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

Eden raised her goblet to hide her discomfiture with this kind of talk.  Was he trying to flatter her?  “I doubt it,” she said without thinking.  “I don’t think he has been as starved of female company as you suppose.”

“What?” His brows knitted together in a frown.

“At one point, before he decided I was otherworldly in origin, Baxter thought I might have been ‘one of Fulco’s slatterns’,” she admitted.

Roland went off into a coughing fit.  Eden was just wondering if she might need to thump him on the back, when the others returned with a dish of roasted birds stuffed with garlic, grapes and herbs.  Roland poured himself another cup of ale and pulled himself together, although his eyes were still watering. 

Fulco excused himself before the final course, no doubt cowed by Roland’s beady eye on him, putting him off his food. Eden fancied the dogs received quite a lot of the meat, for all four of them crept closer as the meal progressed.  She wondered at one point, if she was the only one not feeding them.

Only Cuthbert seemed to enjoy the dessert, which was baked eggs with apple in a pastry shell.  Eden ate a mouthful to satisfy Baxter’s absurd superstitions, and Roland pushed his around his plate a while before shoving it away from him.  “Shall we?” he asked, standing abruptly as Cuthbert finally dropped his spoon, having consumed his third bowlful.  Eden rose, and took the hand he offered, to find herself led the through the door into the adjoining sitting room where a fire blazed in the huge hearth. 

This room had also been dusted and cleaned, and the remaining two dogs dozed there by the hearth, including her old friend Parnell who rolled over onto his stomach and barked in greeting.  She nodded in response, and looked about her.  It was still a rather bleak and uninviting room in all. It needed curtains and wall hangings and cushions, thought Eden.  In reds or blues to complement all the dark wood interior.  Roland halted and looked around, seeming to deliberate which of the chairs looked the most comfortable.  Eden eyed them doubtfully.  They all looked equally uninviting.  Apparently he came to the same conclusion, for he simply hooked his foot around the nearest and dragged it toward the fire.  Then he dropped into it, with Eden sat squarely in his lap.  She ought to protest, of course, but what was the point?  Instead she looked sidelong at Roland, who was looking back steadily at her.  “Yes, wicked faery?”” he asked, raising his eyebrows.  “Something to say?”

Eden tilted her head to one side, and steeled herself.  “Perhaps there are some matters we ought to discuss,” she said gravely.  “Now we are no longer on the road.” 

Roland stirred uneasily beneath her.  “Such as?”

 

Even before she spoke, he could tell he would not like her chosen topic of conversation.  Damn the woman.  Could she not pick up on his mood?  Now she was safely under his roof, all he wanted to do was cosset her.  It was a strange impulse, which threw him a little in truth.  Never before had he had such an inclination toward a woman.  He wanted her to like his home.  Their home.  Her opinion of Vawdrey Keep, whose superiority to all other places had always been a matter of fact to him, strangely counted.  She was accustomed to court life, and all its attendant luxuries, and Hallam Hall which was a country residence, not a harsh fortress.  He wanted to know what things he had to add to the Keep, to make it acceptable to her as her new home.  But he could tell from her expression that it wasn’t about home comforts that she wanted to speak now.  He sighed.  “Let’s hear it then.”  Eden rose from his lap, and re-settled herself into the chair directly opposite him.  He suffered this, although it irritated him. 

“Don’t you think it’s odd that we’ve never actually discussed what must have happened that night?” she asked, turning to him, her expression serious.

Oh gods.  Why now?  Roland spread his hands wide.  “What’s done is done.  I see no point in crying over spilt milk.”

“Spilt milk?” repeated Eden, her expression so blank that Roland immediately cast about for a turn of phrase she’d find more palatable.  “Things didn’t turn out as intended,” he said carefully.  “But what’s the point in cutting up rough about it after the deed is done?”  A heavy silence greeted his words, and he rolled his eyes.  “Quite frankly, I have no desire to discuss it now,” he said bluntly.  “What would be the purpose?”

“To clear the air perhaps?” she suggested gravely.  “To try and promote some kind of understanding between us at this point.”  She paused heavily.  “It seems to me, that we are poised at a critical juncture.  Would it not be best to clear up any confusion now?”

Roland snorted.  “I’m not laboring under any misunderstanding,” he said dismissively.

Eden took a deep breath. “Really?  What about the fact we clearly had not engaged in any… pre-marital relations?” she asked with a directness that took him aback.  “Despite what everyone assumed.  Ourselves included.”  When he continued silent, she fixed him with a stern look.  “You know as well as I, that I was still a virgin that night at Tranton Vale.  Yet we’ve never discussed it.”

Roland felt his face grow hot.  “What of it?” he demanded. 

“So clearly, we were innocent of any wrong-doing that night at Hallam Hall!” she cried, losing her calm.

Roland stiffened.  “I was drunk,” he said bluntly.  “I may not have breached your virginity, but we could still have done other things.”

“What?” Eden looked startled. 

“We were both naked,” he pointed out.  “When I woke up, my hands were all over you-”

“I know that!” Eden interrupted him.  “But still, we had not gone beyond the bounds of decency!” her face flamed.

“Of course, we had Eden!” he replied scathingly.  “You may have been intact, but we had slept in a naked embrace that was far from innocent on my behalf.  Or had you forgotten my state when your uncle interrupted us?” he gestured to his crotch.

Eden glared at him.  “Why must you always be so crude?” she huffed.  “Do you really mean to tell me, that you have no curiosity about how we ended up in such a predicament in the first place?”

He shot her an incredulous look.  “Eden,” he said with exasperation.  “Let’s just drop the pretense, for once and all.”

“What pretense?”

“That you were as injured a party as I.”  She went so still, he thought she must be holding her breath. Uneasily, he added, “I know full well the scheme would not have been of your devising.” 

Her eyes flickered to his face.  “Scheme?” she repeated hollowly.

He nodded, strangely reluctant to continue.  “Aye.”

“Pray say what you mean, Sir Roland,” she said so formally, that he felt slightly alarmed. 

“Why do I need to say it?” he asked.  “It’s obvious enough.”

She shook her head.  “Not to me.”

He sighed.  “It was my bedchamber we woke up in, Eden.” 

“Yes,” she said, two hot spots of color appearing in her cheeks. 

“And so…?” he prompted.  He waited, until the penny dropped.  He did not have to wait long. 

She drew in a shuddering breath.  “You’re saying… You think… that I snuck along the corridor and let myself into your bedchamber.  And then, while you were insensible, that I slipped under your covers.  To entrap you.”  She slumped in her seat a moment breathless and glassy-eyed.  He said nothing.  “But if not of my devising…?” she began hesitantly.  “Then who is it you imagine was behind such a scheme?”

“Your uncle of course,” he answered brusquely.  “Probably thought a younger son wasn’t good enough for his only daughter.”

She stared hard at that.  “But an unwanted niece was?  You really have thought this through,” she marveled.  “Down to the last detail.”  Her lip trembled, and she bit down on it. “When?”  She asked harshly, making him jump.  “When did you decide I was complicit?”

“Eden…”

“Before we consummated our marriage?”  She asked.  “Before you wore my colors on your arm at Sir Aubron’s tournament?”

“Eden…”

“No!” she said in a choked voice.  “You wore my brooch, introduced me to your friends… You made me think…  You pretended that you liked me.  But all the time, you thought… you thought…”

“Eden!” he started out of his chair toward her, but she jumped to her feet and ran to the door, wrenching it open. 

“If you come near me, right now,” she said shakily.  “I will hate you forever.”  He halted, seeing she was trembling all over and pale as chalk. 

Something turned over in his chest.  “Don’t go near those steps!” he warned.  “Not in that state.”

“Don’t come near me, Roland Vawdrey,” she shook her head for emphasis.  “I need you to leave me alone.”  Tears were rolling down her cheeks now. 

For some reason, the sight of her tears incapacitated Roland.  He felt like he couldn’t gather his wits.  Where the fuck had this storm blown up out of nowhere?  All was well with his world, just a short while ago!  She had been sat in his lap as meek as a lamb.  He was reeling.  “I can’t,” he said with utter truthfulness, and was out of his seat and at her side before she’d managed to even take another step.  “Eden-”

She shoved at his chest with both her hands, trying to push him away from her.  “No!” she said in an anguished voice. 

“I won’t touch you,” he promised.  “Just let me accompany you upstairs.”

She fell back at that.  “I want to sleep in a different room to you,” she said woodenly.

“Too bad,” he said harshly.  “That’s a step too far.”

“I won’t share a bed with someone who thinks I’m a thief!”

“A thief?” he echoed in bewilderment.  “Who the hells ever called you a thief?  Not I.”

Eden shook her head angrily.  “You think I willfully stole you from Lenora!”

He gave a crack of laughter at that, and all color leeched from her face.  “Eden,” he said bending down so his face was close to hers.  “I was never Lenora’s.  And for all I know, she could have been in league with the plot.  What do I know of her wishes?”  Eden’s chest heaved indignantly, and she stared at him.  “Besides, you’re not bedding down anywhere else,” he told her arrogantly.  “I’m not complaining about you being in my bed, so why the hells should you?”  Her expression went from devastated to outraged in a second.  He must be losing his mind, because for some reason he could not fathom, that was a relief to him.  “Now, let’s to bed.”

 

 

Why the hells, he thought crossly as he rolled over in the bed, dutifully turning his back to wife, had he thought he could speak frankly with a woman?  He should have known better.  They didn’t like plain speech.  Eden certainly didn’t, with her airs and her graces and her sheer bloody-mindedness.  He listened carefully to her ragged breathing.  Was she still crying? 

She’d even managed to twist things around so that she was the injured party, he thought with disbelief!  Alright, so she was probably mortified that he knew she had climbed into his bed that night.  But he had never complained about the substitution of bride, so why did they need to dwell on it now?  After all, he was the one who had the wool pulled over his eyes. He was the one who had fallen prey to her uncle’s subterfuge.  Had one word of reproach passed his lips?  No!  Even during their dispute just now, he had no desire to reproach or scold her for her part in the deception.  Instead he had given her an excuse, intimated that she had just been a pawn in her uncle’s ambitions, much like him.  She was Sir Leofric’s ward and dependent on his goodwill.  Roland’s jaw tensed.  For some reason, he didn’t like to think of Eden being at the mercy of her uncle’s schemes.  And he certainly didn’t like to remember that she had been sent from her childhood home with only the clothes on her back. 

What had she called herself just now?  An unwanted niece?  He felt slightly sick remembering those words.  But there had been worse.  Her face, when she cried ‘You pretended that you liked me.’  Remembering that, made him catch his breath.  Why the fuck had she looked so hurt when she said that?  He forced himself to go back over her words in the dark.  She’d extinguished the candle as soon as she’d climbed into the box bed and it was pitch black in there now.  It had been the thought that he had worn her token, had shown her off to his friends and bedded her, all the while thinking she was a deceiver which had cut her to the quick.  But he didn’t even care about the deception!

He swore under his breath.  Why was she making so much of it?  Pride, stiff-necked pride, he told himself angrily.  Her damn reputation.  But deep down, he knew that more than her pride had been hurt by him bringing the whole mess out into the open.  Hells.  He half-wished he’d just played along and just lied.  Yes, it is very odd how we neither of us have any recollection of how you ended up in my bed, sweetheart.  Ah well, tis doubtful we’ll ever get to the bottom of the business now!  It was contemptible to lie, just to please a woman, and such an idea would never even have entered his head before today.  But perhaps if he had lied, he’d be lying in her embrace right now, and any tears she would be shedding would be of ecstasy, not misery.  He tugged at his pillow, unable to get comfortable.  The thought of her crying silently beside him was an oddly disturbing one.  He almost turned over, to pull her into his arms, when he remembered, ‘if you come near me, right now, I will hate you forever’, and stopped dead in his tracks.  That was more than disturbing.  That was simply something that could not be allowed to happen.  Ever.  He closed his eyes again briefly and consigned himself to a night of broken, uneasy sleep.

 

**

 

Eden woke on a gasp.  She’d been under water.  She flailed a moment in confusion, still half-asleep, before she noticed half of her was pinned underneath a big male.  Roland Vawdrey was lay across her lower body.  His face was buried in her stomach, his arms wrapped around her waist.  She blinked down at him in consternation a moment, before the memories of the previous evening set in. 

Roland Vawdrey must think himself married to a hysteric as well as a liar, she thought bleakly, after the tearful scene she subjected him to last night.  She turned first hot then cold all over.  What a contemptible mess.  She felt heartily ashamed of her emotional outburst.  What on earth had come over her?  It just wasn’t like her to act in such a way.  And really, she had no cause.  Roland Vawdrey was not her friend.  He was not her confidant.  He was just someone that was trapped in this travesty of a marriage along with her. 

In reality, she should be relieved that he had realized it was all her fault, she thought resignedly.  Because she must have done everything he had accused her of.  The fact she had been asleep when she had done it made very little material difference.  What astonished her the most was that he must have thought this of her all along.  It was extraordinary.  He must despise her, have thought her character the lowest of the low.  Yet he had not shown any discernible anger or resentment toward her.  He had not flung blame in her face even once.  She was frankly astonished by how magnanimously he had acted toward her all this time.  When you consider he believed himself to have been duped at the outset, it was nothing short of miraculous.

Eden lay staring up at the plain wooden roof of the box-bed, feeling numb.  This was to be her lot in life.  Married to a man who thought her a schemer and a fraud.  She closed her burning eyes again briefly.  At least she had no tears left to cry.  All would be well, she told herself firmly, once she managed to get back to court.  Once back as part of the Queen’s inner circle, she would be back on firm ground again, and sure of her step.  In the past, she had even had occasion previously to sleep on a truckle bed in the Queen’s dressing room.  There may be no need for her return to her husband’s quarters at all, she thought perking up.  He could hardly insist.  Not when it was by royal appointment.  Feeling him stir, she stiffened as he rubbed his brow against her stomach, then exhaled noisily.  Was he awake?

“It can’t be morning yet,” he groaned, his words tickling her skin.  “I’ve barely slept a wink.”

Eden held her tongue, wondering if she could slither out from under him, but his arms seemed to tighten on her, as if he’d heard her thoughts. 

“If you’re awake now,” she said coolly.  “Perhaps you’ll permit me to rise.”

He murmured something disparaging, that she couldn’t quite make out.  “Back to this again, are we?” he asked, raising her head and looking up at her blearily.  “As it’s your fault I’m so damnably tired, the least you can do is let me use you for a pillow.”

“My fault?”  Eden blurted, before she could stop herself.  Was he saying he had trouble sleeping after their altercation? 

“Aye, yours wife!” he said belligerently.  “Who else would be kicking at me, and trying to climb over me in the night?”  Eden gasped.  “You’re like a little eel, wriggling about.”

Without thinking, she answered tightly, “I can’t control my impulses when I’m asleep.” Of course, she thought afterward, he was wholly unaware of the magnitude of what she’d just imparted.

“You don’t need to tell me that!” Roland grumbled.  “I’m thinking this box bed is a damned good idea for you.  At least you can’t seem to find your way out of it.”

There was something in that, she thought.  “My sleep is only disturbed in times of … upset,” she said dismissively.  “It’ll pass.  Can you please let me up?”  She felt him turn his head and lay his cheek against her stomach, but gave no other sign of having heard her request.   She was just wondering how to insist, when he murmured.

“This bed is too hard.”

Eden sucked in a breath.  “Personally, I think Cuthbert did an admirable job with the materials at hand.  The mattress is fine.”  She paused.  “I fancy tis the choice of bedfellow that vexes you rather than the bedding.”

He raised his head at that.  “I’ve got no complaints on that score,” he said dismissively.  “You can put that out of your head.” 

She gave a short laugh.  “You can scarcely expect me to believe that.”

His eyebrows rose, and his gaze narrowed.  “And why the hells not?” he asked coolly. 

“Because of your opinion of me!” she huffed.  “My gods, I am astonished that you even thought to bring me home with you.  I wouldn’t have, in your position.”

Roland snorted.  Then abruptly, he levered himself off her, and hauled her down the mattress, until he loomed over her. His hands at her waist, anchored her beneath him. 

His eyes roamed over her at leisure and Eden felt herself grow hot and bothered.  “While it’s true I’ve never previously admired resourcefulness in a woman,” he said thoughtfully.  “I find I’m not too angry that you decided to win me.”

Eden gaped at him.  “I beg your pardon?” she spluttered. 

“You heard me, wife.”

“Of all the egotistical…” Eden broke off distractedly.  Resourceful?  She stared at him as if unable to believe her own ears.  “You astonish me!”

“I’m sure,” he said, running his forefinger across her collar bone.  “That’s only fair, seeing as you astonish me too.”  Eden gulped.  What was that expression on his face?  “I think Baxter may be partly right, and you’ve bewitched me,” he said huskily.

“Baxter’s mad,” she pointed out, wishing her own voice didn’t sound so breathy.  “And so are you if you think that.”

“I don’t know,” he replied softly.  The direction his finger brushed against her changed, and Eden swallowed.  “Round these parts all the faery maidens are reputed to look like you.  Black locks, soft skin as pale as milk,” he said. “And eyes like jewels, that bewitch a man.”

Eden frowned.  Eyes like jewels?  He made her sound much more alluring than she knew herself to be.  “No-one has ever thought me bewitching before.”

“Maybe you’ve only just come into your powers?”

“You’re being nonsensical,” Eden objected, but she knew her voice lacked sternness.

“You fit here,” said Roland with conviction. 

Eden forgot to breathe.  What?

“The wicked faery,” said Roland.  “Who lives in the black tower.”

From his tone of voice, she knew he was going to kiss her.  And she did nothing to stop him, as he lowered his weight onto her and kissed her with an unhurried lasciviousness which made her cheeks burn.  She shivered, realized this time, what his thrusting tongue was promising was in store for her. 

“So beautiful,” he murmured.  Which was a lie.  “I want you.”  Which was not a lie, she conceded, feeling him hard against her stomach, where he rubbed and moved sensuously against her.  For some unfathomable reason, Roland Vawdrey desired her something fierce.

“Do you want me, Eden?” he muttered, lifting his head.  As usual, she felt herself almost dazzled by the proximity of so much male beauty.

She couldn’t quite bring herself to answer, so instead she placed a hesitant hand against his shoulder blade.  His molten gaze snapped to hers, and she saw him close his eyes as if savoring her touch.  He couldn’t really like it that much, surely?  Without giving herself pause to think, she stroked her hand slowly down his spine. 

He gasped, his eyes flying wide.   “Eden!”

“Was that not-?”

He gave a brief shake of his head, and swallowed.  “Put your hands up over your head.”

“What?”

“Over your head and keep them there.”

