An Ill-Made Match (Vawdrey Brothers Book 3) by Alice Coldbreath (2)

Eden blinked as the dust settled.  By some miracle, their two figures were still stood, swords swinging, oblivious to the fact there was now only one knight left astride his horse.  A bugle sounded.  A cheer went up from the crowd.

“Wait - what is happening now?” asked Eden urgently.

“The melee is over,” explained Gunnilde.  “See?” she pointed.  “Only one knight remains unseated.”

Eden spared a glance at the knight with his arm raised in triumph.  “But, who is going to tell them?” she asked impatiently, as Roland and Kentigern continued locked in their private battle.

One of the buglers approached them cautiously and raised his horn.  When the bugle blast rent the air at such close quarters, they both staggered back, looking around in seeming confusion.

“Oh dear,” said Gunnilde.  “I do hope poor Sir Roland will not be too disappointed to be on the losing side.”

After all that, he’d lost?  Thought Eden in bewilderment.  Sure enough, the seated knight was wearing a blue arm band.

“To my eye there seems to be more blue hostages though,” said Hal.  “So I’d say it probably works out that the yellows will receive the fatter purse, all told.”

“This – this melee makes no sense!” Eden complained tightly.  “No sense whatsoever!”

“Do you think not?” asked Gunnilde sounding surprised.  “To me, it seems to imitate actual battle quite closely.”

“How?” demanded Eden, irritably.  “To my mind, there is no clear winner.  It is chaotic.  It is unfair.  It’s hard to even tell which side anyone is on and…” she broke off distractedly.  “Oh,” she said catching Gunnilde’s meaning.  Clearly there was a lot more to her new friend than met the eye. 

Gunnilde gave her a sad little smile.  “Yes,” she said with a sigh.  “My Father was taken as a hostage for three years after the battle of Oskirk.  And yet, to all intents and purposes our side were the victors.”

Eden huffed.  “But why should anyone want to celebrate anything so… so nonsensical?” she broke off, in agitation.

“Is it not better to have pretend battles where there are far less casualties, than actual battle?” asked Gunnilde so sensibly, that Eden felt guilty for feeling so irritated by her words. 

Why did she feel so wound up about it all, she wondered and took a deep breath.  “In any event, I found it very hard to watch,” she said in a muffled voice.

“But you weren’t bored,” pointed out Hal, nudging her in a familiar manner she really ought to discourage.  “Bored people do not jump out of their seats at tournaments and shout.”

Eden gave him sideways look.  “A momentary lapse, I assure you.”

He sniggered and Eden pursed her lips.

“Tis likely you found it hard to watch because you have a loved one in the field,” said Gunnilde kindly patting her on the shoulder.  It occurred to Eden that she’d had more physical contact with other people in the last two days than she had for the rest of her twenty-two years in entirety.  She felt her cheeks color.  Gunnilde’s theory didn’t really hold water, but she could hardly say as much. 

Servers filed onto the field carrying trays of ale and mead and small pastries.

“Oh good,” said Hal, perking up.  “I’m half-starved.”

“What happens now?” asked Eden watching the various knights still milling around the field. 

“Well, that’s today’s main entertainment,” Gunnilde explained.  “This afternoon there will be a Challenge to Arms, but otherwise…”

“What’s that?” asked Eden, accepting a cup of ale from a passing page.

“Last night at the feast an open invitation for any challengers was issued by a group of knights who did not enter the melee.  Their shields will be hung shortly from that tree over there,” said Gunnilde pointing to a large oak.  “Any knight who wishes to take them up on it, will ride up and hit their shield with their lance.  That will take place around three o’clock,” Gunnilde explained.  “But those taking place in tomorrow’s jousting will likely take it as an opportunity to rest up in preparation.”

“I see,” replied Eden.  She was wondering uncomfortably where she was to be put up for the evening.  She had noticed bunks in the tent Roland’s friends were occupying.  But surely she would not be expected to bed down in such a communal arrangement?  Then she remembered Roland had sent some of his baggage up to the house.  So deep in thought was she, she nearly jumped out of her skin when her shoulders were seized, and she was spun around to face Roland Vawdrey, who seemed to have shed half his armor, and must have vaulted over the barrier.

“Well, wife?” he asked, sounding in high good humor.  Why did he look so pleased with himself? She scanned his jubilant face.  Did he not just lose?  He walked her backward until the back of her knees hit the bench, and she was forced to put a hand to his forearm to steady herself.  Ale sloshed over her other hand, but for the life of her she could not look away from his gaze.  “I saw you out of your seat, cheering for me,” he said in a low intimate voice that turned Eden’s face quite scarlet.  She could see he was pleased by the idea, and could not quite bring herself to correct him. 

“I – er – yes,” she gulped.  “It was all most – um…”  Words failed her, as his gaze focused on her mouth.  Oh gods, he wasn’t going to kiss her, was he?  Eden’s wits scattered even further.  It would be just like midwinter all over again!  She made a strangled noise in her throat and at that, his eyes snapped to hers.  There was a question in them.  Eden darted her eyes meaningfully to the left and right.  He frowned, but tore his attention from her to take in sea of faces all around them.  Reluctantly, it seemed to Eden, he dropped his hands from her shoulders.  There was almost a collective sigh of disappointment from the crowd.  She cleared her throat.  “Allow me to introduce my new friends, Harold and Gunnilde Payne.” She wished to goodness she did not sound so breathless.  “My husband, Sir Roland Vawdrey,” she said as Gunnilde dropped into a curtsey and Hal performed a rather wooden bow.  Roland returned a perfunctory nod.  “They have kindly been explaining the melee to me,” she added somewhat desperately. 

“May we wish you joy on your recent marriage,” offered Gunnilde politely.  She jabbed her brother with her elbow, no doubt hoping to jolt him into offering his congratulations, but he was staring up at Roland with a star-struck expression on his face. 

“Congratulations,” Hal said squeakily.  “The way you brought down Lord Kentigern was masterly!”

Roland’s gaze flickered to the boy with a little more interest.  “Liked that, did you?” 

“The Lady Eden did not think you struck soon enough,” Hal confided.  “But I saw naught amiss with your attack.”

Eden inwardly cringed at Roland’s startled glance in her direction.  Mercifully the hurried approach of Sir Aubron forestalled any further discussion of Roland’s technique in the field. 

“Sir Roland,” beamed their host.  “What a display!  What an outstanding display you have treated us to this day!  We are honored to see the King’s Champion in action, positively honored!  I declare the loudest cheer of the tournament so far, went up when you unseated Lord Kentigern in your glorious act of valor!”  Roland heartily returned Sir Aubron’s congratulatory embrace and they slapped each other’s shoulders a few times.  Eden was surprised to see the older man had tears of sentiment in his eyes.  “Never did I dream to see such feats, in the grounds of my humble home.  Entertainment fit for a King!  A veritable King!” A smattering of applause ran through the audience at his words, and he nodded and smiled in response.  “How proud your Father, the old Baron would have been to see it!  And such a treat, indeed, for your new bride to see your manly skills on display,” he said turning his benevolent gaze on Eden.

“Quite,” she agreed after the tiniest pause.  It seemed there was cause for celebration after all, she pondered, hoping she did not look as confused as she felt. 

Gunnilde sidled up to her discreetly.  “They award a prize to the most skillful fighter on both sides at tonight’s banquet,” she whispered.

Oh!  Well, that made a lot more sense.  She cast a grateful look at her friend.

“Will you join us now for some refreshment up at the manor, before the Challenge to Arms?” asked Sir Aubron hopefully.  “I have some friends and neighbors here this day who would be very happy to converse with the King’s Champion himself.”

“Mayhap later,” said Roland absently, reaching out and capturing Eden’s hand, drawing her to his side.  “I’ll take Eden back to our tent for now, while I wash and change.”  Eden blinked.  Why would he expect her to return to the tent for that?  Then she noticed the Conways hovering close with Sir Christopher.  Suddenly the tent seemed preferable to confronting that bunch, so she decided to meekly go along with it, squeezing his fingers in a mute show of support.  He lightly returned the pressure and cleared his throat.  “We’ll take our leave of you for now, Sir Aubron,” he said with a nod. 

“I’ll look for you later Eden,” called Gunnilde above the clamor of well-wishes toward Roland. 

“Yes,” agreed Eden, flashing a quick smile over her shoulder, as Roland whisked her from the tent.  “And I for you!”

 

**

 

Roland cast a sideways glance at his new wife as he strode across the field with her hand firmly in his.  She was facing forward, with her nose stuck in the air as always, and even though she had to be taking three strides to his every one, she managed to keep up with him, far too haughty to ask him to slacken his pace.  For some reason he could not fathom, it warmed his blood.  He knew not why, and did not care to examine it too closely, but the fact Eden Montmayne was now his, made his chest tight and his pulse quicken.  She was his.  He felt it again, that overwhelming something that he’d felt when Oswald had first called Eden his bride.  It rushed over him, fair taking his breath away and he found himself exerting a slight pressure on her fingers.  He’d liked it when she’d squeezed his fingers when old Sir Aubron was talking to him.  Making him aware of her presence – not that he needed reminding.  His attention had been inexorably drawn to her for the last six months.  Since he’d felt her breath mingled with his at that Solstice feast.  His feet had been set on this path to her, and now he’d arrived at his destination.  Finally.  It was a good feeling.  Almost like coming home.  They arrived at the tent and threw open the flap,

“Out!” he said without much heat to Bev’s squire who was lolling on one of the benches.  He scowled, but jumped up and made himself scarce.  “Boy’s bloody useless,” Roland murmured, seeing he had not cleared away the remains scattered all over the table from the last meal taken there.  He turned hearing the tent flap open again, but this time it was Cuthbert, carrying a bucket of steaming water for him to wash.  Roland took it from him without comment and poured it into the basin.  “Help me unbuckle,” he directed, pointing to the pauldrons, still strapped onto his shoulders.  His squire swiftly unfastened the leather bands and Roland stripped to his waist to begin his ablutions. 

Cuthbert moved around the tent swiftly, fetching him soap leaves and clean cloths.  From the corner of his eye, Roland could see Eden hovering uncertainly.  “Sit down,” he told her.  “I won’t be long.” 

She trailed over to the bench and sat down.  “Shall I pour us a drink?” she asked. 

He shook the water from his eyes, and picked up the soap.  “Good idea.”

“Ancel’s disappeared again,” complained Cuthbert, laying out his mail hauberk and hood ready for the morrow.

Roland frowned.  Who the fuck was Ancel?

“Roland just dismissed him,” explained Eden.

Oh.

“Am I to wait on all three of you, then?” asked Cuthbert with irritation.  “You know Sir James doesn’t have a squire of his own at present.”

“Well, you’re dismissed for the rest of the day also,” Roland growled at him.  “Make yourself scarce.”

“Really?” Cuthbert’s spirits picked up immediately. 

“Aye.  The others can shift for themselves when they get in.”  Cuthbert, who didn’t need to be told twice, was already halfway across the tent, when Roland called after him.  “Take some coin with you.  There’s sure to be entertainments and such.”

Cuthbert grinned and made for Roland’s saddle bag, where he extracted a couple of coins, whooped, and showed a clean pair of heels. 

“You didn’t tell him how much to take,” commented Eden.

Roland looked up from where he was drying off his neck and shoulders.  “No, I didn’t,” he agreed, throwing down his cloth.  He donned his tunic, walked over to the table, grabbed her hand and pulled her in the direction of the bunks.  

 

**

 

“Whose bunk is this?” asked Eden sounding slightly panicked as he pulled her down onto the mattress beside him.

“Mine,” he answered huskily, drawing her against him, with his hands at her waist.  They would not have long before his friends showed up, but he wanted a taste of those lips again. 

“But how do you-?”

“I always have the bunk to the right,” he interrupted her, anticipating her question.

He lowered his head but Eden ducked hers.  “I surely won’t be expected to sleep here though?” she asked, an edge of desperation to her voice.

“Nay,” he agreed, running a hand up the back of her neck, in a soothing motion.  “You’ll sleep up at the house.”  And so will I, but he did not feel the need to say that aloud.  She was already skittish as a colt.  At his words, she slumped in relief, and he took the opportunity to claim her lips, half-rolling on top of her.  She squeaked when he licked along her bottom lip, and he took the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth.  There was no way in hell he should find kissing Eden Montmayne as exciting as this.  He wished someone would tell it to his heart which was pounding almost out of his chest.  She made a strangled sound into his mouth and he slid his hand down between her shoulder blades and down to her slender waist.  “Kiss me back,” he said huskily, tearing his mouth away for an instant.  “Give me your mouth.”  She huffed, and guessing she was about to say something disagreeable, he forestalled her, by crushing his lips to hers.  He almost groaned when he felt her hesitant hands land on his upper arms, in what he guessed was her approximation of an embrace.  He broke off again.  “Put your arms round my neck, Eden.”

“But your-?”

He stopped her words again with his lips, and after a few seconds, she removed her hands and wrapped them tentatively around his neck.  Shit.  Why did it feel so good?  He groaned, and felt her gasp beneath him in alarm.  He shifted over her, insinuating one leg between hers.  Her heavy skirts were in the way, but still, he was breathing heavily through his nose like a gods-damn bull.  It was only supposed to be a taste, he reminded himself, suppressing the impulse to toss up her skirts.  That was out of the question, even if he only wanted to feel her legs tangle with his.  To comfort himself, he palmed her breast over her dress.  Eden was a modest dresser and wore her necklines rather higher than fashion dictated.  At his touch she jumped so hard, it startled even him.  He drew his head back to look at her quizzically.  “What?” he asked.  Eden stared up at him in confusion, instead of answering, her gaze dropped to his mouth.  That was invitation enough for Roland.  He returned to her pretty lips, but was less demanding this time.  Ravishing her mouth was just getting him hot and bothered, and he could hardly bed her here, like a camp follower.  When his hand covered her breast again, she whimpered, but did not bridle.  He stroked his thumb gently over where he guessed her nipple would be, and coaxed her lips teasingly with his.  As it was, he was aroused beyond all reason.  Mayhap the six months of celibacy that had afflicted him was partly to blame?  For whatever reason, he was at risk of embarrassing himself if he did not calm things down.  One thing was clear, he thought, his head reeling, as he was overtaken by desire.  His instincts had not led him astray at midwinter.  Eden Montmayne was his, and his alone. 

Someone coughed behind them.  Roland stiffened, turning his head to look over his shoulder.  Eden immediately turned as rigid as a board beneath him.  His friends Bev and Attley stood gaping at them in astonishment.  At the murderous look in his eye, they both fell back, clearing their throats and scratching the back of their necks. 

“Do you want us to try and rig up a curtain as partition?” asked Bev uncertainly, as Roland levered himself off his mortified bride.  “Only we need to wash and…”

“No,” Roland answered shortly.  He held his hand out to a scarlet-cheeked Eden, and after a moment’s pause, she took it and he hauled her off the bunk to stand beside him.  Strangely enough, his overwhelming impulse was to soothe his affronted wife.  He deliberately stepped in front of her, obscuring her from view as she tugged this way and that at her dress, trying to right herself.  He eyed her headdress which was hanging off to one side at a rakish angle.  Picking up his cue, her hands flew to right it. 

“Is it on straight?” she muttered, looking uncertain and seeking assurance.

Why the fuck that made his chest squeeze, he had no idea!  It was straight, but he reached out anyway to lightly touch her silky hair beneath the beaded band and gauzy scarf.  Was this what it was going to be like from now on?  Forever looking for excuses to touch her?  The thought unnerved him, but at least it served to damp his ardor sufficiently so that he could turn around and face his friends. 

Attley was staring like a fool, but Bev was studiously looking anywhere but at them. 

“We’re going to watch the Challenge to Arms,” Roland said coolly, feeling anything but.  He stretched out his hand, but Eden slipped her arm through his more formally.  He frowned, but bent his arm anyway to accommodate her. 

“Mayhap we’ll join you later,” suggested Bev. 

“Aye,” Roland agreed readily.  “We’ll look to see you.”  He grabbed his doublet off the bench and flung it over his shoulder before leading Eden from the tent. 

“I should probably warn you, Sir Christopher Lelland is here.” she said haltingly, as they made their way back toward the main field.

He turned his head.  “Who?”

“He is one of the King’s attendants.”

“What of it?” asked Roland sharply.  Who the devil was this fellow to her? 

“Naught, save that he is a courtier,” explained Eden with raised brows.

Her words sank in.  “Oh,” he shrugged.  “Well, my brothers will be informing the King as we speak, so it little signifies.”

“It appears he has lately married one of Sir Aubron’s neighbors,” she elaborated.

Roland frowned.  On the one hand Eden was talking to him, which he felt he should encourage.  She did not strike him as the naturally voluble type.  Indeed, she had been entirely silent for large stretches of their journey there.  On the other hand, he could care less about Sir Aubron’s neighbors, or the King’s attendants for that matter.  He made a non-committal noise which he fancied struck the middle-ground he required.  From the frown on Eden’s face, it seemed he had aimed and missed.  “Indeed?” he added lamely.  Perhaps he should have attempted this polite conversation thing at some point previous to now.  He’d never realized he would need such a skill in his arsenal.  “What did you think of the melee?” he asked, steering things into safer waters. 

A pained expression crossed Eden’s face.  “It was very difficult to keep track of you,” she said.  “Amidst all the chaos.”  There it was again.  A warm feeling spread through his chest at the idea of her looking for him in the crowd.  Since his father died, he had not had anyone watching in his corner.  Not family anyway.  “I fancy I will find the joust tomorrow easier to stay abreast of,” she added awkwardly.  “They have an announcer, do they not?”

