment befitting of his crime.”
“What kind of punishments?” asked Mason with interest, sitting back in his seat.
Oswald blew out a shaky breath. “In the latest version, it was beheading.”
Roland burst out in a coughing fit, while Mason rested his arms on the table. “What about your wife? Any punishments for her?”
Oswald shrugged an irritable shoulder. “Several,” he snapped.
“Such as?”
Oswald eyed his brother with annoyance. “The usual, I suppose.”
“Beating her?” asked Roland, looking alarmed.
Mason and Oswald exclaimed at the same time.
“He’d never harm a hair on her head,” snorted Mason. “Fool.”
“What’s the usual punishment for a wife then?” asked Roland looking confused.
“Usually it’s just chaining her to my headboard for a few weeks,” continued Oswald ignoring him. “Naked.”
“Well, she wouldn’t like that at all,” objected Roland. “It’s plaguey cold in our rooms at this time of year!”
Mason cleared his throat, covering his mouth with his hand.
Oswald eyed him distrustfully. “Are you laughing at me?” he asked him, narrowing his eyes.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” said Mason, in a suspiciously uneven voice, before he took a large swig of ale. When he lowered his cup, he surveyed his brother with satisfaction. “You’ve made such a bloody mess of this. It nearly makes up for you being such a smug, knowing bastard when I was first wed.”
Oswald took a deep breath. “Well, I’m glad you can take some comfort in my suffering.”
“Why did you buy her another house though?” puzzled Roland. “When you’ve already got Vawdrey Keep.”
“Too far from Court. From me,” said Oswald briefly. He looked at his youngest brother a moment. “I’ve a mind to give you Vawdrey Keep anyway.”
“Me?” spluttered Roland.
“Why not?”
“You can’t give it to me. It’s your birthright.”
“Yes I can. I can do what I like. Anyway, I’m going to build my own country estate at some point.”
“No, you’re not,” said Mason shrewdly. “You’re going to live in that timbered monstrosity in Aphrany. Because your wife likes it. And you’re going to run the kingdom on Wymer’s behalf for the next fifty years.”
Oswald smiled, in spite of himself. “She doesn’t like living in three rooms,” he said by way of explanation. “And I don’t like her being far from me.”
“Are you serious?” asked Roland incredulously. “I think you’ve run mad. An earl can’t live in a damn merchant’s house!”
“Says who?” Mason challenged him.
“Besides, Father would want you to have Vawdrey Keep,” said Oswald looking at his youngest brother. “You’re the only one of us that’s fond of the place. I’m giving it to you.”
Roland spluttered again. “Love’s unhinged you,” he said, and then stared when Oswald turned a dull shade of red. “What?”
“He hasn’t come to terms with it quite yet,” said Mason. “He hasn’t said the word in his head, let alone to his wife.”
“Are you sure he’s the clever one?” asked Roland. “Because I’m telling you now, I’m starting to have my doubts.”
**
It was a good six hours later that a lone rider arrived at The Bell and Basket on the Cauldwell Road. After handing his steed to the stable-hands to rub down and feed, he strode through the snow toward the inn and hammered on the bolted door. The burly landlord took an involuntary step back when he saw the expression on the man’s face. “We’ve no private chambers free, my lord,” he said noting the stranger’s clothing which was expensive for all he was clad in conservative black. Oswald looked at him, and he fell back, hastily opening the door to admit him. Almost as soon as he was through the door, he spied his errant servant sat before the fire with the remains of a bowl of stew before him, supping a cup of ale. He was across the room before Meldon had even had chance to place his drink back on the table-top.
“Took yer time,” wheezed Meldon. “Thought I’d have to skulk down here all night waiting for you.”
Oswald eyed him grimly. “What the devil do you mean by encouraging your mistress on this mad scheme?” he demanded. “And leaving me a damned impudent message to meet you here?” The Landlord faded away, rubbing his hands on his apron. “And where the hells is she?”
“I’ll take ye up presently,” said Meldon. “She’s got that big black dog of hers, and her own private chamber. She’s settled in for the night.”
“Well, she can get unsettled,” snapped Oswald, seeing red. “I’m taking her straight back to Aphrany tonight.”
“Nay, ye won’t do that,” said Meldon, shaking his head. “Not in her condition.”
“What do you mean by that?” he asked. “Something ails her?”
“Not her,” said Meldon. “She’s a very sensible lass, until she’s pushed past all bearing.”
Oswald fought back the impulse to cuff his impudent servant round the head. “What do you mean by ‘her condition’?” he asked, mustering reserves of patience he did not know he possessed.
“We-ell,” said Meldon sucking in his cheeks. “The sort of condition any wife gets in when she’s a husband always clamoring after her.” He eyed Oswald sagely. “Happen you’m more like your Father than I ever realized.”
“Kindly explain,” Oswald said in a clipped voice.