“But why?” she asked, even as she complied.

“Because,” he murmured.  “Your touch over-excites me.”  It did?  She pondered that piece of information.   “You keep rushing me, when I want to linger.”

By touching him?  She wanted to ask, but his actions were robbing her of breath.  He’d pulled up her shift and was kissing all around her flat stomach.  She was just taking a steadying breath, when his tongue darted unexpectedly into her belly button, making her gasp.  “Roland!”

He glanced up.  “If that shocked you,” he said richly.  ”Then, what I’m going to do next will turn your hair white.”

Eden glanced down in alarm.  He winked at her.  He was joking.  She relaxed in spite of herself.  Then he kissed her between her legs.  The same wicked kiss he had given her mouth.  She gave a soundless shriek and tried to bounce up off the bed.  He just used the momentum to get a firmer grip of her as she ineffectually flailed around.  “R-Roland!” she squeaked as his brawny hands held her hips in a merciless grip, as he did inconceivable things with his tongue.  Unable to watch, Eden closed her eyes with a whimper and gave herself up to the shuddering pleasure which had her arching her back and pressing into his mouth in an abandonment which shocked her to her core.  Tears gushed from her eyes and she flattened her palms against the headboard, bracing herself against the onslaught of sensation.  For a moment, she hovered agonizingly tense on the brink, before he tapped the tip of his tongue against part of her that throbbed, and she yelled out brokenly as he did it again, once, twice and on the third time she broke.  And then it was a good thing he held her so tight, for her limbs were suddenly shaking and weak and she could do nothing but pant and sob and gaze up at the top of the wooden bed in speechless wonder.  Through it all, Roland held her firmly, his mouth working between her legs, his circling tongue, drawing out the licentious pleasure until she lay still, her chest heaving and her breath ragged, her cheeks wet with tears.

“I can’t wait,” Roland said thickly, his hot breath still fluttering against her intimate parts.  “Until you react like that for my cock.”

She was too wrung out to remonstrate with him over his lewd words.  Instead she just groaned, as he hauled himself up onto his knees and crawled up her body, stripping off her shift.  Now came the worse part, thought Eden with dread.  Though she realized she’d have to suffer it without complaint now she was a wife.  His manhood felt bigger than ever, as it pressed insistently against her.  Roland looked somewhat pained himself, she noticed, as he settled between her legs.  “This won’t last long,” he grunted.  She hoped not.  She stiffened as he probed her wetness there with his fingers and made an approving noise deep in his throat.  Taking a deep breath, she passed her arms around his back.  He swore.  “Gods, I’m not-  Let me inside first – I can’t…”  Eden blinked up at his confused panic.  Catching his desperation, she opened her legs wider as he fumbled and swore.  And then he was there, where he wanted to be, pushing inside her, with an urgency that surprised her.  He had been very careful with her last time, but this time, he thrust all the way in, making her gasp as she braced herself. To her surprise though, she took him without too much discomfort.  Before she could wonder too much at this, he had given her his whole weight, pinned her to the mattress and was thrusting into her with a vigor he had not allowed himself before, murmuring disjointed words and groaning almost as if he were wounded. 

“Roland?” she asked, half-alarmed, half- what?  She scarcely knew.  Only that she could barely catch her breath, and something about his wildness was strangely thrilling.  She found she was pressing her thighs in hard against his hips, and holding her breath, her face hot, her chest heaving with the exertion.

His eyes locked to hers, when she spoke his name, and the expression there made her breath catch in her throat.  She almost felt as if time halted and hung suspended for a moment, before Roland Vawdrey came apart completely in her arms, a heaving mass of muscle and sinew and seething lust.

In the aftermath, she held him close to her.  He was breathing heavily and neither one of them spoke for several long moments. 

Then Roland lifted his head.  “One of these days…” he said not quite meeting her eye.  “I’ll manage that part with a little more finesse.”

Really? wondered Eden, doubtfully.  It was hard to imagine.  And how could you even make such an act more dignified?  It was so… base and primitive.

“You can do it now,” he said.

“Do what?” asked Eden mystified.

“Touch me.”

Eden’s mouth almost fell open.  Why on earth would he want her to touch him now?  “Oh,” she said lamely.  She placed her hands uncertainly on his chest.  He gave that low rumble, she was starting to realize was approval and dropped his head back onto the pillow beside hers, rolling onto his back, and taking her with him, so she lay half on top of him.

“More,” he said gruffly, his eyelids dropping down over his eyes.

Eden tutted, and was disconcerted to see him smile.  How could he look so...so… words failed her… Happy?  Even in her thoughts, she stuttered over that choice of word.  It couldn’t be because of her.  His hand seized hers and stroked it over his chest.  “Like this.”  Eden bit her lip.  A week ago, if someone had told her she would be lying naked on top of a satiated Roland Vawdrey, stroking his chest, she would have called them a liar to their face.  “Now kiss me,” he said interrupting her thoughts.

“What?” Eden faltered.  She glanced around, the hour was hard to determine in their cupboard-bed.  “It must surely be approaching daybreak,” she objected.

He opened one eye.  “How does that signify?”  He sounded lazily curious, nothing more. 

Eden ducked her head, tucking her hair behind her ears.  “I just mean that, we’ll soon have to rise.”

“Not until you’ve kissed me, we won’t.  And make it a good one.”

“What do you mean, a good one?” asked Eden indignantly.

His smile grew, though his eyes were closed again.  “One that will fortify me for the day ahead,” he explained.  “Otherwise, I’ll have to keep snatching kisses from you to keep me going.”

Eden spluttered.  “That’s ridiculous!”  Did he mean with tongue? She wondered distractedly.

“Now don’t turn all stiff and starchy,” he said, his hand sliding from her waist to rub her hip.  “It won’t work, not when I can still recall …”

Horrified at the prospect of what he might say next, she dropped her head and pressed her lips to his.  Roland’s hand on her hip squeezed gently, and Eden shifted slightly over him, as she steeled herself for the next part.  Bracing a second hand against his warm chest, she touched her tongue to his lips.  Roland gave a muffled exclamation.  Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, she slipped her tongue fully into his mouth, and found both her hips firmly gripped as Roland sat up, dragging her into his lap.  She squeaked and would have pulled her head back, but his hand was suddenly tangled in her hair, holding her plastered against him as he took the lead in their incendiary kiss, his tongue stroking insistently against her own.  One of his hands grasped her backside firmly, whilst the other covered her breast.  Finally, he dragged his mouth from hers and leant his head back against the headboard.

“Fuck Eden, not that good,” he groaned.  “Now all I can think about is being between your thighs again.”  Eden’s face flamed.   He shot her a speculative look.  “I expect you’re too sore though.

“Of course, I am!” she stammered, dragging her gaze away from the blatant arousal between his legs.  In truth, she was more tender than sore this time, but she certainly did not fancy another round with the beast that very morning!  It was indecent to even think of it!

He huffed out a breath, releasing her.  Immediately, Eden scrambled off him and pounced on her shift, dragging it over her head to cover her nakedness. 

“Sorry,” he said ruefully, raking a hand over his face.  Then he grinned at her.  “But that was a very good kiss.” He had no right to look so boyishly handsome, when his behavior was so utterly brazen!

 

**

 

Roland kept a close eye on Fulco as they broke their fast.  He was unnerved by the idea of him as some kind of bearded seducer.  He would definitely be having a conversation with him at some point on the subject.  How the devil was he supposed to go off and compete at the tourneys and leave his wife with such a manservant? 

Fulco did not join them to eat this morning, having risen hours before and started on his work outside.  Instead he simply brought in a large platter of pickled herrings and salted stockfish, and then abruptly left.  Parnell and Seth snuck through the door and insinuated themselves under Roland’s bench. 

“What’s that one called?” asked Eden, pointing to the ginger dog wrapped around Cuthbert’s legs.

“That’s Nudd,” Roland told her.

“Nudd?”

“It’s an old name round these parts.”

“I see.”  She seemed ill at ease this morning, and blushed whenever his gaze fell on her.  Which was often.  He found he didn’t tire of the view. 

“You should have called him Tod after a male fox,” said Cuthbert.  “He looks just like one.   My Granny raised a fox cub once.  She found him half drowned in his den.  Someone had killed his mam.”

“What happened to him?” asked Eden.

“She still had him, last time I visited home,” shrugged Cuthbert.  “He stinks something awful though.  His name’s Nix.”

“What’s the grey dog called?” asked Eden.  “The one who looks like a gargoyle.”

A gargoyle?  Roland lowered his butter knife.  “His name’s Dimon.”  He saw her repeat the name under her breath, as if committing it to memory.  For some reason that pleased him too.  He noticed out of the corner of his eye that Parnell had abandoned him to appear at Eden’s side.  His tail thudded against the floorboards, when she spoke to him in low tones. 

“Should have called him Babewyn,” said Cuthbert scornfully.   

“I’ll have you know,” said Roland.  “That my Father considered him a vastly handsome animal, and paid a goodly sum for him.”

“Speaking of gargoyles, I forgot to tell you,” said Cuthbert looking up from his plate.  “When I was in the village yesterday, I came across a Lady Orla Bernard.  She was buying flax from old Simpkin, when I was getting wool for your mattress.”

“Who?” demanded Roland.

“That’s who I was telling you about!” said Eden triumphantly.  She turned to Cuthbert.  “She is Fenella’s sister-in-law, is she not?”

Cuthbert nodded.  “That’s right, and a right busy-body, truth be told.  There I was, minding my own business, when what does she do, but march over and demand to know ‘who I was to be using up the village resources!’  Simpkin, he was right put out about it.” 

Roland grunted.  He’d just bet he was.  Walt Simpkin would sell his own mother for a few coins.

“And did you tell her?” asked Eden, who seemed a good deal more interested in the tale than he.

“Aye,” Cuthbert agreed.  “She left me very little choice.”  He shot a furtive look at Roland and cleared his throat, before addressing Eden.  “She said she’d often heard the Lady Fenella speak of you.  Said they’d be sure to call on you here and pay a visit.”

“What?  When?” scowled Roland.  “You would think she’d wait for an invite!”  She’d be waiting a long time, he reflected.  But after all, they were newlyweds. 

Eden seemed to take the news in her stride.  “I have often heard Fenella speak of her also and would be happy to make her acquaintance.”  Then she seemed to remember her surroundings and looked a bit more uncertain.  “I suppose I could receive her in the sitting room next door?”

Roland rolled his eyes.  What a damnable nuisance!

After breakfast, he set off downstairs to go in search of Fulco.  Cuthbert caught up with him in the disarming room afterward as he was pulling on his boots. 

“Are we still bound for Areley Kings on the morrow?” he asked. 

Roland’s head snapped up abruptly.  He’d completely forgotten about it.  It was a fine purse to the victor at Areley Kings and not one he would lightly pass up on.  “I’m not yet decided,” he stalled.

Cuthbert gave him a knowing look.  “You’ve doubtless had other things on your mind,” he said with a faintly patronizing air.  Roland ignored him.  He had frankly bigger fish to fry. 

He found Fulco carrying hay bales into the stables on his shoulder.  “Fulco,” he called.  “A word.”

His manservant grunted, and disappeared into the nearest stall, before reappearing and tilting his chin at Roland.

“What’s all this I hear about you bringing women up to the Keep?” Roland asked without preamble.  To his surprise his manservant merely looked aggrieved.  “I does my best, Master Roland,” he sighed, shaking his head.  “You ask Baxter, if I don’t!  Why, many’s the time I’ve given ‘em a tour of the old place.  You come and take a look my girl, I says to ‘em.  I’ll show thee, there’s nothing to be afeard of!  But there, they always cries off not long after, saying the place gives ‘em a bad feeling or some such nonsense.”

Roland paused, revising the lecture about propriety he had been about to deliver to his blameless servant.  “You don’t leave them alone in the kitchen with Baxter at any point, do you?” he asked with misgiving.

“It’d be a fine thing if I didn’t,” said Fulco in an injured tone.  “After all, it’s not me that gives orders within the Keep.”

Roland rolled his eyes.  Small wonder then!  “And none of the village girls will stay?”

Baxter sighed.  “Course, it probably don’t look the thing.  Should be the Housekeeper as takes on the maids.”

“It’s a shame you’re not married,” said Roland absently.  “Your wife could have had the role of Housekeeper.”

Fulco blushed.  “I don’t say I wouldn’t like to take a wife,” he admitted gruffly.  “But my mother has some very strong views on the matter.”

“Your mother?” repeated Roland blankly.  He cast a swift look at Fulco, who was at least three score years by his estimation. 

“Aye, Master Roland.  A good woman, my mother.” 

“Didn’t she used to run the buttery here at one time?”

“That she did, indeed.  Before my father died.”

“She lives with you now, I’ll warrant.”

“Aye,” agreed Fulco.  “She lived with my sister Annie for the first twelve-month after the old man passed.  But then, they fell out, on account of Annie’s husband Jeb.  Then she moved to my sister Constance’s household.”

“Then they fell out?” guessed Roland.

Fulco rubbed his nose.  “Aye, more’s the pity.  Mother didn’t approve of how Connie’s raising her young ‘uns.”

Roland cleared his throat.  “And now she doesn’t approve of you courting.”

“That’s about the sum of it,” Fulco agreed sadly.

Roland cast his mind back to recall Mrs Fulco, winced and then hastily consigned the memory back to the back of his brain where it belonged.  “Who was it you had your eye on, before that?” he asked.

The other man opened his mouth, then swiftly shut it again.  “No-one,” he mumbled, but his coloring was high, telling his lie.

Fulco was a damn poor liar, which for some reason cheered Roland up no end.  It was hard to imagine him in the role of habitual seducer of innocents.  “I’m off to Areley Kings on the morrow,” he told him, slapping him on the back.  “I’ll be taking my squire with me and will be some four or five days.”

Fulco looked alarmed.  “What about my lady?”

“You’ll have to wait on her,” said Roland airily.  “I daresay she won’t give you too much trouble.”

“It ain’t my place!” he objected with spirit.  “Who’ll take care of things out of doors?”

“Well I can’t rely on Baxter,” said Roland dryly.  “He’s a dyed-in-the-wool woman-hater.”

Fulco looked appalled.  “Th-there was one lass,” he stammered.  “As always said she was up to the task.”  He looked pained.

“As maidservant, or your sweetheart?” asked Roland flippantly.

“Maidservant,” huffed Fulco, looking scandalized. 

“Then why haven’t you hired her?” asked Roland suspiciously.

Fulco’s cheeks were like two rosy apples by this point.  “Because she’s none too nice in her morals,” he growled. 

Roland’s eyebrows rose.  “Not fit for anything but rough work?”

Fulco shuffled his large feet.  “I was mebbe a little harsh,” he admitted.  “I don’t know of any real ill of her.  Just that she has a teasing, provoking manner my mother never cared for, and she was widowed very young.”

Roland frowned.  “Don’t like to bring this up, Fulco, but your Mother doesn’t approve of your sisters either.  Do you go about casting aspersions on their morals as well?”

Fulco looked chastened.  “I spoke out of line,” he said looking chastened.

Roland shrugged.  “Well maybe she’s not ideal to wait on my wife, but beggars can’t be choosers.  If she’ll brave the Keep, then send for her forthwith.”

“Aye, Master Roland,” he said gloomily.

“And look lively about it, man!” Roland ran back up the stairs to the Keep.  Fulco quoted his mother far too much for comfort.  He doubted any woman would take him on with such an interfering mother-in-law.  Feeling reassured about leaving Eden with him, he returned to back indoors in search of his wife.  For some reason, his thoughts were never far from her these days.  He gave his head a slight shake.  Doubtless that would soon pass, but for now he would not worry overmuch about it.  Truth was, he felt a deep sense of rightness about installing her here at The Keep.  He had not lied earlier when he had said as much to her in bed. She belonged here, as mistress in a way no other woman would.  He felt a fleeting pity for Fulco who, no doubt slept in a narrow cot every night without the comfort of a warm body at his side.  Poor wretch, he ought to wed.  He dwelt a moment on Eden’s daring kiss that morning, and felt his blood warm.  While it had far surpassed what he’d hoped for, it wasn’t going to fortify him all day.  Not by a long shot. 

He did not find Eden upstairs but unexpectedly in the kitchen kneeling on the floor, over a large tub of soapy water.  She was wringing something out.  “What are you about?” he asked, peering over her shoulder.

“I only have one gown,” she reminded him.  “I’m washing out my shift and my veil.”

Roland opened his mouth, to say she ought to give it to someone else to do, but stopped himself.  No doubt, she would not relish the idea of Cuthbert or Baxter washing her undergarment.  “Hopefully Fulco has found some girl in the village,” he said, watching her screw up her nose.  “What is it?”

“This noxious stuff Baxter gave me,” said Eden, referring to the lye used for washing the laundry. 

Roland snorted.  “Come here,” he said pouring out a clean basin of water from a pitcher.  “We had best wash it off your hands.  It’ll be too harsh for skin like yours.”

She came to her feet.  “It stings a little,” she agreed approaching him.  “What is its substance?”

Roland smirked at her ignorance.  “Ashes and animal fat, mostly.”  Eden grimaced as he placed her slender hands in the bowl and suffered him to wash the traces from her white skin.  “You never laundered at Hallam Hall?” he observed.  Eden shook her head.  “You won’t be expected to here either,” he said firmly.  “Today is the first and last time.”

Eden looked up.  “Who is the girl from the village?” she asked, looking anywhere but at him.

Roland reached for a cloth and set himself to drying off her fingers. “She’s a widow,” he said.  “And very likely not suitable to wait on you, but she’ll have to do for now.”  He replaced the cloth and put his hands to her waist, drawing her closer.  “I need to speak with you.  I’ve a tournament in Areley Kings coming up.”

Her eyes flew to his.  “When?”

“Cuthbert and I will need to set off tomorrow early.” 

She looked up at him blankly.  “I see.”

“We’ll be gone likely three or four days.  Maybe five.”

“Five!”  Eden looked alarmed. 

“Will you miss me then, wife?”

“It’s not that,” said Eden with exasperation.  “I have no books nor instruments for music!  No loom for tapestry making.  How am I to spend my days?”  Roland felt a twinge of irritation.  “Is there even pen and ink for writing?” she carried on heedless of his darkening mood.  “What am I to do with myself?” 

Roland shrugged.  “I could see about ordering you some such things when I’m on my travels,” he suggested.

“I suppose I could take walks, or ride if the weather permits,” Eden said, distractedly glancing out of the nearest slitted window. 

“Not too far,” Roland cautioned.  “And you’ll need to take a couple of dogs for attendants.”

Eden’s eyes widened.  “Do you get many strangers hereabouts?”