“Aye,” he agreed, covering the hand in the crook of his arm with his.  She looked up startled at his touch.  “Best you get used to it,” he said.

“Tournaments?” asked Eden.

“My touch,” he responded, shooting her a wink.  She colored up and looked away biting her lip.  He grinned to himself as they crossed the field. 

“Are you really not as bothered as you seem,” asked Eden suddenly, as they neared the observational benches. 

“By what?” 

She hesitated.  “All the people staring at us,” she said at last.

Had they been staring?  Roland glanced around at the milling crowds of people.  A fair few did look hastily away at his confrontational stare.  “Why should I be?” He asked, returning his attention to her.  Her gaze skittered away.  “Eden?”  He wanted those blue eyes trained back on him.

“No reason.  I suppose I envy your composure,” she said lightly, but he wasn’t sure he believed her answer. 

“You have no reason to be self-conscious,” he found himself telling her, as he led her to a vacant bench.  “Are not brides usually a source of interest?”

“Brides?” she sounded startled again.  “More than half these people will be completely unaware of our marriage!”

He cocked an eye at her.  “I wore your badge in the field,” he said reminded her.  “I’ve never worn a lady’s favor before.”

Eden’s expression wavered.  “Oh!”

“They may not realize we are wed, but all will know you’re my sweetheart.”

Her step faltered.  “Cuthbert said these rural tournaments are not overmuch attended by wives,” she blurted.

“True enough,” he agreed, wondering at her blush. 

“Well, I hope no-one thinks-”

“What?” he asked curiously, as she plunked down onto the bench.

“That I’m not respectable!” she huffed, straightening her veil. 

He longed to point out that they’d woken up in bed together three days previously, but he already knew Eden was ill-used to teasing and likely to react poorly.  Managing to hold his tongue, he summoned an attendant over with some drinks. 

“Will you have ale or wine?”

“Watered wine, if you please.”

After selecting their drinks, he sat beside her, clearing his throat.  “Has anyone explained the Challenge to Arms to you?”

“Yes,” she said, straightening up.  “Is that the tree Gunnilde spoke of?” she asked raising a hand to shield her eyes against the sun. 

Roland looked to the large oak.  Shields were hanging from the low hanging branches.  “Aye, that’s the one.”

“Do you recognize any of the coats of arms?” she asked, taking a sip of wine. 

He glanced back.  “The white shield with the black tree is the strongest competitor today,” he said after a moment’s appraisal.  “Sir Jeoffrey de Crecy.”

“If he’s so good, why would he not have joined the melee or the joust tomorrow?” asked Eden.

“He may have arrived too late today to make the melee.  And the joust is likely over-subscribed already.”

“I see.”

With irritation Roland noticed approaching figures.  Would they not be given a moment’s peace together? 

Eden clicked her tongue with annoyance.  “’Tis Sir Christopher with his wife Lady Muriel.”

The fact Eden was not happy at the interruption either, pleased him inordinately.  He turned a heavy frown on the interlopers.

“Sir Roland,” the newcomer hailed him enthusiastically.  “Well met!”  Roland nodded warily.  Now that he saw the fellow, he did vaguely recognize seeing him about court.  “I believe congratulations are in order,” Lelland carried on genially.  “I understand you have lately joined our newly-wed ranks.  May I introduce you to my bride, Lady Muriel.”  He turned to the insipid looking woman at his side.  Roland flickered uninterested eyes over her.  Muriel Lelland, he noticed, was eyeing Eden nervously.  Now what had happened there?

“I do hope you will forgive me for the misunderstanding earlier,” she twittered obsequiously.  “I – er – I did not realize that you were a fellow courtier of my husband’s.”

Eden regarded her stonily, her blue eyes suddenly as hard as flint.  “I see,” she said briefly, and turned back to regarding the shield covered tree.  It was amazing how haughty her features could turn, in the mere blink of an eye.  Roland was dimly aware he should not find it as entertaining as he did. 

Sir Christopher hovered uneasily, his wife looking anguished. 

Roland found himself clearing his throat.  “You – er – staying for the Challenge to Arms?” he asked.  Sir Christopher cast him a grateful look.  “Indeed!” he agreed.  “Indeed, we are.  My wife knows a couple of the local entrants, is that not so, my dear?”

“Er yes,” said Muriel who was still regarding Eden with unhappy eyes.  “No-one of consequence, you understand.  Not court folk.”

Eden looked up at this and pursed her lips.  “Is that your criteria for determining who of your company are important and who are not, Lady Muriel?” she asked caustically.

Lady Muriel’s eyes flew wide with alarm.  “Oh!  Well…“

“I’m afraid my wife expressed herself ill,” interjected Sir Christopher hastily.  “She is very fond of the Payne family.  Is that not so, my dear?  Indeed, you and Gunnilde Payne were like sisters growing up by all accounts.”

“Yes, oh yes!” agreed Muriel.  “Quite like sisters!”

“I find that an extraordinary statement,” said Eden.  “In light of the manner in which you greeted her not three hours ago.”

Muriel Lelland’s face was scarlet.  She opened and closed her mouth without managing to utter a single word. 

Roland glanced warily from Eden to Sir Christopher.  He had not the faintest notion what was going on, but it seemed this Muriel woman had somehow managed to offend Eden.  And it appeared his wife was not the forgiving type. 

“Could you possibly intercede for us, Sir Roland?” asked Sir Christopher, wincing.  “I’m afraid my wife’s behavior has caused yours much offence.”

It was on the tip of Roland’s tongue to ask what the devil he was expected to do about it, but he managed to squash the ignoble impulse.  After all, he was a husband now, so he supposed these sorts of things were bound to occur.  Sort of like owning a hound and it attacking someone else’s.  “Maybe yours should apologize?” he hazarded, stretching out his legs before him.

“She already did,” Eden pointed out.  “But I am a great subscriber to the notion that actions speak louder than words.  Lady Muriel’s future behavior toward my friend shall determine whether I accept her apology or no.”  A silence greeted her words.  Roland found himself uneasily hoping he did not incur his wife’s stiff-necked wrath anytime soon.  She was making it damned hard for the wretched woman.  It didn’t help matters that he was entirely confused as to who this friend was that Eden referred to.  Was there someone else here from court then?  “Ah, here come our hosts now,” said Eden mildly.  “And your opportunity to redeem yourself, Lady Muriel.”

Roland looked up to see Sir Aubron approaching with his family party.  Sir Aubron was nodding and smiling and waving at everyone as they took their seats in the center of the front row.  Muriel Lelland stood in frozen indecision for a moment, and then walked forward jerkily toward the plump blonde on the outskirts of the group.  Roland vaguely remembered her from earlier.  He cast a questioning look at Eden, but she was watching with her lips pressed firmly together.

The two young women seemed to be in earnest conversation.  Suddenly Muriel put her hands to her face and seemed to be dissolving into tears.  The shorter girl crowded in sympathetically and soon had an arm around her, patting her back.

“There, there,” said Sir Christopher awkwardly.  “All seems well between them, in any event.  Would you not say so?” he cast an anxious look in Eden’s direction.

Eden stuck her nose in the air.  She was not so easily mollified. 

“Aye, all seems to have worked itself out,” Roland found himself agreeing, catching the gleam of desperation in Sir Christopher’s eye.

“Excellent, excellent,” murmured Sir Christopher, rubbing his hands together.  “I felt sure it would be so.”

“I believe,” said Eden after a moment’s pause.  “That there was an understanding between the Conways and the Paynes as to Sir Arthur and Gunnilde eventually marrying.  Have you ever heard anything of that nature, Sir Christopher?” she asked, bestowing her first agreeable smile on him.

Sir Christopher blinked and Roland found himself frowning.  Why the hells was she giving him her smiles now? 

“I – er – that is, no I had not, Lady Eden.”

“Perhaps you have not yet had the chance to accustom yourself with your brother-in-law’s affairs,” she said kindly, but with a trace of reproach that made Sir Christopher wince.

“It’s true I have not as yet, as you say, Lady Eden.”

She inclined her head graciously, and Roland found himself thinking that his wife would likely grow into one of those very stern matrons that struck fear into the hearts of men.  For some gods-forsaken reason, that did not seem to put him off one damned bit.  He must have rocks in his head!

“I will just go and ask my wife to introduce me to the Lady Gunnilde,” said Sir Christopher, earning another smile from Eden.  It was an approving one this time. 

“How long have you known these people?” he asked a little testily as he watched Sir Christopher hurry over to his wife and Gunnilde Payne.

“The Paynes?” she sounded surprised by his question.  “Only since my introduction today.”

“Then how the devil do you know all about their betrothal arrangements and such?” he demanded belligerently.

“Well, naturally Gunnilde and I had some conversation while we were waiting for you to enter the field.”

“Mmm.”  For some reason he was put out.  He had a vague notion it was because she had smiled twice at Sir Christopher and not once at him. But that was damn ridiculous.  What did he care for Eden Monmayne’s smiles?  He stretched out on the bench.  Mayhap it was because she was Eden Vawdrey now, and they belonged to him, he thought moodily as he mulled it over. 

The sound of horse hooves and a dull thud, roused him from his thoughts to the realization that the first challenge had been issued.  Sir Jeoffrey’s shield was rocking from the lance buffet it had received.    A cheer went up from the crowd.

“Oh dear,” said Eden.  “Is that not poor Sir Renlowe again?”  She turned to Roland.  “But I thought he had been taken hostage after the melee.”

Roland shifted uneasily in his seat.  “Someone must have paid his ransom already.”  Damn.

“Why on earth is he challenging the white shield?  Did you not say de Crecy was the best?”

“Because he’s a bloody young fool,” seethed Roland.  “He must have suffered a worse injury than a broken nose yesterday.  He must have had his brains scrambled!”

 

**

 

Eden gazed around the carousers with disfavor.  The afternoon had passed in something of a whirl.  Roland had sat beside her explaining who the various knights were in the Challenge to Arms.  Not that she could remember any of the finer detail, save that poor Sir Renlowe had been rendered quite insensible again by Sir Jeoffrey de Crecy this time.  It was evening now, and they were sat in Sir Aubron’s banqueting hall.  The hostage ransoms had all been paid off, and the trophies awarded.  Roland had won the prize for the most valiant member of the yellow side in the melee.  Sir Kentigern had won the same accolade from the blue.  Without his helmet on, Sir Kentigern somehow looked even more savage than with it on.  He had the most dreadful scar down the left side of his face and the eye on that side was white as a boiled egg.  It had to be blind.  Was that why Roland had not struck him when he was dizzy and disorientated?  He seemed a sullen and moody figure and stumped off as soon as he had received his winnings and the ransom for the four knights he had knocked from their seats. 

Eden snuck another look at the terrible bruised and battered face of Sir Renlowe.  She had no idea how he could look so cheerful as he supped his ale through a split lip.  Both eyes were purple, and his nose was doubtless broken.  Yet there he sat.  She glanced toward the high table where the Payne family were sat dining on a platform well away from the common herd.  She heartily wished she was sat among them, rather than the competitors where it was so rowdy.  She noticed wryly that Gunnilde and the Lady Elizabeth gazed back rather enviously at her.  Really?  They’d rather be sat where she was?

The men were mostly drunk, and she suspected that the few women present on their long trestle table were not respectable.  They sat on laps.  Eden tried not to look at them.  She glanced sidelong at Roland, who had an arm draped along the top of her chair.  She felt sure he was testing her in some way.  Did he mean to outrage her?  To shock her prim sensibilities?  She could see his friends darting looks at her every so often in silent appraisal. 

“A toast to you, Sir Jeoffrey,” announced Sir Aubron loudly from the dais.  “The victor of the Challenge to Arms!”

Sir Jeoffrey was a rather arrogant-looking male with a short blonde beard and very blue eyes.  He nodded at the acknowledgement; though it was clear he thought it nothing but his due. 

“The victor of the Challenge to Arms!” repeated the table obligingly. 

“Hear, hear,” cried another. 

Eden raised her goblet for the toast, when to her surprise, Roland leant forward and sipped from her own cup, tipping the bottom, though she held it still in her hand. 

“A loving cup!” yelled one reveler, nudging his companion in the ribs.  They laughed uproariously and Eden felt herself flush.  She looked up at Roland in reproach.  “Why do you drink from mine?” she asked.  He shook his head, and pointed to his ear as if he could not hear her above the clamor.  When Eden leaned forward to repeat her question, he surprised her by kissing her soundly on the mouth.  She squeaked, but it was drowned out by the loud cheer that went up from their table.  Eden sucked in a deep breath, to let him know what she thought of his antics, but Roland’s lips were suddenly at her ear.

“We’re newlyweds,” he murmured.  “Tis customary to share plate and a cup for at least a month.”

“What?” she stared up at him confusion.  “That must be peculiarly customary in this part of the country, as I’ve never heard of it.”  She looked to his elbow, and sure enough he had no cup of his own.  Had he not been drinking all evening?  And if not, why not?

“A toast to the bride!” yelled Sir Aubron, holding his cup aloft.  There was a deafening noise as the revelers dragged back their heavy chairs and stood with their goblets aloft.  “To the Lady Eden Vawdrey!”

“May she be always warm and willing!” roared one of the uncouth northern lords.

Eden felt herself tensing as the raucous laughter turned to bawdy jests.  Roland’s arm slipped round her waist and rested there like a heavy, warm anchor.  She felt herself relax slightly. 

“Shall we to bed?” he muttered against her brow.  Eden had been shown the bedchamber she was to use earlier, when she had freshened up before the feast.  Roland had not joined her then, and she did not know if he meant to join her later.

“Not now,” Eden replied tightly.  “They’ll all think –,” she broke off wretchedly.

He squeezed her hip.  “Let me know when you’ve had enough.”

“I could retire, and you stay down here with your friends,” she pointed out, but he didn’t appear to hear.  It was very loud at their table, Eden thought despairingly.  She didn’t like to lean in close to him again, in case he took it as another invitation to kiss her.  Feeling flustered and out of place, Eden clutched at her skirts and hoped her smile wasn’t turning too glassy.  Roland nodded meaningfully at her cup and before she’d even thought about it, she was raising it obligingly to his lips. 

One of the knights sat to her right chuckled.  “Thought you said his wife was a sour-faced scold,” he said over-loudly to his neighbor.  “The lass seems amenable enough to me!”

Eden stared hard at Roland to see if he’d heard it too, but he just wiped his lip on his sleeve and smacked his lips in satisfaction.

The next hour was a very trying one for Eden.  The roast meats were brought out and sure enough, she and Roland were expected to share a plate and feed each other.  Her cheeks burned, but luckily, everyone seemed to expect a rosy-cheeked bride, so it was not remarked upon. 

“Tis very different from the feasting at court,” she answered, when Sir Ned Bevan sat at Roland’s left, tried to include her in their conversation.

“A lot more lively,” he agreed with an uncertain grin. 

Eden could tell Roland’s friends were ill at ease in her company, but what could she do?  Their society would hardly be her first choice either!  She racked her brains for some common ground, but in truth they had none, save Roland.  “Have you known one another for many years?” she asked with an air of desperation.

“We were squires together, as youths,” Sir Ned told her. 

“I see.”  She glanced at Roland, who seemed content to simply sit back and watch her, rather than facilitate the conversation.  “You must have had many adventures together I think,” she hazarded.

She watched an uneasy look flit over Sir Ned’s good-natured face.  “Just boyish scrapes,” he assured her with an air of anxiety. 

Roland rolled his eyes.  “She’s my wife Bev, not my aged aunt,” he told his friend dryly.

Eden tried to not to react to the casual way Roland was slinging the word ‘wife’ around.  He certainly seemed a lot more comfortable with the married terminology than she.  Then she found herself worrying Sir Ned thought her too prim and stern to share boyhood tales with.  “I am not so far removed from my own youth, I hope,” she joked feebly.  After all, she was not yet three and twenty!  Truth was, that she had been the most obedient and well-behaved child in all Karadok, and had never had a hair out of place, let alone put a foot wrong.  She braced herself for Roland to guess as much, but he said nothing.  Merely trailed a hand down in her side, in an absent caress that would normally have had her jumping out of the chair.  He had given her a fair few swallows of wine this evening though, so she sat there and allowed it.  She presumed it was for the benefit of his companions in any case, so it would be a shame to ruin the effect. 

Thus encouraged, Sir Ned launched into a lengthy and rambling set of stories involving apple scrumping, fist fights and youthful feuding which made very little sense to Eden, except to realize that squires at court were a lot less hemmed in than young noblewomen were.  A couple of times Ned started a tale and then seemed to collect himself, breaking off to change his mind about telling it to her.  Deemed them rather too colorful for her ears, she guessed.  At one point, he got distracted by the way Roland was playing with her fingers, his eyes nearly starting from his head. 

“Your tales are boring Eden,” Roland drawled, as Sir Ned lost his train of thought.

“No, no,” she said weakly.

“Well, he’s boring me,” he said, raising her hand to his lips.  He kissed her fingers.  “Let’s go to bed.”  Sir Ned coughed and averted his eyes, as Roland stood abruptly from the table and all eyes swiveled in their direction.  Before the first jest had even been uttered, Eden found herself scooped up out of her seat and into his arms.  “Bid the company goodnight, wife,” he prompted her. 