“And you’re supposed to be so sharp,” sighed Meldon. “It’s like this, Trudy, my god-daughter told me that Lady Vawdrey has never had recourse to use any rags since she’s been serving her, and that’s nigh on three months now.”
“Rags?”
“For her woman’s time,” stressed Meldon.
Oswald who had been shrugging off his cloak, froze. “What?” He stared at Meldon for a few heartbeats. “Impossible. She would have told me.”
“Happen the lass’ head’s been in such a spin, she ain’t never thought about it,” sniffed Meldon.
“And why is Trudy speaking to you about this, and not her mistres
s?”
“Well, she didn’t want to speak out of turn. But when the mistress she gets this notion to set off for the country without your say-so, well… Trudy thought she’d better let me know. ‘Uncle Walter, says she, you cannot let my mistress go haring off like this, not when she’s likely expecting.’” Meldon nodded. “So I left that message for you, and drove her here. Luckily the snow gave me an excuse to stop for the night. So here I sit.”
Oswald stood very still for a moment. Then his hand shot out to grip Meldon’s bony shoulder. “You’ll never abandon us, will you Meldon?” he asked quietly.
“Ain’t goin’ nowhere,” said Meldon. “In fact, I got a fancy to grow old in that big town-house o’yours. Town living’s easier on old bones than country living. And if I’m in Aphrany, I can see Trudy’s young un’s grow up, as well as yours.” He took another sip of ale.
“I will accept no less,” vowed Oswald, dropping his hand. “Where will you sleep now, if we overnight in this place?” he asked, glancing around.
“There’s a shared chamber upstairs I can bunk in, or I can doze down here by the fire,” said Meldon looking unconcerned. “I’ll take you up to her, shall I? Then I can bring the dog down with me.”
Oswald followed behind as Meldon led him up the rickety stairs and along a corridor leading to a door which he knocked on. “Milady,” he called. “It’s me, Meldon.”
There was a silence on the other side of the door, and then Oswald heard bolts drawing back.
“What is it?” asked Fenella, peering round. Bors saw him and gave a small bark of welcome. “Oh,” said his wife, looking stunned at the very sight of him. “My lord, I did not… that is-”
Oswald turned to Meldon. “Thank you, Meldon,” he said, seizing Bors and steering his wagging body toward the manservant.
“I have him, my lord,” said Meldon. “Come here you daft brute.”
Oswald stepped into the bedchamber, shut the door behind him and bolted it. Then he turned to his wife warily. Fen had retreated back across the room and was stood by the fireplace. She had a woolen shawl wrapped around her shift and looked rather stricken. He discarded his cloak onto a chair by the door and then paused. “You are well?” he asked gruffly. She looked pale, but still beautiful. And still his.
She gave a start. “Yes. What are you doing here?” she asked faintly.
“I could ask you the same thing,” he said stripping off his gauntlets.
“I – well – I’m going home,” she said rather defiantly, and lifted her chin.
“Home?”
“To Sitchmarsh.”
“That’s not your home, Fenella. Not anymore.” That seemed to rather take the wind from out of her sails. He discarded his gloves too, and looked at her. “I want talk to you.”
She nodded, wrapping her arms around her body. “I can’t do that while your teeth are chattering,” he said nodding toward the bed. “Get back under the covers.”
She shook her head. “No, I want to be standing when you-.” She broke off, biting her lip.
“When I what?”
“When you tell me,” she said softly.
Oswald frowned at her, then turned and snagged a chair dragging it over to the fireplace. “How about we both sit?” he suggested.
Fen seemed to sag. “Very well,” she said reaching for another chair, but he had already set one down for her. She sat down and he noticed how dull her eyes were, and red-rimmed. And puffy. She’d been crying. His brother had not been wrong.
“It seems I’ve given you a false impression somewhere along the line,” he said carefully.
Fen stiffened. He saw her fingers convulse in her lap. She still wore her rings, he noticed. She’d left the other jewelry laid out on their bed. Seeing his rings still on her fingers calmed him a little. Godsdamnit, Mason was right. He was a possessive bastard after all.
“I understand,” said Fen in a listless voice. “I understand perfectly. No-one could blame you.”
“I don’t think you do understand, Fen,” he answered truthfully. “If you did, you wouldn’t be sat here in an inn on the road to Sitchmarsh. You’d be back in our bed, where you damn well belong.” He broke off as his voice rose, and took a steadying breath. “Your pardon, I didn’t mean to raise my voice at you again.”
Fen sat up a little straighter. “Where I belong?” she echoed. “But – I thought…”
“Did you? Did you really?” His tone was harsher than he’d intended, but for some reason he was finding it hard to regulate it. His eyes pored over her. “I don’t think you thought this through at all! Otherwise you wouldn’t be putting your husband to the trouble of a two-hour ride to come and find you, after he’d already spent four hours in the saddle this day.”
Fen eyes flickered. “But I didn’t think you would come to get me,” she said simply. “In fact,” she took a deep breath. “I thought you would be relieved to find me gone.”