“You never know,” Roland heard himself warn direly, even though it was very rare in this out of the way spot. 

“Castor still does not like me,” Eden reminded him looking ruffled.  “I would only be able to rely on Parnell and Seth.”

“Maybe it would be a good notion to should show you the nearest paths this afternoon,” Roland heard himself say, though he’d had no such intent just moments ago. 

Eden perked up at that.  “Could you show me the route to the village?”

“You would not go there alone,” said Roland firmly.

“What if Fulco were to accompany me?” she asked.  Roland remembered glibly telling Fulco that his mistress would not give him too much trouble and felt a pang of guilt.  “Or maybe this girl from the village would be agreeable?”

“She might at that,” he agreed.  “And don’t forget you’re expecting a visitor.”  With a bit of luck he’d miss having to meet their nosy neighbor.

Eden’s aspect brightened.  “Oh yes!  The Lady Orla.  That’s true.”

“I daresay you’ll find plenty to occupy yourself with.”  For some reason, the notion did not overly please him.  She should, he thought, pine a little for her absentee husband of one week. 

Eden seemed oblivious to his displeasure.  “Will we walk or ride?”

“Walk.”

And walk they did, at least six miles in a circular route encompassing part of the woods and one of the neighboring slopes.  Castor and Hector remained on guard, but they took the other four dogs with them and they gamboled about, as Roland threw sticks for them and encouraged them to jump into the stream.

“Won’t they get muddy?” Eden objected as her favorite, Parnell, stood poised in indecision on a large rock, barking.

“They need a clean.  Otherwise someone will have to bath them at some point.”

Eden shrieked as Nudd shook his gingery fur dry next to her, splattering her with droplets of water. 

“Here, Nudd,” Roland whistled, leading him to green grass to roll in.  The dog’s tongue lolled out as he lay panting on the grassy bank.

“Don’t you miss them when you’re at the palace?” Eden asked curiously.  Seth dropped a stick at her feet, and she gingerly retrieved it, wiped it with her handkerchief and then threw it in the opposite direction.  He bounded after it, closely chased by Dimon.

“Of course.”

“Then why do you not keep at least one of them with you?”

“And break up the pack?  The Keep’s their home.”

“It’s yours too,” she reminded him.  “But you still have business at court.”

“How would I even choose which to take?  I don’t have favorites like you.”

Eden cast a reproachful look at him.  “You said your father had a favorite,” she reminded him.  “And besides, you could take it in turns which dog you selected.”

He shook his head.  “A man may have many dogs in his lifetime.  But a dog only ever has one master.”

“What do you mean by that, I wonder?” she asked, taking the stick from Dimon, who had dutifully brought it back to her.  Seth barked, as she considered which direction to throw it. 

Roland watched as she flung it with all her might, only for it to land a short distance away.  Clearly, Eden’s youth had not been spent following physical pursuits.   “Try throwing it under-arm next time.”

“You mean, I suppose,” she continued, ignoring his advice regarding stick-throwing.  “That they are still your father’s dogs?  And that you would not like to split them up or take them from the Keep which is their home?”  Roland found himself disconcerted.  He had not consciously reasoned it out like that, and yet… she was not wrong.  “That’s foolish,” she said roundly.  “Your Father left the Keep and the animals to you.”

“Actually, he didn’t,” Roland reminded her without heat.  “He left them to Oswald.”

“And Oswald then bestowed them on you.”

“True enough.” 

“It’s hard to imagine Earl Vawdrey as master of this place,” mused Eden, again, perturbing him.  She cast a sidelong look at him.  “You’re a better fit, I think.”  He thought she echoed his words from earlier unconsciously, but the notion pleased him all the same.  “It’s curious to think of the three of you, as young boys living here,” said Eden slowly.  “You’re all so very different.  What were your mothers like?”  Roland gave a start.  “Of course, you don’t have to answer,” Eden said hurriedly.  “I did not mean to pry-”

“It’s not that,” Roland said, waving her apology aside.  “It’s just that I did not know any of them.”  Now it was Eden’s turn to look surprised.  “Oswald’s mother was my father’s first wife.  She died in childbirth and Oswald was reared by a wet-nurse.  She was from the village and moved in, becoming my father’s mistress.  She was Mason’s mother.  Eventually she returned to her husband, but left Mason here.  I daresay my Father had tired of her.  He then married my mother, his second wife, when Oswald was eight and Mason seven years or thereabouts.  Apparently, she was my father’s favorite – he used to say she had a lot of spirit.  I wouldn’t know, she broke her neck in a fall from a horse when I was just a baby.”

Eden looked disconcerted.  “And your mother’s people?” she asked. 

Roland shrugged.  “My father never suffered them to visit.  Said her kinsmen were a lot of damn fools.”

“You never met any of them?”

“Once I think, some years back.  Her father was a country squire or some such.  Dull as ditchwater.  I didn’t miss out on much.”  Eden smiled, but in a perfunctory manner.  “Now you,” he said softly.

“I suppose that is fair, but I’ve already told you about my ne’er-do-well sire. My mother died soon after he, and I was raised by my uncle.  The rest you know.”

“What rest?” asked Roland in dissatisfaction.  “You’ve barely told me anything.”

“About the same amount as you,” she said defensively.

Roland blew out a breath.  “I was the youngest son,” he said.  “My father’s favorite and what else is there to say?  I ran amok about these woods as a boy, became a squire at thirteen to my older brother, Oswald.  I came to court at fifteen and trained, and was knighted at twenty.”

“You were betrothed,” Eden prompted him.

“What?”

“To Linnet.”

Roland gave startled laugh.  “Aye, that I was.  My father betrothed me at twenty-one to Linnet Cadwallader.  We never met, and shortly before we were to wed, I jilted her.”  He pulled a face.  “Luckily Mason was there to pick up the pieces.”

“Luckily?  Did you not try to get their marriage annulled?” Eden reminded him dryly.

Roland reddened.  “I did,” he admitted.  “Not my finest hour.”

“Why did you change your mind?”

She really wasn’t going to let him off the hook.  “Purely mercenary reasons,” he said after a heavy pause.  “Pettiness and greed.”

She gave him an appraising look and was silent as he helped her over some stepping stones across a brook.  “Does it never make things awkward, at family gatherings I mean?”

Roland shot her a look.  “Not really,” he said.  “Mason used to get a little het up about it at one time.  But they’ve been married four years now and have three children.  It’s all water under the bridge.”  He whistled, and the dogs who had roamed on ahead came circling back.

“I hope-” Eden broke off, biting her lip.

“What?”  Why did she suddenly look so troubled, he wondered?

“I only hope that Lenora is as understanding,” she said.  “About what I’ve done.  Cutting her out I mean, as your bride.”

Roland did not speak for a moment.  “She’s sure to be,” he responded carefully.  “For she does not know me any better than Linnet did.  Not really.”

“My uncle said…” Eden began, only to break off again.

“Tell me.”

“He said that if Lenora forgave me, then he would send on my things.”  When Roland did not speak, she carried on.  “Though I suppose he would naturally send them to Caer-Lyoness, rather than here.”

“It doesn’t matter either way,” said Roland dismissively.  “I’ll buy you new things.”

“You misunderstand me.  It’s not so much my belongings,” Eden said sadly.  “As the knowledge that my cousin does not hold it against me.  You see, we were very close growing up.  Rather like your brothers, our ages were similar.  When my Uncle took me into his household, it was in the role of Lenora’s companion.”

“You were his niece,” Roland reminded her shortly.  “And should not have required any other role to secure his protection.”  It rankled to think of her as a poor relation at Hallam Hall.  Having to justify her place there, as if she did not belong.

She looked surprised by his words.  “I told you did I not, that my father was a spendthrift and a gambler.  My uncle had to pay off his considerable debts.”

“I still fail to see how that is your fault.”

Eden was silent a moment, pondering his words.  “I always felt the need from a young age to prove to Uncle Leofric that I was not wild and ungovernable like my father.  That I would not bring shame on the family name, but was respectable and dutiful and good.”

“You haven’t brought any shame to his door,” said Roland sharply. 

“Only because you married me,” said Eden in a slightly choked voice.  When he made an abrupt move toward her, she flung out her arm to ward him off.  “No, don’t comfort me, I’m well.  I just wanted there to be some frank speech between us.”

“Then let me return in kind,” said Roland.  “When I woke up in that bed with you on that first morning, I wasn’t angry.  Not by a long chalk.  So, let’s have no more talk about you taking anyone else’s place.  It wasn’t anyone else’s.  It was yours.  Are we understood?”

Eden stared at him a moment, open-mouthed.  And, when he held out his hand to her, she took it. 

**

 

Roland and Cuthbert left early the next morn, and Eden found herself sat at the window seat in the sitting room, waving them off.

Roland had made love to her again the previous evening and he had taken his sweet time about it too.  He had been tormenting and provoking and seemed to want something more from her, which she found alarming.  At one point she had simply asked him to tell her what he expected her to say.

His hands had cupped her breasts.  “Yes, my lord and master would be nice,” he had sighed throatily.  “But I’d settle for a measly ‘yes husband’.”

Eden had pressed her lips together and turned her head to one side.  She certainly wasn’t saying anything so ridiculous! 

“No?” he had tutted, his voice warm and teasing.  “Even in this little thing, you refuse to please me?”

To her horror, Eden had felt hot tears spring to her eyes and spill over.  She’d blinked rapidly to try and banish them before he saw.

“Eden,” he’d groaned.  “Sweetheart.”

Sweetheart, why did he insist on calling her that?  She had given a choked sob, but Roland’s lips had already been on hers, coaxing and sweet.  She had let him comfort her with his soft kisses and his hands, stroking her back, encouraging her to respond to him.     

“You know you please me, wife,” he had said huskily.  “None so well as you.”  His hands had roamed down her hips and pulled her flush against him.  “Oh Eden,” he had sighed gustily, shifting his weight to press against her. 

He had taken his time, refusing to be rushed.  He had stripped them both entirely naked and turned her this way and that, petting and lavishing her body with his touch and kisses in some rather peculiar places.  Brushing them against her ribs and the underside of her breasts, before turning her onto her stomach and kissing up her spine.  Strangely, his lips had avoided the usual spots.  She had wondered if his jaw had been too stubbly to kiss along her neck or the valley between her breasts.  When she had the chance, she reached out to touch his jaw with the back of her fingers to check.  At her touch, he had shivered, and his need had finally grown urgent enough to put an end to his tormenting explorations.  First, he had set her on her hands and knees and put his mouth to her again, making her yell and sob like an abandoned creature.  Then he had mounted her from behind and driven into her, until her arms had given out.  In the aftermath, he had been very tender and affectionate, falling asleep with his face buried in the back of her neck, as he had the night he had taken her virginity at Tranton Vale.

She watched as they disappeared down the hill, and sat for a moment, feeling rather forlorn.  Parnell jumped up onto the seat beside her, and instead of remonstrating with him, Eden found herself wrapping her arms around his neck.  He gave a small whine and Eden sighed laying her cheek against his curly coat.  She had already eaten, dressed and braided her hair. The dogs had been racing between the Keep and the stables for the past two hours as Roland and Cuthbert had loaded up the jousting gear.  Castor was still skulking outside, but Dimon, Seth and Nudd lay dozing by the fire which Fulco had lain for her.  He entered the room now with a basket full of freshly cut logs.

“Fulco, are there truly no books at all to be had about the place?” Eden asked, looking up.  She found it hard to believe in truth.

“Books?” Fulco tugged his beard, and looked uneasy.  “Not much call for books around these parts,” he said. At Eden’s dissatisfied tut, he scratched his head.  “That young Cuthbert found a mess of old paperwork when he dragged that old mattress out the box bed to re-stuff it,” he admitted grudgingly.

“Indeed?”  Eden’s ears pricked up.  “Pray tell me, what did he do with them?”  Fulco screwed up his eyes.   “Please tell me you didn’t use them to start the fire.”

Fulco bridled.  “I did not,” he said.  “’Tweren’t my place to dispose of em!”  Eden sighed in relief.  “I think he threw them in that there old trunk, in the main bedchamber.”

“I don’t suppose,” said Eden hopefully.  “That you noticed what manner of reading matter they were?”

Fulco shook his head.  “Don’t got no call for reading,” he sniffed.

A mess of paperwork, it didn’t sound very promising in truth, but Eden still went to investigate once she was left to her own devices.  She soon retrieved a half dozen scrolls and to her excitement three leather-bound books from the bottom of the trunk.  The scrolls did not actually look so very old, and when she unfurled the first one, she was surprised to find meticulous diagrams of a structure that she recognized after staring at it a moment or two.  Why, it was Vawdrey Keep.  There were copious numbered notes in a close cramped-hand which she found hard to make out, and lists of measurements and calculations which seemed to refer to stone, clay, limestone and chalk.  Were these the plans for the building of the Keep, she wondered?  But no, they did not seem old enough.  She glanced up as the door squeaked open and found it was Parnell trailing after her.  He flopped down on the rug next to her with a dispirited huff.  Eden reached out and patted him before rolling her scroll back up and unfurling the second one. 

She recognized the penmanship at once.  The author of this one was clearly the same as the first.  But this time she did not recognize the building which was on a much grander and larger scale than the Keep altogether, with two matching towers at either side of the main entrance.  Her eyes scanned down the page with interest.  With a start, she noticed the page was initialed O.V.  Oswald Vawdrey, she thought with surprise.  She lowered the page a moment and returned to the first scroll.  A quick examination showed her this one also bore the same initials.  She seemed to remember that Roland said the wooden box-bed had originally been in Oswald’s room, so that would seem to make sense.  She had no idea that the King’s Chief Advisor had been so interested in architecture. 

Discarding the first scroll, she returned again to the second one, and suffered a shock.  For on closer examination, she realized in fact, that it was Vawdrey Keep depicted after all.  But Vawdrey Keep after extensive building work had been added onto it, including, she noticed with astonishment, a second matching tower.  She gasped at the vision of how the place could look.  It was truly inspired.  And to think it sprang from the mind of Earl Vawdrey, she marveled.  It was remarkable.  Had he originally intended to be an architect rather than a politician?  The third and fourth scrolls were covered in diagrams showing the various chambers and quarters that the expanded Keep would provide both for family and servants quarters.  They were truly fascinating, and Eden wasn’t sure how long she spent poring over them.  The fifth scroll was wholly devoted to calculations of the materials involved in such a project.  Eden scanned this with interest, but not much understanding.  She wondered how old these plans were, and if the projections would still be valid or need updating in any case.  After all, they must be over ten years old. 

The sixth scroll was blank and Eden folded this one up thoughtfully, thinking to use it for her own purposes of letter-writing.  She had been putting off writing to her grandmother and Lenora, but that duty could not be shirked for much longer.  Though what she could say by way of apology, she knew not.  The prospect loomed heavily on her mind, before she reflected there was probably no ink or writing implements to be had about the place in any case. 

She returned the scrolls to the chest, but took the books next door to her own bedchamber where she set them on a small table.  She had five days to get through, she reminded herself.  It would be no good if she squandered all of the reading material in one morning. 

At midday she took Parnell, Seth, Dimon and Nudd on a long walk.  She called all the dogs, but Castor and Hector had only followed her a few yards from the Keep before turning back.  They then posted themselves outside the tower as if standing sentry, but she could see their ears pricked up as they watched the rest of them walking down the hill. 

As she was retracing her steps, it was perhaps not surprising that she found herself going back over the words that Roland had spoken to her the previous day.  She tried to imagine the three Vawdrey brothers as boys about the Keep.  Oswald the heir, so secretive and reserved, hiding himself away with his books, and sketching out clever plans to transform his rather primitive birthright into something far more impressive.  Not knowing he would one day discard it altogether, establishing a glittering career at court.  Mason, baseborn and sleeping on a straw mattress in the attic room, who would ever have dreamt he was destined for a dukedom?  And Roland, the youngest, his father’s favorite.  She would never have imagined that under the swagger and the brashness lay… what?  Eden broke off her thoughts abruptly, her steps slowing down.  What was she thinking?  After all, what did she know of Roland Vawdrey?  Did she really imagine she had gained some unique insight into him this past week?  How could he simultaneously seem at once so much more straight forward, and yet so much more complicated than she would have ever imagined?  Nudd yipped at her, and Eden picked up her pace. 

Of course, the most astonishing words he had spoken, had not been about his family at all, but had been when he had made that quite extraordinary claim that he had not been angry when he awoke that disastrous morning and found her in his bed.  Like a changeling, she thought, then wondered if the dark fairytale wood was having an effect on her.  He had of course, only said that to spare her feelings after she had grown over-emotional.  That had been unfortunate.  Thinking of Lenora was when she was at her most susceptible.  

Seth barked, and when she glanced down, sure enough he had brought her a stick.  She retrieved it, and flung it, under-arm as her aggravating husband had suggested.  In truth, it did go a lot further, curse him!  She noticed that while Seth, Dimon and Nudd took off after the stick, Parnell dogged her heels, keeping her well within his sights.  She smiled to herself.  Really, was it any wonder she had a favorite? 

They were a good three hours, and Eden was just divesting herself of her cloak and mittens in the disarming room, when Fulco came hurrying in.  “She’s here now,” he said breathlessly.  “Brigid Hamble.  I daren’t leave her in the kitchen with Baxter, not after what Master Roland said this morning.  So, I’ve set her to cleaning out the dining chamber.”

Eden blinked, wondering what exactly Roland had said about Baxter that morning.  “Very well, Fulco,” she said, wondering why he looked so distraught.  “Thank you.”

Fulco took himself off, muttering under his breath, and shaking his head.  Eden arched an eyebrow at Parnell who was watching her carefully.  “What ails him, do you suppose?” she murmured.  Parnell’s tail thumped against the stone flagstones.  The other three had all barged their way past Fulco and gone running up the stairs at the first opportunity, but faithful Parnell waited for her.  They mounted the staircase and Eden even remembered the location of at least half of the trip steps.  The last one caught her out and she pitched forward, clutching at the door in front of her.  One of these days, she thought.  She practically tumbled through the door, and found herself eye-level with a young woman on her knees, scrubbing the floorboards with a brush.

“Not another great dirty-pawed beast!” she scolded Parnell, who eyed her coldly.

“You’ll find we keep scores of them here at Vawdrey Keep,” said Eden, straightening herself up, and dusting her skirts.  “Where are my other dogs who came up before me?”

The girl suddenly grinned.  “Don’t you worry, milady.  I opened that door and banished them to the other chamber.  They’re in there, snoring their great hairy heads off.”

“Oh, good,” said Eden.  “I apologize for the muddy paws.  We’ve been abroad for hours, and I did not think of it.”