Eden held up her hand in farewell as he swept her out of the hall to the accompaniment of whistles and cat-calls.  “Why on earth do grown men behave like that without civilizing company?” she puzzled aloud.  Roland didn’t bother to answer her, simply scaled the staircase with seemingly little effort.  “You can put me down now, you know.”  Again, he didn’t give any indication of having heard her.  Eden tipped her head back to look at him.  He crooked a quizzical eyebrow in return.  “You’re being very high-handed, this evening,” she told him, wondering why she wasn’t more incensed about it.

“Mayhap you should get used to it,” he said thoughtfully.

She frowned.  “That’s not what you said before,” she reminded him.  “You said we would not disrupt one another’s lives overmuch.“

“No, you said that,” Roland corrected her.  “I just didn’t argue with you.”

“That’s commonly taken for agreement,” she pointed out, as he opened the door to their chamber for the night.

“And I’m not arguing now either,” he added mildly.  “I’ve something else entirely in mind.”

Eden’s brow puckered as he shut the door behind them and walked toward the bed.  She felt a twinge of apprehension.  He laid her down on the bed and gazed down at her a moment.  She couldn’t fathom the expression in his eyes which were dark and full of ... something.  “Can you please lock the door?” she asked in a strangled voice.  “I’ve never relished sleeping in strange places.”  And if it was bolted, it would likely guard against her sleep-walking again.

He walked back to the door without a murmur and shot the bolt across.  Then he crossed to the dresser and performed a perfunctory strip wash.  Eden stared up at the ceiling, trying to remind herself that they had, in all likelihood done this before.  Even if she could not remember it, and anyway it was far too late for maidenly nerves.  She was glad she’d had some wine now, or she’d probably be tense as a block of wood.  She had realized somewhere along the way, which was that Roland was not going to settle for marriage in name only.  Even she, oblivious as she was to men’s foibles, had picked up on the fact he liked to touch her.  Indeed, he couldn’t seem to stop.  Tonight, at first, it had crossed her mind he was doing it to salve her pride, by letting it be seen that they were on terms of supposed intimacy.  But after a while, that suspicion had faltered.  Roland Vawdrey did not strike her as a good actor or hider of feelings.  As mind-boggling a notion as it was, it seemed he was touching and stroking her because he actually wanted to.  She swallowed as she heard his footsteps approach the bed.  She should get up and wash, but suddenly she felt as heavy as if she were made of stone.  The bed dipped and he climbed on the bed, but instead of settling on his side, he reached for her immediately.

“I should undress,” she muttered, as he rolled into her and began kissing her, running his hands up and down her sides.

“Don’t trouble yourself,” he said thickly.  “I want to do it.”

Eden blinked.  “You want to take my clothes off?” she asked uncertainly.

“Gods, yes,” he breathed, though he seemed in no hurry, his lips lingering on hers as he placed very soft kisses on her mouth. And not just kisses.  He nipped her bottom lip, only gently, but she definitely felt his teeth.  When he did it again, she jolted and tried to draw her head back, but suddenly, his tongue darted out and licked along the seam of her mouth and when she tried to draw a shuddering breath, he did that shocking thing where he slid his tongue right into her mouth!  Eden squirmed under him, as he rolled right into her, his heavy body pressing into her and rubbing against her.  Her head reeled.  His hand was in her hair, tugging her head back as he thoroughly ravished her mouth.  She heard a strangled groan, and wasn’t sure who had uttered it.  She had a horrible feeling it might have been her!  Her eyes flew open as she felt his hands at her front laces, unfastening her bodice.  And not only that, his big warm hands were shaping and kneading her breasts, slipping inside the fabric and gently squeezing and stroking her sensitive skin there.  Hurriedly, she closed her eyes again, unable to watch something so indecent!  She panted and twisted as he tugged down the fabric to gain greater access.  As he palmed her breasts, she bit her lip and realized she was not trying to escape his groping hands, but actually to assist them!  What on earth was she doing?  Now he had lowered his head and was covering her bosom with soft kisses.  Was that even normal?  When he added his tongue, she gave a cry that would have embarrassed her, if he had not simultaneously robbed her of the ability to think by taking her nipple into his mouth.  She gave up.  She was not in control of her own body’s reactions, let alone his.  Collapsing back on the mattress, she simply gave herself up to sensation as he roamed over her with his shocking hands and wicked mouth.  Roland Vawdrey was consuming her alive.  His appetite was ravenous, but what was her undoing, was his consummate tenderness.  He was being so careful with her, that it brought a lump to her throat.  Why was he being like this?  Acting like she was the most delicious and precious morsel that he’d ever tasted?  It was bewildering.  She couldn’t get her whirling thoughts together.  Then he backed off a moment, throwing his head back to catch his breath, and his eyes glittered down at her.  Eden tried not to imagine the view he was getting of her, on her back, her breasts spilling out of her unfastened gown, her face red, her chest heaving.  Still, she couldn’t break eye contact as he reached for her skirts and started hitching the fabric up.  Her legs fell apart as his fingers brushed the inside of her thighs, and when she hurriedly tried to correct this, it was too late as his hand was already between her legs, rubbing and fondling her there too, in a manner which shocked her so much, she could barely think straight.  “R-Roland!” she gasped, squeezing her eyes shut. 

“Yes, Eden,” he murmured huskily, his fingers circling her and his thumb pressing against her so intimately that she felt herself violently trembling.  Why did everything feel so… wet down there? 

“W-wait!” she quavered.  “Oh!  Oh!”  The last word was a shriek.  Suddenly his fingers plunged so deep inside her, that she winced at the sensation.  “Owch!”  It wasn’t enough pain to stop her quivering, delicate flesh from luxuriating around the invasive press of his fingers though.  She bit her lip, and strained against his big fingers as he moved them in such a way, that the tremors intensified, until pleasure shot through her, jolting her in waves, and she found herself moving against him, desperately seeking more.  He gave it her, his circling thumb, his fingers deep, drawing out unspeakable gratification from her body until she gave herself completely over to the sensation, her head flung back, and her body taut like a bow.  Finally, she collapsed, spent, her chest heaving, and her cheeks wet with tears.  He moved back up her body, and kissing her again on her mouth, gently at first and then with his tongue.  He moved his fingers inside her again and Eden whimpered, everything still felt so fluttery down there and sensitive.  She winced again, as she felt him add another finger. 

“Sore?” he asked huskily.  She nodded, and watched a pained look cross his face.  “I don’t want to hurt you, Eden.”  She blinked up at him.  His expression was so regretful that she found she believed him. 

She tipped her head and felt the oddest inclination.  Reaching out, she hesitantly touched his cheek.  He turned his face into her hand and kissed her palm.  Eden watched with fascination as he closed his eyes briefly, and then re-opened them again.  He shifted over her, urging her thighs apart.  Eden’s arms fell to her sides.  She clutched the bedsheets as he aligned their bodies, so they would fit.  She felt his male appendage, heavy and bobbing against her stomach, then the tip of it was pressing at her entrance.  Her eyes flew wide with alarm.  One of Roland’s hands planted on the mattress by her shoulder.  The other was still between her legs, guiding himself into her.  She tried not to show her discomfort, her alarm as he pushed in.  No wonder he’d been worried.  His staff was monstrous huge and unwieldy!  She wanted to push him away from her, but managed to stifle the un-wifely impulse.  Her eyes watered as he sank slowly into her, inch by painful inch.  Feeling his gaze on her face, she tried to make her expression a blank, but could not help but flinch, when she felt him lodged deep.  Her depths burned, and she took a deep breath to fortify herself.  Surely there could not be much more of this she was supposed to bear?  Nature could not be that cruel!  Then he groaned deep, as if in pain, and her eyes flew to his face. But it wasn’t pain, she realized, for Roland’s expression was rapt as if in the throes of some kind of ecstasy.    

“You feel so-” he whispered.  “I can’t stand it – “ He shuddered, and she had barely the chance to wonder what he was trying to express when she was shoved back into the mattress, his whole weight crushing into her as he bore down on her, digging his knees into the bed to brace himself against her.  Eden’s hands flapped to his sides in alarm as she tried to hang on for dear life.  His hips shifted over hers fitfully.  Each time he jolted against her, she winced, feeling him deep within her.  She could feel his manhood throbbing and the sensation was so strange it took her mind momentarily off the pain.  “Eden,” he muttered thickly.  Was she supposed to answer him? She felt scandalized that he should want speech with her when he was doing something so dreadfully intimate.  To her discomfort, she realized he was looking directly into her eyes now.  She turned her head aside, and to her dismay, he dropped his face into her neck and groaned against her sensitive skin there.  She could feel his every breath as he cursed and moaned and even kissed her there as he thrust again and again.  Eden found herself devoutly hoping no-one was in the bed-chambers on either side, he made so much noise!  And the bed was nearly as bad, creaking and squeaking and knocking against the wooden paneling.  How long did this act usually take for heaven’s sake?

“Gods, I can’t-” he repeated again brokenly, raising his head from her neck. 

Can’t what?  Thought Eden, gritting her teeth and sinking her nails into his warm skin as he redoubled his efforts to drive her into the mattress.  There was simply no dignity to this act of coupling, she thought as he finally bellowed and collapsed against her, his breathing hard and raspy.  Eden lay beneath him, stunned.  Was this to be her lot in the bedchamber for the next fifty years?  It was too much!  They were still physically connected, for lord’s sake!  When did that indignity end?  She struggled to catch her breath. 

“Am I crushing you?” he asked in a low gravelly voice that unnerved her.  Had all that groaning taken its toll on his vocal chords? 

“Yes,” she answered hastily.  “I can scarce draw breath.”  She still didn’t think it was right, engaging in conversation while they were like this.

He huffed out a breath and withdrew, rolling off her.  “I’m going to get a cloth.  Don’t move.” 

She nodded and he padded across the floorboards, but she closed her legs all the same, wincing at the sensation.  Her muscles too, were sore from having her legs splayed out like that.  She tried to pull her skirts down from where they were bunched up around her waist, but she was hopelessly entangled.  In the background she could hear him pouring water into the basin and then swirling a cloth and wringing it out.  Seconds later he returned, shoving her skirts aside and urging her legs apart again.  Eden gave a muffled sound of objection, but he ignored it, passing the wet cloth between her legs.  Was that blood?  She tried to sit up, but he’d already returned to the water bowl, and was washing out the cloth.  She gnawed on her lip, hoping he hadn’t done her any damage.  Unless of course, cogs turned in her head… that had been her virginity.  Which would mean they had been innocent of any wrong-doing the night of the betrothal feast.  She cast a look at Roland, but far from looking in any way shocked or conflicted, he was simply now wiping a cloth over his own intimate areas.  She hastily averted her eyes and started trying to wriggle out from her half-fastened gown.  She had no sooner managed to get the skirts up and over her head, then she felt firm hands dragging the sleeves and bodice off her.  Finally, she was left in her shift alone, as he draped her gown over the back of a chair.  Eden pulled the bedsheets up to her chin.  When he returned to the bed, to her consternation, he curled around her, pulling her firmly back against him.  Eden tensed as he leant into her and kissed first her brow and then her cheek.  Thoughts clamored into her head.  Why was he kissing her now the act was over with?  Was he not angry that they had so needlessly been wed?  One of his arms curled around her middle and rested on her stomach.  She felt his eyelashes flutter against the back of her neck.  Gradually, it dawned on her, that far from lying in the dark feeling wronged and betrayed, Roland Vawdrey was instead soundly dozing off to sleep!

 

**

 

The next morning, Eden woke as she heard someone fumbling with the door latch.  She hurriedly rolled away from Roland’s body and made haste to fling the door open to the maidservant who was carrying two pitchers of hot water. 

“Your pardon, miss,” said the girl, who was craning her neck to look over Eden’s shoulder into the room behind her.  “I didn’t mean to wake you.  Just to slip in like, but your door was locked.”  She fixed a vaguely accusing look at Eden. 

“Yes, that’s right,” said Eden briskly.  She found herself stepping directly into the wretched girl’s line of vision, obscuring her view of Roland’s sleeping form.  “Let me have the water and I’ll spare you the task.”

The maid shot her a resentful look as she passed the jugs over.  Eden shouldered the door shut in her face and carried them over to the washstand.  Why anyone would want to stare at Roland Vawdrey was beyond her, she told herself sternly.  Especially when he was not dressed and fast asleep!  She poured one jug of hot water into the basin and only then permitted herself to glance over her shoulder at her sleeping husband.  He lay on his side, the blankets covering him from the waist down.  That still left his impressively muscled chest and arms on display.  Eden’s eyes roamed over him distractedly.  His chest was covered in a fine smattering of dark hair and she remembered how it had felt against her own skin the night before, her face growing warm.  Then too, there had been his warm, hard body.  Hurriedly she turned away, biting her lip.  He had been a horrid, rampaging beast, she told herself sternly.  But, she thought plunging her hands into the warm water, he had also shown himself quite caring and concerned for her well-being.  She grabbed for the soap flakes that had been set out for her use and rubbed them between her fingers.  He could easily have slouched back down to the tent he shared with his friends after having his way, she thought.  And quaffed a few tankards of ale.  He had scarcely drunk anything at the feast, save what sips he’d had from her own cup.  She washed her face and shook the droplets away, before pressing a cloth to her damp skin.  But she would have preferred it, if he had left her to sleep soundly by herself, her inner voice persisted.  Liar, Eden surprised herself by whispering soundlessly.  She would have felt wretched indeed, if he’d slunk away and left her.  There had been something oddly comforting about his solid presence next to hers in the darkness, his hand at her hip. 

Not that she’d enjoyed having a bedfellow precisely, she thought.  Far from it!  But still, it could have been a lot worse.  If he’d been a crude, drunken sot, for instance.  Her hand froze in the act of replacing the cloth on the stand.  Was that why he had not over-imbibed?  The thought of Roland Vawdrey being a considerate bridegroom was such a strange one, that she had to flick a quick glance over her shoulder to check he still slept on.  Her stomach fluttered strangely as she regarded him.  In all good conscience, he had been solicitous of her for a good deal of yesterday, she thought slowly.  But marital relations gave no quarter when it came to dignity.  Her cheeks burned as her mind dwelt on the things Roland Vawdrey had done to her the previous night.  She had never dreamt the marriage bed would be so… words failed her.  Swiftly, she drew down her shift and rubbed the wet, soapy cloth over her neck, bosom and shoulders.  To her surprise, as she rinsed and patted herself dry, she noticed reflected in the mirrored glass, a red rash spread right across her décolletage.  It went right across the tops of her breasts and down the valley between them, marring her pale skin.  What was that?  Surely Roland’s tongue could not have wrought such an effect, she puzzled.  It had not been raspy like a cat’s!  Hearing him stir in bed behind her, she hurriedly pulled the neckline of her shift up and rinsed out the cloth.  She wanted to wash below her waist too and wondered if she might be permitted a bath.  She still felt stiff and a little sore this morning.  She turned back to the bed reluctantly, sure that he would now be awake. 

Sure enough, Roland’s eyes were open and focused on her blearily.  “Come back to bed,” he grouched.  “It’s too damn early.”

“I’m an early riser,” Eden said, clearing her throat.  “Besides, I’d like a bath.”  To her annoyance, she blushed hotly.  Roland eyed her a moment in silence.  Then to her surprise, he rolled out of the bed entirely naked.  Eden hastily spun around.  He made no comment at her prudishness, but instead pulled on his braies and walked barefoot across the room before disappearing out of the doorway.  Eden bit her lip.  Why did she feel vexed that whatever servant he happened across would see her husband’s half-naked body?  Shaking her head to dispel her strange thoughts, she seized Roland’s comb and started on the snarls and tangles in her hair.  Once that was dealt with, she stole one of the blankets from the bed to wrap around her shoulders like a stole.  The sun was already shining in a clear blue sky, but there was a chill to the morning air, and her thin shift did little to ward it off.  Besides, she felt highly immodest clad in such a transparent garment in front of Roland. 

He was back in a few moments, shutting the door behind him.  “The bath will be along presently,” he said, then something seemed to catch his eye.

Eden looked down, following the direction of his gaze.  The blanket had slipped slightly but was not indecently low. 

“Come here, Eden,” he said.  When she looked up, he crooked a finger at her. 

A quizzical look on her face, she crossed the floor to close the gap between them and he gently drew the blanket aside.  Eden’s eyes shot to his, but he was looking down ruefully at her cleavage. 

“How far down does that extend?” he asked softly.

“What?” 

“The redness?”

“Oh, that.  Just,” she gestured to the top of her ribs.  “To about here.”

“I shall have to have a care of you in future,” he murmured.  At Eden’s quizzical look, he took her hand and placed it against the bristle on his jaw and rubbed it.

“Ohhh,” she exclaimed, as enlightenment dawned.  The rash had been caused by his stubble.  Her face heated to think of him kissing her in all those tender places. 

He cleared his throat and released her hand.  “I’ll shave,” he said shortly. 

“Let me just empty the basin,” said Eden practically.  Her fingers were still tingling from where she’d touched his face.  She wanted something practical to do to shake off this strange feeling.  “There’s fresh water for you.”

By the time Roland was shaving, the servants had arrived with the tub and several pails of steaming hot water.  They set it in front of the fireplace and emptied the buckets into it until it was half full. 

“Thank you,” said Eden, reaching into the water to feel it nice and warm.  They duly filed out and Eden waited patiently as Roland dragged the razor down his soaped face. 

Becoming aware of her still figure, he turned with a frown.  “What are you waiting for?  The water will get cold.  Hop in.”

Eden’s jaw dropped.  Surely he jested?  “I thought… That is, are you not almost ready to go below stairs?”