Oswald felt winded. “How? How could you think that, Fen?” he demanded. Her eyes filled with tears. “I told you,” he insisted. “That you were precious to me, Fenella.”
Fen caught her breath. “Yes, you did,” she agreed in a choked voice. “But then you said I was nothing but an inconvenience.”
That halted his indignation. Shit. “You heard that?” He shook his head. “I was just letting off steam, Fenella. I didn’t mean a word of it.”
“You said I was an untrustworthy wife,” she said in a wobbly voice. “And that – “
“Please Fen – don’t,” he said unevenly. “That wasn’t intended for your ears. And even as I uttered those foolish words, I knew in my heart they were nothing but a falsehood.”
She swallowed and dragged a hand across her eyes. “No, you were right,” she said huskily. “And what’s more, you don’t even know the half of it.”
“I was not right, I was not even close,” he said firmly. “My darling Fen-”
“No, please don’t!” she flung out an arm in appeal. “Please don’t be kind. It is better to be honest. We can’t carry on as we have been. With me taking misstep after misstep and causing a disgrace to your name-”
He was up and out of his chair, “Darling Fen,” he said in concern, kneeling down beside her. “Please stop crying. You’re upsetting yourself over nothing.”
“No I’m not,” she sobbed. “And when you know what else has happened since you’ve been gone, you’re going to-”
“I’m going to take you back home with me anyway,” said Oswald firmly. “And just to be clear, your home is wherever the hell I happen to be. No, that’s enough,” he said catching hold of her hands. “You need to know there’s nothing you can possibly have done that is going to make me not want you.”
She shook her head violently. “You don’t know-”
Suddenly, he yanked her into his arms and held her there, her head tucked under his chin, her breast to his chest, his hands supporting her weight against him. “Please believe me,” he said. “I know I don’t deserve your trust, after the way I’ve behaved, but it’s true.”
“The way you’ve behaved?” echoed Fen, sounding mystified. “But you’ve done nothing wrong.”
“If only that were true,” murmured Oswald. “Then we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.” He cautiously bent his head and looked into her face. “Are you calmer now?”
She hiccupped, then her face crumpled. “Will you let me apologize now?” she whispered.
“You’re not the one who owes the apology,” he said gruffly. “That would be me.” Fen stared. “I was a bloody, godsdamn fool to blame you for that play debacle,” he said in a voice husky with regret. “I wish I could take back those things I said to you,” he swallowed. “And those ridiculous things I said about you to my brother. And get back that night I spent apart from you, which was nothing but a futile waste of time.” He closed his eyes a moment. “All I could think about for the last two days was how I’d acted toward you… Mason didn’t believe a word of what I s
aid, I might add. He and Roland both think you’re the best decision I ever made and that I’ve been treating you shockingly.”
“Oswald-”
“Let me say it, Fen,” he insisted, and she lapsed into silence. “I’m a reserved, private man, who doesn’t like to wear his emotions for all to see. Or to be the subject of idle rumors.” Fen tensed up and at this, and he tightened his hold on her until she subsided against him. “When I thought your actions had led to gossip and conjecture, I totally over-reacted. But I’ve learned my lesson,” he said emphatically. “I don’t care if you have a dozen plays written about our marriage.” He took firm hold of her upper arms. “I’m never - ever - letting you go. Do you understand? Your face is so puffy I can barely see your eyes, but I still think you’re the prettiest woman I’ve ever beheld and I have no intention of relinquishing you while there’s breath in my body.”
Fen’s eyes closed and she seemed to be waging some kind of inner battle with herself. “Some even worse things have happened in the last two days,” she said at last.
Oswald looked down at her. “I don’t care,” he said succinctly, and took her lips in a deep and heartfelt kiss.
As soon as he released her, her worried face bobbed before him. “But just let me explain-”
“No,” said Oswald, scooping her into his arms and coming to his feet.
“I- but I need to tell you-”
He walked to the bed and deposited her on the sagging mattress. “Gods, this bed,” he complained. “I’ll have to go easy on you for once, or we’ll end up on the floorboards.”
Fen’s white face, turned pink. “Husband-”
He whipped his tunic over his head. “You have as long as it takes for me to get undressed to explain.”Fen clambered to her knees. “Well,” she said, assuming a pained expression. “Mathilde Martindale has run away from court, dressed as a boy,” she gabbled. Oswald unlaced his crotch and shucked down his braies. “Her mother suspects I’m culpable, although I really and truly had no notion of her plans.” When he gave no discernible reaction, she continued rapidly. “And Bess Hartleby has eloped with the artist who painted my portrait. Her uncle is on the privy council with you, although I do not know his name. He is sure to be very angered by it though,” she added. “And to tell you that it is somehow my fault, though I don’t quite know how.”
His Forsaken Bride (Vawdrey Brothers Book 2) Page 47