“Bless you,” said the girl, “Looks like you’d be the first one in decades if you had, by the state of this place.  I’m Brigid.”  She bobbed a curtsey.  Brigid had a pleasant, open looking face, with freckles across her nose, fair coloring, and extremely curly, sandy-colored hair which was escaping from her headscarf.  Eden immediately took a liking to her.

“I’m very happy to meet you, Brigid.  I understand that you are the bravest girl in all of Sitchmarsh.”

Brigid laughed.  “Well I’ve been called bold-faced before, but never brave!” She cast an admiring look at Eden’s fancy blue dress, which quite frankly, had seen better days.  “You must be the Lady Vawdrey.  Mr Fulco said you was as fine a lady as ever seen round these parts.”

“How nice of him,” said Eden in surprise.  “I hope you will ignore whatever Baxter says of me.  I’m afraid he is not half so complimentary.”

“Oh, I knows Mr Baxter alright,” said Brigid with a gleam in her eye.  “I knows him of old from the village.  A right old curmudgeon.  He don’t have no time for the fairer sex, and no mistake.”

“I don’t expect he does,” agreed Eden.  “Do your family reside in the village, Brigid?  Only your accent sounds more Aphrany, than Sitchmarsh.”

Brigid’s eyes widened.  “Fancy you recognizing that!” she said.  “Mr Fulco never said as you was well traveled.”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” said Eden modestly.  “But I have spent the past two winters at court in Aphrany.”

If anything Brigid’s eyes grew wider.  “Well, it’s like this my lady.  I’m Aphrany born and bred.  But my late husband Will was from Sitchmarsh.  He was apprenticed in Aphrany, but returned to his home village and brought me with him.”  She shrugged.  “I lost him three summers ago.  Many’s a time I thought about upping sticks and heading back to the city.  But I never did it yet.”

“Do you not miss the hustle and bustle of city life?” asked Eden.  If Brigid was a city girl, maybe that explained her scorn for country superstition.

“Oh yes,” said Brigid.  “But I don’t miss the pick-pockets and the cut-throats and the swindlers.  Least,” she amended with a wink.  “Not much.”  Eden smiled.  “But you mustn’t stand about here in the draught my lady,” Brigid, said jumping up.  “If you’re back now, I’ll lay the fire and let Mr Baxter know he’s to set about your dinner.”

“Thank you, Brigid.” said Eden.  In truth, she had a good feeling about the new maid’s appointment.  Which was why she was surprised to find Fulco hovering by her elbow as soon as she’d finished her supper, a glum expression on his face.  “What is it, Fulco?” she asked, for Brigid had already taken away the trenchers and bowls.

He cleared his throat.  “Just to say, my lady.  That if Brigid Hamble doesn’t give satisfaction, you can tell me, and I will give her her marching orders.”

Eden frowned at him a moment.  “If I was not happy with Brigid, I would not hesitate to tell her so myself,” she told him firmly.  “But as it happens, I think she will do very well indeed.”  Fulco could not have looked more astonished if she had announced that Brigid was her full-blood sibling.  When he still stood there, looking at her doubtfully, she added in a dismissive tone: “You have done very well in appointing her.”  He finally took this as a cue to leave and did so.

Eden only managed an hour in the unwelcoming sitting room, before retiring upstairs to her bedchamber.  Brigid had lit the fire for her in there, and Parnell and Nudd followed up the stairs after her.  With some misgiving she let them in with her and watched them settle in front of the fire with wide yawns.  Eden got on with the business of washing and undressing for bed.  Once ready, she picked up the three books she had left on the table and her candle, and opened the small doors to the box bed, clambering in.  Looking about her, she found the handiest niche for her candle holder and stowed it there, above her head.  Then she selected the uppermost of the three books which was a decent size with little metal clasps holding it shut in the shape of small, clutching hands.  To her surprise, after unfastening it, she found it was an illustrated storybook giving an account of the adventures of some knight she had never heard, of called Sir Aguillerd.  Eden’s lips turned downwards.  She was not personally fond of chivalrous romances and the popularity of the insipid Sir Maurency of Jorde had spawned a slew of even more bland imitations. 

Casting that one aside in disappointment, Eden reached for the second book which was a red leather-bound tome which had the first few links of a chain still attached to its spine.  It had clearly been part of a chained library previously, and Eden wondered where Oswald Vawdrey must have come across his few prized books.  The inside flap contained a rather nasty curse which it said it would befall anyone who stole this book belonging to one Jeffrey John Nokes of Cantonville.  Except that Jeffrey John’s name had been firmly scored through and Oswald Vawdrey’s written above it in an audacious, bold hand.  Eden’s eyebrows rose.  Well, she thought.  Nothing bad had ever happened to Earl Vawdrey that she knew of.  Perhaps he came by it honestly? 

When she prized it open, she found it was a compendium of beasts with an illustration and a paragraph about each one, listing their characteristics, virtues and vices.  Flipping through the book Eden found the every-day creatures listed side by side with more fantastical chimeras.  On impulse she looked up ‘dog’ and found ‘Most loyal creature, faithful to its master, come what may.  Distance cannot dim a hound’s devotion. Be it mastiff or lapdog, its’ heart be of the same substance.’  There followed a drawing of a man lay on his deathbed and his dog’s head flung back in a mournful howl.  At his bedside sat a nun in holy orders.  On her lap, a little white lapdog, who was looking up at his mistress with eyes only for her.  Eden smiled, and pushed open one of the cupboard doors to check on the two dogs.  In the glow of the fire she could see their sleeping bodies, stretched out before the hearth. 

Returning to the book, she spent only about an hour reading, before she found herself yawning, and her eyelids drooping.  It must have been that long walk, she thought as the book slipped from her fingers.  She caught it, but noticed it had fallen open at a page which was not fastened to the others but had merely been inserted into its pages.  With surprise, she noticed that the illustration was that of a naked man.  Her eyes opened wide.  Whoever heard of finding an entry for man in a bestiary?  ‘Ambiguous, and changeable creature with potential for either good or evil, sometimes both.  Untrustworthy.’ Eden read in astonishment.  She stared at the page.  Why had it come loose? she wondered, examining it closer.  She turned it over.  It bore no marks of binding.  Returning to the drawing again, she blinked at the unflinching realism of the pen strokes.  On the entry for mermaid, the sea creature had her breasts strategically covered with a conch shell she was holding, but there were no fanciful flourishes or strategic fig leaves on this one.  Slowly, she came to the conclusion that this page was a good imitation of the other entries, but had been added at a later date.  She closed the book thoughtfully.  But who had added it?  Jeffrey John Nokes or Oswald Vawdrey?  Whichever one it was, they were an excellent forger, and held rather misanthropic views. 

Suddenly she wanted to ask Roland’s opinion.  What would he be doing now? She wondered, blowing out her candle and rolling onto her side.  She remembered the pavilion he had shared with his friends at Tranton Vale.  I always have the right bunk, he had said, so they clearly always shared a tent between the three of them.  Would his friends Sir Edward and Sir James be asking him how he found married life?  And how would he reply?  She shifted about on the mattress.  In truth, it seemed to her that he was adjusting to this life rather better than she was.  She huffed and rolled onto her other side, thumping at the pillow.

When she contemplated her husband’s return, her stomach lurched.  No doubt he’d be wanting to commit outrages on her body again!  She pressed the backs of her hands to her heated cheeks and frowned.  She wasn’t anxious for a repeat of that she told herself briskly.  No, not at all.  Her thoughts halted abruptly as an image of his face swam before her eyes, when he’d cried out her name the last time.  Why had he done that?  And why did she keep thinking of the transported expression on his face?  And not only that, but he’d been happy.  She knew it.  Just because he’d lain between her thighs and committed ‘that act’ with her.  It was very odd, but the suspicion entered her head that ballad singers and poets had it all wrong after all.  Maybe they were just over-complicating the whole thing?  Of course, she knew full well that any beast in the field felt a compulsion to rut.  That part was understandable, and she’d been forewarned as such.  The part she didn’t understand was why he wanted to kiss and fondle her afterwards.  What possible purpose could that serve?  All it did was make her feel confused and awkward when she remembered it now.  She wished he wouldn’t do it.  Why could he not just roll off her and go about his business, like everyone said men did!  The way he acted was like he felt somehow closer to her because of a physical intimacy they’d shared, but that was nonsense! 

She lay brooding over Roland Vawdrey for far longer than she’d ever admit, before her thoughts flitted to her cousin.  She must try and write to Lenora on the morrow.  Then she made a list in her head of all the people she owed letters to.  Lenora, Gunnilde, Fenella, her grandmother.  She really must speak to Fulco tomorrow about pen and ink.  Or perhaps she should ask Brigid?  Her new maid seemed a resourceful girl, where Fulco could be a little surly and uncooperative.  Gradually she drifted into an uneasy and fitful dream where the beasts started to crawl out from the pages of the compendium, large as life.  Strange to say, it was not the lions or tigers that bothered her most, but the man, who still had no clothes on, and turned out to be Roland Vawdrey.  Oh dear, she thought, is he really so untrustworthy?  Then he held out his arms to her, she walked straight into them.  Like a total fool.

 

**

 

The next morning, Eden woke to the sound of barking, and Brigid shaking her shoulder.  Eden exclaimed and sat up in bewilderment. 

“Quiet you daft beast, do!” Brigid urged Nudd who barked in her face again, unabashed.

To her surprise, Eden found herself sat on the hearth-rug in her room next to the dogs.  “What..?”  she rubbed her eyes and looked at Brigid.

“Your bed not comfy, milady?” the maid asked, plunking her hands on her hips.

Eden, crossed her arms, feeling a nip in the air.  It was a good thing she’d been curled up with the dogs or she would have been chilled to the bone.  “I must have been trying to quiet them and fallen asleep,” she said awkwardly, and rose stiffly to her feet.  She hobbled over to the washstand where Brigid was pouring her out a basin out of hot water.  Her big toe throbbed.  She must have stubbed it in the night.  Eden glanced around nervously but could see no other sign of upset.

“Well, you won’t be traipsing over the hills today, milady,” said Brigid cheerfully.

For a moment Eden thought she was referring to her pained toe, then she heard the sound of raindrops and glanced at the window.  “No indeed,” she agreed, seeing the steady downpour.  She set about her ablutions.  “How was your night’s sleep?” she asked, turning to look over her shoulder at Brigid.  “Are you settled in the servant’s quarters?”

The maid looked pleasantly surprised by her enquiry.  “Very comfortable, thank you, milady.  I don’t say my in-laws house isn’t pleasant, for ‘tis.  But their second son is lately married, and the place is full of bodies.  My presence there…” she shrugged.  “It’s probably come to its natural end.  They promised my Will they would take care of me, but he’s been gone three years now, and there was no children to bind me to them.”

“You were widowed very young.”

“Yes,” agreed Brigid, nodding her curly head. “Married at sixteen, widowed at nineteen.”

Eden realized they must both be much of an age.  “Married at sixteen…” she repeated.  “Your in-laws still live in the village, then?”

“My father-in-law is Hamble the Miller,” explained Brigid.  “They’ve lived in these parts for generations.”

“Like the Vawdreys,” said Eden thoughtfully, and wondered why there were no portraits in the Keep, or any personal touches.  Maybe because the place had not had a mistress for so many years.  And even when it had, for only very brief periods before some tragic fate befell them.  Hastily, she changed the direction of her thoughts. 

Brigid took the dogs down to let them out and Eden finished dressing and tidying her hair away.  She had just finished pinning her braids securely into place when a great din was raised below with the dogs.  “What now?” muttered Eden as she took herself down the stairs to the floor below. 

Walking through to the sitting room, she approached the window seat, and peered below.  She could see Fulco remonstrating with Castor as he led away someone’s horse.  It wasn’t one of theirs.  Looking thoughtful, Eden walked back into the dining chamber where a fresh loaf and butter had been laid out for her.  She buttered herself a piece of bread and was just pouring herself a cup of water, when she heard the knock on the door.  “Come in.”

The door flung back and to Eden’s surprise it was Castor and Seth that came barging in.

“You brutes!” yelled Brigid after them.  “Your pardon, milady,” she said breathlessly.  “But I couldn’t stop them!”

“It’s not your fault,” Eden assured her, eyeing the large white dog and the large brown dog respectively as they sat themselves on either side of her, staring with hostility at the door.  Eden turned back and found Brigid ushering in a guest.  Over her arm she carried a sopping wet cloak and hood which was dripping all over the floor.

“The Lady Orla Bernard has come to visit with you, milady,” she announced with a curtsey.

Eden rose from her bench.  Castor gave her a warning rumble.  “Castor!” she remonstrated with him, and curtsied to her guest.  “You must forgive our dogs, Lady Orla.  I’m afraid they are unaccustomed to visitors and their manners are sadly rusty.”

“It does not signify,” Orla waved the apology aside as she sailed into the room.  She was a tall thin woman with a rather long nose and light brown hair.  Eden thought she was aged in her mid-thirties or thereabouts.  She envied her dark purple gown, which had a high neckline and had black velvet bands at the wrists and hem.  She wished she was dressed in such a gown, instead of her frivolous ice blue which she was heartily sick of by now.  “Take a seat on this bench here, nearest to the fire where you can dry out,” she urged Orla.  “It is such filthy weather this morning.  Will you join me?” she said gesturing to the loaf.  “There is sure to be some fish dish served at some point.”

“I never eat before a light meal at midday,” said Orla disapprovingly.  “My Mother used to say that only the infirm or the infantile should eat at day-break.  Or common workers of course.”

“Oh, did she?” asked Eden.  “Well, she would not have been alone in that belief.  It is the common opinion after all.”  She let that sink in before continuing.  “We have a mutual acquaintance I think in the Countess Vawdrey.”

“My sister-in-law,” said Orla, arranging her skirts around her and looking smug.

“And mine,” Eden reminded her.

“Quite, quite,” twittered Orla.  “You are lately married.  I wish you joy, of course.”

Eden steeled herself, waiting for Orla to make some comment about Lenora being the intended bride, but to her surprise, she did not. 

“Fenella wrote to me about it of course.  She is very fond of Sir Roland, for all his faults.”  Orla looked about her.  “Is he from home at present?”

“He is competing at the tournament at Areley Kings,” said Eden, bristling in spite of herself, at the mention of Roland’s faults. 

Orla clicked her tongue.  “Menfolk!  How childishly they play at these games of war!”

“You do not care for the tournaments, Lady Orla?”  Contrarily, Eden who had always despised them, now felt the need to defend the pursuit. 

“Oh, I’ve never been to one,” said Orla breezily.

“If you had,” said Eden.  “Then you would not call it ‘play’.”

“Pshaw!” said Orla violently.

Castor growled, and Eden was forced to put a hand out, to lightly touch his head.  He stopped the noise at once and Eden returned to her bread and butter. 

“I see this place is still packed to the rafters with curs,” said Orla with a loud sniff.  “It’s almost like the old Baron were still rattling around the place!”

“Oh, there’s always been dogs at Vawdrey Keep,” said Eden mildly.  “Did you know the late Baron Vawdrey?”  She was curious in spite of herself.

“Oh yes, he was a well-known figure around these parts,” said Orla.

A light knock was heard on the door, and Brigid sailed in bearing a dish of herrings.  “Shall I fetch another plate, my lady?”

“W-ell,” mused Orla.  “Those herrings do smell rather delicious.  Perhaps I will make an exception, just this once, dear Lady Vawdrey.”

“I am honored.  Please do, Brigid.”

“I’m amazed you have female staff,” said Orla, her eyebrows high.  “The last thing I heard the place was shunned.”

“Oh yes, I had heard tell of some rumors.  Spectral hounds, was it not?” asked Eden slyly.

“Hounds?  Oh no, my dear!” Orla lowered her voice.  “Ghost brides, of the old Baron.  They walk the place, wringing their hands and lamenting their premature deaths.”

“Dear me!”  Eden stifled a laugh.  Orla looked shocked.  “I’m sorry, tis only that I have been here several days now and seen not one spectral thing.”

“Oh, well… I daresay it is a load of nonsense,” admitted Orla, climbing down off her high horse. 

“The Baron was unfortunate to lose both his wives,” Eden conceded.

“Both?” repeated Orla in surprise.  “Oh no, I’m sure he had many more than that!”

“No, no,” Eden corrected her.  “He was married only twice.”

“But surely…” Orla broke off and flushed.  “Oh, I just remembered,” she said awkwardly.  “It is hardly nice to mention it, but some of those unfortunate women were… lemans!”

“You mean Mason’s mother?” asked Eden calmly.  “But she did not die.  She returned to her husband.”

Orla turned quite pink.  “You mean she abandoned the sanctity of her marriage?”

“Apparently.”

“Well!”  Orla looked quite flabbergasted by this.  “I am astonished that any man would take her back.”

“Perhaps she was very beautiful?” hazarded Eden.  “Beautiful people are often pardoned things that others are not.”

Orla pursed her lips.  “There is only one true beauty,” she said piously.  “And that is of the soul.”

The door opened again, and Brigid plunked a plate in front of Orla, along with a knife and a spoon.

“Is she a village girl?” Orla asked loudly as Brigid exited the room.  Eden thought she saw Brigid’s shoulder hitch.

“Yes,” she said, “One of the Hambles,” adding in her mind, by marriage.  Orla’s company was not the most congenial, she thought, and wished it was Fenella sitting before her instead of her prickly sister-in-law.  “Tell me, have you met Fenella’s twin sons yet?”

“Not yet,” admitted Orla, spooning herself some herrings from the bowl.  “I invited them to visit with us for Midsummer’s, but Earl Vawdrey is far too over-protective and has vowed Fen will not stir from their home for a six month following her lying-in.  It is too ridiculous.”

“They are a most devoted couple,” said Eden pushing the butter dish in Orla’s direction.  Perhaps she would be more affable once she had eaten?

“Devoted?” repeated Orla shrilly.  “He is quite silly about her.  She can do no wrong in his eyes.  Fenella has only to voice the smallest hankering for something and he delivers it up to her, tied with a bow.  You should see her jewels!  Her gowns!  It’s not really quite… well, decent,” stressed Orla.  “And now she has given him two sons, he will be even worse, you mark my words.”  She dug her knife into the pat of butter.  “By rights of course, she should be installed here,” she sniffed.  “While he’s at court.  But no, he cannot bear to be apart from her, and instead buys her not one, mark you, but two town houses the size of cattle markets and fills them with baubles to keep her amused!”  Orla shook her head.  “She would do very well here, with her own people,” she said peevishly.  “I’m married to her brother, so I should know!”

“Earl Vawdrey is also from hereabouts,” Eden reminded her. 

“Oh yes, him,” said Orla.  “But he could not wait to brush the dust of Sitchmarsh from his boots.  Always thought he was too good for this place, he did.  With his fancy ways.”