Roland looked down speakingly at his undressed body.  He still wore only his braies and an undershirt.  “No,” he said firmly, turning his back to her.  “Get in the tub, Eden.”

She spluttered, but realizing he was ignoring her, felt she had no choice.  He was right, the water would quickly become lukewarm.  She hovered a moment in frozen indecision.  She would have liked to climb in with her shift still on.  She could easily have washed in it, but for the fact she did not have a clean one to put on for the day ahead.  This meant she could hardly get it soaking wet.  Biting her lip, she drew it quickly over her head and stepped into the tub, sinking down into the water.  It only came up as far as her waist, so she drew her knees up for decency’s sake, obscuring the view of her top half.

“Do you have soap?” Roland asked lazily, as he lowered his straight razor.

Eden gazed around wildly, before closing her eyes briefly in vexation.  “No,” she said tensely.

“What about a cloth?”

Eden tutted.  In her anxiety about her nakedness she had not thought about the bathing necessities.  “Neither,” she admitted, watching the back of Roland’s head.  Seemingly in no great hurry, he wiped the suds from his face, before collecting a clean cloth and some soap leaves from the side. 

Eden drew her knees up until they pressed against her breasts, as he approached, holding out the items for her to take.  “Thank you,” she said in a stifled voice, and he nodded before returning to his own ablutions.  She released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.  Roland whipped his shirt over his head and began running a wash-cloth over his body.  With a gulp, Eden returned to the business of her own bath. Silence fell over the room, except for the gentle lap of the water against the side of the tub and random splashes of water as they washed. 

A knock on the door made Eden squeak and shrink back against the side of the tub, her hands over her breasts.  Roland crossed to the door and opened it just a crack.  Eden heard a low murmur of voices.  Then Roland opened the door a little further and took a bundle from whoever was in the corridor.  “Wait a moment,” she heard him say.  Then he dumped the bundle on the bed and started gathering up Eden’s clothing.

“What are you doing?” Eden asked sharply.

“Lady Payne has sent you a clean set of clothes.  Her maid will wash yours.”

“Oh, that is kind of her,” said Eden taken aback.  Mayhap she had misjudged the youthful Lady Payne.  “Pray, thank her for me,” she called after him as he carried her things to the servant waiting at the door.  He muttered some words of thanks and shut the door with his foot before crossing the room to dress.

“You must be turning wrinkled in that water,” he commented, his back to her, as he pulled on a tunic.

Eden cleared her throat.  “I am almost ready to emerge,” she agreed sounding far too formal even to her own ears.

“Waiting for me to go below stairs?  You’ll have to get used to me being around, wife.”  Despite his words, he turned around and grabbed her a large drying cloth.  He approached the tub with it and Eden drew up her knees again for modesty’s sake, reaching up her arms to take it.  He handed it over, but stood looking down at her a moment, in consideration.

Eden clutched the cloth to her chest.  “What is it?” she asked in strangled tones.

“Naught.  Just,” his mouth twisted.  “If someone had told me four days ago, that I would have Eden Montmayne wet and naked in my bedchamber…” his words trailed off a moment as he eyed her.  “I would scarce have believed them.”

Eden stared at him.  “Well,” she said weakly.  “It’s a good thing we know not what the fates have in store for us, I suppose.”  He made no comment, his eyes roaming over the parts of her that were on view and sudden realization washed over her that that Roland Vawdrey, at this precise moment, would like nothing better than to lift her out of the tub and have his wicked way with her.  Again.  The knowledge flooded her cheeks with color and made her shrink back as far as possible into the water.  How could he want to repeat such an indignity in broad daylight?  She gazed back at him, frankly appalled.  She had only just got clean! 

Abruptly, he turned away, and Eden let out a sigh of relief.  “I’m going to break my fast,” he said shortly.  “The jousting’s today.  I’ll look to find you with the Paynes.” 

Eden watched Roland let himself out of the room and breathed out a huge sigh of relief.  While she was used to sharing a royal apartment with her family, most of the time it was just herself and her cousin as her uncle divided his time between Hallam Hall and court.  Eden had not shared a bedchamber since she was a child and was accustomed to spending a good deal of her time alone, either reading or practicing her music or dance. Nothing had prepared her for these intimacies, let alone the manner of man she had somehow thrown her lot in with. 

She stood up from the bath and wrapped the cloth about herself.  Her hair was damp, but she had washed out the soap and would pat it dry once she had donned her nice clean shift.  Padding over to the bed, she unrolled the bundle and felt her first pang of misgiving.  The dress that Lady Payne had sent along was all wrong for her.  It was an icy blue of a very eye-catching nature.  The material was very silky and gossamer fine.  Had she sent Eden her best dress?  Eden shook it out and noticed the low neckline with the puffed sleeves and fussy trim detail that looked like garlands of flowers.  She blanched.  She had never worn such a dress in her life!  Biting her lip, she debated sending for a servant to return it and asking for a plainer one.  She knew that would be a gross insult to her hosts.  Thrusting the dress away from her, she picked up instead the shift, and realized that she had not been mistaken.  Lady Payne had sent along her very finest clothing.  This shift was fit for a queen and would have cost Sir Payne a pretty penny.  With a sinking heart, Eden drew it over her head and then donned the fine white stockings and scarlet garters.  Still avoiding the dress, she wrapped the drying cloth about her damp tresses, patting them dry. 

A light knock on the door surprised her.  “Who is it?”

“Tis Martha,” came the reply.  “Lady Payne sent me to help lace you into your gown.”

Eden sighed.  “Come in, Martha.”

The maid bustled in, with an air of efficiency.  “There now,” she said.  “You’re half-dressed already!  I had no idea fine court ladies could dress themselves.”

“I’m not royalty, Martha,” Eden said mildly.  “I just attend the Queen.”

But Martha was already making for the bed where the dress lay.  “Well now!” she exclaimed in surprise.  “I never!”

Eden looked up from detangling her damp hair.  “What is it Martha?”

“My lady only went and sent you the dress she was married in!”

Eden blinked.  That would explain the sumptuousness of the gown.

“Mind you, I daresay she couldn’t fit in it now,” said Martha sucking in her cheeks.  “She’s put on some flesh since she was wed.  I daresay she thought it would be as well to get some more wear out of it.  Her father paid a fortune for her wedding trousseau.”

“Well, it’s extremely generous of her,” said Eden.  “Though I fear it will become me most ill.  I don’t suppose the Lady Payne has any black gowns…?”

“You’re a bride,” said Martha firmly.  “It is most fitting you should wear it.”

Eden gave up.  Instead she cast aside the drying cloth and straightened up.  “Very well then.”

“And you’re as slender as a faery maiden,” said Martha approvingly.  “We’ll soon have this on you.”

Eden grimaced as she stepped into the confection that was her outfit for the day.  Martha maneuvered the full skirts and fussy sleeves until she was surrounded by it.

“Oh yes,” said Martha with satisfaction.  “We won’t have to force you into this bodice!”  She pulled it around Eden’s waist and ribs and began on the lacing at the back.  “My poor lady couldn’t eat a morsel all day.”

Eden thought of Lady Payne’s voluptuous figure and thought she must have looked a good deal more alluring in it than she.  She glanced down and was surprised to see a lot more of her breasts on display than usual.  “Um, Martha…” she started.

“Just a minute, my lady,” said Martha who was tying the laces.  “I’ll be with you presently.  Just let me secure this.  We don’t want your dress falling off you in mixed company.”

“No indeed,” agreed Eden fervently.  “But I’m a little worried that it’s gaping at the front.”

Martha moved around to her front.  “Where?” she said.  “It’s supposed to be like that…” Then her eye seemed to catch something, and she placed a finger to her lips.

Eden looked down and realized the servant must have noticed the unsightly rash.  “What can I do?” she asked despairingly.

“Never fear,” said Martha.  “I shall fetch you some rosehip oil.  ‘Twill soon soothe it.”

“Really?”

“Don’t move a muscle.”  She hurried out of the door and Eden crossed to the small mirrored glass, trying to crouch down to view the offending area.  There was far too much of it on display.  And it was still blotchy and pink.  Eden groaned.  The low neckline was not scooped, but began from her half-exposed shoulders, so it wasn’t like she could try and add in a modesty panel of some kind.  She turned this way and that trying to catch a glimpse of what the wretched dress looked like on her, but the small rectangle of glass did not allow much of a view. 

The door opened again, and Martha held up a small glass vial.  “I have it,” she said.  “This will soon calm your sensitive skin.  You apply it while I arrange your hair,” she suggested, and Eden sat on a low stool.

“As a bride, it might be nice to wear it loose?” suggested Martha, running the comb through Eden’s black hair. 

“Certainly not,” said Eden firmly.  “I was married some four days ago now.”

“Wedding feasts are known to go on as a long as a sennight,” the maid pointed out.

“Not mine,” retorted Eden, her cheeks pinkening as she remembered the hurried ceremony followed by the subsequent flight of disgrace from Hallam Hall.  She shivered slightly. 

“It’s nice and sunny outside,” Martha assured her.  “A fine day for it.”

Eden looked down and started rubbing the oil into the pink rash across her chest.  “How soon before it starts to work?” she asked.

“Depends,” admitted Martha with a shrug, her quick fingers braiding a coronet in Eden’s hair.  “It’s different on different folks.  But my sister, she swears by it.  Her Jed has a great stubbly chin, wreaks havoc on her skin, it does.”

Eden’s face turned redder, realizing Martha knew the cause of her rash.  “I see.  Thank you, Martha.”

“You can keep it,” the maid continued as Eden set the small bottle down.  “Unless he grows his beard out longer, it’ll likely happen again.”

“He said he’ll have a care in future,” Eden rejoined, without thinking.

“Did he, by gods?” Martha sounded impressed.  “Well, that’s gentlemanly of him.  But I’d take it all the same, if I was you.  They have these intentions, the menfolk,” she said complacently.  “But then the mood takes ‘em and they’re more beast than man.”

Eden felt her face must be glowing like a beacon by now.  “Thank you, Martha, you may be right,” she said in a stifled voice. 

“You’m very welcome, my lady.”

 

**

 

Fortunately, Gunnilde Payne was hovering at the foot of the stairs waiting for her. 

“Oh, don’t you look pretty!” her new friend cried, clapping her hands together with delight. 

“I feel rather uncomfortable out of my customary black,” Eden confessed in an undertone.  “Are you sure I don’t look a sight?”

“Oh, quite sure!” responded Gunnilde with admiration.  “If I looked like that, I would expire of happiness on the spot!  You look like a faery princess!”

Eden was a little taken aback at such effusive praise.  “That is very kind of you to say,” she ventured uncertainly.  A faery princess?  She glanced at Gunnilde’s happy face wreathed in smiles, and noted, not for the first time that her friend was a little fanciful. 

“Shall you take a little something to break your fast now?” her friend asked, gesturing toward the main hall where even now Eden could hear the murmur of conversation and the clatter of plates and cups.

She shook her head.  “I’m not at all hungry.”

“There will be pastries and such brought out in an hour or so, in any case,” Gunnilde said reassuringly and Eden linked her arm through hers.  “Shall we go forth?”

“Let us.”  They proceeded at a leisurely pace down to the far field where the spectators were filing into the benches. 

“Hie!” shouted a familiar voice.  It was Hal Payne.  He waved his arm vigorously.  “I’ve saved you seats!”  And good seats they were too, roughly in the same spot as the previous day.  They joined him and Eden sat between the two Payne siblings as before.  Hal twisted in his seat and looked at her curiously.  “You look different today,” he said finally, blushed and scratched his ear.

“It is naught but my borrowed finery,” Eden replied firmly.

“And your hair,” said Hal glancing up again, but not quite meeting her eye.

Eden self-consciously patted her hair.  Despite the fact she’d told Martha she did not want to wear it loose, the maid had taken up only the front and sides of her hair and plaited this into a braided coronet.  The rest of her hair, hung down almost to her waist and instead of being covered by a serviceable veil, she wore instead a short, frippery piece of gauze pinned below her braided crown.  It fluttered ineffectually, concealing nothing but rather, Eden thought, drawing attention to her locks.  “Yes, I suppose,” she conceded.  How funny, she thought.  She had never dressed as a marriageable maiden, until she was neither a maiden, or marriageable.

“Have they announced the order of the jousting?” asked Gunnilde, leaning forward.

Hal nodded.  “The first pair is Kentigern and de Bussell, followed by Vawdrey and Linley, followed by Bevan and Renlowe.”

“Sir Renlowe?” said Eden startled.  “Surely not!  How much more damage can that young man sustain?”

Hal grinned.  “We’ll soon find out.”

Eden pressed her lips together with disapproval.  “It ought not to be permitted.”

“Oh, but…” Gunnilde broke off, looking embarrassed.  “Your pardon, but I thought he was quite your husband’s protégé?”

“Roland’s?” asked Eden in surprise.  “What gave you that impression?”

“Oh!  Tis only…” Gunnilde fidgeted in her seat. 

“She’s been listening to gossip,” said Hal.  “Depend upon it.  She always gets that look on her face, when she has.”

“Hal!” his sister exclaimed reproachfully. 

“What gossip?” asked Eden, curious despite herself.

“Well, my father’s steward told me-”

“Henderson?” interrupted Hal.

“We only have one steward!” his sister pointed out in exasperation.  Hal shrugged. 

“Yes?” prompted Eden, placing a restraining hand on Hal’s forearm.  He seemed to be deriving great pleasure from tormenting his sister.  He fell still at once.

“Well, Henderson told me that Sir Roland paid Sir Renlowe’s ransom, after the melee, so that he was free to join the banquet from the outset and did not have to sit with all the other captive knights.”

“Oh.”  Eden recalled Roland’s frustration when Sir Renlowe had ridden up to the Challenge at Arms the next morning.  That must have been why.  He had perhaps wanted Renlowe to rest up and not fling himself straight back into combat, she reasoned, sitting back in her seat. 

“Why Hal!” said Gunnilde suddenly.  “Your face is as red as a beet!  You must have had too much sun yesterday.”

 

**

 

Roland knocked down his visor and Bavol danced beneath him.  “Easy boy,” he cautioned.  Was his horse picking up on his own distraction, he wondered?   His mind had been otherwise preoccupied since he’d left his wife in her bath that morning.  Of course, he knew he owed her some consideration after taking her maidenhead the night before, but still, it had gone against the grain, leaving her like that.  He scowled behind his helmet.  He had thus far resisted looking for Eden in the crowd.  Only now, he allowed himself a quick scan of the sea of faces.  She would be sat near the front, with the Paynes, he thought, his eyes seeking her out.  And then he spotted her.  Or was it her?  He did a double-take.  It looked… rather like her, but then again it also did not.  Bavol whinnied, but he ignored him, staring at this female in pale blue dress, with her eyes of sapphire and her black hair loose.  She turned her head, listening intently to that yellow-haired son of his host’s.  A bolt of pure jealousy shot through Roland, winding him.  Why the fuck was her hand resting on his arm with such familiarity?  Bavol jolted and struck a hoof against the ground.  Roland leaned down to pat his neck.  “Easy now.”  Soothing his horse was the last thing he felt like doing and in all honesty he knew he was not doing a good job of it.  Not when he was feeling so disordered.  With a start, he realized what it was that was bothering him.  This Eden he could see now in the crowd was not wearing her customary drab disguise. This Eden looked like the same Eden he had woken up in bed with five days ago.  And now everyone could see her.  He swore, and Bavol skittered sideways in the enclosure, throwing back his head.

“What ails him today?” yelled Cuthbert jumping back a few paces to a safe distance.

“It’s not his fault,” said Roland grimly.  It was his.  The horse was picking up on his own inner turmoil.  He needed to rein them both in, if this morning’s jousting was not to be a complete disaster. 

**

 

Five minutes later, it was all over.  Roland was rolling in the dust and Bavol had bolted to the far side of the field.  He groaned.  Everything, but everything, had felt off this morning.  From the balance of the lance in his hand, to the direction of the sun in his eyes.  Kentigern was not the opponent to face when you were not on your best form.  He tentatively flexed his limbs, as he rolled to a seated position.  Nothing felt broken in any event.  The thud of footfalls heralded Cuthbert’s approach.  “Go after Bavol,” he directed him.  His squire showed him a clean pair of heels, disappearing after the steed.  Roland lifted off his helmet, shaking his head to clear it.  Two servants appeared to help him to his feet.  He let them haul him to his feet and staggered a little before shrugging them off, to walk unaided from the area.  He was stiff and his ribs hurt, but that would hopefully wear off as he kept moving.  The impact had dented his armor but did not look to have pierced it.  Breathing hurt, but with a bit of luck, the ribs were bruised rather than broken.  He grimaced as other knights slapped him on the shoulder, commiserating him. 

“I’d beat that horse if I were you, Vawdrey,” boomed de Crecy.

Roland ignored him, heading for the physician’s tent. 

James Attley fell in beside him. “What the hells happened?” he demanded. 

“Wasn’t my day,” answered Roland shortly.

“I’ll say!  Never seen you go out in the first round before!”

Roland bit his tongue, rather than point out his draw had been against the mighty Kentigern.  Attempting to justifying his poor performance was beneath him.  At least he hadn’t lost to some nonentity.  He’d have been capable of even that today!

“You’re going to have a devil of a job getting that armor off,” predicted Attley.

Roland glanced down at the battered suit.  “Very likely,” he growled.  Sensing he did not feel much like conversing, Attley took off when they reached the tent promising to go and check on Bavol.  “Send Cuthbert to attend me here, if you see him,” Roland shouted after him.

The physician tsked and tutted and had to call in two fellows to help remove the armor, a painful proceeding which had Roland gritting his teeth.

 

**

 

The business with his armor and the physician took a lot longer than Roland had anticipated.  He limped back to the tent he shared with Attley and Bevan to wash and change.  Cuthbert caught up with him there and assured him all was well with Bavol.  Roland went along to check for himself anyway, and spent some time reassuring his spooked horse.  It was while he was there that one of the squires ran in excitedly.  “It’s all over!” he shouted.  “They’ve been tumbling off this morn like I’ve never seen before!  It won’t even go to a third round!”

Roland looked up in surprise.  “Who won?” he called.

“Lord Kentigern, that’s who!”

Roland grimaced.  It ought to be a consolation that he had lost to the eventual winner, but somehow it was not.  Damn his eyes.  He emerged from Bavol’s stall box and decided on impulse that he may as well start packing up.  He’d be damned if he’d sit through another night’s feasting, toasting to that bastard Kentigern’s victory!

He was rolling up clothing when Bevan and Attley strolled into the tent some half an hour later.  He’d already secured his armor into a pack, although the breastplate did not look salvageable.  Both his friends broke off abruptly from their conversation when they spotted Roland, and looked extremely awkward.

“What is it?” he asked, looking up at them and narrowing his gaze.   Attley coughed and scratched his neck. 

“Naught’s amiss,” said Bev hastily.  “We were just discussing Kentigern’s choice of tournament queen, that’s all.”  Bev reddened, and Roland felt himself turn cold.

“He didn’t,” he said in an ominously quiet voice.  “Tell me he didn’t.”

“Now, now, it’s not as bad as you’re thinking,” protested Attley, throwing up his hands.

“Did he give the crown to my wife?” barked out Roland.

“Well… yes,” admitted Attley, “but-”

“Now Roly, don’t for the lord’s sake go flinging off in a temper!” appealed Bev, but it was too late.  Roland had already bolted from the tent, muttering foul oaths and dire punishments.  The pain from his ribs shot through him short knife blades being plunged into his sides, as he hurried across the field.  He locked the pain into another place, small and dark, as his temper overrode all, pushing him forward.  By the time he’d reached the tournament arena, the spectators were out of their seats and milling around, taking refreshment.  Roland scanned the crowd for the ice-blue, slender figure of his wife, and located her stood next to the dumpy little Payne girl at the far end of the crowd, with her back to him.  He strode toward her, people hastily falling away as they caught sight of his thunderous expression.  Her friend saw him before Eden.  She turned a little pale, her animated conversation breaking off.  Eden only appeared to notice her riveted gaze directed over her shoulder, at the same time as he grabbed her elbow and swung her round. 

“Ah, there you are,” said Eden.  “I was starting to worry you might have been injured.” 

Roland gave a mirthless short laugh.  He was just about to launch into a blistering tirade at her behavior, when he caught sight of the flower garland sat squarely upon the Payne girl, and not Eden’s head.  He opened and closed his mouth, and shot a suspicious glance at Eden’s composed face.  Had he misunderstood?  But no, his friends had definitely said that Eden had received the honor.  As he looked from one to the other, Gunnilde reached up to touch the garland perched atop her hair. 

“I can scarce believe you awarded it to me,” she said dreamily, and Eden smiled back at her.

“You were by far the most deserving,” she said, and shot a challenging look Roland’s way.

“And how is it, wife,” he asked rallying.  “That you were in a position to bestow such a favor on Miss Payne?”

Eden fixed a cool look on him with her deep blue eyes.  “Lord Kentigern’s choice fell inappropriately,” she said with a shrug.  “So, I simply reassigned it.” 

Her effrontery almost took his breath away!  “It is no mere maid’s place to award such a prize,” he retorted.

Eden’s eyebrows rose.  “As you well know,” she responded, “I am no maid.  Not anymore.”

Roland felt the tops of his ears turn scarlet.  Though why her words should put him to the blush he had no bloody notion!  “It’s a knight’s honor to bestow,” he bit out doggedly. 

“You would have preferred it then,” she answered.  “If I had accepted Lord Kentigern’s gesture?  Curious!  I had an idea you would not care for it.  I shall be sure to bear that in mind, should it occur again.”

Roland stared at her in helpless indignation.  His chest heaved.  She was tying him in knots.  Was she doing it deliberately?  “Did he place it on your head?” he ground out, unable to stop himself.

“No, he did not,” she replied crisply.  “He tipped his lance toward me.  The garland fell into my lap, and I promptly placed it at Gunnilde’s brow. That is all.”

The gods alone knew why, but that did appease him a little.  He tore his eyes from Eden’s infuriatingly calm face, to look at the Payne girl again.  She was watching them both anxiously.

“If Sir Roland thinks I should give it back-?” she started.

“No-” he began, only to be cut off by Eden’s firm “Nonsense!”

Gunnilde looked extremely relieved.  “Oh good,” she beamed.  “For it is quite the most exciting thing to have ever happened to me!”

It seemed to Roland, that the fact it had been given to her by another woman did not lessen the distinction for her in any way.  He turned to his wife.  “We’re leaving,” he told Eden abruptly. 

“Leaving?” she repeated.

“Now,” he clarified.

She stared at him.  “Why?”

“You vastly over-estimate yourself, wife,“ he told her bitingly.  “Your place is where I say it is.  No more, no less.  You are merely required to obey my will.”

Eden stiffened, then turned back to her friend.  “I must have some speech with your family before I leave.”  She glanced down, “Your step-mother’s dress-”“

“Oh, do not trouble yourself on account of the gown,” Gunnilde assured her, glancing nervously at Roland.  “For it does not even fit her anymore.  I am sure she will be happy for you to return it to her when ‘tis convenient.”  Eden pursed her lips and looked as if she might argue, but Roland turned on his heel, refusing to wait.  “Go now,” he heard her friend urge her.  “And I will let Father know directly that you are departing.”

He did not hear Eden’s reply, but only her hurried foot-falls after him.  He just knew somehow that her nose would be in the air – stubborn wench!

Once they got back to the room, he wasted no time in slamming trunks and throwing his things into his bag.  Eden of course, had nothing to pack, but busied herself tidying her appearance.  He could feel her eyes on him, as he fastened the ties, and almost forbade her to even speak.  He just knew whatever she said was going to infuriate him.  Sure enough, it was not long before she spoke up.

“I didn’t even wear that garland, why are you so out of reason cross about it?” she started patronizingly.  “Lord Kentigern likely did it as a courtesy to you, or perhaps because I am lately a bride…” Her reasonable tone was like a red rag to a bull.

“You know nothing about it, Eden,” he said angrily.  “He did it to rile me and for no other reason than that, so don’t fool yourself!”

Eden stood very still a moment.  “I did not flatter myself it was because I was the most beauteous there,” she said in an ominously quiet voice.  “So, you need not worry I have any illusions on that score.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it!” he snapped, and she turned her back on him.

They were packed to leave within twenty minutes and neither of them spoke a word until they descended the stairs and were bade farewell by the Paynes.  Sir Aubron was disappointed, but not surprised by their impending departure.  “Too bad m’boy, too bad,” he tutted.  “But we will remember for many a long day the magnificent way you unhorsed him in the melee yesterday.  Is that not so, my son?”  He turned for confirmation from his son and heir, but instead of standing worshipfully by to speak to the King’s champion, young Hal was bent over Eden’s hand.  Roland regarded the brazen youngling with a jaundiced eye.  Hal’s cheeks were flushed, and he lingered a few heartbeats too long before relinquishing her hand.

“Young puppy!” snorted his father.  “Growing up too fast,” he sighed.

Roland struggled a few moments with this.  “You should squire him out,” he retorted.  “That would soon knock some sense into him.” And see to the boy’s puppy fat, he thought.  Every time he looked at him he was either fawning over Eden or some sticky treat.

“There may be something in what you say,” murmured Sir Aubron.  “But I’d miss the lad, sending him off to Wymer’s court.”

“It’d be the making of him,” said Roland callously.  “You should give it some thought.”

“I will, my boy.  I suppose you’re – er – quite happy with your own squire?”

Roland’s jaw ticked.  Cuthbert was an impudent knave, but at least he had shown no propensity to hang after his wife.  “Quite happy,” Roland lied.  “You could do worse than speak to Attley,” he suggested grudgingly.  “He’s currently without squire.”

Sir Aubron nodded, looking thoughtful.  “Sir James,” he said nodding slowly.  “I knew his father.”

Roland shot a look over at Eden who was now embracing Payne’s daughter, who was crying copious tears and hanging about her neck.

“…Of course, I will write.  We will maintain a correspondence and you must come to Court,” Eden was saying soothingly.  “I shall speak to the Queen.”

So, the wench could be placating when she chose to, thought Roland bitterly.  Just not to him!  “Eden,” he said sharply. 

Lady Payne and Gunnilde were now babbling excitedly at the idea of a Court visit. 

Eden looked over.  “I am ready,” she said coolly.  “Lady Payne has kindly made me a gift of her gown.”

Roland nodded toward Lady Payne, who now only had eyes for Eden. 

“A royal visit,” she twittered.  “Auby, what say you to that?  We will need new gowns of course!”

Sir Aubron turned a vaguely reproachful look on Roland.  He shook his head.  “There will be no peace to be had now,” he sighed.  “Until we have journeyed to Caer-Lyoness.”  Roland grunted.  “Ah well, such is the lot of us married men,” said Sir Aubron with resignation.  “You must take the rough with the smooth, eh?”  He nudged Roland with his shoulder and gave a short laugh.  “Good journey, my lad.  Good journey, my Lady.”

“Thank you for your most kind hospitality,” said Eden politely.  “You have been exceptional hosts.”

You really couldn’t fault her manners, thought Roland.  Except, for some reason she chose to give him the sharp side of her tongue!  Court.  He had no great desire to return there with all its damn gossips and trouble-makers.  He had half a mind to take her to Vawdrey Keep instead.  There at least they would be walled up together and she could not avoid him, running off to the Queen and her damned poetry readings!  Then he remembered his brother’s letter.  What was it Oswald had written to him?  He had suggested something about delaying their return until he had been given a chance to smooth their path with the King and Queen. 

“I would not hurry to Caer-Lyoness if I were you,” he said aloud.  “For we go now to my place, Vawdrey Keep for a month, and will not return to court until August at the very least.”

Eden’s head turned sharply, but she said nothing.

“Oh but that will be ideal and give us chance to plan,” carried on Lady Aubron quite unperturbed.

 

**

 

Eden had preserved a stony silence for over an hour. They were riding easterly and would not arrive in Vawdrey Keep for at least a day and a half.  The worse thing was, he knew he was being a moody, unreasonable prick.  He was angry at losing the jousting, his best event, in front of her.  He was furious at that bastard Kentigern.  Hal Payne had been nothing but an irritant, but in the moment, he could not be rational.  He was experiencing something he had never even come across before.  He, Roland Vawdrey, the King’s Champion, was being eaten alive by jealousy.  And it didn’t even matter that it made no earthly sense.    Impulsively he tugged on his reins and let Bavol drop back.  “You take the lead,” he muttered to Cuthbert.  The lad nodded and urged his horse to the front.

“Let’s have it then,” he said tersely to Eden, as he drew level with her.  “You do not approve of the plan to proceed to my estate?”  He crooked an eyebrow at her.

She regarded him haughtily.  “I am surprised you have been able to draw any such a conclusion, as my opinion was not consulted in any way.”

“I’d have to be blind not to, the way you’ve been carrying on,” he said dryly. 

“Carrying on?” repeated Eden icily.  “I fail entirely to catch your meaning, Sir Roland.”

Sir Roland?  He pulled a face.  “I mean,” he said with deliberation.  “The way you’ve been sat on your horse like a marble effigy.”   If she could have sat up any straighter, Roland was sure she would have, but she was already ramrod straight.  Gods, she was a proud piece.

“I am sorry, if my style of riding offends you,” she said stiffly, staring off into the distance.  Clearly, she did not wish to engage with him in conversation.  For some reason, that irritated him too.  He wanted to poke her with a stick until she wheeled around and bit back.

“You have nothing else to say to me, wife?” he said, casting about for something to torment her with.  “Your behavior at the jousting today, for instance?” 

He heard her sharply in-draw breath.  “My behavior?  I have nothing to reproach myself with, I assure you!” she flung back, her color rising.  “Your behavior on the other hand-” She bit back her words, her cheeks aflame. 

“Aye, what of it?” he asked arrogantly.

“I am astonished by it, quite frankly,” she said, with a toss of her head.  Her silky black hair flew, and distracted him a moment.  He remembered how it had looked, spread over his chest that first morning. 

He snorted.  “What aspect?”  Was he enjoying this?  Roland wasn’t exactly given over to analyzing his feelings, but to his surprise his irritation seemed to be if anything, trickling away as he conversed with her.

“I would have thought that the King’s Champion would have been gracious in defeat.”

Roland nearly fell of his horse.  Where the hells did she get an idea like that?  “Gracious in defeat?” he scoffed.  “I’m a competitor.  I don’t like losing.”

“Most people don’t,” Eden pointed out tartly.  “However, part of being a civilized adult means learning to tamp down such emotional excesses.”

Roland squinted at her.  “Is that what you do?” he asked mockingly.

“Of course,” she inclined her head.  “What you ought to have done is stayed for the rest of the tournament and applauded Lord Kentigern on his win at the banquet tonight.”

“Like hells,” growled Roland. 

“That would have been the noble thing to do.”

“I’m not noble.”

Eden glared at him. He wondered if any of her pet poets had ever written about those eyes.  “Do you mean to tell me that you always fling off like that, if you do not win?”

“Not just me,” he shrugged.  “Kentigern, de Crecy, Orde.  None of us would stay to watch the other celebrate a win.”  She stared, incredulously.  “This is real life, Eden.  Not ‘The Tales of Maurency of Jorde’.”

“Well, maybe you should take a leaf from that book.”

“Not bloody likely,” he laughed, genuinely amused. 

She shot a curious look at him, before looking hurriedly away.

“And what about the spectacle you treated me to?” he asked lazily.  “Have you nothing to say of that?”

“What spectacle?” asked Eden suspiciously.

 “Hal Payne hanging off your every word, while you clung to his arm.  You seem unaware that he eyes you with the same greedy gaze he bestows on a sugared plum!”

Eden gaped at him.  “Hal Payne is the veriest child!”

“He’s a lad of fourteen years, and believe me did not regard you with the eyes of a mere babe.”

“You’re being ridiculous!” she scoffed, then seemed to consider before rallying.  “And even if he was dazzled by this dress, and the pomp and ceremony of the occasion, it was a passing whim which would have faded as soon as I was out of his sight.”

Roland snorted derisively.  “You know absolutely nothing of the male animal.”  The truth of this shut her up a moment. “And thanks to your espousing them, the Paynes will all be showing up at Court at some point,” he added dryly.  “And no doubt, I’ll be subjected to the same maddening display all over again!”

Eden pursed her lips and stuck her nose in the air. 

Almost, he had to hide a grin.  “So you have no apology to make me, wife?” he asked, shaking his head in mock-disappointment.

“You’re not really angry anymore,” she said forthrightly, surprising him.  “You’re just amusing yourself at my expense.”

“Not exactly,” he said slowly.  He watched as she took a deep breath. 

“Are you suggesting you lost because I distracted you, by appearing in a borrowed dress and sitting next to an attentive youth?” she asked pointedly, turning in her saddle to face him.

Roland blinked.  The thought hadn’t even occurred to him.  “No,” he answered.  “Today is not the first occasion I’ve lost to Kentigern.  He’s a strong opponent.”  Her eyes widened at that, before she turned back to face front again.  Now, why had she looked so surprised by his words?  Immediately he missed her eyes on him.

“We’ll have to stop presently and I’ll have you up before me,” he said.

“What?”  Her tone was far from pleased.  “Why?”

“Your horse is going lame.”  It was a bold-faced lie, but Eden swallowed it, leaning forward to murmur sympathetically to the horse she had named Christobel.  Seeing the concern on her face, he added: “If she goes rider-less for the afternoon, likely it’ll pass.”

She looked relieved, and he didn’t even feel guilty.  He noticed Cuthbert turn in his saddle and glance back at them with a speculative look on his face.  Roland stared back at him, daring his squire to contradict him, but the little swine only smirked.

 

**

 

They did not reach an inn until night was falling.  Eden had been sat up before him for the past three hours, and the bitter taste had long since receded from his mouth.  How could it linger, when her sweet-smelling hair tickled his chin, and he had one arm wrapped securely about her waist?  His ribs hurt like the devil though.  Every movement of the horse seemed to jolt them.  He longed to just lie still for a few hours. 

“This is a large town. Where are we?” asked Eden, breaking her silence.

“Pryors Naunton,” he answered.  “It’s the nearest city to our estate.”

“Pryors Naunton?  I’ve heard of it,” she said with surprise.  “Is there not a very fine cathedral hereabouts?”  She turned her head to look over her shoulder at him.

“Well, there’s a cathedral at any events,” he conceded.  “Whether it’s fine or not is anyone’s guess.  I’ve never set foot in it.”

Eden tsked under her breath as he steered Bavol into the inn courtyard toward the stable.  “I should like to see it,” she announced as Cuthbert reached up for her and Roland suffered her to dismount.  “Shall I have time in the morning, before we depart?”  Roland rolled his eyes, and started to climb stiffly off his horse. 