“He’s gifted this place to Roland now,” Eden told her and braced herself for a shocked reaction.

Orla’s knife clattered down onto her plate.  “He what?”

“Vawdrey Keep, he has bestowed it on Roland.”

“His birthright?” squawked Orla.

“Yes.”

“Given to the youngest son?”

“Yes.”

“I never heard of such a thing!”

“It is certainly very generous.”

“Generous!” repeated Orla.  “Pah!”  She tucked into her herrings, mumbling under her breath. 

Eden thought she said, You just wait till my Gil hears about this, but could not make out the rest of it.  She did not think that Oswald Vawdrey would care overmuch what his countrified brother-in-law thought of his affairs, but kept this to herself.  “Do you know yet what names Fenella has given her boys?” she asked diplomatically.

“Names?”  Orla looked puzzled.  “Oh!  I do not think they name them until they are at least three months, do they?” she looked vague.  “After all, they are not kittens.”

Eden frowned over this, which did not seem to make very much sense to her.  It dawned on her that Orla was more than a little eccentric.  Unless it was some rustic custom around these parts?  “I must ask, Lady Orla.  Where do you make the bulk of your purchases?” she asked, attempting to steer her onto safer ground.  “Would it be Pryors Naunton?  I find myself in need of some necessary items for my wardrobe.”

“Depends on what sort of items,” Orla answered, cautiously dabbing her mouth with a napkin.  “If it is fine work you require, such as gowns, cloaks or hoods then yes, you will need to go to the nearest city.  If it is some plain work such as… ahem, under-garments, or even some woolen stuffs, then there is a woman in the village who can assist you.”

“That sounds ideal,” said Eden, thinking of some spare shifts.  “If you would be so kind as to direct me…”

“Her name is Parva Osgoode, she resides next to the smithy,” said Orla helpfully.  “Tell her I sent you, and you will be assured of a welcome.”

“Thank you so much.”

Orla stayed another hour and made sure to stress how important she and her husband were in local circles.  According to Orla, there were only two other families of import in the locality.  The Fulchers and the Gisberns who both lived half a day’s ride away, though in opposite directions, and Orla doubted they would call without an invite.  She explained that the Vawdreys had shirked all social responsibilities for the past decade at least and had much to make up for. 

Once Orla had departed, Eden felt herself at something of a loose end.  The rain had tailed off a little, but everything lay now very wet and Eden feared her shoes would not be up to a long walk in such conditions.  When Brigid appeared to poke the fire, Eden asked her about Parva Osgoode and her sewing services.  Brigid said she could easily engage her to make up some shifts on the next shopping trip into Sitchmarsh.  Apparently, this usually took place on the first Wednesday of every month.  By Eden’s calculations that was in some six days time.  She nodded anyway, having no money of her own to bring this forward.  Instead, she asked Brigid to make enquiries if there was any ink or writing implement to be had about the place.  She was not overly optimistic, but the maid returned within a half hour bearing a tray with two quill pens, a pen knife and a bottle of ink. 

Castor and Hector had taken themselves off to ensure Orla left the premises, but to Eden’s surprise they returned with Parnell and Nudd to sit in front of the fire as she set about the task of cutting down the quills to make the nibs usable.  When this was achieved, she fetched the scroll of paper she had put away the day before and cut it up with the knife into four pieces.  She then set about writing a newsy letter, full of nonsense to amuse Gunnilde Payne.  Her new friend was the easiest to write to, as she required nothing by way of apology or explanation. 

She had covered both sides of the paper when she heard a great clamor go up from downstairs, which she fancied was Seth howling, accompanied some frenzied loud barking from Dimon.  The other four dogs all leapt up from where they were lay and started their own answering baying.  Eden covered her ears with her hands and got up from the table, making for the door which the dogs were all pawing and scratching at, to get through.  “Patience!” she admonished, as they started shouldering the door as soon as her hand was on the bolt.  She drew it back, and they burst through and poured down the steps to confront whatever intruder had dared to darken their doorstep. 

Eden sighed, and took the steps at a more leisurely pace.  She very much doubted she would receive two visitors in one day.  Perhaps it was some traveler, who had lost their way?  When she reached the disarming room, she found Fulco dragging a trunk across the threshold, and looked at him enquiringly.  “Quiet, ye villains!” he bawled over his shoulder at the dogs.  Eden didn’t even flinch.  He looked back at her.  “For you,” he said straightening up. 

“For me?”  He nodded.  She looked down at it.  It was a very large, handsome trunk, covered in leather with a nail head trim in an attractive design.  For a moment, her heart had leaped with the hope it might have been her own trunk forwarded on from Hallam Hall.  That would have meant her cousin had forgiven her after all.  However, she did not recognize this trunk which looked to be still smelt of newly cured leather and looked very expensive.  “Was there no note or missive with it?”

“Messenger just left it like that,” said Fulco unexpansively.  “Want me to carry it upstairs?”

“Yes please.”

“Where to?”

“My bedchamber I think.”  Eden glanced out of the door and saw a cart trundling back down the hill.  The dogs had followed it partway, but were now turning back and returning to the Keep.  She followed Fulco up the steps, careful to leave enough distance so that if he was caught out by a trip step, she would not be flattened by the large trunk.  When she reached the top, he was already setting it down. 

“Messenger give me this, too,” he said, reaching for a leather cord around his neck which bore the key.

“Thank you,” said Eden taking it from him.  Fulco nodded and left her to it.  She did not waste any time, but instead knelt before the chest, unlocking it and lifting the lid.  To her surprise, the first thing she saw was a swathe of rose pink satin.  “But what is this..?” she puzzled, lifting out what revealed itself to be a pretty gown with a silver trim.  She recognized this - it was Lenora’s! Dropping it with an exclamation, she returned to the chest.  The next dress she drew out was of sea-green with exquisite gold detail.  “This…” she broke off distractedly.  She was sure this was one of Lenora’s new gowns also!  She recognized them from the last dress-fitting that Lenora had in Caer-Lyoness.  She had insisted that Eden sat there while she selected the fabrics and had spent a small fortune on them.  Uncle Leofric had only agreed to it, as part of her betrothal wardrobe.  Eden’s blood ran cold.  Why would her cousin send all her new gowns to her?  Was she saying, here you may as well take everything that is mine! Thought Eden with horror.  Next came a gold gown, decorated with a pink rose motif all over the bodice and gauzy see-through sleeves.  Last came a pure white dress with a low-scooped neckline and sleeves so long they would no doubt touch the floor.  Eden threw that on the floor along with the others, and rifled through the rest of the chest looking for a note or letter from Lenora, but there was none.  Only three fine shifts of exquisite lawn, which would mean she had no need of Parva Osgoode after all, a mass of silk stockings and veils in an array of colors, and an assortment of matching ribbon garters.  Eden sat back on her heels and stared at numbly at the finery.  Then she burst into tears, and found she could not stop.

 

**

 

Three days later

Roland dismounted and scanned the tower for any visible signs of his wife.  Which was frankly ridiculous.  What was he expecting?  A flash of blue at a window, or her to come running with his name on her lips?  Both were sadly unreasonable, given the fact most of the windows at the Keep were narrow arrow loops, and his wife was more likely to scold him than hang about his neck.  He had no idea why this thought made him smile to himself, either.  “I’ll send Fulco down to help carry the packs in,” he told Cuthbert who was leading the horses toward the stable.”

“Aye,” said Cuthbert knowingly. “You wouldn’t want to keep my lady waiting,” he added with considerable cheek.

Roland reached into his saddle bag and extracted a couple of items, before slapping Bavol on the rump and sending him after Cuthbert.  He hurried up toward the Keep.  They had been gone six days in all, as he had diverted on impulse to Pryors Naunton on a shopping venture.  He had ended up having to buy a third horse to load up all his purchases.  And that wasn’t even the sum total of what he’d bought.  The furniture he had commissioned would be conveyed here at some later point.  He wasn’t quite sure what had come over him, but he was more eager to see Eden than really made sense.  He exchanged some words with Fulco on the first floor, sending his manservant down to the stables.  Then he made his way to the second floor, where he found the dining chamber and sitting room both empty, and the fires unlit.  Hearing a foot on the stair, he wrenched open the door and surprised a curly-haired maid carrying down a tray.  She faltered in her step, then gave him a hasty curtsey. 

“Where’s my wife?” he demanded.

“She’s in her room, Sir Roland,” responded the maid, recovering fast and guessing who he was.

“Her room?  Is she ill?”

“No sir,” she hesitated.  “Only a little melancholic, I think.”  At his stunned look, she added.  “Doubtless missing you, sir.”

But Roland was already climbing the stairs two at a time.  It occurred to him, shortly before opening the door to the bedchamber, that he had not seen a single dog since arriving, something unheard of at Vawdrey Keep.  Then he blinked uncomprehendingly at the sight in front of him.  All six dogs were dotted around the room, draped over chests, stretched out on the hearth-rug, and even one, Parnell, the villain, lying across the bottom of the bed.  Eden’s feet were resting on him as if she were a living breathing tomb effigy.  Castor, lying on top of a large handsome trunk, raised his head from his paws to look intently at Roland, then dropped it again and closed his eyes.

“Oh, you’re back, are you?” asked Eden lowering her book to look at him.  She had the doors wide open to the box bed and was wrapped in a blanket, one long braid over her shoulder.

“What’s all this?” asked Roland with a sweeping hand gesture encompassing the whole room. 

Eden shrugged.  “It’s been wet and miserable,” she said and returned to her book. 

Roland shrugged out of his doublet.  “Here, Parnell!” he said sternly, and the dog grudgingly climbed to his feet and hopped down off the bed.  He shot a dirty look at Roland, as he opened the bedroom door and ordered loudly: “Out!”  The dogs all came to their feet and reluctantly skulked over to the door.  Shutting it behind them and turning the key, Roland crossed to the washstand and washed his hands face, and neck in cold water there.

“We’ve a maid now,” said Eden, her eyes still on the page.  “You could ask her to bring hot water.”

“Haven’t got the time,” answered Roland succinctly, stripping himself off and toweling himself dry. 

“What do you mean, you haven’t got the time?” asked Eden frowning, as he crossed the room toward her.

“I mean,” said Roland, hopping nimbly into the box bed, and pulling the doors shut behind him.  “That, I haven’t got the time.”  He took the book from Eden’s hands and tossed it over his shoulder as he settled over her.

“Careful with that!” chided Eden, as he took her lips in a kiss he had been anticipating for days.  His hands sought for the edges of her blankets.  He tore his mouth from hers.  “Give me your tongue,” he urged.  “Like last time.”

Eden’s cheeks turned crimson.  “Well, really-!” she spluttered. 

“I haven’t stopped thinking about it,” he admitted thickly, dragging down the blanket.  Finally.  His large hand covered her breast, making out its shape.

“Don’t tear my new shift, it’s very delicate,” Eden said irritably.  “Your hands are cold.”

“So warm me up then, you little shrew.”  She tutted, but fussed around, dragging the sheets up around his shoulders.  “I meant with your body,” Roland told her with a laugh. 

“You were gone six days,” said Eden accusingly.  “Not four or five!”

Roland felt an unaccountable warm feeling spreading through his chest.  He’d meant to join his aching body to hers as soon as possible, but now for some reason, he was inclined to tarry over exchanging words with her.  Unfathomable.  “Did you miss me, then?”

“No!” huffed Eden.  “I had better things to do, I assure you!”

“Did you?”  He kissed her neck, moving her dark braid out of the way.  He wanted it loose and falling around her shoulders.  “The servants told me you’ve been moping about the place.  Lonely and missing me.”  Gods, her skin was soft.

“They grossly exaggerated,” Eden replied, but she sounded breathless and distracted as he lingered over the flickering pulse in her throat. 

“I missed you too,” he heard himself groan.  “Gods Eden, you’ve no idea.“  She caught her breath at that, and he pressed his advantage by taking her mouth again, and the kiss he’d wanted all along.  They were both panting after that, and she finally seemed to catch his urgency.  He squeezed her breasts.  “Are my hands still cold?” he rumbled.

“N-no,” she conceded, and he reached down between them, bunching up her shift, cupping her between her legs. 

“Gods, Eden,” he whispered, stroking her most secret feminine place.  “Your pelt here is velvety soft, I could pet you all day.”

She squeezed her eyes shut.  “Must you talk, when you’re doing such things!”

“Yes, I must,” he said, though in truth, he could not remember such a compulsion before now.  “I want you to talk back to me too.”

She opened one eye.  “Don’t call it my pelt.”

“What shall I call it then?”  He slipped a finger inside her and she made a muffled sound that made the blood pound in his ears.  “Eden?” he prompted. 

“I don’t know,” she gasped.

He closed his own eyes when he felt her get his finger wet.  Rubbing his thumb through her curls, he added another finger, and she whimpered.  “I want to put my mouth there,” he admitted.  “But you’re already wet enough for my cock.”  Eden’s eyes flew open.  “Which shall it be?” he mused.  “Will you promise to come on my cock this time?  Like a good wife?”  Eden’s gaze back at him was blank and slightly glazed.  “No preference?”  He teased.

“Don’t toy with me,” she said, a tremor running through her voice. 

He moved his fingers and she gave a startled moan.  “I don’t think you mind as much as you make out.”  He slid his thumb lower, to tease her hidden pearl.  “You liked my tongue here last time,” he said tapping it. 

Eden’s eyes widened.  “R-Roland!” she gasped shakily. 

“Shall I do it again?” 

She surprised him, by rolling her hips.  “Please,” she murmured, and her hand flew  from his shoulder to slide between them, catching his hand, and pressing it between her legs.

“Just my fingers?” he grunted.  “You want them here?”

She nodded her head, and he pressed his thumb, applying the pressure she needed there.  Holy hells.  She went up like wildfire.  Roland gritted his teeth, throwing his weight on top of her to pin her to the mattress.  Her back arched.  He kept his fingers deep inside her as she cried out, bucking against him, riding his fingers.  His cock throbbed, feeling neglected, wanting in.  She needed to take her pleasure first, he reminded himself.  He had only bedded her a handful of times.  He had to take it slow and initiate her right.  They had years ahead of them.  Years for him to get it how he wanted it, with his cock deep inside her.  This was about her wants, and what she needed for it to feel good.  How long did it take virgins before they adjusted anyway?  He had no idea.  When he felt her tremors subsiding, he thrust his fingers again, her tender flesh quivering around them, and she sighed.   He kissed her brow, then her mouth, and she let him without murmur, tangling her tongue with his.  Nice.  Or it would be, if his cock wasn’t about to explode.  He jerked back his head.

“Eden,” his urgent tone roused her from her languor. “My turn,” he said and watched a certain trepidation enter her expression.   She nodded her head though, licked her bottom lip nervously and peered down between them.  His cock flexed, almost as if the damn thing was trying to impress her.  She winced, and he could tell his size was not a source of pleasure for her yet.  Still, she let her legs fall open for him and he took himself in hand, guiding himself where he most wanted to be.  “Relax,” he said, wishing he sounded more in control, less like he was imploring her.  He knew full well he’d been too rough last time.  He poised himself at her entrance, letting his broad cockhead grow wet from her juices, and sink into her until he felt resistance.  “Please Eden,” he breathed, closing his eyes.  “Ah gods.”  She pressed her thighs into his hips, and taking this as encouragement, he pushed until he found himself making progress again.  “Sweetheart,” he gasped, as he slid deeper into to her tight, silky sheath.  He shuddered, striving for control, his brow beading with sweat.  He dug his fingers in the bedsheets, as he slid the final inches until their pelvises were touching.  For a moment, speech was beyond him.  Then he spoke very carefully.  “Is that-?”

“Yes,” she said tightly, and he felt her take a deep breath and then release it, relaxing her limbs against him. 

Thank fuck.  He wasn’t sure how much of this gently, gently approach he could stand.  Tensing his muscles, he began to move, not as gently as he would have wished, but not as hard as he longed to either.  Eden bore it stoically and he seized her hips in his hands to haul her against him, showing her the rhythm he craved.  When she attempted it independently, moving against him, striving to please him, his brain shut down and he thrust inside her, until he came roaring.

 

**

 

Roland woke suddenly at the sound of a falling log.  Reaching across Eden, he pushed one of the box-bed doors open to survey the room.  All was quiet. The fire needed stoking, but he didn’t want to move. Eden was curled into him in a deep slumber, dead to the world.  He frowned noticing the dark shadows under her eyes and swiped his thumbs under them.  Had she been sleeping poorly without him, then?  The notion made him feel a curious pang in his chest.  Though, it was only fair, when you considered how long he’d lain awake in his bunk of an evening thinking of her.  His friends had teased him something fierce, saying they found him sadly changed, a staid married man now.  Not that he’d cared.  He had caught them sending odd looks his way when he’d bought her trinkets from the hawkers, or casually dropped her name in conversation.  Eden shifted, flinging an arm around his waist, turning more fully into him, and carefully, he moved his arm to accommodate her.  Was that a bruise?  Her shift had slipped down one shoulder, showing a purple mark on her upper arm.  How had she done that?  He touched it lightly with the back of his fingers and she murmured against the pillow.  He lay still, waiting for her to fall quiet again.  She really was a most restless sleeper.  Peering out of the box bed doors again, he guessed the hour was not much more advanced than four or five o’clock.  He really should wake her, but was strangely loth to do so. 

In the end he dozed back off himself, and woke an hour later to find Eden watching him. She glanced hastily away, as soon as she realized he was awake. 

“What hour is it?” she asked, clearing her throat.

“It must be supper time, or thereabouts,” he said with a yawn.  “We may as well take our meal here, in our room.” Eden turned her head to look at him suspiciously. “I’m tired from my journey,” he pointed out reasonably.  “And there’s a perfectly good table in here we could use, for the two of us.”

“It’s true that it’s draughty in that dining chamber,” she agreed cautiously. 

Roland smiled to himself, and when she went to wriggle out from underneath his arm, he suffered her to.  “Don’t trouble yourself getting dressed,” he told her, when she made her way toward the chair with her gown draped over it.  Eden stopped and looked back over her shoulder at him. 

“I brought you something you can just slip on over your shift.  It’s very unlikely you’ll want to go abroad again today,” he said, with a nod toward the window where the rain was bucketing down. 

“What did you buy me?” asked Eden.  “A dress?” she sounded so suddenly hopeful, he felt a little sorry to disappoint her. 

“A mantle,” he corrected her, “Fulco and Cuthbert should have brought everything in by now.”

“Oh,” she hovered uncertainly, and he pulled himself out of bed and pulled on his braies, chauses and tunic. 