Cuthbert cast a quick glance at him, before answering.  “We’ve half a day’s ride still tomorrow, and will likely leave at day break.”

“Well, what about if I went now?” she asked, glancing out of the stable door at the failing light.

“It’s getting dark,” said Roland shortly.  “I need a meal, a bath and bed.”  Then, he heard himself add, “It’s not far from Vawdrey Keep, I can take you another day.”

Eden looked as surprised as he.  “Thank you.”
He shrugged, which immediately pained him.  He fancied both she and Cuthbert noticed his discomfort, for they seized on their packs and started carrying it toward the timbered main house.  

Soon, they were soon settled in a comfortable chamber, and a full table provided of cheeses, roast meats and wine.  After seeing to the horses, Cuthbert ate with them, which seemed to surprise Eden, though she made no comment.  A bath was then brought up for their use and they bathed one after the other.  Neither one of them spoke until they were lying side by side in their bed.  Roland’s eyes were just drifting shut when Eden surprised him, by starting a conversation.

“I saw Cuthbert just now, out of the window,” she said.  “He was illuminated by one of the lamps in the courtyard.”  She paused.  “It looked like he was making off into the town.”

Roland grunted.  “Very likely he is, young villain.”

“Are you not concerned by him going out unattended?” she asked in surprise.  “After all, he is so very young.”

“He is fifteen, or thereabouts,” he corrected her.  “Besides, he is not gently-reared and has plenty about him.”

He heard her pillow rustle, and guessed she had turned to face him.  “I had wondered as to his position,” she said.  “I mean, he seems very closely affiliated to your family.  The way you treat him…” she hesitated.

“Wondering if he’s a by-blow?” Roland asked her bluntly.  “If he is, then he would be a Cadwallader.  He was raised as Linnet’s page on her family estate.”

Eden was silent, and he squinted across at her, though he could make out only her outline.  “Are not squires usually from noble families?” she asked at last.

“Yes,” Roland agreed.  He hadn’t ever really given any thought about Cuthbert’s elevation.  “He is my sister-in-law’s favorite.” 

“I suppose Linnet would know his parentage.”

“Doubtful,” snorted Roland.  “Linnet had an extremely sheltered upbringing.  His old granny is the local witch.  I don’t recall anyone ever mentioning his father.” 

Eden was quiet, and still for a while.  Instead of falling thankfully asleep like a sane person, he found himself lying awake.  “Shall I blow out the candle?” she asked eventually.

“Aye.”  Still, he did not close his eyes.  “What of yours?” he found himself asking gruffly instead.

“Mine?” Eden sounded startled in the dark. 

“Parentage.”

“Oh,” she shifted on the mattress, before starting, briskly.  “Well, as you know, my uncle Leofric is the head of our family.  My father was his youngest brother, Godwin.  He died very young.”

Roland waited, but it seemed nothing else was forthcoming.  “He was sickly?” he ventured.

“No not sickly, no,” she said stiffly.  “Just… full of vices.”

“Vices?”  Now it was his turn to be startled.

“Drinking, gambling, women,” Eden continued with clear reluctance.  “My mother was very unhappy in their marriage, by all accounts.  She did not outlive him by many years.”

Roland digested this surprising news.  “Do you remember them?”

“Not really.  My mother, a little.”

“So, you were raised by your uncle, then?”

“Yes.”

Dimly, Roland had some idea that womenfolk in the main, were supposed to be more talkative than Eden was about herself.  “And do you like him?” he found himself asking.  “Your uncle.”

Again, she moved around restlessly.  If his ribs did not hurt so much, he’d throw a leg over her to stop the fidgeting. 

“Yes,” she said, then seemed to realize she was not giving him much.  “Of my cousin Lenora, I am very fond.”

He waited, but she did not ask him for any return of confidences.  He had no idea why that bothered him so much.  Maybe that was why he found himself saying suddenly.  “It should have been me that gave you the tournament crown.”  He heard her surprised intake of breath, her head turn.

“I would not at all have been happy if you had,” she said after a heavy pause.  “In fact, my reaction would have been just the same.  I would have awarded it in turn to Gunnilde.”

He stared at the space where he imagined her face was.  “And why is that?” he asked testily.

“Because, the crown is for the prettiest girl present.  Not the cleverest girl, or the most talented girl or even the worthiest girl.  The rules are very simple.”

Roland opened and closed his mouth.  He was wary of taking a misstep now he had her talking to him again.  “It’s not that straightforward,” he said after a moment’s pause.

“Yes, it is,” Eden corrected him.

“No, it is not,” he contradicted her patiently.  “In your eyes Payne’s daughter was the fairest, but many would not agree with your view.”

“She is young and fresh and eager to please.  That is pretty in my eyes.”

“Exactly,” said Roland.  “In your eyes.”

She chewed this over for a moment.  “Very well, I agree that if you are going with conventional attractiveness than her stepmother, Lady Payne would likely be the more popular choice.  But I wanted to give my friend a day to remember.”

A day to remember?  Frustrated by the dark bedchamber, Roland stared instead at the ceiling.  He had not really thought overmuch of how the recipient of the tournament crown felt about it.  Well, if he was honest, he had not considered it at all.  It was a mere detail, a footnote to the real business of the tourney.  Was it really such a matter of distinction for a girl to receive it?  He cast his mind back, remembering how Gunnilde Payne had kept reaching up to reverently touch her head and check it was really sat there.  Certainly, she had seemed so proud she might burst at any minute.  Over the course of his career he had cavalierly handed it over only to the most beauteous maiden present.  Mostly, this had been Lenora Montmayne.  She had never seemed overly thrilled by the distinction, and had received it merely as her rightful due.  But then, he thought judiciously, she must have received dozens of the things over the three years she had been at court.  Maybe, her very first had meant something to her, but after that… He cast a look toward Eden, who was obscured in darkness, but seemed for once to be lying very still.  He wanted to ask if she had never received the garland, but he already knew the answer.  Suddenly, the taste in his mouth was bitter.  He felt a ridiculous longing that he could turn the clock back and – what?   Crown Eden Montmayne tournament Queen when he’d had the chance?  It was stupid.  He could no more turn back time than anyone.  What was the use in thinking such thoughts?  And if he had done such a thing, everyone would have been in uproar at such uncharacteristic behavior.  “Eden,” he said heavily, concentrating on the throbbing ache in his sides.

“What is it?”

“You weren’t mistaken.”

She hesitated.  “About what?”

“I would not have taken kindly to you accepting the crown from Kentigern.  Or anyone else for that matter,” he added.  Somehow it was easier to confess such a thing in the dark.  Suddenly, he was glad he couldn’t make out her expression.

She didn’t speak for a long while.  Then she said simply, “I see.”

But he didn’t think she could see.  Any more clearly than he.

 

**

 

By the time Roland woke around six, Eden was already sat on the edge of the bed, braiding her long hair.   She had pursed her lips at the idea of donning the ice blue dress, but had washed and dressed in it all the same.  Roland washed gingerly, his rubs had turned black and purple overnight.  He noticed Eden wince when she glanced at him while he dressed. 

“Will you be able to ride?” she asked.

He crooked an eyebrow at her.  “Of course.”  They hurt, but not as badly as the day before.

Below stairs, they found Cuthbert already tucking into roasted fish with bread and butter.  He hailed them cheerfully, and they joined him.  “Got something for you, milady,” he said, nodding toward a bundle of something on the floor.

Eden peered at it doubtfully.  “What is it?”

“Take a look and see,” replied Cuthbert, with a wink.

She reached down and unfurled the soft material to find an exquisite cape of a dark berry color, a matching hood and long mittens made of the finest silken wool.  “They’re beautiful!” she exclaimed.  “But where-?”

“Dice cup?” asked Roland knowingly.

Cuthbert grinned and nodded.  “I’m always lucky in towns that don’t know me.”

Remembering Eden’s words about her father’s gambling, Roland cast a wary look her way, but she was still stroking the material.   As if aware of eyes on her, she looked up.  “Cuthbert you really shouldn’t have-”

“It’s a bride-gift,” Cuthbert said, and waved a hand dismissively.   “Tell her,” he said looking at Roland.  “While I fetch you more dishes.”  He was already out of his seat when Roland nodded at Eden.

“As you observed last night, Cuthbert is practically one of the family.  Besides, you’ll need a cloak to approach the Keep.”  She looked up in surprise.  The sky was blue and the already the sun was breaking through the clouds.  “Our lands lie in dense forest,” he added, pushing away his plate.  “There’s usually a nip in the air, even when the sun shines.”

 

**

 

They set off immediately after breaking their fast.  Eden was relieved to see that Christobel showed no sign of lameness and Roland’s ribs seemed a little easier, even though they had looked horribly bruised in the glimpse she’d caught that morning.  She didn’t ask again, as he seemed irritable about admitting any weakness.  Maybe that was a male thing, although her own uncle frequently complained about his gouty foot.  They had soon left the bustle of Pryors Naunton far behind them, traveling down country lanes and over fields, until they seemed to be entering into a wood, populated with huge oak trees.  Roland turned in his saddle.  “This is Ryder’s Oaks and marks the outer boundary of our lands.”

Eden nodded, raising a hand to shield her eyes as she peered up to the tops of the trees.  “These oaks must be hundreds of years old,” she ventured.

“At least,” Roland agreed.  “My Father said in his boyhood, the country folk still used to tie charms and prayer ribbons to the lower branches.  A leftover from olden days.”

“This was a sacred place?”

“So they say.”

“Still is,” said Cuthbert.  “Look.”  He pointed to a silver bell that gave a faint chime as if on cue, as the breeze ruffled through the branch it hung from.

“That’s probably been there for years,” scoffed Roland.

“What difference does that make?” asked Cuthbert with a shrug.  “Trees mark time different to people.”

Eden glanced at him curiously, remembering Roland’s words about his granny being a wise woman.  “Do we pass through the village to reach Vawdrey Keep?”

“No, the village is that way, about five miles,” Roland told her, pointing westerly.  All Eden could see was trees.

“The village of Sitchmarsh?” she asked.  Roland shot her a surprised look.  “You seem to forget, that Fenella is a good friend of mine,” she explained, naming another of his sister-in-laws.  “She is from this area, is she not?”

“Oh aye,” he said, his frown clearing.  “Sitchmarsh Hall, her brother’s place is the other side of the village.”

“Walking distance?” she asked.

Roland gave a brief laugh.  “Fenella would likely say so, but she’s country-bred.”

“Unlike me?”

“A fine court lady like yourself would likely go on horseback,” Roland retorted.

“Fenella is a countess,” Eden reminded him. 

“She is now,” he agreed.  “But she’s ill at ease at Court.  Unlike yourself.”

“And I was raised at Hallam Hall, not Caer-Lyoness.”

He ignored this but for some reason, Eden was not content to let him lapse into silence.  “Are you acquainted with Fenella’s brother?” 

“Gil Bernard?” grunted Roland after a moment’s pause.  “He’s years older than me.”

“You know him though?” she persisted.

“By sight,” he admitted cautiously.

“And has he not now married Fenella’s previous sister-in-law?”

He shot her a look of exasperation.  “What?”

“Fenella’s former sister-in-law married her brother – I remember her telling me.”

Roland frowned heavily at this.

“So,” piped up Cuthbert who had clearly been following the conversation.  “Her previous sister-in-law became her sister-in-law once again?”

“Precisely.”

“You’ve probably got that wrong,” said Roland disparagingly.

“I have not.”

“Sounds damned unlikely.”

“Fenella was married to Sir Ambrose Thane before your brother had that marriage annulled,” huffed Eden.  “Then his sister married Fenella’s brother so that means-”

“You sure Thane had a sister?” he asked, off-handedly.

“You’re hopeless,” Eden told him roundly.  “I feel sure Fenella would have said as much to you, and you likely paid scant attention!”

“It little matters,” Roland shrugged.  “She’s a Vawdrey now.  As are you.”

Eden caught her breath, as her wits scattered.  She still had not accustomed herself to that fact.  Now it was her turn to go quiet.  She trained her attention instead on the surrounding green wood which seemed to be growing thicker and denser with each step they took.   Strangely enough, it was a long-forgotten story their old nurse used to tell her and Lenora that sprang to mind.  A tale of warning against marrying dark handsome strangers who might carry you off to places dark and forbidding from whence you might never be seen again.  She glanced at her husband who very much fit the description and shivered.

Roland sat up straighter in his saddle.  “There,” he said, pointing ahead.

Eden looked up.  A series of hills, maybe even mountains loomed in the distance.  Standing out starkly, sat atop the central hillock stood a dark, sinister looking tower.  She turned back to Roland with a sense of foreboding.

“Vawdrey Keep,” he said.  “It’s never been breached,” he added with apparent pride.

Eden blinked, glancing around.  Who on earth would want to?  It was in the middle of nowhere!  Wondering where any invaders were supposed to emerge from, she murmured, “I see.”  No wonder he was amused at the idea of her walking on foot to the village.  Getting to the bottom of the hill itself would take her a good hour. 

Their horses started the climb up the narrow path, and she fell in line behind Roland with Cuthbert bringing up the rear.  Luckily, Christobel was sure-footed.  Eden pulled on her new mittens, feeling the chill in the air, as they climbed higher.  Somehow, the brooding Keep did not grow any more welcoming the closer they grew to it.  Instead, it seemed to grow bleaker still, with its uncompromising grey stone and fortress-like features.  Eden started to wonder what kind of a home-coming they would receive when they reached the summit. 

“Have you many staff in residence?” she asked, as they reached the top, without any signs of life stirring from within.  Roland frowned, but did not speak.  Instead, he dismounted and ran up a rickety wooden structure which led to a single large studded door, set surprisingly high off the ground.  Seeing Eden’s confused look, Cuthbert leaned over to explain.

“It’s set that high, so a battering ram can’t be used on the entrance.”

“A battering ram?” repeated Eden.  Again, she wondered at the Vawdrey preoccupation with invaders.

“Ho!” Roland was shouting, beating his fist against the door.  “Fulco?  Baxter?  Who’s within?”

A tremendous baying and barking of hounds started up, which even the heavy door could not muffle.  Eden winced and noticed a flash of white fur in one of the windows above.  A ferocious, broad white head appeared there, glowering down at them with a malevolent stare and sharp teeth.

“Castor, you villain!” Roland yelled, in recognition of the large dog.  It redoubled it efforts to drown out the racket of the other dogs, throwing back its giant head and howling.  “M’father’s favorite hound,” he said, turning back to them by way of explanation.  

If that was his favorite, Eden found she did not overly-relish the idea of meeting the rest of the pack.  

Finally, it seemed the cacophony had roused someone.  A bushy-bearded giant, rounded the side of the tower, with a huge axe over his shoulder, and a forbidding expression.  He looked thunder-struck at the sight of Roland, and staggered back a pace or two before righting himself.  “Master Roland!  As I’m alive!”

“Fulco!” Roland descended the steps, and they seized one another by their right forearms, gripping each other in some form of welcome which Eden had not observed before.  

“Quiet, ye evil pack of devils!” Fulco roared at the dogs within.  So startled was Eden that she nearly fell of her saddle.  Luckily, Cuthbert reached across and had caught Christobel’s head, before the mare had a chance to rear.   The dogs barking died down at once, and Roland strode across and held his arms up for her.  With little other choice, Eden dismounted into his waiting grasp, and found herself borne over to the alarming Fulco for his inspection.  She wondered if Roland’s ribs were really up to carrying her, but if they hurt, he gave no sign of it.  Fulco regarded her a moment from beneath bristling brows.  Eden stared up at him.  Neither one of them seemed equal to the occasion. 

“My bride,” said Roland by way of explanation.  Fulco gave a nod, and a growl.  Eden wasn’t sure if he cleared his throat, or spoke.  “Fulco’s served at the Keep some twenty years, man and boy,” continued Roland, seemingly oblivious to her discomfiture.  “And his father before him.”

“I see,” said Eden, struggling to find words.  “How do you do?”  She felt disadvantaged not being stood on her own two feet, but could hardly ask to be set down without seeming churlish. 

Fulco stared at her as though she was some strange creature the likes of whom he’d never seen before. 

“Is there anyone to attend her?” Roland asked.

Fulco snorted and shook his head.  “There’s been no womenfolk at the Keep, not for a twelve-month.”

Now it was Eden’s turn to stare.  No womenfolk?  What kind of a household was this?

Roland swore.  “Cuthbert will have to play the page, until we sort someone out.”

She thought she heard Cuthbert mutter darkly at this, but did not turn her head to dignify it.

“You sent no word ahead,” Fulco rumbled in reproach, lowering his axe.  He cast another uneasy look at Eden.  “Wife, ye say?” he squinted at her suspiciously.

“Aye, wife.”  She was surprised by Roland’s tone, which was not unlike the one he’d used earlier when speaking of the Keep.  “Of five days now.”

“Six,” she corrected him.

“Six?” he frowned down at her.  “Oh aye, I always forget that day we lost in bed.”

Fulco coughed, and to her annoyance she felt her face turn bright red.   Roland was now striding toward the rickety-looking steps.  Eden sat up in alarm.  “The steps will surely break if you carry me up them!” she objected.  “And bearing my weight must surely be paining your ribs.”

“You’re slim enough, and weigh no more than a decent-sized dog,” he said absently.

“A dog?”  Eden looked at him in exasperation.  “Don’t you mean a feather?”

He smirked.  “Sweetheart, you’re not that light.”

She was still spluttering indignantly as he mounted the swaying steps.  They creaked ominously.

Eden grabbed for his broad shoulders.  “Do not drop me, Roland Vawdrey,” she warned him fretfully, and squeezed her eyes shut.  Almost, she could imagine herself on a storm-tossed ship.  “These steps are treacherous.”

“Faint-heart,” he mocked, though he held her a little tighter.  “I’m not about to drop you.  And these steps have been here many a long year.”

“Then it’s high time they were replaced,” she told him, her eyes still shut.

“Stop ruining tradition, wife.”

Eden cracked an eye open.  “What tradition?  Making your wife sea-sick?”  By her reckoning he had already ascended a good five steps.  How many more could there possibly be?

He ran up the last five steps nimbly enough.  “Carrying you across the threshold,” he murmured, shouldering the huge studded oak door open.  It creaked in a sinister fashion.

Eden peered into at a bare room with a large wooden table in it and a window-seat.  Other than that, the room was strewn about with a good deal of what looked like either farming or battle implements.

He seemed to notice her puzzlement.  “The disarming room,” he explained.

“Disarming room?” Eden repeated blankly. 

“Aye, wife.”  It seemed to Eden, that he had of a sudden, a gleam in his eye that she regarded with misgiving. 

“Ready for what comes next?” he asked.

Not caring for his manner, she pointed out, “I’m not armed,” with dignity.

“You can’t expect me to take your word for that,” he said, letting her slide down his body to her own two feet. 

“You know full well-” Eden began hastily, stepping back, only to nearly trip over a pair of boots.  “Ow!”

He caught her about the waist and yanked her back into his arms.

“Roland!” she protested breathlessly, as his lips sought hers, but before she knew it, she was being pushed back against the door and soundly kissed.  Not this again! 

Suddenly the inner door was shoved back and what looked like a half dozen large dogs burst into the room, swarming and jumping around them, barking and knocking things over.  Roland tore his lips hastily from hers.  “Down you brutes!” he roared.  Eden eased past him in the confusion, and nearly lost her footing again as the heavy tail of a huge barrel-chested dog struck the back of her legs, nearly buckling her knees.  For a moment, she was even grateful for Roland’s arm at her waist, keeping her upright.  “Down Hector!” Roland bellowed.  Eden clutched at him helplessly, in the midst of the chaos of writhing dog bodies. She scrambled to stand on her own two feet, seeking to put some space between them.  “Is this part of tradition in these parts too?” she asked stiffly.  “Savaging your bride with the hounds?”  

Roland grinned, and slid a finger under her jaw, tipping it up.  “Only if her performance displeases her groom,” he said, his eyes dropping to her lips again. 

Performance?  Thankfully the big white dog bounded up again with a loud bark, and Roland was forced to release her and remonstrate with him.  “Cease Castor!” he boomed, before seizing the animal and wrestling the large beast to the ground.  Eden backed up a few steps in alarm, but after a moment, noticed the dog was wagging his tail even though he was snarling in a terrifying manner.  “Daft cur!” Roland laughed, as Castor bestowed a lick to his face.  As if to some unspoken signal, the other dogs all pounced en masse, and Roland disappeared under a wave of wagging dog bodies.  “Let me up!” he groaned, after a few minutes of rolling on the floorboards with them.  “Parnell you rogue, you’ve grown damned heavy.”  Eden regarded him speechlessly.  Her uncle kept a house-dog, a civilized old thing, but the hunting dogs were kept separately in a pen well away from the Hall and were kept as working dogs, not pets.  “Come here,” he said holding out a hand to Eden.  “I want them to know your scent.”  He was crouched now among a sea of large dogs.  Eden approached, determined not to show that she would be much more at home with Lenora’s cats.  “Castor!” Roland called and the big white dog he had called Baron Vawdrey’s favorite, stepped forward.  “Meet Eden.”  Roland took her hand and placed it on the dog’s broad head.  The dog emitted a low growl and Roland rebuked him sharply.  Castor tossed his head, dislodging her hand and wheeled around to sniff at her fingers.  “Aye, that’s it,” Roland said, though she was not sure if he spoke to her or the beast.  “Good lad, very good.”   The dog, thought Eden.  “Now pet him,” he said, still not lifting his eyes from the dog’s face.  Oh, now that was directed at her.  Hesitantly, Eden extended her fingers toward Castor’s wide brow.  He gave a rumble in his throat and Roland seized his scruff, holding him tight.  “This is your mistress,” he said sternly.  Castor looked up at her, with a proud, scornful look.  Of course, the animal did not comprehend the words, she told herself uneasily.  “Let him sniff you again,” Roland recommended, loosing the dog who lunged forward and glared up at her tensely, before barking loudly at her.  Eden froze as Roland hauled him back again.  “You always were a stubborn wretch!” he scolded.  “That’s probably enough for now,” he added, straightening up.  “It won’t happen overnight.” 

Eden nearly jumped out of her skin as a wet doggy nose pushed into her hand.  “Hello,” she said to this dog who had a coat of curly sandy hair and a much friendlier aspect.  “Who’s this?”

“Parnell,” said Roland.  “Hie, Parnell!  You’ve a fancy to be a lady’s lap-dog, have you?”

A lap dog? The animal was the size of a sheep!  Eden patted his neck and he panted, his tongue lolling out.  The other dogs milled around, but didn’t get any closer to her.  Clearly, they followed Castor’s lead and not Parnell’s.  “An independent thinker, I see,” she murmured, noticing the strong smell of dog that was assailing her nostrils.

“It’s good you like dogs,” said Roland airily.  “We Vawdreys have always kept dogs at the Keep.”

Eden could think of no answer to this, instead she turned back to scanning the mysterious objects in the room.  Now she noticed it, the large table’s surface was covered in dust as well as an assortment of daggers. 

Noticing the direction of her gaze, Roland reached into his belt and then his tunic, extracting two knives which he slung on to the table.  “I’ll show you the rest of it,” he said, holding out a hand to her.  Mindful of the dogs, she took it, and he drew her in the direction of a side door which revealed a winding staircase.  He shut the door firmly behind them, which caused a few barks from the dogs who were shut on the other side of it.  “Don’t want them tripping you and breaking your neck.”

Eden frowned.  “These steps are quite steep,” she admitted, navigating her way around the curving stairwell. 

“Not just that,” he told her, gripping her firmly by the elbow.  “Just when you hit your stride you’ll find a trip step.”

“A trip step?” Eden asked, looking back over her shoulder.  Her foot hit the next step and she would have stumbled if he had not been there to support her.

“You’ve just found one.”

Eden looked down and found the step that had caught her out was of a different height and breadth to the others.

“It’s a stumbling block for any strangers to the Keep.”

“Intruders again?” Eden asked in exasperation.

“You notice how the staircase runs clockwise?” he asked.  “They’re all like that here.  It’s so any invaders could not swing their swords.”  He placed a palm against the grey stone.  “Their blades would strike against these walls, while we defenders would have our right arms free to fight.”

Eden looked down at him in surprise.  “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Your uncle’s place, Hallam Hall was built as a country residence.  This is a fortress.”

“I see.”

“Keep going, but cautiously.  In five steps you’ll hit another trip step.”

Eden did not object when he kept a firm grip.  Her bade her to ignore the first door they encountered, for they were servant’s quarters.  The second door, they passed through, emerging into another large grey stone chamber.  This one had two large scarred wooden tables an assortment of benches and a floor scattered in stale, grubby rushes which had likely not been replaced in an age.  The windows were mere slits which meant the room was dark and gloomy.  Various shields were mounted on the walls which bore the scarlet field and black panther of the Vawdreys.  They looked old and battered as though they had all seen service. 

Noticing the direction of her gaze, Roland pointed.  “My father’s,” he said.  “Oswald’s, and Mason’s.”

Eden noticed that Mason’s shield was the plainest, with the same colors, but no heraldic animal, merely the slash of the bar sinister denoting his bastard status.  It did not look like that anymore, she thought, now he bore a ducal title.  He now had not one, but two beasts on his shield – the leopard of the Cadwalladers as well as the Vawdrey panther.  Of course, their older brother, Oswald Vawdrey’s shield would not look like this either, she reflected, now he had been elevated to the role of Earl Vawdrey.  His panther would wear a leafy coronet, where his father’s had been bare-headed.  These must be relics from the civil war that had torn the country apart some years ago.  She turned back to Roland.  “Why is your shield not hung here?”

“I did not fight in the war.  Was just a boy.”  He crossed the room and flung open another door.  “Through here.”

“But you have been a knight now for several years,” Eden pointed out, walking toward him.  “Why do you not hang your first shield?”

“I’m still using it,” he said shortly. 

Noticing his reluctance, Eden let the subject drop, though she was sure he must have got through several shields already, if they were usually as battered in tournament as she had witnessed.

Passing through the door she found herself in another large chamber.  This one was dominated by a large fireplace full of ash and soot.  There were no other furnishings, save a few scattered chairs of gloomy, dark wood.  No tapestries or pictures were hung on the walls to break the monotony of the grey stone.  There were no books or musical instruments to be seen.  The only cushions were of a dirty grey and were squashed flat on the floor and covered in dog hair. 

Eden worked hard to maintain a neutral expression, while her heart plummeted into her slippered feet.  Our estate, Roland had said, which had been generous considering the way she had been foisted on him.  She didn’t want to be ungrateful.  As a Montmayne she had only ever been a poor relation, a dependent.  Yet here, at Vawdrey Keep, she would be mistress, which would be a new experience indeed.  She could not deny however, the heavy pang of home sickness she felt for the mellow brick of Hallam Hall, or the comforts of life at court.  “It’s a fine big hearth,” she said aloud.

“You should see it with a roaring blaze in it,” recommended Roland.  She just about bit her lip to stop herself from commenting that no-one had apparently cleaned up after the last one.  “Come, I will show you the next floor with the bedchambers.”

“I don’t understand,” said Eden as they returned to the staircase.  “Where are the kitchens?”

“Below the disarming room,” he explained.  “There are steps that lead down.  I did not bother to show you the pantry or the buttery.  You’re mistress here after all, not servant.”

Eden pondered this.  “I see.  But surely Fulco cannot be the only staff here?”

“There used to be others,” Roland said vaguely.  “I’m not sure how many remain.”  He held his hand out to her and she took it, following him back out to the winding stairs.  They climbed upwards once again.  “Watch this step,” he said.

“How is it that Vawdrey Keep passed to you, the youngest son?” she asked curiously.

“I’m the only one that has any affection for the old place,” he replied after a slight pause.  “Oswald has no desire to live here.  Too far from court.  And Mason gained an estate through his wife.  Though,” he added with a shrug.  “I suppose he could not have inherited it by right.  My Father never married his mother.”  The next door up opened into a small passageway with several doors off it.  “This will be ours,” Roland said leading her into a large bedchamber furnished only with a large carved bedstead and a rather battered looking trunk.  He exclaimed in annoyance.

“What is it?” asked Eden, before noticing that the bed wore no mattress, blankets or quilts.  “Oh, well, likely we can have it made up before night falls.”

He shot an irritated look at her, and the unwelcome thought occurred that he might have had more immediate plans for it.  He crossed the room and inspected it, looking underneath the bed and then lifting the lid of the trunk.  Eden stayed by the door in case he got any ideas about lying her down on the bare ropes slung across the bedstead. Or worse still, he found some old dog blanket which he expected her to lie on.  “Let’s check the other rooms,” he grunted at last, seeming to give up.  They went back out to the corridor and into another bedchamber, which was still decent sized though rather smaller.  There was a large box cupboard in the far corner which Roland crossed to, while she went across to the window to look out at the valley below.  It was a great view, she conceded, from atop the Vawdrey’s hill.  There was a bird’s eye view of the green forest they had ridden through that morning.  Looking back over her shoulder, she found Roland flinging the doors open to the cupboard.  To her surprise there was a good-sized bed inside it, with a mattress, though the blankets looked sparse and she could see no pillows. 

“How curious,” she said, moving closer.  “I’ve never seen a bed inside a box like that.”

“It’s Oswald’s old bed,” said Roland disparagingly.  “He always was a secretive bastard.”

Peering inside, Eden thought she could see a pile of books in the far corner, though it was hard to make out without a candle.

“Forget it, I’m not sleeping in there,” said Roland.  “You can’t see your hand in front of your face it’s so dark.”

“But why should you need to, when you are sleeping,” Eden asked him irritably.  

Again, he cast another look at her.  “I mean to see what I’m doing.”

Eden flushed, could he think of nothing but his conjugal rights, she thought crossly.  It was ridiculous!

“Come,” he said.  “There’s always my old room.”  He led her to a third smaller bedroom which had only a pallet bed low to the ground.  “Damn, I had forgotten,” he muttered.  “Just how small my old bed is.”

“When were you last home?” asked Eden, trying to distract herself from the thought of having to sleep on such a narrow cot with Roland Vawdrey.  Why, she’d have to lie fully on top of him! She felt her chest swell at the indignity of marital relations.  Why had no-one warned her how it would be?  No wonder so many women took themselves off to a nunnery!  The fact he was so handsome somehow made it ten times worse!

He leaned down, pressing on the thin mattress.  “The dogs have been sleeping on this,” he said with displeasure, ignoring her question.  “We can’t sleep here.”

Thanking the heavens for small mercies, Eden followed him back out into the passageway.  “What’s on the top floor?” she asked.

“Naught but the attics.  Although,” he broke off, brightening up.  “Mason’s old room is up there.  Wait here.”  He bounded up the last flight of stairs, while Eden wondered if she would be allowed her own bedchamber, once he had tired of her.  If so, she would surely choose Oswald’s old room which undoubtedly had the best view.  She wandered back into the largest bedchamber again, to look out of that window.  But this window faced the mountains and the aspect was not half as picturesque.  She heard Roland’s footsteps and hurried back out to meet him.  She did not want him to think she was poking and prying around his home.

“A straw mattress, would you believe,” he said with disgust.  “Half eaten by mice.” 

“Oh dear,” said Eden, without much conviction.

He glowered at her.  “We’ll just have to use Oswald’s until we get a new mattress.”

“Can we have it aired before tonight?” Eden asked, wondering when the last time was that it would have been slept on. 

“At least being in a cupboard means the dogs couldn’t get on it,” he murmured, opening the door to the staircase.  “Mind your step.  Put a hand to my shoulder.”  Eden followed closely behind him, lifting her skirts with one hand, so she should not trip and placing the other on his muscular shoulder.  He warned her each time they were approaching a trip-step and she marveled at how quickly she had heard him run up to the attic.  Even with this cautious approach, she felt herself stumble at least twice, and was grateful to have Roland’s back to brace against, preventing her from falling headlong down the steep stone steps.  She only breathed easy again when they emerged once more from the staircase into the disarming room, although two of the dogs still stood guard in there and immediately glued themselves to Roland’s heels.  He glanced back at her uncertainly.  “I’m going down to see if I can find Fulco.”

“I’m not staying here on my own,” Eden found herself retorting.  “Castor could return at any point and resume hostilities!”

He laughed.  “He’ll be outside now very likely, or with Fulco.”  He reached down and fondled the ears of the brown-haired dog she thought was called Hector.  The other dog was black and white and she had no idea of his name.  Without Castor around they seemed determined to ignore her.  Well, that was fine with Eden.  “Follow me down then,” said Roland. “But stay close and mind your footing.”

Eden followed his directions and found herself in a large kitchen and scullery area with two big fireplaces, a number of cavernous cooking pots and two large spits for roasting meats.  A vast table stood in the center, covered in pots and pans.  Not a soul was in sight, but the kitchen at least looked lived in.  There was no dust or soot lying around and the floors were swept clean.  Roland strode across the floor and opened another door leading into a vast store room which Eden guessed was the pantry.  “No-one,” he huffed, shutting the door again.  “Where the devil is everyone?”

Eden pointed to a large bowl of eggs.  “Someone collected these,” she said.  “And very likely this morning.”  The black and white dog, jumped up, setting his two paws on the table to sniff for any meat.

“Down, Seth!” Roland roared, and the dog complied, looking a little sheepish.

Seth, thought Eden.  Castor, Parnell, Hector and Seth.  That just left two she did not know the names of.  The ginger dog who looked like an overgrown fox and the grey one who looked rather like a gargoyle.

Just then they heard footsteps on the stairs and both turned to look as Cuthbert sauntered down the steps.  “I’m half starved, anything worth eating?” he greeted them.

Roland shrugged.  “There’s eggs, if nothing else.  Where’s Fulco?”

“He showed me the stables and disappeared.”

“Damn,” swore Roland.  “I’d better go in search of him.  Will you stay here with Cuthbert?”

Eden frowned at him.  “If that’s what you want,” she said sounding annoyed.  Why did he keep trying to shake her off?  A smile seemed to tug at his lips a moment, and she wished she had not said it.  He was conceited enough to think she craved his company, and she had not meant to give that impression in the slightest. 

“I only mean to get a fire lit and make things comfortable for you as soon as possible,” he explained.  “I can do that quicker by myself.”

“Of course,” she said stiffly, folding her arms across her chest.

He hesitated and then came right up to her, tipping her face up to his with his fingertips and brushing a kiss against her lips.  “I won’t be long,” he said in a low, intimate voice.  “Cuthbert can get you some refreshment in the meantime.”

“As long as it’s eggs,” she said waspishly, to hide her flustered state.  He pinched her chin, but made no further comment.  Emitting a sharp whistle, he ran up the stairs with Hector following him close on his heels.

“Don’t worry,” said Cuthbert who was cheerfully clattering around with the pots.  “I learnt how to make a tasty posset for my lady Linnet, with egg and nutmeg.  Roland will be back before you know it.”