“I’ll go, you stay here.”  When he returned, twenty minutes later carrying packages, she was brushing her long, dark hair in front of the fire.  “Here, for you.  Open this one first and put it on.  Fulco is bringing up more logs for the fire shortly.” 

The bundle was large and when she unfurled it, Eden found a stunning mantle of navy brocade with a gold motif pattern.  She shook it out.  “It’s beautiful,” she exclaimed. 

“There are two slits to put your arms through,” Roland showed her.  The mantle was lined in a gold silk.

“Let me braid my hair first,” she said when he held it out for her to put on. 

“Leave it loose.  It’s only the two of us at supper.”  She acquiesced, and he helped her don the robe before passing her another parcel.  “Open this one.”  Inside, were some gold satin slippers for indoor wear.  “Put those on too.”

“You’ve bought me so many gifts…” she said awkwardly.

She hadn’t even seen the half of them.

A knock on the door interrupted them, and Fulco came in bearing logs, Brigid following on close behind with things to lay the table.  Supper was a simple meal of stewed rabbit with prunes and pearl barley served with onions and raisins.  Roland suspected they were eating the same meal below stairs.  He preferred his meat roasted, but ate heartily all the same.  Eden seemed to mostly toy with hers and slip tit-bits to whatever dogs had snuck in with the servants.  He watched her covertly as they ate their meal.  She seemed skittish and kept looking at him out of the corner of her eye when she thought he wasn’t looking.

“Is there aught amiss with my face?” he asked her at one point.

She took a critical look.  “Well, you’ve got a new bruise at your left temple, if that’s what you mean.”  She took a sip of wine.  “Did you lose again?”

“That’s not-” he broke off in exasperation.  “Why do you keep stealing glances at me like that?”

Eden stiffened and turned red.  “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“And I did not lose,” he said narrowing his eyes.  “And what the devil do you mean ‘again’?”  Gods, it was a wonder he had any ego left these days, the way she kept battering at it!

Eden shrugged.  “I thought from the way your friends spoke at Tranton Vale, that losing was a regular feature of the tournaments.”

“You thought-!” he broke off, giving her a baleful glance.  He could see from the look on her face that she hadn’t meant to intentionally insult him.  Taking a deep breath, he decided instead to patiently set her right.  “That’s just how men are, Eden.  They don’t brag of their friend’s successes, only glory in their defeats.”

“Oh?”  She looked skeptical.

He set his own goblet down.  “Have you ever once heard me boast of Bev’s success in the melee?”  She shook her head.

“Yet that is where his strengths lie.  He’s very tactical.”

“Why do you not compliment him on it then?” asked Eden, looking bewildered. 

Roland snorted.  “Like hells I would!  As his friend, it is my duty to point out his woeful ability in the jousting and mock him about it at every turn.”

“That seems rather… churlish,” Eden responded hesitantly. 

He could see she was using her words carefully, and he had an inkling she was going to say ‘childish’ before hurriedly changing it.  Appreciating the fact she was trying to avoid conflict for once, he shrugged.  “It’s different for men.  Female friendships are more…” he struggled, having never considered the nature of female relationships before.

“Nurturing?” suggested Eden helpfully.

Roland wasn’t sure if that was right.  He didn’t think Eden’s polite friendships were anything like as close as his ‘brother-in-arms’ style kinship with Bev and Attley.

“They are,” Eden insisted.  “I make sure to always encourage my friends in their endeavors.”

“Mmm,” he made a non-committal noise.  He was sure that was true enough, but he still didn’t believe she let anyone get close enough to be considered a true friend.  He lifted his drink again and looked at her over the top of it.  The strangest thought drifted into his head, that he wanted to be that close to her.  Which was fucking ridiculous.  Why would he want to be friends with his own wife?   To disguise his confusion, he drained his cup. 

“I’ve been thinking about my friend Gunnilde Payne,” she was saying.  “I am not convinced that her feelings are deeply engaged with Arthur Conway.  After all, there are probably not that many matrimonial prospects in Tranton Vale.”

Roland managed to dredge Gunnilde Payne from the recesses of his memory, but Arthur Conway meant frankly nothing to him.  He assumed an expression he hoped showed the appropriate husbandly interest.  “No?” he said clearing his throat. 

“For my part I think she could do a lot better than be connected by marriage to the Conways.  I wonder if anyone suitable could be introduced to her when they come to Court.”  She frowned as though considering a thorny problem.  “How does a woman stimulate a man’s interest?” she asked impulsively.

Roland who had extended his own hand to refill his goblet, froze.  “What?”

“I said, how does a woman capture a man’s attention?  So that he notices her as a woman, I mean,” she explained, seeing his thunderstruck expression.  “Or are you not allowed to tell me?  Is it breaking some kind of male confidence?”

“Why are you asking?”  Almost, he felt like he was swimming against the tide in this conversation. 

“Gunnilde Payne,” she said as though explaining something blatantly obvious.  “She comes to court next month.  I was wondering if perhaps one of your friends might...?”

His brow cleared and he let out a short laugh.  “You’re wasting your time there,” he said on confident ground once more.

“Nonsense,” Eden told him briskly.  “I’m quite sure these things can be cultivated.  I mean,” she hesitated a moment.  “You only have to look at us.”

Roland again felt completely floored by her conversation.  “What the devil do you mean by that?” he demanded.

“I meant no criticism,” she responded lightly though she blushed faintly.  “I only meant that I would never have been the bride of your choice, that is all.  And yet, in spite of that you… Well, you do not shun my presence in your… life,” she said, and he knew full well she had been going to say ‘bed’, but then decided it was too indelicate.

Roland was very quiet.  He opened his mouth as if to speak and then closed it again without uttering a word.  Gods, why was this so hard?  “It’s not something you can just conjure from thin air,” he said with an odd tone to his voice that even he could hear.  Eden looked set to argue the point.  “And before you say I never noticed you as a woman, let me set you straight.  I did.”

Eden sighed.  “I know you’re trying to be gallant…” He snorted.  “But we both know that is not true, and I’m not remotely offended by the fact.” 

“Eden,” said Roland firmly.  “We both know I don’t have a gallant bone in my body!”

“Naturally you do not wish to put me out of humor with you,” she stated mildly.  “But I would truly prefer there to be nothing but honest dealing between us.”

“Honest dealing?” he repeated.  “Are you sure about that?”  After all, perhaps honesty would be the best policy.  He couldn’t carry on tip-toeing around her like this!

“Quite,” Eden told him.  “I believe it is for the best.”

“Very well then, but don’t say I didn’t warn you,” said Roland and she eyed him with surprise.  “I always noticed you, Eden,” he said simply.  “Even when I thought you a shrill-tongued, stuck up harpy.  I wondered what you’d feel like underneath me.”

Eden gasped.  “But that’s… absurd.”  She stared at him uncertainly.  “You did not.”

“Yes, I did.”

“But…” Eden cast about wildly.  “Why?”

Roland shrugged.  “I don’t know.  You always intrigued me I suppose.  And when we kissed at Midwinter, that curiosity increased ten-fold.  And now you’re mine, and there’s an end to it.”

She blinked at this several times, unsure how to respond.  No doubt realizing what nasty creatures men were, when it came down to it.  Now he was the one stealing glances at her.  He cleared his throat.  “Tell me what you’ve been about these past six days, wife,” he said aiming for less contentious grounds.

“I’ve taken many walks with the dogs,” she said in a stifled voice.  “And read all the books I could lay my hands on.”

“You found books?”

“To be precise, Cuthbert found them,” admitted Eden.  “Fulco saw him throw them into a trunk and I retrieved them.”

“Didn’t know we had any.”

“I believe they belonged to your brother Oswald.”

“I can well believe that,” he grunted.  “I bet they’re as dull as ditchwater and all about politicking and such.”

“One was about the government of kings,” agreed Eden.  “But the others weren’t.  And I found some building plans too,” said Eden.  “Which your brother drew up many years ago for extending the Keep.”

“Oh aye?”

“They were vastly interesting,” said Eden.  “Although they would cost a fortune to carry out.  He must be quite extraordinarily clever, I think.”

Unaccountably, he felt irritated by all this talk of Oswald’s and his plaguey cleverness.  “Anything else?” he asked, hoping to induce a change of subject.

“Orla Bernard called.  She broke her fast with me.”

“And did she spend the entire visit speaking of Oswald?” he asked sarcastically.

“She did mention him, naturally as he and Fenella are our mutual acquaintances,” said Eden.  She paused then added, “She said he is infatuated to an almost unnatural degree with his wife.” 

Roland lowered his wine with a frown.  Was that true? Both his brothers were certainly very caught up in their wives.  “Unnatural?” he repeated.

“She seemed to think so.”

He shrugged. “My sister-in-laws don’t seem to have any complaint.”  Eden apparently had no rejoinder for that.  “What else did she have to say?” he asked grudgingly. 

Eden bit the side of her mouth.  “Not much,” she said.  “She told me of a seamstress in the village, and seemed surprised we had secured Brigid’s service here.”

“How is that working out?” he asked.  “She and Fulco are not… clashing?”

Eden looked surprised by this.  “Not that I’ve heard.  Why should they?”

“It seems Fulco’s mother does not approve of young widows,” he answered evasively.  “I fancy she’s not over-keen for him to take a wife.”

“It’s probably just local prejudice against an outsider,” said Eden with disapproval.  “Brigid is from Aphrany, originally.  You know how people can be.”  She could have a point, he thought, but made no reply.  The silence stretched, though he did not notice it until Eden cleared her throat.   “So how did your friends fare at Areley Kings?” she asked.  “Sir James and Sir Edward.”

“Neither acquitted themselves with much aplomb,” he answered, both pleased she had bothered remembering their names, and irritated she had not asked after his success first.  “Attley crashed out of the first round of the jousting and Bev was on the losing side of the melee.”

“And your protegee, Sir Renlowe?” asked Eden.  “Did he at least make it through in one piece?”

“I’d hardly call him my protegee,” said Roland with surprise.

“Is he not?” Eden frowned.  “I thought I heard somewhere that he was.”  She pondered this a moment.  “I forget where.  So, you do not encourage him to pursue the tourneys then?  I thought it a little strange at the time.”

“What do you mean?” 

“That it would be most odd for you to encourage one such as Sir Renlowe.”

Roland frowned, placing his cup back down on the table.  “How so?”

“I would have thought it obvious,” said Eden, arching her elegant brows at him. 

Something about her manner immediately irritated him.  Doubtless she thought poor Renlowe should be spouting poetry instead.  “Not to me.  Why don’t you enlighten me with your superior knowledge on such matters,” he asked coolly.

Eden put down her spoon and regarded him censoriously.  “At Tranton Vale, he was ignominiously defeated in the joust” she pointed out.  “Then he was knocked unconscious and taken hostage in the melee.”  The slight pucker between her brows cleared as she recalled something.  “I was told you paid his ransom that day, so he was free to join the feasting.  That was why I thought you had taken him under your wing.  And after that he was defeated at the Challenge to Arms.  Badly.”

“And pray tell me, how do you think the likes of Kentigern, Orde, de Crecy and myself started out?” asked Roland, with an edge to his tone.  “Do you imagine we sprang forth as fully developed fighters and tacticians in our first season? 

“Well, I would certainly hope you showed more natural talent for it than poor Sir Renlowe,” she retorted.

“I’ve seen competitors spit out a tooth, shake off a concussion, and lash broken fingers to a lance,” said Roland harshly, then paused, but she said nothing.  “I know Renlowe has what it takes because he is unflinchingly brave.  Doesn’t matter how many times he gets knocked down, he’ll get back up, and one of these days mark you, he will start winning.”

“Sir Renlowe?” she asked incredulously.

He gave a short, curt nod.  “He is utterly fearless.”

Eden stared at this, before rallying.  “Or utterly stupid,” she said.

Roland drew back his chair, getting to his feet.  “Skills can be learned,” he said.  “Courage can’t.” 

“Where are you going?”

“To check on the horses.”

“Surely Fulco can do that,” Eden pointed out, two spots of color appearing in her cheeks. 

“I need some fresh air.”  He was disappointed, he realized.  Which made him as stupid as she clearly thought he was.  He’d known all along that Eden was stuck up and haughty.  She’d made no secret of the fact, she preferred intellectuals to knights.  Why did it feel like such a slap in the face, then?  It made no earthly sense.  It dawned on him that Eden was still speaking.  He stared at her impatiently. 

“…If I said aught that offended you-” she was saying.

“You didn’t,” he cut her off, striving to sound bored, but merely coming off as rude.  “I would have to value your opinion in order for it to offend me.”

Eden gasped.  “And this,” she said.  “Is precisely why I don’t understand the way you carry on in the bedchamber!”.

“What?”  Now Roland felt his own face heating.

“Why do you keep pretending I’m someone else, come bedtime?”

Roland stared at her.  “Pretending you’re-?”  Words failed him.  “I’m not pretending you’re anyone but you,” he retorted.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Why would I?” he asked, mystified. 

“Because,” her face reddened.  “We don’t value each other’s company or opinions.  We’re not friends.  Yet as soon as we’re in the bedchamber you… you keep kissing me.”  She lowered her voice over the last two words as if they were somehow indecent. 

And he must be as twisted as she was, because for some reason, that made his blood course faster.  He kept his face impassive, but it was a struggle.  “So?” he asked.  “You’re my wife, aren’t you?  Funny sort of husband I’d be if I didn’t even kiss you first.”

Eden looked back at him with frank skepticism.

“What do you expect me to do?” he demanded.  “Just lift up your skirts and have my merry way without even a kiss first?”

When she appeared to consider this, he felt winded.  “N-no,” she said after a moment.  “I understand the kissing and such before.  I’m talking about afterward.  It seems… superfluous.”

“Superfluous?” he echoed blankly.  For some reason he was finding it hard to concentrate.  He felt like she’d kicked him right in the chest.  “Well, now you’ve told me,” he heard himself respond.  “Rest assured it won’t happen again.”  He threw his napkin down with a hand that shook slightly. He had a bitter taste in his mouth. 

He had been victorious at Areley Kings, but any warm glow from that now abruptly fled.  Which was also foolish, as he had a large purse of gold and a new trophy out of it.  What did he care if his cold bitch of a wife didn’t want his kisses?  He rubbed his chest distractedly, as he moved away from the table. 

“Wait,” Eden had half-risen from the table, her expression tense.  “I just meant… it feels strange, that’s all,” she finished lamely. 

“I see.” 

“So, you won then?” she asked with an air of desperation, and it dawned on Roland with horrible clarity that she could see she had hurt his feelings.  How was that even possible?  He was Roland Vawdrey, and no-one had, had the power to do that in years.  Realizing he was still rubbing his chest, like she had inflicted a physical wound, he abruptly dropped his hand.    “At Areley Kings,” she rambled on.  “The jousting or the mock battle thing?”

“Melee,” he corrected her automatically, though continuing this nightmare conversation was the last thing he wanted.  He just wanted to get away.  “Joust,” he said shortly, answering her question.

“You won both?” she asked in confusion.  “Well, that’s very impressive.”

He snorted.  Gods, now she was trying to bolster him up!  Could this get any worse? 

“What?  Everyone agrees you’re very good.”

“I only won the jousting, Eden,” he said irritably. 

“Oh, well, that’s still…” she trailed off.  “What went wrong in the melee, do you suppose?” she asked brightly.

Roland regarded her with almost open-mouthed incredulity.  “No-one expects to win both!  And even if they did, I’m not about to talk battle strategy with you!”

“I’m just trying to make a little pleasant conversation between us,” she huffed.

“Well don’t bother!” he bit back.  “I find your conversation superfluous.”  With that cutting rejoinder he flung out of the room, slamming the door behind him.  It would have been more satisfying if he didn’t suspect she was surprised he even knew what the word meant!

Eden Montmayne, thought Roland savagely, as he descended the stone steps, was without doubt, the most infuriating woman in the unchronicled history of infuriating women.  No doubt, he thought, she’d soon correct him if he ever shared that suspicion.  The bloody woman always had plenty to say, no matter what the subject matter!  He was slightly disturbed by the fact he was now anticipating what she would say though.  His footsteps slowed.  When had he started doing that?  He never did that.  Other people’s opinions were largely a matter of indifference to Roland.  Certainly, they had no consequence regarding the way he acted.  Not that, they would now, he thought with a hasty scowl.  She was a shrew of a bride, and he must be stark, staring mad to have – what?  He pulled himself up short.  Wanted her?  Well that was ballocks.  He’d been coerced into taking her to wife, he reminded his errant thoughts, uneasily.  A sarcastic response in his own head, irritated him, telling himself he never stopped panting after his own wife.  When the hells had he started upbraiding himself?  He frowned, diverting his steps toward the stables. 

Besides, she was an ungrateful harpy, not wanting his kisses.  He must be the only man in the kingdom who hankered after her cruel lips!  Gods!  He rubbed his jaw distractedly.  And why didn’t she want his attentions, damn it?  He was her husband.  And by his reckoning, he hadn’t been all that contemptible in the role.  Had he even once taken her to task for trapping him into wedlock?  Not even once!  He’d accepted the consequences of his actions with practicality.  No reproaches had passed his lips, even though the little wretch had the nerve to look as sick as a dog throughout their entire wedding ceremony and even tried to flee in the aftermath!  He snorted.  And then she’d got the brass neck to begrudge him her lips!  It was the least she could bloody give him, he thought walking on with an injured air.  When he thought about the rank ingratitude, it fairly took his breath away!  He was the King’s champion!  Maidens dropped their handkerchiefs, and other things, in the hopes of enticing him and his own wedded wife was asking him not to kiss her after he’d ploughed her.  It was beyond all reasoning, he thought darkly.  It was pointless even trying.  He kicked an abandoned pail as he entered the stables.  It made him feel a little better, but not much. 

 

**

 

Roland was never going to kiss her again.  Eden paced the room distractedly as Brigid cleared away their supper things.  She felt a little sick.  She wasn’t really sure how things had deteriorated so quickly over supper, or why she had persisted in such a completely fruitless line of conversation.  Good grief, it was almost like she had been trying to needle him.  She covered her mouth with her hand, and turned sharply on her heel as she ran over the conversation in her head.  Where had it all gone so badly wrong?  Her steps slowed a little and she frowned, remembering the blaze of emotion she had felt when he had described Sir Renlowe as ‘utterly fearless’.  She had been pierced with the strangest regret and longing at his words.  No-one would ever describe her in such glowing terms, she thought, closing her eyes briefly.  Little miss perfect who always strove never to put a foot wrong, but somehow ended up disgracing herself anyway. 