Eden sniffed.  “I am not remotely concerned about his return,” she said, then spoiled it entirely by adding.  “I only hope he does not break his neck on those steps.”

“He may seem like a great, clumsy oaf,” said Cuthbert sanguinely.  “But he’s actually pretty light on his feet.”

Eden pulled out a wooden chair and sat on it, drawing her cloak in close around her body.  She still wore her mittens too, for it was chilly in the Keep.  “It’s a good thing you gave me these gifts, or I would likely soon perish here,” she commented as Cuthbert broke four eggs and niftily separated the whites from the yolks using the shells.  He set the yolks aside and beat the whites. 

He nodded thoughtfully.  “There is that,” he said, and humming a tune, made his way over to the fireplace.  He made a few passes with his hand and she heard almost instantly the crackle and flare of a fire.

“That was fast!” she said, startled.

“It wasn’t really out, just damped down,” Cuthbert said modestly.  He set a pot of water over the blaze before rising from his knees and making for the pantry.  He reappeared carrying a large stone jug and a pot, which he took straight over to the heating water.

“What are you adding?” asked Eden, cupping her chin in her hand.

“White wine,” said Cuthbert, pouring from the jug.  “And spices.”  He added three liberal pinches from the bowl, before sniffing it.  “Nutmeg and cloves.”  Then he stirred the pot, replaced the lid and left it to heat, returning to rifle the pantry.  When he emerged, he was carrying honey and milk.

Eden felt her stomach rumble.  “This is Linnet’s favorite, did you say?”

He nodded.  “She used to say it could revive her even from the depths of despair.”

Eden looked up sharply.  “It’s not as bad as all that,” she mumbled, hoping her face had not shown too clearly her dismay at her new home.  Cuthbert merely shrugged, intent on his task.

“Have you been here before?” she asked.  “With Linnet and her husband?” 

He shook his head.  “The old Baron, he practically moved to Cadwallader after his grandchildren were born.  This place was shut up and forgotten.”

“Odd that Roland’s never brought you here,” Eden frowned.  “He seems so proud of the place.”

“He’s got his fortune to make in the tournaments,” said Cuthbert sensibly.  “He’s the youngest son.  They never inherit.”

“Roland inherited Vawdrey Keep.”

“Only cos no-one else wanted it,” answered Cuthbert smartly.

Rather like me, thought Eden.  Then she caught herself.  Was she becoming melancholy?  That would never do!  Sitting up straighter on her stool, she cleared her throat.  “The pot’s bubbling.”

Cuthbert crossed to the hearth and inspected the mixture.  He fiddled with the height of the hook before returning to the table and mixing the egg whites with the milk. 

Eden sat brooding over the fact Roland had been forced to marrying a dowerless girl when he needed to make his own way in life.  If he had wed Lenora as planned, no doubt Uncle Leofric would have awarded him a handsome sum.  She frowned a moment, as her uncle’s outraged countenance swam into her mind’s eye.  She didn’t want to dwell on how much disgrace she must be in with her family.  If she thought about her uncle, then her cousin and her grandmother would surely follow. 

A sudden weight on her knee made her look up.  The black and white dog’s large head was lying there, his eyes gazing up at her soulfully.  “Seth?” she said in surprise.  His tail wagged.  Eden cast a furtive look around the room.  Cuthbert was crouched over his pot again, adding the dairy mixture to his concoction.  She reached out and stroked Seth’s ears as she had seen Roland do to Hector earlier.  He huffed out a breath and leaned against her legs.  Eden smirked.  “I have your measure, dog.  If Castor were here, you would not fraternize with me.”  He wagged his tail harder.  Eden lightly tweaked his ears.  Somewhere above them a door banged shut.  There was a heavy thud of boots on floorboards.  Seth sprang back from her guiltily and they both looked up as they heard Roland’s voice conversing with Fulco.  It sounded like they were coming down the steps together. 

“… You cannot keep them for love nor money!” Fulco boomed.  “They say the place is haunted.  No maid will stay here after dark.”

“Haunted?” repeated Roland in surprise.  “By who?”  There was an awkward silence.  “My Father?” suggested Roland when Fulco did not speak.  “He’d be more likely choose Cadwallader to haunt in death, like he did in life!” 

“Not the old Baron,” admitted Fulco.  He had arrived at the bottom of the steps now, and cast a startled look at Eden as if he’d forgotten her very existence.  Or maybe, he just did not expect to see her there.

“Who then?” demanded Roland clattering down behind him.  They both stood in the kitchen now.  “Answer me, damn you!”

“His wives,” said Fulco, scratching the back of his neck and looking a picture of abject misery.

“What?” Roland was visibly taken aback.

“You know how superstitious country folk can be,” mumbled Fulco red-faced.  He darted an embarrassed glance at Eden.

“Bloody fools!” Roland swore.  “I notice they didn’t start with this horse shit while he was alive.”

Then he too seemed to notice Eden sat perched on her seat and fell silent, though he was still scowling.  Seth skulked over to the hearth, and with a rather ostentatious yawn, settled himself down in front of the fire. 

“Posset’s ready,” said Cuthbert cheerfully.  He poured some into a large cup and brought it over to Eden.

She took it from him and took a tentative sip.  “Delicious!” she exclaimed with surprise.  “Truly.”  She turned to Roland.  “You should try some.  Apparently, it has restorative powers.”

He ignored her words, but gave a start.  “Which reminds me,” he said accusingly, turning back to Fulco.  “There is barely any bedding above stairs!” 

Fulco shrugged helplessly. “It all fell into disrepair and we’ve had no need of it.”

“Well, we have need of it now,” said Roland pointedly.  “I’m newly-wed.”

Eden bristled.  Did he have to be so obvious? 

“I could ride to the village,” said Fulco uncertainly.  “But new bedding would likely have to come from somewhere like Pryors Naunton, not Sitchmarsh!”

Again, Eden felt her lack of dowry keenly.  Most brides would bring such things with them as embroidered sheets and coverlets to their marriage bed.  She had never prepared a trousseau like girls with expectations did. 

“I can re-stuff an old mattress,” offered Cuthbert.  “In the meantime.”

Roland grunted.  “We’re going to have to use the one on the box bed, in the second largest bedroom.  What will you stuff it with?”

“I’ll go take a look in the out-houses, and see what there is.  Maybe fresh grasses or feathers?”

“There’s nothing like that out there,” said Fulco shaking his head.  “Though we can likely get some materials such as those in the village.”

“Let’s for the village then,” said Cuthbert.  He looked at Roland, who nodded.

“Aye.  No time like the present,” he agreed.  “Fulco, you take Cuthbert in with you to Sitchmarsh for provisions.”  He reached into his tunic for his purse and tossed it to Cuthbert.  “Get whatever is needed.”

Cuthbert nodded and made for the stairs.  On the bottom step he hesitated and turned back toward Eden.  “Milady?” he said.  Eden looked up.  “Have you any commission for me?”

“None,” said Eden simply.  “I’m sure you will think of everything.”  She listened to their steps ringing out as they headed up the staircase.

Roland walked to the fire and threw some more logs on it.  “I want you to stay in here where it’s warm for now.”

“Very well.”

He came over to her.  “Hold up your cup.”  She looked up in surprise to find he’d brought the rest of the posset over to her.

“Are you not trying any?”

He shook his head and re-filled her cup.  “Stay here with Seth.”  He touched his hand briefly to her cheek, then he too mounted the stairs and was gone.

Eden wasn’t sure how long she’d spent staring into the fire, when she heard grumbling and faltering steps descending down toward them.  Seth raised his head from his front paws and glanced around, but then re-settled himself, looking unconcerned.  Clearly, he recognized the owner of those scuffling feet.  Eden drained the last of her posset and set the cup down.  She turned her eyes expectantly to the doorway, and sure enough at last there appeared a hunched old man carrying a brace of dead birds.  He started a moment when he saw her, but other than a sharp breath in and a hunch of his shoulder, he gave her no other greeting and shuffled over to the kitchen table where he slammed down the birds bad-temperedly.  Eden cleared her throat.  He stiffened.  “I see ye,” he muttered.  “I see ye well enough!  But be ye sprite or harlot, I’ll have none of ye!”

Sprite or harlot?  “I am neither of those things!” Eden told him loudly.  “I am… Lady Eden Vawdrey,” she said with only the slightest hesitation over her new name.

He made a quick gesture which Eden recognized was to ward off evil spirits, but otherwise refused to look her way.

“I am lately married,” she said, starting again.  “To Master Roland.”

He muttered under his breath and started tearing out the feathers on the uppermost bird. 

“Perhaps you know his older brother, Oswald, who is now styled Earl Vawdrey?”

He turned his head sharply at that.  “Don’t ye be trying to tell me you’m married to Master Oswald,” he said pointing a small bladed knife at her.  “He married a local lass.  Sitchmarsh born and bred, and you’re none of her!”

“I never said I was married to Oswald,” said Eden.  “I am married to his brother Roland, who is now master here.”

“Master here, you says?” cackled the old man, shaking his head.  “That he b’aint!”

Eden gazed at him irritably.  “He most certainly is,” she stated firmly.  “And I am not going to sit arguing here with you about it.  What is your name?”

He gave a snort.  “I knows better’n that, I’m country-raised.”

“What do you mean?” asked Eden, momentarily thrown, despite herself.

“Give a spirit your name and you gives ‘em power over you.”

“A spirit?”  Eden pursed her lips.  Still, Fulco had said the village girls all thought the Keep was haunted.  “I am no more spirit than you.”  Another thought occurred to her.  “I suppose you know Fulco?  He recognizes me as mistress here.”

“Fulco?” the old man spat.  “Ah, you’re one of his slatterns, are you?  Might have known.  Shameless!  Giving yourself airs and graces and coming into my kitchen!”

“That is quite enough!” said Eden, drawing herself up.  “You go too far!”

The old man gave her a hard look, and puffed out his cheeks.  “Well,” he conceded.  “You’re done up fancy, I’ll give you that.  Fine as the Faery Queen herself.”

Eden glanced down at her finery.  The fur-lined cloak and mittens from Cuthbert, and Lady Payne’s wedding dress.  Maybe she did look rather frivolous sat among his pots and pans?  She lapsed into silence, cupping her chin and leaning her elbow against her knee.  She’d waste no more words on the stubborn old buzzard.  The old man carried on dressing the birds in silence, and Eden’s eyelids began to droop.  The fire was hot at her front, but her back felt chilly.  In spite of that, she was feeling sleepy.  The old man was ignoring her, and she would return the favor.  If anyone looked like a bad faery, it was him.  A hobgoblin or brownie.  She frowned.  She was thinking of her old nurse’s tales again!  Weren’t brownies paid for household chores with a bowl of cream on the hearth? Insulting them was said to bring bad luck.  Perhaps she ought not to have spoken to him so harshly.  How did you free brownies from labor?  Was it them you had to sew a smock for or was that elves?  And which ones turned into boggarts when they went evil?

The next thing Eden knew, she was being carried in a pair of strong arms.

“It’s me,” said Roland, when she started.

“A boggart runs your kitchen,” she murmured, before dropping her head back to his shoulder.

“A boggart?” repeated Roland.  “That’s funny.  He accused me of wedding a wicked faery.  Said I must have found you sat in a rowan tree.”

Eden considered this a moment.  “They must be very superstitious parts around here.”

“The boggart’s name is Baxter,” said Roland.  “He’s been here for years.  Before my father’s time even.”

Eden thought this over.  “Maybe he’s more of a goblin than a boggart.  Boggart might be a bit harsh.”  She glanced at one of the narrow windows that they passed and gasped.  “Has night fallen?  How long was I asleep?”

“It’s late afternoon,” said Roland.  “It looks darker due to the thunderclouds.”

“And now it’s raining,” observed Eden, catching sight of another glimpse through an arrow loophole.

“It rains a lot round here.  That’s why it’s so green.”

“Are Cuthbert and Fulco returned from the village?”

“Hours ago.  We’ve tidied up a bit since then.”

“I can’t believe I was so tired,” she yawned.  “Did Baxter put a blanket over me?”

“No,” said Roland dryly.  “That was me.  Baxter threw salt over you.”

“Salt?” 

“It’s said to counteract malevolent beings.”

Eden digested this.  “Boggart was not too harsh, after all,” she said darkly.  Roland smirked, but said nothing.  “Did Cuthbert re-stuff the mattress?” she asked, determined to fill any silence.  Being cradled against his body like this was creating a false sense of intimacy, she just was not comfortable with.

“Yes.  He used hay, and a good quantity of wool from the village.”

“I see.  He is a very useful boy, is he not?”

Roland’s gaze flickered.  “He can be, when it suits him,” he said cautiously.  He shoved the door open on the second landing.  “We have covered a fair few miles the last few days, likely more than you’re used to riding.” he reminded her.  They were in the dining room, which had been tidied and swept out.  The floorboards were now bare instead of strewn with dirty rushes, and the benches were arranged tidily around the tables.  Four of the dogs were lying under the benches.  Castor, Hector, Seth and the grey gargoyle one.  They all raised their heads at their entrance, but did not make a sound.  Roland strode right across to the table next to the fireplace, and deposited Eden there.  “We’re about to eat,” he told her, and sat down next to her.  Eden looked about the room in approval.  The scuffed table looked a lot better covered in a plain linen cloth.  It was already set out with heavy silver candlesticks and set with platters and goblets of pewter.  Reluctantly, she reached for her cloak fastening.  She should really take it off now, though she did not feel thus inclined.  She wished she had her wool mantle with her.  She had a lovely one in dark green that she would give her eye-teeth for right now.  Doubtless it was lying unused in the bedchamber she used at Hallam Hall.  She dropped the cloak from her shoulders and gave a little involuntary shiver.  Lady Payne’s ice blue gown was not designed for warmth.  As she was drawing off her mittens, the door opened, and Cuthbert sailed in, carrying a large soup pot, and a platter bearing two small loaves. 

“It’s barley beef,” he announced, setting down the pot.  “And there’s two types of bread.  Maslin,” he said, referring to the darker rye and wheat loaf.  “And Manchet,” which was the round white loaf.  He sat down opposite Eden and started ladling the soup into the bowls as Roland poured the wine.

The door opened again, and in came Fulco, looking rather ill-at-ease and bearing a platter of fried cheese curds with some flat cracker-breads and a garlic dipping sauce.  Once he’d set the dish down, he seated himself next to Cuthbert.

Eden perked up with surprise at the appetizing fare.  “Did Baxter cook all these dishes?” she asked with surprise.  For some reason she had imagined him to be a rather basic and unimaginative cook.

“Yes,” piped up Cuthbert.  “Baxter says if you’re tricked into eating human victuals, you’ll be stuck in the human realm. 

“Tricked?  I’m ravenous,” said Roland, accepting his bowl of soup and tearing off a large hunk of bread.

“Oh, he knows you’re real enough,” continued Cuthbert blithely.  “He just thinks you’re ensorcelled.” 

Eden who was in the act of buttering her bread, put down her knife.  “Is Baxter… sane?” she asked carefully.

“He’s alright,” said Cuthbert heartily.  “It’s normal for folks to hold the old beliefs in the country.”

“He’s not going to throw salt in my face every morning or strike me with a birch wand?”

Cuthbert chuckled, but Roland didn’t look nearly as amused.  “He’d better not,” said her husband with a heavy frown. 

“He’ll calm down,” said Fulco awkwardly.  “He’s not used to having people about the place.  He’s gone a little peculiar, that’s all.”

Eden refused the soup, but helped herself to some of the fried cheese and dipping sauce.  It was delicious, as were the crunchy crackers.  Cuthbert watched her with approval. 

“Baxter said I was to make sure you ate a little from every dish.  He means to ensure you’re trapped here to keep Master Roland happy,” he quoted.

Roland’s brows rose at that, but he turned to Eden.  “In that case, you’d better take a sip,” he said.

A week ago, she’d likely have refused the gesture, but now, Eden merely bent her head and put her lips to the soup spoon he offered her.  The soup was flavorful.  She could taste shallot, and parsnip as well as barley and the meat.  “It’s good,” she said, with a nod. 

Roland cleared his throat, and took a swig of wine.  “In fairness, my father always kept a good table.  Is that not so?”  When no-one answered, Roland lowered his goblet.  Eden looked across at Fulco who was the only one qualified to say.  He was watching her intently.  Oh no, did he think she was a faery too? thought Eden with misgiving.

Fulco flushed.  “Oh aye, he was a great man, the old baron,” he said hoarsely, and started hastily tucking into his soup.

Eden relaxed, though she thought Roland seemed to tense beside her.  He sat up straighter and plunked his cup down rather heavily.  For a few moments, the only sounds were of chewing or swallowing and the clink of knives against trenchers.  Cuthbert nudged the plate of cheese and crackers towards her and she helped herself, though she eschewed more of the sauce, of which a little went a long way.  Roland, she noticed, ate three bowls of soup and at least half of the small dark loaf, before turning to devour what was left of the cheese.  When that was gone, he had a large slice of the manchet loaf and dipped this in the garlic sauce for flavor.  Cuthbert and Fulco both excused themselves and removed the empty platters, descending below stairs to fetch the next course.

“We’ll have to get some womenfolk up here and soon,” said Roland heavily.  “You’re driving Fulco to distraction.”

“Me?” asked Eden, in surprise.  “Why?  What have I done?”

“Nothing,” he admitted.  “Save sit there, eating daintily.  You’re likely the prettiest thing he’s seen in a twelvemonth.”