And how extraordinary that Roland Vawdrey should consider the strange figure of Sir Renlowe, as the perfect fledgling knight.  He really was full of surprises, this husband of hers.  A pity then that she had gone and willfully filled him with disgust for her, she thought biting her lip.  So far from the brave Sir Renlowe was she, that instead of welcoming Roland home and attempting to build some kind of mutual respect between then, she had instead flung every dark doubt and secret fear she harbored about their ill-fated marriage in his face.  Oh well done, Eden. 

“My lady?” asked Brigid hesitantly. 

Eden sharply turned her head.  “Yes?”

“I didn’t catch what you said.”

Eden made a quick movement with her hands.  “Nothing to signify,” she said hurriedly.  Had she spoken aloud?  Then to her embarrassment, she felt the flood-gates open and tears coursing down her cheeks.

“Oh milady!”  Eden shook her head, but when she tried to reassure her maid, all that came out was a sob.  “The great brute, what did he say?” asked Brigid indignantly.  She plunked down the tablecloth she had been folding and ushered Eden into a chair.

“He – not his fault – mine,” gasped Eden, mopping at her eyes with a napkin.

“Hah – likely story!  And you been missing him so, these last few days too!” she tutted.  Eden took a jagged breath.  No, that wasn’t right.  Had she?  “Menfolk!” exclaimed Brigid with great loathing.  “If you knew what I had to contend with that oaf, Fulco!  Huffing and puffing at me, and never taking his beady little eyes off me.“

“Oh dear,” quavered Eden, glad of any distraction from her own woes.  “You’re not leaving us, are you?”

“Leaving?” snorted Brigid.  “I should say not!  It’d be a fine thing if I let such a great lummox drive me out, now I’ve found somewhere I belong.”

“Oh, good,” said Eden shakily.  She wiped her cheeks, and rallied herself.  “Someone will have to speak to Fulco.  Is he waiting for you to put a foot wrong, then?”

Brigid gave her a wry look.  “Something like that,” she murmured.  And strangely enough, she blushed.

“Roland says that his mother is likely poisoning his mind against any marriageable women.”

“Is that so?” asked Brigid with interest.  “Well good luck to her with that!”  She nudged Eden conspiratorially.  “He is a fine figure of a man, when all’s said and done, and not so many of them about.  There’d be plenty of lasses in the village glad to have him.”

At Brigid’s wistful tone, Eden looked up.  “But not you?” she asked curiously, then felt contrite.  “I’m sorry, you don’t have to answer that.  I didn’t mean to pry.“

Brigid laughed.  “I did cast my eye his way at one time, as it happens,” she admitted.  “But I came on too strong for the likes of Fulco.  He’d have preferred if I’d played the bashful maiden, rather than the brazen widow.”  She clicked her tongue.  “A shame, but there ‘tis.”

“I daresay a bashful maiden would never hold her own against his mother,” said Eden.

“You may have something there, milady,” agreed Brigid and they both smiled at each other.  Eden’s smile was rather watery.  “There now, that’s better.  Shall I fetch you a posset, milady?”

Eden opened her mouth to reply when they both heard the dogs start up barking below.

“Whatever’s gotten into them now?” said Brigid vexedly.   “It surely can’t be a visitor at this hour?”  She hurried to the door, and when she flung it open Eden thought she could hear unknown male tones below.  Brigid looked back at her with wide eyes, evidently having heard the same strains of muted conversation.  “I’ll be back directly I’ve found out what it’s all about, milady,” she said and disappeared. 

Eden stood uneasily in the center of the room.  Who would call at this hour in such an out of the way place?  She had just gone to retrieve her book from the shelf in the box bed when she heard a hurried step on the stair.  She turned to face the door as it burst open and Roland stood framed there.  “What is it?” she asked, catching sight of his expression.

“You’d better come down,” he said grimly.

 

**

 

Roland had not spoken to her on the staircase, but when she followed him into the sitting room, she found it seemed full of strangers, and checked on the threshold.  She looked about her in bewilderment and realized it was only two men dressed in the manner of knights.

“Eden,” said Roland.  “This is Sir Palmerston du Vrey and Sir Symond Chevenix of the King’s guard.”  The two knights stood by the fireplace stepped forward and bowed to her.  “They have come to accompany you back to Caer-Lyoness, at the request of the Queen.”

“The Queen?” Eden blurted and then, “Me?  Why?”  She looked searchingly at the two knights.  Sir Symond was the younger of the two and he stared glassily past her shoulder while Sir Palmerston cleared his throat before averting his eyes.  She turned back to Roland. 

“It seems,” he said heavily.  “That the Montmaynes have lodged a complaint with the Queen about certain irregularities with our marriage.”

“My family have?” Eden heard herself ask, in a high pitched voice she hardly recognized.

Sir Palmerston coughed.  “That is correct Lady Eden,” he said.

“Which I find extraordinary,” continued Roland coldly. “When you consider that your uncle and guardian acted witness at our wedding.”

Sir Palmerston cleared his throat.  “It is the Lady Dorothea Montmayne who has petitioned the Queen.”  Roland looked blank.

“My Grandmother,” explained Eden with a sinking heart.  She’d petitioned the Queen?  “She surely has not left Hallam Hall!” she faltered, groping about for a chair to sink in.  Roland caught her firmly under her armpit and lowered her into a seat, for all the world as if she were an old woman.  In truth, she had come over a-tremble. 

“Lady Dorothea is at court now,” Sir Symond informed her with a nod. 

“I can scarce believe it!  She has not been to court in twenty years!” Eden muttered, more to herself than anyone else. 

“She is accompanied by her granddaughter, the Lady Lenora,” added Sir Symond, earning a glare from Sir Palmerston.

Eden looked up in dismay.  “Is – is Lenora a petitioner too?” she asked with a catch in her voice.

“We are not at liberty to tell you any more at present,” cut in Sir Palmerston firmly. “But you must leave with us at first light, my lady.”  He glanced at Roland.  “By royal decree.”

Eden felt herself go at once hot and then cold all over.  She felt Roland’s hand press down on her shoulder, and realized he was still stood by her chair.  She took a deep breath.  “I see,” she said and forced herself to look up at Roland.  He was still looking rather foreboding in the flickering firelight, and had not spoken for several moments.  He will be glad to see the back of me, she thought blankly as she tried to gather her wits about her.  For some reason, it was proving difficult.  She was finding it hard to catch her breath.

“If we are to leave at daybreak,” Roland said with deliberate emphasis on the ‘we’.  “Then you must be our guests tonight at Vawdrey Keep.”  Eden turned her head sharply to look at him.  “We will have beds made up for you.  I’m afraid they will be in the servant’s quarters as we are still in the process of refurbishing the place.”

Sir Symond turned rather red, “You don’t seem to appreciate the nature of our mission, Sir Roland-” he started stiffly.

“That would be very good of you, Sir Roland,” said Sir Palmerston, cutting across his companion loudly. “And perhaps a bite to eat, sir.  If it’s not too much trouble?”

“Of course,” said Roland.  “I will have supper sent up for you directly.”  He held his hand out to Eden, and she took it hastily, and found herself dragged to her feet.  “And now to bed with you, I fancy, with such an early start in the morn.”

Sir Symond opened his mouth to speak, but Eden saw Sir Palmerston deliberately step on his foot.  He muttered something out of the corner of his mouth, which sounded like ‘don’t be such a bloody fool, lad!’ but she could have been mistaken. 

Roland whisked her out of there without another word and saw her up the steps to their room.  “I’ll be back presently,” he said shortly.  “Lock the door, and be sure to open it only for me.”

Eden nodded and hurried to comply.  She had washed and undressed by the time he had returned.  He brought Parnell and Castor with him, and after letting them in, she got straight into bed.  She had no words and no earthly idea what to say about her predicament.  She listened to the sounds of Roland washing and shedding his clothes and then his footsteps approaching the bed.  He blew out the candle then climbed stealthily through the doors, and Eden felt him settle beside her.  She waited a few moments with her eyes open, but he did not speak.  After a while she closed her own and waited for sleep for sleep that did not come.  Instead she lay awake, thinking about her grandmother and Lenora and what awaited her at court.  Eventually, she must have drifted off to sleep, for the next thing she knew she was being shaken awake by Roland who was already up and dressed.

“If you rise now, I’ll send Brigid in to help you dress and pack up your things.”

“Things?” repeated Eden blankly, but he was already crossing the room.  “Wait!”  She sat up.  “You’re still coming too?  To court?” she asked and rubbed her eyes.

He nodded curtly, “Of course,” and left.  Eden got out of bed and presently Brigid bustled in carrying hot water for her to wash.  As Eden set about her ablutions, her maid flung back the lid of the chest, and started lifting out the gowns which Eden had stuffed back in there.

“Which will you wear today, my lady?” she asked once she’d laid the four gowns out.  She ran a hand over the gold dress with the pink roses.  “I’ve never seen such dresses,” she cast an admiring glance Eden’s way.

“They’re not mine,” Eden told her.  “They were made for my cousin’s bridal trousseau.”

Brigid looked doubtfully from the fine gowns to Eden and then back again.  “You and your cousin must surely be of a muchness when it comes to size,” she said.  “They look as if they were made for you.”

“I don’t wear colors,” Eden said flatly.

“But your blue gown is so pretty!”

“That was not made for me either,” said Eden.  “But for Lady Payne. I prefer myself in somber shades.  They suit my personality better.”

Brigid shot her a surprised look.  “I find that hard to believe, my lady.  You look so well in nice things.  ‘Tis plain, my master thinks as much,” she said, glancing at the blue and gold robe Roland had brought her back from Areley Kings. 

Eden had no reply to make to that.  “As to which I’ll wear,” she said.  “I have no preference.  The blue is being cleaned I think.”

“If you’ve no preference, then I think this rose pink would look very well,” said Brigid.

Eden donned a clean shift, as Brigid exclaimed over the brightly colored stockings.  She passed Eden a pair which were sky blue with gold ribbon garters.  “Just pick out the plainest veil,” Eden recommended, as she saw her hovering over one covered in fancy ruffles and pleats.  Brigid pouted and selected one with a delicate floral border. 

Once dressed it seemed to Eden that she looked like she was dressed for a banquet, rather than a day’s travelling.  She really did look the image of a frivolous courtier, she thought despairingly.  Still, there was nothing for it, she owned nothing sensible.  Instead she sat down and arranged her braids as best she could, securing them in a roll at the nape of her neck, before Brigid helped her pin the veil over the arrangement. 

“I’ll pack your things while you break your fast below,” Brigid assured her. 

Eden looked back from the doorway.  “Thank you, Brigid.”  She stood a moment, watching as the young woman busied herself folding the fine chemises and stockings that had been intended for Lenora.  Was this the last time she would see Brigid?  Her heart heavy, Eden made her way down, realizing she did not even have to look now or count the stairs as she went.  She had in fact, mastered the trip steps. The table had been laid with toasted bread and butter and a platter of salted fish, but no-one else was seated yet there.  Eden made a quick meal, and it was only as she was finishing up that Sir Palmerston and Sir Symond made an appearance.  She thought she heard one of them exclaim before the door opened. 

“My lady,” mumbled Sir Palmerston with a bow before he was seated. 

Sir Symond appeared to be limping slightly.  Eden wondered if he was a victim of the staircase or a dog bite.  She had noticed that none of the dogs were attendance and wondered at it.  Where were they all?  Were they with Roland?  And where was her husband?  Her stomach lurched.  And how much longer would he continue in that role.

They embarked on their journey as soon as their escorts had finished their morning repast.  Their party was dour and uncommunicative, and that included Eden who retreated into her thoughts.  The only one who seemed relatively merry was Cuthbert who brought up the rear.  Nothing could put a damper on his spirits for long, and Eden suspected he was happy to return to the city.  The only thing that brought her any comfort was that Roland brought two of the dogs along with them, Castor and Parnell.  When they took infrequent breaks, Parnell leaned heavily against her legs.  Even Castor periodically checked on her before returning to his master’s side.  The first night Eden found she was expected to sleep in a separate bedchamber to the others, who it seemed would bunk down in a communal room.  Sir Palmerston was apologetic about locking her in, but firm, and she was led to understand he would be remiss in his duty if he did not take this step.  Roland was stony silent on the subject, simply directing her to take both dogs with her when she retired.  On hearing the key turn in the lock, strangely, her first thought was that at least this way she would not be able to sleep-walk any further abroad than this room. 

She readied herself for bed, pondering how Sir Symond had reacted the previous night and realizing that he had meant to separate them sooner.  Was their marriage to be declared invalid?  How would she fare at court if she was to figure as a prominent player in such a scandal?  Could she bear all the gossip and conjecture if it was about her?  Court had always been her happy place.  She had always felt secure in the circles she moved in there.  Was that to be ripped away from her?  And if so, what would she do?  Her hands and feet felt clammy as she considered being returned to her uncle.  Would he even accept her back in such disgrace?  She remembered his irate face the last time she had seen him and felt anxious.  His only option would be to bury her at Hallam Hall, perhaps as her aunt’s companion.  Eden shuddered, thinking of Lenora’s discontented mother.  Perhaps he would be merciful and bury her in a convent instead. 

It was perhaps not surprising that she couldn’t settle in the strange surroundings.  In the end Parnell jumped up onto the bed, a heavy weight across her legs.  This seemed to do the trick, and she managed to get some rest in the early hours of the morning.

The second day’s travelling was not much different to the first, except it grew warmer the further south they travelled.  The sun was high in the sky, and Eden shed her mittens and drew back the hood of her cloak.  They covered a good many miles and on the second night, Eden managed to sleep a little better that night from sheer exhaustion. 

On the third day they reached Caer-Lyoness.  To Eden’s alarm, they were forced to wait at the South gate for an armed escort.  Was she under arrest, then?  Her eyes flew to Roland’s, but his own were shuttered and gave nothing away.  As she watched, Sir Palmerston drew him aside and they had some quiet conversation that Eden could not hear.  Sir Symond moved alongside her, an expression of officiousness on his face that immediately irritated her.  If he could get away with it, she realized, he would march her into the castle and throw her at the Queen’s feet like a prisoner!  She directed her coldest, haughtiest look upon him and was pleased to see his face flush as he turned away.  At long last a group of soldiers with lances marched out of the gate, and Sir Palmerston stepped forward, offering to help her dismount.  Eden refused his help, though she thanked him politely after climbing down from Christobel. 

“My horse-” she started, but he pre-empted her.

“-will be taken to the royal stables immediately, my lady.”

She took a deep breath and looked back at Roland.  He was looking right at her, although he and Cuthbert were still on horseback.  Were they going to leave her here then?  It seemed, only she would be delivered up like some sort of captive!  Her bosom swelled with indignation. 

“Take the dogs,” said Roland curtly.

Eden opened her mouth to argue, but then changed her mind.  After all, she needed all the friends she could get.  Instead she inclined her head stiffly, and at his order, both dogs bounded to her side.  Sir Palmerston eyed them a moment doubtfully, but then offered her his arm.  She placed her hand on it, the guard fell into place on either side of them, and Eden found herself marched into the royal palace.  She had never thought herself a fanciful person, but almost, she could imagine herself clad in chains.

To Eden’s surprise, she was not taken to the Montmayne quarters as she’d expected, but instead directly to the Queen’s apartments.  Sir Palmerston’s smart rap on the door was answered by Jane Cecil, the Queen’s latest favorite.  Eden felt herself bridle, though in truth, Jane kept her eyes tactfully diverted.  The courtiers they had passed in the corridors had not scrupled to stare. 

“Do come in, the Queen awaits,” murmured Jane, opening the door to let them in.  “My orders are only to admit Sir Palmerston,” Eden heard Jane tell the others behind them, and was gratified to imagine Sir Symond’s displeasure at being left out.  She turned back, only to make sure the dogs were let in, but Castor and Parnell were already barging past the surprised looking lady-in-waiting in their hurry to catch up with her.

Queen Armenal was sat in a low, ornate chair before the fire.  She was dressed in a muted bronze-green dress which suited her olive complexion and dark hair well.  She held her hands out at once to Eden.  “Dear child,” she said loudly.  “We are most relieved to see you returned to us.”  Unsure if the Queen referred to court or the ‘royal we’, Eden curtseyed low and then clasped both of the Queen’s be-ringed hands in her own.    “Do sit, you are doubtless fatigued from your journey.”

Jane wordlessly took her cloak, as Eden seated herself and listened to the Queen warmly thank Sir Palmerston for his services, politely hoping it was not too arduous a task she had set him.  Sir Palmerston assured her it was his pleasure to serve his Queen and then bowed low to both of them in turn and backed out of the room. 

“It is funny, is it not, to think his family used to be one of my most furious critics,” mused the Queen watching the door shut after him. 

“Indeed?” asked Eden politely.  She was distracted by Castor and Parnell who had taken the opportunity to freely roam about the elegantly furnished rooms, pawing and sniffing at whatever took their fancy.  “Here!” she called sharply.  “Excuse me your majesty,” said Eden.  “Castor!  Parnell!”  Her voice rang out authoritatively, making the unfortunate Jane jump.  “Come to me!”  The dogs looked up, their ears pricked up, their eyes alert as they returned to her.  “Sit!”  They settled at this, though Parnell circled twice before collapsing with a sigh.

“What large, unwieldly beasts,” exclaimed the Queen.  “I had no notion you were fond of such uncouth, powerful creatures.  Still,” she added slyly.  “You have now survived several weeks as a Vawdrey, so perhaps it should not surprise me overmuch.”

Eden looked up sharply, but the Queen was smiling urbanely.  She did not like to point out it was not quite three weeks she had been married yet, but instead reached out and patted Castor who looked likely to start barking wildly at any minute.

“Ah Jane!” said the Queen, as Jane Cecil came in bearing a tray of refreshments.  “Such a treasure, is she not?  I don’t know how I would do without her.  She is the only one I can depend upon not to be abandon me for a husband.”  The Queen sighed forlornly, and Eden realized this was a barb with a new target.  The Queen used to say that about her - Eden.  Not anymore it seemed.  Jane had thoroughly replaced her in the Queen’s affections.  She wondered, not for the first time at Queen Armenal’s fondness for the pale, rather insipid Jane.  Everyone knew her far more attractive sister Helen was the King’s mistress.  Eden doubted very much that the Queen was ignorant of the fact.

“Will you take wine or mead?” offered Jane, setting down her burden and reaching for the silver goblets.

“Wine, please,” said Eden, glancing at the beautiful view the Queen’s apartments afforded over the palace grounds.  By the position of the sun in the sky, Eden estimated the hour was no more advanced than five o’clock or thereabouts.  She found herself devoutly hoping that Roland had not abandoned her here, and gone back to Vawdrey Keep, abandoning her to her fate.  The thought caught her off-guard.  Had she become accustomed then, to this husband of hers?  It had been such a short amount of time relatively, she reminded herself dazedly.  Why did it seem so odd being back here at court in her old life? 

“No doubt you are still reeling from the events of the past few weeks, no?” said the Queen smoothly as Jane poured her wine.  “We are all giddy, in truth, is that not so?”  When Jane Cecil only answered her with a discreet nod, the Queen tsked.  “Eden will not thank us to hide from her the truth.  There has been much whispering in corners.”  She nodded.  “But yes, it has been intolerable.  And so I have told the King.  It is an insult to me, for one of my ladies to be an object of such infamy.”  She settled back in her seat, as Eden tensed, leaning forward in hers.  “I daresay,” said the Queen with an airy wave of her hand.  “That brother of his, the Lord Oswald Vawdrey could have drawn over it the veil most discreet, if he had not been hampered by that execrable Sir Christopher…”

“Uncle Christopher has been at court?” asked Eden with dismay.

The Queen looked heavenward.  “I do not mean to be overly censorious of your family, my very dear Eden,” she said serenely.  “But this Christopher Montmayne…” she gave a grimace of distaste. 

“I know,” said Eden without thinking.  “My own father was said to be much worse, though.”

The Queen gave a startled burst of laughter.  “Really?”

Eden felt herself turn pink.  She was never usually so frank.  “Yes, my father Godwin Montmayne was the black sheep of the family.  Uncle Leofric was the only respectable one.”

The Queen looked thoughtful.  “How interesting!  Perhaps, the Lady Dorothea she was too strict.  Boys are very hard to raise, or so I hear,” she sighed.  “If one allows them to run wild like savages, they grow up as such.  But then if one keeps them to the path that is so straight and narrow – also savages, but deceitful ones!  Sometimes I am very glad that I have only the stepson.  If he turns out to be the bad lot,” she shrugged.  “I cannot be held to account.”

Eden thought fleetingly of the absent prince who was being raised apart at some country idyll and wondered at the Queen’s attitude.  She thought of the woods and hills around the Keep that Roland had roamed over as a boy.  On the whole, she thought raising them like honest savages might have better results.  She surfaced from her thoughts with a start, realizing the Queen was still addressing her. 

“-I hope that will not be too much of an inconvenience to you,” she was saying smoothly.

“I beg your pardon, your majesty?”

“I was explaining your living arrangements while the hearing it is ongoing.”

“Hearing?” repeated Eden blankly.

The Queen smiled at her.  “My poor dear.  It must be very distressing for you.  But you must take heart.  Your grandmother, she wishes for you the best.  If it means the scandal, then that is what must ensue.  She will not tolerate you being coerced into a distasteful union.  This she told to me herself.”

Eden gasped.  “So the hearing…?”

The Queen gave a nod.  “It is to determine whether this marriage, it should stand.”

It turned out that Eden was to remain in the Queen’s apartments in a shared attendants room with Jane Cecil during the goings-on.  The Hearing would be held over three days and testimonies would be taken from various witnesses.  Eden listened with a sinking heart to the plans laid out before her.  The Queen was to preside over proceedings, and it seemed she was anticipating them with great relish.  It would start on the morrow.  Anticipating the event, Eden found she lost all appetite for the delicious supper that had arrived from the royal kitchens.  She felt sick, and not just of stomach, but of heart. 

 

**

 

Eden scanned the packed audience room.  She could see every leading courtier crammed in from pillar to post, save one.  Where was Roland?  In the end, she gave up all pretense of looking dignified and craned her neck, turning in her seat.  He was nowhere to be seen!  Eden tried to fight down the rising panic.  Had he gone back to Sitchmarsh, then?  Had he left her?  Her heart pounded in her chest.  She could feel her breathing grow shallow.  She had spotted her grandmother, Lenora and her uncles sat near the front.  She had also seen Sir Oswald Vawdrey, head to toe in black.  He had that habitual smile playing about his mouth, but she did not believe for one minute he was as relaxed as he looked.  After all, was he about to perjure himself before the Queen?  Then she remembered that someone had once told her that Chief Advisor to the King included another role that wasn’t so openly discussed.  That of chief spymaster.  Perhaps after all, lying wasn’t going to be a problem for Lord Vawdrey.  She had just slumped back in her seat when she noticed the blonde head of hair next to Oswald.  It was Cuthbert!  She sat up again, but looked in vain for Roland.  He was not there.  She felt lost and without an anchor.  She wasn’t a Montmayne anymore and yet, she wasn’t now a proven Vawdrey either.  She had no-one!  She didn’t even have the dogs as she had been forced to leave them in the Queen’s quarters.  Forcing herself to take a deep breath, Eden mustered some composure at least.  She had always been able to fall back on her self-possession.  It could not abandon her now. 

A hush fell over the room, and Eden realized the double-doors down the other end had opened, and the Queen was swooping in, resplendent in a glinting purple gown with underskirt and full sleeves of gold.  She wore a purple coif cap and gold veil and to match.  Glancing down at the sea-green gown of Lenora’s that she had felt over-dressed in, Eden suddenly felt modestly arrayed.  Queen Armenal was dressed to capture the eye, and she had certainly achieved her aim, as her audience was captivated by her appearance. 

The Queen arrived at the front of the room and a page stepped forward to help her climb the steps to the dais.  Once she had mounted the platform she wasted no time, but approached the front to address the crowds in her commanding voice.  “My lords and ladies, gentles all – welcome!”  She beamed and scanned the full room with every evidence of approval.  “We are here today, as you are all aware, to hear the case for and against the validity of the marriage that took place last month, between Sir Roland Vawdrey and Lady Eden Montmayne.  Statements will be given by various witnesses, so that I may determine whether it is null and void or legally binding.  I would ask that you keep any noise to a minimum, that we may hear what the various speakers have to say.”

A murmur of assent went up from the crowd, and Eden twisted her hands in her lap.  The Queen consulted a piece of paper that was passed up to her by a clerk.  “The first witness that shall testify, will be the Lady Dorothea Montmayne.”  A loud excited muttering went up as the Queen walked to the back of the dais and elegantly sank into her throne there.  Eden’s mouth felt dry as she turned and watched her grandmother walk stiffly down the middle of the room.  She wore a dark fawn velvet gown trimmed with white fur and pearls.  Her iron grey hair was swept up into an elegant matching coif and she wore a wimple giving her the full matronly effect.  Her eyes were hooded, her expression grim.  She dipped into a rather old fashioned curtsey which may or may not have been due to the stiffness of her joints.  Then she took the seat that was pointed out to her near the front by yet another page, who wore the Argent colors of blue and gold.

“It was you, was it not, Lady Dorothea,” began the Queen in her clear, carrying voice.  “Who first approached us regarding the authenticity of this marital union?”

Lady Dorothea inclined her head.  “It was,” she assented.

“And why was it, that you felt impelled to appeal to your sovereign for intercession on this matter?”

“I had many pressing concerns,” said her grandmother dryly.  “Not the least being the clandestine manner in which the ceremony was performed.  I was not present, despite being under the same roof at the time.  It was conducted at an ungodly hour, with very few witnesses.”  She paused while this was digested.  Then added, “I do not believe my niece was consenting.”  There was a clamor of noise at this.  Eden closed her eyes briefly.  “I believe she was coerced,” continued Lady Dorothea calmly.  “And to add insult to injury, she was not the intended bride in this agreement between our families.  Sir Roland Vawdrey was contracted to another.”

The buzz of whispers that greeted this was very loud indeed.  Eden heard her cousin’s name on several tongues, but when she steeled herself to glance in Lenora’s direction, she found her looking as detached and tranquil as ever.  Nothing it seemed, could disrupt Lenora’s poise.

“These are serious allegations, indeed Lady Dorothea,” said the Queen soberly.  “I count at least three possible impediments.”  She looked across at one of the clerks who was making notes with his quill pen.  He gave a firm nod of agreement.  “Could you oblige us, by elaborating further on why you believe the ceremony was clandestine in nature?”

“Certainly I can,” replied Lady Dorothea magnificently.  “My son, Leofric told me the banquet he was hosting was a betrothal feast only.  Not,” stressed Lady Dorothea.  “A wedding feast.  He told me it was for his daughter, Lenora.  Why then, the following morning, was my other granddaughter hastily married off in some obscure manner and spirited away without even so much as a farewell to her kinfolk?”

Eden felt her heart race, and had to struggle not to cover her face with her hands.  Had her uncle not given his mother any explanation for what had occurred? 

“Was no explanation offered to you by Sir Leofric?” the Queen asked, echoing Eden’s unspoken thoughts.

Lady Dorothea’s mouth twisted.  “The explanation I was treated to, was inconceivable in every way and an insult to my intelligence, as well as my granddaughter,” she said bitterly.

The Queen paused while the audience made of that what they would.  Eden felt the tips of her ears burn.  She could quite imagine that there were plenty of rumors abroad after her uncle Christopher had been spreading malicious gossip.  She clutched her skirts between nerveless fingers and dared not look toward her uncle. 

“Perhaps,” said the Queen loudly.  “You could instead explain to us why it is, that you do not believe the Lady Eden would have been a willing participant in such nuptials?”

Suddenly Eden felt glad that Roland was not present for this.  She stared at her grandmother in horror, waiting for the words that would fall from those thin lips.

“Indeed I can, when we conversed prior to the betrothal feast, we discussed quite frankly Sir Roland’s unsuitability as a bridegroom.”

Eden stiffened.  Oh no.  She wracked her brain, trying to remember their conversation.  What had she said?  She did not think she had been so very insulting about Roland’s fitness for marriage.  After all, she had been trying to be diplomatic and not to worry her grandmother.

“When you say ‘we’…?”

“Eden and myself.” Clarified Lady Dorothea.

“And do you remember,” asked the Queen with a gleam in her eye.  “What qualities the two of you found particularly lacking in Sir Roland?”

Lady Dorothea pursed her lips.  “I do not remember the specifics,” she said.  “But I distinctly remember we were of one accord in our wishes.  That Lenora should wake up and realize he was not the man for her, before the marriage took place.”

The Queen nodded slowly.  “I see,” she said.  “But, just because Eden did not think that Sir Roland would make her cousin a good bridegroom, it does not follow that she would rule him out as one for herself.”

“My granddaughter has never admired that manner of man,” said Lady Dorothea grandly.  “She has always had refined and artistic tastes,” She looked down her rather long nose and fixed Eden with a gimlet eye.  Eden blushed and looked away.  “It is unthinkable that she would desire such an ill-made match.”

“I see, thank you Lady Dorothea.”  Eden forced herself to watch as her grandmother jerkily rose from the chair and then stalked back to her original seating place.  “I think next,” said Queen Armenal, her voice rising above the babble, “that we should talk to the alleged jilted bride, the Lady Lenora.” 

This caused a furor among the masses.  Eden turned her head and stared with the rest as Lenora rose from her chair a vision of feminine beauty with her pink and white complexion, her cornflower blue eyes and her golden ringleted hair.  Many sighs were heard around the chamber as she made her way to the front and curtseyed gracefully to the Queen.  She wore a very simple gown of the palest pink, and a wispy veil fluttered about her, concealing nothing.  She looked like an angel.

“Fair Lenora,” said the Queen.  “Your legendary beauty has not dimmed one whit as a result of such infamous treatment I find.”

“Oh no,” said Lenora opening her eyes very wide.  “I have known for months that Sir Roland only had eyes for my cousin.  He never wanted to marry me.”

“Nonsense child!” burst out her grandmother, Lady Dorothea angrily from the crowd.  “Why you persist in this tale, is beyond me!  I have explained this to you many times…”  She broke off angrily when she noticed her words were creating quite a stir in the audience with several people craning their heads to look at her. 

‘For shame!’ Eden heard one courtier hiss.  ‘Trying to browbeat the fair Lenora!’ tutted another.  Eden winced, but looking back at her cousin, found her looking utterly unruffled by the interruption.  “He never wanted to marry me,” Lenora repeated clearly, and their grandmother turned quite purple with chagrin. 

“Thank you, Lenora,” said the Queen brightly.  “It is fascinating to see things from a different viewpoint.  Then this feast…?” she suggested.  “It was not a formal betrothal feast between your two families as everyone thought?”

“Oh yes,” said Lenora.  “But not for me.  For Eden.”  Her words caused a scandal among the assembled courtiers.  Lenora waited patiently for the noise to die down.  “I offered my cousin the lend of my new silk gown and my pearls for the occasion.”  She turned her head and looked directly at Eden.  “Is that not so, Eden?  And my jewel encrusted toque.”

Eden nodded feebly.  She did not feel up to mentioning that the toque had been filled with kittens at the time. 

“But how sweet of you!” exclaimed the Queen indulgently.  “You must be very fond of your cousin I think.”

“Oh yes,” said Lenora, turning her guileless eyes back to Eden.  “She is like my sister, really.  Although my Father never treated us as equals, that is how I have always regarded her.”

“You were not raised as equals?” the Queen asked, sounding surprised at the turn Lenora’s testimony had taken.

“Oh no,” said Lenora.  “Otherwise, she would have had her own pearls and silk gown, would she not?”

“Quite,” murmured the Queen.  Then seemed to give herself a little shake.  “So, you would have us believe that Eden’s ensuing marriage with the King’s Champion, is not a matter of enmity between the two of you at all?” asked the Queen.

“Oh no,” said Lenora mildly. “Why should it be?”

Eden felt her palms clammy and wiped them on her borrowed skirts.  She felt suddenly dizzy and disorientated.  Could Lenora really believe that?  About Eden still being like a sister to her?  And that she had not usurped her place as wife to Roland?  She looked so… so imperturbable and sedate, it was hard to believe she was not wholly in earnest. 

A sudden hush fell over proceedings and Eden turned to find that Oswald Vawdrey had stood up from his seat.

“Earl Vawdrey?” said the Queen, turning to look at him.  “You have something pertinent to contribute at this point?”

He smiled a wintry smile.  “As to that, I hardly know.  But it was I that approached Sir Leofric regarding the betrothal arrangements in the first place,” he said, and then smothered a yawn.  “I beg your pardon, your grace.  I am but recently a father… ”

A smatter of laughter broke out from the onlookers.

The Queen’s smile turned a little brittle.  “But of course,” she said, and Eden wondered if the Queen did not appreciate sharing the spotlight with a player of his magnitude.  There was a sort of assured style and grace about Oswald Vawdrey, which only very few possessed.  He was tall and lean and dressed all in midnight black.  You could almost overlook his self-possession, if you did not know any better.  Eden had a feeling it was woe betide you, if you did.  His keen eyes roamed now over the key players and when they fell on her, his head tipped to one side, and he looked speculative. 

“Well, if you would be so good as to share your information with us now, Lord Vawdrey,” the Queen prompted him, sounding a little impatient.  Eden knew there was no love lost between the two of them, which was mostly due to politics. 

Oswald made his way unhurriedly to the front of the hall, and Lenora returned to Lady Dorothea who now wore a look of frozen outrage.  Lenora did not look even remotely fazed as she sat down beside her. 

When Oswald spoke, his voice was surprisingly full-volumed.  “My brother Roland asked me as head of our house, to approach Sir Leofric Montmayne with a view to discussing the proposed marriage approximately two months ago.  It was some couple of weeks before our paths crossed, and we were able to discuss terms regarding the proposed joining of our houses.  Once we had talked over a few preliminaries, we were able to proceed to the point of arranging a formal betrothal feast at Hallam Hall.”

“If I might just stop you there, Lord Vawdrey,” the Queen interrupted him, holding up one elegant fore-finger. 

“Of course, your majesty,“ he responded politely.

“We seem to have raced ahead, Lord Vawdrey” she said reproachfully.  “And skipped the most relevant point.”

“We have?” he frowned and turned to the audience with a small bow.  “Do forgive me.”

They laughed, and the Queen looked annoyed.  “Which one of the Montmayne girls,” she asked dramatically sweeping a pale graceful arm in an arc.  “Was the prospective bride?  That is the question!”

Oswald Vawdrey looked totally astonished by her query.  He looked about him with supposed incredulity.  “Why as to that, there was simply never any doubt in my mind.  It was entirely apparent who was my brother Roland’s intended, and had been for several months by this point.”

There was a murmuring in the crowd, and Eden knew they were discussing that infamous midwinter kiss.  For the first time, she felt no burning shame about the gossip.  That kiss seemed … well, almost innocent now! 

“And to be clear,” said the Queen with a tight smile.  “You are referring now, to…?”

“I refer, of course,” he said with a small bow in her direction.  “To the Lady Eden,” he responded gravely.  A positive buzz went up after this. 

“If I might appeal to you all for quiet!” trilled the Queen, and the hub-bub died down with seeming reluctance. 

One voice could still be heard protesting though, and Eden turned her head to look at her uncle Leo, who was bleating like a bullfrog. 

“Ah, Sir Leofric,” said the Queen tolerantly.  “You would seem the logical person to speak next.”

 

**

 

“But did Lord Vawdrey actually say the word ‘Lenora’ in his request?” persisted the Queen, some five minutes later.  She wore a faintly frustrated air, for Sir Leofric had turned out to give a very poor account of himself.  He was defensive, apt to ramble off the point and quick to take offence at any perceived slight.

“Yes!” burst out Sir Leofric.  Then he appeared to waver.  “Well, only consider for yourself,” he said indignantly.  “He said ‘you have in your charge…’  something along the lines of ‘the power to bestow a flower of womanhood’.  Something of that sort.  Well obviously, he was talking about Lenora.  Everyone knows she is called The Flower of All Karadok.”  He looked around with a smug look on his face, but after a moment or two seemed to realize that he had not given the assurances everyone had expected.  Indeed, the noise from the crowd was getting quite loud again.

Earl Vawdrey stood up from his seat in the audience.  “Pray forgive me, Sir Leofric,” he said mildly and everyone went immediately silent.  “May I first commend you, on your powers of recall and your honesty.  You are part right at least.  I made no mention of the words ‘daughter’ or ‘Lenora’ in my request, and I did in fact, say the words ‘your charge’.”  He let that suggestive phrase sink in as everyone started up their whispering once again.  “And that is because,” he said politely.  “I was speaking of your ward, your niece the Lady Eden, all along.  As for the flower remark, I’m afraid, I did not know that was one of the Lady Lenora’s sobriquet’s.  She has so very many.”  He bowed low to Lenora, who gave him a dazzling smile.

Sir Leofric’s eyes were almost bulging out of his head.  “Why I - I – I…” he cast about wildly.  “Well, that is what I took him to mean!” he protested feebly.  “Never even occurred to me he could mean Eden!”

“It never occurred to you he could mean Eden?” repeated the Queen sharply.  “I see…”  She turned to the crowd and frowned as they all started clamoring.  “Now that is very suggestive, is it not?”